Marvel: The Super Player Chapter 154 155: Peerless Without Scruples

Now, this was a real spectacle.

Since that copycat dared to use his na, they should have expected that it would force him out into the light. No true serial killer would tolerate an imposter; the only difference was that most killers don't have the channel to speak out. They either have to hunt the imposter down personally—like Red John from California—or just swallow their pride.

But Locke wasn't a serial killer. He admitted he was a sinner, but he would never admit to being a re murderer. Thus, Locke chose a third path.

Before the caras, Locke stood with his hands in his pockets, his aura as elegant as a British gentleman.

"If you're watching this," Locke said, his lips curling into a smirk as he stared down the lens, "I have a small suggestion for you."

He didn't mask the killing intent in his voice. "Run. Run now, and run far. Because I'm coming for you very soon. And when I catch you, you won't die—I swear it on the Almighty Lord—but you will wish you had. I'll make sure you understand exactly what the price is for wearing my face."

He didn't mind the legend of Peerless growing. He did, however, mind soone using that legend to commit petty, violent muggings and junkie-tier hits.

"Hehe!"

Locke laughed abruptly, sitting back down on the sofa. He looked at Patty, who was drenched in cold sweat after being caught in the backwash of that killing intent. He offered an apologetic smile. "Forgive . I lost my composure for a mont."

Patty managed a weak smile. In that mont, she finally understood: despite the sharp suit and the gentlemanly veneer, the man in front of her was a killer—and a completely unscrupulous one at that.

Locke stood up, straightening his tie. He looked at Patty. "Well, I've said my piece. Sorry for the disruption. I'll be going now. We'll be in touch."

Patty's lip twitched. 'I'm changing my phone number first thing tomorrow morning.'

But the building was surrounded by the NYPD, the FBI, and Holand Security. How was he planning to leave?

Locke stopped near the door. The crew in the studio felt their hearts leap into their throats. "This is it,' they thought. 'He's going to silence the witnesses.'

Instead, Locke turned back to Patty. "Next ti I co by, try to have the Weather Queen, Barbara, here. To be frank, you're not exactly a professional host."

A professional host should know how to keep the atmosphere lively. But Patty? If she weren't George's high school ex, Locke wouldn't have given her this career-making screen ti. Truly, connections are everything in life.

Locke shook his head, picked up the shoulder-fired missile with one hand, held the detonator in the other, and walked right past the two terrified SWAT officers at the door.

The studio crew stared at each other in stunned silence. That was... it? They were alive?

...

In the Hallway.

Locke entered the elevator. He tilted his head, looking at the two tactical officers aiming their rifles at him. He smiled. "Not planning on riding down with ?"

The officers remained frozen, guns trained on the man holding a missile. Locke sighed, let go of the "Open" button, and waved as the doors slid shut. "See you then."

*Ding!* The elevator descended.

The two officers gasped for air, their radios crackling. "Target is heading down. Repeat, target is heading down!"

...

The Lobby.

"Fast! Fast! Aim!"

"Do not fire without my signal!"

George, Colin from the FBI, and Victoria Hand from SHIELD disguised as NY Holand Security stood behind a barricade of tactical gear and ballistic shields. They stared at the elevator floor indicator.

3... 2... 1...

*Ding!*

The crisp sound of the elevator arriving was followed by the collective *clack-clack-clack* of dozens of weapons being readied.

"Whoa!"

Locke stepped out, carrying the missile casually. He looked at the massive array of force and seed genuinely flattered. "Wow. Quite a reception. Impressive."

George took a deep breath, his forehead pulsing. He stared at the Stark Industries logo on the missile. "Peerless, you're surrounded."

Locke tilted his head. "I disagree."

"What?"

Locke shifted the missile to his left arm. In a blur, a golden handgun appeared in his right hand. He didn't point it at the cops; he pointed it directly at the warhead of the missile.

"To be precise..." Locke smiled brilliantly at George. "Officer Stacy, you should say that I have you surrounded."

If a Stark missile detonated in this lobby, the building wouldn't just collapse—it would be erased.

'Damn,' Locke thought. 'Magneto is still back in Genosha playing nanny. If he were here, I could have learned that ultimate 'Leap of Faith' skill.'

Locke flicked the safety off his pistol, looking at the riot shields and sniper glints. "In five minutes, I want an Audi R8 waiting at the front door. Otherwise, we all go to heaven together."

George and the others were dumbfounded.

"You wouldn't—" George started.

*Bang!*

Locke fired a shot directly into the casing of the missile. Sparks flew. Everyone in the lobby flinched, so even diving for cover.

"Once is luck," Locke mused, looking back at the wide-eyed officers. "I don't kill innocents, but I'm perfectly fine with suicide. Want to try a second shot? Let's see if the fuse is feeling moody tonight."

Director Colin's legs turned to jelly. Sweat poured down his face. "George..."

Victoria Hand breathed in sharply, looking at Locke as if he were a complete lunatic. A man who truly didn't care if he lived or died. "George," she whispered, "no hostages have been hurt yet. DC is watching this live. There are still hundreds of people upstairs."

George stared at Locke, his teeth gritted so hard they might crack.

Locke chuckled and put his finger back on the trigger.

"Wait!"

*Bang!*

Locke flicked his wrist at the last second, the bullet sparking off the floor near the missile. He grinned at George. "By the way, Officer Stacy, how is Jeff Martin? Is he doing better?"

George's eye twitched. He barked an order for an R8 to be brought around. He stared at Locke, his chest heaving. "I will catch you, Peerless. I swear it."

"Good. I enjoy the chase," Locke nodded. "Oh, and I heard your daughter is dating that boy the feds think is my accomplice?"

Victoria Hand's brow furrowed.

Locke laughed. "Tell you what, I'll admit it: he is my accomplice. Maybe you can use him to bait out? Hahaha!"

"You're insane!" George hissed.

Locke's laughter died down. "You're an idealist, George. So am I. The only difference is that you believe in the law, while I see the scum the law can't touch. I'm just doing what a human being should do."

"You have no right to judge."

"I agree." Locke didn't mind chatting while he waited for the car. "Look, I've never said you shouldn't try to catch . I don't consider myself a judge or a vigilante. Catch if you can; it's your job. I support your work, George."

...

The R8 pulled up. Locke looked at George and the sea of officers.

"Just so you know, this missile is rigged to my heartbeat. If my heart stops, the building goes. Oh, and there's another one hidden on the 28th floor. Goodbye, Officer Stacy. Sleep well."

Locke walked toward the exit. The police parted like the Red Sea.

"Sir! I have a clear shot! Repeat, I have a clear shot!" a sniper from across the street radioed in.

"Negative! Abort!" George barked.

Locke reached the curb, opened the door, and tossed the missile into the back seat. He straightened his suit, nodded to the three departnt heads at the door, and hopped in. The engine roared, and the R8 shot forward like an arrow.

As he drove, Locke reached back. The "missile"—actually a construct of his Peerless gear—lted into liquid gold, flowing onto his wrist and forming a perfect golden bracelet.

'If I wanted it to blow, a bullet would have done it. If I didn't, a real missile couldn't set it off.'

...

"Sir!" A bomb tech ran up to George.

"What is it?"

"Nothing! We've swept the 28th floor. No missile, no residue, no explosives. Not even a firecracker."

Colin frowned. "We were played?"

George turned to him, his eyes burning. "You provided the car. Tell you have the tracker active."

"Of course we do," Colin snapped.

"Then where is he?"

"..."

***

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