Marvel: The Super Player

Locke didn't like to lie.

And besides...

This was the absolute truth. Putting aside the fact that he wanted this unknown clone asset to lead him straight back to their main base, Kahn was his friend. That alone was reason enough.

If a rescue was possible, he would naturally save him.

In Locke's eyes, he either didn't make friends at all, or once he did, he invested his trust with absolute sincerity.

That was why Victoria Knox's betrayal had cut him so deeply. If she had merely exposed his identity, he wouldn't have actually wanted to kill her.

But she had dragged Hydra into the mix.

That left Locke with an impossible situation. If he didn't kill her, the future consequences would be endless. So, he killed her.

But Kahn was different.

Most importantly.

Locke looked at the main screen broadcasting a live chase that looked exactly like a five-star pursuit from a video game.

"He won't escape."

Even if it were Locke, trying to pull off a clean escape under a massive dragnet with helicopters overhead and a swarm of police cruisers snapping at his heels would be an incredibly tall order.

Fortunately, this tier of mobilization was explicitly reserved for times when the NYPD triggered their absolute highest threat protocol.

Locke had never personally enjoyed that kind of treatment.

Right then.

On the screen, the black sedan didn't even tap the brakes, plowing straight over a heavy spike strip deployed by an intercept unit across the road.

Pshhh-tchk!

Instantly, all four tires blew out, completely deflating. The vehicle lost control, flipped wildly into the air, and plunged clean off the overpass, crashing straight into the river below.

Locke raised an eyebrow.

An aquatic escape? A highly logical choice under the circumstances.

If Locke found himself in a similar bottleneck, he would also prioritize a sub-surface transit route—provided he wanted to keep a low profile. Of course, if he chose to activate his Peerless template, the word "retreat" wouldn't even exist.

However...

Locke watched the Coast Guard speedboats roaring toward the splash zone on the display, wondering if this unknown clone asset genuinely intended to swim through the maritime blockade and make a break for international waters.

"Kahn!"

As Locke calculated the variables, Cindy stared blankly at the sinking vehicle on the screen. The moment she processed the crash, she let out a sharp cry, her face turning pale as she teetered on the verge of fainting.

Gwen immediately stepped forward to catch her weight, keeping her eyes fixed on the display,

"He's fine, Cindy. Look, the Coast Guard dive teams are already jumping in. Don't worry, he's going to be okay."

Right as she spoke, the live feed showed the seasoned divers pulling Kahn out of the rapidly sinking car. The sudden rush of brackish water had shocked the teenager back to consciousness, and he was coughing violently as they hauled him onto the deck of the rescue boat.

Though thoroughly drenched, his breathing remained stable.

As long as he was breathing, it was fine.

Locke figured there was nothing a standard Health Potion couldn't instantly fix; if one didn't do it, a second dose would settle it.

The only prerequisite was that Kahn's body had to stay completely intact—no post-mortem dissections or organs being taken out and weighed one by one. If it came to that, Locke would have to wait until he visited Mephisto's domain in the future to fish his soul back.

From all visual metrics, Kahn had been successfully saved.

But what about the hitman?

Vanished completely.

Dozens of speedboats began fanning out across the water to initiate a massive sweep.

Locke didn't stick around to watch the rest of the search. At Gwen's prompting, he accompanied her and Cindy toward New Amsterdam Medical Center to wait for Kahn to be brought in.

An escort officer managed their transit.

...

Inside the surgical ward corridor.

Locke sat quietly on one of the plastic chairs lining the wall, while Gwen kept reassuring Cindy, who kept her anxious gaze fixed entirely on the elevator indicators.

Kahn's parents had already arrived at the hospital, along with Cindy's family.

About ninety minutes later.

Ding.

The heavy elevator doors slid open.

Cindy's eyes lit up instantly as she recognized Kahn resting on a mobile gurney. She let out another sharp cry and rushed forward, only to freeze slightly as she looked at him. He seemed to have changed out of his soaked clothes during transit.

The officer who accompanied the ambulance shook his head, explaining the situation.

"He insisted that rolling in completely drenched would make you worry too much. So, we made a quick stop at the Long Island transit clinic to get him changed into a standard surgical gown."

Walking just behind Gwen, Locke couldn't suppress a brief chuckle at the explanation.

Cindy burst into a sudden, emotional laugh before stepping forward and wrapping Kahn in a tight hug.

"Ow! Watch it!" Kahn howled instantly.

Cindy recoiled in alarm.

The attending physician intervened, looking over the chart.

"While his wounds are mostly superficial, raw river water has introduced a lot of contaminants into the open lacerations. If we don't clean them out immediately, a deep bacterial infection will cause serious complications."

Cindy nodded frantically, reluctantly letting go of Kahn's hand, "Kahn..."

"Cindy..."

"..."

Locke remained silent, shifting his gaze toward the ceiling. While the situation was technically serious, listening to the theatrical cadence of their dialogue left him with the distinct impression that he had accidentally wandered straight into a classic romance melodrama.

Right then, a billing nurse walked over to the group, "Who is managing the financial clearance for this intake?"

Kahn's parents stepped forward, "We are his—"

Locke snapped out of his internal critique, interrupting smoothly as he addressed the nurse.

"I'll handle the payment."

Kahn's parents turned toward Locke with expressions of genuine surprise.

Locke maintained a completely composed posture, explaining calmly, "Kahn was only targeted because of me. So, this bill rests entirely on my ledger."

The parents exchanged a brief look, "I'm sorry, young man, we don't entirely understand."

Locke offered a polite smile, "Once Kahn feels better, maybe you can ask him."

With that.

Locke turned back toward the nurse, pulling a credit card from his jacket.

"Run the authorization on this card."

The nurse had no issue with whose card cleared the ledger; their primary concern was avoiding uncompensated trauma intake. While the NYPD had indicated the file could be processed under a municipal emergency fund...

The NYPD's outstanding debts were already heavily overextended. Frankly, if New Amsterdam weren't a public hospital, a private institution would have probably sued the NYPD into bankruptcy by now. So, securing immediate private payment was always the preferred protocol.

Gwen accompanied Locke to the billing counter, along with their escort officer.

Moments later.

The authorization processed successfully, clearing an initial twenty-thousand-dollar deposit against the projected costs. Locke accepted the receipt and handed it directly to Gwen.

Gwen took the slip, unzipped her bag, and secured it carefully within her wallet. These specific medical expenditures remained fully eligible for standard tax write-offs and deductions when the filing cycle commenced the following March.

By roughly eight in the evening—about forty-five minutes after the medical team wheeled him into the operating room—Kahn was transferred out into a recovery suite.

His body carried an extensive network of cuts, but every single one remained strictly non-lethal. Aside from a minor amount of blood loss, his vitals presented zero systemic anomalies.

The primary risk regarding river water contamination had been thoroughly mitigated during the surgical cleanup.

The overall prognosis was excellent.

In fact, Kahn was already demonstrating enough recovery to aggressively eat a fresh apple while Cindy methodically fed him the slices.

Observing the pair openly broadcasting their mutual affection without the slightest hint of reservation, Gwen shook her head slightly. She leaned closer to Locke, murmuring in a low voice.

"Fine. I concede that your psychological assessment of the hitman's behavior was entirely accurate."

Locke turned his eyes toward her, "I know."

Gwen paused, lowering her volume further, "However, even if the outcome was correct, the tactical framework you and my dad utilized feels incredibly difficult for an ordinary person to accept emotionally."

Locke gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, "Strategic truth has historically remained concentrated within an absolute minority, hasn't it?"

Kahn fit within that minority as well. Locke could discern with absolute clarity that his friend harbored zero underlying resentment regarding the aggressive stance he had maintained during the live negotiation.

True friendship required absolute psychological alignment.

Following the operational failure with Victoria Knox, elevating an individual from a casual associate to a permanent fixture within his inner circle had become an incredibly complex process for Locke.

Gwen shook her head slightly, "Are you genuinely intending to disclose the background of the assault to his parents?"

Locke smiled, meeting her eyes, "Do you truly believe they will remain oblivious if I choose to withhold the facts?"

"What do you mean?"

"Their initial operational deployment failed to neutralize me. Given that parameter, what do you assume their secondary protocol will be?"

"They wouldn't dare—"

Before she could finish her thought, the door to the recovery suite swung open. A uniform officer stepped inside, approaching Locke and Gwen with a thoroughly serious expression.

"Locke, Gwen—Inspector Stacy just patched through a direct order. Under no circumstances are either of you permitted to descend to the main lobby, regardless of how aggressively the media elements outside attempt to prompt a response."

"The media?" Gwen blinked in surprise. "Why would the press materialize here so rapidly? Are they attempting to secure a statement regarding Kahn's rescue?"

The officer glanced toward Locke before shaking his head, "No. Their primary objective is Mr. Broughton. It appears an anonymous source leaked the specific files regarding the Long Island incident to multiple networks, confirming the hitmen were part of a specialized cell explicitly targeting Locke"

"Furthermore, the audio recording of Mr. Broughton's direct conversation with the operative during the hostage standoff has been broadcast across public media channels."

"What!" Gwen's expression shifted into absolute shock.

Locke, however, merely let out a soft chuckle. He turned his eyes back to Gwen, his expression thoroughly amused.

"See? The analysis holds true."

Locke smiled calmly, nodding as he reasoned, "Their initial attempt to orchestrate my physical termination suffered a total collapse. Consequently, the secondary card left on their tactical ledger is an immediate character assassination utilizing public perception."

Locke wasn't entirely familiar with the specific corporate playbooks utilized by the ICA. He lacked a comprehensive breakdown of MI6's domestic manipulation protocols as well.

However, he possessed an intimate understanding of exactly how the CIA systematically dismantled a target's social capital. Given that they were all cut from the exact same institutional cloth, the operational sequences merely varied in their specific order of deployment.

Furthermore, during that secondary communication, his auditory perception had caught that distinct frequency shift the moment the line established. He had known with absolute certainty that a recording apparatus was active on the other end.

But... what structural relevance did it actually possess?

If public condemnation possessed the capability to inflict physical trauma, Locke would have died multiple lifetimes ago.

It was an exercise in futility. Locke had never modified his behavior to appease public opinion, and he wasn't about to commence now. Let them broadcast whatever narrative they desired.

In reality, this development provided him with an absolutely flawless, logical catalyst to shift the operational baton straight into the hands of the Peerless Assassin. That was the exact reason he had maintained his unyielding posture despite knowing his words were being recorded.

If the ICA or MI6 refused to hand him a valid justification to escalate this conflict, Locke would have faced a structural dilemma regarding how to deploy the Peerless Assassin without exposing his personal baseline.

But now?

They had explicitly handed him the weapon. If Locke failed to execute them with it, it would be an absolute insult to their intelligence.

Locke pulled his personal device from his pocket, dialing a familiar contact sequence.

The line cleared almost instantly.

"Mr. Broughton."

"Mr. Lawn. Have you arrived at the facility perimeter?"

"I am currently maneuvering through the transit lanes. I will be at your position within thirty minutes."

"Excellent. Ensure you bring a standard corporate non-disclosure retainer and a comprehensive power of attorney framework."

"Consider it done."

"Thank you."