[Current Status Refresh:]
[Na: Locke Broughton (Sole Player)]
[Class: Assassin (Current) (Switchable Witch Template available)]
[Achievent Points: 123,000 (Can be used in the Achievent Store)]
[Potential Points: 135,000 (Can be used to upgrade owned skills)]
[...]
Nice!
After sitting back down on the sofa with Gwen, Locke caught a glimpse of the status window popping up in his mind. Seeing those five-digit Achievent and Potential points frozen at their new heights, he cheered inwardly.
Although he had spent 30,000 points on [Lulu's Polymorph Card], he had still co out roughly 70,000 Achievent points ahead.
This was a massive windfall.
If Locke weren't so averse to trouble—and if the spring sester weren't starting tomorrow—he wouldn't have minded a copycat popping up once a month. At this rate, he could farm these "respawning mobs" all the way until he had enough to exchange for the Sun God bloodline.
Of course, it was just a passing thought.
There are many stupid people in this world, but the ones he had encountered so far weren't that brainless. After a few more public executions, even soone with an IQ below fifty would think twice.
Besides... once you kill the sa type of "enemy" too many tis, a certain "immunity" tends to develop in the public consciousness.
"Wait."
"Dad?"
Locke snapped out of his thoughts and looked at Gwen. She was pointing at the TV.
"Why is Dad standing with Auntie Finn?"
Helen, who was still calculating expenses in the dining area, snapped her head up.
"Who?" Helen stood up and walked toward the living room. "Who did you just say?"
Gwen blinked and saw the tension on her mother's face. She quickly clarified, "Mom, don't worry, there are other people there. It looks like an ergency press conference."
It made sense. Half of New York had just watched a living human being turn into a giant rat, and then the signal had conveniently cut out. If the authorities didn't co out with an explanation, the city would be in a state of absolute chaos by tomorrow morning.
...
On the screen, the studio had clearly been tidied up. A crowd of reporters—specifically those friendly with the NYPD—had been rushed to the scene.
The press conference began without delay.
The ssage was simple: The "magic" everyone just witnessed was nothing more than a trick played by the Peerless Assassin. A simple illusion that required a few willing participants.
Yes. A magic trick.
A grand illusion used by the Assassin to deceive the public.
They claid to have evidence. Several detectives walked around the set, "discovering" small projectors that were allegedly hidden in the corners. They claid the "man-to-rat" transformation was a pre-recorded video—a segnt currently being polished by a sci-fi director in Hollywood.
It was all a hoax. There are no witches. How could such a thing exist in this world?
The summary: What you saw was a lie!
This was... Fake News!
So reporters weren't buying it. One raised their voice, demanding to know: "If it was all a trick, then where is Barry Weiss?"
George smiled. He stated that Barry Weiss had been in police custody the entire ti and had never been kidnapped.
"If the Peerless Assassin had truly abducted a suspect from New Amsterdam Hospital," George asked pointedly, "why haven't you—the ever-vigilant dia—received a single tip about a shooting at the hospital?"
The reporters exchanged glances, silenced by the logic.
Then, Commander Hand gave George a subtle nod from the side. George continued, stating that after Barry Weiss was arrested, he had been in critical condition in the ICU. News had just arrived from the hospital.
Simply put: Barry Weiss had been in the hospital all along, and he had just died on the operating table due to failed resuscitation.
George gave a signal. The screen switched to a feed from a New Amsterdam operating room. There, Barry Weiss lay with his eyes peacefully closed. Beside him, the heart monitor was a flat, unmoving line.
'Impressive,' Locke thought as he watched.
No doubt about it—this wasn't George's handiwork. This had SHIELD written all over it. Only they could forge a video and fake an entire hospital death in such a short window of ti.
They had "evidence" that the magic was a video forgery, and "proof" that Barry Weiss was in the morgue. George even invited a few reporters to visit the morgue tomorrow to verify it themselves.
A perfect combination of lies. The effect was imdiate.
Gwen frowned. "So... it was all fake? Witches... magic... none of it?"
Even Gwen was beginning to doubt herself. But then she shook her head. "No. The Peerless Assassin wouldn't stoop to faking sothing like that."
Locke asked curiously, "Why do you say that?"
Gwen pursed her lips. "The Assassin is arrogant and conceited. Soone like that has a specific kind of pride. He doesn't allow others to impersonate him because it ruins his reputation. Why would he ruin his own reputation with a fake trick?"
Locke let out a "wow." 'Good job, Gwen.'
The Peerless Assassin's personality was essentially Locke's "Player Identity"—his second persona, filled with the pride of a gar.
When Locke wore his glasses, he saw a world that was a ga—a single-player ga where he was the only one with cheat codes. When he took them off, he saw life—a living, breathing world. He used the glasses to perfectly separate the two.
Gwen's analysis of the Assassin's "character" was spot on.
However... he couldn't let her go too deep.
"Maybe he just wanted to show New York the price of crossing him," Locke suggested.
"No," Gwen said firmly, her "Straight-A Student" mode fully engaged. "I'm analyzing this from a psychological perspective. Locke, you've only t him once. I've studied every file my dad has on the Assassin. I feel like I understand him. You don't."
Locke's mouth hung open. 'I don't understand him? I AM HIM, and you're telling I don't understand myself?'
His eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly. But seeing Gwen ready to defend her academic honor to the death, he just smiled. "Fine. So, do witches exist?"
Gwen instantly retreated from her professional stance. "I... I've never seen a witch."
Locke shrugged. "So, a minute ago you thought a witch was unscientific, and now that George gave an explanation, you say it's wrong. So what is it?"
"..."
Helen spoke up from the dining table. "You two, just watch the TV. Why think so much? When George gets ho, we can just ask him."
Locke felt a surge of relief.
Gwen looked at her mother. "Mom, Dad definitely won't tell ."
Helen let out a dry laugh. "When he gets back, I'll ask. I particularly want to ask why he was sitting so close to Patty. Does he think because it's tax season, I've stopped watching the news?"
Locke and Gwen looked back at the screen.
The press conference was ending. As they were walking off the stage, Patty's heel slipped. She gasped and began to fall backward. George, showing quick reflexes, reached out and caught her firmly by the waist.
...
Locke and Gwen felt the temperature in the room drop twenty degrees. They glanced at Helen.
Helen's face was like frost. She was staring at the TV screen—at the smiling George and Patty—as if they were two criminals caught in the act.
'George! Danger!' Locke thought.
"Gwen?"
"Huh?"
"I just rembered I haven't finished my quarterly tax filing. Can you help with it?"
"Sure."
Locke and Gwen rose from the sofa and tiptoed past the freezing statue of Helen. Once they hit the stairs, they bolted for the second floor.
In the hallway, they both let out a simultaneous sigh of relief and looked at each other. Gwen burst into laughter.
"Young lady, I can still hear you," Helen's cold voice drifted up from downstairs.
Gwen froze, shouted a quick "Sorry!", grabbed Locke's hand, and dragged him into her bedroom.
*Thud.* The door closed.
Gwen leaned against the door, looking at Locke. "Do a favor. Don't leave tonight."
Locke was stunned. 'Is that a good idea?' While Helen and George had basically accepted their relationship, staying the night was a bold move. Helen might be happy, but George would probably drag him out "hunting" next weekend. Whether he'd be the hunter or the prey was up for debate.
Seeing Locke's expression, Gwen whispered, "I an... if you're here, Mom won't start a fight with Dad when he gets ho."
Locke hesitated, then shook his head. "I don't think so."
'Are you kidding?' Every ti they had dinner, Helen "drove the car" so fast the tire marks were practically on his face. 'You have a misunderstanding of your mother, Gwen.'
Besides...
Locke sat on the edge of the bed. "Even if I stay and they don't fight tonight, what about tomorrow?"
"I won't be ho tomorrow," Gwen smiled.
"...What?"
Gwen chuckled. "Did you forget? We have a lunch date tomorrow with Cindy and Pepper. Little George and the boys will be ho. Even if they fight then, I won't have to see it!"
Locke: "..."
***
Read 30 Chapters early on P-atreon/Redestro666
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