Crap!
Don't tell me they've actually gone on holiday?
Locke suddenly realized the gravity of the problem. Tomorrow was the weekend, and apparently, even in the clandestine world of wetwork, nobody worked the weekends.
Good grief!
Please, while the exterior looks like a mundane, run-of-the-mill textile mill, your core is a genuine, certified assassin incubation factory.
A holiday? Since when do assassins get a vacation policy? Have you ever seen a professional hitman put up an "Out of Office" auto-reply?
Then again...
The US was dead serious about labor laws. In this capitalist society, at least, no one dared to publicly declare that "996 is a blessing." If the President said that, the unions would sue him into the ground before the sound reached the back of the room.
What now? Wait for Monday morning?
Locke looked at the sky. There wasn't a breath of wind—hardly a "high wind for setting fires" kind of night. Besides, there were only about a dozen small fry left inside.
Spending his resources to harvest them now felt like a poor return on investment. Especially with George Stacy currently inside the building.
Just then, a flash of fiery red caught Locke's eye. A sports car was pulling out from the mill's interior.
『Ding!』
『Quest Generating.』
『Quest: "Scent of a Woman at Night" and "Visiting the Little Newbie at Night"』
『Completion Rewards: "1,000 Achievement Points", "1,000 Potential Points"』
『Quest Description: "Nothing good happens after midnight!"』
"..."
Locke raised an eyebrow. Fine. Excellent.
First, you wreck my car, and now you're thinking about dismantling my home?
Sure thing.
Fraternity, if I don't turn this into a "Convention of Corpses," I'll never use the codename Peerless again!
Locke cast a cold, expressionless glance back at the textile mill before turning to vanish into the shadows. Monday it is. Clock-in time will be your time to report to Hell!
Locke's revenge rarely waited overnight, but right now, he wasn't going to waste his precious time playing hide-and-seek with a few stragglers. Besides, who knew if the game of hide-and-seek would even count as a proper quest?
...
Manhattan, Fifth Avenue, The Star Tower.
Sitting in the passenger seat of the red Maserati, Wesley Gibson looked up through the window at the Star Tower. Even in the dead of night, the building shimmered with a crystalline brilliance, a literal pillar of wealth.
"Isn't he an orphan?" Wesley asked, a note of bitter curiosity in his voice.
Comparison is the thief of joy. Wesley felt the sting of reality; he wasn't an orphan, yet he was nowhere near as successful as this sixteen-year-old kid. It defied logic. How could a teenager afford this?
Fox kept her eyes on the twenty-eighth floor, which remained pitch black. "He's an orphan, but not the abandoned kind. He has a family trust fund. Calling him an orphan is technically true, but 'Second-Generation Rich Kid' with a tragic backstory is more accurate."
Wesley: "..."
No wonder he could afford a place Wesley couldn't even dream of. Damn capitalists.
Just then...
"He's here."
"What?"
Wesley followed Fox's gaze. From the Star Tower's parking garage, a silver Audi R8 emerged. Under the visible control of the target, the car glided out of the lot, streaking past their red sports car.
Fox ignited the engine, and the Maserati roared to life as she swung into pursuit.
In the Audi, Locke glanced at the rearview mirror. The corners of his mouth curled upward. He had no intention of letting a war zone erupt in his brand-new home, which he'd owned for less than seventy-two hours. More importantly, Locke wasn't ready to expose his true identity so early in the game.
"System, upgrade Driving!"
『Driving (Junior) to Driving (Intermediate) requires 1,000 Potential Points. Confirm upgrade?』
"...Take it straight to Senior!"
『Driving (Junior) to...』
"Confirmed. Do it!"
『Upgrade successful. 2,000 Potential Points consumed!』
『Driving: Current Level: Senior!』
One and done.
Back in Texas, Locke spent most of his time on horseback; after all, there were no age restrictions for riding a horse. His Junior driving skill had been a carry-over from his previous life. Apparently, the system deemed his self-proclaimed "pro-driver" status from his past life as mere amateur hour. It was a slight to his reputation as a legendary street racer, but it was a necessary fix.
With Senior Driving, Locke felt he wouldn't need another upgrade for at least five years. His skills weren't just world-class; he felt that compared to a certain Dominic Toretto currently hanging around Los Angeles, he wouldn't be lagging behind.
Locke pulled a pair of sunglasses from his jacket and slid them on. He glanced once more at the red Maserati in the mirror.
The show was about to begin.
He slammed the accelerator.
VROOOOM!
"Hold on! Something's wrong!" Fox shouted.
She felt the shift immediately. The moment Locke accelerated, the Audi R8 transformed. It became an eel in water, suddenly darting into a narrow side alley with impossible precision. Fox yanked the handbrake, executing a perfect 180-degree drift to keep him in sight.
Wesley was a "fast-track" assassin. He was a specialized tool developed specifically to kill Cross. He knew how to curve a bullet, but he knew nothing of intelligence gathering, tracking, or high-speed tactical maneuvering. The mill hadn't bothered to teach him.
Fox, however, was a true professional.
BOOM!
Locke drove the Audi R8 as if it were flying, maintaining a steady eighty miles per hour as he threaded through a needle-thin alleyway.
THUD!
"AH!" Wesley yelled as the Maserati followed, bouncing violently.
Fox narrowed her eyes. She saw it. Through the Audi's rearview mirror, she saw the target glancing back at them with a look of cool detachment.
She reached for her sidearm.
BANG!
A golden casing ejected as a bullet screamed toward Locke's rearview mirror.
But Locke gave the steering wheel a sharp, calculated twitch. The bullet grazed the Audi's bodywork, leaving a silver streak before losing its kinetic energy and dropping harmlessly to the asphalt.
SCREECH!
Locke performed a drift on the spot, turning ninety degrees before performing a rapid U-turn to face his pursuers.
It's only polite to return a favor.
Locke's ears twitched. As his right hand reached out the window, the "Silver Dancer," stored in his inventory, materialized in his grip.
*BANG!*
"GET DOWN!" Fox screamed.
*BANG!*