Outside the entrance of New York Television, George held the execution notice high toward the open sky.
The other end of the line fell completely silent.
George spoke with absolute certainty, "You are actively monitoring my position right now, aren't you?"
"...Yes."
Commander Victoria Hand snapped out of her brief lapse of focus, pursing her lips tightly before nodding.
"The text is perfectly legible."
George lowered the notice. "Our department intends to apprehend the Peerless Assassin, and your organization quite clearly cannot allow this segment to go live. Consequently, a baseline for mutual operational cooperation exists."
"Regrettably, we have completely lost tracking data on the assassin."
The moment the Peerless Assassin penetrated the target apartment structure, S.H.I.E.L.D. had flagged the anomaly, going so far as to execute an emergency deployment of an orbital asset to monitor the perimeter in real time.
However...
The orbital tracking satellite had unfortunately cycled past the precise window of Locke's departure, observing absolutely nothing of value. By the time the satellite feed re-established its link, their internal metrics led them to believe the assassin was still entrenched inside the complex.
Consequently, they had completely dropped the asset's trajectory.
George glanced back toward the television studios, guiding his personnel back toward their unmarked interceptors. "But your agency possesses the administrative authorization to terminate this broadcast prior to its uplink—"
Right at that fraction of a second.
Kate Beckett suddenly went rigid.
"George!"
Beckett lowered her personal device, absolute disbelief lacing her voice as she turned toward George.
"George, field units from the 31st Precinct have reported a potential visual identification. They spotted a male operating a silver Audi R8 within the perimeter of the Redbud community, sporting dark sunglasses and possessing physical metrics matching the profile of the Peerless Assassin."
George froze for a millisecond before roaring, "Mount up! Move, move!!"
The team piled into their vehicles instantly.
Deep within the S.H.I.E.L.D. New York Hub, Commander Victoria Hand reacted to the audio feed from George's line, rapidly redirecting the orbital satellite's optical arrays to lock onto the municipal grid encompassing the Redbud community.
"There!"
A technician manipulated the telemetry console, rapidly projecting a distinct tracking marker around a high-performance vehicle weaving through traffic. "Asset identified. Silver Audi R8."
"Access every active municipal surveillance feed in that grid!"
"Rerouting arrays now."
"Visual secured."
With a sharp digital chime.
A high-resolution feed from a local intersection expanded across the main display. A silver Audi R8 cleared the crosswalk at high speed. The image was somewhat pixelated due to the velocity, but it clearly defined a driver clad in a tailored suit and dark sunglasses, presenting a physical silhouette completely indistinguishable from the Peerless Assassin profile.
"Hack the telemetry system of Senior Captain Stacy's command vehicle. Transmit the tracking coordinates directly to his heads-up display."
"Data package sent!"
Commander Hand spoke directly into her line to George.
"Captain Stacy, live telemetry has been uploaded to your—"
George monitored the real-time geographic overlay that had effortlessly overridden his vehicle's central display console. Stomping on the accelerator, he initiated a hard drift across the intersection, his vehicle roaring as it dove into a high-speed pursuit of the silver Audi R8, which appeared to have realized its exposure.
Instantly.
A massive chorus of police sirens erupted across the borough!
...
Deep within the decommissioned New Jersey water treatment facility.
Patty Finn had successfully processed her baseline cognitive update, effectively initializing her new worldview. This was especially true after her eyes settled on Carrie, leaving her with the distinct impression that her understanding of the terrestrial realm had been completely systematically rewritten.
"So..."
Patty reviewed the unfolding sequence of events that had transpired following their previous live segment, directing her gaze toward Locke.
"This agency... they function as a systematic barrier? An institutional mechanism designed to prevent the civilian populace from identifying the true parameters of reality?"
Locke nodded smoothly. "Precisely. Though I hold zero personal animosity toward their institutional order."
Nick Fury was permanently deceased.
The current leadership apparatus operating S.H.I.E.L.D. was entirely acceptable; at the very least, their primary decision-makers possessed functional intellects.
Patty creased her brows. "Mr. Peerless, if that remains the baseline operational reality, then I fear our exclusive segment stands zero statistical chance of achieving an active broadcast uplink."
During the previous iteration, S.H.I.E.L.D. had been completely caught off guard, having never anticipated that the Peerless Assassin maintained a direct correlation to genuine witchcraft, allowing Locke to execute a flawless tactical ambush against their communications matrix.
This time?
The agency would undoubtedly deploy comprehensive countermeasures.
If S.H.I.E.L.D. initiated a brute-force infrastructure shutdown mirroring their previous emergency protocols?
Patty's expression turned anxious.
Locke merely offered a reassuring smile in response.
"Patty, as I have stated previously, I maintain an extensive network of associates. The previous iteration concluded in a network blackout strictly because the specific narrative impact I required had already achieved its maximum threshold. Consequently, I permitted them to terminate the transmission."
Before the active system influence modifier concluded its runtime, if S.H.I.E.L.D. managed to sever his broadcast uplink, Locke would gladly invert the spelling of his own family lineage.
"Rest easy."
Locke observed the production team executing the final adjustments across the warehouse studio floor, his voice calm and confident.
"No external agency stands a chance of identifying these physical coordinates before this segment concludes its runtime."
Severing the communication lines?
Locke would never permit it. Unless S.H.I.E.L.D. determined to execute a total, permanent shutdown of the global internet architecture, they possessed zero methodology capable of impeding his objective.
The baseline consequence?
Global structural instability?
Whether the world descended into total chaos was outside Locke's administrative purview. However, if any external entity attempted to disrupt the completion of his system task, this world would undoubtedly experience absolute chaos.
Locke shifted his gaze, letting it settle on the form of Nick Rice a short distance away.
Bound securely to a reinforced steel chair, Nick Rice let out a series of furious, muffled roars, his facial muscles contorting into a mask of sheer rage.
He had personally observed the conclusion of the previous live segment featuring the Peerless Assassin, and he understood with absolute clarity what structural fate awaited the target at the finale. Prior to today, he had comforted himself with the rationalization that the entire display comprised high-tier stage magic.
But now?
Absolute panic flooded Nick Rice's consciousness.
"Release me!"
"Ah!"
"Unbind me this instant!"
"We can establish a mutual cooperative agreement! I can facilitate a direct introduction to my sovereign master!"
"Let me go! Free me!"
Nick Rice strained against the high-tensile restraints with every ounce of his biological strength, the veins across his neck bulging violently. His skin flushed into an unnatural, dark reddish-black hue as he pushed his physical limits, yet his frame remained completely immobile against the framework of the chair.
Locke slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and strolled over, offering a gentle smile. "Maintain your composure. You will be granted an absolute opportunity to invoke your sovereign master before the cameras. In fact, if your cooperation yields clean metrics, I will personally guarantee that your life remains intact."
Nick Rice froze slightly, staring up into Locke's eyes. "Is that a vow?"
Locke's smile turned brilliant. "Naturally."
He genuinely had zero requirement to personally execute the target. Once Blackheart manifested within this material plane and subsequently retreated to the infernal realm, the demon would undoubtedly drag Nick Rice's soul back to the abyss alongside him.
Consequently, Locke had spoken the absolute truth.
Locke straightened up, his movements pausing slightly.
Miles away, his perfect clone—who had been transitioning across the perimeter of the Oscorp Bio-Tech plaza to receive Gwen following her shift—monitored a silver Audi R8 tear directly past the avenue, trailing a massive, thunderous convoy of NYPD interceptors in its wake. The clone blinked in silent contemplation.
'What exactly is the nature of this variable?'
'Am I being actively impersonated by an external party yet again?'
Wait.
No.
'This particular deployment looks remarkably like a benevolent diversion.'
'Who possesses the operational capacity and motivation to execute this maneuver?'
An absolute profile materialized within Locke's mind instantly.
Mr. Clyde Shelton!
The retired CIA tactical operations specialist.
'Fascinating.'
Locke processed the realization seamlessly via his dual-processing consciousness.
Since the counterfeit Peerless identity was currently occupying the complete structural attention of the NYPD fleet across the municipal grid, his clone smoothly collected Gwen from the Oscorp facility, escorted her safely back to her residence, and subsequently returned to the penthouse library of the Star Tower to remain on standby.
...
*Vroom!*
*Vroom!*
*Vroom!*
The silver Audi R8 maintained its point position, clearing a sequence of major intersections at a blistering one hundred and twenty miles per hour, completely disregarding the automated traffic matrices.
With a deafening structural impact, the vehicle shattered the reinforced security gates of the Manhattan Port authority, roaring deep into the shipping terminal.
Trailing inches behind the rear bumper, George maintained absolute pursuit lock.
A structural dead end.
'Peerless Assassin, let us see what extraction protocol you possess when pinned against the coastline.'
*Weeee-woooo-weeee-woooo!*
A massive wave of sirens wailed through the night as dozens of marked cruisers swarmed the Manhattan Port facility, establishing a comprehensive lockdown.
"Move!"
"Secure Exit C immediately!"
"Deploy auxiliary tactical detachments to block every remaining perimeter point!"
A relentless stream of operational mandates flooded the police channels. This time, the NYPD was completely determined to trap the Peerless Assassin within the geometric confines of the port, transforming the sector into a flawless bottleneck to execute a clean capture.
The New York Coast Guard had initiated active deployment protocols simultaneously.
High-speed interceptor craft tore across the harbor waters, establishing a absolute maritime blockade along the pier. Should the assassin attempt to drive the vehicle directly into the ocean, a pre-staged team of specialized combat divers stood ready to initiate an immediate underwater recovery.
Up above, three heavy NYPD tactical helicopters circled the airspace, their rotors delivering a deafening, thunderous drone.
Under these absolute operational parameters, the Peerless Assassin was structurally incapable of escaping, even if he possessed wings.
As the multi-directional wall of police cruisers systematically funneled the silver Audi R8 against the absolute edge of the concrete pier, the Coast Guard personnel operating the five rigid-hull inflatable boats across the dark water displayed expressions of intense professional anticipation.
From the night sky, the combined output of three heavy airborne searchlights converged onto the chassis of the silver Audi R8, the brilliant white illumination reflecting harshly off the polished metallic finish.
"Nice!"
An absolute surge of professional triumph flared across George's face. Throwing his door open, he accepted a high-powered megaphone handed over by Beckett, whose expression mirrored his own excitement. Flicking the unit on, he locked his eyes onto the idling silver vehicle resting against the maritime barrier.
'I have finally pinned you to the earth.'
You absolute outlaw!
"Peerless!"
George raised the megaphone, his voice booming across the concrete terminal toward the silver Audi R8. "You have been completely surrounded by law enforcement assets. Extinguish your engine, open the operator door, and surrender your person immediately!"
...
Inside the abandoned New Jersey water treatment warehouse, Locke monitored the digital tablet displaying a real-time media feed. Watching George's eyes narrow into lines of absolute joy under the glare of the news choppers' searchlights, Locke couldn't help but let out a silent, internal sigh.
'I genuinely hope that when George uncovers the structural reality of that driver, it doesn't trigger a cerebrovascular episode.'
Otherwise...
'Gwen is going to be profoundly devastated.'
Leaning over to monitor the display beside him, Patty Finn watched George command the absolute spotlight on screen as he issued the formal surrender mandate.
She turned her head, a highly conflicted expression on her face as she looked directly at the genuine, authenticated Peerless Assassin standing right next to her.
Sensing Patty's incoming query, Locke shook his head calmly. "I possessed zero prior knowledge regarding this development."
He enjoyed engaging in intellectual games with George, but he maintained zero intent to subject his father-in-law to petty, cruel mockery.
There existed a fundamental, structural distinction between a calculated operational game and a malicious joke.
He would never intentionally fabricate an absolute illusion of victory for George, only to systematically shatter it and leave the man drowned in professional despair.
Patty blinked in surprise. "I assumed no individual..."
Given the severe historical precedents established by the assassin, who on earth possessed the sheer audacity to counterfeit the moniker of the Peerless Assassin?
Locke let out a soft chuckle.
This specific variable wasn't being executed to tarnish his operational profile. So long as an individual wasn't utilizing his identity to perpetrate random, low-tier atrocities, he genuinely maintained zero concern regarding the unauthorized use of his title.
This was especially true given that this specific counterfeit asset was executing the maneuver with the explicit, sincere intent to facilitate his escape.
Right at that exact junction.
Down at the Manhattan Port terminal, a sharp click echoed through the searchlights as the driver's side door of the silver Audi R8 was pushed smoothly open from the interior.
Every single uniform officer and tactical operator forming the perimeter cordon instantly brought their weapons to bear, the metallic clicks of high-caliber rounds chambering into receivers echoing across the pier.
George bellowed into his line, "Hold your fire! No individual is authorized to discharge their weapon without my explicit, direct command!"
The mandate stabilized the line.
A single hand encased in a flawless black leather tactical glove slowly extended past the door frame of the Audi R8.
George's eyes flashed with absolute intensity.
Immediately following.
A male clad in a sharp, tailored designer suit, dark sunglasses, and matching leather gloves stepped smoothly out of the vehicle cabin with his hands raised high in the air. Maintaining a completely expressionless face, he turned his posture slowly to look directly into George's silhouette.
Their eyes met across the blinding white glare!
George's pupils contracted to pinpoints.
***
Bonus chapter
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