Marvel Cinematic Universe — Non-Sacred Timeline
New York — Assassin Brotherhood Headquarters — Textile City
In a dim room deep within the Brotherhood's headquarters, Sloan stood alone before the sacred Loom of Fate, preparing to check if any new targets had appeared.
He leaned in close, peering through a magnifying glass at the intricate weave of emerging patterns. As cryptic threads formed into text, he quickly recorded the results. Slowly, he began decoding the hidden message—until a name emerged before his eyes.
Sloan.
Staring at the decrypted result, Sloan froze, his mind reeling.
"How is this possible?" he muttered.
"How could it be my name?"
Then, more firmly, "It must be a mistake..."
Yet even as he spoke, he knew better.
The Loom of Fate never made mistakes.
After a heavy silence, he glanced around to ensure no one else was nearby. Then, with trembling hands, he carefully cut out the piece of fabric bearing his name.
Staring at the cloth in his palm, Sloan's heart pounded. In all the Brotherhood's thousand-year history, never had one of their own appeared in the Loom's weaving. Yet the rule was clear: those whose names were revealed were fated to die.
And now, it was him.
By tradition, Sloan should have ended his own life then and there. But fear gripped him—he did not want to die.
As Sloan wrestled with fate itself, a brilliant streak of light hurtled through the cosmos toward Earth.
At its core: a tiny infant, surrounded by seven glowing Dragon Balls.
The streak tore through the New York skyline, smashed through the roof of the textile factory—and crashed directly into Sloan.
BOOM!
A massive shockwave exploded outward, obliterating the Loom of Fate into shattered fragments.
The seven Dragon Balls around the infant shot away like meteors, disappearing into the distance and turning to stone as they scattered across the Earth.
Moments Later — Textile City Brotherhood Headquarters
Hearing the deafening explosion, X, Cross, the Pharmacist, and others rushed to the loom room, shouting:
"Sloan! Sloan! Sloan!"
Receiving no answer, they pushed open the doors—breaking centuries of sacred protocol.
And then, they froze.
A gaping hole in the roof.
The Loom of Fate reduced to rubble.
Sloan's lifeless body, clutching a piece of cloth.
And in the wreckage... a baby, swaddled in glowing light.
The Pharmacist gasped.
"My god... what happened here?"
Cross quickly knelt beside Sloan, checking for signs of life. After a moment, he grimly shook his head.
"He's gone."
He gently pried the cloth from Sloan's cold fingers.
Conference Room
All senior members of the Brotherhood gathered urgently.
The Gunsmith spoke first, voice tight with tension.
"Alright, what do we know?"
X stepped forward.
"The Loom of Fate has been destroyed. Sloan is dead," he said flatly.
"We have lost both our leader—and the source of our missions."
The Butcher demanded, "Who attacked us?"
Cross shook his head.
"There was no enemy."
Confusion rippled through the room.
Cross tossed a file onto the table. Attached was the cloth Sloan had been clutching, alongside a decoded translation.
The room fell into stunned silence as they read.
Sloan's name.
His own death, foretold.
X said quietly, "He held this cloth even in death."
There was no denying it. The Loom had spoken—and Sloan had perished as prophesied.
X continued, "There was something else. A child. It… appeared at the scene, wrapped in light."
"What are you saying?" the Pharmacist asked.
X looked solemn.
"The baby ended the Brotherhood's old destiny—and chose a new one for us."
"He is heaven-sent—a holy child," the Pharmacist whispered.
Cross shrugged but nodded.
"I agree. This child is not ordinary."
X pondered for a moment, then declared:
"From this day forward, he shall be known as Smith Doyle—with the title: GOD."
Cross raised an eyebrow.
"A god? That's a heavy name for such a tiny thing."
The Gunsmith snorted.
"You're putting a lot of faith in him. Let's hope he lives up to it."
The Butcher cut in impatiently.
"Fine, but what now? Without the Loom, how do we find our targets?"
"Without fate's guidance... what becomes of the Brotherhood?"
All eyes turned to Cross and X, the strongest leaders remaining.
X said slowly:
"First, suspend all operations. Recall all our people. We need time."
Cross nodded but added:
"And after that, we forge a new path."
"Before, we acted based on the loom's names—preventing future crimes or punishing the wicked. In the future, we use our own judgment."
The Gunsmith asked skeptically,
"Become vigilantes? Like Robin Hood? Or Captain America?"
X smiled faintly.
"Maybe. Maybe that's exactly what the world needs."
After hours of debate, the Brotherhood's future was set.
Smith Doyle—the child from the heavens—would be raised and trained.
He was the new symbol of destiny.
For better or worse.
—End of Chapter—
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