Locke and Gwen rushed downstairs the mont they heard Helen's gasp.
In the living room, Helen was clutching the phone, her hand pressed over her mouth in pain. She looked at Gwen as they descended the stairs.
Locke's heart skipped a beat.
'Don't tell George just hit GG. Good grief. Is this the butterfly effect? A premature curtain call?' In that split second, Locke's mind flashed to a dark future: a scene where a scruffy alcoholic, living off George's pension and probably mistreating George's kids, had his arm around Helen.
'George...' A genuine sense of grief welled up in Locke. Though he had occasionally considered "dealing" with George himself, they had known each other for a long ti now. Watching George confidently declare, "I will catch the Legendary Assassin," had actually beco a source of entertainnt.
'That joy is gone!'
But then, Helen humd an acknowledgnt into the phone and hung up. She looked at Gwen. "Jeff is dead."
Locke snapped out of it.
'Jeff? Who's that? Is it so weird nickna for George?'
Gwen, however, clearly knew the na. Her face contorted into shock. "Uncle Jeff? How? Why?"
Helen shook her head. "Doris doesn't know yet. Get your coats; we're going over there now."
Doris was Jeff's wife. Jeff was a mber of the NYPD—the very officer reported shot monts ago. More importantly, Jeff had been George's partner before George was promoted to Captain.
Jeff was the one who went offline tonight.
...
In a dark alleyway in the Lower East Side of Manhattan, where security caras were non-existent.
George ended the call with his wife, his face darkening instantly. He turned and walked back into the depths of the alley.
The atmosphere was suffocating. Despite more than twenty officers being present, the scene was eerily quiet. They were radiating a cold, concentrated fury.
Near a dumpster, the officer nad Jeff was slumped back, his head lolling uselessly against the tal. He had three bullet holes in him, along with over a dozen stab wounds. By the ti the first patrol unit arrived, there was no chance of survival.
Near Jeff's feet, a gold-embossed card lay on the pavent, looking starkly out of place in the gri.
It was a notification card identical to the ones Locke used.
[Notification Card]
[Na: Jeff Martin]
[Cri: Brutality, Corruption]
[Sentence: Execution!]
George knelt, picking up the card with a gloved hand. He stared at the listed cris, his eyes flickering with unreadable emotions.
Just then—
"Brent, the Captain is—"
"Get out of my way!"
With a voice low with suppressed rage, a man in a leather jacket pushed past the periter officers. He was middle-aged and balding, yet possessed a rugged, masculine handsoness.
Jason Brent, an NYPD Detective. He had originally been with the 8th Precinct but followed George Stacy to Headquarters when George was promoted. He had beco Jeff's new partner.
Jason Brent was a powder keg. He was frequently under investigation or in the tabloids for "roughing up" criminals who didn't follow the rules. As his superior, George was often frustrated with him, yet he protected Jason because, despite the lack of discipline, Jason was a damn good detective.
"Fuck!" Jason looked at the lifeless Jeff. Like a volcano on the verge of erupting, he cursed and wiped his face. He slamd his right fist into the brick wall with a dull *thud*. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
George looked up, his face an emotionless mask, and beckoned an officer. "Get Jeff's personnel file. Everything."
The officer nodded.
Jason's gaze snapped to George, specifically the card in George's hand. He narrowed his eyes. "You don't actually believe what's written on that thing, do you?"
George looked at him. "It doesn't matter what I believe. The 'Sin Hunter' left it. That ans we investigate."
Jason's voice rose, barely controlled. "You don't trust one of our own?"
The surrounding officers all shifted their gazes toward George.
George's expression didn't flicker. "Jeff was your partner, but don't forget, he was mine first. I know exactly what kind of man he was. But if we don't investigate, tomorrow's papers will paint him as a dirty cop because of this card. We investigate not because I don't trust Jeff, but because we are going to clear his na!"
George knew this wasn't the work of the Legendary Assassin. He had known since the Brooklyn couple's murder that a copycat was on the loose. He knew Jeff wasn't corrupt.
But George's eyes lingered on the card. He called over Detective Kate, who had just arrived, and handed it to her carefully. "Sa as the last one. Send it to Forensics. I want an analysis."
Jason, thinking George was handing the case over to Kate, flared up again. "I'm taking this case!"
George finished his instructions to Kate and then nodded to Jason. "Fine. You and Kate are lead on this."
He turned to leave. Jeff was his close friend. He didn't want the departnt's notification unit to be the one knocking on Doris's door.
"Notify everyone in Major Cris," George barked as he walked. "Cancellations on all leaves. Everyone is on twenty-four-hour standby!"
"Sir!"
"Understood!"
A chorus of determined shouts followed. Nobody kills a New York City cop and walks away. Nobody. Not even the Legendary Assassin.
When a cop is murdered, the killer inadvertently triggers a "Hell" difficulty quest: **The Wrath of New York.** Until the killer is caught, thirty-to-forty thousand NYPD officers are awake and hunting. They will knock on every door in the city if they have to.
...
*Rumble!*
Thunder rolled across the sky as George stepped out of his car. He wiped the anger from his face. Entering his friend's house and telling a widow that her husband was gone required a different kind of strength.
Locke, Gwen, and Helen were already there. Locke had insisted on escorting them; with a killer roaming around, he felt better being the one to guard them.
The three had stayed outside, waiting for George's arrival. George hugged Helen, gave Locke a brief, solemn nod, and headed for the door.
Locke stayed behind. Gwen noticed and walked back to him. "Aren't you coming in?"
'I don't even know this Jeff,' Locke wanted to say. But he settled for: "I'm not very good at these kinds of scenes."
It was the truth. He couldn't fathom the emotional weight of knocking on a door to tell a family their world had ended.
Gwen gave a strained smile. She looked toward the door where Doris had appeared. Doris's face had shifted from a montary joy at seeing friends to a dawning, horrific realization.
"Before Dad was a Captain," Gwen whispered, "back when he was still a detective, Mom would never sleep until he ca ho. Every ti the doorbell rang while he was out, she would freeze for a few seconds before she could bring herself to open it."
Gwen hadn't understood it as a child. But now, she did. She watched her father's back. "When I realized what she was going through, I threw a fit once and told him to quit. He told ... soone has to do the job. Other people have daughters, too."
Soone has to stand at the edge of the light to hold back the dark.
Locke frowned. This was exactly why he never targeted the innocent.
The guilty? They deserved it. No snowflake in an avalanche is innocent; if they lived off blood money, they shared the stain. But the innocent were different.
Locke maintained a strict bottom line. Even in Texas, when he was being hunted by Rangers, he never pulled the trigger on a guardian standing in the light.
Gwen took Locke's hand and smiled at him. "That's why Dad has always been my hero. And Locke... you're my hero, too."
She believed that in every woman's life, there are heroes who protect her. George was her first. Locke, she was certain, would be her second.
"Co on," Gwen said softly. "I need my hero by my side right now."
Locke nodded and followed her inside.
In the living room, the sound of sobbing filled the air. Doris was trembling as she took a tissue from Helen. Her eyes were bloodshot. She looked at George, her voice low but steady as she tried to grasp the reality. "Who... who could be so cruel?"
George was silent for a mont. "We aren't sure yet. But... we found a notification card at the scene."
Locke, who was just closing the door with Gwen, raised an eyebrow.
What????
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