Furthermore...
This was not classified information. His birth records and other details were right there in Texas. Any organization with a modicum of competence could look it up without any trouble.
As for why S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn't find it at the time?
They were simply incompetent.
In fact, Locke had also been curious about this mother who only existed on paper to him. After upgrading his hacking skills, he had tried to look up information to find out more.
But...
Locke had immediately dismissed it at the time.
There was no need for it. Even if he found the records, what of it? Was he supposed to go and claim kin?
Don't be ridiculous.
During the most difficult five years of his development, Locke had pulled through entirely on his own. Though the process was somewhat bittersweet, he was doing perfectly fine by himself, no matter how one looked at it.
He had no intention of finding a burden for himself, let alone courting unnecessary trouble.
Therefore, Locke merely knew her name; he didn't want to know anything else, nor did he have any interest in finding out.
As the saying went: if the court hadn't refused to support his name change back then, he would have changed his damn name a long time ago.
"Right!"
Locke seemed to think of something and looked at Gwen.
"How about this: after we get married, don't change your surname. I'll change mine!"
Gwen opened her mouth slightly.
"What?"
Locke said, "I also think the surname Broughton isn't that great. The surname Stacy sounds like it carries excellent fortune just by hearing it. Why don't I change my surname instead? Right, if we do that, George should feel like he won, shouldn't he?"
Never mind the America's feminism; practicing that kind of rhetoric was just a business to them. Throwing punches didn't stop them from getting married, and it didn't stop them from changing to their husbands' surnames after marriage either.
And... this idea was actually quite excellent.
If George found out, he would probably be so thrilled he might experience a stroke of joy. After all, the woman doesn't change her surname upon marriage, but the husband does—what do you call that? If that doesn't count as winning, then what does?
This way, he wouldn't have to figure out a way to intentionally lose to George anymore.
"Goodbye."
Gwen offered a somewhat helpless smile, shook her head, and directly brought the topic to an end, giving Locke a brief kiss.
"Goodnight, Locke. See you tomorrow."
"Goodnight."
Locke smiled as he watched Gwen walk into the apartment building.
A scumbag? Me? How could that be.
Although Locke couldn't fathom why Mavis's mother would make such a prophecy, there was no doubt that the prophecy was definitely about a Locke who hadn't traveled to this world.
As stated before, Locke couldn't think of a single reason to break up with Gwen, or a reason to turn into a scumbag. Normal men all indulge in a bit of smooth talk. Locke was a normal man, but at the same time, he was an incredibly proper person who conducted his affairs openly and honestly, calling a spade a spade, and never hiding things away.
What? The Peerless Assassin?
The Peerless Assassin's business belonged to the Peerless Assassin; what did it have to do with him, Locke Broughton?
Unlike that nameless guy from the CIA who showed his face everywhere yet kept his actual records tightly sealed.
Thinking of that CIA noname, Locke couldn't help but complain silently. He had actually gone back to look into the guy's records that night. As a result, he uncovered twelve sets of files, but without exception, every single one of them turned out to be a counterfeit fabrication.
This was thoroughly magical.
Locke strongly suspected that the true records concerning that noname had completely vanished from the network. It was highly probable that the original identity information only existed as a final archive within the physical paper files at Langley.
*Beep beep!*
After parking his vehicle in his private underground garage, Locke opened the door and prepared to walk toward the elevator leading directly up to the apartments. His peripheral vision then caught something nearby.
"Huh."
Taking a few steps back, Locke's gaze landed on an unfamiliar BMW he had never seen before.
Black. Four-seater.
Locke retrieved his phone, snapped a photo, and looked at it.
"Perhaps this vehicle could be considered?"
After all, the safety rating of the Audi R8 was already renowned throughout New York City. Perhaps it was time to consider a new vehicle for the Peerless Assassin.
Pondering the thought, Locke looked up the price of the vehicle online as he walked into the elevator lobby.
Just in time, with a crisp chime, a beautiful woman stepped out of the elevator. Seeing Locke appear, she offered a polite nod and a smile.
Locke was equally polite.
After stepping into the elevator, he heard the sound of an engine igniting from that direction.
A moment later, Locke stepped out of the elevator. His six senses were triggered, his nose twitching slightly as he stood in place, lost in thought for a brief moment.
That woman just now had come to his floor. Although the scent was very faint, it hadn't escaped Locke's nose.
*Ding!*
The apartment door unlocked successfully.
Locke walked inside, the corners of his mouth curving slightly upward. After activating the smart home assistant, he watched the living room gradually light up. Then, his gaze began to scan the area like a precision radar.
Mm. Two listening devices were planted under the sofa. One was placed beneath the flower vase on the bar counter.
Aside from the listening devices, there was also...
Locke took off his coat, walked over to the bar counter, and stared at an extra stack of covers-less documents resting on top of it.
He picked them up and took a sniff. Mm, it carried the scent of that unfamiliar woman.
Flipping them open, the very first page featured a photograph. The features were delicate, the jawline well-defined, presenting a cold, elegant, and aristocratic appearance.
Only...
Locke shook his head, looking at the silver hair of the beautiful woman in the photo, smacking his lips slightly.
"Silver hair isn't ideal. I still prefer blonde hair."
Blonde, golden—no matter what it was, it looked valuable and high-class.
Silver hair? It was acceptable, but Locke preferred the style where the silver hair draped over the shoulders, like Carrie's when she wore casual attire. This one had curls in the silver hair; a light wave would have been fine, but Locke couldn't quite appreciate these large waves.
Flipping to the next page, Locke raised an eyebrow. With a swift movement, he snapped the document shut and tossed it directly backward without looking.
There was no sound of documents hitting the floor.
A pristine white arm steadily caught the flying files, and then a cold female voice spoke: "Why did you stop reading?"
Locke looked down and let out a chuckle.
He needed to move!
Damn it! What was the point of him spending a fortune to buy an apartment in the Star Tower if not for the high security rating? Yet look at this; how did it feel like absolutely anyone could just walk right in?
Locke pulled a recording pen from his pocket and set it on the bar counter, pressing the button.
Only then did Locke turn around to look at the towering woman who possessed a flawless, pale complexion, shoulder-length silver hair, and an appearance just as stunning as the unfamiliar woman from earlier.
"Sorry, and you are..."
"Sharapova. Yurina Sharapova."
"A Russian."
Locke nodded. Under the woman's watchful gaze, he sat down on the sofa, then looked at this woman named Sharapova with a thoughtful expression.
"Sorry, I'm not twenty-one yet. There's no alcohol in the house."
His alcohol was reserved solely for friends. The one in front of him? She felt like someone arriving with ill intent.
The woman offered a slight smile, then looked at Locke and countered with a question, "You don't seem surprised at all that we were able to enter your room."
Locke shrugged. "The FBI can enter this apartment of mine, Homeland Security can enter, and even assassins can enter. On what basis should you be unable to enter?"
Damn it! Starting tomorrow, the moment he stepped out the door, he would activate the explosives at the entrance. Whoever dared to break in could suffer the consequences themselves.
Moving houses was out of the question. If he moved to a detached house, the security loopholes would be even larger. At the very least, the Star Tower could ensure that non-professionals couldn't enter his residence.
As for these agents and assassins? Locke felt he shouldn't place excessively high expectations on the Star Tower's security personnel. If they could stop professional agents, why would they be working as security guards here?
"Speak," Locke said, letting out a yawn. He checked the time on his wristwatch, then looked up at the woman.
"An agent from the KGB appearing in my home in the dead of night—surely you didn't come just to deliver documents to me."
"You are also one of us."
"Ha!"
Locke blinked, letting out an involuntary laugh. Looking at this Sharapova as if he hadn't heard clearly, he said,
"Sorry, what did you say?"
'Who am I? KGB? How come I didn't know that?' Locke was utterly bewildered.
"Your mother was our agent."
"And then?"
"You are too." Sharapova looked at Locke seated on the sofa. "It's time to come home."
The corners of Locke's mouth curled upward. "I am a Texan!"
A citizen of the Lone Star Republic! Furthermore, he was the leading figure among the younger generation of the Lone Star Republic!
"Aren't you curious about your mother?"
"Not curious."
"..."
Locke let out a chuckle and shook his head. "Who she was and what she did has absolutely nothing to do with me. I don't know why you've sought me out, but sorry, I have zero interest in this."
With that said, Locke walked directly toward the door.
Right at that moment, a fierce gust of wind came from behind. Sharapova's toned leg swept straight toward Locke's back, apparently intending to forcibly bring him down and take him away.
But!
*Bam!*
*Thud!*
A flash of golden light flared and vanished. With a sharp click, the Golden Dancer instantly appeared in Locke's hand. Turning around, Locke fired a silent shot that directly pierced Sharapova's delicate forehead. With a heavy thud, she dropped straight onto the floor.
"Damn it!"
Locke shook his head and holstered the Golden Dancer. Looking at Sharapova resting on the floor with her eyes wide open—seemingly wondering why her appearance had ended before she could even say a few words—he flicked his right hand, storing the still-warm corpse into his storage space. Then, looking up at the ceiling, he let out a heavy sigh.
Just after chatting with Gwen about his biological mother—a mission that had only existed on paper—good goodness, it had leaped straight from the paper into reality.
'I didn't activate the Destiny Protagonist title lately, did I?'
Locke thought to himself, completely speechless. He walked back to the bar counter, retrieved the room's signal jammer, and picked up the documents that had fallen to the floor earlier. Letting out another sigh, he dialed 911.
***
Damn so close to 500 stones again
Here's a bonus again.
***
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