The next morning arrived quietly.
Locke hadn't slept at all, though sleep had become optional rather than necessary. He stood just inside his apartment door in a fresh suit, sunglasses hiding his eyes as he studied the sunlight pooling across the hallway outside.
The vampire gene had been upgraded from E-level to B-level. Three tiers climbed in a single night. In the process, he had removed three fatal weaknesses: ultraviolet vulnerability, holy weapon lethality, and the extreme version of blood dependency. What remained was manageable.
Only one negative effect persisted.
Daytime suppression.
It wasn't removed because it wasn't truly fatal. Priorities mattered. Ultraviolet exposure had meant total cellular collapse. Holy weapons had meant instant death. Those had to go first.
Daylight was different.
"Night Walker: You are the darling of the night. In darkness, your strength increases. In daylight, your abilities are weakened but not destroyed."
If you gained something, you paid for it.
That was the law.
Since he had become the darling of the night, it made sense that the day would resist him. Locke wasn't naive enough to expect power without cost.
Still, he needed data.
He stepped forward, extending his right foot into the sunlight.
The reaction was immediate.
A wave of weakness surged upward from his foot, racing through his nerves and settling into his chest. It wasn't pain. It was subtraction. Like someone had quietly turned down the volume on his strength.
He frowned, processing the sensation. Then he stepped fully outside.
Morning light wrapped around him.
The weakness spread further, settling evenly across his body.
But it wasn't crippling.
Before merging with the vampire gene, he would have rated his combat capability at one. After the initial fusion at E-level, that had jumped to five.
After upgrading to B-level, based on his own internal metrics, he estimated it had surged to twenty-five at night. He had felt that surge clearly in the dark.
Now, under sunlight, it was declining again.
He closed his eyes and focused.
Twenty-five last night.
This morning, it dropped sharply.
Twenty.
Then lower.
Fifteen.
It stabilized around thirteen or fourteen.
So roughly half.
Twenty-five at night.
Thirteen in daylight.
He stood still for several more seconds, letting his body adjust to the suppressed state. The weakness felt like resistance rather than damage. Manageable.
He could accept this.
Even halved, he was far stronger than before. Compared to his baseline of one, this was still a massive profit.
Besides, it was only daylight suppression, not a permanent reduction. If he accumulated enough extraordinary points later, he could eliminate it entirely.
In this universe, the rich relied on technology, the poor relied on mutation, and gods relied on bloodlines.
He relied on a cheat.
As long as the Ultimate Evolution Module remained functional, time was on his side.
Work.
Set a small target first. Upgrade the vampire gene to the highest tier possible. Remove every remaining negative trait.
After confirming the effects of sunlight, Locke crossed the street toward his black Audi A8. He opened the door, got in, and drove off without hesitation.
His apartment was about thirty minutes from the Sentinel Special Service Building. Thirty minutes with traffic. Thirty minutes without traffic. Because in New York, unless it was between ten at night and five in the morning, there was always traffic.
Half an hour later, he drove past Fifth Avenue and saw the building rise ahead.
The New York Sentinel Special Service headquarters towered seventy floors into the sky. Its exterior was tempered glass and steel, reflecting the city like a blade.
From the bottom up, the first thirty floors housed internal offices. From the top down, the upper thirty contained management divisions. The middle block—floors thirty-one through thirty-nine—belonged to field sentinels and special operations teams like his.
"It must feel good standing on the seventieth floor," he murmured, glancing up toward the clouds.
He parked, stepped out, and merged with the morning crowd entering the building.
The elevator chimed at the thirty-first floor.
Locke stepped out of the field staff elevator. Debbie was already waiting nearby. She smiled and handed him a coffee.
"Boss, coffee."
"Thanks."
He took it, nodding. Then he noticed her staring at his hand.
"What's wrong?"
She hesitated. "Your hand's really cold. Are you sick?"
He raised an eyebrow casually. "AC in the car was too low."
Debbie accepted the explanation without pressing.
They walked toward their team's office section.
"Where's Jack?"
"Information office with Brown."
"Why?"
"Part of Lindsay Perrin's data file is locked. Jack and Brown went to get it decrypted."
Lindsay Perrin.
The vampire from yesterday.
"Locked?" Locke frowned slightly. "Locked by who?"
Debbie opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, the office door behind them swung open.
A middle-aged, slightly overweight man in his mid-forties stepped out. He was balding, around five-foot-seven, with the tired air of someone permanently behind on sleep.
Walter Herman.
Their supervising Sentinel commander.
"Locked by the FBI," Walter said flatly.
Locke turned toward him. "The FBI?"
Walter shrugged. "They called this morning. Said they're sending people to take over."
Debbie looked stunned. "But this is our case. We killed the suspect. We lost five people."
Walter cut her off immediately. "Was he a mutant?"
Debbie faltered. "No."
Walter spread his hands. "Then that's that."
He looked at Locke. "If it's not a mutant, the FBI gets priority."
Sentinel jurisdiction was absolute over mutants. When it involved mutant crimes, even the Secret Service would step aside. But if the suspect wasn't a mutant, their authority ended.
Locke nodded slowly.
Walter didn't elaborate further. He simply turned, went back into his office, closed the door, lay down on the couch, and pulled a blanket over himself.
Middle age meant valuing sleep.
Debbie stared at the closed door, then hurried after Locke as he continued walking.
"Boss, we're not seriously handing it over, right? Brown won't agree."
Locke glanced at her calmly. "What choice do we have? Walter made it clear. Lindsay Perrin wasn't a mutant."
That was the rule.
If the suspect wasn't a mutant, Sentinel Special Service stepped aside.
But inside, Locke smiled faintly.
Are you sure the people coming are really FBI?
He doubted it.
If S.H.I.E.L.D. was involved, they wouldn't show up waving their own badge. They would borrow another one.
He took a slow sip of coffee and continued walking, already calculating his next move.