Lock smiled faintly.
"There were a lot of people calling your name at the prison gate just now, Scott. Aren't you curious how they even knew who you were?"
Scott blinked. He had wondered about that.
He wasn't exactly a household name, but in the hacker community, he was well-known enough. The case that landed him in prison had been all over the news three years ago—anyone with a search engine could dig it up.
So he shrugged. "What, you want to recruit me too? I already told the others I'm taking a few days off before I think about work."
Lock chuckled. "No, I'm not here to offer you a job. I'm here to make a friend. My name's Lock Tang."
Scott didn't take his hand. "Ha. I've seen enough of you corporate types. You all call it 'making friends,' but it always ends with a contract."
Lock didn't take offense. His tone stayed calm. "Then tell me—why did you ask for a signed photo of King Apocalypse earlier? You a fan?"
Scott snorted. "At my age? Please. I don't chase idols."
He smiled slightly as he continued. "It's for my daughter, Cassie. She's obsessed with Apocalypse. Every time I talk to her on the phone, his name comes up."
Lock's eyes softened. "That's easy enough. I'll give your daughter an autographed photo of King Apocalypse as a meeting gift."
Lewis, sitting in the driver's seat, practically choked. "Wait—hold on. You're just giving away a King Apocalypse autograph? Man, those things sell for tens of millions! You serious?"
Scott rolled his eyes. "Louis, don't be ridiculous. No one even knows what King Apocalypse looks like. He could print a photo of some random guy on the street and call it a day—who'd know the difference?"
Lewis frowned, half joking, half suspicious. "Then… this money you gave me earlier—it's not like that, right?"
Lock remained unbothered. "We'll be in the city soon enough. You'll find out for yourself."
The three of them chatted idly along the way. Before long, the skyline rose before them—the city alive with noise and color again.
Lewis pulled the van to the curb and hopped out, clutching the cash. "Gotta check this real quick."
While he darted into a nearby store to verify the bills, Lock wandered over to a small print shop. He took his time—choosing paper, printing a photo, framing it neatly, and carefully writing a short message in his own hand.
He wasn't worried about Scott leaving. Once Lewis confirmed the money was real, there was no way either of them would run.
Sure enough, when Lock returned, Lewis was standing guard by the van, grinning from ear to ear.
"Mr. Tang! Where to next? I'll drive you myself!"
Scott sighed, exasperated at his friend's quick change of heart. "You really have no shame, you know that?"
Lock raised the framed picture. "I said I'd prepare a gift for your daughter. Naturally, we're going to see Cassie."
Scott eyed the package skeptically. "So this is the great 'photo of King Apocalypse,' huh? Don't tell me you just printed it in that shop over there."
Lock handed it to him without offense. "That's right."
"Your daughter doesn't know what Apocalypse looks like anyway. It's the thought that counts. Just like how kids believe in Santa Claus—what matters isn't the truth, but the feeling behind the gift. When they grow up and learn Santa isn't real, does that make their father's love any less genuine?"
Scott paused, caught off guard.
He couldn't really argue with that.
Cassie had asked for a photo of King Apocalypse, and here he was—bringing her one. So what if it wasn't the real thing? The only thing that mattered was the love behind it.
"Well, I at least want to see what it looks like first," Scott said gruffly. "Can't risk scaring her."
Lewis leaned over eagerly. "Yeah, open it up. Let's see what your generous friend picked out."
Scott tore open the wrapping—and immediately burst out laughing.
"You've got to be kidding me! This is your 'photo of King Apocalypse'? You just grabbed a stock model photo, didn't you?"
The picture, of course, was one of Lock's standard "Yida Smile" portraits—the same kind circulating unofficially on the internet. Too lazy to choose, he'd simply printed one as-is.
Lewis squinted, spotting something in the lower corner. "Wait, there's handwriting here. Lemme read it—
'To my friend Scott's cutest daughter, Cassie—wishing her good health.
—Gift from King Apocalypse.'"
Scott groaned. "So not only am I giving my daughter a fake photo of King Apocalypse, I'm also bringing home the man himself?"
Lock nodded, entirely serious. "Exactly."
"You think my daughter's gonna buy that? She's not a baby. She'll see right through it."
Lock shrugged. "If she's that smart, she'll understand something even more important—that her dad, fresh out of prison, went to the trouble of finding her a gift and even brought 'King Apocalypse' himself to visit.
Does it matter if it's real or fake? What matters more—the legend of Apocalypse, or the fact that her father came to see her?"
Scott fell silent.
In America, there was an entire industry built on "doorstep performances." You could hire singers, clowns, or even cosplayers dressed as superheroes or Santa Claus. They were never the real deal—but they made people smile.
He looked at Lock, a strange ache in his chest. "Thanks," he said quietly. "But… I can't see her. The court revoked my visitation rights. Her mom won't even let Cassie talk to me."
Lock nodded slowly. He remembered how it had gone for Scott in another timeline—how he'd broken the rules just to see his daughter at a birthday party, only to get thrown out by his ex-wife's new husband… who just happened to be a cop.
The whole thing had left him helpless.
Lock said softly, "That's easy to fix. I can help you get your visitation rights restored. If needed, I can even have the court reassign custody to you."
Scott's eyes widened. "You're serious? You're not just saying that?" He grabbed Lock by the shoulders, almost trembling. "How would you even do that? My ex would never agree."
Lock's tone didn't waver. "Normally, yes. But I don't need her consent. I just have to make a phone call."
In America, people liked to call it a nation of laws. But laws only applied to ordinary people. Those with enough power could bend them with a whisper.
Lock pulled out his phone and dialed.
"Fury," he said when the line connected. "I've got a small favor to ask."
On the other end, Nick Fury's voice immediately grew wary.
"'Small,' huh? Every time you say that, it turns into an interdimensional incident. Start talking—clearly, completely, and this time with details."
Lock chuckled and gave him Scott's name, explaining briefly that he was an old friend who needed his visitation rights reinstated.
Fury frowned. "Your friends sure lead interesting lives. No visitation rights, no money, ex-wife hates him—what kind of crowd are you hanging with, Lock?"
Still, he didn't argue. "Fine. I'll look into it. I don't know the local mayor or any judges, so I'll call the governor first and have him pass the message along."
He paused. "Might take a bit. Give me ten minutes."
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A/N: Advanced Chapters Have Been Uploaded On My Patreon
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