Hanging upside down from the lamppost, Locke's eyelids twitched violently.
Instead of sneaking into Gwen's bed for a cozy night after she had specially left a window open for him, he had traveled all the way to this desolate Manhattan Port. He had fully expected to enjoy a beautifully crafted, high-stakes espionage drama.
Yet, what did he get? He got slapped right in the face with an unexpected, overwhelming display of public affection.
Good grief. It turned out other people's mothers were entirely correct: nothing good ever happens after two in the morning if you aren't asleep.
In reality, he had arrived quite early. In fact, he had overheard every single word of the conversation shared between Nobody, Nash, and Vanya inside that black sedan with crystalline clarity.
Locke was genuinely astonished. He had never bothered to look into Lorraine Broughton's background because he simply didn't care. Therefore, hearing Nobody explicitly state that Lorraine Broughton was one of their own caused him to fall into a brief state of daze.
Then... his expression became highly nuanced.
How should he put it? He had literally just transformed Egorov into a thrall with the explicit intent of positioning himself to farm quests from both the CIA and the KGB simultaneously in the future.
Yet, as it turned out, "his mother" had already walked that exact same path?
Was this what they called genetic inheritance? Or rather... did it simply prove he really was her flesh and blood?
Locke's brain short-circuited temporarily.
Down on the tarmac, a sleek black sedan arrived late to the scene.
Mr. Nobody stepped out of the vehicle, a characteristically honest and pleasant smile resting upon his features. He surveyed the corpses left behind by Lubyanka before lightly clapping his hands together. He walked toward the embracing pair of Nash and Egorova.
"Magnificent work, Agent Darkholme."
Nash and Egorova broke their embrace. Egorova looked at the approaching Mr. Nobody.
"Darkholme?"
Mr. Nobody smiled faintly, extending his right hand toward her.
"Indeed. Darkholme. Agent Raven Darkholme. Congratulations, Agent Darkholme, and welcome to Langley."
Vanya Egorova was dead. She had perished moments ago.
While operating under explicit directives from Lubyanka to pursue the rogue CIA operative Lorraine Broughton, Langley intercept teams had arrived just in time. While attempting to extract the Lubyanka bureau chief, Egorov, Vanya Egorova had been shot and killed on the spot right before her uncle's eyes.
Taking her place was CIA Agent Raven Darkholme.
Naturally, the death of Agent Lorraine Broughton—who had been gunned down on the spot by Egorova... or rather, Raven—was similarly validated.
Yes. Agent Lorraine Broughton had just died yet another death.
If Locke understood the operational methodology of the KGB, Mr. Nobody understood it exponentially better. Even if Mr. Nobody explicitly informed Lubyanka that Agent Lorraine Broughton had already perished back in 1993, Lubyanka would never accept it.
They wouldn't believe it unless they were presented with a verified corpse or witnessed the elimination occur with their own eyes.
However, when Lorraine Broughton originally "died," she had vanished entirely within a massive explosion. Where were they supposed to unearth a pristine corpse? If they tried to sell that narrative, Lubyanka would definitely remain skeptical.
Consequently, Mr. Nobody had rapidly engineered this specific operational theater.
By staging another death for Lorraine Broughton right before their eyes, he would compel Lubyanka to permanently shelve their long-standing vendetta and cease wasting their operational resources tracking Locke Broughton. The target they pursued was dead, eliminated right under their noses.
Of course, this theater wasn't guaranteed to succeed seamlessly. After all, intelligence agencies operated on the principle of needing physical confirmation of life or death.
Therefore, Mr. Nobody maintained a contingency phase, and this phase hinged entirely upon the tribute provided by the defecting Raven Darkholme.
Raven Darkholme's true tribute wasn't merely alerting Mr. Nobody to the fact that Lubyanka was targeting Locke.
Rather, it comprised a highly classified roster detailing Lubyanka's deep-cover sleeper assets embedded throughout Washington, alongside assets positioned within the United States military. That was the authentic tribute.
However, neutralizing those assets wasn't a priority for the immediate present. Mr. Nobody still required these compromised individuals—who remained entirely oblivious to their exposure—to cooperate with them to perform another brilliant theatrical display.
Mr. Nobody then turned his attention to Nash.
"Extract back to Langley immediately. Agent Darkholme must remain entirely out of sight for the foreseeable future. After all, she is officially deceased."
Nash nodded in affirmation.
Mr. Nobody then offered a brief, apologetic smile to the newly minted Agent Raven Darkholme.
"I trust you can appreciate the necessity. Once this affair concludes and we systematically uproot these networks, your surgical procedures will have been finalized as well. At that point, you may freely re-emerge under a fresh identity."
Raven gave a quiet nod, her emotional state noticeably subdued.
Nash looked at Mr. Nobody.
"And what about you, Director?"
Mr. Nobody replied calmly, "It is time for my third contact. A third date without transitioning into the primary agenda would look highly suspicious. Besides, it is time he learned the truth."
'I already know the truth,' Locke thought to himself as he hung upside down from the lamppost like an detached bystander, offering a silent mental scoff.
Fair enough. It appeared Lorraine Broughton hadn't merely been a double agent targeting Lubyanka; she had simultaneously functioned as a colleague and operative under Langley—specifically under this very Mr. Nobody.
Locke wasn't particularly stunned by this revelation. After all, anyone with half a brain could deduce that without some massive past betrayal, Lubyanka wouldn't have gone to such insane lengths to hunt her down right at Langley's doorstep, even going so far as to use him as leverage.
Nash frowned slightly. "Director, we could clearly..."
Mr. Nobody cut him off smoothly.
"Are you suggesting we could simply make Locke disappear, ensuring Lubyanka could never track him down?"
Nash nodded. This was the standard, most efficient protocol utilized whenever an operative's assets faced severe exposure or compromise: issue a fresh identity, relocate to a secure sector, and begin life anew. The world was vast; there was always a quiet corner suited for a retired operative's life.
Mr. Nobody shook his head slowly.
"During her final deployment, Lorraine explicitly expressed that if given the choice, she wished she had never been an operative. She didn't want him living under a false name, constantly running and hiding. Furthermore, that methodology simply isn't compatible with Locke Broughton."
Nash pressed on, his brow furrowed. "But Director, you are still planning to draw Locke Broughton into the fold this time."
Mr. Nobody looked at Nash, sliding his dark sunglasses over his eyes.
"Incorrect. I am merely presenting him with a choice. After all, the Central Intelligence Agency never forces its personnel to undertake assignments against their own will."
The statement carried an underlying edge, delivering a deliberate, savage jab at Lubyanka's operational culture. Having delivered his piece, Mr. Nobody turned and walked back toward his black sedan.
Hanging upside down from the lamppost, feeling as though he had practically transformed into a street fixture, Locke waited until the area emptied completely before silently dropping to the asphalt. His eyes flickered thoughtfully.
The quest... still wasn't marked as complete?
Locke studied the interface for the active Lorraine Broughton quest, rubbing his chin reflectively.
He had physically broken into the theater, personally witnessed the entire sequence of events unfold, and fully verified that this entire mess was merely a collateral disaster brought down upon his head due to Lorraine Broughton's historical baggage.
He had neutralized Egorov himself, and Mr. Nobody had simultaneously settled things from his end. With Lorraine Broughton officially dead once more, Egorov possessed a flawless report to deliver to Lubyanka. No one would ever come to disrupt his life again.
So then, why hadn't the system triggered the quest completion?
Locke tilted his head up, staring at the full moon as he pondered. Could there be an underlying thread he still lacked awareness of? Or did the system require him to wait until Mr. Nobody formally laid his cards on the table before the quest could be validated as finished?
Right then, Locke raised an eyebrow, spotting a figure slicing through the darkness toward his location like a phantom.
*Swish!*
Egorov—who had just successfully shaken off the staged pursuit from the CIA before shifting into his vampiric form to sprint back—rushed over the moment he spotted Locke standing on the scrubbed battlefield. He quickly bowed.
"Lord Cain."
In the next second, Egorov's heart hammered against his ribs, and he swallowed hard.
"My Lord, the woman, Lorraine Broughton..."
"Dead."
"..."
Locke's expression remained entirely neutral.
"Her body, along with the remains of those operatives, has already been loaded onto their transports and moved out."
Cold sweat broke out across Egorov's forehead. "My Lord, regarding this matter..."
Locke knew precisely what Egorov was sweating over and cut him off directly.
"I have already told you: how you choose to handle Lorraine Broughton is entirely your business. Whether she is eliminated or abducted has absolutely nothing to do with me!"
If it weren't for the allure of a hundred thousand achievement points, he wouldn't be standing out here in the middle of the night freezing his skin off in the ocean breeze.
Egorov's chest tightened, and he lowered his head further.
"Understood, My Lord."
Locke glanced down at Egorov, pausing for a moment to consider.
"As of right now, Lorraine Broughton is officially dead. I assume you know exactly how to structure your formal briefing to Lubyanka. You can proceed with whatever operations your network pleases, just ensure I am never entangled in them again."
When he wished to engage in a game, he would do so entirely on his own terms. To put it simply, while Locke might tolerate being passive in matters of personal romance, he demanded absolute dominance in every other facet of his life.
If anyone attempted to force his hand, he would ensure their name became a historical reference overnight.
Egorov bowed even lower.
"I understand perfectly, My Lord."
A sudden gust of wind swept through the port, carrying a distinctly metallic, briny tang. It was impossible to discern whether it was merely the scent of the sea or the lingering aroma of the violence that had unfolded on this tarmac, despite the meticulous cleanup.
Hearing Locke's entirely detached response, Egorov murmured his acknowledgement as his thoughts raced at a frantic pace. It appeared... Locke truly didn't care about Lorraine Broughton's fate.
Egorov realized this with a start, and the ideal strategy crystallized within his mind. He devised a trajectory that would simultaneously satisfy Lubyanka's bureaucratic requirements while ensuring absolute alignment with Locke's parameters.
Lorraine Broughton was dead. He had witnessed the elimination with his own eyes. Furthermore, his unit had sustained casualties during the operational engagement, and his own niece had perished on the field.
Though they lacked possession of the actual corpse, if the elimination was authentic, their deep-cover assets embedded within Washington would inevitably secure verification of the incident through administrative channels.
With Lorraine Broughton confirmed deceased, Lubyanka would have zero incentive to mobilize further operations, especially considering this deployment had suffered major exposure.
Having solidified his administrative trajectory, Egorov nodded respectfully.
"My Lord, I know exactly how to proceed."
Locke offered no reply.
Egorov cautiously raised his gaze, only to discover that the space before him was entirely empty. Locke had vanished without a trace.
***
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