Marvel: The Super Player

Of course.

When Locke went on television and activated his tenth rank speech ability, it was not to sketch out exactly what Lorraine Broughton looked like or what kind of person she was to the world.

He had real business to attend to.

And this real business just happened to require using Lorraine Broughton as a lead-in.

"So..."

On the television screen, the Cuban beauty reporter spoke with a somewhat serious expression.

"Mr. Broughton, the ambush that occurred in Long Island, New York a few days ago—the target of those gangsters was you, correct?"

Locke nodded. "Yes."

"Then you just said that these gangsters were coming for..."

"That is also correct."

"The ICA, my mother—it was the final mission Lorraine Broughton executed. Unfortunately, she sacrificed her life during that mission."

"...I am sorry."

"Thank you, but I suddenly discovered that the reality does not seem to be like that."

"Oh?"

"Because the person who accepted the order not only completed my bounty, but even brought back some files for me. And within those files, I learned one thing: the ICA was not the culprit that killed my mother at all."

"What?"

"Yes."

On the television.

Locke said in a deep voice, "The ICA, International Contract Agency, was secretly established by London's MI5, and subsequently developed with the assistance of London's MI6. Therefore, my mother did not die at the hands of some hitmen at all. Or rather, it was not hitmen who kidnapped me either."

"There have never been hitmen, only intelligence agents!"

"And they are from MI5, London, MI5!"

"..."

George was completely stunned too.

It was not MI6?

It was MI5?

Holy hell.

George fell into a brief daze, to the point that even at the very end of the interview, when Locke expressed his intent to file a civil lawsuit in a New York court, he did not hear the words clearly.

Very quickly, the television program finished airing.

Ring ring ring!

The phones of both Locke and George started ringing.

"Hello."

Locke looked at the incoming call, gave a short laugh, stood up, and walked toward the second floor. After connecting the call, he said,

"Mr. Nobody."

Over in Langley, Mr. Nobody, who was also closing in on the truth, listened to Agent L's report and spoke with disbelief. "What are you doing?"

Are you out of your mind?

Can this kind of thing be discussed out in the open before the general public?

Do you still want rules or not?

If everyone acts recklessly like this in the future, how can intelligence work still be conducted?

Locke snorted and laughed. "Mr. Nobody, I have not said that I have made up my mind to rejoin you guys yet."

Mr. Nobody said in a deep voice, "What exactly do you want to do?"

Locke said, "Mr. Nobody, in your eyes, do I seem like the type of character who will not strike back after someone hits me? I am striking back."

"You are playing with fire."

"Ha."

"You have already let the Peerless Assassin turn London completely upside down."

"That was not me."

"What?"

Locke walked into Gwen's room, closed the door, and said with a smile, "But that was ultimately not me, was it? Besides, what is wrong with me filing a lawsuit? They can choose not to show up anyway. After all, our long arm jurisdiction isn't recognized by everyone, is it?"

The Peerless Assassin had a grand old time killing.

But the Peerless Assassin also made money from it.

Should I not make money too?

Mr. Nobody's mouth twitched.

If this matter truly went to court, then the issue for London would not be whether their face got swollen or not, but whether their fucking face still existed at all.

After Locke finished speaking, he paused slightly and said thoughtfully, "What is it, Mr. Nobody? Are you calling me to try and teach me how to do things?"

Mr. Nobody snapped back to reality. "I am just looking out for you."

Locke smiled slightly. "Thank you, I am doing excellent!"

Mr. Nobody took a deep breath, hung up the phone directly, leaned back in his chair, and shook his head.

Locke was doing excellent now, but someone else was not doing well.

London.

By the banks of the River Thames.

With a thud.

The newly appointed Agent 007, James Bond, looked at the acting director with a somewhat grim expression and tossed a tablet onto the desk.

"The ICA—is what this Locke Broughton saying true?"

He had also more or less crossed paths with this ICA that stirred up trouble across the world.

But crossing paths was one thing, while knowing that this mysterious organization, which would do absolutely anything for money, actually had thousands of structural ties to them was an entirely different matter.

Look at it this way.

Although intelligence agents were also trained as killers, if you told an agent to his face that he was just a hitman, he would definitely be very angry.

Right now, it was even more severe.

Agents and hitmen had practically become part of the same family.

What difference did this have from a mouse and a cat starting a happy life cohabitating together?

The acting director, who had just taken office and had not yet completely grasped the inner workings, opened his mouth.

James Bond flashed a polite smile, stood up, and then walked toward the door. Ignoring the calls of "007, 007" from behind him, he closed the door directly with a loud thud.

"007!"

"Q!"

In the underground garage, Bond opened his car and looked at Q standing beside the vehicle, speaking directly. "Going home, it's over."

Was it not going home?

Once the court session opened over in New York—no, there was no need for a New York court session—as long as that side took out the information in their hands and made it public, what necessity would there even be for MI6 to exist?

Or rather, what face would they have left to continue existing?

Q hurriedly came forward and gave Bond a hug.

Then.

Q lowered his head and left.

Bond paused slightly. After closing the car door, he finally extracted the object that Q had just stuffed into his hand. Upon inspection, it turned out to be a pen cap.

The cap to M's fountain pen.

Bond stared blankly for a moment, raised his head, and could not help but look over.

While Bond here left in a dashing manner, the acting director of MI6 was as busy as a canned sardine. He immediately jumped on a call with the director of MI5, and together they were summoned directly to Downing Street.

"Shit!"

"Did you two not say that the person was still in London and had not escaped?"

"Where is he?"

"Did you two not guarantee that the Peerless Assassin was still inside that safehouse?"

"..."

The Prime Minister, who was still planning to see if he could run for re-election this year, was furious to the extreme.

With this.

What re-election? It would be quite good if he wasn't directly impeached and forced out of office by the people.

But...

Whether he could be re-elected was one thing, but letting their reputation vanish entirely during his tenure was another matter entirely.

"Now, which one of you two can fucking explain to me what the ICA is!!!"

"..."

The acting director of MI6 looked directly at the director of MI5, signaling with his eyes: "Your people, you fucking explain it!"

It was very normal for the Prime Minister not to know.

After all, when the ICA was established, it was not under this Prime Minister. Furthermore, the position changed people every few years; knowing too many secrets was not good.

It was just like the American President.

The American President probably didn't even know if there were aliens inside Area 51, while other people, such as those whose positions generally wouldn't change arbitrarily every few years, did know.

The Prime Minister was absolutely furious.

The head of MI5 kept his head lowered, feeling incredibly aggrieved.

Under normal circumstances, he was unwilling to speak.

But...

An incident had occurred, and looking at Locke, he was clearly not the type to speak empty words without evidence.

They had already stubbornly held out once, and the ICA was completely certain that no one would dare accept the bounty. In the end, a hotheaded Peerless Assassin stubbornly appeared out of nowhere to accept the order.

Then, they blew up directly.

If it happened one more time, the people of MI5 did not dare gamble.

"Fuck!"

Sure enough.

After listening to the director of MI5 say that he also could not be certain what items the ICA office had lost, the Prime Minister could not help but curse.

"Damned assassin. Right, that assassin—has the wanted poster been sent out?"

"It has been sent out."

"And our allies too."

"Understood."

The Prime Minister opened his mouth, waved his hand, and could no longer think of any face-saving projects that had not been done to salvage the situation.

The next day.

New York City!

Locke raised his eyebrows, looking at the front page headline on the newspaper that had pushed him down.

The Prime Minister of London indignantly declared that they must capture the Peerless Assassin!

Heh.

There are plenty of people out to catch me, who do you think you are?

George is already lining up ahead of you.

Locke drank the coffee in his hand, looking at George who was walking out of the kitchen, and nodded with a smile. "Good morning, George."

George was expressionless.

He worked overtime last night and returned very late. But seeing Locke in the morning, he was no longer curious or surprised.

"Wow."

Over on Helen's side, she was also staring at a phone, looking at the news on it, and pulled over Gwen who was just walking out of the kitchen. "Gwen, look at this."

Gwen looked over curiously. "In 1993, a cargo plane traveling via Federal Express Castle that went missing while flying across the Pacific Ocean was discovered at 9:10 yesterday morning. Furthermore, the cargo courier of that time actually survived alone on an island for twelve years?"

Holy hell.

Express delivery.

Cargo?

Locke raised his eyebrows.

Gwen tossed her ponytail. "Wow, Locke, come and look. He guarded the island alone for twelve years, and stubbornly refrained from opening the packages he needed to deliver. Furthermore, he has kept those packages preserved for these twelve years. How romantic."

Locke looked at Gwen, who was holding Helen's phone and running in front of him to make him look at the news. He smiled and pointed at his wristwatch. "Gwen, look at the time."

A person guarding ruined packages for twelve years—this is called romantic?

At most, it's called a news story.

Locke had already scrolled past this news yesterday, but he didn't give it a second thought. Anyway, within those packages that had lost contact for twelve years, there definitely wasn't any package belonging to him.

Since that was the case, why should he pay attention to this stuff?

Very quickly.

They left the apartment.

Locke walked in front, unlocked his car, and then, watching a black SUV driving past not far away, he narrowed his eyes slightly, pulling Gwen to stand behind him.

His six senses did not sound an alarm.

But without a doubt, the visitor did not come with good intentions.

For no other reason than because the car following them did not have an American flag attached, but rather a British Union Jack flag instead.

At this time, Great Britain comes knocking on the door?

Could there be anything good?

***

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