Locke came to New York, and the Peerless Assassin arrived.
Locke went to Augusta, and as a result, a witch appeared.
Locke went to the Poseidon, and the Poseidon sank.
After being rescued, he took a trip on the Argo, and everyone on the Argo was eaten by a giant octopus.
Locke went to Lake Carey, and as a result, vampires appeared.
Right now?
He came to New Orleans, and then, a witch appeared again?
Tsk!
Maria Hill couldn't help but shake her head. In the past, she might have been like certain other people, suspecting that Locke might have some sort of connection with the Peerless Assassin.
But right now?
Maria Hill no longer suspected that. Instead, she was starting to wonder if Locke possessed some kind of bizarre, special constitution.
Like a disaster-attracting constitution?
Wherever he goes, disaster strikes?
Considering that Locke was an orphan, and his mother, Lorraine Broughton, had passed away right after giving birth to him, Maria Hill faintly felt that this might actually be exactly what was going on.
Right.
Fiend of Solitude?
Maria Hill recalled the joke that Foreign Council member made when the World Security Council's five major members were jointly discussing Locke Broughton, and the phrase couldn't help but pop into her mind once more.
"An individual possessing such a destiny invariably brings a succession of terrible misfortunes upon those around them..."
"Wait a minute..."
Maria Hill stood up, searching online for the translated explanation of a Fiend of Solitude. Seeing this line, she couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.
"Doesn't that mean the longer he stays in New Orleans, the easier it will be for an absolute mess to break out?"
"Achoo!"
Locke sneezed and pinched his nose.
Sitting in the passenger seat, Carrie, who had already changed her attire into the Dark Sovereign, looked at Locke with a look of wonder. "I thought we wouldn't catch colds."
Locke waved his hand.
"This isn't a cold. This is an early warning."
"An early warning?"
"Yes."
Locke said with a calm expression, "Someone is whispering about me behind my back."
Unlike the sixth sense warning—which, regardless of the severity, always carried some degree of malice toward him—a sneezing warning tended to mean that someone had developed a strong curiosity about him.
Toward the former, Locke had always struck back with heavy fists. You already harbor malice toward me, so do you expect me to let you off?
But toward the latter?
Locke couldn't care less.
After all, when he was in New York, there were far too many girls who were interested in him and grew curious about him. If Locke hadn't quickly patched and fixed that bug, Gwen would have planned to drag him to the infirmary back then for a thorough examination to see if he had some form of allergic rhinitis.
Right at that moment.
Locke shifted his gaze toward the bar across the street, focusing on the tech-nerd wearing glasses who was walking out of the establishment with his hands in his pockets. "He's out."
Hearing this, Carrie looked toward the tech-nerd, watching the scene unfold as he wrapped an arm around a scantily clad woman and hailed a taxi.
"I actually thought he was an honest guy."
Locke started up the black Audi A6 he had just borrowed.
"You also thought I only liked the Audi R8."
Just like how he changed cars this time.
Everyone thought he was solely enamored with the Audi R8, but in reality, Locke was a very flexible person. After all, only Locke and Peerless liked the Audi R8. Right now, he was Cain, so he changed up his flavor and switched to an Audi A6. It was highly likely that absolutely no one would have expected this.
Hum!
The car started up and instantly kept pace with the taxi heading toward a motel.
Since Jim Rhodes had made his move, then it was Locke's turn to play his hand.
Admittedly.
Jim Rhodes' move could be described as aimed straight for the vital point. The suspect confessed and then died. For a case with very few clues like this, it was fundamentally a closed book.
But...
There was still a logical loophole within it.
This matter wasn't something that Ian Mullen and Buson Katz could have accomplished just by joining forces. At the very least, the surveillance footage wasn't something Ian Mullen and Buson Katz could have managed to tamper with.
This tech-nerd was the loophole.
Frankly speaking, Locke had initially thought Jim Rhodes was powerful enough to dispose of this sole loophole, the tech-nerd. Because only when the tech-nerd vanished would this case completely lose any hope of a turnaround.
Yet this tech-nerd was actually still alive.
Locke didn't know whether to say Jim Rhodes was merciful or simply far too foolish.
Even he knew to properly and cleanly handle the guy he found to play the role of the Peerless Assassin.
"What a pity."
"What?"
"I originally thought I had encountered an evenly matched opponent."
"..."
Locke smiled slightly. He had thought he encountered an opponent he could trade blows with back and forth, but unexpectedly, while the opponent looked the part on the outside, their internal game was still a bit lacking.
Military affairs are matters of vital importance to the state, the province of life or death, and must be thoroughly examined.
When playing a live match, the biggest taboo is being soft-hearted.
Very quickly.
Once the taxi left the city, Locke was initially prepared to intercept it. However, the vehicle didn't continue driving toward the vicinity of Lake Pontchartrain, but instead made a left turn and pulled into a motel out in the open.
Immediately after.
The tech-nerd and the streetwalker stepped out of the taxi. The latter pulled down her mini-skirt again, laughing and chatting as she stuffed a small wrapped package into the tech-nerd's mouth.
Holy cow.
Playing this wild?
Locke raised an eyebrow, watching the look of pure bliss on the tech-nerd's face as he was led into a room by the streetwalker's hand. A sudden thought flashed through his mind.
Seeing this from the passenger seat, Carrie unbuckled her seatbelt.
"Don't kill him."
"I know."
Carrie nodded, pushed open the passenger door, and then strode forward in her long black boots and dark clothing, heading toward the motel three hundred meters away.
Right at that moment.
His sixth sense stirred slightly.
The corners of Locke's mouth turned up. Maintaining his appearance as Cain, he also stepped out of the car, looking toward the direction where the sixth sense warning originated.
"Like I said, if you were that stupid, how could you have grasped the thread of survival I offered you? I'm just wondering if you can grasp the thread of survival in this second round. I'm looking forward to it!"
Locke had originally intended to spare Jim Rhodes' life in accordance with the rules he had established for himself.
But...
This was the first time Locke had ever seen a ruthless character who, after grasping the thread of survival he offered, turned around to mock and retaliate against him. Since that was the case, then he was sorry.
Even the Hunger Games had some sort of victor's returning game.
Locke felt that he might as well put one on to warm things up. In the future, in case the number of survivors grew larger and he found himself bored, he could also host a survivor game belonging entirely to him.
Not far away.
Hank Fox was currently riding his off-road motorcycle, roaring forward like a lone ranger, rapidly speeding toward the motel over there.
He was a witch hunter.
A new generation of witch hunter. Ever since he was a child, when he saw a witch and failed to kill her due to a soft heart, nearly getting killed in return, Hank Fox had accepted the views of his father, the elder Fox.
Witches were all evil and must be completely exterminated.
By now, Hank Fox had successfully amassed a record of nineteen witch kills. As long as he took care of this single witch, he could elevate his record to twenty witch kills.
"Dad will definitely be proud of me."
Thinking this in his heart like a total daddy's boy, Hank Fox immediately looked down at a voodoo tattoo on his right hand.
That tattoo, which resembled a black serpent, was currently flashing with an eerie, unnatural light. In fact, if one looked closely, they would find that the snake tongue of this serpent tattoo was hissing away, as if it had located its prey.
Yes.
In order to kill all witches, Hank Fox had reached an agreement with the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. Because that Voodoo Queen also wanted to slaughter every single witch.
The two of them were a perfect match, hitting it off instantly!
"Almost there."
Hank raised his head, looking toward the motel that was less than a kilometer away. He looked up and revved the throttle harder. "Witches all deserve to die!"
Boom!
Carrie opened her hands, walking out of the room looking as though she were strolling through the air. Behind her was the tech-nerd, completely bound by countless ropes woven from dark magical energy.
"Someone is coming."
"Mhm."
Locke turned his head to glance at the tech-nerd, whose eyes were wide with terror as he struggled fiercely and screamed at the top of his lungs, though no sound could be heard. Locke nodded.
"Get in the car and leave first. Take him back to the hotel and wait for me."
Carrie looked toward the direction Hank Fox was approaching from. "Are you going to make a move?"
Locke nodded. "I've discovered a little bit of something fun. You head back first."
In any case, he was currently in his vampire Cain state, and the distance to the hotel wasn't very far either—at most around twenty kilometers. He could easily run back in a few steps.
"Alright."
Seeing this, Carrie nodded in response. With a wave of her right hand, the rear door of the Audi A6 flew open. With a heavy thud, the tech-nerd let out a silent scream and was thrown straight inside.
A moment later.
Carrie started the Audi A6, preparing to drive away.
Right at that moment.
"Witch..."
Not far away, Hank Fox, who was riding his motorcycle directly toward them, let out an enraged roar as he watched the Audi A6 preparing to make its escape. He stood up straight on the motorcycle, and with a sharp ring, a machete soaked in voodoo juice was drawn into his hand.
The next second.
Hank Fox gave a loud shout, bent his knees, exerted massive force, and came slicing straight down with his machete toward Locke, who was blocking the path in front of the Audi A6.
Locke blanked slightly.
Holy cow.
With this posture of yours, damn, anyone who didn't know better would probably think Hell's Ghost Rider had arrived.
Locke thought to himself as he watched Hank Fox descending from above under the moonlight, holding the machete with both hands, his face written with resolute killing intent as he swung the blade directly at his head.
But...
You aren't Ghost Rider!
***
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