The phone rang for barely two seconds before the connection went through.
Ms. Patty Finn took a deep, centering breath.
"Hello, Mr. Peerless."
"Ms. Finn, it appears the promotional teaser yielded exceptional metrics."
"Yes."
Patty cross-referenced the advance subscription data compiled two hours post-release, nodding as she spoke.
"Projections indicate that approximately one hundred and twenty thousand users have already secured access to tonight's special broadcast of *Exploring the Mysterious*."
By the time the broadcast officially went live, that figure stood an incredibly high chance of adding another zero to its tail.
This was spectacular.
While the baseline production run of the first season of *Exploring the Mysterious* had technically concluded—and the second season had been facing the corporate chopping block—this specific exclusive segment ensured the entire IP would be completely salvaged from executive cancellation.
The baseline variable, however...
"Mr. Peerless, are you currently still localized inside that apartment structure?"
"What?"
Patty kept her eyes locked on a real-time monitor displaying the ongoing field broadcast from the NYPD outside the target complex.
"The entire structure has been systematically choked off by tactical—"
Locke raised an eyebrow, instantly deducing which specific facility Patty was referencing. Letting out a soft laugh, he replied,
"Rest easy, I exited that perimeter a while ago. Furthermore, the evening's primary quarry has already been successfully secured."
For reasons she couldn't entirely parse, a wave of relief washed over Patty. "Is that so? That is spectacular news."
Locke smiled fluidly. "Is Ms. Finn genuinely concerned for my structural safety? I am a wanted criminal, after all."
"Whether the Peerless Assassin is guilty of a crime falls strictly under the interpretive jurisdiction of the NYPD. However, Mr. Peerless, within the parameters of the media apparatus and the hearts of the broader public, your market valuation is incredibly high."
"Is that so?"
"Naturally. This is the dawn of a brand-new era, Mr. Peerless."
The current cultural climate of the state was defined by a massive appetite for the macabre and the spectacular.
This was an era where active serial killers and high-profile felons could routinely secure publishing contracts, author comprehensive autobiographies, and consistently dominate the national bestseller indices.
There were even countless women systematically failed by the public education system who would congregate outside maximum-security facilities, screaming their desire to bear children for these exact demographics.
When contrasted against those parameters...
The Peerless Assassin was practically a beacon of rational conduct. In fact, individuals who aligned themselves as his supporters could easily be classified as highly logical enthusiasts.
Patty offered a sharp smile. "If a day manifests in the future where you determine to author a literary work, Mr. Peerless, please ensure I am your primary point of contact. New York Television will guarantee a highly satisfactory financial remuneration package."
Locke burst into a hearty laugh, offering a verbal confirmation before shifting topics. "Regarding the decommissioned New Jersey water treatment facility... how are Ms. Finn's structural preparations progressing?"
"Our field technicians have already established the necessary broadcast equipment. Every single network employee participating in tonight's production has executed a legally binding non-disclosure agreement."
"Excellent."
While an NDA possessed zero tactical leverage over individuals of Locke's tier, its coercive weight against the standard working-class demographic was practically equivalent to an atomic strike.
Sitting within the leather cabin, Locke raised his eyes to look across the avenue toward the corporate headquarters of New York Television.
"Then let us initiate our departure, Ms. Finn. I am currently idling directly below your executive suite."
A brief rustle of movement echoed from the receiver.
Then.
Locke observed Patty walk directly over to her floor-to-ceiling windows, peering down toward the street level.
"Yes, the vehicle you are looking at is correct. I shall await your arrival, Ms. Finn."
With that.
Locke terminated the call.
A short duration later.
In a span of less than three minutes, Patty—clad in a dark coat, a matching hat, a pair of designer sunglasses, and carrying a heavy equipment bag—hurried across the asphalt in her high heels with her head lowered. Pulling the door of the silver Audi R8 open, she slid smoothly into the passenger seat.
The next split second.
The silver Audi R8 surged to life, transitioning seamlessly into traffic as it navigated toward the abandoned water treatment facility in New Jersey.
Securing her sunglasses and hat within her bag, Patty glanced at the driver beside her. "Mr. Peerless, do you truly possess zero apprehension regarding the NYPD's operational capacity?"
Locke, his eyes concealed behind his dark lenses, offered a brief sideways glance.
"Do you intend to relay our coordinates to the authorities?"
Patty answered with absolute candor, "Not today."
The broadcast took absolute precedence over all earthly variables.
Furthermore...
Patty added, "If I were to compromise an active production asset to the police, how would that structurally differ from a investigative journalist selling out their primary confidential informant?"
Locke remarked, "I highly respect your pragmatism, Ms. Finn."
"Thank you."
Patty acknowledged the sentiment before extracting a leather-bound notebook from her gear bag, opening it as she turned toward Locke.
"In that case, Mr. Peerless, prior to the official broadcast going live, I would appreciate the opportunity to verify certain structural parameters regarding witches, demonic entities, and the infernal realm. Would that be acceptable?"
Locke replied, "Naturally."
He paused briefly.
Glancing back at Patty, he added, "Though even if I provide these answers, I suspect the broader geopolitical apparatus will ensure these specifics never see the light of day."
Patty smiled subtly. "If the state intended to execute a summary silencing protocol against me, it would have manifested long before today, wouldn't you agree?"
Locke nodded. "A lethal silencing is highly improbable. An institutional gag order, however, is virtually guaranteed."
The logic remained absolute.
Had S.H.I.E.L.D. still been operated under the sovereign direction of Nick Fury, an absolute termination protocol would have undoubtedly been his default operational mandate. Fortunately, Nick Fury had already been permanently relocated to the afterlife, and the structural culture within S.H.I.E.L.D. had taken a significant turn for the better.
Locke felt he had executed a magnificent service for global security.
From a purely statistical standpoint, his termination of Nick Fury had likely preserved the structural lives of at least a thousand field personnel.
Furthermore...
Locke offered a knowing smile toward Patty. "Ms. Finn, perhaps you can leverage this exclusive intelligence to secure a massive corporate payout from the state. It might provide the baseline capital required to establish an independent media network of your own."
Whenever a future system objective containing an influence amplification modifier manifested, Ms. Patty Finn would serve as his absolute primary operational asset.
After all, collaborating with an elite television producer to generate geopolitical influence was infinitely cleaner than orchestrating massive explosive spectacles merely to extract score modifiers from the system.
Consequently.
During the transit to the New Jersey facility, Locke's responses to Patty's inquiries couldn't exactly be classified as universally transparent, yet they were comprehensively exhaustive within safe parameters.
By the time the vehicle glided into the abandoned New Jersey water treatment yard, Patty was actively restructuring her baseline comprehension of reality, systematically rebooting her foundational worldview.
She felt completely unmoored.
Yet contrasted against Patty's internal cognitive shift, an individual experiencing a far more severe state of structural frustration was Senior Captain George Stacy, who had just finished supervising a flawless, microscopic sweep of Nick Rice's entire apartment complex.
They had recovered zero traces of the Peerless Assassin.
"Shit!" Jason exclaimed, absolute disbelief lacing his voice.
"How did he manage a clean extraction directly past a multi-layered tactical cordon?"
George terminated an incoming call on his personal line, his stride breaking into a hard march toward his unmarked command vehicle.
"Redirect all units to the New York Television corporate headquarters."
The update had just been conveyed by Kate Beckett.
Her field teams had successfully located the hijacked yellow taxi cab near the perimeter of the old textile mill.
"According to active eyewitness accounts, an individual matching the physical metrics of the Peerless Assassin manifested at the coordinates approximately thirty minutes prior, extracting Nick Rice from the asset. However, due to the visible deployment of high-caliber firearms by the assassin, the civilians maintained a significant distance."
"Did the central dispatch matrix receive zero emergency calls during the event?"
"Negative. The witnesses stated that the moment they identified the crash and attempted to dial 911, their cellular arrays experienced a total signal blackout. The cellular matrix only restored structural connectivity after the assassin dragged the target into his vehicle and cleared the zone."
"Damn it."
George accelerated his vehicle toward the New York Television offices, speaking firmly into his radio.
"Recall your detachment, Kate. The entire apartment deployment was a pre-calculated feint. We walked straight into his operational trap."
Had they chosen to maintain their primary grid lock instead of hunting a ghost inside Nick Rice's residence...
George wondered if the structural outcome of the afternoon would have yielded a different metric.
'Wretched assassin, I will personally see you inside a cage.'
...
At the corporate headquarters of New York Television.
George bypassed executive reception entirely, overriding the verbal protests of Patty's personal secretary as he slammed the doors to the main producer's suite wide open.
His gaze locked instantly onto a smartphone resting on the mahogany desk, vibrating continuously with unanswered alerts. Terminating his own call, he stared coldly at the secretary.
"Where is Patty's current location?"
The secretary stammered, "I... I honestly don't know."
George's voice dropped into a dangerous octave. "Harboring and facilitating a wanted felon is a major statutory violation."
The secretary shook her head frantically. "I am telling the absolute truth. Ms. Finn was physically present inside this office less than ten minutes ago."
She genuinely possessed zero data on the flight path.
George took a deep, controlled breath, picking up Patty's device to verify the logs. Seeing the dozen missed calls originating from his own directory, he spun on his heel.
"Move to the security monitoring room."
Right at that exact junction.
The primary legal defense council representing New York Television materialized along the corridor.
"My apologies, Captain."
An impeccably tailored corporate attorney stepped directly in front of the monitoring room threshold, blocking George's path.
"Gentlemen, do you possess a judicially executed search warrant authorizing entry into this proprietary digital database?"
Beyond the glass partition, network technicians were already executing a rapid, permanent deletion protocol across the local surveillance server blocks right before their eyes.
It wasn't a complex corporate calculation.
Tonight's exclusive broadcast represented an absolute astronomical spike in network revenue. An old adage dictated that if a capitalist was guaranteed a three hundred percent return on capital, they would gladly manufacture and sell the very rope utilized to execute them.
This specific broadcast represented precisely that scale of profit margin.
Consequently...
Which side of the legal equation corporate interest aligned with required zero explanation.
Jason concluded a brief call on his secondary line, shaking his head grimly toward George.
The municipal court had flatly denied an emergency request to execute a search warrant against New York Television.
Ultimately, a nebulous promotional teaser that lacked a direct, legally actionable link to the identity of the Peerless Assassin was insufficient for any sitting magistrate to authorize a forced entry into a media network.
George's expression turned to stone as he turned and walked out of the building.
Reaching the street level.
Kate Beckett arrived at the curb simultaneously. Swapping a brief, tense look with Jason, she turned her focus entirely toward their operational anchor—George, the man who had dedicated his career to charting the Peerless identity and had clashed with the killer across multiple operational theaters.
George extracted his encrypted personal communication device with an expressionless face.
He initiated a direct patch to the executive director of the Department of Homeland Security.
The line was initially accepted by Barbara Morse.
Within seconds.
The communication was systematically rerouted directly into the hands of Director Victoria Hand.
George spoke with zero emotional inflection, "The Peerless Assassin has deployed an active execution notice."
Utilizing a dedicated S.H.I.E.L.D. orbital tracking satellite, Victoria Hand monitored the real-time visual of George standing outside the New York Television plaza on her primary command display. Folding her arms, she responded,
"We are tracking the data, Senior Captain Stacy. I presume you require our specialized logistical infrastructure?"
George shook his head. "Negative. It is your agency that requires our cooperation."
Director Hand let out a brief, sharp chuckle. "Oh? Walk me through your analytical deduction."
George lowered his gaze, pulling the plastic-sealed notice from his breast pocket. Raising his hand, he held the card flat toward the open sky above.
"Tell me exactly what your orbital optics read across this ledger."
Victoria Hand gave a subtle nod to her control technicians.
The satellite camera executed a high-resolution magnification sweep.
Within seconds.
The image stabilized, locking with absolute fidelity onto the specific statutory violation transcribed onto the parchment.
[Charge: Selling his soul!]
...
***
You can support me and read 40 Chapters early on P-atreon.com/Redestro666