Two minutes later.
With the characteristic whirring of rotating blades, the helicopter finally arrived at the scene.
But...
Under the spotlight.
Sheriff George Stacy stood, a deep frown on his face.
Alone.
— Sheriff George!
— Sheriff George!
Sergeant Kate Beckett of the NYPD's 21st Precinct, the closest to the scene, arrived with two subordinates and a well-armed task force.
George looked back: — Kate.
Kate approached, her gaze falling upon Fox, who lay motionless on the ground, blood staining her chest. Bullet holes were clearly visible in her palm and knee.
— Where is he?
— He got away.
— What?
George turned to Kate and said: — We've got this handled, but what about the pickup truck?
Kate shook her head: — The car drove straight into the river. The search team is already on site.
However, they didn't hold out much hope.
All this... was awful.
Because New York's police officers were in for a sleepless night.
Kate and George looked at Fox's body, and a similar thought couldn't help but form in their minds.
How long had it been since a shootout occurred in Manhattan, right on busy streets, not in the dead of night? It wasn't just New York's police force facing overtime. The Mayor of New York would also have to break away from his affairs to smooth things over.
A little while later.
When most of the officers had left, George, finishing his conversation with Kate, cast his gaze somewhere off to the side.
Lock had gone that way.
Still... George couldn't bring himself to do it.
He was a police officer. He was supposed to follow the law and apprehend the criminal, but after Lock began threatening his subordinates and comrades with death... George couldn't hold onto his principles and yielded — he had no choice but to let him go.
And surprisingly...
George understood everything perfectly the moment Lock shot through the windows of the nearest helicopter with two precise shots. The officer was smart; he understood everything instantly.
Lock hadn't even looked when he fired, yet he accurately hit a specific target. Though it seemed incredible, he did it. He certainly wasn't shooting randomly. By doing so, the killer was saying that not only George's life was on the line.
As for why Lock didn't kill him or the pilot...
It was simple.
He was the Sinner Hunter.
But...
— This is vigilantism!
George looked at Fox's body, covered with a white sheet and ready for transport to the precinct for further autopsy, and clenched his fists: — I'll get you, Sinner Hunter!
Thrum-thrum-thrum!
Lock, walking down the middle of the alley, looked up, watched the helicopter flash overhead, and raised an eyebrow.
It seemed George wasn't so stubborn after all.
A thought had flashed through Lock's mind the moment he turned his back on George: that George would be bold enough to shoot him, and he had been ready to send the officer to meet his maker.
He hadn't thought he would let him go, but...
...but yes.
If George were a stubborn fool, he would have considered Spider-Man a vigilante executioner from the start.
No.
Lock raised an eyebrow.
George likely still considered Spider-Man just a guy abusing his superpowers. But instead of causing trouble, he decided to help Spider-Man because of his daughter, Gwen. In that moment, he was even willing to sacrifice himself for his daughter, just to keep Spider-Man away from his dear girl.
But Spider-Man was clearly not the good kind of guy he wanted to seem.
George lost and forfeited his life.
That pretty much says it all, in short.
Well, I never liked the canon, so...
Thinking along these lines, Lock pulled out a tracking card from his item panel, which he had bought at a discount with a coupon received earlier.
Normally, Lock wouldn't have used the coupon, but time was pressing now.
Life was hard enough as it was, and he had to earn achievement points somehow.
Evidently, Lock had decided to save up achievement points, aiming to acquire god-like power sooner, but if he used them, it would only be with a coupon. The previous purchase didn't count!
But...
He still hadn't managed to save a respectable sum.
The original price of the Tracking Card was a thousand achievement points, and after the discount, nine hundred.
Lock had used the discount once, and it had left a good impression on him.
— Cross, I'm coming for you...
— System, use the tracking card! Target: Cross Gibson!
Card successfully used.
In an instant...
Something resembling an in-game map appeared in Lock's mind, with a red dot blinking on it.
The red dot was Cross Gibson. More precisely, his location.
— Wow.
— So little time has passed, and you've already vanished so far? Are you teleporting or something? — Lock raised an eyebrow.
Well... So be it.
Lock's gaze suddenly landed on a man covered in tattoos sitting in a car. The vehicle was parked in the middle of the alley. It looked like he was waiting for someone.
The tattooed man looked at Lock, who was walking a short distance away in the alley, and glared maliciously at him: — Hey, what are you starin'... at?..
The man finished his last word with a delay.
Because...
A cute pistol was pointed directly at his forehead.
— S-sorry.
— H-hey, man, what are you doing? I was just...
*Bang!*
A minute later.
An ordinary blue sedan drove out of the alley. At the same time, a man's corpse lay inside a dumpster. It was unknown when the drug dealer's body would be discovered.
Punishment for Evil: 200 achievement points, 200 potential points.
— How delightful.
Lock threw some bags out the window as he drove: — System, my dear, I'd almost forgotten you could... give me such simple tasks. Am I blessed by God today?
It wasn't that Lock had never tried to earn money this way, or that such opportunities were rare, it was just... he had already tried to start earning points this way, but he gave up after two days.
Well...
Lock certainly had no predisposition to become a superhero.
He was too lazy!
In this world, evil could not be entirely eradicated. As long as there were people, evil would thrive. Besides, Lock wasn't as diligent as Spider-Man, who hunted criminals twenty-four-seven.
His target now...
Was located in some rented apartment in a Brooklyn neighborhood.
As a qualified and former number one assassin in the Brotherhood, it was natural for him to have his own hideout, unknown to anyone.
When it came to an international-class assassin who completed missions in any country for sufficient payment, they always had rented or abandoned apartments used as safe houses.
Even Lock had one.
But...
Honestly, his was in Texas, not New York. After all, he'd only been in this huge city for two days; where would he have a hideout here? So, he was actively looking for one.
Wesley, by the way, didn't have such an apartment.
After all, Wesley was no more than a tool, specially prepared to work against Cross, and he didn't even know what "a hundred things an assassin should know" were, let alone having a safe house.
— Holy hell!
Cross suddenly clutched his shot arm and shouted at Wesley for the umpteenth time: — I am your father!
Wesley, tied to a chair, immediately grumbled: — You think I'll believe you? You're definitely in cahoots with the Unsurpassed!
Cross took a deep breath.
Just then...
A doorbell rang.
Ding-dong
— Hello! Water meter check!
— ...