142. Kindness Will Not Be Unrequited
Not to mention bank cards and checkbooks.
Even the newly reissued driver's license was already processed by George when Locke went to pick up Gwento go to the port that afternoon, and he brought it home along with Gwen's driver's license.
For most people, reissuing a document takes at least twenty days.
But... Gwen was family, and Locke was with her. It didn't take twenty days, or even an afternoon. Everything was done in less than an hour.
Dylan looked at the driver's license Locke took out, a little envious: "I was planning to queue up this afternoon, but there are too many people. Can we use a back door?"
Locke glanced at Dylan: "No, get lost."
Dylan: "..."
The money was his own, but the favor belonged to someone else.
Use a back door?
Not a chance.
Locke rolled his eyes: "Just find the person handling it and give her five thousand U.S. dollars. Not to mention this afternoon, it'll probably be done in two hours."
Dylan shook his head: "Never mind then, I'll just wait. I'll go check out some cars at the used car dealership first."
Locke hummed and said nothing more.
After a while.
Locke and Dylan saw Robert arriving with his daughter Jennifer, so they extinguished their cigarettes and walked towards Robert.
After everyone gathered and chatted briefly, they followed the crowd to the open space where the poseidon had departed from the dock.
At the dock, many photos and various items were already laid out.
It was messy, but surprisingly orderly.
Those photos were of the victims who had boarded the poseidon this time and never returned.
Candles were densely packed together, flickering in the breeze, their flames swaying towards where the poseidonhad left the dock, as if narrating something.
Locke and the others were no different. They just lit their candles, placed them there, and didn't leave. Instead, they gathered together, listening as the victims' families, sitting on the ground around the candles, told stories about their lost loved ones.
Some of the names, Locke and the others weren't very familiar with.
But after some of the victims' families began describing the victims, if Locke had seen them before, he could match these stories with the people he remembered meeting.
Locke didn't interrupt either.
It was still the same thing.
They were merely survivors, and Locke didn't consider himself a so-called Hero. Moreover, the protagonists of this candlelight vigil were not the eleven of them, but the more than three thousand people who had not returned from the poseidon.
Nearly thousands of candles lined up, burning slowly.
Victims' families quietly wept as they recounted stories of the deceased.
But... out of the corner of his eye, Locke still saw a few victims' families who, despite coming and trying hard to express their sorrow, couldn't control the excitement showing on their faces.
The reason?
It might have something to do with money.
Although the poseidon had sunk, the company behind the poseidon was in New York, and it was one of the top behemoths in the cruise industry.
This time, the cruise company that owned the poseidonwas probably going to bleed a lot of money.
Unpredictable monstrous waves could only prevent the cruise company from going bankrupt because of the poseidon; other than that, it didn't mean anything.
Locke mused that these families, though sad, were also excited, probably because they couldn't control themselves at the thought of the impending compensation.
Time ticked on.
Soon.
It was almost midnight.
Some of the victims' families were already crying and leaving.
After all, the outcome was already decided, and nothing could be changed.
Locke and the others were also preparing to leave.
Robert and Jennifer drove off first, followed by Maggie, Connor, and Dylan, and then Happy, who came as a driver, picked up Pepper.
Beep beep!
An audi that had been parked for several days and was a bit dirty flashed its lights twice, then successfully unlocked.
Entering the car.
After Locke started the car, he seemed to remember something and said to Gwen: "There are a few documents in the glove compartment."
Gwen opened the glove compartment in front of her, saw a folder, and took it out: "Is this it?"
"Yes."
Locke took the folder, opened it, took out two documents, confirmed them, and handed them to Kang and Cindy in the back seat: "These are yours."
Kang and Cindy were slightly startled.
"What is this?"
"Insurance."
...
Cindy and Kang blinked, looking at the insurance policy with their names written on it, exchanged glances, and read one of the lines: "Policy amount, one million?"
Gwen in the passenger seat also looked at her identical policy, somewhat surprised.
Locke started the car, his expression calm: "I'm an orphan. Every time I travel, I buy insurance for myself as a safeguard. It's very reasonable. And when I bought it, it was buy two get two free, so I just bought some for you too."
The three blinked.
When Locke was in Texas, he would buy insurance for any Cowboy competition. After all, he didn't have money to buy the Tenacity talent back then, what if something happened?
Starting as an orphan was already a low point. If he became disabled, he might just start as a disabled, homeless orphan.
So, Locke developed this habit.
He also bought insurance when he went to Augusta, but Locke missed the ball that could have paid out for an accidental claim, causing the insurance company to earn ten thousand U.S. dollars.
This time?
The insurance company had a buy two get two free offer, so Locke simply bought a policy for Kang and Cindy as well.
Since it was buy two get two free, not buy one get one free, Locke would naturally choose to spend twenty thousand to cover four people rather than just two.
Locke glanced at Kang and Cindy in the back seat through the rearview mirror: "After a while, go to the insurance company yourselves and collect the one million accident payout."
Kang and Cindy's mouths twitched.
Gwen also opened her mouth slightly: "Locke, you didn't know beforehand..."
Locke chuckled: "If I had known this would happen, I wouldn't have bought such a low coverage amount. At least ten million."
That was careless.
Locke buying insurance after gaining his talent skills was purely out of habit.
It was like a smoker's habit of flicking a cigarette twice after taking it out.
Locke wasn't afraid of others questioning him; he had bought no less than a hundred insurance policies from this large federal insurance company since he started as a Cowboy.
Initially, the coverage was low, but later, with the Broughton Family Fund, the coverage increased.
The three looked at each other.
One million?
After seeing off Kang and Cindy, who looked a bit dazed, Gwen finally said, rather hesitantly: "Now I finally know what 'windfall' means."
If there were a few more such accidents, Goodfellas, they would achieve financial freedom directly.
Locke smiled: "Isn't that what insurance companies say in their advertisements?"
Otherwise, how could the insurance company's business be so good?
Many people, aren't they tempted by the huge payouts from insurance companies to take risks?
But Locke didn't.
He just bought it on a whim and then encountered a salesperson.
Right.
By the way, the agent who handled this accident insurance policy for Locke was the same person who handled his car insurance.
Gwen's mouth dropped open: "If this agent isn't fired this time, I'll believe this insurance company is a humane company."
They paid out for four cars, totaling over four hundred thousand.
This time?
It's directly an extra zero.
If that agent isn't fired, they'll probably be sent by the insurance company to Iraq to expand business.
"We're here."
Locke parked the car, looked at the apartment outside the window, and smiled.
Gwen turned to look, nodded, then leaned over and kissed Locke, unbuckling her seatbelt: "See you tomorrow."
Locke smiled: "Okay!"
After a while.
After seeing Gwen enter the apartment, Locke turned the car around and took out his sunglasses from the item bar.
He's back.
Kill a bad guy to celebrate.
A slum near New York Port.
"Hahaha!"
A dark-skinned man, sitting cross-legged on the bed, held the money he earned from the box in his hands and scattered it like a celestial maiden, laughing loudly: "That poor, stinky white man's money is so damn easy to earn."
The dark-skinned man's eyes gleamed as he looked at the scattered banknotes: "It seems another cruise ship went missing. That's great, then I can make another big sum of money... Pfft!"
A bullet blasted through the window and, without any further ado, directly slammed into the dark-skinned man's forehead.
The dark-skinned man's pupils dilated, and with a thud, he instantly fell onto the bed.
The nearly one thousand U.S. dollars in loose change scattered on the floor vanished with a rustle.
A sewer near the port.
The Homeless man who had just freely distributed candles to the victims' families was now wrapped in a dirty coat, carrying food he had just rummaged from a trash can, returning to his home in the sewer.
Ever since he went bankrupt, like other Homeless men, his house was repossessed by the bank. Because he had no place to live, he couldn't work, and without work, he couldn't rent a place, becoming one of the Homeless men.
A straw mat and a blanket were all his assets now.
Stepping through the foul water, he returned to his home in the sewer, a platform raised above the ground. The Homeless man sat on the straw mat and sighed. No matter what, disasters always evoked sympathy.
"Huh?"
The Homeless man opened the blanket he had placed aside, preparing to wrap himself in it, and then, looking at the ten stacks of franklin that suddenly dropped, he was slightly stunned.
Following that, a printed note also dropped.
A sentence was written on it.
"I'll pay for your kindness!"
"Unparalleled!"
One Hundred and Forty-Three: Unparalleled Divine Weapon
Three minutes later.
With a splash, the homeless man crawled out of the sewer pipe, then looked to both sides of the road, seemingly searching for something.
But he found nothing.
"Hiss!"
Locke took the cigarette from his mouth, stomped it out, and watched from a distance as the homeless man, after failing to find anything, returned to the sewer, a smile playing on his lips.
He had checked the homeless man's information.
Locke hadn't bothered to remember his name, but the one hundred thousand dollars he left would allow the homeless man to pay off his bank debts and still have over ten thousand left.
With that money, he could rent a decent apartment, and once he had a place to live, he could find a job, pull himself out of the mire, and get his life back on track.
This was great.
I am indeed a kind person.
Just then.
With a rumble, a house in the nearby slum suddenly exploded due to a gas leak.
Locke turned his head, a slight smile on his lips.
Good begets good.
Evil begets evil.
Locke had never done good deeds in his life; he only loved to kill and set fires.
But today, he suddenly did a good deed, especially one that sought no reward, and suddenly, Locke felt as if his entire soul had been sublimated.
Back at the Stellar Tower.
After a while, Locke emerged from the bathroom, wiping his wet hair with a towel.
Gwen always used a hairdryer after washing her hair, but Locke didn't need one; a few rubs with a towel and a quick pat with his hand, and his hair seemed almost dry.
On the balcony, Locke lay in a recliner and opened his inventory.
All ten inventory slots were filled with items.
"Small Blood Potion * 30."
In sets of ten, Locke had bought four sets when refreshing the discount store, and after intermittent use, three sets remained.
"Silver Dancer, Red Quality * 1."
This was the weapon used by the Peerless Assassin. Unfortunately, upgrading item quality was too expensive, and Locke had always been reluctant to upgrade it. Plus, upgrading to red quality already provided infinite bullets, so he hadn't thought about upgrading the Silver Dancer to gold quality.
Locke planned to buy a discounted quality upgrade card whenever one appeared in the store and upgrade the Silver Dancer then.
"Tracking Card * 2."
"Location Card * 2."
These two cards were also for the Peerless Assassin, as Locke's assassination style meant that some targets always liked to play hide-and-seek with him after receiving the "Notice."
However, Locke didn't use them much. The price of these two cards was quite high, and Locke was generally reluctant to use them on ordinary clients and targets.
And then there was… "Treasure Refresh Card (Random Discount) * 1."
"Mystery Item Box * 1."
These two were obtained during the sea voyage. The Treasure Refresh Card dropped after completing a casual mission, and the Mystery Item Box dropped after slaying the giant octopus.
"Use it!"
Locke took out the card labeled "Mystery Item" and flicked his right hand.
"Ding!"
"Inventory Expansion Card * 50: Using this card will expand your inventory slots to fifty, providing more space to store items or any non-living objects you acquire."
Locke raised an eyebrow: "Use it!"
Instantly, the inventory expanded to fifty usable slots.
"Not bad."
Locke smacked his lips and nodded.
"Treasure Refresh Card!"
"Ding!"
"Rare Item Discount Store activated."
"Ding!"
"Random Contractor descends!"
"Feel your witch power. This time, the discounted items are offered for sale by the Fae Sorceress Lulu."
"Life Potion * 3 (50% off): Price 500 Achievement Points. This is a mysterious potion. Even if you go to hell, you can return to the human world without any side effects."
"Lulu's Polymorph Card * 1 (70% off): Price 20,000 Achievement Points. The kind Fae Sorceress dislikes getting blood on her hands, so Lulu's method of punishing enemies is to turn them into animals."
"Amplification Tome * 1 (90% off): Price 30,000 Achievement Points. This is the favorite treasure of the Fae Sorceresses. It can grant an ordinary person the power to learn extraordinary magic, even if that person has no aptitude whatsoever."
"..."
"Item Fusion Device (80% off): Price 40,000 Achievement Points. Witches always enjoy researching strange things. This item can fuse two items with different effects. (After purchase, you can view the items to be fused.)"
"Quality Upgrade Card (Broke): The original price of a million for a Gold Quality Upgrade Card, now on sale for a broken price, only 50,000 Achievement Points. For just 50,000, you can take this home. Don't just think about it, act now."
"Sun God Bloodline (40% off): Price 60,000,000 Achievement Points. Its function needs no introduction, as you browse the preview video of merging with the Sun God Bloodline every night before bed."
"..."
"Heh heh."
Locke chuckled. "You have the guts to give me the Sun God Bloodline at a broken price, don't you? If you have the guts to offer it, I'll... I still can't afford it."
"..."
Locke smacked his lips, looking at the few items he liked from this refresh. Good, every time he refreshed the treasure shop, Locke felt a sense of déjà vu that he was indeed still poor.
"Achievement Points: 108,000."
Locke glanced at his achievement points, then looked at the Life Potion, then the Amplification Tome, and then the Sun God Bloodline.
He wanted them all.
This wasn't the first time Locke had thought about buying on credit, but alas, the system remained unresponsive, as unfeeling and rigid as a machine.
"Forget it."
Locke stroked his chin and directly chose to buy the Gold Quality Upgrade Card at the broken price, and then he also bought the three Life Potions.
Instantly, his achievement points were halved.
"Achievement Points: 43,000."
But... it was still the same old saying.
Some things that could improve oneself had to be bought. One couldn't just rush in with basic equipment; that would lead to death.
After buying these two, Locke directly closed the discount store.
Anyway, as long as he didn't refresh it, the items in the discount store would remain the same.
Sixty percent off?
Sixty million.
I'm not refreshing the store anymore.
Locke thought fiercely, took out his Silver Dancer, and silently said, "Use!"
"Ding!"
"Upgrading the Silver Dancer (Red Quality) to Gold Quality requires 50,000 Potential Points and one Gold Quality Upgrade Card. Do you confirm?"
I've already bought the card; why wouldn't I upgrade it? Keep it for the New Year?
Upgrade!
"Ding!"
"Unnamed Gold Supreme Quality: This is a weapon filled with the aura of supreme quality. It can transform into any weapon shape you desire with a thought. PS: Do not transform it into anything strange. It is filled with the scent of a golden legend and is a top-tier weapon."
With a hum, Locke looked at the mass of golden legendary aura in his hand, which seemed to be fusing and slowly wriggling, and raised an eyebrow.
With a thought, a golden pistol, similar in shape to a Colt M1911A1, with a matching golden silencer, appeared in Locke's hand.
Furthermore, with another thought, the golden pistol flashed, and an identical golden pistol also appeared in his left hand.
The next second, the golden pistols instantly vanished, and then a sniper rifle, also entirely golden and equipped with a silencer, known as the "Explosive Bullet Sniper Rifle," appeared directly in Locke's hand.
It wasn't just firearms.
Longswords.
Broadswords.
Even blunderbusses.
"Nice!"
Locke raised an eyebrow, placed the golden legend on his shoulder, and with a click, a golden gauntlet instantly enveloped Locke's arm.
Duang!
Duang!
Locke flicked his fingers, and the corners of his mouth couldn't help but curve upwards.
These fifty thousand achievement points and fifty thousand potential points were well spent.
That night, Locke spent almost all his time playing with what he named the "Peerless Divine Weapon."
Just like every boy, upon receiving a new toy, he would eagerly play with it until he got bored; Locke was also a big boy.
The next day, Locke, Gwen, Cindy, and Kahn returned to Midtown High together, and inevitably, they encountered some students who were still studying in the school library during the holidays.
Undoubtedly, the four of them received warm greetings from the students, as they were the only survivors who returned alive from the Poseidon.
In the afternoon, at Gwen's house, Gwen rubbed her temples, a slight headache, then looked at George sitting opposite her with some complaint: "Dad, why did you leak the list?"
George was amused: "This matter isn't managed by the NYPD. It's the FBI, Homeland Security, and even the CIA is involved. Besides, you know how big an impact this incident has."
Gwen rested her chin on her hand: "Locke, Kahn, Cindy, and I can barely move at school. It's fine during the holidays, but if school starts, it'll probably be difficult. If every student asks, then I won't be able to study."
George smiled: "That shouldn't happen. Any tragedy begins with anger and ends with burial. The 9/11 incident was so sensational back then, but after three months, it gradually stopped being talked about, didn't it?"
A piece of gossip could be discussed for a long time, but a tragedy didn't have the same effect. It might be big at first, but over time, if the media kept using it to gain popularity, it would draw public disgust.
Gwen nodded, sighed, and then changed the subject: "Oh, by the way, Dad, you said yesterday that the Peerless Assassin killed someone again?"
Locke, sitting nearby, looked up: "..."
144. Someone Is Impersonating My Face?
What?
The Peerless Assassin?
Yesterday?
Could it be related to that guy, Blackie?
No, that's not right.
I only acted on a whim yesterday and didn't leave a notification slip. Besides, that house was blown sky-high by gas; how could they possibly link it to him?
Goodfellas.
George couldn't have undergone some mysterious change and gained some kind of superpower from thinking about catching the Peerless Assassin day and night, could he?
This isn't scientific!
Locke looked up, his mind racing, as he put on a look of pure shock: "The Peerless Assassin was active yesterday?"
Helen, who had stood up to place a freshly cooked steak onto Locke's plate, hummed in affirmation. She sat back down and glanced at George. "Yesterday, George had just gotten into bed when he got a phone call. As soon as he heard what it was, he pulled on his boxers and bolted out the door."
Locke remained expressionless.
George let out a violent cough. "Honey, you didn't need to go into that much detail."
Goodfellas, she really doesn't treat this wild boar like an outsider, does she?
Locke had developed a certain level of immunity to Helen's occasional remarks. However, if his future mother-in-law had such an informal and uninhibited personality, it was actually quite nice.
Helen smiled at George. "Yesterday was our anniversary, you know?"
George was stunned. "What anniversary?"
Their first dating anniversary was in December, and their wedding anniversary was in June. It seemed like there wasn't any anniversary today.
"The anniversary of the first time we reached Third Base."
"...Mom!"
This time it was Gwen's turn to be unable to take it. She looked at Locke beside her. "Locke, let's go to the roof."
Locke wisely nodded. "Okay."
He was wrong.
Having such an uninhibited mother-in-law might not necessarily be a good thing. At the very least, when she starts 'driving,' it's so sudden that it catches you completely off guard.
But still... even the Third Base anniversary has to be recorded?
As Locke followed Gwen to the roof while carrying his plate, he silently opened his Memory Palace. He tagged all memories related to Gwen with dates and created a new bookshelf to place the currently small number of Gwen-related memories upon it.
In case Gwen suddenly asked about it in the future, Locke wouldn't be caught unprepared.
On the roof.
There was a breeze.
Gwen smoothed her hair and shook her head at Locke as he followed her up. "Sorry, Mom just doesn't see you as an outsider anymore."
Locke smiled. "It's fine, I've already built up an immunity. Besides, I remember when we met, when we first held hands, when we reached First Base, Second Base, and even Third Base."
Gwen gave Locke a sidelong glance. "I'm not that bored."
Locke chuckled.
Really?
I don't believe it.
Gwen then said with a smile, "But, I'm glad you can remember."
I knew it.
Locke looked at Gwen's bright smile, feeling a bit dazzled while thinking exactly that.
A daughter's words are often the opposite of her heart, after all.
Just as men are naturally lustful, it's just that some men can control their desires rather than being controlled by them.
The cool breeze on the roof felt refreshing.
Gwen leaned against Locke's shoulder. The two sat on a raised platform on the roof, from which they could just see a corner of the George Washington Bridge.
Both of their breathing was steady.
"Locke."
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for being my Hero."
"..."
Locke turned his head, looking at Gwen's beautiful eyes which seemed to speak as she gazed at him. He smiled slightly. "Thank you for being my Goddess of Luck."
Gwen's eyes flickered as she looked at Locke with a smile.
Locke looked back at Gwen.
As time passed.
The two seemed to be locked in a contest, seeing who would be the first to blink.
After a long moment.
Locke chose to admit defeat and blinked his eyes.
Gwen burst out laughing.
Right then.
Wooo-wooo-wooo!
A police car with flashing sirens approached from a distance, the sound seemingly stopping right under the apartment building.
Helen's voice drifted up at that moment: "Gwen, your father is heading out."
Gwen and Locke snapped back to reality.
They went downstairs.
Back into the apartment.
George had already left, and the sound of the sirens outside gradually faded into the distance.
Gwen frowned. "Is there another case? Is it the Peerless Assassin?"
Helen shook her head. "It seems a Police Officer was shot."
Gwen said, "An officer was shot? No wonder. I thought it was the Peerless Assassin."
After all, George was now a Police Superintendent and didn't need to go into the field, but he would still respond if it involved the Peerless Assassin. If a Police Officer was shot this time, it was only natural for George to go.
As long as it's not the Peerless Assassin.
After all, while the Peerless Assassin killed people, he never touched innocent bystanders or Police Officers.
Locke raised an eyebrow as he watched Gwen, who seemed to breathe a sigh of relief after realizing it wasn't the Peerless Assassin's doing.
Even if George encountered the Peerless Assassin, it wouldn't be easy for him to die.
In his heart, Locke had already raised his level of tolerance for George by several notches.
After all... if possible, Locke still hoped to take Gwen's hand from George in the future, rather than from some stepfather.
However.
Locke asked with a hint of curiosity from the side, "Did the Peerless Assassin strike yesterday?"
He had been out doing good deeds last night and then played with his 'peerless divine weapon' at home all night; he hadn't had time to go out and grind missions.
But.
Gwen nodded. "Yes. I only heard Dad mention it during breakfast this morning. He said that last night, the Peerless Assassin shot a couple in Brooklyn."
Locke raised an eyebrow.
Gwen said with some worry, "Dad said they investigated the couple, and they hadn't committed the crimes listed on the notification slip at all. The Peerless Assassin has gone rogue; he's spiraled out of control from his initial vigilante executions."
Locke's trigeminal nerve throbbed.
Is this... someone is imitating me?
Or have I become a damn scapegoat?
WTF?
[Ding!]
[Mission generating!]
[Mission: "Someone Is Imitating My Face!"]
[Base Mission Rewards: "1,000 achievement points", "1,000 potential points"]
[Mission Description: "Can you stand this? Even I can't stand it! Go, catch him, and let him know the meaning of cruelty!"]
[Mission Bonus Description: "The greater the influence, the greater the bonus!"]
[Mission Note: "Let me whisper to you, you might need to use the Lulu the Fae Sorceress Transformation Card. Go, hurry up, and let this guy know the consequences of ruining your reputation. Otherwise, people impersonating you will start popping up like mushrooms after rain."]
[Accept/Decline!]
"Accept!"
Locke raised an eyebrow and directly chose to accept the mission.
Damn it.
Locke had only heard of people imitating the MO of serial killers to commit crimes before, but he didn't expect that this time, such an 'honor' would actually fall on his head.
Except... I'm not a damn serial killer.
In his first response to George, Locke had only said that the Peerless Assassin's actions were criminal, but Locke had never said the Peerless Assassin was a murderer.
He only killed those who deserved to die.
After accepting the mission, Locke thought for a moment and said, "I've had brief contact with this Peerless Assassin. Although he's a criminal, I could feel he had no killing intent toward me. Could there be a mistake with yesterday's case?"
Gwen shook her head. "Dad said a notification slip was also found next to the couple. The formatting and handwriting on it were identical to the previous slips."
The NYPD had not made the notification slips public—at least, not to the general public.
Locke frowned.
He thought about it but ultimately didn't ask if the material of the notification slip had been sent to the Forensics Department for comparison.
After all... Locke's notification slips were unique, manufactured directly by the system using his potential points. This was specifically to prevent law enforcement from finding any traces of him through the slips.
The Federation was free in some ways, but very restrictive in others.
Put it this way.
Law enforcement had ways to find out which photo lab a developed photo came from, and they could even track the current location of a printer through its serial number.
Therefore.
Even if someone could imitate his killing method, the core notification slip of crimes was impossible for anyone to replicate.
Because no one could find a perfect substitute for the crime blacklist produced by the system.
However.
Locke had believed this before, but now?
George was so focused on him that, logically, he should have performed an analysis on the notification slip. So, Locke wasn't entirely sure.
Besides, he couldn't say too much, lest it look suspicious.
After a while.
They reached the second floor.
Locke stopped as he passed a door that was slightly ajar. He looked at Gwen. "Gwen, I think you mentioned Georgehas all the files and dossiers on the Peerless Assassin in his study?"
Gwen nodded. "Yes, but are you going in to look?"
Locke shrugged. "I just feel that the Peerless Assassinshouldn't be killing innocent people. He didn't kill me, did he?"
Gwen nodded. "Actually, I think so too. The Peerless Assassin is a vigilante executioner, not a serial killer. Serial killers kill for the pursuit of pleasure, while the Peerless Assassin seems to view himself as a judge in the shadows. Once he stops adhering to that, he's no different from any other serial killer."
Locke agreed.
He pushed open the study door.
Wow!
Locke couldn't help but let out a silent exclamation in his heart as he saw the newspaper clippings about him plastered on the study walls, and the dense rows of dossiers and files lined up on the desk.
Goodfellas.
Is this a manifestation of deep-seated love?
Or is it that George can't sleep peacefully until he catches me?
What did I do in my past life to provoke such a father-in-law?
Locke walked to the desk and raised an eyebrow at a fresh dossier dated yesterday.
He flipped it open!
145. Gwen's Profile of Wushuang
The case file was freshly prepared.
It was from yesterday.
Opening the file, the first thing that caught my eye was a photograph of the crime scene: a couple, appearing to be in their fifties, lying in a pool of blood on the bedroom floor.
Their deaths were gruesome.
The couple's bodies were covered in numerous, clear stab wounds, and the crime scene was bloody and horrific, clearly indicating that they had been stabbed to death with a sharp object.
Well, then.
Is that all?
Locke thought to himself. While it was true that he had killed, and he admitted to being a criminal in the eyes of the law, he wasn't bloodthirsty, nor did he have any bad habits.
Most importantly,
"The longer the reach, the stronger the weapon."
This was Locke's creed.
If a target could be sniped from a distance, he would never be foolish enough to engage in close-quarters shooting, let alone a close-range stabbing with such a low margin of error.
Was George blind?
Just by looking at the scene, it was clear this was a copycat crime. Besides a notification, what else was there to link it to the Peerless Assassin?
Locke pondered this as he turned the page, then saw a sticky note and a business card tucked inside the file.
The name on the business card was Patty Finn, with only a name and phone number.
The sticky note had a large question mark on it.
Locke raised an eyebrow.
Good, George didn't seem to be blind. If George had also believed this case was his doing, frankly, Locke would have been a little disappointed in George, seriously doubting if George could be a good father-in-law.
Gwen and I are both so smart; my father-in-law certainly can't be a fool.
What if our future child's intelligence regressed and took after George?
"This Patty Finn is…"
"Oh, my dad's high school classmate. She's currently a star producer at a New York TV station, and she visited my dad a few days ago."
"A producer?"
"Yes."
Gwen nodded, then looked at the crime scene photo. "This isn't right. This doesn't really look like the Peerless Assassin's modus operandi. What's Dad thinking?"
Locke looked at Gwen.
Gwen met Locke's gaze and explained, "Dad once showed me these photos and asked me to help analyze them. I even did a somewhat crude psychological profile of the Peerless Assassin."
"A psychological profile? You did it?"
"Mm."
Gwen nodded. "Weren't you hospitalized last time? And didn't I suggest you see a psychiatrist? I was already reading books on the subject then. Later, when you went back to school, Mary Jane mentioned once that abuse can cause psychological trauma, so I kept borrowing psychology books from the library. Then, a profiler from the NYPD became my psychology teacher. She's quite good; she said she feels I could take the psychological counselor certification exam in a while."
As she spoke,
Gwen blinked, looking at the motionless Locke, and asked curiously, "What's wrong?"
Locke snapped back to reality and waved his hand.
He was already wondering whether he should learn the "Anti-Psychology" skill now and max it out immediately.
"And then?"
"Whether in Texas or New York, the Peerless Assassin's crime scenes are simple and clean. Most victims are shot in the head from a distance, and a small number are shot at close range. There has never been a single case of close-quarters killing. Moreover, these victims all have something in common."
"…They were all guilty?"
"That too, but the most distinctive aspect is their method of death. The Peerless Assassin loves headshots, but unlike ordinary bullets, these people don't look ghastly after being shot in the head. Typical headshot scenes are very gruesome, but these people aren't. Also, neither in Texas nor New York have any bullets been recovered from these bodies."
"Really?"
"The bullets used by the Peerless Assassin must be specially made."
Locke made a curious expression.
But… this was very normal, and it aligned with science.
Any bullet fired from the Silver Dancer would disappear after a period of time upon hitting its target.
After all, the Silver Dancer's bullet capacity was infinite. If the bullets were physical objects when fired, it would somewhat contradict the basic laws of mass conservation or matter exchange.
Moreover, if the fired bullets didn't disappear, would Locke have been so poor back then?
Wouldn't selling bullets directly be more appealing?
At the very least, even if the bullets were sold as scrap metal after being fired, it would still be a better way to start from scratch and get rich.
Locke then looked at Gwen. "You said you also did a psychological profile of the Peerless Assassin?"
He was very curious about what Gwen's psychological profile of him was like.
If there was anything that matched him,
He would change it.
Immediately!
Gwen shrugged. "The FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit's age profile is between twenty-five and thirty-five, but I don't think that's right. The Peerless Assassin's age should be between sixteen and twenty-five."
"Well, then."
Locke thought to himself and looked at Gwen. "Why?"
Gwen said, "Because the Peerless Assassin's targets, in his view, are all bad people whom the law cannot judge. He's a bit too idealistic. If he were twenty-five, an adult who has entered society, he should understand that the world isn't black and white, but chaotic."
"…And then?"
"The Behavioral Analysis Unit believes the Peerless Assassin should be living alone or in a house left by his parents. I largely agree with this point. However, I disagree with the Behavioral Analysis Unit's assertion that the Peerless Assassin should appear unremarkable to others in daily life, and if observed closely, would seem very strange."
"Why?"
"The Peerless Assassin first investigates whether the target is guilty, so he should be able to obtain a lot of information about the target. This requires the Peerless Assassin to move around. If it were truly as the FBI analyzed, the Peerless Assassin should have already been exposed. But on the contrary, the Peerless Assassin should be someone who lives alone, in his parents' house, with decent financial conditions, and has a stable job that he can perfectly integrate into without arousing suspicion."
"…"
Locke fell silent.
Well, then.
Is this really a psychological profile that could be done by someone who had been self-studying psychology for less than three months?
Isn't this just describing me directly?
Living alone?
Locke lived alone.
Living in his parents' house?
In a way, the Starfall Tower was indeed purchased with his nominal parents' inheritance.
And a stable job that he could perfectly integrate into?
Being a ninth-grader… no, being a tenth-grader, should also count as a job, right?
Then, adding the age Gwen just mentioned… Locke smiled. "You profiled this?"
Gwen shrugged beside him. "Yes, but a federal agent used a very simple piece of evidence to refute my psychological profile."
Locke's eyes lit up. "What?"
"The Peerless Assassin's marksmanship."
"Uh…"
Gwen sighed. "The FBI said there was a fatal flaw in my profile: the Peerless Assassin is an excellent shot, arguably a firearms master. Even if the Peerless Assassin is exceptionally gifted, he would still need to practice his marksmanship. And if my age profile is correct, then the Peerless Assassin would have had to start learning to shoot at least by the age of fourteen."
Locke's brow twitched.
Damn it!
His first shot was indeed at fourteen, but by then, he had already used the potential points accumulated over many years to light up his marksmanship skill.
Gwen spread her hands. "This is the most critical point. If that were truly the case, then there should have been rumors in the shooting circles in Texas, but there aren't."
Locke breathed a sigh of relief.
Well done, FBI!
Fortunately, Gwen wasn't a professional; like him, she was just a student. If Gwen's psychological profile had been accepted, Locke felt he would be in deep trouble.
But… in the end, he would still be deemed innocent.
Because his hands were spotless.
A gunman's hands would surely have calluses from years of holding a gun.
Locke's hands were smooth. Based on this alone, even if any law enforcement agency took him to court, the jury, looking at Locke's hands, would believe they were hands that wrote, not hands that killed.
After Gwen finished speaking, she looked at the case file on the table, then at the question mark on the sticky note tucked inside, as if she had realized something. "I think I understand what Dad wants to do."
Locke snapped back to attention.
Gwen said, "Dad told Mom and me that the Peerless Assassin seems to have gone into hiding recently. If this case wasn't done by the Peerless Assassin, then Dad probably intends to use this case to lure the Peerless Assassin out. Because the Peerless Assassin is a proud person, he would never allow himself to take the blame for this, or watch his notifications be misused by a copycat killer, ruining his reputation!"
Locke didn't want to talk anymore.
In fact, when Gwen mentioned that George had once asked her to refer to these cases, Locke had already sensed what George was up to.
Gwen's words merely confirmed Locke's suspicion.
But… Locke felt a bit helpless. George, who looked so honest and upright, was also playing these little tricks.
The most crucial point.
Just as Gwen's profile of him was very close, this case would indeed bring out the Peerless Assassin, because, as Gwen said, Locke would never allow his reputation to be tarnished or exploited by a serial killer impersonating him.
So, George was playing a transparent scheme.
Or rather… George planned to kill two birds with one stone.
Use this copycat to draw out the Peerless Assassin, then use the Peerless Assassin to lower the copycat's psychological guard, and then, in one fell swoop, capture both of them?
Locke couldn't help but inwardly praise it as brilliant, wanting to applaud George.
Just then,
Downstairs,
Helen suddenly let out a gasp.
"Oh, God!"
"Gwen…"
One Hundred and Forty-Six, Someone Always Has to Do It
After Locke and Gwen heard Helen's exclamation from downstairs, they immediately ran down.
In the living Room, Helen was holding a phone, covering her mouth with a pained expression as she watched Gwen come down the stairs.
Locke's heart skipped a beat.
It couldn't be that George had called it a GG, right?
Goodfellas.
The Butterfly Effect, is he taking an early exit?
Locke thought to himself, as if he could already see a scene in the near future where a drunkard, living off George's pension and hitting his kid, was holding Helen in his arms.
George... Locke felt a sudden surge of grief. Although he had thought about killing George before, after spending so much time together, watching George say 'I will definitely catch the Peerless Assassin' was quite entertaining at times.
There would be no more of that joy in the future!
But... Helen hummed in response to the phone, then, after hanging up, she looked at Gwen: "Jeff is dead."
Locke snapped back to reality.
Jeff?
Who was he?
Was it some kind of pet name for George?
Gwen was slightly stunned, seemingly knowing who Jeffwas, and she also wore a shocked expression: "Uncle Jeff, how could it be?"
Helen shook her head: "Tauris doesn't know yet. Get dressed; we're going over there now."
Tauris was Jeff's wife, and Jeff was a member of the NYPD—the very officer who had just been reported shot. At the same time, Jeff was also George's partner before he became a Police Superintendent.
The one who went offline tonight was Jeff.
In a small alley without surveillance in the Lower East Side, Manhattan.
George hung up the phone with his wife, his face instantly darkening as he turned and walked back into the alley.
The atmosphere in the alley was very oppressive.
Even though there were more than twenty Police Officers present at this moment, the scene was unusually quiet.
Clearly...
They were all very angry.
Beside a trash can in the alley, the officer named Jeff had his head resting weakly against the bin behind him. He had three bullet holes in his body, plus over a dozen knife wounds. By the time the first patrol officer arrived, there was no chance of survival for Jeff.
Near Jeff's feet, a nameplate that looked like it was stamped in gold was particularly conspicuous.
It was a Notice identical to the ones Locke used.
Notice
[Name: Jeff Martin
[Crime: Abuse of violence, corruption]
[Execution carried out!]
George bent over and picked up the Notice with his gloved right hand, staring at the crimes listed on it, his eyes flickering.
Just then.
"Blout, the Police Superintendent is..."
"Get lost!"
"Bl..."
Accompanied by a low, angry voice, a man in a leather jacket who looked middle-aged and balding—though he was surprisingly handsome despite the balding—with a deep voice full of masculine charm, pushed aside the patrol officer blocking his way and walked straight into the alley.
Jason Blout, an NYPD Detective, was originally from the 8th Precinct. Because George Stacy was promoted, he was transferred from the 8th Precinct to Headquartersand became Jeff's new partner.
But... Jason Blout had a violent temper. He was frequently complained about and appeared in the newspapers for beating those who didn't follow the law. As his superior, George had always been somewhat annoyed and helpless regarding this.
There was no other reason.
Jason, despite his disregard for the rules, was a great Detective. Because of this, George had withstood pressure from Internal Affairs to protect Jason at all costs.
"fuck!"
Jason's gaze fixed on Jeff, who no longer showed any signs of life. He cursed like an erupting volcano, wiped his face, and with a loud bang, slammed his right fist directly into the wall: "fuck, fuck, fuck!"
George expressionlessly called over a Police Officer: "Get Jeff's file pulled up."
The officer nodded.
Jason's gaze snapped to George, who was holding the Notice, and he narrowed his eyes: "You don't actually believe what this says is true, do you?"
George looked at Jason: "It doesn't matter if I believe it or not. Since the sin hunter gave it, we have to investigate."
Jason seemed to be trying his best to restrain his roar: "You fucking don't trust our own people?"
As soon as these words came out, the gazes of the nearby officers fell on George, whether intentionally or not.
George's expression remained unchanged: "Jeff was your partner, but don't forget, he was my partner too. I know best what kind of person Jeff was. But if we don't investigate, tomorrow's newspapers will label Jeff as a dirty cop as described on this Notice. Investigating isn't because I don't believe Jeff, but because we want to clear Jeff's name!"
This definitely wouldn't be the work of the Peerless Assassin.
In fact.
George had known since that couple's murder case that this was a copycat crime. He was also certain that the person who killed Jeff was definitely not the Peerless Assassin; he knew exactly what kind of person Jeff was.
But... George's gaze fell on the Notice in his hand. He called over Kate, who had also arrived, handed the Noticeto her, and said carefully: "Just like last time, send this to the Forensics Department for analysis."
Standing nearby, Jason thought George was handing the case to Kate, and his violent temper flared up again: "I'm taking over this case!"
After George finished giving instructions to Kate, he glanced at Jason and nodded: "Fine, you and Kate will handle this case together."
Having said that.
George turned and left.
Jeff was his good friend, and he didn't want the people from the Police Department's Bereavement Unit to knock on Jeff's door: "Notify all the guys in the Major Crimes Unit—cancel all leave, everyone is on 24-hour standby!"
"Yes!"
"Understood."
Upon hearing George's words, many officers immediately let out a roar.
No one can kill a Police Officer and still get away scot-free.
No one can!
Not even the Peerless Assassin.
After an NYPD officer is murdered, then, congratulations to that killer—he has successfully initiated the hell-difficulty mission: 'New York's Wrath'!
Until this cop-killer is caught, the over 30,000 to nearly 40,000 NYPD officers in New York City will be completely awakened. Even if they have to knock on every door and break them down house by house, they will not hesitate.
Rumble!
After George got out of the car, he looked up at the sky where thunder had suddenly rumbled. He suppressed the anger on his face; knocking on his friend's door and telling his friend's wife about this while carrying such anger was not an ideal choice.
Locke, Gwen, and Helen were already at Jeff's doorstep.
It couldn't be helped.
With a killer roaming around outside, Locke felt it was better to escort them himself.
However... the three of them didn't go in because Georgehad just called and told them to wait for him.
After George walked over, he hugged Helen, then glanced at Locke, nodded to acknowledge him, and headed toward Jeff's door.
Locke stood behind.
Gwen looked at Locke, who hadn't moved, and walked over: "Aren't you going in?"
I don't even know this Jeff.
That was what Locke wanted to say, but after organizing his words, he shook his head: "I don't really like these kinds of scenes."
This was also the truth.
He couldn't imagine knocking on someone's door and then telling the family,'Sorry, your husband is gone.' That image, that scene—what kind of psychological turmoil would that even be?
Gwen was slightly stunned, and she also gave a forced smile as she watched Tauris, who had already opened the door. Tauris's face first showed a hint of surprise and joy upon seeing George and Helen, but then her expression instantly shifted into disbelief and immense grief. Gwenspoke softly: "Back when Dad wasn't a Police Superintendent yet and was still a Detective, Mom would wait for him to come home every single time before going to sleep. Every time Dad was out and the doorbell rang, Mom would always freeze in place for a few seconds before she would open the door."
In the beginning, Gwen didn't quite understand why.
Later... Gwen understood why. Watching George's retreating back, she said, "After I found out, I once threw a tantrum and told Dad to change jobs, but Dad said that someone has to do this job, and other people have daughters too."
There are some things that someone always has to do.
We don't see the darkness simply because someone is standing on the edge of the light, blocking that darkness for us.
Locke frowned.
This was also the reason why he never laid a hand on innocents.
The guilty deserve their fate; when an avalanche occurs, no single snowflake is innocent. The money and other things he obtained through his crimes were naturally enjoyed by his family as well. In that case, perhaps his family didn't deserve to die, but whatever they thought had absolutely nothing to do with Locke.
But for innocents, Locke couldn't think that way.
Therefore.
Locke maintained his bottom line of not killing innocents. Even when he encountered state troopers rounding him up a few times in Texas, Locke never fired a shot to kill any of the Guardians standing in the light to block the darkness.
Gwen watched George and Helen, who had already entered the house, and took Locke's right hand, smiling as she met his gaze: "So, Dad has always been the Hero in my heart, and Locke, you are my Hero too."
Every woman has three Heroes who protect her in her life.
When she was a child, George was Gwen's Hero.
When she grew up.
Gwen was very certain that Locke would be the second Hero in her life.
As for the third.
Gwen believed that in the future, her child would also be a Hero. Once they grew up and she and Locke were both old, they would be the Hero who protected the two of them.
"Let's go."
Gwen gripped Locke's right hand and said, "I need my Hero to be by my side."
Locke snapped back to his senses and nodded.
They entered the Room.
From the living Room sofa, the sound of weeping could be heard.
But... the woman named Tauris was sobbing as she took the tissue Helen handed her. She opened her eyes, which were already completely bloodshot, and looked at George, her voice low as she tried to stabilize her emotions: "Who, who could be so cruel?"
George was silent for a moment before saying, "We're not sure yet, but... a Notice was found at the scene!"
Locke, who was just closing the door with Gwen and preparing to walk over, raised an eyebrow.
What????
147. Literally
What the hell?
I did it again?
How come I didn't know myself?
If it were last night's homicide or something, Locke might have had amnesia and didn't remember, but tonight, damn it, he had a 100% solid alibi.
His thoughts shifted.
The next second.
Locke's anger suddenly surged.
If he were just an ordinary killer, then maybe he really could have been impersonated by this guy; after all, ordinary killers didn't have those special notification cards or those bullets that automatically disappeared.
First killing innocents, then killing a Police Officer?
This was no longer a simple case of impersonation.
This was damn well looking for trouble in the worst way possible.
Locke had just been sighing outside the door, only to find out after entering that the one who caused all this tragedy was actually himself?
Uh... a fake version of himself.
Tauris was slightly stunned. Her husband had been George's partner, so she had naturally heard of this notification card. Her eyes widened: "How is that possible? You know George better than I do—what kind of person Jeff is. How could he receive a notification card? Doesn't the Peerless Assassin only kill the guilty? How could Jeff receive one?"
George said, "I know Jeff's character, of course."
Tauris's expression was one of immense pain: "Then why..."
Looking at the furniture and decorations in their Room, some pieces were even gifts from others at Tauris's wedding; they were patched up and basically had never been replaced.
Locke and Gwen sat to the side, responsible for looking after Tauris and Jeff's three children, the oldest of whom was not even ten years old.
Two daughters and one son.
Gwen didn't turn her head. Listening to the sounds of crying coming from the living Room behind her, she let out a sigh.
Locke looked at Gwen.
Gwen shook her head: "Tauris is a full-time wife, and their youngest daughter, Mandy, has a chronic illness that requires regular medication."
Locke understood.
Most families in the U.S. actually have very low risk-resistance. Unlike in China, where if most families have no income for half a year or a year, they can just grit their teeth and get through it.
But in the U.S., no income basically means one thing.
They have already started the countdown to becoming a Homeless man.
What?
The NYPD has a pension?
Don't be ridiculous.
George's current annual salary is only about seventy or eighty thousand; how much could the pension for the families of those killed or injured officers be?
This was why Locke felt Little Spider didn't deserve the title of Hero.
A true Hero always acts with the intention of sacrificing themselves in exchange for the safety of thousands.
Iron Man, because of that snap, can be called a Hero.
Captain America Steve is a Hero.
But what about Little Spider?
Every time Little Spider grows, it is accompanied by someone else's family being ruined. Does he deserve the title of superhero?
Right now?
Locke felt as if a nameless fire was surging within him.
Someone had used his name to kill a Police Officer, which gave Locke a strange, inexplicable feeling.
fuck!
After a while.
Locke and the others left because people from the Police Department's funeral department might be coming soon.
They went out the door.
As the four of them walked toward the parking lot, Helen, walking ahead with George, said, "There should be a donation organized, right?"
George nodded.
There was no other way. It was well known that the NYPD's pension was very low. Because of this, basically, if a colleague unfortunately met with disaster, they would organize a donation.
Although the money wasn't much, at the very least, it would prevent someone from ending up on the streets the following year because they couldn't afford the property taxes.
Furthermore, various colleagues from the NYPD would take extra care of them. Basically, tickets and violations would be non-existent, and some close colleagues would often visit to provide whatever help they could based on their friendship.
After all, any Police Officer could have such a day. Helping others was, to some extent, helping oneself.
This was also why Ms. Casey was able to gain the support of the NYPD officers.
Because Ms. Casey promised to significantly improve the treatment of NYPD officers, and after being successfully elected, she did so. Although it was still little, at least there was an improvement.
Helen gave an 'un' of agreement: "Let's find a babysitter for tomorrow or the day after. I'll bring Gwen to Jeff's house to help out."
Gwen, walking behind with Locke, said, "Bring Little George along too. Little George and Mary get along well; we can let Little George comfort and look after Marytomorrow."
Mary was the ten-year-old in Jeff's family, the one who had been sitting there silently, looking quite quiet.
Helen nodded: "That's a good idea."
At the parking lot, Locke and Gwen's family parted ways, and he drove back to Starlight Tower.
He entered the house.
Locke took off his suit trench coat, grabbed a bottle of bourbon and a glass from the bar, and went straight up to the second-floor study.
He poured a drink.
Turned on the computer.
Drank it in one gulp.
All in one smooth motion.
Locke looked at the computer interface. Using high-level hacking techniques, he hacked into the backend of the city-wide surveillance system, which had nearly seven thousand cameras throughout New York, and pulled up the footage from the time of the secret visit near that alley in the Lower East Side.
But... there was no surveillance inside that alley. And nearby, the cameras that could have filmed the alley were either broken or simply had gum stuck on them that had dried up and hadn't been removed.
Of the nearly seven thousand cameras in the city, if calculated carefully, only about five thousand could operate normally and film. Over two thousand cameras were in a state of awaiting replacement or maintenance due to funding and manpower issues.
He's an expert.
After Locke's search yielded no results, his hands left the keyboard. He stared at the less-than-half-full shimmering bourbon on his desk and let out a cold laugh.
What a pity.
Of all the people you could pretend to be, why did you have to pretend to be me?
The living don't know who you are.
But don't the dead know who you are?
Locke stood up, drained the remaining bourbon in the glass, took out his sunglasses, and after putting them on, stepped out. He left behind a clone to stay at home and impersonate him, then went straight downstairs and toward the door.
Ordinary people can't make the dead speak.
But Locke was no ordinary person.
His motto was: if a game can't be played with cheats, then the game is meaningless.
Who the fuck is playing Detective with you?
I want to see just how much nerve you have to dare to impersonate me!
NYPD.
The morgue.
Relying on the Concealment Technique he had acquired and leveled up from Callum Lynch, who looked strikingly like Magneto, Locke had a smooth journey. It was the first time he had used it today. He managed to silently reach the forensic office on the second basement floor right under the noses of a group of officers who were working overtime through the night to find any clues.
"Hmm?"
Having just received the news and returned to the office, prepared to perform an autopsy and tests overnight, the forensic Doctor had changed clothes. He turned around, frowning at the door that suddenly seemed to have been pushed open and was swaying. He called out, "Who's out there?"
Locke stood behind the forensic Doctor and spoke up: "Hi."
The forensic Doctor started, turned around, and then—thud—was struck directly on the head. Then, with a graceful flop, he collapsed to the floor.
The moment the forensic Doctor hit the ground, the folder in his hand had already been steadily caught by Locke's leather-gloved right hand.
A long moment passed.
Locke dragged the forensic Doctor to his office chair, sat him up, posed him, and poured a bottle of coma potiondown his throat to ensure he would sleep through the night. After that, he turned and entered the lab where three autopsy tables were placed.
He looked.
The three autopsy tables were already full.
Over there, the assistant had just pushed that couple out of the freezer together. He was standing in the corner finishing a phone call with his girlfriend, explaining that he couldn't come back tonight. After putting away the phone, he looked at Locke, who had walked in boldly wearing sunglasses, and was suddenly stunned: "Hi, who are you? This is the foren... gah!"
The assistant's words came to an abrupt halt.
Nothing else.
Because a handgun with a completely golden texture was pressed against his forehead.
"Gulp!"
The assistant swallowed hard, cold sweat pouring down as his hands went high: "I am of French descent... thud!"
Locke looked at the assistant who had been knocked unconscious and fallen to the ground, frowning.
He's of French descent?
What does that mean?
Could it be that those of French descent have some privilege that grants them immunity from death?
Locke thought for a moment, couldn't figure it out, snapped back to reality, and walked directly toward the middle of the three autopsy tables.
He lifted the white cloth.
He looked.
Shot and stabbed, Detective Jeff Martin, whose death could be described as gruesome, lay quietly on the autopsy table.
Not bad.
Locke breathed a sigh of relief.
Detective Jeff Martin's appearance was a bit tragic, but at the very least, his limbs were intact—they were all there, no missing arms or legs—and his head was also undamaged. Aside from some bruising and swelling, there was nothing special.
"Not bad."
While nodding in affirmation, Locke's right hand flickered, and he took out the life potion, which was said to be able to pull someone back even if their soul was in Mephisto's hands—as long as the body was intact and the soul hadn't been eaten by Mephisto as a snack. He looked at Jeff Martin on the autopsy table: "If you were a bit more mangled, or if I had come later and you had already been dissected, even this bottle of potion probably wouldn't be able to save you."
If he had been cut into pieces by the forensic Doctor, with internal organs taken out one by one to be weighed.
Then how could he be saved?
Setting aside whether he could be brought back to life, what about after? How would it be explained?
Now that he hasn't been dissected, a Doctor could still describe it as having tenacious vitality. But if he were dissected and then resurrected, how would that be explained? That he became a zombie returning from hell?
Locke couldn't help but smile. He directly took out the life potion, pried open Jeff Martin's mouth, and then, like force-feeding a goose, poured the life potion in his hand into Jeff's mouth...