This was beyond surreal.
Carrying a device that massive, strolling right into a skyscraper, passing through security, and taking the elevator to the 16th floor—all without a single soul noticing?
How was that even possible?
More importantly: over half of New York City was watching this on TV. If the building blew up, there was no escaping it. The "Legendary Assassin" would own the blackest mark in history.
"Negotiators are on site."
"Will they be of any use?"
George Stacy took a deep breath, staring at the car's monitor as the cara panned back to Locke. "Keep the negotiators on standby," he said grimly.
"Yes, sir."
"See if we can breach from the roof."
"Understood!"
The SWAT captain on the 16th floor gestured for two n to stay at the door while he led the rest toward the stairs, hoping to rappel down from the roof and breach the windows for a hostage rescue.
Inside, Locke couldn't care less about the movent outside.
Patty Finn glanced at the handgun resting on Locke's lap. Her heart was racing, but she forced herself to maintain the poise of a top-tier business executive. She looked at Locke. "Shall we begin, Mr. Peerless?"
Locke nodded. "Of course."
Patty nodded to the caraman. He coughed, held up three fingers, and counted them down one by one.
Then, the iconic opening sequence of New York Channel 1 played in the living rooms of over half the city's residents.
"Holy shit!"
"Is this for real?"
"They're actually playing the intro?"
"I'm literally laughing. This is insane."
The intro faded out.
Patty Finn addressed the lens. "Good evening, New York. Tonight, our studio has the privilege of hosting a very special guest. He is the subject of our ongoing series of reports—the man the NYPD calls the 'Sin Hunter,' AKA the Legendary Assassin. Mr. Peerless."
The cara cut to Locke. He sat with his legs crossed, looking every bit the high-end gentleman in his bespoke suit. He offered a slight smile and a nod. "Good evening, New York."
The shot widened.
"So..." Patty turned her chair toward him. She wore a professional smile, though her voice carried a slight, involuntary tremor. "Mr. Peerless, both myself and the viewers at ho are curious. What is the purpose of your visit tonight?"
"I originally intended to visit the NYPD," Locke replied smoothly.
"The NYPD?"
"Yes." Locke nodded, looking like any other guest on a talk show. "Perhaps because I dropped by yesterday, their security is quite tight today. I happened to hear your broadcast about , and I thought, why not? I simply turned around and ca here instead."
Patty blinked. "You visited the NYPD... yesterday?"
"Yes. The morgue, specifically. I just got off a plane and heard the NYPD—and all of New York—claiming I had committed two murders. I wanted to see for myself exactly who I was supposed to have killed."
"You just returned to the city?"
"Yes. It was Christmas, after all. I gave myself a holiday in Iceland. The world is full of bad people, and they aren't going anywhere. Spending all my ti dealing with negative energy takes a toll. I needed to see sothing beautiful to remind myself why I do what I do."
"...Could you elaborate on that? I think we'd all like to know."
"Of course." Locke spread his hands. "I love beautiful things. But I've found that much of that beauty is being defiled by ugliness. I simply do what I can to remove that ugliness."
Locke figured if he was going to play big, a live broadcast was as big as it gets. It didn't require the overhead of a massive action sequence—no Audi R8s were hard in the making of this interview. It was cost-effective.
Actually, he wondered if he should ask for an appearance fee afterward. Movie stars got paid for this, and Locke's starting rate for "work" was $200,000. Compared to Hollywood, he was a bargain.
Patty, anwhile, caught the lead. "So, you're saying that the three notification cards—including the one from today—were not your work? Soone is impersonating you?"
Locke smiled. "Correct. I planned to call and tell you, but you didn't pick up. So, I ca up to tell you in person."
Patty managed a small laugh. "I'll make sure to save your number. I'll definitely pick up next ti."
'Next ti?' Locke thought. 'Unlikely.' He was raising the stakes so high tonight that he doubted anyone would ever dare wear his "face" again.
Patty composed herself. "Mr. Peerless, that's not what the NYPD is saying."
"I understand their position."
"Oh?"
Locke looked at her, his lips curving upward. "Patty—may I call you Patty?"
"Of course."
"Thank you. And you can call Peerless. I realize most people have many misconceptions about ."
"Is that so?"
"In the eyes of the public, I'm seen as a cold-blooded vigilante, an executioner in the shadows. But work is work, and life is life. In my personal life, I'm quite easygoing. For example, I'm nothing like the FBI's criminal profile."
Locke looked directly into the cara, his tone light and conversational. "For instance: I do not live in my parents' basent. Please. I have money; I can buy any villa I want. And I have many friends—professional ones. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to find the files on the people I judge."
At the FBI headquarters in Quantico, the mbers of the Behavioral Analysis Unit stared at the screen, their faces turning a sour shade of red.
"Back to the point," Locke pivoted. "I understand why the NYPD is attributing these three cases to . I don't bla them."
"Why not?"
"I am a criminal in their eyes. To the NYPD, only the law has the right to judge. By using this imposter to draw out, they not only get a shot at but also force the copycat to lower his guard. It's two birds with one stone. If I were in their shoes, I'd do the sa."
Locke's greatest strength was his ability to empathize with his enemies. The "Legendary Assassin" persona was designed to be exposed eventually, just like Victoria Knox. He could understand why she'd give him up to save her skin, just as he understood George Stacy's duty.
Truthfully, even if SHIELD opened fire on Peerless, Locke wouldn't be genuinely angry. As long as they didn't target Locke.
Patty seed a bit stunned by his reasonableness. "You're... really not what we expected."
Locke leaned back and smiled. "Patty, if you knew the real , we might even be good friends."
"Really?"
"Of course." Locke leaned forward slightly. "Maybe I've already passed you in a coffee shop without my sunglasses and said hello. Maybe you're already one of my friends and you just don't know it."
Patty's jaw tightened. 'My friend is a killer?' She couldn't even let her imagination go there. The thought was chilling.
She shook off the feeling and licked her lips. "So, Peerless, you ca here tonight just to explain to the audience that you didn't do it?"
Locke tilted his head. "That's a secondary objective. Not the main one."
"Then the main objective is...?"
"Hehe." Locke looked down and chuckled, then looked back up at Patty. "Patty, what are the ratings right now?"
Patty looked over at her assistant, who was working through sheer terror. The assistant scribbled a series of numbers and held them up.
Locke frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't speak 'dia.' Professional skills require constant study, even for a killer. Can you explain in percentages? How much of New York is watching this?"
'A killer who studies?' The crew exchanged weird looks.
The assistant checked the live data for the New York area and wrote down a new number.
"75%."
"Wow." Locke looked genuinely impressed. "You an to tell 75% of New Yorkers are watching this right now?"
"Yes," Patty nodded. It was probably higher. A killer hijacking a TV station for a live chat? New Yorkers wouldn't miss that for the world.
"Perfect."
"Peerless...?"
Locke smiled brilliantly at the cara. "I never kill innocents or those who stand in the light to hold back the darkness—even if they have flaws, I am more than patient with them. But you?"
He paused, his eyes cold behind the shades. "Congratulations. You've successfully caught my attention. I will find you. And when I do... we'll all see what happens next."
Patty: "..."
New York: "..."
The Killer: "..."
***
Read 30 Chapters early on P-atreon/Redestro666
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