Everything remained the same.
Lock harbored no hatred for Cross, Wesley, or even the Brotherhood, though Cross was debatable, given he'd snatched Lock's prey right before his eyes.
And, surprisingly...
Initially, Lock had even considered visiting the Brotherhood to try and learn their [Adept Shooting] technique.
He was also prepared for the Brotherhood not to teach him that easily.
But Lock had already paid them back for the training by killing Cross.
An equivalent exchange.
However, Lock had actually planned to either pay them the required sum or join the Brotherhood. For him, being a freelance assassin or part of an organization was a matter of indifference.
Perhaps some organizational assassins even completed more missions than he did. So, joining an organization wasn't solely about drawbacks.
But...
Lock shook his head, gazing at the two bodies before him: father and son. He sighed and turned towards the kitchen's bar counter.
He couldn't care less about Cross.
Even less so about Wesley.
Both of them had tried to kill Lock. Initially, Lock had simply defended himself, but then his vengeance had begun. While Cross had only seemingly stolen his prey, he had nearly caused Lock to crash, deliberately staging the accident to finish off the hunter pursuing his son. Truth be told, Lock was somewhat indifferent to the second incident; he was prepared to forgive it. But the theft... no.
In fact, he even felt he had performed a noble deed — before dying, he had allowed the father to see his own son, even if already dead.
— Mm.
Lock took a sip of wine, then heard a chime. It was his alarm, indicating that George would soon be heading to his house. Lock finally sighed and murmured, — Cross, Cross, Cross, why steal what wasn't yours?
Alright, it's time.
Lock put down the glass and headed for the door.
He had handled the wine glass with gloves, so he wasn't worried about leaving any prints.
And even if he had left fingerprints, not only did he have no criminal record, but the system would hardly be able to trace him. Such prints simply weren't registered in the system.
Ding!
[Mission Completed]: [Scent of a Woman in the Night].
[Mission Completed]: [Night Guest].
[Hidden Mission Completed]: [Cross's Redemption].
[Reward]: 1,000 [Achievement Points], 1,000 [Potential Points].
[Reward for Hidden Mission]: 4,000 [Achievement Points], 4,000 [Potential Points].
[Epic Scene Bonus]: 6,000 [Achievement Points], 6,000 [Potential Points].
— System, display my status!
[Name]: Lock Broughton (Sole Player).
[Achievement Points]: 11,300 (can be used to purchase items in the [Achievement Shop]).
[Potential Points]: 13,300 (can be used to level up skills).
[Talent]: [Endurance] (Level 3): Your physical strength and recovery ability are significantly increased.
[Skills]: Driving (Beginner Level), English (9th Grade), History (9th Grade), Math (9th Grade), Chemistry (9th Grade), Shooting (Intermediate Level), Sniper Rifle Marksmanship (Advanced Level)...
[Unique Skills]: [Adept Shooting] (Blue Quality, Intermediate Level): An unusual weapon mastery technique, seemingly unremarkable at first glance, but with it, your accuracy will be incredible and extremely deadly!
[Active Missions]: [I won't let anyone dictate my destiny!]
— Heh-heh! — Lock whistled with satisfaction.
Half an hour later, back at the Star Building, Lock shed his jacket and gazed at his achievement points, which had once again soared into five-digit figures, alongside his potential points. He felt like he was about to explode with joy.
Of course.
The more you work, the more you gain.
By Monday, after the Brotherhood's eradication, his achievement and potential points would likely soar even higher, potentially reaching 30,000.
One more step towards his ultimate goal.
Lock changed into his nightclothes and leaned against the bedroom window, drawing back the curtains.
He gazed at the mesmerizing views, occasionally taking a sip of bourbon while lost in thought.
Outside the window, the streets were filled with New York police officers.
It was a pity that...
They didn't know that the Incomparable had already finished his work and was enjoying their fruitless search.
Lock's lips curved upward.
Cross's house.
Officers moved in and out. Sergeant George Stacy, already resigned to working late into the night, ventured deeper into the apartment and gazed at the two bodies lying beneath the staircase leading to the second floor.
Cross Carlos. Wesley Carlos.
— Sir.
— We've identified them. The one with a bullet between his eyebrows was in the fiery-red sports car. The one by the wall drove the blue pickup. Here you go, — the approaching officer said, handing him some papers.
— Thank you.
George took the NYPD report in his hands.
— Cross Carlos? Did he also work at that textile factory?
George pondered for a moment, then returned to Wesley's information.
For some reason, George suddenly felt relieved.
Because...
Wesley hadn't been an employee of the textile factory, at least not a month ago, when he was fired from his previous job.
— Jack.
— What, sir?
George glanced at a single line: the name of the company Cross had worked for. — Check this company.
The officer, Jack, froze slightly. — Now?
George turned to Jack. — What, you think you can ditch work? Dream on, we're all on overtime tonight.
Jack swallowed and nodded, turning towards the exit.
— George, — a female voice suddenly said.
— Kate?
George looked at the woman who entered right after Jack left. — Why did you come? This is my territory, not the 21st Precinct's.
Kate entered, wearing protective gloves. — Orders from above. I was sent to assist you.
George nodded.
Their chief was simply furious right now.
— Was that girl identified?
— The forensics team isn't working anymore. The chief personally called them and said if they weren't on site in half an hour, they'd be fired.
— ...Alright.
Given the sheer scale of tonight's events in New York, George feared that tomorrow's newspaper headlines would all be plastered with the evening's reports. Not just New York papers, but the entire country would soon be buzzing about it. New York was about to become the nation's talking point.
The mayor must be very upset right now.
After all, re-election was approaching, and the current mayor had based his campaign on reducing crime in the city during his term.
And then, this happens tonight!
And...
This is happening practically in the very heart of Manhattan.
As George pondered, Kate hung up her phone and informed him, — The intelligence division just got the full picture. The red Maserati stopped on Fifth Avenue for ten minutes. Ten minutes after the Audi R8 departed from the Star Building, its owner reported it stolen.
George listened intently, nodding occasionally.
But when he heard the end, he froze.
George looked at Kate. — Wait... where did you say it left from?
— Star Building, its owner Lock...
— Lock Broughton? — George interrupted her.
Kate looked at George with some surprise.
George froze.