The United States had its own way of doing things. Deals with criminals weren't some scandal whispered about in dark corners—they were standard procedure. If a suspect could trade information for leniency, prosecutors would at least hear them out. That was just how the machine ran.
So when Debbie mentioned that the informant was offering up a mutant in exchange for cooperation with the D.A., Locke wasn't shocked. It tracked. Desperate people sold out bigger fish all the time. What mattered wasn't the deal—it was whether the mutant inside that building was the real thing.
Locke gave a small nod and turned his attention back to the apartment complex ahead. The exterior wall on the tenth floor had partially collapsed, concrete and brick crumbling away like rotten teeth. Through the exposed structure, he could see into the gutted unit.
His thoughts drifted to his vacant extraordinary card slot.
Copying Colossus's steel body wasn't realistic in the short term. That kind of ability required either proximity to a high-level mutant or an opportunity too valuable to waste. But this target? Immortality. Rapid regeneration. Whatever it was, it sounded promising.
If it's real, Locke thought, that's a foundation piece.
He folded his arms loosely, watching.
Then the sound came—a violent crash from above. A door splintering inward.
"Open the door!"
A second later came a hissed exhale of rage.
Brown moved like a predator unleashed. Nearly two meters tall and built thicker than a defensive lineman, he smashed through the apartment entrance first. He was broader than Jack and moved with terrifying certainty, like a black bear charging downhill. His scarlet eyes, burning with something close to hatred, scanned the dark interior.
It was daytime, yet every window in the one-bedroom unit was sealed tight, thick curtains blocking out all light. The air inside looked stale even from a distance.
And in the center of the living room—
A coffin.
Brown froze for half a beat.
The lid exploded outward.
A black shape burst from inside and sprinted toward the bedroom.
Brown reacted instantly. He drew and fired.
Gunshots thundered.
Bullets tore through the wooden bedroom door, punching holes clean through it. Brown had trained for years with the Sentinel Secret Service. As captain, he held the unofficial record for dumping an entire magazine in under a second. In live mutant apprehensions, he'd broken that record more than once.
But this time?
The shadow was already gone.
The smoke thinned.
"Fuck."
Brown's jaw tightened when he didn't see a body collapse. He gestured sharply to the two agents flanking him.
They moved in practiced formation, weapons raised—specialized suppression rifles designed to neutralize mutant abilities. Step by step, they advanced toward the shredded bedroom door.
Then it happened.
Two pale arms shot out from the darkness.
The nails were long. Metallic. Reflecting a cold glint even in shadow.
The agents' eyes widened—but they were too slow.
With a violent jerk, both were yanked inside.
Their screams lasted less than a second.
A wet tearing sound followed.
Silence.
Then—
Boom.
Two bodies were hurled back into the living room.
Brown leapt backward.
"Retreat!"
The bodies hit the floor with sickening weight.
They were barely recognizable. Their torsos were torn open, as if a wild animal had disemboweled them. Blood pooled fast and thick across the hardwood.
Even Brown's hardened expression flickered.
From inside the bedroom came a low voice.
"Sentinel Secret Service?"
A pause.
"I'm not a mutant. Leave now. I won't kill you."
Something flew from the doorway and clattered across the floor.
It was a metal badge. Blood-soaked. Twisted.
Brown's gaze locked onto it. Fury swallowed hesitation.
"Fire!"
Gunfire erupted again.
The remaining agents unloaded everything they had into the bedroom. Automatic bursts filled the space with flickering muzzle flashes. The smell of cordite and burning propellant poured out through the blown wall.
Down below, Locke tilted his head up, watching the tenth-floor windows strobe with gunfire like a malfunctioning lighthouse.
Debbie was shouting at civilians to clear the perimeter, her voice strained.
"Boss?"
"Yeah."
"Brown's not losing it again, right?"
Locke shrugged. "Hard to say."
Brown had a reputation. He was merciless toward mutants. If this suspect was one, Locke had no illusions about how this would end.
Personally? Locke didn't care if Brown went feral.
In fact, it might help.
If the arrest succeeded cleanly, there would be no extraordinary points for him. No gain.
But with that much firepower? The target should already be paste.
So why hasn't the notification triggered?
Locke frowned slightly.
Then—
Crash.
A tenth-floor window shattered outward.
A body plummeted.
It hit the pavement with a brutal thud and burst apart under gravity like a dropped melon.
Locke raised an eyebrow.
Debbie gasped. "Boss, that's—"
Boom.
An explosion ripped through the exposed wall. Concrete fragments blasted outward in a shockwave. Another dark figure was hurled into open air.
This one hit the ground hard.
But it didn't die.
It tried to rise.
Then it screamed.
White smoke began pouring from its skin.
Within seconds, its body ignited like it had been soaked in accelerant.
Locke grabbed Debbie by the arm and pulled her back several steps.
"A gentleman doesn't stand under a collapsing wall," he muttered.
More accurately, he didn't stand near unexplained spontaneous combustion.
He valued his life too much.
At a safer distance, Locke looked up again.
Brown stood at the broken edge of the tenth floor, gripping the jagged concrete with one blood-slick hand. His combat uniform was shredded. Blood streaked across his face and chest. His expression was a storm.
Twelve agents.
Five dead.
If one of them hadn't tackled the creature and detonated a grenade at point-blank range, the entire unit might have been wiped out.
This is why I don't play hero, Locke thought calmly. You can't upgrade if you're dead.
He studied the burning figure below.
Something was wrong.
The suppression weapons used by the Sentinel unit were specifically engineered to neutralize mutant gene expression. Even high-level mutants dropped to baseline under sustained exposure.
And according to the file, this suspect supposedly had immortality or rapid regeneration.
So why was it burning?
If it were gamma-tier, that might explain resilience—but even gamma mutants weren't immune to suppression tech.
Unless…
Unless it wasn't a mutant.
Locke's eyes narrowed.
The body on the ground convulsed weakly as flames consumed it. Smoke thickened, dark and acrid. The struggling slowed.
Then stopped.
A final puff of black smoke escaped its mouth.
Stillness.
And at that exact moment, a crisp mechanical chime echoed inside Locke's mind.
『Ding! 』