Chapter 111: Don't Go to England Again!
"You want to recruit me?"
Chuck asked calmly, in stark contrast to Detective Amy Santiago's shock.
"Yes," the tall, bald African American man studied Chuck carefully and smiled. "I'm not wrong. You definitely have sociopathic tendencies. Trust me, I'm very experienced at spotting them."
Detective Amy Santiago couldn't help but give Chuck a strange look.
If the bald professor wasn't lying, then this man was indeed very skilled and experienced at identifying hidden sociopaths.
Otherwise, he wouldn't have approached the bald professor—then just a respectable architect—after one meeting and revealed to his face that he was a serial killer.
The scenario was bizarre and improbable enough, but the facts proved him right.
Now he was saying it again with such certainty, which meant...
"Everyone knows this," Chuck said calmly.
Amy Santiago was stunned, then suddenly felt relieved.
Right!
She'd almost forgotten that Chuck never seemed to hide this fact. His every action told everyone he wasn't normal, not to mention his constant attempts to design experiments involving her and getting Jake to confirm them. A complete psychopath!
While Chuck's sociopathic nature was obvious, she no longer worried.
After all, being transparent and being dangerous were two completely different things.
The fact that he'd thrived, even becoming a valued consultant for law enforcement agencies like the NYPD and FBI, spoke volumes.
She trusted institutional judgment.
"Dr. Wolfe, you truly are different," the tall, bald African American man said, somewhat surprised.
"Again, everyone knows this," Chuck replied. "Who are you recruiting me for?"
"For myself, of course." The tall, bald African American man smiled.
"No, you're not," Chuck shook his head.
"Why?" the tall, bald African American man looked at Chuck with interest.
"Because you don't qualify," Chuck said bluntly. "It was too easy to find you. You have no mystique whatsoever. You're just ordinary."
"..." The tall, bald African American's smile faltered. After decades of navigating among exceptional individuals, he'd thought he'd developed immunity to external provocations, but clearly he hadn't quite achieved that level yet.
"You're right." Quickly suppressing his irritation, he regained his composure and nodded. "Dr. Wolfe, you truly are unique, unlike anyone I've recruited before. Your capabilities exceed my wildest expectations. Perhaps it's presumptuous for someone ordinary like me to recruit you. I do have a superior, an extraordinary individual. I could never accomplish what he does."
He paused, his smile growing colder. "Originally, I would have provided you with more information to try convincing you gradually. After all, with beings like him, the more you learn about them, the closer you get to them—and you'll either become increasingly devoted to them, or go insane and die."
"I'm looking forward to it," Chuck said calmly.
It sounded so mysterious that if he weren't certain this world lacked supernatural powers, he'd suspect Cthulhu was pulling the strings.
Even if the world suddenly became magical, his mentality would remain calm and unshaken.
If Cthulhu did appear, he wouldn't mind repeating that iconic line while young Sheldon wept with boundless joy.
It's just a matter of a cape.
"But I'm not going to continue," the tall, bald African American controlled his emotions. "Because you're not qualified to understand him yet, and you're only worthy of being recruited by someone you consider unworthy. Now I'll give you two choices. Either kill this Detective Santiago and accept my recruitment, or I'll complete my unfinished business and eliminate you, along with this troublesome detective."
"Raise your hands where I can see them!" Detective Amy Santiago nervously raised her weapon and aimed it at the tall, bald African American man.
The tall, bald African American ignored her and simply stared at Chuck.
"You're very confident," Chuck returned his gaze.
"Care to make a wager?" the tall, bald African American smiled.
"Of course," Chuck nodded. "But don't you need to contact your superior first?"
"No, I have authority here," the tall, bald African American said with a smile. "Actually, giving you two options for recruitment was a spontaneous decision after meeting you. I value your talent. Otherwise, you wouldn't have any choice at all."
"That's what you think," Chuck said calmly. "You still believe you can eliminate me through an arranged accident, yet here I am standing before you. So I don't care what you think—I care what I think, and I don't think you can kill me."
"Ignorance breeds fearlessness." The tall, bald African American looked Chuck in the eye and laughed coldly. "Since you've made your choice, then die."
BANG!
As the word "die" was spoken, a large section of the room's window shattered, followed by carnage.
Chuck immediately pulled the startled Detective Amy Santiago into cover, quickly took out his phone and sent a text, then looked at the aftermath.
The tall, bald African American man, so confident he'd just assumed the upper hand, had become a crime scene.
"Sniper!" Detective Amy Santiago screamed after Chuck had pulled her to safety, whipping out her phone and immediately calling for backup.
"Officer..." As she instinctively began the classic "Officer down" call, she was startled to realize something was wrong. It wasn't an officer or one of their own who had fallen, but the suspect.
"What just happened?" Detective Amy Santiago looked at Chuck in amazement.
"I don't know," Chuck shook his head.
He wasn't surprised by a sniper. The man had been so confident even after being cornered, and there were no other hidden gunmen in the room. Either they had backup positioned elsewhere, or they were confident that any arrest wouldn't stick and they'd be released quickly.
Either way, Chuck didn't care.
But the fact that the sniper hadn't targeted him, but had instead killed one of their own operatives, was certainly unexpected.
"Either it's a professional comedy assassin who routinely shoots the wrong target, or someone above this John Douglas made a different calculation."
"What's a professional comedy assassin?" Detective Amy Santiago muttered.
She already believed the second theory. Compared to killing police officers and a renowned mathematician, eliminating one of their own whose identity had been compromised was indeed more cost-effective.
"Just a hypothetical assassin," Chuck said. "The world is vast—nothing would surprise me."
"That's disturbing." Detective Amy Santiago believed the second theory, but there was no guarantee the sniper wouldn't target them next. So she continued hiding in cover, staring at the carnage nearby. She covered her mouth, turned away, and complained bitterly.
"He was becoming a liability anyway," Chuck was also in cover. He wasn't worried about the sniper—he could simply walk over and investigate. After all, if the sniper could shoot, he could dodge. But revealing his enhanced abilities at this moment was completely unnecessary.
Imagine if the tall, bald African American had known he'd survived a previous sniper attack. Would he have been so confident in confronting him earlier, practically confessing everything to this 'dead man walking'?
"..." Detective Amy Santiago was speechless.
She felt like Chuck was making another dig at her.
Yes! The last time a sniper rifle was found in the buzz-cut killer's room, she'd developed a theory that Chuck's outspokenness had attracted enemies, prompting agencies like the CIA to target him for assassination.
But wasn't that a reasonable assumption?
As for remembering it so clearly—why would he still needle her about it even now?
As expected, no matter how cold-blooded someone appears, if they have a dry sense of humor, they're petty.
The NYPD arrived quickly this time.
Yeah. After all, it involved one of their own, and they'd heard Detective Amy Santiago's report that there was no active shooter or hostage situation inside—just one of theirs and one deceased, with the room accessible.
So after more than two hours of careful procedure, they confirmed the sniper had left the building Chuck had identified. They finally entered and began the classic scene from American TV and movies: a perimeter was established, and various officers streamed in and out, dividing responsibilities.
"Jesus!" Jake grimaced, looking at the violent scene. "I haven't been able to eat marinara sauce lately."
"Stop being gross!" Detective Amy Santiago protested.
It would have been fine if he hadn't mentioned it, but once he did, she too began making the same association, and now she didn't want marinara sauce either.
"Nice job surviving a sniper attack," Jake looked at his partner and couldn't help but tease, "That's pretty badass."
"You just figured that out?" Amy Santiago, though shaken, raised her chin proudly in response to her partner's ribbing.
"You were a real hero this time!" Jake gave a thumbs up. "But if the sergeant and the others hadn't held me back, even if I couldn't catch the sniper, I would have seen you in action against him."
"..." Detective Amy Santiago was taken aback, her gaze turning to Jake with a complex expression.
Her partner might be a bit reckless, but he was still a seasoned NYPD detective, and he should have known proper procedure.
Earlier, he'd tried to rush in without regard for protocol, getting tackled by supervisors and injuring his arm, which he'd been rubbing ever since. This...
She couldn't quite meet Jake's playful eyes. She instinctively looked toward Chuck, her mind recalling how Chuck had described them.
A pair of bickering partners...
Chuck held his phone, frowning.
"What's wrong?" Jake asked.
Chuck put his phone away, didn't explain, and instead looked at him and said, "Don't go to England anymore."
"Why?" Jake was puzzled.
Chuck remained silent, simply observing as Jake rubbed his injured arm.
Detective Amy Santiago had grown accustomed to Chuck's dry humor and smiled knowingly.
Unable to handle even his own precinct's action, he was certainly ill-suited for England's dangerous complexities.
(End of Chapter)
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