Their gazes locked in mid-air!
Sparks flew.
Inside the Audi R8, Locke leaned back comfortably against his seat, wearing a brilliant smile as he looked toward the curb at George, who seemed to have temporarily short-circuited upon seeing him.
George's facial expressions shifted perfectly.
From initial confusion to stark disbelief, then to absolute thrill, and finally settling into a mask of pure, tense alertness.
Locke offered a casual wave. "Hey there."
"Peerless Assas—"
The moment the words started leaving George's mouth, Kate Beckett, standing right beside him, assumed an active assassination attempt was being made on the Captain. She drew her service weapon and squeezed the trigger instantly, sending a live round streaking directly toward Locke.
*Bang!*
*Bang!*
*Clink!*
Two projectiles collided precisely in mid-air, deforming under the sheer kinetic impact before clattering uselessly onto the asphalt.
The corner of Locke's mouth curved upward. He slammed his foot onto the accelerator, sending the Audi R8 roaring forward in the exact direction the Assistant District Attorney, Nick Rice, had fled moments prior.
George and the surrounding officers snapped back to reality.
"Fuck!"
"Get to the cars! Move, move!"
"Hurry up!"
"Alert Transit Control!"
"Go, go, go!"
*Waaaaaoooow!!!*
In an instant.
Five standard patrol cruisers and five unmarked detective vehicles activated their sirens simultaneously. The piercing wails echoed through the streets as the convoy tore rubber, desperately pursuing Locke's rapidly vanishing silver streak.
"All units standby. The Peerless Assassin is heading west to south, fleeing from 3rd Avenue toward 18th Street."
Fleeing?
Locke, currently navigating the streets with casual ease, blinked as he listened to the police band radio. He had lifted it off a uniform officer a while back for a rainy day, and it was certainly proving its utility this afternoon.
Where on earth did they get the word "fleeing" from?
He was clearly taking them for a walk.
He had only stepped out because he was genuinely worried George would make himself sick with anxiety from chasing a ghost. He was merely providing his father-in-law with some much-needed cardiovascular exercise.
How did that constitute fleeing?
Amused by the thought, Locke unclipped the radio receiver.
"Captain Stacy, I heard rumors regarding your recent promotion and simply wanted to offer my personal congratulations. Why the sudden talk of me fleeing?"
"...Sir, the Peerless Assassin is on our broadcast frequency—"
"Shut up, I can hear him!"
George's voice, thoroughly exasperated and furious, cut through the channel.
"You wretched assassin, I am absolutely bringing you to justice today! All units, switch to Channel 112."
With that.
The frequency fell dead silent.
However...
Locke merely blinked at the radio.
Channel 112 wasn't a literal frequency number; it was an encrypted tactical code utilized internally by the department.
Unfortunately for the NYPD, Locke possessed a flawless photographic memory and maintained an expansive Mind Palace.
Furthermore, he had spent significantly more nights sleeping over at George's residence recently than at his own penthouse in the Stark Tower apartments. Naturally, how could he possibly be ignorant of what Channel 112 actually translated to?
Consequently.
The exact moment George successfully migrated his fleet to the secure channel and let out a brief sigh of relief, the Peerless Assassin's smooth voice smoothly manifested over their headsets once more.
"Captain Stacy, your department's encryption protocols are like Washington's nuclear launch codes—terribly outdated and desperately in need of a refresh. I highly recommend investing in a brand-new codebook."
"...Peerless Assassin, you aren't escaping this net. Scramble the choppers! I want to see exactly how you plan to slip past my eyes this time."
"No need for all that theatrics," Locke let out a soft chuckle. Steering the wheel with a single hand, he executed a flawless, magnificent power-slide drift right through the narrow gap between two intercepting cruisers.
"If you truly wish to chase me, I'll even provide my exact destination: 18th Street. Keep up the pace, gentlemen; don't let me leave you behind!"
With that, Locke tossed the radio carelessly onto the passenger seat.
...
"18th Street?"
"George, isn't that the exact block where Nick Rice's apartment complex is located?"
"Where is Nick Rice right now?"
Kate Beckett, operating from a separate pursuing vehicle, patched a direct line through to George.
"Transit cams just spotted Nick Rice pulling up near Central Park."
George's voice turned incredibly heavy. "Kate, redirect your detachment to Central Park immediately. Establish an airtight perimeter around Nick Rice."
The executioner designated on today's death notice wasn't the Peerless Assassin.
It was the Dark Sovereign.
Without a shred of doubt, George suspected that the assassin hadn't materialized out of sheer boredom. This entire high-speed display was a calculated tactical diversion designed to draw their primary forces away from the target.
Acknowledging the order, Beckett gave a firm nod over the line. Within seconds, several marked cruisers split from the main convoy at the upcoming intersection.
George, remaining with the primary pursuit force, kept his burning gaze locked onto the silver Audi R8, which was practically drifting from one end of the asphalt to the other.
*Chop-chop-chop!*
An NYPD tactical helicopter had already bypassed the ground grid, hovering directly over the vehicle's trajectory.
'This time...'
'Peerless Assassin, I will personally snap these cuffs around your wrists!'
George gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, flooring his interceptor's accelerator.
...
18th Street!
*Vroom!*
The silver Audi R8 executed a sweeping, spectacular drift, coming to a dead halt right outside Nick Rice's apartment building. Locke stepped out of the cabin in a single, fluid motion.
By the time his boots cleared the threshold of the entrance steps, the driverless Audi R8 let out a sharp whine of burning rubber and shot forward, continuing down the avenue on automated guidance.
Locke calmly fastened the center button of his custom suit jacket. Looking back toward the line of cruisers screeching to a halt along the curb, he offered a polite wave of acknowledgement. Turning around, he kicked the building's main security door clean off its hinges, entering the lobby as though he owned the place.
He did this entirely out of structural consideration for George and the department.
After all, if the property damage was executed by a wanted assassin, the NYPD wouldn't be liable for civil restructuring costs. Whereas if the tactical teams executed a forced entry, the precinct would have to settle the invoice for the door repairs.
This simply proved an eternal truth: society always preferred to exploit those who rigidly adhered to the rules.
Less than thirty seconds after Locke crossed into the interior, the avenues flanking both sides of 18th Street transformed into an absolute bottleneck, completely choked with an array of arriving emergency vehicles.
*Slam!*
"George, wait—"
The moment his vehicle settled, George threw his door open and stepped out, holding his service weapon in a textbook double-handed grip as he prepared to breach the structure.
Fortunately, Jason Blaut possessed lightning-fast reflexes, grabbing the Captain securely by his tactical vest.
"ESU is five minutes out."
What a joke.
The department failing to apprehend the assassin was standard bureaucratic friction, but an active Senior Captain getting slaughtered during an impulsive breach was an entirely different tier of disaster.
Feeling the raw frustration of getting openly mocked to his face by the assassin, George managed to reclaim a fraction of his logical faculties under Jason's restraint.
However...
George couldn't entirely parse the assassin's operational logic.
If this entire display was merely a diversion to draw manpower away from Nick Rice, why would the assassin deliberately corner himself inside this specific apartment building? This was practically inviting a textbook containment operation.
"Hold on."
George stood with his hands resting firmly on his hips, watching uniform officers smoothly and efficiently evacuate the building's civilian occupants into a secure zone. Wiping a layer of sweat from his forehead, he turned to Jason.
"Let me see Nick Rice's notice again."
Jason fished the sealed evidence bag from his jacket and handed it over.
George studied the crisp card.
[Charge: Selling his soul!]
"What kind of absurd, ridiculous charge is that?"
*Ring-ring-ring!*
George stared at the bizarre terminology with a deep furrow in his brow. Just then, his personal phone began to vibrate. Seeing the caller ID, his expression softened slightly as he connected the call.
"Gwen, what's going on?"
Operating from her lab station at Oscorp Industries, Gwen spoke into the receiver. "Dad, have you seen the breaking bulletin from New York Television?"
"What bulletin?"
"Patty Finn just dropped a massive promotional teaser for her upcoming episode of *Exploring the Mysterious*. I have a strong feeling it correlates directly with the Peerless Assassin, so I wanted to make sure you were aware."
"I see. Thank you, sweetheart."
George's brows drew together tightly. Hanging up the line, he immediately dialed Patty Finn's private number.
Though he had explicitly assured Helen during their last discussion that he didn't retain Patty's contact information...
He had spoken the literal truth. He hadn't saved the contact details inside his digital directory simply because he had memorized the digit sequence entirely by heart.
Yet...
Listening to the continuous, rhythmic ringing that eventually redirected straight to a automated system without anyone picking up, George's frown deepened significantly.
...
Inside the New York Television executive suites.
Ms. Patty Finn stared down at her vibrating smartphone. After a brief moment of deliberation, she pulled her desk drawer open, tossed the device inside, and slid it shut.
'Apologies, George. While I would love to catch up, this involves network operations. You're the one who always insisted that professional duties must remain separate from personal life, so I am confident you won't hold this against me.'
A brilliant, sharp smile formed across her lips. Years ago, a minor lapse in vigilance had allowed another woman to dismantle her relationship, but she remained entirely confident in her capacity to reclaim what was hers.
Besides, this provided a flawless tactical opening. Once tonight's broadcast concluded, she could easily utilize a formal apology as leverage to schedule a private dinner with George under the guise of making amends.
Yes, a professional amendment, not a romantic date.
...
Back on 18th Street, the ignored call had barely concluded before the heavy transport trucks arrived.
With the arrival of the NYPD Emergency Service Unit, George began strapping himself into a heavy-duty tactical ballistic vest.
Seeing this, the ESU Captain opened his mouth to protest. "Sir..."
George snapped his gaze toward him, his eyes burning with absolute intensity.
"The Peerless Assassin belongs to my desk."
Meeting that fierce, unwavering glare, the ESU Captain swallowed hard. He offered a swift hand signal to his squad, authorizing the heavily armored tactical operators to initiate the assault.
Within seconds.
George and the ESU Captain positioned themselves directly behind two lead operators holding heavy ballistic breeching shields, issuing the synchronized command.
"Go, go, go!"
"Move in!"
"Clear!"
The two shield-bearers entered the lobby first, leading a rapid, methodical ascent up the stairwell toward Nick Rice's residential floor.
Standing right outside the door of the target apartment, Locke let out a massive yawn. He had waited so long that boredom was actively setting in by the time he finally spotted George and his unit moving up the corridor with the deliberate, agonizing slowness of a tortoise shell.
"You're getting incredibly slow, Captain Stacy."
With that casual remark.
Locke melted backward, vanishing smoothly into the interior of Nick Rice's apartment.
Three seconds later.
George's booming voice echoed through the reinforced frame from the corridor.
"Peerless Assassin! You are entirely surrounded. Drop your weapons and surrender!"
Locke casually tossed a neatly written parchment note onto the living room coffee table. Hearing the demand, he raised his eyes toward the door.
"Then by all means, step inside. I had originally hoped there would be an innocent hostage situation to make this interesting, but it seems I'm out of luck."
George exchanged a rapid, silent nod with the ESU Captain.
The next second.
*BOOM!*
A heavy tactical battering ram obliterated the remaining locking mechanisms, throwing the door wide open. The metal ram was discarded with a sharp, heavy clang against the floor tiles.
But right at that precise instant.
*Thud-thud-thud.*
A spherical, matte-black object came rolling smoothly out from the darkness of the breached apartment, settling right at the boots of the entry team.
George and his operators looked down at the rolling canister.
Their pupils contracted to absolute pinpricks!.
***
BONUS CHAPTER
Next one at 200 stones like usual.
Thanks for reading
***
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