Rikers Island sits between Queens and Brooklyn, home to only one massive complex: the prison. It's the largest in New York, connected to Queens by a single bridge—a bridge strictly closed to the public.
*Vroom!*
A brand-new silver R8 roared to life.
It was a stolen vehicle purchased from Hell's Kitchen. A new R8 would normally run around ninety thousand dollars, but on the black market, Locke had snagged this one for fifty thousand in cold cash. In the past, Locke might have felt the sting of such a price tag. But now? It was pocket change.
*Vroom!*
Locke, wearing sunglasses, floored the accelerator. He pulled over at a street corner that served as the mandatory path for any vehicle entering or exiting Rikers Island. Keeping his left hand on the wheel and his right on the gear shift, he pulled out his phone, watching a small red dot crawl closer on the screen.
The red dot represented the transport van—the one carrying Nick Fury, Phil Coulson, and Melinda May. Red's people had handled the bugging. Locke didn't care how they got close enough to plant the signal; he only cared about when the van would arrive.
Locke licked his lips, his anticipation reaching a fever pitch.
In truth, he could have come for Nick Fury a week ago, right after the verdict. But Fury still had more court dates. Why rush? Locke considered patience to be one of his few virtues. Besides, what could be more satisfying than sitting in a courtroom and watching a jury pronounce Nick Fury and his team guilty?
You thought you could mess with me?
Just hours ago, Fury and his "Left and Right Protectors" had been found guilty of all the District Attorney's charges. Fury had successfully earned himself a seven-year sentence: four years for perjury, and three years for the official misconduct charges (mitigated slightly by the five million he had already paid in the civil suit).
Phil Coulson got five years.
Melinda May got six.
As expected of the Director—even his sentence was a year longer than his subordinates. Truly a man of status.
Locke's lips curled into a smirk. He knew that if he didn't act today, the three of them would likely vanish into thin air the moment they stepped inside the prison walls. The verdict was merely a way to save face for New York City and appease the boiling pot of public opinion.
Now that the dust had settled, everyone had what they wanted. Locke had his money. Judge Knott had upheld the dignity of the law. The DA had a major win on their record. The media had their clicks. The heat would only die down from here, giving Fury the perfect window to slip away and "rebrand" himself once inside.
"Pity," Locke sighed, feigning sympathy for Fury's uncertain future. He watched the red dot turn the corner in his mirror and pocketed his phone. "But... you're the one who poked the bear first."
A half-blue prison transport van screeched past Locke's R8, heading toward the lone bridge to Rikers.
*Ignition!*
*Roar!*
Locke started the car, rolled down the window, and tilted his head to watch the blue van clear the security checkpoint and enter the bridge.
*Vroom!*
Locke released the handbrake. The R8's powerful engine delivered a massive burst of torque, pinning him to the seat as the car shot forward like a silver meteor in pursuit of the van.
Back at the gate, the two correctional officers who had just lowered the barrier froze. The laughter on their faces turned to stone as they saw the R8 thundering toward them like a guided missile.
*Crash!*
The R8 smashed through the barrier without slowing down, tearing across the bridge toward the transport van.
"Shit!"
"A prison break??"
"What the—"
The two guards dove to either side just in time. Spitting out mouthfuls of dirt, they scrambled to hit the alarm. Within seconds, the sirens of Rikers Island began to wail across the water.
Inside the van, Melinda May, who had been staring at her handcuffs and wondering how a high-ranking S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had ended up a common convict, looked up at the sound of the sirens.
'What's happening?'
Suddenly, she saw a flash of silver in her peripheral vision. Looking out the window, she saw the silver R8 roar past them like a rocket, pulling ahead.
Five hundred meters in front of the van, the R8 performed a violent 180-degree drift. Amidst a cloud of tire smoke, the silver car pointed its nose directly at the oncoming transport van and floored it.
"WTF?"
The guard driving the van saw the R8 coming straight for him, apparently intent on seeing which was harder: German engineering or an armored transport. He cursed and yanked the steering wheel to avoid the head-on collision.
The prisoners and guards in the back felt like they were on a rollercoaster. But the feeling didn't last long.
Locke watched the van swerve. At the precise moment of impact, he yanked his handbrake and whipped the steering wheel. The R8 drifted into the van's side.
The transport van was too heavy to drift.
*BOOM!*
As the van's flank slammed into the R8, it lost all balance. It flipped, tumbling through the air like a flying pig before crashing onto the bridge.
*Crash!*
The impact crushed the rear of the R8, sending it spinning toward the edge of the bridge. Locke kicked the door open and stepped out just as the car teetered over the railing and plunged into the river below.
*Splash!*
Behind him, the R8 hit the water with a massive geyser. Locke didn't look back at the sinking car. He adjusted his cuffs, flicked his wrist to bring the Silver Dancer into his hand, and walked toward the transport van, which had rolled three times and now sat upright in the middle of the bridge, dead and smoking.
"Cough! Cough!"
The van driver, blood streaming from a head wound, stumbled out of the wreckage. He saw Locke—dressed in a sharp suit and tie, looking every bit the "Suit Thug"—approaching. He threw up his hands in terror. "No, please... don't..."
Locke stopped. He looked at the kneeling driver, let out a soft chuckle, and waved his hand. The driver blinked, scrambled to his feet, and ran for his life toward the prison gates five hundred meters away.
Locke smiled. He wasn't like S.H.I.E.L.D.; he had principles. He didn't kill the innocent.
*Bang!*
A bullet streaked from the back of the van. Locke tilted his head slightly, the round whistling past. He narrowed his eyes. "I'll give you one chance. Get out and leave, and I won't kill you. I only want the prisoners."
"In your dreams!"
"Not a chance!"
Two guards—a man and a woman—shouted from inside without showing their heads.
"Backup is on the way!"
Locke raised an eyebrow.
Locke shrugged and raised the Silver Dancer.
*Bang! Bang!*
*Clang! Clang!*
Two golden bullets streaked toward the van door like heat-seeking missiles. They hit the metal, ricocheted at impossible angles, and tore into the interior. Two wet *thuds* followed.
He stepped into the van. He looked at the two corpses slumped in the corner, Then he looked toward the holding area, where a set of handcuffs had already been picked clean.
A split second later, a gust of wind came from behind.
"Interesting!"
Locke thought to himself. He spun, leaning back as a pair of legs—not particularly beautiful ones—swept past his face.
*Thud!*
Melinda May followed through with a kick aimed squarely at Locke's groin.
*Bang!*
"Ah!"
May's offensive halted instantly. Her right leg buckled as she collapsed to the floor.
Locke's lips curled up. He tilted his head. "Your brain must be fried. I have a gun."
May glared at him, panting in pain. "Coward!"
"Thank you."
*Bang!*
"Ugh!"
Locke put a round into May's chest to ensure she was no longer a threat. He crouched down, his smile widening. He reached up and pulled off his sunglasses, revealing his true face.
May's pupils dilated as she saw Locke's face overlap with her image of the Peerless Assassin.
Locke smiled gently. "I'm only sixteen. Calling me 'baby' is quite appropriate, don't you think?"
"...It's you!"
May struggled to push herself off the floor, her weak right hand reaching out as if to grab him. But Locke had no intention of being touched.
Blood began to leak from the corner of her mouth. "We... we won't let you get away with this."
"The feeling is mutual!"
Locke spoke calmly. He looked at Melinda May with genuine interest, gesturing with the glasses in his hand. "Do you know why I only kill people after I put these on?"
***
Bonus as promised.
Goal is every 100 stones= 1 bonus chapter
Thanks for reading 🙏
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