Chapter 1712 - Ch: 270-278 (cont. 273)

Ch: 270-278

270. This is all Little Spider's fault.

Who?

Mr. Downfall?

Locke raised an eyebrow. Goodfellas, asking him to be my mentor—am I gonna fall next?

White House Down?

London Has Fallen?

Moscow Fallen.

Hold on.

Wait a minute—he's fallen once himself. What was it called again?

Angel Has Fallen?

So… when it's my turn to fall, what should we call it?

sun god's Fall?

Locke's thoughts whirled like a storm, then he secretly nodded. If he ever had to fall, sun god's Fall sounded perfect.

After all, he was a man determined to become a sun god.

Right now he'd scraped together fewer than three hundred thousand achievement and potential points—barely a drop in the bucket—but it was huge progress. Tomorrow's guaranteed half-million would push him to a million.

Work harder, push a little more.

Locke set himself a goal: redeem the Sun God Bloodline before thirty-five.

It was 2005, he was seventeen—eighteen years to go. By 2023 the timing should be just right.

Then he'd cash in the Sun God Bloodline and split—take Gwen with him. Locke, Supreme God, go anywhere he pleased.

That's what Locke told himself.

Mr. Nameless slid the sunglasses back on. "Sheldon will train you. Whether you pass the exam every one of those twenty-four weeks is up to you, but I don't think it'll be a problem."

Locke snapped out of it and gave a wry smile. "Mr. Nameless, I haven't said yes yet."

Nameless turned.

"Besides, aren't you forgetting something?"

"Oh."

Nameless chuckled, looking at Locke. "Paddy—my first name. As for my last, how about I tell you after you pass?"

Paddy?

Patsy?

No wonder the guy calls himself Nameless; Locke would've changed that name ages ago.

Locke laughed. "I've got one more condition."

Patsy… forget it.

Stick with Nameless.

Nameless looked at Locke, silent, clearly waiting.

Locke smiled. "The organ-transplant list is the last place people still hope for fairness. If possible, don't jump the line—at least, not like that."

Nameless lifted his shades, studying Locke anew. "Thought you'd ask for something else."

Locke shook his head. "Just this."

Nameless was curious. "Mind if I ask why?"

Locke shrugged. "Maybe because I've been caught in the rain, so I know to hold the umbrella for others."

Nameless nodded. "Got it. I'll find his daughter a heart some other way."

Locke smiled. "Thanks."

Thud!

Nameless turned and shut the door behind him.

Locke stayed put, smiled, walked back to the bar, poured a bourbon, and knocked it back.

Afternoon.

Osborn Biotech Building.

After security called up, Gwen came out of Osborn Biotech a minute later and waved happily at Locke on the curb.

Thud!

"Ah—"

A young guy in casual clothes, head down and looking annoyed, stalked out, didn't see Gwen, and bumped into her.

Gwen almost fell.

Locke rushed over and caught her.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine."

The guy realized what happened, wiped the anger off his face, looked up at them apologetically. "Sorry, ma'am, are you all right? I was lost in thought—"

Gwen waved it off. "It's okay."

She wasn't some delicate flower. Accidentally bumped? No big deal.

Gwen tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then blinked in surprise. "Osborn—Harry Osborn."

Harry—fresh from another blistering tirade by his father—stopped, startled she knew his name. "You… know me?"

He could be forgiven for asking.

Since birth, Harry's father, Norman Osborn—now running the Osborn empire—had been ashamed of a soft, introverted son so unlike himself. He never mentioned Harry inside the company.

Harry even had to phone his father's secretary just to get upstairs.

"Of course," Gwen said. "I know you're transferring to our school next week. I'm a tenth-grade student aide at Midtown High—it's my job to know every new student coming in."

Harry was a little surprised, but true to character he simply apologized again.

A while passed.

Only when Harry saw that Gwen really wasn't hurt and wasn't going to press the matter did he lower his head and continue down the stairs.

Gwen smiled.

She was a bit puzzled—after working part-time at Osborn Biologics for so long, she'd never heard that Harry Osborn was the company's future heir—but a new classmate was always welcome.

Still… Gwen glanced sideways, her gaze landing on Locke, who was watching the departing Harryclimb into a black sedan. "Locke, do you know Harry Osborn?"

Locke snapped out of it.

"Never met him."

"You're acting weird."

"Am I?"

"Yeah."

Gwen slipped her arm through Locke's and headed for the car parked at the curb. "After I said he was Harry Osborn, your whole look changed—kind of… hostile. I've never seen you like that."

Locke blinked. "Hostile? Seriously?"

Gwen buckled up, face serious. "You're… jealous, aren't you?"

Locke laughed, started the engine, and glanced at her. "Okay, I thought he was doing it on purpose."

Gwen's smile bloomed. "I'm happy."

Locke blinked again.

What the hell?

Gwen leaned over, kissed him, and grinned. "Because it means you care. That makes me happy."

Locke's mouth twitched.

He did care—no question.

But he swore he wasn't jealous.

The instant Gwen said the name Harry Osborn, only one thought had flashed through his mind:

Chop the guy up.

Sure, Little Spider was the real reason Gwen's family was torn apart, but the one who actually put her in danger—the one who actually killed her—was the Green Goblin.

So Locke's urge to dice up the Green Goblin was understandable.

Yet a second later he reconsidered.

In the end… the Goblin only kidnapped Gwen because of that ungrateful Little Spider. If Spider-boy had just handed over a little blood, none of that crap would've happened.

A guy pours his heart out for you and you can't spare a drop of blood?

Hell, if Locke were in Spider's shoes and his best pal was in trouble, he'd donate blood, cooperate with research—whatever it took to save him.

All because of that damn Little Spider.

After that quick mental pivot, his murderous intent toward the Green Goblin cooled.

Still… as Locke drove toward the restaurant where Cindy and Kane were waiting, he glanced sideways at Gwen in the passenger seat, head lowered, smiling softly while texting Cindy, and felt a flicker of unease.

Was it his imagination?

It seemed Gwen's sixth sense was sharpening.

He'd kept his killing intent tightly leashed.

A year ago, at this level, she wouldn't have sensed a thing.

What gives?

Locke wondered.

They reached the restaurant.

"Gwen, Locke—over here!" Cindy jumped up from a saved table and waved the moment they walked in.

Kane spent holidays and weekends interning at Stark Industries—not at the Stark Industries Buildingbut at the biotech firm that had bought his shark-serum patent.

Once Gwen and Locke sat, Cindy folded her arms on the table and looked at Locke. "So, I heard about the bug—false alarm?"

Locke nodded. "Yep."

"I get it," Cindy said. "My dad had a wire planted on him too."

Locke raised an eyebrow.

Cindy chuckled. "Mom thought Dad was cheating, so a few years back she hired a PI to tail him."

Locke's mouth twitched. "Not the same thing."

Cindy shrugged. "Close enough."

Locke didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Since when did cheating and wire-tapping equate to KGB surveillance?

Besides… Locke couldn't shake the feeling Cindy was cursing him.

Him?

Cheat?

Impossible.

Cindy turned to Gwen. "So, we're good—party?"

Gwen smiled. "Aren't you hosting tonight?"

Cindy shook her head. "I told you, what's a party without you guys? Next weekend—how about it?"

Gwen looked at Locke. "What do you think?"

Cindy leaned in. "There'll be booze—Lone Star."

Locke grinned at the bait of his home-state beer, met Gwen's eyes, and said, "Sure, we're free."

Everything was handled.

What could possibly go wrong?

Life was still quiet; he could keep grinding quests.

Only one question remained:

Why the hell hadn't "Lorraine Broughton" shown as completed yet??

271. Stuck Task

Task Name: "Lorraine Broughton!"

Task Reward: "Achievement Points * 100,000", "Potential Points * 100,000", "Treasure Discount Coupon (70% off) * 1"

Task Description: "You suddenly realize that, perhaps, this story, which is inextricably linked to you, has only just begun..."

Task Notes: "Your interest is the driving force behind the system's task releases, but you are the boss, you make the decisions. If you choose to refuse, you can extract the 'Convince with Reason and Strength' task reward."

Task Progress: "80%"

Locke looked at this task, which still had 20% left to complete, with a hint of speechlessness.

This task wasn't the most generously rewarded.

But... it was definitely the most time-consuming one.

He had served as a lamppost ornament.

He had even met the Nameless One and learned from the information provided by him who this Lorraine Broughton was.

So, why wasn't the task completed?

"Did I complete the task in the wrong way?"

"That's impossible."

"Lorraine Broughton, wasn't this task just for me to find out who Lorraine Broughton really was?"

"I already know, and I also know what kind of person Lorraine Broughton was. What else do you want from me? You can't possibly expect me to dig up Lorraine Broughton's remains and meet her face to face, can you?"

"Is there another explanation?"

Locke blinked.

As always, the system had no reaction to Locke's confusion. At this moment, he wished he had a Master Tang by his side to translate for him.

Translate, translate, what the hell is a Lorraine Broughton!

Cindy, sitting opposite, was very happy to see Locke and Gwen nod. "Then it's settled. We'll go to the villa in Long Island for a party next Saturday."

"Okay!"

Gwen chuckled, then paused slightly, looking up at Cindy. "Wait, Long Island?"

Cindy nodded. "Yeah, what's wrong?"

Gwen shook her head. "Wasn't it in Manhattan?"

Cindy looked at Gwen helplessly. "My parents aren't home this week, but that doesn't mean they won't be home next week. If I held the party at home, trust me, they'd go crazy."

"Then Long Island..."

"Kahn and I bought it."

"???"

Three question marks lined up on Gwen's head, squeezing out. She blinked. "What do you mean, you and Kahn... bought it?"

Cindy smiled. "Kahn and I opened a joint account, and then we bought that villa. We can go to Long Island for vacation during the summer or whenever. You and Locke can too! In recent years, real estate in Long Island has been pretty good, and it can also be considered an investment."

Gwen blinked.

Joint account?

Mine and Locke's?

After Cindy mentioned it, Gwen couldn't help but look at Locke, who was sitting next to her, drinking what appeared to be mineral water but was actually vodka.

Locke came back to his senses, looked at Gwen, and then, under the gaze of Cindy and Kahn, chuckled and said to Gwen, "Gwen, I told you, I won't sign a prenuptial agreement, and I know nothing about investing."

Mainly, Locke felt that investing was a bit troublesome.

The most important point was that the system never released tasks for making money. It seemed to be convinced that if making money were a task, Locke would exploit it to the extreme when he was dirt poor.

So.

Whether it was the forty million in prize money or the nearly twenty million in the overseas family trust, it was all dead money, without even a fixed interest rate.

On the way back.

Gwen was looking through the information Cindy had sent her after dinner before leaving. It was all data analysis about Long Island real estate from the Long Island agent at the time.

"What do you think?" Gwen looked up at Locke. "Should we open a joint account too?"

Locke, as always, said, "Sure."

Gwen looked at the smiling Locke. "I'm serious, Locke."

Locke's expression subtly straightened, and he smiled at Gwen. "I've never lied to you, Gwen."

"Then, we can try."

"Great! We can call Pepper and ask her to help us open a joint account at Stark Bank. I'll transfer all the money in later."

...No.

Gwen's eyebrow twitched. "I'm not as rich as you."

"I won't sign a prenuptial agreement."

"That won't work either."

Gwen shook her head. "For a joint account, we'll each put in five hundred thousand, which adds up to a million. That's enough."

"A million? What can that do?"

...

Gwen's eyelids twitched, but then, remembering how Locke had bought the Star Tower, swiping his card without even blinking, and his lavish spending in daily life, she rolled her eyes, too lazy to explain the purchasing power of a million US dollars to Locke.

But... Gwen thought for a moment and gave Locke a very direct example.

George.

"Dad is now a senior police inspector, with an annual salary of 120,000 US dollars. In other words, for a million, Dad would need to work for at least eight years without eating or drinking to get a million."

"...Poor George."

"No."

Gwen shook her head. "Dad works very hard, and he's already considered a middle-to-high-income earner. In New York City, eighty percent of people only earn around forty, fifty, or sixty thousand US dollars a year. So, a million is already a lot, Locke."

Locke shrugged. "Alright."

Although he started as an orphan in this life, he really had no concept of money.

It was the same old saying.

He drank Thunder Bourbon, which cost a hundred thousand US dollars a bottle, as his everyday drink, but nine-dollar-ninety-nine bourbon wasn't out of the question either. He wasn't interested in money.

After all, if he needed money, he'd just complete a task and get some.

New York City had plenty of 'breadwinners' for him.

He was mainly interested in his tasks.

He was so close to getting a hundred thousand achievement points and a hundred thousand potential points, but it was stuck on the progress bar. What was the difference between that and downloading a torrent with Xunlei, having your pants off, and then getting stuck at 99.9%?

Locke lay on the bed, staring at the "Lorraine Broughton Task" that only he could see, racking his brain, trying to figure out where he had misunderstood.

But he thought for nothing.

Locke hadn't figured out the task even when he received Yegorov's message to return to Lubyanka immediately.

Late at night, three days later.

In Yegorov's room, Locke, with bloodshot eyes, sat in a chair and said to Yegorov, who stood respectfully before him, "How is Lubyanka?"

In recent days, news about the CIA and the KGB had almost become a hot topic.

The CIA accused the KGB of carrying out assassination operations in New York City, assassinating one of their agents, and even leaking photos of the body, including 'photos of Yegorova's body'.

But... the KGB stated that this was fake news, and it was well known that the CIA was always very skilled at fabricating fake news.

The CIA, holding the photos, even found information about a body, which was internal KGB data, and questioned, 'What do you say now?'

The KGB stated that they were unaware of it and that this person had gone to the Federation on vacation. Now that the person was dead, the CIA should provide them with an explanation.

In short, the two sides went back and forth, completely lacking the sense of mystery that a spy agency should have. The media were even more delighted, fanning the flames and shouting for a fight.

Unfortunately.

After a few days of verbal sparring, both the CIA and the KGB ceased their activities. After all, in the age of media, nothing could maintain its heat for long.

Today's New York media had the news of a New York state assemblyman's affair scandal as their front-page headline.

Fortunately.

Although the media no longer paid attention, Locke had his own sources.

Yegorov said, "Lubyanka has confirmed that Lorraine Broughton is dead. My mission is complete, and this time we suffered some losses, so I need to return to headquarters to make a report."

Locke nodded. "What you say is your business, but I don't want anyone else to bother me, understand?"

His current main business was academics, with occasional side jobs as a hitman. While agent work was also within his business scope, it wasn't now.

Holding two jobs was fine.

But holding multiple jobs was a problem.

He was completing tasks for Apollo, not to come here for some kind of blessing.

Yegorov's expression was serious. "Understood, sir. Please rest assured, since Lorraine Broughton is dead, and I have already thought about how to answer, I will never let the KGB bother you again."

"Good to know."

Seeing this, Locke smiled and stood up, saying to Yegorov, "Well, I wish you a safe journey. I won't see you off."

He usually sent people to hell.

After all, hell wasn't far. If he moved quickly, it would only take a second; if he was slow, it would only take a minute.

Yegorov was still useful and under his control, so there was no need to send him off so quickly.

After speaking.

Locke turned around directly, pushed open the door again, and then disappeared.

The trouble left by Lorraine Broughton was finally resolved.

The CIA, he had agreed to join.

MI6, the father-son relationship had shifted. Even if MI6 was tricked by the CIA, they wouldn't dare say no; they could only grit their teeth and swallow it.

KGB?

Lorraine Broughton was dead, dead again.

Moreover, she had died in the sight of high-ranking Lubyanka officials, and there were many witnesses.

Although the KGB wouldn't give the CIA face, seeing that their traitor Lorraine Broughton was confirmed dead, especially with such a big fuss, plus Yegorov, it should be over.

But...

Chapter 272: International Contract Agency

Why hasn't this damn mission been completed yet?

Motherf*cker!

Locke was utterly speechless.

Lorraine Broughton had not only failed to raise him, she hadn't even left him a single penny. Most crucially, she hadn't even shown her face once.

And the result?

The moment she appeared, he immediately had to clean up her mess.

Fine.

There's a mission, and it's for money; it's not beneath me.

But why hasn't this damn mission finished yet?

Could it be... is there something else I don't know?

Locke's sixth sense stirred, and he raised an eyebrow, quickly flipping through all the information regarding Lorraine Broughton in his Memory Palace.

CIA.

MI6.

KGB.

That's it. The only organizations that would target Lorraine Broughton are these three. One is where her loyalty lies, and the trouble from the other two was just settled.

Locke held his glass of bourbon, standing on the balcony and looking at New York City under the night sky, his eyes flickering slightly.

Could it be related to Lorraine Broughton's final mission?

In the files Nameless provided, the earlier records were very detailed. Only the final mission—the one that led to Lorraine Broughton's death—was strangely half-redacted.

Initially, Locke wasn't curious about how Lorraine died, but when it started affecting his mission, his curiosity was piqued.

His sixth sense stirred once more.

And... Locke watched as the mission progress bar suddenly jumped from 80% to 81%. He understood completely now; he had guessed right.

The next second.

Locke's face darkened immediately.

Speechless.

That was what Locke was thinking in his heart.

The next day.

Locke drove to a warehouse under the Brooklyn Bridge and met the mentor assigned to him by Nameless: Clyde Shelton.

Entering the warehouse.

With a clatter.

As a section of the floor was moved aside, a secret passage leading to an underground space appeared. Following Clyde Shelton inside, he discovered a secret Base no smaller than the warehouse above.

"Is this a CIA safehouse?"

"It's Mr. Nameless's Base."

Clyde Shelton led Locke into a Room filled with various weapons and spoke casually, then turned to look at Locke: "One of them."

Another typical guy using public funds for private business.

Who was the last one?

Clyde Shelton quickly disassembled several weapons on the table into pieces: "Starting today, I will wait for you here every Saturday. I will teach you everything I know."

Locke didn't answer, but looked at Clyde: "Did you know Lorraine Broughton?"

Clyde paused slightly and looked up at Locke.

Locke said, "I've seen Lorraine Broughton's files. After the Berlin Wall Mission, she went on several missions with you."

"...Yes."

"What was her final mission?"

"What?"

"Her final mission."

Clyde Shelton frowned. "That's not for you to know."

Locke nodded, then turned and walked out.

Clyde was stunned.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"..."

Locke was a man of his word. He came here primarily to find out what lingering issues Lorraine Broughton had left for him, not for training.

He didn't mind being an Agent to farm missions in the future, but not minding didn't mean he had to be one.

Anyway, if he wanted to take missions later, he could just take them from the KGB side.

It didn't matter.

With a thud.

Clyde finally snapped out of it at the sound of the door closing, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. By the time he walked out, he saw the silver audi already on the Brooklyn Bridge.

"What the f*ck?" Clyde blinked. Didn't Nameless say he had agreed? How?

Clyde pulled out his phone and immediately called Nameless.

Soon.

On his way home, Locke received a call from Nameless.

Nameless, who was on a private jet, rubbed his brow. "Didn't you say you didn't care about Lorraine Broughton?"

Locke's expression was calm. "I don't care, but that doesn't mean you can keep things from me."

Whether he cared was his business.

But the CIA not telling him was a matter of trust. He was one of their own now, especially regarding Lorraine Broughton's affairs. What was there that he couldn't know?

"That mission is classified. You are currently..."

"Understood."

Locke nodded and interrupted directly: "Goodbye, Mr. Nameless."

"Hey, hey, hey..."

"What..."

When Mr. Nameless tried to call back, he found he had already been blacklisted.

"This kid..."

Mr. Nameless had a bit of a headache. After thinking for a moment, he looked up and said to Agent L, who was with him: "Have the plane turn around. We're going back to New York City."

Agent L nodded expressionlessly.

Evening time.

"Mr. Broughton, the one claiming to be..."

"I know. Let him up."

"Alright."

After Nameless stepped out of the elevator, he saw the open door. His gaze fell on Locke, who was sitting on the sofa, drinking while seriously studying. He smiled helplessly, walked in, and closed the door behind him.

With a click.

Nameless tossed a file onto the coffee table and sat down. Looking at Locke, who was clutching a chemistry book and taking notes, he shook his head. "Maybe my choice of recruitment was wrong."

Locke looked up and glanced at Nameless. "Take the file away. I don't need it anymore."

"What?"

"I'm busy."

Locke put down his pen, looked at Nameless, and smiled. "For me, joining the CIA is an option, but definitely not the best one. You tested me, and I tested you. Clearly, I passed your test, but you didn't pass mine."

Nameless frowned.

Locke glanced at the file on the coffee table, stamped 'Top Secret' with even the title blacked out, and smiled. "You're right, I don't care about Lorraine Broughton. So, I don't need to see this file. If there's nothing else, I need to study. I have a chemistry test next month. Close the door on your way out, thanks."

Nameless was slightly stunned.

In his decades of career, he had recruited dozens, if not a hundred Agents, but he had never seen someone with a personality like Locke's, who would say goodbye over the slightest disagreement.

Most importantly... Locke actually had the confidence to say it.

He was handsome, wealthy, exceptionally intelligent, and had a photographic memory. He was clearly winning at life; why would he want to be your Agent?

But.

Nameless said in a deep voice, "If you're saying this just because I didn't tell you the whole truth at once, then perhaps you aren't as mature and steady as I thought."

The pen in Locke's hand paused, then he put it down again, closed the notebook in front of him, and looked at Nameless with a slight upturn of his lips. "I'm only seventeen, sir."

Whether he was mature or steady was his own business.

He could be mature, and he could be willful.

"Besides..."

Locke smiled. "I'm rich. I have the right to be willful."

Nameless was speechless.

Locke rose from the sofa, not even glancing at the file on the coffee table. He walked toward the bar with his empty glass. "Have a drink, and then, have a safe trip back. I won't see you out."

Nameless took a deep breath.

The next second.

"ICA!"

Nameless turned to look at Locke, who had reached the bar. "Your moth—Lorraine Broughton's final mission target was the ICA. Full name: International Contract Agency. It's an assassin organization we've been investigating but have never had direct evidence for."

Since Locke didn't plan to read it, he could only recount it verbally.

After all.

Who told Locke to be right?

It was Nameless who wanted Locke to join, not Locke who wanted to join Nameless.

Furthermore.

Nameless had intended to use Lorraine Broughton's files to recruit Locke. The reason he blacked out the last mission was simply because the assassin organization had never been confirmed, and the photos of the scene were somewhat bloody.

Locke expressionlessly poured himself a drink.

After a while.

When Nameless finished speaking, he glanced at Locke, who remained unmoved. He stood up and walked toward the door. Stopping there, he shook his head and turned back to Locke at the bar. "If you just want to simply understand your mother, you can say so. I can guarantee that as long as it concerns your mother, Clyde will tell you everything. Goodbye, Locke. I hope you won't leave early again next week."

With a thud.

Locke held his glass, looked at the closed door, took a sip of his drink, and walked back to the sofa. His eyes fell on the file on the coffee table.

Was he being willful just now?

No.

He was asserting himself, telling Nameless not to play the 'classified' game with him. If he didn't want to do it, he could walk away at any time.

As for why Nameless interpreted it as him wanting to know more about Lorraine?

That was Nameless's problem, not his.

Locke flipped through the file, looking at the wreckage of an apartment and the high-definition gore within. His expression remained unchanged; these images didn't affect his drinking in the slightest.

He had only one thought.

International Contract Agency?

ICA?

Isn't this the organization that specifically trains a bunch of bald assassins?

So... this time, it's not just the KGB targeting me because of Lorraine Broughton, but this ICA is targeting me because of her too?

WTF?

On what grounds?

I'm just sitting at home?

Does trouble just fall from the sky?

I haven't even met Lorraine Broughton once, and I'm already taking the blame?

...Monthly tickets!

Recommendation tickets!

Begging for them!!!!!

Dreamcatcher's "Abnormal Collector," weird-stream, everyone should check it out, it's really good.

Chapter 273: There is no escape?

So... this is the true meaning of the mission "Unavoidable Calamity"?

Lorraine Broughton caused the trouble, and then she died, putting an end to everything. As a result, I have to take the blame?

Locke raised an eyebrow.

Regarding the International Contract Agency, or the ICA, from a certain perspective, his understanding of this organization was actually about the same as Mr. Nobody's.

But if he were to combine the information he knew in this life with the information he knew in his previous life, Locke estimated that he probably understood the ICA as well as he understood Hydra.

Let's put it this way.

The assassin business is a fast-in, fast-out industry. Every day, assassins die due to failed missions, and every day, new assassins join.

However, this approach is not conducive to assassin organizations that want to make money but also want to maintain secrecy.

After all, with many people coming and going, no matter how secretive an assassin organization claims to be, its headquarters will eventually be exposed.

So, a great genius curiously asked, "Since assassins are expendable, why don't we produce them ourselves?"

And so... from then on, the world gained a new type of assassin—or rather, assassins—almost cloned from the same mold, bald, with numbers on the back of their heads, and fond of wearing suits with red ties.

Locke recalled the ICA behind the few Assassin 74s, stroking his chin while looking at the last piece of information he had on Lorraine Broughton.

Frankly speaking...

If it weren't for the generous reward for this mission, if he had to take the blame for no reason, he would have even gone to the cemetery to find Lorraine Broughton's body to vent.

No, wait.

She didn't have a body.

Locke paused slightly, looking at the final summary report in the file, and couldn't help but shake his head, chuckling, "Forget it, consider it repayment for giving me life. You may be ruthless, but I cannot be unrighteous."

He was kind from a young age.

The most important point.

[Ding!]

[Mission Completed: "Lorraine Broughton!"]

[Mission Reward: "Achievement Points * 10W", "Potential Points * 10W", "Treasure Discount Coupon * 1"]

[Status Refresh!]

[Name: "Locke Broughton (Unique Player!)"]

[Identity: "Assassin" (Can switch to Witch form, Imperial Bloodline form)]

[Achievement Points: "39W"]

[Potential Points: "40W"]

...After Locke finally understood and completed Lorraine Broughton's story, this mission, which had bothered him for a week and refused to complete, finally showed as completed.

The next second.

[Ding!]

[Mission Generating: "Unavoidable Calamity!"]

[Basic Mission Reward: "Achievement Points * 3000", "Potential Points * 3000"]

[Mission Bonus Rule: "Movie Mode!"]

[Maximum Mission Bonus Coefficient: "100x" (Using supernatural powers can only grant a maximum of 50x bonus)]

[Mission Description: "I howl at the sky, my heart is desolate, I have an unavoidable calamity with heaven."]

[Mission Note: Unavoidable Calamity, for whom is this?]

[Accept/Reject!]

"Accept!"

Locke didn't even think about it and directly chose to accept the mission. The basic reward was three thousand, and with a maximum of one hundred times, that would be three hundred thousand achievement points and potential points.

Without a doubt.

If this were a game, then this mission would be what's called an annual expansion pack update mission.

But... Unavoidable Calamity?

Who the hell can translate what "Unavoidable Calamity" means?

Is it talking about me?

Locke paused slightly.

He had dealt with the Lubyanka, who Lorraine Broughton had offended, and he had even agreed to join the CIA, effectively settling things with MI6.

But he hadn't dealt with the ICA?

So... where do I find this ICA?

Locke stroked his chin. The ICA was an organization that existed but had no verifiable proof in the eyes of the CIA, and the information about them in the assassin world was also pretty much the same.

But.

Locke took out his satellite phone and found his intelligence provider.

"Red!"

After the call was connected by Red Devil, Locke went straight to the point: "ICA, International Contract Agency, how much information do you have on them?"

On the other end of the phone, Red Devil, who was enjoying wine in the sunset, seemed to pause, then wiped his lips, stood up, walked to the beach, and looked at the sea: "Does such an organization really exist?"

Locke heard the tone of that sentence and smiled: "Red Devil?"

Red Devil on the other end also laughed heartily, then shook his head: "Alright, my friend, I was just joking. But, may I ask if this is business or personal?"

Business meant a notice.

As for personal matters... "Shredding sounds..."

Locke smiled as he threw the file on Lorraine Broughton into the shredder, looked up, and said in a faint tone, "You know me, I'm a very kind person."

Red Devil on the other end chuckled twice, then said directly, "I don't have much information about this organization. After all, they usually deal with official agencies."

"Langley said they were unaware."

"Who, where did you get that from?"

"..."

Red Devil on the other end of the phone burst out laughing, shaking his head: "Oh, my dear friend, God, I thought you knew Langley well enough, but I didn't expect Langley to know too many things. It's just that, most likely, the informant you found didn't know about this matter."

Locke's eyelids twitched.

He felt Red Devil was mocking him.

However... Red Devil's words were correct. Langley was a large organization, and moreover, it was an organization where no one inside respected anyone else. To put it plainly, the various department heads acted independently.

As for the Director of Langley?

Heh.

When a president comes into office, they appoint a new director, and when a president leaves, the Langley director also changes. For the Federation, the only real purpose of the Langley director is to be the scapegoat when Langley makes a mistake.

But if that's the case...

Then... Locke glanced at the completely shredded documents, his eyes flickering slightly.

If someone in Langley knew about this ICA, then it could only mean one thing: Lorraine Broughton didn't stumble into that trap apartment by accident. It's very likely she was arranged to walk into that trap apartment.

[Ding...]

"Ding my ass!"

Locke felt the system pop up and immediately pressed it back: "I'm not interested in Lorraine Broughton's cause of death. Don't send me missions."

System: "..."

Locke regained his composure and picked up the phone again: "Can you help me get in touch with them?"

"Sorry."

"Hmm?"

"They never accept orders from individual clients."

"That arrogant?"

Red Devil chuckled: "And besides not taking orders from individual clients, they also try to avoid civilian casualties and deaths outside of the target mission. Thirdly, they don't accept assassination attempts against former clients. So, I initially thought you were with the ICA, but because of that third rule, I knew you weren't."

Locke: "..."

You might as well just call me greedy.

When he was in Texas, he wasn't so particular about taking orders. As long as it wasn't an innocent bystander, he had no psychological burden killing the previous client who placed the order.

Red Devil then said, "I only dealt with them once, back when I was in the Federation."

Locke raised an eyebrow: "Their organization is in the Federation?"

"No."

Red Devil shook his head: "The only thing I can confirm is that the ICA has a London background."

"MI6?"

"There's a connection, but as for the specifics, whether there's a direct relationship, you might have to ask Madam M."

"Will she tell me?"

"You could try letting her see you without your sunglasses."

"..."

Locke wasn't considering Red Devil's suggestion, but the fact that ICA had some connection with MI6 was both unexpected and within expectations.

After all... if ICA had MI6 backing, it could explain some issues, such as why the KGB had been seeking revenge for so many years while MI6 seemed indifferent.

Locke had initially thought it was due to a shift in the father-son relationship, so MI6 hadn't planned revenge.

But now?

It seems MI6 has already exacted its revenge.

But... since MI6 has already exacted its revenge, after all, Lorraine Broughton is dead, then why come looking for him? If he wanted revenge, that would be one thing, but he had no intention of seeking revenge.

So what the hell does this "Unavoidable Calamity" refer to?

Locke frowned slightly.

London.

In a large room that wasn't dim, and even offered a view of the Thames, the third Madam M sat in her office, grunting a few times, putting down the phone, her expression somewhat serious.

After a while.

Madam M picked up the phone again and dialed.

Soon.

The call connected.

"Hello."

"That Mr. Nobody has unsealed and copied Lorraine Broughton's last mission file."

"They don't have any leads."

"I know."

"We found him. He went to the Star Tower. Locke Broughton, Lorraine Broughton's son. It seems he's following in his mother's footsteps. Do you need me to handle it?"

"No need."

Madam M said in a deep voice: "Lorraine Broughton is dead. We have completed our revenge. Her son hasn't provoked us. Without my order, no unauthorized action. Do you understand?"

Back then, due to the Berlin Wall mission, it wasn't just the KGB that was humiliated; MI6's prestige was also completely swept away. The previous Mr. M even died of melancholy because of it.

After all, he was the one who had recruited Lorraine Broughton in the first place.

On the other end of the phone.

The person listened to Madam M's stern words, laughed casually, then pressed a button and said, "Of course, perfectly clear."

Paris!

Airport.

A bald man in a suit and tie looked at his suddenly ringing phone, took it out, and then said to the staff behind the counter, "Change my flight."

The counter lady smiled sweetly: "Alright, sir, may I ask what your destination is?"

"New York!"

"The fastest flight."

Chapter 274: Killer 46 Attacks

Mrs. M, far away in London, hung up the phone after receiving a reply from the other end.

But... Mrs. M sat in her seat, thinking for a moment, still feeling a bit uneasy. She took out another phone, edited an instruction for the other party to rush to New York immediately, then put down the phone in her hand, her brow furrowing.

For some reason, she felt that she shouldn't have made that first call.

The next day.

Sunday.

Locke was in his study researching the limited information about the International Contract Agencysent over by Red Devil.

As expected.

This ICA had a significant connection to MI6.

Just from the logos of the International Contract Agency and MI6, it was almost certain; after all, not all organizations were keen on featuring a crown.

"Ring, ring."

"Hello?"

"Locke, it's me, Kahn. Cindy and I have headed over to Long Island. You and Gwen should hurry over too."

"Okay."

Today was the weekend. Last weekend, he had promised Cindy and Kahn to attend the party at their Villa on Long Island.

Locke naturally remembered this.

He glanced at the time.

After putting down the phone, Locke's right hand circled a name on the printed materials: Diana, surname unknown.

He had a deep impression of Agent 47, but regarding Agent 47's organization, at most, he only knew it existed; beyond that, there wasn't much else.

Locke looked at a photo Red Devil had sent along with the materials and smiled. He put the photo into a program he had written using hacking techniques during his boredom over the past few days, turned off the computer screen, and then got up. He tucked a landmine behind the study door before leaving to pick up Gwen for the party.

Trouble was trouble.

Life was life; Locke was still confident in separating trouble from life.

Besides.

With the combat power he had revealed up to this point, he could already face most threats without fear, and it wouldn't arouse anyone's suspicion.

Under George's witness, he had developed excellent marksmanship.

Even... that time on the poseidon, under the gaze of Gwen and the others, he had fought a shark, demonstrating his close-quarters combat. As long as Locke didn't make his bullets curve, no matter how much he was exposed, no one would associate him with the Peerless Assassin.

Since the Textile Factory incident, Locke had intentionally let the Peerless Assassin fade from his World, doing his best to make a clean break. Moreover, the Peerless Assassin had also revealed that he had a Witch accomplice.

Locke didn't.

If George still thought Locke was the Peerless Assassin, then Locke felt George would suspect his own daughter, Gwen, of being the Dark Sovereign.

This was obviously impossible.

How could Gwen be a Witch?

Locke felt that if Gwen had to be superhuman, the White Spider would be better.

The White Spider's uniform was quite nice.

Uniform temptation, after all.

But that also seemed impossible. Sitting in the car waiting for Gwen to come downstairs, Locke looked at the blonde-haired, blue-eyed Gwen appearing at the apartment entrance and smiled slightly. His Gwen couldn't possibly be a spider.

"Good morning."

"Morning."

Locke kissed Gwen as she got into the car, then curiously looked at what she had just put in the trunk: "What are you carrying?"

"Ingredients."

Gwen buckled her seatbelt: "Ingredients in Long Island are deathly expensive; it's better to bring them from home. Cindy also brought some. We're having a BBQ party this afternoon; what do you think?"

Locke started the car, clicked on the navigation, and drove toward the destination in Long Island, smiling: "Anything works."

Gwen smiled, took out her phone, and called Cindy: "Cindy, we've set off. Do you need us to bring anything else?"

Cindy, who had just arrived at the Long Island Villa, facepalmed: "Bring some charcoal. I just checked and found that this charcoal is useless."

Gwen chuckled: "Okay, anything else?"

"That's it."

Cindy smiled, wedging the phone between her shoulder and ear as she and Kahn moved the BBQ grill from the garage toward the backyard beach: "I just need you to get here quickly. I need you. I used to think organizing a party seemed simple when I just attended them, but now that I'm organizing one, it's so much trouble."

Gwen hummed in response, chatted for a bit, then hung up and told Locke. She marked a location on the map: "Buy it at this place. We'll pass right by it. Whenever Dad and his colleagues went to Long Island for a BBQ party, they always bought it there."

Locke nodded.

JFK International Airport.

Wearing a black suit and a red tie, the bald Killer 46 appeared in the public parking lot.

The next second.

A man wearing a hat casually brushed past Killer 46. In just an instant, a document envelope was exchanged.

Killer 46 took a car key out of the envelope.

Beep beep!

Not far away, a nearly new audi flashed its headlights twice.

He got in the car.

Closed the door.

Killer 46 opened the glove compartment on the passenger side and took out another envelope. A silver-white handgun, a photo, and a disposable phone fell out.

The silver-white handgun was a genuine silver dancer.

The photo? It was Locke's.

Looking at the photo in his hand, Killer 46 pressed a button on the disposable phone with his gloved right hand and dialed the only number stored in the call history.

Soon.

The call connected.

"Number 46, your mission is to assassinate the owner of this photo, Locke Broughton. On the surface, he's a tenth-grade student at Midtown High School in New York City, but he is actually a CIA-recruited Agent. Furthermore, he already knows about our organization's existence. As an unauthorized person in the know, you need to eliminate him to ensure our organization's secrecy."

"The GPS coordinates of his vehicle's location have been sent to your car's screen."

"Good luck, Killer 46!"

"This message will self-destruct in ten seconds."

Killer 46 calmly took the phone from his ear and threw it out the window. With a muffled bang, smoke billowed from the four corners of the phone; clearly, this was the destruction mentioned on the call.

Vroom!

The car started up. Along with the center console lighting up, a green icon appeared. The green icon was moving from Queens toward Long Island at a speed of less than fifty miles per hour.

Killer 46 expressionlessly attached a silencer to the silver dancer. With a click, after confirming it was loaded, he started the other silver audi and quickly headed toward Long Island.

Long Island, although called New York Long Island, was actually far from Manhattan if categorized by ring zones.

Queens was already considered some distance from New York City, and Long Island was even further east of Queens.

Strictly speaking, Long Island and New Jersey were the same. In the minds of New Yorkers, New Jerseywas the countryside for growing grass, while the natives of Long Island were mocked for growing potatoes.

But mockery aside, it didn't hinder the development of Long Island's real estate at all.

Starting from the year 2000, some wealthy people liked to purchase seaside Villas for vacations in the Hamptons, which was their destination this time.

"Pepper also has a Villa in Southampton."

Gwen, who could be said to have focused on researching Long Island's real estate development over the past few days, shared this knowledge with Locke, then said: "Pepper also said that there's still room for growth in Long Island's real estate. Buying now, whether for investment or otherwise, is quite suitable."

Locke smiled and said: "Then buy them. Didn't you say the day before yesterday that you had your eye on two sets?"

Gwen nodded: "How about I call the real estate Agent to see if they're free today? We could go take a look."

Locke said: "Sure. Those two locations aren't far anyway. After buying the charcoal, if we have time, let's just go straight there."

"It's not like it's a marital home, and the price is less than five hundred thousand. Including property taxes and such, it's relatively cheap."

Locke said this as he slowly pulled the car off the main road and parked in front of a shop right by the roadside.

The shop was very small.

After getting out of the car, Locke paused for a moment.

Gwen, stepping out from the passenger side, looked curiously at Locke, who had suddenly frozen: "Aren't you coming in?"

Locke snapped back to reality and looked at Gwen: "I'll wait for you here."

The direction of the sixth-sense warning just now was from the direction of New York City, not the small grocery store behind them.

Furthermore... the warning was very faint.

So faint that if Locke's sixth sense weren't so keen, he probably would have ignored it.

There were many levels of warning.

The lowest was like the one just now, very faint, almost negligible. But the highest was a frantic blaring of the sixth sense; the last time on the poseidon was a maximum-level warning.

But that time, Locke never imagined the danger would be the sea itself.

So, what about this time?

An earthquake?

Locke rubbed his chin, watching Gwen walk into the small shop. He leaned down, went back into the car, opened the passenger compartment, and took out the glock handgun George had given him, worried he had no weapon to protect Gwen.

Two clicks.

Locke turned off the glock's safety to prevent accidental discharge, then, like a Cowboy, tucked the glock into the small of his back. He squinted his eyes and looked at the road they had come from.

Over there, an audi, also silver and even with the same configuration as Locke's, swept toward them as fast as lightning...

275. Gwen: Don't Stop, Keep Going

Locke hadn't offended anyone recently.

Moreover... the timing of the warning was particularly coincidental. The only possibility was that task, 'The Inevitable,' triggered by Lorraine Broughton—the mess left behind by someone already dead, yet he was the one stuck dealing with it.

As expected.

Was it the ICA, which had inextricable links with London's MI6?

Heh!

Locke gave a cold laugh, feeling somewhat speechless. He had originally been wondering how he was supposed to proceed with this mission if the ICA didn't show up. After all, what business did he, an outsider, have rushing to get involved in their grudge with Lorraine Broughton?

The result?

It seemed he didn't need to worry about that now. There were always people who mistook his kindness for weakness. They refused the easy road to heaven and insisted on breaking into hell, coming to Locke specifically to ask for a one-way ticket.

How cheap can you get?

Locke thought to himself as he watched the audi that had already driven up in front of him, slowed down, and rolled down its window.

But... in the next second.

The silver audi suddenly accelerated and sped away with a 'whoosh.'?

Locke's right hand, resting on his waist, paused steadily as a giant question mark practically floated over his head.

"What's the situation?"

"Is it not the ICA?"

"Did they find the wrong target or mistake me for someone else?"

Locke blinked. Even though he had seen a lot over the years, this move completely baffled him.

"Hey."

Gwen pushed open the door of the convenience store and looked at Locke, who was blocking the entrance in a pose. She blinked, "Are you trying to strike a pose or something?"

Locke snapped back to reality, discreetly re-holstered the glock at his waist, and turned around. "Finished?"

Gwen nodded and handed Locke a box of charcoal that wasn't heavy but certainly wasn't light. She clapped her hands and said, "Let's go. I asked the agent, but unfortunately, he's not here this morning. I'll check again this afternoon to see if he's free."

Locke nodded and put the box of charcoal into the car.

He thought for a moment.

With a thought, Locke had the peerless divine weapon silently merge into the audi. Although he didn't know what had just happened, with Gwen here, a bit of extra safety was necessary.

Back on the road.

He drove all the way to Hampton Bays, and even when they were only twenty kilometers from their destination, that car—the same model as Locke's—did not reappear within his perception.

Did they really just have the wrong target?

Locke raised an eyebrow, finding it somewhat strange. However, it wasn't unheard of for hitmen to mess up their assassination targets these days. While bizarre, it seemed logically possible.

But... just as Locke continued driving along the Hampton Bays road toward East Hampton.

Locke's eyebrows shot up as he saw the same model audi suddenly appear in his rearview mirror.

In the car behind them.

Killer 46 looked at the screen on the center console displaying the invalidation of the Second Rule. Expressionless, he drove with one hand and held the silver dancer in the other.

Just now... the reason Killer 46 had given up on firing was because of the ICA's Second Rule of Engagement: try to avoid casualties among civilians and those other than the target.

So Killer 46 had chosen to hold his hand temporarily.

Clearly.

The ICA, which was monitoring Killer 46 through some means, was displeased. They directly indicated that this time, he could choose to ignore the Second Rule of Engagement.

Although Killer 46 had some doubts, from the moment he was born until now, he had only one mission.

Killing.

To kill more targets for the ICA while he was still alive.

Locke had also thought of this by now.

Fine.

You really did break into hell when there was no door for you.

Locke thought so, but considering Gwen was beside him, he didn't choose to open the car door and blast that identical audi trailing far behind into smithereens.

Before long.

They arrived at East Hampton.

However, just as Locke was about to follow the address, turn off the main road, and drive toward Kahnand Cindy's house, Gwen, sitting in the passenger seat, spoke up: "Keep driving, Locke."

Locke raised an eyebrow.

"We're being followed."

Gwen looked up, watching the rearview mirror out of the corner of her eye, and said, "That audi, the same model as ours, has been following us for at least half an hour. Drive forward."

Impressive, my Gwen.

Locke thought to himself and calmly continued driving the vehicle forward.

Killer 46's audi followed like a shadow.

Gwen kept her hands on her phone, staying on George Stacy's dialing screen, but she hesitated to call. After all, she only felt that the car was following them, but she had no evidence. What if she was wrong and caused a huge misunderstanding?

Just then.

The audi behind them turned into a side road on the right.

Locke's speed remained steady.

Seeing this, Gwen couldn't help but sigh in relief, patting her chest. Then, looking at the road on the right, she said, "I really felt like he was following us. I almost called George."

Locke was just about to speak.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

Clack!

Locke pulled the handbrake directly, braking on the spot, and slammed the steering wheel hard to the left.

A stationary drift.

"Wha—"

Gwen was startled. Before she could even express her surprise, she saw the car that had supposedly turned onto the side road on the right fly out with a roar and crash onto the ground.

If Locke hadn't pulled the handbrake just now, the two cars would have undoubtedly collided.

"Sit tight."

Locke said to Gwen in the passenger seat, released the handbrake, and then quickly drove toward the local Police station.

If there's a problem, find the Police!

This was Locke's consistent principle, although if Gwen hadn't been there, he would have slaughtered these people.

Gwen had already picked up her phone again. Although she was a bit panicked, she had been through the poseidon incident after all, so her panic was only on the surface.

Moreover... Gwen looked at Locke driving the car; as usual, not a trace of panic could be seen on his calm face.

Puff! Puff!

"Hmm?"

Killer 46 extended his silver dancer and fired twice. The bullets slammed directly into the glass of Locke's vehicle, but they hit for nothing—not even a bullet mark was left?

"Bulletproof?"

"Bulletproof!"

Locke looked at Gwen, who had turned her head upon hearing the sound of bullets landing on the glass. He smiled and said, "I took this car in for modifications; the entire body is bulletproof."

Unless you use a Rocket launcher, any bullet you fire can be explained away by bulletproof glass.

Besides, you don't have much time left.

Once we get to the Police station, it'll be my home turf.

Locke glanced at the rearview mirror. Behind them, that car was trying to accelerate.

However.

I'm the professional driver here.

Locke snorted with a smile, shifted gears, and increased his speed again, instantly shattering Killer 46's dream of ramming him once more.

Just then.

Three black pickups swerved out from the road that was the only way to the Police station.

"shit!"

Locke saw a man in black stand up in the back of a pickup truck, shouldering a Rocket launcher. He couldn't help but curse himself for jinxing it. He immediately jerked the steering wheel again.

Boom!

The Rocket hit the ground directly, and the explosion was instantly deafening.

"Gwen!"

"Gwen!"

Locke turned the car around, practically brushing past Killer 46's audi. Through the passenger window, Locke caught a glimpse of that iconic bald head and confirmed the face was indeed Killer 46. He accelerated again, heading straight back toward the Hampton Bays Police Station they had just passed.

New York City has many people.

And many Police stations.

Damn it, I don't believe you have people lying in ambush over in Hampton Bays too.

Furthermore.

Gwen had already dialed George's number.

At the NYPD, George was currently pondering when the Peerless Assassin might appear next. He thought Gwen was calling to say she might be back late tonight. To his surprise, as soon as the call connected, he heard a massive explosion from the other end, followed by the sound of an engine roaring frantically.

George instantly stood up from his chair and shouted, "Gwen, where are you?"

Beckett and Jason, who were outside, heard George's roar. They quickly exchanged looks and ran in.

Gwen couldn't help but sigh in relief. That was a Rocket launcher just now; her heart was thumping wildly. "Dad, Hampton, someone is trying to kill me and Locke, hurry!"

Hearing this, George's hair practically stood on end like a bristling porcupine. "Where's Locke?"

Damn it.

Did that wild boar really fail to protect my daughter?

Locke's voice came through directly, calm as ever. "George, Gwen isn't hurt, and I'm fine too. The opponents are likely professional hitmen, and they have heavy weapons. I'm driving toward the Hampton Bays Police Station."

"I'm on my way."

George said in a deep voice. While Locke was speaking and mentioned Hampton Bays, Beckett and Jason had already rushed out again to have their subordinates contact the Hampton Bays Police Station.

"What about the SWAT Team?"

"Already called."

"There's no time."

George didn't hang up, ensuring his daughter's safety at all times while walking toward the elevator. "Go by helicopter. Notify the Coast Guard."

Jason said to Beckett, "You stay here, I'll go."

Beckett didn't insist on following; after all, someone had to stay here to maintain communications.

The fact that Gwen had notified the NYPD was naturally known to the ICA as well.

"Quick, quick, quick!"

"Speed!"

Rat-tat-tat!

Rat-tat-tat!

"shit!"

Like a race, several cars trailed behind Locke, unable to catch up. Pistols, submachine guns, and assault rifles poured bullets onto Locke's audi.

But... countless bullets—bullets that could have turned a car into scrap metal in ten seconds—landed on Locke's audi with a series of crisp 'ding-dong' clangs.

"fuck!"

"It's bulletproof!!!"

276. Fast and Furious Again

And... it didn't seem to be a simple case of bulletproof windows; it appeared the entire car body was bulletproof, including the tires.

Clang! Clang!

Clang! Clang!

A dense hail of bullets slammed into the audi's body, creating a crisp percussive sound. In a scene imperceptible to the others, a golden light flowed across the audi's body, neutralizing the kinetic energy of every bullet that struck it.

"fuck!"

"Get out of there, fast!"

Boom!

Locke Broughton raised an eyebrow, watching two pickups surge out from a side alley on the right. Then, through the rearview mirror, he watched a man in black in the back of the pickup behind them stand up again with a Rocket launcher.

"Locke..."

"Sit tight!"

Locke glanced at Gwen Stacy in the passenger seat, who was clutching her phone and looking at him with a face full of worry. He smiled slightly and said, "We'll be fine."

This wasn't just empty bravado!

This was Locke speaking from a position of absolute strength.

Click!

Bang!

Almost the exact moment Locke pulled the handbrake, from the pickup behind them that had been unable to catch up, a Rocket shot out, trailing a long tail of fire.

But... once again, it brushed past the car as it drifted in place.

Gwen's eyes narrowed and her mouth fell open as she watched the Rocket graze past her passenger door.

The next second.

Boom!

A massive plume of fire surged into the air again, striking the road ahead and blasting a large crater.

Thud!

The pickup coming from the front, attempting a pincer maneuver, plunged straight into the crater. It instantly flipped into the air and crashed onto the ground with a loud roar, parts flying everywhere.

The handbrake was released again.

Boom!

The audi accelerated again, shooting forward like a flying arrow.

The window rolled down.

Locke pulled a glock from his lower back. He looked into the left rearview mirror at the pickup where a man was cursing loudly while rapidly reloading, preparing to unscrupulously use the Rocket launcher again.

"Hurry up, hurry up!"

"The Police Department is coming, move it!"

"fuck, you think I don't want to?"

"shit!"

The Black man standing unsteadily on the pickup cursed before stumbling to finish reloading the Rocket, aiming at the fast-moving audi ahead.

Just then.

Bang!

Bang!

"Huh?"

The moment the Black man pulled the trigger, he suddenly felt as if the entire World had gone quiet. Those two gunshots, however, were exceptionally clear: "What was that sound?"

Just then.

Two golden little darlings appeared in his line of sight.

"W..."

The Black man froze. Then, seeing the direction of those two golden bullets, his soul nearly left his body: "No—"

Before he could finish.

Clang!

One bullet struck the Rocket launcher's projectile right in the center just as it left the barrel and before it could take flight. As the golden bullet shattered against the Rocket, the Rocket was instantly ignited.

The next second.

Boom!

The moving pickup truck exploded instantly, and a small mushroom cloud rose directly from the spot.

Locke put away his gun.

Beside him, Gwen, who had turned to look back, had her mouth open in shock.

The phone in Gwen's hand was still on a call.

On the other end, George Stacy, who had already boarded a helicopter and was rushing over, had his heart in his throat.

Especially after the series of explosions, when he couldn't hear Gwen's voice.

"Gwen!"

"Gwen."

"Gwen!"

Inside the car, Gwen snapped out of it. Hearing George's frantic, cracking voice, she quickly picked up the phone: "Dad, I'm still here. We're okay."

George couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. "The Hampton Bays Police Department is already heading your way. Hang in there."

As he spoke.

Wooo! Wooo!

Ahead.

Sirens wailed.

Thump, thump, thump!

Police cars quickly emerged from the Hampton Bays Police Department and set up a roadblock directly on the main road.

The officers watched as the audi led the way, charging like an unbridled horse. Then, they saw the three black pickups not far behind, driving like madmen, seemingly uncaring of the police's deterrent power, determined to take out their target even if it meant mutual destruction.

The Police Officers scrambled out of their cars, their weapons instantly chambered and ready.

"The audi is one of ours."

"Understood."

Normally, in such a situation, the police would treat everyone indiscriminately unless they received special notice—meaning they would simply open fire on everyone.

After all... this was a country where, during disaster relief, soldiers brought automatic rifles instead of shovels.

Fortunately.

George had given Hampton Bays Locke's license plate number in advance.

Boom!

Locke looked ahead at the gestures from the Police Officers and narrowed his eyes. With a roar of the engine, he didn't slow down, passing through the gap at a hundred miles per hour.

The next second.

The Police Officers roared at the three black pickups ahead.

"Fire!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Rat-tat-tat!

The driver of the leading black pickup was instantly riddled with bullets, blood overflowing from his mouth. But even in death, the vehicle's speed did not decrease.

With a crash.

The police car that had been pulled to the side as a perimeter line was instantly smashed aside by the pickup, creating a gap.

"Oh my god."

Gwen, still looking back, felt sick seeing the suicidal tactics of these thugs. "Who are they?"

Are they crazy?

Locke is such a kind person, why would people come after us so viciously?

Gwen didn't understand.

Locke opened his mouth, intending to stop hiding it and tell Gwen the truth, when his sixth sense was triggered.

Then... Locke looked up and saw a helicopter suddenly rising from the beach on the right. His eyelids twitched as he saw a Black man inside the cabin—which was disguised as a news helicopter—shoulder-mounting an air-to-ground man-portable tracking Rocket.

Very well.

ICA!

If you bastards manage to live to see Christmas, I'll write my last name backward—hell, I'll even take your damn name.

"Get down."

...

Gwen saw Locke draw his gun with his right hand. When he shouted at her, she instinctively ducked. Then, she heard two loud bangs.

Two more bullets were fired.

One shot missed.

The other... hit the bullseye again.

Boom!

"Holy shit!"

"Hurry, hurry!"

"Go, go, go!"

In the NYPD helicopter rushing toward New York, George looked at the orange-red fireball blooming in the sky not far away. Listening to the explosions coming from his headset and phone, his face was a mix of shock and relief.

Fortunately, he had taught that wild boar how to shoot.

Boom!

A black pickup roared. It was unclear if it was using illegal nitrous, but it surged forward like a raging bull, slamming its front end into Locke's car.

Thump, thump, thump!

Rat-tat-tat-tat!

A dense rain of bullets poured down on the car body right next to them.

But... it remained unmoved. The bulletproofing wasn't just top-tier; it was practically magical.

Gwen's scalp tingled at the sound of the relentless impacts. "Locke!"

Locke glanced at the bullets also striking the left rearview mirror, his thoughts racing.

The next second.

Locke jerked the steering wheel and pulled the handbrake. As the car instantly drifted to the left, a golden light flickered across the body.

Boom!

The pickup that had used nitrous to catch up let out a bang as two tires were instantly punctured. The vehicle let out a groan, flew into the air, and crashed down. Under its intense momentum, it flipped over with a roar.

Thud!

The pickup rolled over and slammed heavily into the back half of the audi.

Bang!

The audi's body sagged under the weight, leaving behind countless scratches, but it was otherwise fine.

Locke floored the accelerator, speeding up again to rush toward New York. At the very least, he needed to reach the SWAT Team that was already swarming out of the city.

Hampton Bays was just a small Police Department.

Locke hadn't expected much from them; it was enough if they could just buy him some time.

At this moment, one black pickup was still hot on their heels.

But... the three men in the black pickup realized something as they saw the three NYPD helicopters flying in from New York.

The mission had failed.

Damn it, nobody told them this guy's audi was fully bulletproof.

And... how could the target's marksmanship be so incredible?

This contradicted the intelligence.

The white man driving had a grim expression as he pulled a phone from his pocket and dialed.

The call was answered quickly.

Connected.

"Speak!"

"The NYPD is here."

"You know what to do."

"Yes."

The man, who spoke with a slight London accent, looked pained. But thinking of his wife and child, he knew that if he ran now, neither he nor his family would survive.

But if he didn't run and died here, his wife and child might still have a chance to live.

So.

The man put down his phone and took a deep breath.

The next second.

He drew his gun.

Bang!

"Ah!"

Bang! Bang!

The man shot his accomplices—who were shouting at him to drive away—sending them on their way. Then he opened the window, threw out his phone which was set to self-destruct in five seconds, and with a look of resolve, floored the gas and charged forward again.

"Fire!"

"Fire!"

"Rat-tat-tat!"

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The SWAT Team, having arrived on the scene, got out of their vehicles. Seeing the black pickup charging like an unbridled horse, they opened fire. Brilliant sparks instantly peppered the black pickup.

The large-caliber bullets were something the Hampton Bays Police Department couldn't match.

In just an instant.

Boom!

The flames erupted once more!!!

277. I Have No Reservations Towards You!

Boom!

In an instant, the pickup truck turned into an orange fireball before everyone's eyes, rapidly ascending and then turning directly into a pile of wreckage.

"Gwen!"

"Uncle Jack."

Under the protection and alertness of the SWAT Team, Gwen opened the car door and embraced a fully armed man who looked about the same age as George and had just rushed over.

Jack, the Captain of the NYPD SWAT Team.

He had just taken office last month.

In a confrontation with a black man, Jack relied on the unreserved trust and support of Police Superintendent George Stacy's faction to defeat the 'Baizuo' within the Police Department, making Jackthe new Person in charge of the NYPD SWAT Team.

Jack and George's friendship spanned many years. Occasionally, when Locke went to George's house, Jack would be there. Furthermore, Jack's daughter had also enrolled in Midtown High School this September, thanks to recommendation letters from Locke and Gwen.

After all, they were the two Top Students of Midtown High School, and Locke was even the Student Council President. Not to mention that Jack's daughter's grades were decent; even if she were a poor student, Midtown High School would still grant them this small favor.

Jack looked at Locke walking out from the driver's seat and nodded. After confirming that both children were fine, he spoke through his headset to George, who was circling in the sky, unable to find a suitable landing spot and so anxious he was about to fast-rope down: "George, the two children are fine."

Mhm.

And it could be said they were completely unscathed.

But... the fact that Locke was fine meant one thing.

Someone else was about to have a problem.

And a big one at that!

By the time Nameless received the news of Locke being attacked again and felt utterly bewildered, Locke and Gwen had already been safely escorted into the NYPD building.

"Here."

"Thanks."

George thought for a moment and handed a glass full of bourbon to Locke, who was sitting on the sofa in his office with Gwen.

Locke took it, said thanks, and then, under George's gaze, downed the full glass of bourbon in one go. He handed the empty glass back to George: "Can I have another one? I drank that too fast."

George's brow twitched a few times, but considering that Locke was likely suffering from the aftermath of an adrenaline crash, he abandoned the idea of calling an officer to report underage drinking. He said nothing, turned around, poured another glass of bourbon, and handed it to Locke. After sitting down, he asked with some curiosity: "When did you modify the car?"

Locke took it, feeling somewhat fortunate: "Right after the house was bugged. I realized I should have a safe house, so I commissioned Silver City Insurance to help modify it to the specifications of the President's vehicle. After all, as you know, they don't want to reimburse me for a fifth audi."

This was the truth.

If George were to go to Silver City Insurance now, he would receive the same answer as Locke's.

That car was indeed modified and bulletproof; it was just that Locke had used a peerless divine weaponto slightly enhance its bulletproof capabilities by a tiny bit.

After Locke finished speaking, he glanced at Gwen, who was drinking hot cocoa to calm her nerves. With a sighing expression, he looked at George: "I just thought it's better to be safe than sorry, but I didn't expect it would actually come in handy."

George wanted to laugh.

But in the next second.

George thought of the image of Locke and his precious daughter dying tragically on the spot if they hadn't had a bulletproof car. His expression turned to one of lingering fear, and he nodded in deep agreement.

As for anything else, George didn't think much of it.

Nothing else.

There were many instances of Locke being prepared for any eventuality. Moreover, Locke's good luck had been thoroughly witnessed at the cost of George quitting his fishing addiction; he had seen exactly what it meant to be a man kissed by the Goddess of Luck.

So... George wasn't overly surprised by Locke's explanation, just as he didn't doubt why Locke's marksmanship was so fast, accurate, and ruthless.

With those five Vampires at Lake Kali who were shot in the head as a precedent, wasn't it perfectly normal for his marksmanship to be fast, accurate, and ruthless against a few thugs?

However, George was frowning.

"Who did you offend this time?"

"..."

Locke felt Gwen's body stiffen beside him. He sipped the liquor in his glass and looked at George: "George, I'm only seventeen. Believe me, even if I offended someone, that person wouldn't deploy death squads to hunt me down."

George froze for a moment and nodded: "That's true."

The enemies a seventeen-year-old kid could provoke would, at most, probably just use money to find a few gang members from Hells Kitchen to intimidate him.

But just now... that was a group of death squads who weren't afraid to die.

In a typical chase, even if the NYPD was lagging, ordinary villains would choose to avoid the brunt of it after seeing the NYPD show up. But what about that group?

They didn't look like ordinary thugs at all; rather, they reeked of a spy organization.

Just then.

Gwen, who was holding a cup of hot cocoa nearby, looked up: "Dad, can you find a Room for Locke and me to rest for a bit? We're the victims here."

George came back to his senses. Not knowing what he had thought of, he nodded and smiled: "Of course, Dad will arrange it right away."

A moment later.

George called over a female officer to take Locke and Gwen to a safe house within the building. Then, he whistled and stopped Kate Beckett: "Kate, where are the suspects and witnesses from the Starlight Tower bugging case from last time? Find them. Don't just call and ask the FBI; I'm worried they lied."

Beckett froze for a moment and nodded: "Okay."

George's brow furrowed slightly.

The Starlight Tower bugging case from a while ago.

This death squad attack case.

And... that spy war case in Manhattan Port that Washington claimed occurred.

George hadn't linked the bugging case with the spy case before because the suspect in the Starlight Tower bugging case had already confessed, and both witness and physical evidence were present.

Now?

As a veteran officer, George had already vaguely sensed that there seemed to be some connection among them.

Gwen had also sensed that something was wrong.

Inside the lounge.

Gwen, who had been silent since they entered, sat on the sofa and looked at Locke: "Locke, who is hunting you?"

Locke turned to look at Gwen.

Gwen gave a forced smile: "I can feel that you know some..."

Locke interrupted directly: "International Contract Agency."

He hadn't intended to hide it from Gwen in the first place.

Hiding things wasn't a good habit, especially in a relationship. Gwen had no reservations towards him, so naturally, Locke would have no reservations towards Gwen.

As for the Peerless Assassin, Rococo, and Cain?

That was their business and had nothing to do with Locke.

Gwen was slightly stunned, looking at Locke with a certain feeling.

Uh... she hadn't expected Locke to be so straightforward.

Locke looked at the expression on Gwen's exquisite face and smiled slightly, repeating his assurance: "Gwen, I have no reservations towards you. Moreover, I actually only found out about this International Contract Agency yesterday. I didn't expect them to come so quickly."

Listening to Locke's repeated assurance and his explanation, Gwen thought of the scene in the car where he seemed to want to speak but couldn't because they were rushing to escape. She nodded and pursed her lips: "This International Contract Agency is..."

"A hitman organization."

"Huh?"

Gwen blinked, seemingly thinking of something as she looked at Locke: "Is it the organization where the Peerless Assassin stays?"

Locke froze for a moment: "What? No, this is an organization that the CIA once investigated but could never confirm."

How could he possibly belong to that organization?

He wasn't a clone.

"CIA?"

Gwen thought of Nameless and couldn't help but look at Locke: "Have you joined the CIA?"

Locke shook his head: "No."

If Gwen had asked yesterday, he definitely would have said yes, that he had the intention. But yesterday, he had skipped class on what was essentially his first day in the CIA reserve team.

Gwen looked at Locke and smiled: "I believe you."

Looking at the expression on Gwen's face, Locke also let out a laugh and proceeded to tell her everything about how he was part of it yesterday but shouldn't be today.

Just as he said, no reservations.

There were no secrets between Locke and Gwen!

He didn't want Gwen to go secretly searching for something because of his concealment, only to have a mishap where Locke would suddenly wake up in the middle of the night and find that if he wanted to see Gwen again, he would have to fight through Hell to fish her out.

Gwen's mouth hung open as she looked at Locke: "That Nameless recruited you because your mother was with the CIA?"

Locke's eyelids jumped: "Could you not use that term? I'd appreciate it if you used Lorraine Broughtoninstead."

Gwen turned a deaf ear and lowered her head: "But why is the International Contract Agency hunting you? Is it simply because you wanted to find out the cause of your mother's death, they found out, and then they wanted to silence you to prevent you from seeking revenge in the future?"

Locke's mouth twitched: "I have no intention of seeking revenge for her."

But he did have thoughts of seeking revenge for himself.

Moreover, his rage was already building up.

Suddenly, Gwen froze for a moment: "That's not right."

Locke snapped back: "What's wrong?"

Gwen looked up at Locke and frowned: "How did the International Contract Agency find out about this? Oh, wait, was it the bugging in your building? But that's not right either. Was it because you threatened to quit, and then that Mr. Nameless gave you an unredacted file?"

Locke raised an eyebrow.

Gwen's words could basically be used to prove one thing.

The International Contract Agency wasn't mysterious.

At least not to the CIA. It was just mysterious to Nameless because the CIA was Nameless, but Nameless was not the CIA...

278. The Origin of ICA

Mr. Nameless had also sensed that something was amiss at this very moment.

"ICA!"

On a private jet, Mr. Nameless, who had just arrived in Europe to deal with some business there, found himself once again on a flight back to the Federation. Looking at the few photos of found bodies sent from Hampton Bayside Street, he noticed the tattoos on the wrists of those individuals. After a moment of silence, he uttered the name of the International Contract Agency.

Agent L, his assistant, sitting beside him, said, "Sir, ICA..."

Mr. Nameless looked directly at Agent L: "The final mission data for Lorraine Broughton, was it extracted from there?"

"Your authorization, sir."

"Is that so?"

Mr. Nameless frowned and took out his phone.

He dialed!

"Good afternoon, Mr. Nameless."

"Good afternoon, Commander Hand."

Mr. Nameless went straight to the point with Commander Victoria Hand of SHIELD New York: "I'd like to borrow someone from you to help investigate something."

"Of course."

Commander Victoria Hand nodded directly: "Anything, as long as Mr. Nameless needs it."

After Nick Fury, who'saw everyone as an enemy,' was sidelined, Maria Hill, who aimed to 'make friends,' took over. She completely reversed SHIELD's previous domineering attitude towards other law enforcement agencies, an attitude that stemmed from their backing by the five major powers, and instead sought cooperation and mutual progress.

Mr. Nameless was a friend with whom they could cooperate.

"Walter O'Brien!"

Mr. Nameless said, "I suspect someone in the CIA system has been monitoring me."

"Because of Locke being attacked?"

...Yes.

"Alright, is there anything else you need from us?"

"After you find that person, tell me. This is my family matter, Commander Hand. It's not good for you to get involved."

"Understood."

Mr. Nameless hung up the phone, his eyes flickering slightly, and looked at L: "Where is Locke now?"

Agent L said, "New York Police Department building, very safe."

Unless the enemy had a death wish, the NYPD was the safest place in New York City. Since the 9/11 incident in New York City, the no-fly zone above the city had been the strictest.

Mr. Nameless nodded: "Have the plane reroute to Langley."

Agent L frowned: "What about New York..."

Mr. Nameless sneered: "I always found Lorraine Broughton's death a bit strange, but unfortunately, there was never any evidence to prove it. I didn't expect them to jump out themselves, and even try to kill Lorraine's son. This time, if I don't find that mole and drag them out, I won't be called Nameless; I'll be called Brainless."

Agent L looked at Mr. Nameless, whose face was cold but filled with anger, nodded, and walked towards the cockpit to inform the pilot to change course for Langley.

Hampton Bayside.

A blonde man in a light yellow suit watched the temporarily cordoned-off scene in the distance, taking out his phone from his pocket.

"What?"

In a building by the Thames in London, Madam M listened to Agent Kurva's report and immediately stood up from her seat, her face filled with suppressed anger: "F*ck!"

Agent Kurva, an elite agent from MI6, automatically ignored Madam M's expletive: "Madam, what do we do now?"

Madam M took off her glasses and sat back down in her chair.

"Where is that Locke Broughton?"

"New York Police Department."

"..."

Kurva said, "Locke Broughton's girlfriend, Gwen Stacy, her father is George Stacy, a senior police inspector at the NYPD. Moreover, when the ICA attacked, Gwen Stacy was also in the car."

The implication was clear.

This was a hornet's nest they had stirred.

On the NYPD's turf, in broad daylight, they directly attacked the daughter of a senior police inspector. He wouldn't be surprised if the entire New York City was on high alert in a few hours.

No, that's not right.

Agent Kurva raised an eyebrow, looking at the incoming message, and said to Madam M on the phone: "No, it's already on high alert. New York City just issued a security alert, and the NYPD has issued a warrant. I've sent it to you."

Madam M took her phone, glanced at the photo of the bald, suited man on the screen, and frowned: "Which number is this?"

ICA agents were all from the same production line.

Aside from being accurately identified by a barcode scanner, everything else was basically a guess.

"Number 46!"

Agent Kurva said, "I've checked. He changed his flight from Paris back to London yesterday afternoon and flew directly to New York. Madam, they lied to you."

Madam M rubbed her forehead.

She was mentally exhausted.

Back then, after MI6 and the KGB were both outsmarted by Lorraine Broughton of the CIA, the then Mr. M was so depressed that he died shortly after, without even receiving a royal title.

Therefore, when the ICA went to assassinate Lorraine Broughton, Madam M did not stop them, because if she had, it would have meant letting down her predecessor, Mr. M.

But ever since then, watching the ICA, which had grown successfully by absorbing resources through the assassination plan of Lorraine Broughton, Madam M felt regret every time she thought about it.

Now?

Madam M took a deep breath: "Leave New York, now, immediately."

Agent Kurva paused slightly: "No need..."

Madam M shook her head: "No need. We don't need to antagonize the CIA. Let MI5 deal with MI5's problems."

Yes.

MI5.

Madam M was with MI6, officially known as the British Army Intelligence Section 6, also known as the Secret Intelligence Service. From its early beginnings in the Elizabethan era to the present day, it and its predecessors have been strictly confidential, also known as the Secret Service.

The KGB in Moscow.

The Central Intelligence Agency of the Federation.

The Mossad of Israel.

And MI6 in London.

These four agencies were known as the world's four major intelligence agencies, and among the first three, MI6 was even considered the pioneering ancestor of intelligence agencies.

But... beneath the glory of MI6, there was actually MI5, which originated from the London Security Bureau.

If one had to clarify the relationship between MI6 and MI5, it would roughly be the difference between the CIA and the FBI.

One was responsible for foreign affairs, the other for domestic.

However, unlike the CIA, which had to operate covertly domestically, the FBI, theoretically, could also oversee overseas matters.

Because the FBI found a loophole, they could, under the clause 'The FBI has the right to conduct investigations involving overseas affairs of federal citizens,' carry out investigations overseas concerning federal citizens.

As a 'filial' Britain, how could it remain indifferent?

So... although London was now in decline, Britain's inexplicable confidence remained. Therefore, MI5 also felt, 'If the FBI can go, why can't MI5?'

Thus, the ICA was born.

Back then, the people of MI5 argued that MI6 could not avenge Mr. M under the CIA's watchful eye, but they could. So, with Madam M's tacit approval, MI5 was helped to establish the ICA department. After that, the ICA became famous in one fell swoop. Later, they even colluded with people from the CIA, packaging the ICA as an international affairs management firm.

It was the same old saying.

The CIA had many factions; some were friends with Mr. Nameless, and naturally, others were his enemies, especially during the years when Lorraine Broughton became famous.

Envious people were everywhere, and the CIA was no exception.

Later... as the 'castle of international affairs' grew wealthier, the ICA gradually broke away from MI6, which could still restrain it at the time, and by now had become a department within MI5 that took orders but didn't necessarily follow directives.

Agent Kurva listened to Madam M's command and nodded: "I understand."

Madam M hung up the phone, glanced at a secret phone on her desk that could reach the ICA, chuckled, and seeing the incoming call displayed, she directly opened a drawer and put the phone away.

No prayers in peacetime, but calling for help when trouble strikes?

Get lost!

Inside the ICA department.

Mr. I put down his phone and looked at Mr. C and Madam A, who made up the ICA: "Madam M refused."

Mr. C and Madam A said, "That's normal."

They hadn't originally intended to ask Madam M for help. The call was merely a gesture of collegial friendship, indicating that 'this wasn't our doing, but rather the unauthorized actions of subordinates,' and so on.

Now that Madam M had refused the call, to be frank, Mr. I felt quite relieved.

"How is Number 46 now?"

"Everything is under control."

"Mm."

Mr. I's eyes flickered: "I thought we had already killed Lorraine Broughton, but this time, Mr. Nameless's actions are a bit too obvious."

A dead person, already dead.

To die again?

What kind of operation was this?

Two negatives make a positive.

Lorraine Broughton isn't dead?

Mr. C also said in a deep voice: "We must confirm this information as soon as possible, because if Lorraine Broughton isn't dead, then where are the documents she found back then? We've searched all her residences and can confirm the documents aren't there."

Madam A chuckled: "Don't worry, Number 46 will complete his mission. He hasn't been caught, has he?"

If Number 46 had been caught, the NYPD wouldn't have needed to issue an arrest warrant.

And that arrest warrant.

Locke helped draw it.

He was also curious, it seemed that Agent 47 had already left when he broke through from Hampton Bayside.

But... this was New York, and a serious NYPD wouldn't even let an out-of-town fly in.

Locke thought to himself as he returned to the lounge George had arranged for him and Gwen.

He opened the door.

What met his eyes.

Was Gwen, her face full of tension, about to leave.

Locke frowned...