James listened, then smiled. "Yeah… I'm cheating this part."
'Cortana, you're on calculations,' he communicated silently.
[Already started,] she replied on his HUD. [Factoring in ballistic drop and crosswind.]
James didn't feel bad. He was never a math guy. Not in his past life, not as an accountant, and definitely not now. Cortana was built for this.
This time, he'd let the AI take the shot.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sniping wasn't just about skill. It was about patience — clear and focused patience. You only got one shot. That meant waiting for the right moment and being mentally prepared to pull the trigger the instant it came. Not before and not after.
It wasn't enough to spot an opportunity. You had to be ready the moment it arrived. If not, you backed off. No second chances. You couldn't prep a shot too early either — the wind could change, humidity could shift, targets could move. Most snipers relied on instinct and experience, it's not like the Vindicare Assassins exist.
But James didn't have to. He had Cortana.
Two months passed — pistols, sniper rifles, tactical scenarios, real combat drills. Carlos pushed him hard, but they both knew it was time to move on. SHIELD had called. It was time for James to meet up with Coulson .
They packed up quickly. James said goodbye to Peckwalski, and Carlos left behind a million-dollar thank-you. Then it was a straight shot to the airport, a short flight, and they were back in New York.
Their new place was finished.
From the outside, it looked modest, but stepping in revealed the real design — sharp, minimal, and clean. Shades of gray, white, and black dominated the place, with a subtle red accents to keep it from feeling like a prison cell. Warm ceiling lighting made the top-floor space feel less like a lair and more like an actual home.
"Let's check everything," James said.
He and Carlos went room to room, sweeping every corner. They didn't trust anyone — especially not government agencies. Even if SHIELD said there were no bugs, they'd still double-check. Cortana gaved suggestions with a few gadgets she'd selected for electronic sweeps and helped in finding hints of suspicions that are viewed through his eyes. Nothing turned up, but the caution was necessary.
Half a day later, the apartment was officially secured.
They stood outside the study — disguised as a normal reading room, but actually their armory. A bookshelf slid to the side when they triggered the hidden latch, revealing clean metal racks and compartments.
Three rooms. Four bathrooms. James still didn't understand the American obsession with extra toilets. Some mansions had more bathrooms than bedrooms. But hey, when in Rome.
"Not a huge space," James said, stepping inside. "But good enough for both of us. What do we put in here?"
Carlos nodded. "My six sniper rifles go in. Each with its scope setup — even if I probably won't be using them much anymore."
James agreed. "They're legacy pieces. Definitely worth keeping. I'll also see what SHIELD's got. Their tech might surprise us."
"We should stock up on flight suits and low-altitude parachutes too," Carlos added, glancing out the window. "Living on the top floor has its perks. We can glide out in a pinch."
James raised an eyebrow. "I haven't been trained in those."
"You will be. SHIELD should have those modules in their program you could use. Once you're in, many options of training should open." Carlos pulled one of the suits out of storage. The folded material looked like something between a tactical jumpsuit and a bat costume.
James could already picture himself gliding off the rooftop in one. Paired with a parachute, it might actually work. Not a bad exit strategy.
"Alright. Let's clean up and get some food. Tomorrow, we can go car shopping. I'll call Coulson too, see what's going on."
James began unpacking. His room was pretty simple. With his closet empty. He hung up his suits, folded a few spare shirts, and left the rest. He didn't bring anything from his old rental — no reason to. That life was done.
He picked up the phone and dialed. "Phil, we're back. What's up?"
"Good timing," Coulson said. "Keep your phone on. We might have an operation coming soon."
James's mind jumped immediately to Stark Industries. Tony was about to go to war with his dad's old business partner and close friend — Obadiah Stane.
"What's the operation about?" James asked. He wasn't about to walk into a fight without knowing the odds.
"Still unclear. But something's off. The atmosphere around Stark's company isn't normal. We're working with him directly, but we need preparation time."
James saw an opportunity. "I want to meet up tomorrow. I'll need to get some equipment."
"No problem. Call me when you're ready."
The Call ended. James sat back, thinking. Dealing with Iron Man? That wasn't like fighting some random target in a warehouse. That was a moving tank in a metal suit. If Stane got to the armor, it'd be over.
The only solution? Hit him before he suits up.
Which meant… a sniper rifle.
He didn't like the idea of waiting for someone to remove their helmet before pulling the trigger — but it was the only shot he'd get. He wasn't officially an assassin anymore. Assassination wasn't plan A. It wasn't even plan B. But survival made the rules blurry.
Movies moved fast. Real life didn't. He and Carlos grabbed dinner that night, walked back to the apartment, and collapsed. The new place was solid — quiet, clean, and without the smell of someone else's history.
The next morning, James made a call to his lawyer.
"Philip. What's the update on the properties?"
"Good news, Mr. James. Two apartments sold. The one near Stark Tower? Gone for thirty-eight million dollars. Market's hot right now."
James whistled. "Nice. That's a record. What about taxes?"
Philip hesitated. "Want us to minimize them?"
James smirked. "Nah, just pay them. I've got plans."
Truth was, the real estate tax was split between buyer and seller, and he wasn't hurting for cash. Avoiding taxes was more effort than it was worth right now, and to think about not paying taxes at all? Not even the Joker would mess around with the IRS.
"And the land?" he asked.
"Public auction's scheduled for next month. The New York Auction House is handling it. Big names are interested. Should go for a high price."
"Perfect. Transfer everything to my main account. Subtract your cut and the taxes."
James and Carlos still had money. Sloan had stocked up on several company stocks. Some assassins never even touched their earnings. Even after giving Peckwalski a million, they still had hundreds of millions on hand.
And James was ready to start using it.
After breakfast, they went car shopping.
"What are you thinking?" James asked.
Carlos thought for a second. "Maybe a pickup."
James blinked. "A pickup? Seriously?"
"Yeah. Why not? Something simple. Reliable."
"Carlos, you're not eighty. You're in your forties. That's prime time. If you've got something in mind — a hobby, interests, maybe a midlife crisis — go for it."
Carlos chuckled. "Maybe I will."