Marvel: The Super Player

*Whew!*

*Whew!*

*Whew!*

The instant the soldiers in the lobby opened fire, Locke darted smoothly into the stairwell, not even bothering to look back as he forged his way directly up the stairs.

If he wanted to launch an all-out slaughter, it wouldn't be too late to do so after completing the primary objective.

"St—"

*Bang!*

*Thud!*

Locke raised his right hand slightly, firing blindly without breaking his stride toward the third floor.

The bullet flew out of the chamber, cutting off a soldier who had just pushed through the second-floor emergency doors. Before the man could even finish a sentence, his eyes rolled back, and his body collapsed limply to the ground.

Just then, a loud roar echoed down the shaft.

Locke raised an eyebrow at the object rolling down from above. With two muffled pops from his weapon, he blasted open the third-floor fire exit.

The moment he stepped into what appeared to be an indoor pool area on the third floor, a violent explosion accompanied by bloodcurdling screams erupted right behind him.

The soldiers scrambling up from the first and second floors had been completely blown off their feet by their own comrade's grenade.

But...

"He's here!"

"Fire!"

"Shoot him!"

*Puff, puff, puff!*

Locke swiftly dodged toward an adjacent set of service stairs.

"After him, quick!"

"Shit!"

"He went up!"

"Hurry!"

A squad of men rushed to the doorway where Locke had just vanished. The moment one of them grabbed the door handle, a deafening explosion shattered the air. The entire floor of the third level, along with the ceiling of the second level, vanished entirely.

*Swish!*

Locke caught the Peerless Divine Weapon as it flew back into his hand after the detonation. Letting out a soft laugh, he continued upward, repeating the exact same process. Accompanied by a few more ear-splitting roars, the building no longer possessed any functional stairs.

Looking down from the eighth-floor escape landing, a few surviving soldiers down below were pointing their rifles upward, firing wildly in a state of impotent rage upon catching a glimpse of his silhouette.

"This easy?"

Pushing the door open, Locke thought to himself. When he reached the entrance of a glass-walled executive office, he spotted three numbered clones standing in identical rigid stances. He instantly smiled.

"No surprises there!"

Every mid-level boss seemed to share a love for throwing a few elite mobs at you just when you were about to slap them across the face. It was entirely standard protocol.

The three numbered assassins fell into expressionless combat stances.

The smile on Locke's face grew even brighter.

The next second, he drew his weapons.

What era were they living in anyway? If he possessed the ability to remotely detonate a precise missile strike on this facility from the comfort of his own home, he wouldn't even have set foot in London.

An inch longer meant an inch stronger, sure, but firearms were much faster.

*Bang!*

*Clang!*

*Thud!*

Following three consecutive gunshots, the three numbered assassins jerked their heads back in unison. Yet, unlike the standard targets, they didn't collapse the moment the rounds connected.

Instead...

Locke looked suspiciously at the silvery-white substance shimmering across the foreheads of the three assassins. Pieces of a puzzle fell into place.

"Subcutaneous titanium ballistic armor?"

Wasn't this tech still in the experimental phase?

They already had a finished product out?

Sometime last year, rumors had circulated within the assassin underworld regarding this mythical upgrade. In reality, it involved injecting liquid nanobots beneath the skin to form a full-body protective mesh that could even enhance reaction speeds.

At the time, Red had estimated that if the technology actually proved viable, a single injection could easily fetch two million dollars—perhaps significantly more.

However, Locke hadn't paid it much mind.

Locke used to possess Resilience, and now he had a Steel Body. Furthermore, while this armor was touted as high-tech, its fundamental engineering was actually rather crude, and its defensive capabilities weren't nearly as flawless as advertised.

Lest anyone forget, natural cells could self-replicate and sustain a system.

The nanobots comprising this subcutaneous ballistic armor, however, had no means of self-replenishing. This meant that if you wanted the titanium mesh to remain fully functional, you would likely need to get a booster shot after every single engagement.

The flaws were glaring, and the cost-to-performance ratio was abysmal.

*Thud!*

Locke drew a second weapon from his lower back with his left hand. With dual pistols now deployed, he locked onto one of the assassins and opened fire instantly!

The other two assassins swiftly dived for cover.

But!

*Bang!*

*Thud!*

Locke systematically emptied a continuous stream of rounds from one handgun directly into the skull of the numbered assassin blocking his path.

Simultaneously, the Golden Dancer in his right hand twirled like a performer, spitting out precise rounds that swatted down the incoming projectiles aimed at him.

*Thud!*

Like a fragile string snapping, the assassin who had absorbed an entire magazine's worth of bullets within a single second stared blankly ahead.

A massive, conspicuous cavity now rested in his forehead. The microscopic nanobots tried desperately to bridge the gap, but upon registering insufficient numbers, their network crashed entirely.

"See?"

Locke turned around, focusing his attention on the remaining numbered assassins who were currently receiving the Golden Dancer's full attention. They had vainly assumed that ducking behind structural cover would render him completely helpless.

"It seems my firepower is simply superior."

With that, Locke strolled behind the cover, looking down at the two numbered assassins whose heads had been thoroughly turned to mush despite their fancy subcutaneous titanium plating.

No issues this time, right?

Locke raised an eyebrow, turned around, and walked toward the glass-partitioned office suite.

Upon entering, he found himself surrounded on all sides by reflective glass mirrors. Looking out, it appeared as though countless copies of Locke filled the space.

From the floor to the flanking corridors, and even spanning across the ceiling, the image of Locke was replicated infinitely.

"This person..."

Locke looked at the interior design, completely at a loss for words. "They either have a twisted mind, or serious psychological issues."

What sane individual would think to use mirrors for walls?

Outside of a haunted house attraction, at least.

*Cackle, cackle, cackle!*

"..."

With a look that screamed *I knew it*, Locke raised his eyes toward the source of the audio. Unfortunately, because he was wearing sunglasses, no one could read the expression hidden behind the lenses.

"ICA, you people are quite difficult to track down."

"But you still managed to find us."

"Just luck!"

Locke licked his lips, his expression entirely neutral. "I happen to need a sum of money. Coincidentally, your heads are worth thirty million, and this contract aligns perfectly with my operational guidelines."

Mr. C let out a cold snort. "I'm afraid you won't have the stomach to digest it."

Locke smiled. "My appetite has always been excellent."

Mr. C shifted his tone. "Mr. Peerless, if you leave right now, we can pay you thirty million directly. In fact, if you bring Locke Broughton to us, I will even add an extra thirty million on top of that. What do you say?"

"Really?"

"Of course!"

"Deal."

"...What?"

Locke seemed to have located the surveillance camera, focusing his gaze directly on the lens. "Sure. I'll take this contract."

Mr. C and Mrs. A exchanged a bewildered glance.

The next second, Mr. C knit his brows, staring at Locke on the monitor. "Are you playing with me?"

Locke shook his head, stepping closer to the camera lens as he discreetly pulled out his USB drive and connected it to the interface port tucked behind the camera casing.

"I'm being entirely serious. I'm just an independent contractor. The other client hasn't paid the full balance yet. If you wire me a fifteen-million-dollar retainer right now, I guarantee I will execute this contract for you."

Mr. C glanced at Mrs. A beside him, but the latter simply shook her head.

The Peerless Assassin had never been known to alter a contract once it was accepted.

"You are mocking me!"

"Not at all."

"Peerless Assassin, your greatest mistake was stepping right into a trap while fully aware of its existence."

After casting a glance at Mrs. A, Mr. C seemed to temporarily snap out of his villain persona, entirely skipping any further monologues to slap the master switch on his desk.

*Thud!*

*Thud!*

The reinforced glass partitions on both sides of the corridor slammed shut instantly.

"Cackle!"

Mr. C's laughter sounded as grating as a screeching drake. "The Peerless Assassin amounts to nothing more than this."

As he spoke, a soft hiss echoed through the sealed corridor, filling the space with a bizarre, swirling purple mist. After a brief period, the haze dissipated to reveal the Peerless Assassin collapsed on the floor, covered in hideous chemical blisters from head to toe.

"Hahaha!"

*Phew!*

Mrs. A, who had been sick with anxiety this entire time, couldn't help but let out a massive sigh of relief at the sight. A venomous expression quickly twisted her features.

"That miserable Locke Broughton... find him, and turn him into our next human puppet."

Mr. C simply smiled smoothly, drawing a cigar with an air of absolute triumph and lighting it up.

"What Peerless Assassin? A New Worlder is just a New Worlder, always prone to grand boasts. From where I stand, he was nothing more than an arrogant executioner."

To think he had actually worried about how formidable this assassin might be.

The man had dismantled MI6.

He had cleared out Mrs. A's headquarters.

And then, he had brazenly launched a direct frontal assault against this very installation.

Mr. C had prepared a comprehensive array of countermeasures.

And the result?

That was it?

He was just gone?

Incredible.

Shaking his head in utter amusement, Mr. C reached for the telephone sitting beside him and dialed a number.

The call connected almost instantly.

"It's me."

"The complication has been thoroughly neutralized."

"I am certain."

"Tell them to hold their positions downstairs until we depart."

"Understood."

Mr. C hung up the phone and looked toward Mrs. A. "It is time for us to leave."

Even though the Peerless Assassin was dead, the true logistical nightmares were only just beginning. This incident had completely exposed one of their operations hubs, and an office structure had been entirely leveled.

Mrs. A stood up and threw on her trench coat, her gaze casually drifting back toward the surveillance feed. "Wait a minute."

Mr. C had already initiated the release sequence for the panic room door. Hearing Mrs. A's voice behind him, he didn't bother turning around. "What is—"

Mrs. A's eyes widened to their absolute limits as she stared at the monitor, where Locke had suddenly vanished without leaving a single trace. She frantically raised her voice. "Wait, the Peerless Assas—"

Exactly like Mr. C freezing up a moment ago, Mrs. A froze mid-sentence as well.

For no other reason than this:

Locke was currently pressing the muzzle of the Golden Dancer right against Mr. C's temple. With a faint smile on his face, he stepped out from the ruined, yet completely silent office space and crossed right into the panic room.

*Thud!*

Locke casually shut the heavy door behind him. Once this door clicked into place, even the world's finest locksmith would find it utterly impossible to open from the outside.

Even if an extraction team attempted a forced breach, it would take a minimum of thirty minutes just to cut through the reinforced plating.

'That should be plenty.'

Locke silently estimated the time required for his upcoming tasks. Looking toward Mr. C and Mrs. A, a bright smile spread across his face as he surveyed the panic room, which came fully equipped with a bed, a sofa, and even localized surveillance feeds.

"Please be seated, you two!"

***

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