Marvel: The Super Player Chapter 145 146: Gwen’s Profile of Peerless

The case file was fresh.

Dated yesterday.

Flipping it open, the first thing that t the eye was a photograph of the cri scene: a couple, seemingly in their fifties, collapsed in a pool of blood on their bedroom floor.

Their deaths were grueso.

Multiple, jagged stab wounds covered their bodies—vicious and clearly visible. The scene was a blood-soaked nightmare, savage and crude. It was obvious these two had been hacked and stabbed to death with a sharp instrunt.

'Good grief,' Locke thought. This?

He didn't deny he was a killer; he admitted he was a criminal in the eyes of the law. But he wasn't bloodthirsty, nor did he have any sick fetishes.

Most importantly: "A longer weapon is a stronger weapon."

That was the creed Locke lived by. If he could snipe a target from a distance, he would never be stupid enough to engage in close-quarters combat, let alone a high-risk, low-reward knife assassination.

'Is George blind?'

Looking at the scene alone, it was glaringly obvious this was a copycat. Aside from the presence of a notification card, what else was there to link this to Peerless?

Locke flipped to the next page and saw a sticky note clipped to the file along with a business card. The card read: Patti Finn, followed by a na and phone number. On the sticky note, George had written a large, bold question mark.

Locke raised an eyebrow.

Well, at least George wasn't blind. If George truly believed Locke had committed this cri, Locke would have been genuinely disappointed. He would have seriously questioned George's qualifications to be his father-in-law.

'Gwen and I are both geniuses. My father-in-law can't be an idiot. What if the kids' IQ regresses and they take after him?'

"Who is this Patti Finn...?"

"Oh, an old high school classmate of Dad's," Gwen answered. "I think she's a gold-dal producer for a New York TV station now. She visited Dad a few days ago."

"A producer?"

"Yes." Gwen nodded, then looked down at the photo of the cri scene. "This isn't right. This doesn't look like Peerless's M.O. at all. What is Dad thinking?"

Locke looked at Gwen.

Gwen t his gaze and explained, "Dad used to show these photos to help him analyze them. I actually did a rough psychological profile of Peerless for him."

"A psychological profile? You?"

"Mhm." Gwen nodded. "Rember when you were hospitalized and I suggested you see a therapist? I started reading books on the subject back then. Later, after you ca back to school, Mary Jane ntioned how trauma can stem from abuse, so I kept checking out psychology books from the library. The NYPD's profiler eventually beca my ntor. She said I could probably test for a counseling license in a while."

She blinked, noticing Locke was standing perfectly still. "What's wrong?"

Locke snapped out of it and waved a hand dismissively.

Inside, he was already calculating whether he should learn the "Anti-Psychology" skill right now and max it out imdiately.

"And? What was the profile?"

"Whether in Texas or New York, Peerless's cri scenes are simple and clean. Most victims are taken out with long-range headshots. A small portion are shot at close range, but there hasn't been a single case of a lee-style killing. Also, there's one common thread among all the victims."

"...They were all guilty?"

"That too, but the most unique part is the thod. Peerless loves headshots, but unlike normal bullets, these victims don't look grueso. Usually, a headshot is a horrific sight, but these aren't. Moreover, whether in Texas or New York, forensics has never recovered a single bullet from the bodies."

"Really?"

"The theory is that Peerless uses custom-made bullets."

Locke feigned curiosity. But internally, he knew it was perfectly logical. Any bullet fired from the Silver Dancer would vanish shortly after hitting the target. Given that the weapon had infinite ammo, it would break the laws of conservation of mass or matter exchange if the physical projectiles remained.

Besides, if the bullets didn't disappear, Locke wouldn't have been so poor starting out. He could have just sold the ammo. At the very least, he could have sold the casings as scrap tal to build his fortune.

Locke looked back at Gwen. "So, what did your profile say about him?"

He was curious. If any part of her profile was too accurate, he needed to change it. Imdiately!

Gwen shrugged. "The FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU) puts his age between twenty-five and thirty-five. But I disagree. I think Peerless is likely between sixteen and twenty-five."

Holy... Locke thought. He looked at Gwen. "Why?"

"Because of his targets," Gwen said. "In his eyes, he's killing bad people the law can't punish. He's a bit too idealistic. If he were twenty-five, an adult who has been in the real world, he would understand that the world isn't black and white—it's gray."

"...And?"

"The BAU thinks Peerless lives alone or in a house inherited from his parents. I agree with that. But the BAU says he must be soone who seems invisible or 'weird' in daily life. I don't agree with that part."

"Why not?"

"Peerless has to investigate his targets to confirm their guilt. That ans he has to be out and about. If he were as weird as the FBI thinks, he would have been exposed by now. On the contrary, I think Peerless is soone who lives alone, possibly in a family ho, has a decent financial situation, and holds a stable job that allows him to blend in perfectly without raising suspicion."

"..."

Locke was silent.

'Good grief. Is this really a profile done by soone who has been self-studying psychology for less than three months?'

'She's basically describing !' Lives alone? Locke.

In a house inherited from parents? Technically, the Star Tower apartnt was bought with his "parents'" inheritance.

A stable, blending job? Being a high school student was technically a full-ti occupation.

And her guess on the age...

Locke forced a smile. "This was your profile?"

Gwen shrugged. "Yeah. But an FBI agent used one piece of simple evidence to debunk it."

Locke's eyes lit up. "What?"

"Peerless's marksmanship."

"Uh..."

Gwen sighed. "The FBI said there's a fatal flaw in my profile. Peerless is a master marksman—a weapons expert. Even if he's a natural genius, he would need years of practice. If my age range is correct, he would have had to start training at fourteen at the latest."

Locke's temple throbbed.

Motherfucker! My first ti firing a real gun WAS at fourteen. But I had already used my saved Potential Points to max out my skill before pulling the trigger.

Gwen threw her hands up. "That's the dealbreaker. If he had been training that hard since fourteen, there would be records or rumors in the Texas shooting community. But there are none."

Locke felt a wave of relief.

'Beautifully done, FBI!' Thank God Gwen was just a student and not a professional. If her profile had been taken seriously, Locke would be in deep trouble.

But ultimately, he still wouldn't be caught. Because his hands were smooth. A marksman's hands would have calluses from years of handling weapons. Locke's hands were pristine. Any jury looking at his hands would see a writer, not a killer.

Gwen looked back at the file, then at the question mark on the sticky note. "I think I understand what Dad is trying to do."

Locke snapped out of his thoughts.

"Dad told Mom and that Peerless seems to have gone into hiding recently," Gwen said. "If this Brooklyn case isn't Peerless's work, Dad probably wants to use the dia and the case to lure him out. Peerless is a proud man. He won't allow himself to be a scapegoat, nor will he let a copycat serial killer use his notification cards to ruin his reputation!"

Locke didn't want to speak.

Ever since Gwen ntioned that George had her consult on these cases, Locke had a feeling George was playing a long ga. Gwen's words just confird it.

Locke felt a bit helpless. George looked like a straight-shooting, honest man, but he was playing these little mind gas too.

The most annoying part? Gwen's profile was right. This case would bring Peerless out. Locke would never allow his na to be tarnished by a common serial killer.

George was playing an open move.

Or rather, George was aiming for "two birds with one stone." Use the copycat to lure out Peerless, use Peerless to lower the copycat's guard, and then catch them both in one go?

'Bravo, George,' Locke thought, almost wanting to applaud.

Just then—

From downstairs, Helen let out a sudden gasp.

"Oh, my God!"

"Gwen..."

***

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