Inside the Broadcast Studio.
Patty Finn, the gold-standard producer for New York's Channel 1, was monitoring the soaring viewership ratings. She gestured to the host, Paul Lee—who was currently waxing poetic to the public about the history of the "notification cards"—signaling that the segnt was a hit and he should keep digging into the details.
Paul Lee, looking sharp in his suit, gave a subtle nod and glanced at the teleprompter. Just as he was about to move to the next chapter—
*Thud!*
The studio doors were kicked open.
*Bang!*
*Bang!*
Gunshots instantly echoed through the cavernous studio.
Locke, wearing his signature sunglasses, looked at the crowd. Their faces shifted from shock to pure terror in a heartbeat. He offered a thin, cold smile. "Good evening. My na is Peerless. I heard you were reporting on ?"
The crowd: "..."
...
*Ring, ring, ring!*
Back at the hospital, George Stacy was watching over Jeff while waiting for the surgical light in the other wing to go out. When he answered his phone, his face drained of color. He bolted upright. "What?"
Jeff, lying in bed, and Gwen and Helen, sitting nearby, instinctively turned toward him. George spoke a few frantic words, hung up, and looked at Jeff. "The Legendary Assassin just hijacked the Channel 1 live broadcast."
Jeff's expression turned incredulous. "Holy shit!"
Gwen scrambled to turn on the hospital TV.
On the screen, the Channel 1 studio was in chaos. The host, Paul Lee, looked like he was about to faint as he fumbled to rip off his earpiece and crouch down.
*Bang!*
A bullet struck the floor right at his feet. Paul Lee shook like a leaf as a voice from off-cara commanded: "Sit back down. Be a good boy."
Paul Lee jolted upright.
Locke turned around and began rigging a device to the only entrance of the studio. He glanced at Paul Lee—who had literally pissed himself in front of the cara—and shook his head.
Fortunately, Locke wasn't here for the host. He was here for the person with the connections to leak the NYPD's secret "Peerless Files."
Gold-standard producer, Patty Finn.
"Hello!"
Locke walked over to a woman crouching with the rest of the crew. Despite her posture, her long legs, fluffy curls, and striking height—enhanced by her business attire—made her stand out. It was Julia Rober... no, Patty Finn. Locke extended a hand and smiled. "Hello, Ms. Finn. I've heard a lot about you. George has ntioned you."
The "George" here was obviously George Stacy.
Locke knew all about Peerless's files being on George's desk. He also knew Patty Finn had visited George's study recently; she'd left a business card, and Gwen had ntioned that Patty was one of her father's high school classmates.
Patty, wearing leather boots, looked at the hand extended toward her, then up at the man in the sharp suit and sunglasses.
Locke spoke softly. "My apologies. I tried calling before I ca up, but you didn't answer. So, I let myself in. Very rude of ."
He really had called. From the lobby. She had declined the unknown number. Since a phone call failed, a house call was the only polite alternative.
Patty seed to realize it then—her phone had indeed buzzed during the broadcast.
Locke pulled her up from the floor. "The script for the segnt was excellent. That's what I wanted to tell you on the phone. Also, I heard you wanted an interview?"
Helen had ntioned this on the way to Jeff's house.
Locke looked at the desk under the bright studio lights and smiled at Patty. "So, here I am. Let's do it. Though, I think your host over there is having a nervous breakdown."
Paul Lee was drenched in cold sweat, his trousers visibly wet. Patty looked over and frowned.
Locke chuckled. "I always thought news anchors were supposed to be cool under pressure."
"He's not an anchor," Patty said firmly. She looked at Locke—a man who held a gun yet radiated an undeniable sense of gentlemanly poise. Her professional instincts kicked in. She smiled. "Does Mr. Peerless watch our program?"
'Good nerves,' Locke thought. No wonder she was George's high school friend. But why did she lose out to Helen, whom George only t in college?
'Is this a case of the childhood friend being defeated by the 'destined' newcor?'
"In a way," Locke replied, gesturing for her to lead the way to the caras. "Though I mostly watch for the weather forecast at the end. Is the weather girl here, by the way?"
Patty laughed softly. "Mr. Peerless, you're in the wrong studio. Barbara is next door. This is the Hard News desk."
Locke sighed. "A pity."
...
Paul Lee was dragged away by security, and a crew mber hurried to mop the floor and spray air freshener. The poor guy's career was effectively over via "social death."
"Please, sit."
"Thank you."
Locke sat on the guest sofa, looking professional. He gestured to the technician behind the main cara. "Give the lens. I have a few words for the NYPD."
Patty nodded to the bearded caraman.
Instantly, Locke's image appeared on millions of TV screens across New York.
"Good evening, NYPD!" Locke said, crossing his legs and offering a playful smirk. "There are about thirty staff mbers in this studio. I've left a little gift on the door. If you try to rush in, you'll love the surprise. If you cut the signal, I start killing. Thank you."
He turned back to Patty. "To be honest, this is my first interview. Anything I should know beforehand?"
...
New Amsterdam Hospital.
Gwen's jaw dropped. She blinked at the screen. A killer who usually lived in the shadows was going live? This didn't fit the "Legendary Assassin" persona at all.
Jeff gritted his teeth, pointing at the screen. "That's him. Peerless."
The cara angle widened to show both Locke and Patty.
"Aunt Patty!" Gwen whispered.
Helen watched Patty on screen with a complicated expression. Patty had used news leads as an excuse to chase George for years, but Helen trusted George. There was no real malice between the won—just the occasional "ho-wrecking" attempt from Patty's side. Still, Helen picked up the phone to call George.
George, racing toward the station, took a sharp breath when he heard the news. *Patty!*
The Channel 1 building was now a beehive of activity. The NYPD, FBI, and SHIELD agents (disguised as Holand Security) had arrived. But they all heard Locke's threat. No one dared move.
"Captain Stacy!"
"Director Colin."
George shook hands with the FBI director who had appeared in court against Locke the previous year. "What's the situation?"
"Evacuating the building," Colin said, shaking his head. "For God's sake, it's 9:00 PM and there are still hundreds of people in there. The studio is on the 16th floor. The FBI is here to cooperate fully with the NYPD."
George glanced at him. Cooperate my ass. If it were any other hostage situation, the FBI would be claiming jurisdiction. They were "cooperating" now because Peerless was a confird killer, and no one wanted to be the one who caused a bloodbath on live TV.
Victoria Hand, disguised as a Holand Security official, approached. "Why would Peerless hijack a news station out of the blue?"
George and Colin shared a look. How should we know? He was a killer; if his motives were easy to analyze, they'd have caught him years ago.
Colin suggested, "Should we cut the signal?"
George and Hand said "No!" in unison.
George looked at Hand. If Nick Fury were still in charge, he would have cut the signal imdiately to control the narrative. Thank God Fury was gone.
Just then, the SWAT captain's voice crackled over the radio from the 16th floor. "Sir! We've reached the studio doors."
He let out a sharp breath. "Sir... there's a device wired to the door. Confirming a large-scale explosive."
Downstairs, the technician inside the studio panned the cara to the door. A missile-like bomb stood rigged to the fra, with the shadows of the SWAT team visible through the frosted glass.
*WTF?*
George, Colin, and Hand stared at the monitors in silence.
***
Read 30 Chapters early on P-atreon/Redestro666
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