Chapter 25: Gwen's First Encounter
New York, Queens, Stacy residence, second floor.
The morning breeze brushed the curtains. On the desk, a ballpoint pen pressed against the edge of a drawing paper; the wet watercolor on the paper seemed about to be ruffled by the wind.
Soft morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, falling on the bulging figure under the pink quilt.
"Gwen, if you don't get up, you'll be late!" a voice called from outside the door.
"I know, Mom..." came a muffled mumble from under the covers. The girl wrapped the quilt tighter, showing no intention of getting up.
Knock, knock, knock—this time, it was a slightly firmer knock.
"Gwen, hurry up. I have to get to the station. Don't make me lose my job."
"Ah—" a long sigh of resignation came from under the covers.
A few seconds later, the quilt was flung aside, and a blonde girl in cartoon pajamas sat up. There were sleep marks on her fair cheeks, and her blue eyes were half-open.
She turned around, fumbled on the floor for her slippers, and shuffled toward the bathroom.
The sound of running water started.
A while later, she wiped her face and walked back to the bedroom, her eyes much clearer.
She quickly changed into simple clothes, a T-shirt and jeans, then gathered her messy blonde hair and skillfully tied it into a ponytail.
Habitually, she picked up the remaining water in the glass on the desk and turned to pour it into the soil of the small flower pot on the windowsill.
Then, she squinted, stretched a big yawn in the morning light, and looked out at the sky.
"Good morning, New York."
She lowered her gaze, and her eyes inadvertently swept across the street. The two-story house that had been vacant was now full of life.
Downstairs, a tall man was unloading cargo from a pickup truck.
He had half a cigarette in his mouth and could easily lift a large, unopened piece of furniture with one hand.
There was a faint aura about him that felt out of place with the quiet, peaceful atmosphere of Queens in the afternoon.
Beside him was a young-looking girl, also carrying a smaller box, following behind him.
Gwen watched with curiosity, even becoming entranced. She tilted her head, trying to see his outline more clearly through the thin smoke curling around his face.
As if sensing this gaze from above, the man moving the cabinet suddenly stopped, turned his head from afar, and looked at her window.
His eyes, across the distance, appeared deep and calm, devoid of any emotion, yet it made her heart skip a beat for no reason.
"Oh!" Gwen gasped, subconsciously shrinking back under the windowsill.
After a while, she carefully poked her head out, but the other party had already carried the items into the house, leaving only the empty porch and lingering exhaust fumes.
She blinked, her curiosity not fading, but rather trembling slightly like a harp string plucked by a gentle breeze.
"Gwen—!" Her father's voice urged again from downstairs.
"Coming!" she replied, turning around, though her gaze couldn't help but linger on the direction of that house for a moment.
Then, she grabbed her backpack and jacket from the sofa and hurried downstairs.
In her mind, those eyes were like a photo taken by accident, quietly frozen in time.
"Are you worried about being late too, Sheriff George?"
Gwen took the warm milk handed to her by her mother, Helen, took a sip, put down her schoolbag, and hung her jacket on the back of the chair before sitting down.
"Your mom fried a double-yolk egg today, which is rare. It's getting cold."
George Stacy moved his broad shoulders, smiling as he pushed the plate with the fried egg closer to Gwen.
Helen smiled, sitting next to her husband.
"Then today is my lucky day." Gwen picked up her knife and fork, slid the fried egg onto her plate, and cut a small piece to put in her mouth.
"You're lucky every day, honey," Helen said softly.
George drank his milk, no longer urging her.
"By the way, Dad," Gwen swallowed her food, as if suddenly remembering something, and asked casually,
"It seems like someone moved into the house across the street? Do we have new neighbors?"
"Uh-huh, moved in at dawn." George nodded.
"A brother and sister. While you were brushing your teeth, I did a quick check.
The older one is Green Morgan, 20 years old, an extremely outstanding war correspondent who has taken many close-up photos of front-line wars and supernatural events.
The latest set was the footage of Tony Stark escaping in Afghanistan yesterday, along with some bloody fragments, very clear, as if he himself had experienced it with the other party.
God, I can't imagine how brilliant, or rather, legendary, this kid's experiences are.
The younger one is Laura Morgan, 13, who has always lived with her brother. When Green goes out to work, she stays at a semi-boarding school."
George's tone was filled with obvious appreciation.
Gwen listened, entranced, her eyes widening slightly.
"Alright, alright," Helen gave her husband a reproachful look.
"You've turned breakfast time into a census."
"Exactly," Gwen came back to her senses and joined her mother in scolding him.
"And I recall, checking neighbor information so casually seems to be against the rules, Sheriff?"
"Living so close to us, I have to ensure your safety." Georgewas righteous, but his expression was relaxed.
"But I've learned enough. They are excellent and very good people. You can get to know them; it's not a bad thing."
Helen nodded in agreement from the side.
"You two..."
Gwen looked at her parents, who had completely accepted their new neighbors—and even started promoting them—in less than half a day, no, to be precise, less than a few hours, and felt a mix of amusement and frustration.
"And they even brought a gift early this morning. Very polite," Helen said with a smile, pointing to a simply packaged box on the dining table.
"A gift?" Gwen's curiosity immediately overcame her minor complaint, and she took the box and opened it.
Inside lay a bronze coin.
The surface of the coin had a clear indentation, as if it had been struck by a high-speed object, and there were still black traces of gunpowder burns on the edges.
A coin... hit by a bullet.
"This is true luck," Gwen whispered, looking at the coin in her palm.
"Keep it safe." Her mother, Helen, placed a hand gently on her shoulder.
"Yeah." Gwen nodded, not putting the coin back into the gift box, but stuffing it directly into her jeans pocket.
Then, she quickly finished the rest of her breakfast.
Outside, George had just put on his coat and happened to run into Green, who was walking out from across the street.
The latter was holding a can of spray paint, seemingly having just touched up the house number.
George raised his cigarette case.
Green smiled and walked across the street.
The two men stood on the damp street in the early morning, with lingering mist around them, neither speaking for a moment.
George tapped two cigarettes out of the case and handed one to Green.
Green took it and held it between his lips.
George lit one for himself, took out a lighter, lit Green's first, then his own.
Gray smoke rose slowly in the damp air.
"Any plans, young man?" George exhaled a puff of smoke and asked.
"No, the work is never finished, just like the fighting will never end. I'm waiting for the next assignment, but until then, I'm very free."
"Haha," George laughed.
"Maybe I can introduce you to the editor-in-chief of the 'New York Gazette.' With your resume and talent, getting a position there would be a breeze."
"Hmm... I'll consider it."
"Your gift," George changed the subject, his eyes softening a bit, "my daughter likes it very much."
"My pleasure."
At this moment, the phone in George's pocket rang.
"Excuse me." He gestured to Green.
Green waved his hand and naturally stepped back two steps, continuing to smoke his cigarette.
"It's me." George answered the phone, and as he listened, his expression gradually darkened.
"Understood." He replied briefly, hung up, and stuffed the phone back into his pocket.
A door-closing sound came from behind.
He turned back and saw Gwen walking out with her coat pulled over her shoulders.
As soon as Gwen saw George's apologetic look, she understood immediately.
"Looks like I'll have to walk to school today." She shrugged.
"Sorry, honey."
"It's okay, Sheriff George, I'll just run a little faster. It's only a few blocks anyway."
"I'll take her." Green's voice sounded from the side.
"Huh?" Gwen widened her eyes. She had noticed Green, intending only to pass by politely and take a look at him, but she hadn't expected things to become so familiar so suddenly.
George turned his head, his professional instinct causing him to subconsciously scrutinize Green.
But the other party's gaze did not dodge; it was very clear.
George relaxed his shoulders and reached out to pat Green on the shoulder.
"Then I'll leave it to you, kid."
Green raised an eyebrow, tilted his head to look at the hand on his shoulder, then looked at George and smiled.
"'Kid' sounds much friendlier than 'young man'."
"Heh, you'll have to come over and try my roasted ribs sometime. They're quite good." George withdrew his hand, his tone familiar.
"If there's a chance." Green nodded in agreement.
George turned to look at his daughter.
Gwen, who was usually lively and outgoing and could chat with anyone, was now bowing her head, her fingers unconsciously twisting her backpack strap, not even daring to look directly at Green.
George's heart skipped a beat; some kind of sharp, fatherly intuition sounded an alarm.
But the work on the other end was pressing, not allowing him much time to think.
He patted Green's shoulder one last time and gave his daughter a final instruction.
"Remember to send me a message when you get to school."
"I know, Dad." Gwen replied softly, her gaze still lowered.
George didn't delay any longer, walking quickly toward the police car parked on the side of the road, pulling open the door, and driving away rapidly amidst the roar of the engine.
The scene fell quiet for a moment. Green looked at the girl who was bowing her head in silence.
"Let's go. Of course, if you'd prefer to run there yourself, I don't mind."
He let go, and the cigarette fell to the ground, crushed by the sole of his shoe, sparking a few embers.
Then he turned and walked toward the pickup truck.
"Okay." Gwen replied softly, only looking up when he turned away.
Almost simultaneously, Laura walked out of the house.
She was carrying a new backpack, still holding the cactus pot in her arms, and pulled open the passenger door to sit in, settling the cactus on the dashboard.
"Inhale—" Gwen took a deep breath, steadied herself, and subconsciously looked back. Her mother, Helen, was leaning against the second-floor window, winking at her.
"Mom!" Gwen was both annoyed and amused.
But the pickup truck's engine was already roaring low. She quickly hooked her finger through her backpack strap and ran to the car, pulling open the back door and getting in.
The car wasn't stuffy, nor was it particularly fresh, but there was an indescribable, almost tangible sense of security, like a warm blanket.
Gwen didn't feel cold, even though the car windows were open and the morning wind was still very chilly.
In the front row, Green leaned over to help Laura pull her seatbelt and fasten it, casually snatching the chocolate bar from her mouth, which had even had its plastic packaging bitten through.
"I told you, you can't eat that."
"Oh." Laura obediently released her bite.
"Where to?"
"The middle school on Fourth Avenue."
Green didn't reply, pressing down on the accelerator.
A slight push against her back was felt as the vehicle started moving.
Laura leaned over from her seat, tilting her head to observe Gwen in the back seat.
"Uh, hi." Gwen felt a bit uncomfortable being watched and raised her hand to greet her.
Laura tilted her head.
"She doesn't interact much with people her age; her behavior is a bit peculiar. Don't mind it." Green spoke up at the right moment.
"It's okay." Gwen said softly.
Laura seemed to receive the signal of friendliness, reaching into her pocket to pull out another chocolate bar and handing it to Gwen.
"Thanks." Gwen accepted it.
Laura then turned back, her feet on the dashboard, her whole body slumped in the seat, watching the passing streetscape out the window in a completely relaxed posture.
Green reached out and turned on the car radio.
A female voice came through.
"...Recently, The Seven member A-Train, during an operation, allegedly due to excessive speed and failure to brake in time, resulted in the tragic death of a twenty-three-year-old woman.
A-Train stated that the victim was standing in the middle of the road at the time, and he was completely unable to avoid it.
The victim's family has reached a settlement agreement with him. To express his apologies, A-Train has announced that he will participate in the upcoming charity long-distance run and will donate all proceeds to the 'Red River Home' orphanage..."
"Next, financial news.
Yesterday, the newly returned Tony Stark, just two hours after returning to Stark Industries, held an emergency press conference announcing the permanent closure of all weapons manufacturing divisions under the company.
As of this morning's opening, Stark Industries' stock price has plummeted by twenty-one percent.
Currently, Tony Stark himself has yet to provide further explanation regarding this major decision.
Stark Industries Vice President Obadiah Stane subsequently issued a statement, claiming that Tony might be suffering from severe psychological trauma due to his kidnapping experience, but the resolution to close the weapons division has officially taken effect legally..."
"Green... Mr. Green," Gwen listened to the news on the radio, hesitated for a moment, and tried to find a topic.
"Uh-huh?"
"Are you familiar with Tony Stark?" She remembered her father's information mentioned that Green seemed to have had an intersection with that famous figure.
"It's alright, you could say we're life-and-death friends." He wasn't wrong; after all, he had let him die for a few seconds and then brought him back to life. Explaining it that way, the logic held up.
"That close?" Gwen was a bit surprised.
"But he might not want to see me right now." Green smiled.
"Why..." Gwen's question hadn't been finished when the phone in his pocket vibrated. She wisely fell silent.
Green took out his phone; the screen showed an unknown number.
He swiped to answer and spoke directly.
"Speak."
"Hey, 'Van Helsing', did you miss me?" A flippant, even slightly cocky, familiar voice came through the receiver, speaking very fast, with a devil-may-care attitude.
It was Tony Stark.
Chapter 26: Laura's Expectations, Corpse in the Alley
"Did you get my number just to say good morning to me?" Green pressed the speakerphone button and set his phone on the dashboard.
"Of course not. Is it convenient for you to come over for breakfast? I've prepared some authentic Chinese breakfast."
"Oh, my god!"
When the name Tony Stark, which had been mentioned repeatedly on the news just moments ago, actually came out of the phone speaker, Gwen, in the back seat, subconsciously opened her mouth wide.
The radio was still broadcasting news about him, yet the man himself was calling the pickup truck currently taking her to school? This feeling... was too surreal.
She looked at Green; his face was expressionless, as if the person on the other end of the line was just some ordinary friend.
This made her feel as though her new neighbor was shrouded in a layer of mysterious aura.
"I'm busy right now," Green answered bluntly.
"Then what are you doing right now?" On the other end, Tony Stark was standing in front of a machine tool in his underground workshop.
Dazzling welding sparks sizzled and splattered from his hands, stirring up a cloud of bluish-white smoke.
He lifted his protective mask, blew away the lingering smoke from the weld, and squinted to inspect it. Beside him, a robotic arm held a tablet displaying the incoming call.
"Taking a kid to school."
"What?!" An expression of disbelief appeared on Tony's face. He found it hard to associate Green's fierce temperament with being a 'Mr. Nice Guy.'
"Are you joking? Or does that have a double meaning? You know, last time you said you were taking me home,
I ended up crawling out of a trunk only to have no less than twenty gun barrels pointed at me, plus a pervert who wanted to mess with me, and a fat guy who looked to be over five hundred kilograms wanting to lock me in a dark room."
"It wasn't personal. In fact, you're the only one who's enjoyed that treatment."
"..." Tony Stark was momentarily speechless on the other end of the line.
A few seconds later, he asked a soul-searching question:
"Doesn't your conscience... hurt?"
"My conscience is buried deep under a heavy pile of US dollars."
"You bastard, see you later. I'll open the access for you." Tony snapped irritably and cut the connection.
Green pulled out a lighter and was about to light a cigarette when he caught Gwen's complex, indescribable gaze in the rearview mirror. He paused and simply left the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.
"What's wrong?"
"No... nothing." Gwen shook her head quickly, but her mind was racing.
From the conversation just now, it seemed Mr. Green had "sold out" Mr. Tony Stark?
But Mr. Stark sounded... like he didn't have much resentment? The World of adults was indeed very complicated.
But...
She looked at Green's profile as he turned back calmly. His features looked both rugged and distant in the morning light.
An uncontrollable curiosity, like a vine, quietly crept through her thoughts.
She was so curious—curious about this man's past, curious about what he had actually been through.
But in the end, she swallowed her questions.
This was only their first time meeting; prying like that would be too impolite.
The vehicle came to a smooth stop in front of the school gate.
"Thank you, Mr. Green." Gwen pulled the car door open.
"Hmph," Green let out a light chuckle from his nose and tilted his head slightly.
"Maybe you could take a closer look next time instead of always watching through the window."
"Uh..." Gwen's cheeks flushed. She shyly raised her hand to tuck a few stray strands of blonde hair behind her ear and lowered her eyes.
Then, she looked up again with a sweet smile.
"See you next time, Mr. Green."
"Yeah."
The car door closed. With her backpack on, Gwen's figure quickly merged into the vibrant crowd at the school entrance.
Green withdrew his gaze and looked at Laura, who was still leaning against the passenger door, facing the window.
"Do you want to go?"
"I don't know."
"You could try."
Laura was silent for a moment.
Green didn't rush her; he just rolled down the window and lit the cigarette that had been in his mouth for a while.
"I want to find someone," Laura suddenly spoke, her voice very soft.
"To be with her."
"You have companions?" Green turned his head in slight surprise.
"I used to... have many." Laura's gaze remained on the flowing street scene outside the window.
"They gradually became fewer. Now, only one is left."
"Dead? Or brainwashed?" Green narrowed his eyes.
He recalled the container in the hotel and Laura's status as 'Weapon X.' He could roughly deduce which companies Kingpin was collaborating with.
Those twins guarding the hotel were likely 'products' as well.
"Both."
"Then do you need me to help find her?"
"...Will you take her in? Like me?" Laura turned her head and looked at Green with a serious expression.
"Depends on her choice. I don't care; it's just one more mouth to feed." Green exhaled a puff of smoke.
"But she'll have to work for me."
"Mm!" Laura nodded vigorously and looked toward the school again.
"Then I'll go to school, after finding her..."
"Give me her description. I'll have some 'Bloodhounds' ask around." Green picked up his phone.
"Green hair, very pale skin, same age as me, and," Laurapaused,
"She can make iron move."
"Metal manipulation?" Green looked at her, seeking confirmation.
"Mm."
"...Heh, damn." Green cursed under his breath, a look of being between laughter and tears appearing on his face.
He probably knew who it was. Little Wolverine and Little Polaris became sisters in misfortune?
Has that bald old man in the wheelchair at the X-Mansiongone senile? High-quality Mutant seedlings are being trafficked all over the place.
"There will be news soon. Just wait." He rubbed Laura's somewhat prickly short hair.
"Mm."
Green stepped on the gas, and the pickup slowly drove away from the school gate, merging into the traffic.
"Gwen, it wasn't a Police car dropping you off this time? Who is he?"
In the noisy crowd of students entering the school, a close female friend leaned in and nudged her with an arm, her eyes glancing toward where the pickup had driven off.
"Just... a friend I just met."
Gwen pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows, trying to brush it off with a casual tone.
But her eyes subconsciously avoided her friend's probing; she didn't even notice this slight evasion herself.
"Oh—" The girl drawled, her smile full of mischief.
"Dull Miss Gwen has finally seen the light? Every teenager goes through a phase where they meet a member of the opposite sex who leaves a deep impression. I thought you were only interested in practicing dance. He has quite the presence; you have good taste."
In America, the sexual maturity and open environment of teenagers make their way of thinking and emotional perception develop very quickly, and they are much more direct when discussing such topics.
"Alright, stop it, Jane." Gwen's cheeks turned slightly red. She lowered her head and habitually gripped the straps of her backpack tightly with her fingers.
"I have to go to class; I'm going to be late."
She almost fled, hurrying into the school building under the urging of the preparatory bell.
Only, why was the heart in her chest beating so fast?
...
A narrow alley in Hells Kitchen.
Rusty fire pipes protruded from cracks in the walls, a split in one pipe dripping water—'drip, drip'—accumulating into murky puddles on the uneven concrete ground.
A few gray rats huddled by holes in trash bags, using their front paws dipped in water to wipe their faces, their small black-bean eyes looking numbly at the passing giant.
A puddle was shattered by a heavy boot, splashing mud.
At the street entrance, the roof lights of a parked Police car rotated, casting an interlocking red and blue glow.
Police Chief George Stacy pushed open the car door and stepped into the alley.
He was followed by several subordinates, none of whose faces looked good.
A forensic doctor was crouching by several twisted corpses—hostesses from nearby. They died miserably, their upper bodies almost crushed beyond recognition by brute force, internal organs and bone fragments mixed together.
Strangely, there was very little blood splatter, as if the blood in their bodies had been sucked away by something before they suffered the fatal blows.
"Sir," the officer guarding the scene greeted in a low voice.
George nodded, his brow furrowed. His gaze swept over the gruesome scene and finally landed on the face of the Deputy Chief beside him, who was also frowning deeply.
"This is the fourth case this week," the Deputy Chief said in a low voice, carrying a suppressed irritability.
"No fingerprints, no hair, not a single trace of DNA left behind. And most of the blood in the victims' bodies has mysteriously vanished."
"What about the surveillance footage around here?" George asked.
"Too little of it is usable." The Deputy Chief spat.
"Most of the shops in this godforsaken place are 'looked after' by gangs. Even if cameras are installed, they're just for show—either broken and unmaintained, or simply not installed at all."
"Ah~ Fuck, the pressure from above is getting heavier, and then there are those reporters..." George irritably scratched the stubble on his chin.
He lowered his head in thought unconsciously, his gaze falling on the ground where a gray rat was standing up, its black eyes staring straight at him.
Beside it, at the edge of a puddle, water droplets continued to fall unhurriedly.
Water droplets... puddles?
He suddenly focused, his gaze following the water trail upward to the cracked fire pipe on the wall.
Near the crack, there was a clear inward indentation on the metal pipe wall, as if it had been pressed by some heavy, blunt object.
"Check if anyone from the municipal or fire departments has been here to inspect the fire facilities in this alley in the last two months."
George quickly ordered his men, his voice tight with the tension of catching a lead.
"Yes, sir!"
"What did you think of?" The Deputy Chief stepped closer, a look of appropriate curiosity on his face.
But the moment George's gaze shifted away, a cold light flickered in the depths of his eyes.
"Maybe..." George looked up, his gaze climbing the slick, high walls.
"The killer didn't approach them from the ground, nor did they leave that way."
"What?" The Deputy Chief looked up as well, at the cramped exterior walls of the buildings on both sides, which were covered in rusted fire escapes and cluttered wires.
"There aren't many footholds here, unless they can fly."
"But the distance between the exterior walls of the buildings on both sides is close enough that, theoretically, it's possible to move by jumping back and forth. But that wouldn't be human anymore, would it?
And just to kill for pleasure, or... is blood the actual need, and destroying the bodies was to mislead the investigation..."
George murmured as he followed his train of thought, trying to construct that logic-defying attack scene in his mind.
But he didn't see the Deputy Chief beside him, who was wearing a matching expression of deep thought, while his eyeballs quietly turned toward him from under lowered lids, seemingly struggling.
Just then, a low engine roar came from the street outside the alley entrance.
A black stretch Lincoln limousine, escorted by several SUVs front and back, slid slowly to a stop at the alley entrance like a silent giant shark. The windows were tinted dark, making the interior completely invisible.
"Oh? Maybe we can ask the local snake." George glanced at the convoy at the alley entrance and gave the Deputy Chief a joyless smile.
"Aha, if they weren't carrying so many guns, I'd almost think they were friendly neighbors."
The Deputy Chief gave two forced laughs and followed George over.
George knocked on the car window.
The glass lowered silently, revealing Kingpin's face.
"Hi, Wilson. Instead of counting your money, what are you doing in this stinking place? Careful not to get that designer suit of yours dirty."
"The ones who died were my people. I need to be responsible for them."
Kingpin's voice was low, showing no emotion.
After the incident with Green yesterday, his threshold for'surprises' seemed to have risen considerably.
"That sounds quite like the tone of a mayor."
"Maybe I will be."
"Well then, Underground Mayor, since you're here, any advice?"
"Do you expect me, a man who wants his enemies dead without a corpse, and you, a man who only wants to bring them to justice, to discuss any consensus? We'll each use our own methods, Chief."
As soon as he finished speaking, several of his men stepped forward, attempting to pull aside the Police tape to enter the scene.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?!"
"Don't disturb the scene! Step back!"
"Want to spend some time cooling off in the lockup?!"
The Police were no pushovers either; they immediately stepped forward to block them. The two sides were suddenly in a standoff, hands on their holsters, though they refrained from drawing.
George's eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on Kingpin's face.
"I'm taking the bodies away," Kingpin's voice dropped as he met his gaze.
"I think you've already collected enough clues."
George didn't speak; he tilted his head and jerked his chin toward the Deputy Chief, giving him a look.
The Deputy Chief understood, turned around, and waved his hand.
"Let them through."
The Police then reluctantly moved aside.
"It's a good thing they can get an extra compensation payment; I'll thank you on their behalf." A professional, faint smile returned to George's face.
"It's not your place to say thank you," Kingpin said coldly.
"Catch those scumbags as soon as possible. Or, just watch as I personally fish them out and tear them to pieces."
"Hmph, naturally."
George took a step back. His nose seemed to catch a faint medicinal scent; this underworld Big Boss was injured, and not lightly.
It seemed yesterday's incident was real; Owl had a direct confrontation with the other party, though he didn't know how the other party fared.
"Recover well."
Kingpin gave him a cold glance, and the window rolled up.
Inside the car, the light was dim.
"The method is very similar to The Hand," James analyzed in a low voice sitting opposite.
"Our recent investigation into the Dragon Bone has been too obvious. They want to warn us, or kick us out of the game entirely."
"I don't care what they think." Kingpin leaned back in the wide seat, shadows obscuring most of his face, with only a suppressed violence churning in his voice.
"Dig out the nests of those ground rats for me. I want to drain their foul blood, dry them into jerky, and feed them to the dogs."
"Understood."
"Also, that lunatic Frank," James added,
"took advantage of our manpower being spread thin last night to take down three casinos. How should we handle it?"
"Let Tombstone go. Hasn't he always wanted to prove himself?"
"In addition, didn't Transigen just send over a Mutant called Scarecrow? Have him go along."
"Boss..." James hesitated for a moment, his voice lowering,
"Transigen's control technology doesn't seem mature yet. That Scarecrow lost control last time and sucked one of our men into a mummy from a distance. If it happens at the scene..."
He remembered the scene at the time; even he felt a chill.
Furthermore, the one responsible for 'contacting' and 'feeding' that Mutant boy at the time was he himself.
"They are sending a new generation of electromagnetic suppression collars tonight." Kingpin interrupted James, a flash of anger from being manipulated in his eyes.
The Mutant was skin and bones when he was sent over, yet Transigen waited until now to provide the control device. It was clearly using his men's lives to 'feed' and test him, while giving him, the partner, a show of force.
"You take it. Once he shows signs of losing control, don't hesitate."
"That's good then." James breathed a sigh of relief. Having a concrete method was better than being on edge.
"Also..." Kingpin paused, his gaze returning to the street scene outside the window—covered in stains and graffiti—as it receded rapidly.
"Get Bullseye back. He cannot die out there."
"...Mm."
Chapter 27: The Rat Within Reach
At the crime scene,
"That guy Kingpin really knows how to win people over," George Stacy muttered in a low voice as he watched his subordinates hand over the body.
"Looks like there's no hope for a normal Police-civilian cooperation," the Deputy Chief joked nearby, his tone light.
"Doesn't matter. It's good enough as long as he doesn't cause trouble," George said, his hand resting on his belt.
"Like yesterday, over a dozen of his men had their heads sliced off cleanly, like ham. It was definitely the work of that Owl."
"We worked all night and got zero clues. The few we brought in didn't dare utter a single word."
"The surveillance footage was wiped clean, phones confiscated. We couldn't even get a photo of the Owl's back. All that work for nothing, and I went home to spaghetti that Helen had reheated for me four times."
"At least you got to eat. I only had beer and peanuts," the Deputy Chief nudged him, feigning annoyance.
"That's the unspoken rule of their trade. No one wants to wake up in the middle of the night and see that Owl waving at them from outside their second-floor window."
"I'll catch that bird of prey sooner or later!" George turned toward his Police car.
"I'll leave this to you. I'm heading back to organize the evidence chain."
"Go on, go on," the Deputy Chief waved dismissively.
George opened the car door, the engine started, and the Police car slowly drove away.
The Deputy Chief stood there, quietly watching the car recede until the taillights vanished around the street corner.
The smile on his face slowly faded.
As he turned, a bloodthirsty red glint flickered briefly in his eyes.
He strolled over to a Police car where a young officer was leaning against the door, eating a breakfast sandwich and scrolling through his phone.
The Deputy Chief naturally reached out, took a bottle of water from a crate next to the seat, and unscrewed the cap.
"How's the cleanup going?" he asked casually, his voice deeper than before.
"All the surveillance clips involving us from last night have been pulled. Only some irrelevant scraps are left," the officer said without looking up, his voice very low.
"I don't just mean that," the Deputy Chief took a swig of water, a hint of irritation in his tone.
"Those newly converted Blood Slaves must be dealt with. Defective products that can't control their feeding instincts will only expose us. How many times have I said it? Just capture them, and I'll report them missing!"
"Instead, you made such a scene and left the site so messy. Do you think George Stacy is an idiot?"
"But... but those 'Blood Slaves' had high social status before conversion. They were rich and powerful, and they came for the thrill and immortality. It wasn't easy to stop them..." the officer whispered in defense.
"Couldn't they just buy a deserted island and hunt there? They had to play 'Crime City' in Manhattan!"
The Deputy Chief cursed under his breath, forcing down his anger. He screwed the cap back on and slammed the bottle back onto the seat.
"We must cut off this loose end! And as for George... make it clean. Don't let him suffer too much. Deal with his family as well. Leave no loose ends."
"I'll find a suitable opportunity," the officer nodded, then remembered something and called out to the departing Deputy Chief.
"By the way, during the sweep last night, a convenience store camera caught something. It's a Mutant. How should we handle it?"
He pulled out his phone and played a video.
"A Mutant?" The Deputy Chief arched an eyebrow and walked back.
The video was shot from an internal camera in the convenience store.
The first half was boring daily life, even including a clip of two men "playing games" behind the shelves (which was skipped quickly).
Half an hour later, the rolling shutter rose automatically, and the inner glass door lock clicked open on its own, as if controlled by an invisible hand.
A thin, small figure in a bright yellow raincoat hunched over and slipped in nervously.
Wet, curly hair was plastered to her forehead, looking like it hadn't been cared for in a long time.
She grabbed a shopping basket and began frantically raiding the shelves for self-heating meals, bread, and water, then pulled open the cash register drawer to grab money, her movements clumsy and hurried.
Suddenly, headlights swept past outside. She jerked in fright, and in her haste, the entire cash drawer fell to the floor, coins clattering everywhere.
Panicking even more, she grabbed a handful of bills and bolted out the door with her basket full of food without looking back.
The Deputy Chief stared at the panicked, youthful face on the screen, greed and a certain lewd desire churning in his eyes.
"Look at that... just look," he licked his lips, his voice dropping to a whisper, almost a high-pitched snicker.
"What a cute little elf. So careless... she actually forgot to pull the surveillance power first."
"Hey, what are you two chatting about?" a passing officer stopped and asked curiously.
The Deputy Chief instantly switched back to his honest, "good guy" face and turned around with a broad smile.
"Oh, haha, just talking about tonight's game."
"Really? But I'd advise you not to bet on the same team as George. He never wins, and he gets cranky every time he loses."
"That's just how he is. I'm used to it," the Deputy Chiefshook his head with a smile.
"By the way, beer's on me tonight."
"Really? That's great!" the officer said in surprise.
"Of course," the Deputy Chief's smile deepened as he exchanged a knowing look with the "accomplice" officer beside him.
"After all... we have the best snack to go with our drinks."
"Then I'll look forward to it!" The passing officer, thinking they were talking about the game, walked away happily.
Not until the man was far away did the smile fade from the Deputy Chief's face. His gaze fell back onto the phone screen, fixed on the figure in the yellow raincoat.
"I wonder..." he muttered to himself, a sickly anticipation in his voice.
"I wonder if a Mutant's blood smells sweeter than a normal person's?"
...
Stark Industries Building underground parking lot,
The gate of the unmanned security booth rose automatically, and Green Morgan's pickup truck slowly pulled in, parking in a corner spot.
He hopped out of the truck, swinging his keys lazily around his index finger while whistling as he headed toward the elevator lobby.
By the elevator, a mild-mannered man in a suit with a slightly receding hairline was looking down at his phone.
The inexplicably eerie whistling reached his ears, making his shoulders twitch instinctively. His fingers almost instantly reached into the lining of his suit jacket.
Green Morgan walked past him without looking, pressing the up button for the elevator.
"Do you... work here?" the man asked in his most natural tone, quietly steadying his breath as his eyes quickly swept over Green Morgan.
"If you looked through the Level 1 classified files more often, you'd know who I am, Agent Phil Coulson."
Green Morgan didn't even turn his head, his voice tinged with a bit of mockery.
"Or, you could just ask Nick Fury."
Coulson's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
His brain rapidly searched; he remembered almost every Agent's face with Level 7 clearance or below.
There were very few whose specific information required higher clearance.
Given the location, and the fact that Fury had indeed sent an Agent with a confidential identity to participate in Tony Stark's rescue mission, he only knew one name...
"Green Morgan?" he asked tentatively.
"Mm-hmm. And you're 'working' here?" The elevator doors opened, and Green Morgan stepped inside. He turned to press the floor button before finally looking up to counter the question.
"Sorry, classified," Coulson resumed his apologetic, mild smile and followed him into the elevator.
"Tsk, I have to say, that's very official."
The elevator doors closed.
The red light of a micro-camera in the corner lit up, scanning their faces.
Once their identities were confirmed, the screen automatically jumped to show their respective destination floors. Coincidentally, both were Tony Stark's private floor.
Both habitually leaned toward the back of the elevator, making the modest space feel cramped.
Green Morgan clearly didn't want to be pressed against someone and moved half a step forward.
Coulson gave a gentle nod of thanks.
"Thank you."
However, being in this sealed metal box with Green Morgan gave him an indescribable sense of pressure.
He instinctively tilted his head back and swallowed. His gaze intermittently swept over Green Morgan's broad, silent back.
Not being able to see the other man's expression only made that invisible pressure even stronger.
Coulson could feel his heart rate accelerating uncontrollably, and a slight tremor ran through his fingertips.
He struggled to maintain his mild expression, but fine beads of cold sweat had already broken out on his forehead, and his smile had become somewhat stiff.
He could even smell a faint, lingering scent of blood in the air.
Ding—
The elevator finally arrived.
The moment the doors slid open, even the slight movement of air made Coulson want to sigh in relief.
Outside, a sophisticated urban beauty in a professional skirt suit and high heels was waiting, a professional smile on her face.
But her gaze was drawn almost immediately to the tall figure inside the elevator, a hint of irrepressible admiration flashing in her eyes.
"Oh! Sorry."
She quickly realized her lapse and stepped aside to clear the way. Green Morgan's gaze lingered on her for a moment with a hint of interest, but he said nothing and walked straight out.
His gaze swept across the spacious living room and landed on the open workspace.
Tony Stark was standing by a machine tool with tweezers in hand. On the workbench beside him lay a crudely structured exoskeleton arm prototype, its wires exposed and still in the most primitive stage of assembly.
"Hey, 'Tony Lip'," Tony put down his tools, brushed the dust off his hands, and walked toward Green Morgan, his tone full of resentment.
"Sleep well last night? I didn't. Or rather, my conference calls haven't stopped since before eight. Look, now even Agent Coulson from S.H.I.E.L.D. has come in person to 'collect taxes' from me."
(Note: Here, Tony compares himself to the Black pianist Don Shirley from the movie "Green Book" and Green Morgan to the white driver Tony Lip, implying that Green Morgan has brought him into an environment filled with strange looks.)
Green Morgan just shrugged, too lazy to argue with this petty guy about last night's "accident."
At that moment, Coulson stepped past Green Morgan and walked up to Tony with a tablet, that same flawless, mild smile on his face.
"Sir, this is the revised special consultant appointment agreement. You can review the terms again." His gaze seemed to drift casually over the unfinished device on the workbench.
Tony didn't take it, just glanced at the tablet.
His fingers swiped rapidly across the screen. Without really looking at the content, he found the signature line and scribbled his name.
"I don't need to keep you for breakfast, do I? Well... it's almost noon now."
"No need, thank you, Mr. Stark." Coulson remained unfazed by his sarcasm, bowing slightly with his usual politeness.
Then, he gave a polite nod toward Green Morgan and the female assistant before turning to walk back to the elevator.
Tony watched as Green Morgan walked into his home, familiarly picking up a basket of Soup Dumplings from the coffee table.
He plopped down on the sofa, propped his legs up on the expensive low table, and started eating, leaving Tonyspeechless.
"I'm planning to move all this stuff to the Underground Room," Tony pointed to the machine tool and the parts on the workbench.
"It's too cramped here. Can't help it; when inspiration strikes, you can't stop it, so I just had to deal with it on the spot." He walked over to the machine tool and leaned against it casually.
"Mm-hmm," Green Morgan took a sip of Soy Milk and looked up at him, his cheeks still chewing on a dumpling.
He could tell Tony seemed to be hesitating to say something, but he didn't ask, just kept eating and watching him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tony noticed that Pepper Potts's gaze seemed glued to Green Morgan. His heart skipped a beat for some reason, and he quickly spoke up to break the subtle staring.
"Uh, this is Pepper Potts, the real person in charge of Stark Industries, my savior. Pepper, this is Green Morgan, a scoundrel."
Green Morgan wasn't offended; he just grinned and flashed a peace sign with two fingers.
"Oh," Pepper glanced elegantly at Tony upon hearing this.
"Then birds of a feather really do flock together."
"What?" Tony's eyes widened.
"But," Pepper shifted her tone, her gaze falling back on Green Morgan,
"I don't actually mind scoundrels."
"If you'll excuse me." She gave them a slight nod, then picked up a stack of documents and turned to head downstairs.
"What does she mean by that?!" Tony walked over, pointing unhappily in the direction Pepper had left.
"It means," Green Morgan swallowed his dumpling and grinned,
"She wants to sleep with me."
Chapter 28: Pepper, Entrustment, Temporary Mission
"Do you have no shame?"
"Do you? Is she your girlfriend? Why are you meddling so much?"
"Hiss—you guy..."
Tony looked at Green with a disdainful expression, sizing him up several times but truly unable to find any fault to retort with. Wait...
"Did you get taller again?" He frowned.
"Second growth spurt, is that not allowed?" Green picked up another bun from the steamer and handed it to him. "Eat more, don't be polite with me."
"Are you planning to fully embrace the word shameless? This is my house." Tony took the bun and sat down next to Green.
"Anyway, my image in your mind is already fixed, so it doesn't matter," Green said nonchalantly.
"By the way, do you still need to eat, Iron Man?" Green's gaze drifted toward Tony's shirt collar, where the faint blue glow of the Arc Reactor peeked through.
"This is just a life-prolonging device, not a life-support system. And besides, the name 'Iron Man' sounds terrible," Tony corrected.
"Then what do you plan to call yourself?" Green reached out for a leek fried dumpling and took a bite. He frowned; it had been sitting out too long, the oil had soaked through, and it didn't taste good.
"...I haven't decided yet." Tony's gaze became somewhat complicated, falling on the crude arm prototype on the workbench.
"Speak up, why did you really call me here?" Green put the bad dumpling back in the box and asked directly.
"Didn't I say? To have breakfast. This is from the best place I have a reservation at."
"Then your taste is really poor. Here's a suggestion: for Chinese shops, you should pick the older, smaller ones. Also, I think you're lacking a sense of security."
"You've guessed that the information leak in Afghanistancame from someone close to you, and now you urgently need someone trustworthy and strong enough to cover you. Hmm~ who could it be? That's right, it's me!"
"Can't you leave me some dignity?" Tony didn't deny it.
"Your dignity isn't as strong as your body odor." Green pushed him aside with a look of disgust.
"Damn, you reek of welding fumes. Stay away from me."
"Hey! You're eating my food, sitting on my third-favorite sofa, and you dare to look down on me?!" Tony grabbed a bun and threw it at him.
Green tilted his head, opened his mouth with a "nom," caught it, chewed twice, and swallowed.
"Do something for me," he said.
Regarding 'Xiquan,' he had asked a few people on the way, including Donny and a female hacker he was on good terms with in the 'Rising Tide' organization. Green liked to cast a wide net; it was the most efficient way to capture real-time information.
"Now, you want me to do something for you?!"
"Help me find someone." Green ignored his accusation and stated his request directly.
"Green hair, white skin, age roughly 12 to 14, often wears a yellow raincoat, a Mutant. The main search area starts from Hells Kitchen and spreads outward. The timeframe is within the last two months."
"Your new mission?" Tony looked at him suspiciously.
"First it's taking kids to school, now it's looking for lost runts... are you trying to go straight and turn over a new leaf?"
"Go straight my ass. Did I or did I not pull your damn self out of that cave?" Green retorted irritably.
"Fine, I'll look into it." Tony curled his lip, essentially agreeing.
Just then, Green's phone vibrated.
He pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It was a rendezvous message from the Life Foundation.
"Tch, how can just anyone get my number?"
Green cursed under his breath, stood up, and waved casually at Tony.
"I'm leaving."
"Don't tell me you're going to find Pepper now? She has to work!"
"Mind your own business. Remember to send me the results." Green walked toward the elevator, throwing a sentence back without turning his head.
"By the way, you're perfectly safe for now, so put your heart back in your chest."
"I'll do it as soon as possible," Tony grumbled unhappily.
"Hey! Aren't you going to help me move these things down?!" he shouted at Green's back as he stepped into the elevator.
The answer he received was Green's middle finger raised as the elevator doors gradually closed.
Ding—
The elevator opened in the first-floor lobby.
Green lowered his head to step out from under the slightly low door frame.
Pepper and Coulson were at the front desk, talking in low voices about the specific details of an agreement.
Sensing the front desk staff's gaze focusing behind her, Pepper finally turned around.
"Do you have time to have dinner together tonight?" Green was very direct.
"Oh?" Pepper raised an eyebrow. She didn't look shy; instead, she leaned calmly against the front desk and looked up at Green.
"This is the first time I've encountered such an impolite invitation, especially since this is only our second time meeting."
"I haven't failed yet."
"Then do you hope to taste failure with me, Mr. Green?" Pepper raised her chin slightly, a playful challenge in her eyes.
"That shouldn't be asked of me, and I won't stay a moment for failure." Green tilted his head, looking at her with a side-glance.
"Hmph." Pepper curled her glossy lips. She had intended to maintain a relaxed posture, but under Green's cold, downward gaze, she felt her heart skip a beat for some reason.
An imperceptible trace of fluster made her finger twitch, and the tip of her pen poked through the document she was signing with a 'poof'.
"Oh! I'm so sorry." She quickly pulled the pen out, masking her momentary loss of composure.
"It's alright."
Coulson, standing nearby, took the document at the right moment. At the same time, he gave an imperceptible eyebrow raise toward Green, his eyes actually carrying a bit of... respect?
"Hmph, I'll... consider it." Pepper looked away, not daring to meet Green's eyes again. To hide her embarrassment, she glared at the receptionist who was watching the show.
Beep—
Just then, the front desk phone rang. The receptionist picked it up.
"Alright, Mr. Stark." She then handed the receiver toward Pepper. "It's for you, Ms. Potts."
Pepper took the receiver: "Yes?"
Whatever the other side said, she rolled her eyes helplessly.
"Sorry, gentlemen," she said, putting down the receiver but not hanging up completely.
"There's work to do, I have to leave."
"OK," Agent Coulson said with a smile and a nod.
"Are you conducting surveillance?"
Green picked up the receiver that was still hanging in mid-air. Watching Pepper's figure, her professional suit outlining her graceful curves as she hurried toward the elevator, he spoke into the phone with a smile.
"There was just urgent work that needed her attention," Tony's voice came through the receiver, sounding a bit like he was trying too hard to cover something up.
"Pfft," Green scoffed.
"As for you, I suspect you're deliberately approaching Ms. Potts just to get my daily information so you can screw me over next time," Tony said warily.
"Oh~ dear Tony, I didn't expect your stereotype of me to be this deep. Sigh~" He shook his head and casually placed the receiver back on the phone.
On the other end of the line, Tony was controlling a robotic arm to move a toolbox toward the service elevator.
Hearing the busy tone from the receiver, he scratched his head and looked at the disconnected phone. A trace of uncertain doubt actually rose in his heart.
"Could it be... I really misjudged him?"
"Hand this over to Hill." Green handed a black USB drive to Coulson.
Inside were the precise coordinates and path information for the Ten Rings Gang's cave in Afghanistan, as well as partial physiological data samples he had extracted from Tony Stark along the way.
There was also the complete recording of that call with Obadiah Stane.
In fact, Tony had guessed right; Green intended to sell Nick Fury a favor.
"You trust me?" Coulson took the USB drive, looking at Green with some surprise.
"Well, will you look at it?" Green asked back.
"Out of an Agent's professional habit," Coulson answered honestly.
"I might make a backup for myself before handing it over, but out of respect for a friend, I will ensure the backup is only used for handover confirmation and deliver the original intact to Hill."
"You're certainly blunt about it." Green wasn't surprised, nor did he care. Anyway, this information would eventually flow into Nick Fury's archives; he didn't care about the process.
"Just learned it from you," Coulson laughed.
"Heh, then you've learned bad habits." Green turned, walked toward the elevator, and pressed the down button.
Before the elevator doors opened, he glanced sideways at Coulson.
"But remember, don't lose it."
His voice was very calm, with almost no fluctuation, but Coulson felt a chill brush across his skin.
"I will," he responded almost subconsciously.
It wasn't until Green stepped into the elevator that Coulsonraised his hand to rub the goosebumps on his upper arm beneath his suit sleeve.
"Maybe I should go ask Fury why he's still only at Level 1 clearance."
...
Life Foundation,
Ding—
The elevator doors slid open to both sides. Green stepped out with one hand on the door frame, his gaze falling on Drake, who was waiting outside.
"Ready?" He looked down at the other man.
"Uh... there's another mission." Drake interlaced his fingers and spoke tentatively.
"Oh?" Green took a step closer to him.
The invisible pressure made Drake subconsciously take half a step back. The surrounding armed personnel hurriedly raised their guns, only to be stopped by Drakeraising his hand.
"When did another one pop up? Or do you think I'm your man now, to be ordered around at will?"
"I've always been honest with you," Drake tried to steady his voice, even leaning forward slightly in an attempt to show sincerity.
"I need you! So..."
"So you've discovered a new treasure and can't wait to claim it for yourself." Green interrupted him, finishing the sentence for him.
"You're very greedy, Drake."
"Yes! So you know how important you are to me," Drakelooked up, meeting Green's gaze, his voice carrying a paranoid fervor.
"I wasn't the primary handler for this mission. I'm sorry to notify you so abruptly."
"Tch," Green glanced at him. "Mission details."
Only then did Drake breathe a sigh of relief. He gestured for Green to follow and explained quickly as they walked.
"Fourteen days ago, our special energy monitoring instruments detected an abnormally intense burst of dark energy in a remote town called Ravens Fair, Colorado.
The professional investigation team subsequently dispatched discovered signs of multiple evil entities congregating,
including but not limited to a House of Wax, a human slaughterhouse, a large group of inbred deformed Creepers, and the 'Curse of Mary Shaw' that already existed in that town."
He paused, glanced sideways at Green's expressionless face, and his speaking speed unconsciously quickened.
"Because the town is completely enveloped by a certain special force field, the entire investigation team experienced severe physiological and psychological abnormalities.
Loss of limb control, mental confusion, uncontrollable bloodthirsty impulses... and they were all trapped inside, unable to escape.
In the end, they were dismembered by those evil spirits, and their remains were eaten by the town's residents."
He stopped walking and looked at Green: "So..."
"So, kill them all?" Green raised an eyebrow.
"Those townspeople were merely bewitched by evil forces! They themselves are innocent!" a stern voice full of disapproval came from the corner of the corridor.
Drake's expression changed slightly.
Green rolled his eyes and looked toward the source of the voice.
A pair of people dressed in black clerical attire stepped out from the corner.
Leading them was an Old Priest with gray hair and a serious face.
Beside him followed a young nun, also wrapped in a black headscarf, with a clear and ethereal face. Her eyes were exceptionally bright, carrying a bit of curiosity and an imperceptible wariness as she sized up Green.
"Drake," Green frowned, looking at him sideways in confusion.
"Aren't we the villains? Why are people from the Vatican here? Have you defected to the enemy?"
Chapter 29: Prey
"Cough, cough, cough..."
Drake choked on those words and coughed violently, feeling incredibly awkward. Buddy, could you not be so blunt? How was he supposed to respond to that?
"Wherever the light reaches is the land of my Lord. There is no corner of evil that we cannot go to for Purification and salvation. You too need salvation, evil one," the Old Priestsaid, head held high, righteous and stern.
"Then go to the front lines! For fuck's sake, what are you bragging about?!"
Green was amused by this rhetoric and walked directly toward him. Drake tried to pull him back but was dragged forward two steps instead.
"Hey, hey, hey, calm down! Calm down!" Drake whispered urgently. "This operation is a collaboration! They're the financial backers! Do you understand what a backer is?!"
Green ignored him completely and reached the priest in a few strides.
The Old Priest, intimidated by his approaching aura, couldn't help but shrink back.
"I... I am the primary person in charge for the Vatican in this joint operation! You... ugh!"
Before he could finish, Green's hand shot out and gripped his throat, lifting him up like a small chicken.
"The person in charge? All I heard was you old geezer calling me evil. You're dissatisfied with me, and that makes me unhappy." Green pulled him close, tilted his head, and leaned his ear in as if to listen.
"Come on, recite a few passages from the Bible. Let's see if you can send me to the afterlife."
The Old Priest's face turned bright red from the choking, his eyes bulging. Only wheezing sounds escaped his throat; he couldn't speak a word.
"Tsk, useless." Green, not hearing what he wanted, tossed him aside with lack of interest.
The Old Priest flew four or five meters, slammed heavily onto the ground, and slid a distance before stopping.
The surrounding armed personnel looked at each other. They didn't know whether to catch him or not, and ultimately, they collectively stepped aside in silent agreement, clearing the path for his slide.
Green then turned his gaze toward the young nun who had been standing quietly.
"And who are you?"
"Ah? Is... is it my turn?" The nun's shoulders visibly trembled.
In fact, from the moment Green started dragging Drakeover, she had been stunned, right up until she watched her mentor fly out like a baseball in a parabolic arc.
"I... I am the fourth generation, Irene," she said in a thin, weak voice.
"What was your original name?"
"It was... washed away..." She lowered her head.
"Do you not remember, or do you not dare to say?" Green hooked her chin with his index finger, forcing her to look up.
"I cannot say. The Holy See would punish me. I... I'm afraid." Her eyelashes fluttered, and her eyes held genuine terror.
"Heh," Green chuckled softly.
"But now, I'm telling you to say it." He released her chin and instead pinched both her cheeks with his thumb and index finger.
"I want teammates who are obedient, not some bitch who jumps out at a critical moment to tell me who I can and can't kill."
"Your. Name."
The nun was forced to look up at Green. Fear, curiosity, and a deep-seated, indescribable, strange light intertwined in her eyes.
"...Lucia."
"That's more like it." Green let go.
"Now we've both made mistakes. You violated the Holy See's rules by saying your name, and I hit your priest. Believe me, we'll be great teammates, Lucia."
The nun backed away several steps until her back hit the wall.
She didn't speak, but just stared at Green with a complex, unreadable gaze.
"Do their mission objectives overlap with ours?" Green turned to the side, looking at Drake, who was covering his face, unable to watch.
"Not entirely." Drake lowered his hand and sighed.
"Their goal is 'Purification,' which means destroying all sources of evil. Our goal is 'Containment,' bringing back valuable samples or entities as intact as possible."
He paused and looked at Green with some helplessness.
"Originally, I planned to communicate with you privately and have you complete the 'Containment' while secretly carrying out the 'Purification' mission. But now, it seems we've burned that bridge. Thanks a lot."
"You're welcome." Green reached out and patted Drake on the shoulder.
The force wasn't light; Drake's body sank a few times, and he almost lost his footing.
"Then let's set out now. I'll..." Drake steadied himself and prepared to make arrangements.
"Not now," Green interrupted him.
"What?" A look of clear astonishment appeared on Drake's face.
"What do you mean?"
"I have things to deal with on my end too."
Work is work, but an employee's priority comes first.
"Is it urgent? I can help coordinate resources." Drake tried to show his sincerity for cooperation.
"No need, thanks." Green refused again, his tone cold.
He didn't trust this two-faced guy.
This coincidental encounter, this perfectly timed conflict... it was all a bit too convenient.
What Drake wanted to see was likely exactly this: Green immediately pitted against the Holy See's forces, forcing him to rely more heavily on The Foundation.
Green said no more and turned to walk straight toward the elevator.
"Truly uncontrollable."
Drake stood there, his expression shifting as he watched Green's departing back.
"I have to... take him to rest," the nun whispered. She walked quickly to the Old Priest, who was unconscious from lack of oxygen nearby, and knelt down to check his condition.
"Okay, Irene, as you wish." Drake withdrew his gaze, lowered his hands, and patted his thighs.
"Just... call me Lucia," the nun corrected without looking back.
"Okay, okay, though I don't see what the difference is."
By the street, Green walked back to the pickup truck, opened the door, and sat in the driver's seat.
He casually grabbed a few salted peanuts from a paper bag on the dashboard and chewed them, making a crisp sound.
In the back seat, Laura was curled up, engrossed in the latest edition of a comic book spread across her knees.
"What do you want to eat?" Green asked as he started the engine.
"Meat."
"Mm, alright." Green turned the steering wheel, and the pickup merged into the traffic, heading in one direction.
...
In the evening, the sky was gloomy.
The thick chimneys of the chemical plant continuously spewed gray-white mist, which bled into the low-hanging clouds.
Fine drizzle was blown sideways by the wind, landing stickily on the skin with the acidic damp cold of the industrial zone.
In Hells Kitchen, on the edge of a high-rise rooftop.
A small, thin figure in a bright yellow raincoat sat alone outside the rusted guardrail, holding a red umbrella with worn edges.
She took small bites of the hard, dry bread in her hand, her movements slow and her eyes vacant.
Her gaze dropped, fixing on the small puddle of murky rainwater that had gathered in the folds of the raincoat between her legs.
The water surface blurredly reflected the leaden sky above and her wet, dark green hair that clung to her cheeks.
The wind occasionally stirred ripples, scattering the reflection into a broken, out-of-focus gray-green mess.
She remained motionless, like a wax statue forgotten in the rain and on the edge of the city.
Where should she go?
Lorna didn't know. She had no identity, only a name left behind.
Maybe she should go to the Police? The thought flashed for only a second before she extinguished it.
They would send her to a place like 'Red River Home,' and then what?
Then one day, those people in white coats would show up again with documents and easily take her away. They were all in it together, she knew.
She didn't want to go back, not even if it meant death.
She especially remembered that room where the lights were always on. The blinding white light made it impossible to tell day from night. She hated that mirror on the wall.
She could 'feel' metal moving behind the mirror. Someone was watching her from behind it, recording everything about her.
Was Laura caught and taken back? She didn't know, and she didn't even dare to think too deeply about it.
Now, her mind held only the simplest, most luxurious desire.
To find a safe place, take a good hot bath, and then dive into a warm, fluffy, dry blanket.
When she woke up, it would be best to have a piece of cake—not bread she had to eat to survive, and not because someone dictated what she ate.
If she could also hear piano music, that would be even better. She didn't hold much hope; she just thought so.
She hoped Laura could live a life like that.
She lowered her head and took another small bite of the dry bread.
Raindrops slid down the umbrella ribs, dripping into the small puddle between her legs, causing almost invisible ripples.
Just then.
Thump, thump.
Behind her, the closed iron door of the rooftop was knocked on twice. It seemed they found it couldn't be opened and paused for a second.
The sound of metal being violently tugged came from the lock.
Clang!
The old-fashioned padlock on the latch, along with the iron bracket holding it, was ripped off by brute force and fell to the ground.
The iron door creaked as it was slowly pushed outward.
A man wearing a black high-collared trench coat, looking like a Wall Street elite, walked out.
His gaze immediately locked onto the thin yellow figure under the umbrella.
"Hey! Girl~" He flashed a smile, his tone light but carrying a certain oily chill.
Lorna turned her head to look.
"Are you alone?"
The man grinned, his upper lip curling up to reveal two sharp canine teeth.
Behind him, in the shadows of the stairwell, several men and women dressed similarly and with the same cold aura stood indistinctly.
Their eyes flickered with a bloodthirsty red light in the darkness.
"Monsters!" Lorna turned back in fear, her body slipping forward from the shock, and she actually fell right off the edge of the high building!
"Shit!" The man's expression changed, and he cursed, lunging to the guardrail at a speed far exceeding a normal person's. If the prey was smashed to pieces, the taste would be greatly diminished.
He leaned over and looked down.
In mid-air, that red umbrella actually opened like a red flower, miraculously catching the wind.
A faint, flowing dark green fluorescence clung to the umbrella ribs, barely holding back the downward momentum as it shook violently in the air.
Beneath the red umbrella, a pair of shoes that were clearly too large and several sizes too big, along with small legs, kicked frantically.
Ultimately, she still fell with a "thud," landing awkwardly in a pile of discarded cardboard boxes and junk below.
The red umbrella snapped shut.
Under the umbrella, Lorna's pale little face, devoid of much color, was revealed.
She looked up, gave the man on the rooftop edge a distant glance, and ignored the few surprised passersby as she took off running.
"What an interesting little snack... runs pretty fast." The man on the roof chuckled, watching her small figure stumble around the street corner and disappear from sight.
However, to his sense of smell, that sweet scent of blood was as clear as a firefly in the dark of night.
"Hurry up." A companion walked up to his side.
"Mike is already very dissatisfied with the way we 'clean up the scene.' Don't be too flashy."
"Tch," the man sneered disdainfully.
"Haven't we stuffed enough money in his pockets? A dirty cop is just a dirty cop. Without us, he'd have been in prison shaking his ass long ago."
He cracked his knuckles, and his fingernails rapidly became sharp and curved, like animal claws.
He grabbed the edge of the rooftop with one hand, flipped his body lightly downward, and planted his feet firmly in the gaps of the protruding bricks on the outer wall, bending his knees slightly.
"Enjoy the hunt, boys."
Before his voice faded, he seemed to break free from the constraints of gravity. With a powerful kick against the wall, his figure traced a black arc through the air.
Like a giant bat, he leaped across a gap over ten meters wide and landed silently on the edge of the roof of another slightly shorter building opposite.
The other companions also let out low, excited breaths.
One after another, their figures darted out like phantoms, following close behind and leaping across.
Their movements were swift and silent, leaving only a trail of blurred black shadows in the dim evening light.
On a third-floor balcony of a residential building opposite, a middle-aged woman who was about to go inside with a flowerpot happened to look up and saw those black shadows "gliding" from one building to another like large birds.
She stared blankly.
"Ninjas?"