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The system prompt rang out clearly, and a flood of information poured straight into Locke's mind. The ability wasn't physical like strength or speed—it was closer to a spell, something that operated on control and perception rather than brute force.
Within a radius of several dozen meters, he could designate a point in space, even midair, and trigger an extremely intense burst of light. The effect was instantaneous and blinding, like a massively upgraded flashbang grenade detonating at will.
It could be used in short bursts dozens of times a day, or sustained as a continuous blinding light for several minutes straight. The versatility alone made it dangerous, but paired with his immunity to flash effects, it became something far more valuable.
This was a control skill.
Locke's eyes narrowed slightly as he processed it. If he had possessed this ability earlier, he wouldn't have needed such a risky setup to deal with the Speed Demon. Two well-placed flashes directly in front of that guy's path would have been enough to blind him completely, leaving him disoriented and helpless.
Simple. Efficient. Safe.
Unfortunately, it wouldn't help much with chasing Kingpin.
Even if he could close the distance, Fisk's explosive bursts of speed would've already carried him miles away by now. There was no point wasting energy trying to track him tonight.
Locke exhaled slowly, letting the thought go.
Let him live a couple more days.
Next time, I'll just put a bullet in his head and be done with it.
He drove his pickup truck back toward the church, the engine rumbling steadily through the quiet streets. The night had settled into that strange calm that always followed chaos, but the silence didn't bring him any peace.
Because Wade was still sitting in the passenger seat.
And he absolutely refused to leave.
At some point during the drive, Wade had practically declared Locke his godfather, clinging to him like a lifeline and insisting on following him home. Even transferring double the promised payment on the spot hadn't shaken him off.
It took an exhausting amount of swearing, guarantees, and repeated promises—especially about not revealing his identity to Vanessa—before Wade finally agreed to stop making a scene.
In the end, Locke had no choice but to bring him back to the church.
By the time night deepened, the adrenaline from the battle had faded. Locke moved around the kitchen with surprising focus, cooking several hearty dishes despite the injuries still lingering in his body. The smell of food filled the quiet space, grounding the atmosphere in something almost normal.
The three of them—Locke, Wade, and David—devoured the meal like starving wolves. Plates were cleared in minutes, conversation sparse as hunger took priority.
Afterward, they carried a couple of beers out onto the balcony.
The city stretched out before them, lights glowing in every direction, a restless ocean of neon and movement. A cool night breeze drifted through the air, carrying away the lingering tension from earlier.
Blade wasn't there. Apparently, his mother had a strict policy about him not coming home too late, which Locke found mildly amusing.
Wade, surprisingly, had gone quiet.
He finished one bottle of beer, then another, before finally speaking. His tone had lost its usual sarcasm, replaced by something cautious, almost hesitant.
"You said… you could cure my cancer," he said. "Is that real?"
Locke leaned back into a worn rattan chair he had picked up in Chinatown, his body finally relaxing after the long fight.
"Of course it's real," he replied casually. "There's more than one way to do it."
Wade's eyes lit up slightly, hope flickering despite himself. "Seriously?"
"But there's only one method I can handle immediately."
"…And that is?"
"Turn you into a vampire."
The words hung in the air.
Wade froze, his expression shifting instantly. Recent news about vampires had been spreading everywhere, and he clearly knew enough to be wary.
He frowned, thinking it through carefully. "Aren't vampires full of weaknesses?"
"Yeah," Locke said without hesitation. "Regular hybrids have a long list of problems. Sunlight, UV radiation, garlic, silver—they all mess them up. They have to drink human blood to survive, and over time their minds degrade. Eventually, most of them turn into unstable, violent monsters."
Wade stared at him for a moment, then exhaled sharply. "And you're calling this a solution?"
Locke laughed. "Why not? Just answer one question—does it cure your cancer or not? Have you ever seen a vampire die of cancer?"
Wade stood up abruptly. "Are you messing with me?"
"Relax," Locke said, waving a hand. "If you don't want that option, there's another one."
Wade narrowed his eyes. "You just said there was only one."
"I said only one I can do personally," Locke corrected. "There are other people who can handle the rest. We just need to find them."
He leaned forward slightly, his tone turning more deliberate.
"There's a guy in Russia running a lab that specializes in human mutation experiments. You go in there, endure the process, and come out with powers. Once you've got those, you won't die."
Silence.
Wade's eyes widened slowly as the full meaning sank in. "That… that sounds insane. Are you even listening to yourself?"
Locke shrugged. "What's there to be afraid of? You've got luck on your side. You won't die. Trust me. As a priest, I don't lie."
Wade rubbed his face hard. "Yeah, no offense, but you don't exactly act like a priest when you're killing people."
He paused, then muttered under his breath, "Why do I feel like I'm getting scammed?"
Locke didn't react to that. Instead, his voice softened slightly, becoming more persuasive.
"You're terminal," he said. "Late-stage. If you want to stay with Vanessa, you don't have a choice. You either risk something now… or you lose everything."
Wade swallowed.
"…I'm not going to end up with three eyes and eight arms, right?"
Locke hesitated for half a second.
"At most—"
"At most what?" Wade demanded immediately.
Locke waved it off. "Don't worry about it. While you're going through the process, I'll arrange for someone to help Vanessa. A psychologist, support, whatever she needs. No matter what you become, she'll accept you."
"Bullshit," Wade muttered, clearly unconvinced.
Locke continued, undeterred. "Look, worst case? You go through some torture. Drowning, burning, restraints, electric shocks—basic stuff. Nothing you can't handle."
Wade stared at him like he'd lost his mind.
"Most test subjects take two to three years," Locke added casually. "But we can speed that up. Throw some money at the right people, compress it into two months. Once your powers manifest, send me a signal. Blade and I will break you out. Clean and simple."
Wade's expression turned completely blank.
Two years of torture compressed into two months?
Do you think I'm some kind of immortal cockroach?
Then another thought hit him.
"Wait," Wade said slowly. "If you're planning to break me out… what exactly are they doing in there?"
Locke blinked. "Didn't I mention that?"
"No."
"That place produces super-powered slaves," Locke said matter-of-factly. "If we don't pull you out, you expect me to buy you back?"
Wade froze.
Slaves.
Production.
Purchase.
The words echoed in his head, stacking on top of each other until something inside him snapped.
His face darkened, and without warning, he lunged.
"I'm going to strangle you!"
…
By the time dawn arrived, Wade was gone.
He needed time to think.
David immediately began working on tracking down the Russian lab. Locke gave him a few key leads—Ajax, the alias Francis, and a broker named Smith—to narrow the search.
Morning came quietly.
Locke sat at the table, eating breakfast as if nothing unusual had happened, when his phone started ringing repeatedly. The vibration was constant, insistent, impossible to ignore.
David glanced at the caller ID and raised an eyebrow. "Natasha."
"She's impatient," Locke muttered.
After David briefly processed the signal, Locke picked up the call.
"Yeah, it's me."
A pause.
"Ah, I missed you too. It's been a whole night."
Another pause.
"Alright, alright. I'll follow your arrangement. See you."
He hung up.
David stared at him, completely confused. "Are you meeting an agent… or flirting with someone?"
Locke returned to his breakfast without looking up. "I'm meeting an agent. Not going on a date."
David hesitated, then asked, "You coming back tonight? Should I book you a hotel?"
Locke finally looked at him. "Why would I do that?"
David blinked. "Oh… you know that too?"
"Booking it when needed is never too late."
David's eyes widened instantly.
As Locke stirred the spicy soup on his plate, he suddenly noticed David's expression shift. There was a hint of sadness there, something heavier than the usual mood.
"You miss your wife and kids?" Locke asked.
David nodded slowly, his eyes slightly red. "It's been a long time."
Locke considered it for a moment. "Want me to go check on them for you?"
David almost agreed out of instinct, but the moment he looked at Locke's face, he shook his head hard.
No.
Men like you should stay as far away from my wife as possible.
Locke didn't press him. Instead, he leaned back slightly.
"Give it a few more days," he said. "Once we make some money, I'll buy a big estate in New Jersey. Bring them over. It's safer than here."
He paused briefly, then added, "After that, we can start moving on Agent Orange."
Agent Orange—William Rollins—the man behind the trafficking of fallen soldiers' bodies, and the current head of the CIA's covert operations division.
A ghost.
Even David struggled to track him.
They had tried using video evidence to bait him before, but it hadn't worked. The man was too careful, too buried in layers of secrecy.
"There's only one reliable way to pull him out," Locke said. "Frank."
David nodded slowly. "I've been searching for him. I've got a feeling we'll cross paths soon."
Locke had a rough idea. Frank was probably hiding somewhere in a construction site in New York, but narrowing it down was another matter entirely. The man's counter-surveillance instincts were top-tier.
Still, it was only a matter of time.
Sooner or later, the ghost would surface.
....
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