Cassidy's boots echoed against the polished marble floors of the FBE headquarters as he made his way through the vast, stone hallways. The building loomed like a fortress, all sharp edges and cold steel, a product of the industrial magic that defined the world now. For all its grandeur, it felt more like a cage than a home.
The other agents passed him without a word. Some offered nods, others glared. Cassidy could feel their eyes on him, but he didn't bother acknowledging them. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. Most of the agents didn't understand him. They thought his way of working was too soft, too lenient for an FBE officer, especially one with his rank.
He was Zodiac—one of ten agents handpicked by the commander himself to hunt down the deadliest outlaws in the West. And yet, here he was, returning without the McMiller Gang in chains.
As he neared the commander's office, Cassidy could already sense the tension. Commander Hardgrave was a strict man, a veteran of the old wars, and he did not tolerate failure lightly.
Cassidy stopped in front of the heavy, iron door and knocked. The sharp clang echoed down the hallway, and a moment later, a gruff voice called out from within.
"Enter."
Cassidy pushed the door open and stepped inside. The commander's office was a stark contrast to the rest of the headquarters—bare walls, a single desk, and a massive map of the western territories pinned against one wall. Behind the desk, Commander Hardgrave sat with his fingers steepled, his piercing blue eyes fixed on Cassidy.
"You've been gone a while, Zodiac," Hardgrave began, his voice low and measured. "And I hear the McMiller Gang is still out there, running free."
Cassidy didn't flinch. "They are."
Hardgrave's jaw tightened. "And why is that? You had them. They should be in our custody right now, and yet you returned empty-handed."
Cassidy remained calm, his expression unreadable. "There's more to it than just taking them down. I'll get them, but not like that. There's something bigger going on with Charlie St. Peter and his gang. I need time."
"Time?" Hardgrave's voice hardened. "Time is not something we afford outlaws. Your job is to bring them in, dead or alive. You know that."
"I do," Cassidy said quietly. "But this ain't a simple job. If it was, you wouldn't have sent me."
The commander leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he studied Cassidy. For a long moment, the room was silent, the tension between them palpable. Hardgrave wasn't a man who questioned orders, and he expected the same from his agents. Cassidy's methods, however, had always been unconventional, and Hardgrave knew better than to push him too far.
"You're lucky you have a reputation, Zodiac," Hardgrave finally said, his tone softening slightly. "Otherwise, this conversation might've gone differently. But you're one of the best, and I trust you have your reasons."
Cassidy nodded, though he didn't offer any explanation. He didn't need to.
"But make no mistake," Hardgrave continued, leaning forward. "The next time you face them, I expect results. No more mercy. No more second chances. Is that clear?"
"Clear," Cassidy replied, though his voice was devoid of the cold resolve that typically accompanied the FBE's orders.
The commander sighed and waved him off. "You're dismissed. But don't forget—we've got nine others waiting to take your place if you fail."
Cassidy nodded once more, then turned and left the office without another word.
---
The sound of heavy footsteps followed Cassidy as he made his way down the corridor. He could already tell who it was without needing to turn around—Grim, one of the other agents, and easily the most aggressive of the group.
"Mercy doesn't suit you, Zodiac," Grim's voice was like gravel, rough and grating. "We're supposed to clean up the messes out there, not coddle them."
Cassidy stopped, his expression unreadable as he turned slightly to face the man. Grim towered over most, his broad shoulders filling the space in the narrow hallway. His dark hair was cropped short, and a jagged scar ran down the side of his face, a remnant of a long-ago battle. He was known for his brutality in the field—never letting a target walk away.
"I'm not you, Grim," Cassidy said evenly. "And I'm not in the business of senseless killing."
Grim snorted, crossing his arms. "That's why you'll always be soft. You're too tied up in your luck and your fancy notions of fate. Out there, it's kill or be killed."
Cassidy didn't respond, but Grim wasn't finished. "You think the rest of us don't notice how you handle things? How you let 'em go? You're a joke, Zodiac."
From the corner of his eye, Cassidy saw the rest of the agents gathering in the hallway. They always hovered like vultures whenever Grim tried to stir trouble. Most of them kept their distance from Cassidy—more out of distrust than anything else. The FBE had built its reputation on ruthless efficiency, and Cassidy's approach didn't fit the mold.
Ghost was leaning against the wall, her sharp eyes watching the exchange with thinly veiled interest. She was the stealthiest of the group, her nickname a testament to her ability to appear and disappear at will. Next to her stood Ironjaw, the hulking agent with a mechanical arm, more machine than man after a run-in with an outlaw gang years ago.
On the far side, Ace and Flick stood together—two of the quickest shots Cassidy had ever seen. Ace, with his cocky smirk, was always looking for a way to one-up the rest of them, while Flick, smaller and more wiry, was known for his fast hands and even faster trigger finger.
At the end of the hall, leaning casually against the wall, stood Thorn—an explosives expert who preferred to solve problems with dynamite rather than bullets. His calm demeanor was the only thing keeping him from being as dangerous as Grim.
Then there was Rune, the lone magic user of the group. He had a quiet intensity about him, his magic more subtle than Boone's but no less deadly.
Cassidy took in the sight of them, each one more dangerous than the last. They were the best the FBE had to offer, each chosen for their unique skills, their ruthlessness. But Cassidy could feel their judgment, their disdain for his methods.
"You all think the same way Grim does?" Cassidy asked, his tone steady as he looked at them. "You think mercy is a weakness?"
Ace shrugged, his smirk still in place. "We're bounty hunters, not preachers. You give 'em a chance, they'll come back and bite you."
"Mercy's a luxury, Zodiac," Ghost said, her voice soft but sharp. "One we can't afford."
Cassidy stood tall, his face impassive. "Mercy isn't about them. It's about me. I don't need to kill to get the job done. I never have."
Grim scoffed. "Yeah? And when that comes back to bite you, don't expect any of us to help."
The tension in the hallway thickened, but Cassidy didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he turned his back on Grim and the others, his mind already turning to the next steps. The McMiller Gang was still out there, and fate would bring them back around to him, just like it always did.
But as Cassidy walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling that this time, things might play out differently. Not just with Charlie St. Peter, but with the rest of the FBE as well. Their worlds were colliding, and mercy—his mercy—was the line that separated him from the rest.
And that line was getting thinner by the day.
