Sent by S.H.I.E.L.D.?
But...
Even if they wanted to use a honey trap, they should have sent someone with looks comparable to Black Widow. Sending this person over? Who would fall for that?
Locke thought this to himself, but by nightfall, he had already debunked the idea.
Regardless of Megan Walsh's true identity, she certainly wasn't an agent or spy from S.H.I.E.L.D. or any other official agency.
The same old principle applied.
Official forgeries don't look fake.
To an average person, Megan's records might seem perfectly normal, but to Locke, they were riddled with holes.
Especially that Trent High School in Canada.
During his major upgrade a few days ago, Locke had already leveled his Hacking skill to Advanced—enough to rival a CIA hacker.
However, just because he could rival a senior CIA hacker didn't mean CIA hackers were the strongest in existence.
This wasn't the Eastern Country; this was the Federation.
In the Eastern Country, first-rate talents go into the government—that was true.
But this was the Federation. Here, first-rate talents always went to Wall Street. Even second-rate talents prioritized the military. Official agencies like the CIA actually ranked third.
But even so, it was enough.
Locke followed the network cables and infiltrated the database of Trent High School in Canada. There was indeed data on Megan Walsh, and she was indeed listed among the exchange students.
But.
There were traces of modification in the records, made about half a month ago. Following the breadcrumbs, Locke traced the connection back to an internet cafe in a tiny, obscure country with zero presence on the world stage.
Locke rubbed his chin as he looked over the Megan Walsh file he had pulled from the Midtown High database. He noticed a snippet of independent code embedded within her data.
It was a defensive mechanism; once someone queried Megan Walsh's records, this defense would be triggered.
An experienced shooter.
Expert in hand-to-hand combat.
And knows hacking.
If she's not an assassin raised since childhood, I'll livestream myself washing my hair while doing a handstand tonight.
Wait.
Not an agent.
Megan Walsh clearly wasn't that type.
But...
An agent—or assassin—running off to school instead of doing missions? Is there a hole in her brain?
Megan Walsh definitely wasn't here for a mission.
The reason?
As soon as Megan transferred, she was too high-profile. If it were a "stunning" high profile, one could argue it was to complete some mission.
But...
Megan's debut was a "clownish" high profile, making herself look like a fool.
If she really were an agent on a mission, Locke would have only one word for her:
Noob!
Locke knew he was here for special reasons.
Could this Megan Walsh also have some special reason?
After a long while.
Locke shook his head.
Forget it.
As long as she isn't here for me.
As long as she doesn't interfere with my mission grinding, she can do whatever she wants.
"Mind your own business and stay out of trouble."
This was Locke's consistent motto. Why go out of your way to meddle in things that have nothing to do with you?
In that time, he could grind daily missions and take orders to increase his Achievement Points, Potential Points, and his private treasury. Isn't that much better?
Besides.
Locke liked peace, but he didn't fear schemes. If she really was coming for him, he would kill who needed killing and bury who needed burying. In his dictionary, there was no rule saying beautiful women couldn't be killed.
Time flew by.
...
A month passed, and it was now November 2004. In another month, the chemistry competition team—which included Locke and Gwen—would be heading to Maine for the contest.
This was a major mission. The base reward started at 5000 points. If they secured first place, they could receive triple rewards.
Locke was very proactive about this.
Every day, after dinner, he would return to school with Gwen and the other team members to receive extra tutoring from the teacher.
Of course.
Locke didn't neglect his nighttime missions either.
*Bang!*
"What—"
A middle-aged man stared in disbelief at the man in sunglasses. He had been hit by a pistol round, but he remained completely unharmed. Just as the man was about to speak, a pain bloomed between his eyebrows, and then he hit the floor.
Locke looked down at his chest and smiled. He walked over to the man, took a photo, and turned to leave.
His Transcendental Talent, Resilience, had already reached Level 2.
Small-caliber pistols like this didn't even register a sensation when hitting his body.
They would only leave faint marks; they could no longer penetrate his frame.
However...
Locke hadn't tested fragile or sensitive areas like his head or groin.
After all, he wasn't stupid, nor was he insane.
Who would shoot themselves in the head or groin just for fun?
What if it actually worked?
Back home.
Locke collected 1000 Potential Points and 1000 Achievement Points, plus 200,000 in bounty money. After taking a satisfying shower, he saw an incoming call and a smile played on his face.
"Gwen."
"Locke, my dad went out to chase that 'Sin Hunter' again."
[...Don't worry. By the time George gets there, the Sin Hunter will be long gone.]
"Sigh!"
Gwen couldn't help but let out a long sigh on the other end. "He clearly got promoted, but the moment he hears about a case related to the Sin Hunter, he can't help but go out into the field. My mom got into another argument with him yesterday."
My fault.
Locke thought to himself.
About a week ago, the case regarding the textile mill assassin organization from a month prior finally settled. A week ago, the new mayor, Ms. Casey, took office and immediately took drastic measures, ending the roughly month-long chaos in New York.
The former mayor was thrown into prison—only to be granted medical parole on his second day of incarceration.
In exchange, Ms. Casey's position became more secure.
This was the unique "Official Art" of the Federation.
Once Ms. Casey took office, the next step was rewarding those who had helped her.
Investors who supported Ms. Casey early on—the "charcoal in the snow" types—received high returns, including several municipal contracts.
Those who supported her midway—the "flowers on the brocade" types—split the remaining cake.
As for George and the others?
Unlike the investors, in Ms. Casey's eyes, the ledger provided by George and Kate was a declaration of loyalty. They were now "her people."
Take George for example...
George had finally donned the white shirt and become an office-bound Police Inspector.
This was a good thing.
At the very least, according to Gwen, Mrs. Helen Stacy nearly cried with relief when she heard the news. Since George would be sitting in an office, she no longer had to worry about receiving a sudden phone call at any time.
Locke thought so too.
But.
Locke had miscalculated.
George had a demon in his heart.
And that demon was him.
***
Read 30 Chapters early on P-atreon.com/Redestro666