Melinda May was dead. Dead as dead could be.
Locke was absolutely certain of that.
But... after what Rosa had just said, Locke became a bit curious. Had Nick Fury and Phil Coulson actually died?
Fortunately, there were moles in S.H.I.E.L.D.
...No, it would be more accurate to say that S.H.I.E.L.D. spies had infiltrated the ranks of Hydra. S.H.I.E.L.D. thought they hadn't been exposed, but in reality, Hydra saw everything.
Soon, the email reply came back quickly.
"Sir... didn't you shoot down the plane Nick Fury and Coulson were on?"
"I didn't see the bodies."
"If you're worried about that, there's no need."
"If they're dead, why didn't S.H.I.E.L.D. send anyone to salvage them from the river?"
"S.H.I.E.L.D. has been banned from all non-essential actions by the Security Council. Especially regarding Nick Fury and Phil Coulson—they are no longer part of S.H.I.E.L.D., and they are already dead men."
"...Is that so?"
"Yes. After you shot down the plane, we disguised ourselves as FBI agents and went to the scene. However, given the gravity of the matter, we did not remove Nick Fury's body in the public eye."
"So, Nick Fury is dead?"
"Yes, I guarantee it, Sir!"
"..."
Locke rubbed his chin.
So... Nick Fury and Phil Coulson were dead after all? Or was Hydra lying?
"Heh."
Locke snapped his laptop shut. "Why the hell am I overthinking this? I'll just check for myself and then I'll know."
He smiled, shaking his head at his own momentary lapse in judgment. He had a literal cheat system. He said he'd send Nick Fury to hell, and Locke was a man of his word! Even if Captain Marvel showed up, she couldn't save him. Locke's word was law!
The next second, Locke flicked his right hand!
Tracking Card!
Location Card!
"Nick Fury!"
Locke tore the two cards in his hand, calling out the name in his mind. Then, looking at the image generated by the system's power, he thought: 'I spent a original price of two thousand Potential Points on these cards just to serve you alone. You've got quite the ego.'
In an instant! A tracking map unfolded. Immediately following it, a localization map appeared.
But...
WTF?
Locke raised an eyebrow, staring at the screen which showed endless lava, fire, and a city looking like the end of the world. He was speechless.
Where is this?
『Ding!』
『Localization successful. Target: Nick Fury. Location: Hell Dimension. Coordinates have been successfully sent and will continue to refresh for the next half hour!』
『Ding!』
『Tracking successful. Target: Nick Fury. Nearest route displayed: Nearest Hell Dimension portal—Texas, Grand Canyon. This portal will close in three hours. Please arrive in time to enter the Hell Dimension.』
"..."
Locke blinked, stood up, and rushed toward the bathroom. No. He needed a moment!
A little while later, Locke washed his face and stepped out. Ears can lie. Eyes can lie. Even people can lie.
But... his cheat system wouldn't lie to him. Over the years, while Locke tried to minimize his spending of points, he still used them when facing troublesome targets. He knew how to be flexible.
Tracking and Location cards wouldn't lie; no person or thing could deceive them. So, if the cards said Nick Fury was in the Hell Dimension, then he was definitely dead and had ended up in Hell.
But that raised a question. Hydra confirmed Fury was dead, and his cards confirmed it—so what was with Rosa saying she didn't see Fury board the plane?
Locke shook his head. As long as the death was confirmed, it was fine.
...
Queens. A Certain Apartment.
"Sir."
Phil Coulson, who had been holed up in this secret apartment for a day, looked at Nick Fury. Fury sat in total darkness, seemingly impossible to spot without the lights on. Coulson frowned. "Why haven't we notified the Bureau to pick us up?"
Sitting on the sofa, perfectly blending into the shadows, Nick Fury's lone eye seemed to emit a black light. "There's a mole in the Bureau!"
Coulson froze. "What?"
A mole in S.H.I.E.L.D.? Whose?
"Who knew about our evacuation?"
"Uh..."
"He came too fast." Nick Fury pulled something from his coat and tossed it onto the table.
Using a sliver of light from outside, Coulson fumbled for it and frowned. "Our tracking beacon?"
"Exactly." Nick Fury nodded. He had found it attached to the undercarriage of the vehicle they were supposed to take, though he had destroyed it.
But who else could have planted a tracker on their car besides one of their own? Unfortunately, Fury didn't realize that while some people are priceless, others are cheap. The driver, for instance, only cost twenty thousand dollars to buy off. That was cheaper than a single Stark Bolt missile.
"And..." Fury's voice was low. "How was our data leaked?"
Coulson paused. Right. If it were just names, that would be one thing. But what was provided to the court wasn't just names; it was their specific internal roles within S.H.I.E.L.D. Aside from an internal leak, it was virtually impossible for anyone to know that information.
Coulson came back to his senses. "Then Sir, what do we do?"
"Wait."
"What?"
Fury pulled another stack of items from his coat and threw them onto the sofa. "If the mastermind is one of ours, he'll make a move soon. Until he does, we stay in the shadows."
Fury narrowed his eye and spat out one phrase: "Number Two!"
Coulson looked at him. Number Two! A member of the first class of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy, who entered at the same time as Agent One, Victoria Knox. A silent, taciturn agent who had defected with Knox years ago. Fury now seriously suspected this Agent Number Two was the Peerless Assassin.
But...
"Any word on that CIA agent, Lorraine Broughton?"
"None." Coulson shook his head. "Before we were arrested, the only thing we found was that Lorraine Broughton is officially recorded as deceased."
Then, just as they were about to dig deeper, they had been thrown in jail. While answering, Coulson looked at the IDs Fury had tossed on the table. In the dim light, he could see they were two sets of forged documents.
"These are..."
"Our new identities," Fury said. "First thing tomorrow morning, we leave New York. We're heading to Texas!"
"Huh?"
"No matter how clever the prey is, they can't be perfect when hiding their tracks. We'll only find evidence by going to the prey's nest."
"...Fine. But can I turn on the water? I need a shower."
"No."
"...Okay."
Late at night, in the darkness, Nick Fury's eyes flickered with a faint light. He watched Phil Coulson, who was wrapped in a coat and sleeping soundly, and rubbed his chin.
'I don't know how long I can keep using this face.'
...
The Next Day.
"A-choo!"
"God bless you."
Hearing Locke sneeze, Gwen instinctively offered a blessing, pulled out a few tissues, and handed them over. She looked at him behind the wheel. "Do you have a cold?"
Locke sniffled his congested nose. "Maybe. Probably had the AC up too high last night."
'AC?' Gwen turned to look out the window at the first snowfall that had started in the early hours of the morning. In weather this cold, he slept with the AC on? Gwen turned back, looking at him thoughtfully.
Locke caught her gaze in the periphery. "There were mosquitoes in the bedroom. Don't worry, I'm not sick. I'm physically healthy, and mentally healthy too. I don't need to see a doctor, especially not a therapist."
Gwen shrugged. "I didn't say anything."
Locke chuckled. You didn't have to; your face said it for you.
They arrived at school. As he stepped out of the car, Locke sneezed again. Gwen, wearing a pink down jacket, watched as Locke pulled on a wool coat. "Maybe go to the nurse's office?"
Locke grabbed his bag from the back seat and waved her off. "No need. We cowboys believe that a man can overcome illness through sheer physical will."
Gwen walked up to him and teased, "That's probably why 'traditional' cowboys are nearly extinct these days." She stood on her tiptoes and felt his forehead. She blinked. "You're not that hot."
Locke shrugged. "It's fine. I'll be better in a bit. You have to believe in my recovery speed."
Gwen remembered his extraordinary healing rate. 'Maybe I should find a chance to get a blood sample for research?' She tilted her head, watching Locke walk ahead, and quickly caught up.
Locke was curious himself. He had leveled his Resilience talent to Extraordinary Level 2; his body could ignore small-caliber gunfire, so why couldn't it repel a tiny cold? He definitely had a cold, likely from catching the sea breeze at Manhattan Harbor the night before. But compared to the grogginess he felt waking up, he was already feeling much better.
Inside the classroom, several high-achieving students saw Locke's condition and their eyes lit up. 'The second-place student in the 9th grade has a cold—this is our chance!' The third-place student was eager to strike.
But reality was cruel. Even if Locke was sick, it didn't change the fact that he was essentially cheating. Being ill didn't slow down his problem-solving speed at all. In fact, it seemed to make him move even faster.
By noon, after three back-to-back exams and sleeping through half of them, Locke was fully recovered. He munched on a sandwich to regain his strength. Sitting across from him, Gwen watched the energetic Locke—who had been listless that morning—and the urge to study his blood grew even stronger.
"Wow." Kim, having finished her class, walked over and saw her best friend staring at Locke without blinking. She gave her a nudge, set down her tray, and teased, "Gwen, maybe you two should head to City Hall this holiday."
Gwen looked at Kem suspiciously. "Why would I go to City Hall?"
'Does drawing Locke's blood require a permit from the city?'
Kem blinked, looked at Locke who was also watching, and smiled. "To swear your vows and get a marriage license! In New York, you can get married at sixteen, after all."
"Cough, cough!" Locke made a fist and coughed several times.
Good grief.
[Bonus chapter for 300 stones]