The reasoning?
Locke had never been fond of pretending to be weak just to surprise people later. Operating under an alternative persona was a separate matter entirely—and while conventional wisdom suggested one couldn't balance multiple long-term agendas simultaneously, Locke intended to challenge that assumption.
He wanted everything.
Academic reward allocations, operational bounties, and every metric in between. Otherwise, how long would it take him to accumulate a target pool of one hundred million points?
To that end...
Locke finished cleansing his hands, raised his gaze, and focused cleanly on the final target remaining in the clearing.
The rogue vampire, James.
"Alright then."
Locke offered a brief, casual wave toward James, his tone carrying a clinical chill but vibrating with unmistakable satisfaction.
"Step forward. This will be over momentarily, and I guarantee you won't feel a single thing."
Given how accommodating the target had been by delivering himself directly to the scene, Locke was entirely prepared to afford him a swift resolution.
He certainly wasn't like those syndicates during his second active year in Texas. Those groups had been absurdly proficient at going deep underground, leaving him so frustrated that by the time he unearthed them, he had to introduce several elaborate compliance exercises on-site just to alleviate a fraction of his operational irritation.
James's jaw twitched, his facial muscles contorting as his sharp fangs bared completely. He resembled a cornered, bristling hedgehog.
Every individual within the anomalous vampire tier developed a distinct baseline specialization. James's specific attribute lay in his highly refined sensory tracking; he possessed an intuitive capacity to anticipate the immediate trajectories and maneuvers of his prey.
But... As James locked his focus onto Locke, he found his predictive faculties completely unresponsive. He couldn't chart or anticipate a single structural movement Locke was about to make.
It defied his entire understanding of combat metrics.
"Who... who are you?"
"Cain."
Locke's brow arched subtly as he acknowledged the internal cue. The classic terminal interrogation sequence had arrived—the perfect vehicle to deliver the opening salvo for his brand-new identity.
"My name is Cain."
James's eyes narrowed. Despite his ragged, unrefined presentation and transient background, his cognitive faculties were entirely standard, and he immediately recognized the historical weight anchored to that specific name.
"You're playing... what?"
The moment James realized the designation was almost certainly a fabricated title, he attempted to adjust his posture. But before the final syllables could leave his lips, a violent atmospheric displacement tore through the clearing.
Locke, who had been positioned over two hundred meters away a fraction of a second ago, was instantly standing directly within his personal space.
The next millisecond... James's pupils dilated in absolute terror. He attempted to pivot into a full-speed retreat, but a localized clamp locked onto his throat with absolute rigidity. "Ergh..."
His entire frame was hoisted effortlessly off the ground by Locke's single-handed grip.
Locke looked up, tracking the suspended form of James as he delivered his concluding address.
"Once you reach the lower depths, remember to file your paperwork under my name: Cain. Though the infernal sovereigns might... actually, never mind. A hollow vessel like you won't even register an afterlife footprint."
A wave of absolute, existential panic flooded James's mind. "No—"
*Thud.*
*Splash.*
Locke cast aside the headless remains, watching the form instantly stiffen against the damp earth. He let out a brief, analytical hum, noting the complete absence of any residual essence or spiritual fragments emanating from the target. He shook his head slightly.
"As expected. Even anomalous leeches follow the exact same psychological baseline—always attempting a verbal appeal at the absolute last second. Why do none of you possess the foresight to mitigate your operational risks before crossing a line?"
Virtually every target he neutralized consistently selected the exact same terminal dialogue: "No..."
Throughout his entire operational career, he had yet to encounter a single adversary who maintained their aggressive bravado through to the final execution sequence.
Actually, that wasn't entirely accurate. The Cross was the sole exception.
Locke raised his gaze, his mind shifting back across his professional timeline. The Cross hadn't uttered a single syllable requesting leniency when his end arrived.
'A pity,' Locke thought, letting out a quiet sigh as the memory settled. 'If you hadn't actively attempted to compromise my personal target pool, we actually possessed the baseline compatibility to operate as associates.'
He spent a brief moment running through his historical files involving the Cross, shook his head to clear his thoughts, and turned around.
His gaze settled precisely on two distinct points. First, Erin, who had collapsed into complete unconsciousness at some point during the exchange. Second, a young girl standing behind a thick pine trunk, clutching a heavy wooden branch.
Her attire and overall styling heavily mirrored a prominent Canadian punk-pop icon, and she appeared to be roughly sixteen or seventeen years old... No, that wasn't right. She was an anomalous vampire adolescent.
Mavis gripped her wooden branch tightly, meeting Locke's downward gaze as she nervously bit her lip.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to cause her any physical harm. She witnessed my transformation, and my father consistently instructs me that humans must never observe our true nature."
There was zero homicidal intent radiating from her. In fact... there wasn't even a trace of baseline bloodlust anchored to her presence.
Furthermore, Locke's sensory perception picked up a faint, distinct undertone woven into this self-proclaimed Mavis's energetic profile—the signature of a witch's lineage.
'A hybrid of a primeval vampire line and a witch's heritage?'
Locke's head tilted slightly, his analytical processes cycling through the implications. Just as he prepared to address her, his brow rose as his peripheral senses caught a distant tremor.
With a sharp *swoosh*, he materialized directly in front of Mavis, secured her arm, and vanished from the clearing instantly.
A few minutes later... Just as a convoy of dark, sport-utility vehicles began navigating the lower access road, a separate shadow darted into the clearing where Locke had been standing.
The figure swiftly secured one of the severed heads from the dirt and dissolved back into the undergrowth like a phantom.
Ten seconds after that... The lead sport-utility vehicle ground to a halt at the scene. The doors swung open instantly, and several S.H.I.E.L.D. tactical specialists, operating under Homeland Security covers, smoothly chambered specialized silver-alloy ammunition into their firearms with crisp, mechanical clicks.
*Thud.*
*Thud.*
Following immediately behind them, Black Widow Natasha Romanoff and Mockingbird Barbara Morse stepped out from the secondary transport vehicles.
However, the moment Natasha and Barbara surveyed the clearing, taking in the stalled Ford pickup, the three headless corpses scattered across the grass, and the severed heads resting nearby with expressions of absolute shock frozen on their features, they stopped in their tracks and exchanged a long, heavy look.
Precisely ten minutes ago, according to standard operational protocols, the perimeter security detail was required to cross-verify their encrypted check-in codes.
To prevent unexpected defensive breaches, the operational parameters dictated a strict ten-minute check-in cycle. Yet, even within that brief window, a catastrophic security failure had occurred.
More accurately, it appeared they were looking at the intersection of two entirely separate, consecutive anomalies.
"Director."
One of the S.H.I.E.L.D. specialists who had fanned out toward the perimeter quickly called out upon discovering the unconscious figure near the tree line.
"We have located a living civilian survivor over here."
Simultaneously, another team inspecting the Ford pickup examined the heavily warped hood and the precisely severed sidearm recovered from the driver's side cabin. Securing the pieces in an evidence container, a technician stepped toward Natasha.
"Director, please review these markings."
The Black Widow accepted the container, her eyes narrowing as she inspected the clean, microscopic smooth edge where the metal had been divided. It was perfectly level, bearing the exact characteristics of a high-energy structural laser slice.
Standing beside her, Mockingbird studied the divided handgun within the secure container, a look of profound surprise flashing across her features.
...
Half an hour later...
George and the rest of the local party were awakened by the emergency activity.
By the time Locke's Doppelganger and Gwen finished dressing and arrived at the main lobby, they found Rebecca presenting a fresh mug of hot coffee to Erin, who was seated on the central sofa with her brow furrowed in immense physical discomfort.
"Ouch!"
"Apologies, ma'am."
"It's fine," Erin muttered, waving her hand dismissively as a S.H.I.E.L.D. medical technician stood behind her, carefully treating a prominent, painful hematoma that had formed on the back of her skull.
"Mr. Stacy."
"Mr. Voight."
"Mr. Broughton."
George and Hank Voight hurried toward Erin's position with evident anxiety. Locke's Doppelganger cast a brief, neutral glance toward Black Widow and Mockingbird, maintaining his standard, detached demeanor as he accompanied Gwen over to the seating area.
For their part, Natasha and Barbara had long since grown accustomed to Locke's dismissive attitude and paid it no mind.
Hank stepped closer, his features tight with concern as he looked down at Erin.
"What exactly happened out there?"
Erin shook her head slightly, her voice strained.
"I honestly can't give you a clear sequence."
She truly had no idea who had delivered the concussive blow to the back of her head. Her escape trajectory had been entirely calculated and uninterrupted until she caught a sudden, horrific shriek echoing from the clearing behind her.
Her baseline police instincts had caused her to instinctively turn around to investigate, and the very next instant, a heavy blow caught her from behind, knocking her completely unconscious.
Given the circumstances, she was frankly surprised she had even woken up at all.
"Director," a S.H.I.E.L.D. specialist stepped toward Natasha and Barbara, presenting a digital interface.
"The automated laboratory analysis has been completed."
Mockingbird glanced down.
"And the metrics?"
The specialist offered a firm nod. The blood work and genetic sequence mapping verified that all three headless remains recovered from the site belonged to the anomalous vampire tier.
Furthermore, the dermatoglyphic markers from the primary corpse yielded an absolute match with the profile of James, the high-profile escapee they had been tracking.
Natasha stepped forward, her focus settling on Erin, who was cradling her head to dull the sharp throbbing from the hematoma.
"Ms. Lindsay, can you recall any specific sensory details prior to the loss of consciousness?"
Erin looked up, the intense, localized throbbing in her skull serving as an accidental distraction that completely muted her physiological cravings for the moment. She let out a weary, exhausted sigh.
"As I stated during the initial assessment, an entirely separate anomalous vampire asset materialized on the path."
Natasha shook her head calmly. "No, our primary inquiry focuses on a different detail, Ms. Lindsay. Why did you choose to navigate deep into that specific wilderness sector at such an advanced hour? The agents managing the perimeter checkpoint indicated your stated destination was a local establishment within the township."
Had Erin simply wished to exit the property, the night patrol certainly wouldn't have restricted her movements, considering her active status as a sworn law enforcement officer from Chicago.
However, her arrival at that exact coordinates perfectly coincided with the violent neutralization of their primary high-profile target, which introduced a massive narrative discrepancy.
Natasha pressed smoothly, "Can you provide us with the underlying context for your departure?"
Standing adjacent to her, Mockingbird added in a measured, even tone,
"Of course, if you feel uncomfortable disclosing personal data, you are under no legal obligation to comply with this field debrief. We will not employ coercive tactics."
'Though we will immediately place your profile on a high-tier surveillance watch, and the moment a secondary discrepancy surfaces, you will be quietly secured and transferred to an off-grid holding facility.'
Erin opened her mouth, her jaw tightening.
Hank placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, a subtle, encouraging expression resting on his features.
"It's alright, Erin. You can speak freely here."
Erin studied the expression on Hank's face, then glanced at the supportive, respectful posturing of the surrounding officers. Following a brief silence, she raised her eyes to meet Natasha and Barbara's gaze directly.
"During my previous deep-cover assignment, my system was compromised, and I developed a severe chemical dependency. I am currently navigating an acute withdrawal cycle. The physical distress was becoming unmanageable, and my sole objective was to submerge myself in the freezing waters of the reservoir to shock my nervous system and maintain structural focus."
Yet, against all probability, she had run directly into a vampire ambush.
Worse yet, the primary entity had forcefully administered a fluid that had instantly vaporized and absorbed into her system, immediately followed by an unknown actor delivering a severe concussive blow to her skull. The entire sequence was a masterclass in horrific luck.
Standing within the group, Locke's Doppelganger experienced a brief, subtle moment of surprise upon hearing her explanation. However, his expression remained perfectly managed, completely bypassing the notice of Black Widow and Mockingbird.
In reality, the two senior agents were preoccupied with their own sudden realization, pausing mid-thought to exchange a swift, calculated glance.
Observing their muted reactions, Erin's brow furrowed in defensiveness.
"Is there an issue with my statement? Every metric I provided is entirely accurate."
Natasha didn't answer immediately, her gaze shifting to a S.H.I.E.L.D. specialist standing a few paces away. A moment later, an encrypted intelligence dossier was smoothly transitioned into her hands.
Natasha flipped open the cover, scanned the freshly updated medical and field telemetry data, and turned her focus entirely back onto Erin. Her brow knit into a sharp, deeply analytical line.
"Ms. Lindsay..."
***
Here's today's bonus, next one at 300 stones.
***
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