Ch: 371-379
371. Calder's appearance is the end
As Carrie led Cindy home and closed the door, Calder, driving his fiery red Maserati, slowly pulled over to the side of the road.
He then stared at Carrie's house and said in a low, distinctive voice.
Philip, in the passenger seat—or rather, the 37th Dolan who would have fought alongside Calder next week if not for yesterday's accident—said, "See, I told you so."
Although this last witch hunter and last crusader was controlled by each successive Dolan through PUA tactics.
However, Philip had not officially become the 37th Dolan, so while he could PUA Calder, it had to be based on facts.
After all, Calder was only being PUA'd; ultimately, he was still a free man.
If information couldn't be continuously fed to Calder, once he had free time to read the news or watch TV, he would likely discover the real reason why the churches were in ruins when they arrived.
So, Philip provided Carrie.
The root cause of the downfall of the New Orleans Dolan Church was Carrie; the 36th Dolan knew this and had told him, and originally, the 36th Dolan had planned to send people to investigate Carrie.
Now?
No investigation was needed.
Calder's heart palpitated.
His heart, cursed by a witch, slowly beat, allowing him to clearly distinguish who was a witch.
"Stay here!"
Calder told Philip, then pulled out a crusader sword that had accompanied him for countless years.
This crusader sword was exclusive to orthodox crusaders; in ancient times, it was steeped in the Holy Water of the Holy See and was said to be able to cut through all evil.
It was with this sword that the crusaders' judgments against witches were always successful.
Saying this,
Calder was about to push the door open.
But Philip in the passenger seat said, "I'm coming too!"
Calder looked at Philip.
Philip took a deep breath, his expression perfectly conveying, "I am the 37th Dolan.
I need to witness that witch's death before me.
She must account for the deaths of our comrades."
As soon as he said this, Philip felt a sense of elevation.
In reality, Philip was afraid that if Calder went in, he himself might be caught again by certain people who appeared out of nowhere, beaten severely, and then kidnapped.
However, Calder didn't know this.
Listening to Philip's words, he nodded with some relief, "You will become a qualified Dolan priest.
I look forward to our next fifty years of cooperation."
He was immortal due to the witch's curse, but the Dolans were ordinary people.
Therefore, each Dolan would accompany and cooperate with him for a maximum of fifty years before honorably retiring.
"Let's go!"
"Mm!"
Calder said, then nodded to Philip, pushed open the car door, and, holding his crusader sword, walked towards Carrie's house.
"Thump!"
No knock, just a kick!
Throughout his long years, Calder's approach to witches had always been simple and brutal, showing no mercy.
To put it this way, even a violent husband would seem like a good family man compared to him.
Instantly,
the front door shattered.
Carrie and Cindy, who were sitting in the living room, looking through a takeout menu and deciding between a beef pizza or a durian pizza, were startled by the noise.
They looked towards the broken entrance door.
Calder, dressed in white casual clothes, wearing a cross necklace, holding a crusader sword, and sporting a shiny, reflective bald head, walked in first, followed by Philip.
Carrie and Cindy were slightly stunned.
A little surprised.
However, unlike Carrie's simple surprise, Cindy's surprise was at the appearance of Philip.
"Oh my god, Philip!"
After all, Philip was also a student at Midtown High, and his sister was Jessica, whom Cindy also knew, so it was reasonable.
At this moment, Cindy looked at the somewhat dirty Philip and couldn't help but want to rush out: "Where have you been?
Do you know what happened to Jessica?"
Fortunately,
Carrie held Cindy back.
Cindy turned and looked at the serious-faced Carrie, blinking.
However, before Cindy could ask, Philip had already provided the answer.
"My sister was killed by this witch."
"..."
Cindy blinked, looking at Philip at the door, whose face was filled with anger as he pointed at Carrie.
Her mind was a little slow to process.
Carrie, however, heard Philip's words with no ripple in her heart.
After all, she already knew what kind of organization the Dolan Church was.
When it came to twisting facts and calling white black, there was no doubt that Zhao Gao would seem like a low-level player compared to them.
Cindy recovered and looked at Philip: "What nonsense are you talking about!"
For Cindy, believing whom was not a choice.
Calder tightened his grip on his crusader sword with his right hand, feeling its tremor, and stared at Carrie: "Do you know who I am?"
Cindy frowned and said, "Who are you?"
"I wasn't talking to you!"
"..."
Calder glanced at Cindy, and with a clang, the crusader sword in his hand pointed directly at Carrie: "Witch, do you know who I am?"
His name was renowned in the witch world.
Any witch who appeared before him would be mercilessly slain.
But!
Carrie looked bewildered: "Who are you?"
Is this the last crusader with a witch's heart that Locke spoke of?
Carrie's gaze fell on Calder's chest, feeling the heart beating within, locked with countless witch runes.
She was curious why a witch would share her life with Calder.
Calder, however, thought Carrie was trying to muddy the waters, and sneered like a domineering CEO: "Witch, you must tell me where the Dark Sovereign is!"
Cindy frowned, seemingly realizing something: "You are that damned Dolan... *buzz*!"
Before she could finish her sentence,
Cindy's eyes rolled back, and she fainted.
"Cindy!"
As Cindy fainted, she seemed to hear a cry of surprise from Carrie.
Carrie held Cindy and placed her on a chair.
Thud!
The door closed.
"You're looking for the Dark Sovereign?"
Carrie slowly turned, the purple glow of her accessories rotating in her hand.
The next second, the Dark Sovereign Syndra appeared, looking at Calder and Philip, whose expression held a deep, hidden fanaticism amidst his shock.
She glanced at Philip, curious, but then looked at Calder: "You're looking for the Dark Sovereign.
I am her."
The crusader sword in Calder's hand hummed!
Magic!
Powerful magic.
Calder's eyes narrowed slightly, and he roared, directly grabbing the crusader sword with both hands.
With a rumble, he swung the crusader sword at rocket-like speed: "Heretic, judge—"
"Boom!"
"Bang!"
Carrie opened her right hand, and a Dark Sphere shot out, directly hitting Calder, who had appeared before her, intending to cleave her in half.
Instantly,
Calder slammed into the wall with a thud, his face flushed, spitting out a mouthful of blood.
With a clatter, the crusader sword in his hand flew out and fell to the side.
Carrie slowly walked out from behind the bar, her boots tapping on the floor.
With a slight movement of her right hand, the crusader sword that had fallen to the ground instantly flew towards her.
"Buzz buzz buzz!"
The crusader sword vibrated incessantly in Carrie's hand, as if it had Parkinson's.
"Crack!"
Carrie squeezed her right hand slightly, and the crusader sword instantly shattered into dust.
"What?!"
Calder quickly got up from the floor, looking at the shattered crusader sword, his eyes filled with shock, and then at Carrie, who had changed dramatically: "Heresy... Ah!"
Before he could finish his words!
Calder's arms spread out to his sides, and then he was directly lifted into the air by Carrie's sharp gaze.
"That's all?"
Carrie looked at Calder, who couldn't even resist her gaze, and felt like laughing: "I have heard of you, a beast who relies on a witch's blessing and then repays kindness with enmity!"
He used a witch's power for immortality, yet he also used a witch's power to oppose witches.
Moreover, Carrie extended her right hand towards Calder's chest.
Ah!
Calder's expression instantly became ferocious.
Thump!
Thump!
Thump!
Carrie's right hand formed a claw, slowly rotating, as if she was pulling something out of thin air, slowly dragging it backward.
Calder's expression grew even more savage, and his howls became more mournful and grand.
But, outside the room, even standing at the doorway, no one could hear what was happening inside.
The next second,
Thump!
Calder slumped to the ground, limp as a dead dog.
Carrie looked at the extracted object.
The aura was very familiar.
"Supreme Witch!"
Carrie looked at the heart, which the witch had called a curse, but whose familiar aura grew stronger after being removed.
She became curious.
This was a heart that the Salem Supreme Witch had, before her death, called a curse but actually intended as a blessing.
It was life-linked and typically used by a Supreme Witch on her husband.
Carrie tilted her head, looking at Calder, who was sprawled on the floor, curled into a ball, his body rapidly shrinking and quickly aging as the power of time reasserted itself, having lost his heart.
She snorted with a laugh: "Using a witch's power to oppose us, huh, I'll take yours."
Calder clutched his chest tightly, struggling to look up.
In his eyes, the desire for survival appeared instinctively.
But after saying those words, Carrie no longer looked at Calder, but instead focused her gaze on the dumbfounded Philip.
The next second,
Thump!
Calder's face instantly turned ashen white.
A gust of wind blew past.
Instantly,
Weathered away!!!!
372. Cordelia: I am your Supreme Witch
Philip was dumbfounded by the scene before him, and at the same time, he didn't feel so great.
Is that it?
Philip looked at Carder, who was in a petrified state, a Carder who hadn't even been cool for five seconds, and couldn't help but swallow. Was this the Crusader Carder, who for hundreds of years had been said to treat witches like a butcher treats piglets or a farmer treats cabbages, cutting them down without any pressure, a name that made witches tremble in fear?
You must be kidding me.
How was this like a butcher or a farmer? This was clearly a piglet and a cabbage himself.
Philip felt a bit disheveled in the wind.
Actually, it was easy to understand.
After all, the difference in levels was right there. No matter how awesome Carder was, at the end of the day, he was just an ordinary person, at most, a slightly stronger ordinary person.
Even if the big shot behind him was God, what then?
Carrie also had a big shot protecting her.
And... the big shot behind Carrie was the endlessly powerful Locke. Frankly speaking, besides being a few years older than Locke, was there anything else worth mentioning about God in front of Locke?
Was he more handsome than Locke? Or did he have a better physique than Locke?
Judging from a glimpse, Jesus's appearance and physique weren't great, and it could also be inferred that God's appearance and physique were probably just so-so. Who knows, he might not even be as fair-skinned as Locke.
However!
After his moment of dishevelment, a hint of indescribable fanaticism flashed in Philip's eyes.
The next second.
The moment Philip saw Carrie's gaze fall upon him, he shivered, then, with a thud, he knelt on the floor, looking at Carrie with extreme fanaticism: "Adult Cindra, my mother is a witch, my sister is also a witch, and I also want to become a witch. That adult promised me that as long as I could help her resurrect, she would transform me into a witch and bless me. So, I have been lurking in the Doran Church since I was a child."
It was then that Carrie realized that Philip's fanaticism wasn't directed at her, but rather, at the pulsating heart in her hand.
But... after realizing this, it was Carrie's turn to feel a bit disheveled in the wind.
Locke was also equally disheveled in the wind.
"Ding!"
"Task completed: 'The Last Witch Hunter!'"
"Task Reward: 'Achievement Points * 20,000', 'Potential Points * 20,000'"
"Task Settlement: 'Achievement Points * 10,000', 'Potential Points * 10,000'"
"Status refreshed!"
"Achievement Points: 340,000!"
"Potential Points: 340,000!"
WTF?
Before, at most, I hadn't even exerted myself and the enemy had fallen. How come this time, I hadn't even seen the enemy's face and the enemy had already conceded?
Did I evolve?
No!
How did this guy end up with Carrie?
Locke looked at the halved task reward and settlement. Without a doubt, this was because Carder hadn't come to him to die, but had gone to Carrie to die instead.
What the heck...
Just then.
Locke's phone rang.
Answered!
Locke asked directly, "Carder came to you to die?"
Carrie blinked on the other end, "Yes."
Locke hummed, "Are you hurt?"
"No."
Carrie shook her head. Her magic was endless. Let alone one Carder, even a legion of Carders, she could easily defeat them with one hand.
However... Carrie glanced at Philip, whom she had knocked out, and said to Locke, "Things seem to have gotten a bit complicated. Perhaps you should come and see."
Locke raised an eyebrow.
Half an hour later.
Locke, wearing sunglasses, appeared in an abandoned warehouse in Queens.
"How's Betty?"
"I put Betty to sleep."
Carrie told Locke, "I also blocked her memory. When Betty wakes up, she'll just think she was too tired and fell asleep."
Locke nodded, then looked at Philip, who was slumped on the ground, and pointed, "What's going on?"
Carrie extended her right hand.
A heart, covered in witch runes and still pulsating, was taken out. Then, Carrie recounted everything she knew in detail.
Simply put.
It seemed... this Philip wasn't from the Doran Church, but rather, an undercover agent sent by the witches to the Doran Church. The most important point was that it seemed the Supreme Witch had sent him.
Carrie explained that after she had dealt with Carder, Philip immediately knelt before her and, like spilling beans, confessed everything. He had done all this to rescue the Supreme Witch, to burn his parents, and even the actions against Jessica Campbell's family were not initiated by him.
All of this was arranged by the thirty-sixth generation Doran.
And he, merely following the Supreme Witch's command, chose to obey all of it.
He was innocent!
"Wait..."
Locke interrupted Carrie, "Supreme Witch?"
Carrie nodded, "Yes, the witch who linked her life to Carder. She should, possibly, be the thirty-fifth Supreme Witch."
She had asked Cordelia.
The only Supreme Witch who fit the description of a dark witch and was killed by the Doran Church was the thirty-fifth one, a radical hawk-like Salem Supreme Witch who believed that only by demonstrating their world-destroying power would the Crusaders feel awe. As a result, she was accidentally backstabbed by her own subordinates and tragically died at the hands of the Doran Church.
It was precisely because of the death of the thirty-fifth Supreme Witch that, during the large-scale siege of Salem by the Crusaders, they were severely lacking in top-tier combat power, leading to the destruction of Salem.
Locke rubbed his chin.
Status switch!
Witch form!
Locke looked again at the floating, pulsating heart in Carrie's hand, his gaze falling on the dense Salem symbols covering the heart. Following the guidance of the runes, his gaze landed on the direction of the Salem dimension, and he smiled, "Interesting!"
But not interesting enough to trigger a quest.
Locke chuckled, and with a movement of his right hand, the pulsating heart in Carrie's hand directly disappeared into the void, then, with a whoosh, it entered the Salem dimension.
The matter of the Salem witches was Cordelia's story. Locke and Cordelia had previously made a three-chapter agreement. In a collaboration, the most important thing was to be trustworthy.
Soon.
Cordelia's figure appeared in the Salem dimension, her gaze falling on the heart full of Salem's aura.
"Supreme Witch!"
A hint of amazement flashed in Cordelia's eyes, "A Supreme Witch from before the Great Cataclysm."
Locke, in his Zero form, appeared beside Cordelia.
"Is there a difference?"
"Hmm."
Cordelia nodded, then shook her head, "Actually, there's no difference now. If we could find a Supreme Witch from before the Great Cataclysm, it could make Salem more stable."
But that was before.
Now?
The Salem dimension was under the protection of Locke's Land of Light dimension, not only running stably but also far superior to before, with an endless, inexhaustible supply of energy.
"However..."
Cordelia looked at Locke, "Although it's not needed now, a Supreme Witch from before the Great Cataclysm, her experience and magic, are still incredibly valuable."
"You want to resurrect her?"
"Can I?"
Locke chuckled, looking at Cordelia, "We are partners, Cordelia. I will not actively interfere in Salem's affairs. However, are you sure you can control her? This resurrected Supreme Witch from before the Great Cataclysm?"
After all, according to Cordelia, this Supreme Witch from before the Great Cataclysm was very radical.
Uh... similar to Magneto, but a failed Magneto.
No.
Magneto had also failed.
Cordelia chuckled, "No, I am the Supreme Witch of Salem now, as long as you don't want to change people."
Locke blinked.
This... Locke looked at Cordelia, a slight smile on his lips, "You are the Supreme Witch I chose, Cordelia. No one, no one, can make me choose to replace you."
Saying that.
Locke chuckled, looking at Cordelia, "I will find her body and give it to you, but it might take a little longer."
When he had just sent Gwen back, he happened to run into George, who was rushing out for overtime, as he was going upstairs.
The New York Police Department, operating at full capacity to give the public an explanation, had dug three feet deep into the Doran Church, and then found a company that had direct ties to, and even controlled, the Doran Church from behind the scenes.
George was leading a team to raid it.
Locke thought that if the original plot was correct, then at this time, the body of that Supreme Witch, like the bodies of other witches, was probably thrown into some underground cave.
Going to get it at this time would be a bit troublesome for George.
George had just returned from New Orleans and was already busy. Besides, public opinion was now focused on criticizing the Doran Church. Since it wasn't an urgent matter, there was no need to rush.
After this matter settles, and the Doran Church is completely nailed to the pillar of shame, and after the New York Police Department collects all the remains and arranges them, it wouldn't be too late to retrieve them after the fuss dies down.
Leaving the dimension.
Locke smiled and told Carrie about his conversation with Cordelia. After George's case was closed, he would let Carrie find the Supreme Witch's remains and give them to Cordelia when she had time.
Carrie nodded, "Okay."
Locke turned around.
Carrie was slightly startled, looking at Locke, who was about to leave, "Wait a moment."
Locke turned back to look at Carrie.
Carrie opened her mouth, pointed at Philip Campbell, who was slumped on the ground, and looked at Locke, "So, what about this guy?"
Locke: "..."
373. George's Big Score
Right.
Almost forgot.
Locke arched an eyebrow, glanced at the unconscious Philip sprawled on the floor, chuckled, and looked over at Carrie.
'Was he telling the truth or not?'
'…Half-and-half.'
Carrie answered plainly.
A normal human can't lie in front of a Witch.
For instance, Philip claimed The 36th Generation Dolan murdered his birth parents—that's a lie. The truth is Philip himself burned them alive.
The reason? Like the New Orleans Doran Church folk, his family carried Salem blood, but, being male, he could never become a Salem Witch.
So Philip set the fire that killed his mother and sister, and tossed in his father as well—once you've burned two, a third makes no real difference.
Afterward, The 36th Generation Dolan took interest in him, raised him under Dolan succession law, and had the Campbell family adopt him.
Later, after another 'favor,' Philip was introduced by The 36th Generation Dolan to Calder, and then recruited by the Fifth Supreme Witch.
The Fifth Supreme Witch promised that if, once he became Dolan, he helped resurrect her, she would turn him into a true magic-wielding Witch.
As for Jessica Campbell's car accident?
Philip, spooked by events in New Orleans, grew impatient and asked The 36th Generation Dolan to end the so-called Dolan Trial early.
Dark Sovereign Syndra had set her sights on the Doran Church; Philip feared that if he waited, her arrival in New York would doom his dream of becoming a Witch.
Haste made waste.
Philip never imagined that Carrie—his stepsister's classmate—was the legendary Dark Sovereign Syndra.
When he dropped to his knees moments ago, he'd rattled on about Jessica, blaming everything on The 36th Generation Dolan. The performance was so convincing almost anyone would have bought it.
Carrie didn't. She kept Philip alive only to ask Locke what to do next.
The matter now touched the Fifth Supreme Witch of Salem.
That was why Carrie had dragged him here.
Locke shook his head.
His tone was flat.
'Kill him.'
'All right.'
Locke watched Carrie nod and begin to form a dark orb, then raised an eyebrow. 'Hold on.'
Carrie looked at him, curious.
Locke studied Philip on the ground, an idea forming. 'Give George a "true lie" and be done with it.'
Close the case quickly.
If George stayed busy, Helen's anger might cool—and then where was the fun in that?
It would break tradition.
By tradition, every time George and Helen had a cold war, Helen wound up pregnant. Last January they fought; Andy Stacy was born by year's end.
Tradition must be upheld.
He looked forward to another baby sister for Gwen come this December.
Come to think of it, Locke decided, George had no reason to be mad. Sure, Locke had taken one daughter, but look—he'd given George two new ones, both his own flesh and blood. One for two: George came out way ahead.
With that happy thought, Locke smiled slightly, turned, and left the warehouse.
Carrie watched him go, then slammed the woven 'true lie' into the unconscious Philip Campbell on the floor.
Fine by her.
She smiled coldly. The spell wasn't offensive; it was mind-magic. Once Philip finished telling his 'true lie,' his brain would turn to mush.
Still want to be a Witch?
Keep dreaming.
Disgusting.
The image of Philip in a dress made Carrie shudder.
Too gross.
But… if it were Locke?
She blinked, then pictured Locke as a Witch—would the look be handsome or alluring? The scene was almost too perfect.
'Achoo!'
Back in the living room, Locke sneezed, rubbed his nose, and headed for the bar. He dismissed the clone that had driven home, downed the drink in one gulp. 'Feels like a lot of people are thinking about me lately.'
First someone out east while I was in New Orleans.
And now?
shit.
The big boss hasn't noticed me, has he? Planning to drop by for a nice little chat?
Locke blinked in surprise, looking toward Bleecker Street.
Night.
NYPD.
Bang!
George stepped out of the squad car and said grimly to Beckett, who was climbing out of the vehicle behind him, "Where's Ms. Casey?"
Beckett pointed at the brightly lit building. "Inside."
To be precise, Ms. Casey had spent the entire day at the NYPD. The Doran Church case was ugly; if it went wrong, she feared, women's groups would howl for her resignation.
The idea felt surreal—after all, Ms. Casey was a woman herself. Being ousted by her own gender would be a spectacular farce.
That was why the search warrant George and Beckett had requested for the Doran Group on Third Avenue had been approved so fast.
And the haul had been enormous.
Thinking of the hidden passage they'd found beneath Doran Group—and the carpet of bones inside—George frowned as he pushed open the conference-room door.
Inside, Ms. Casey and the Police Commissioner were already trading words, finalizing what would be announced at tomorrow morning's joint press conference.
George.
Ms. Casey looked up, greeted him, motioned him to a chair, and asked, "Did you bring them in?"
She'd just learned about the Witch tomb discovered beneath Doran Group.
George nodded. "Three got wind and left this afternoon; everyone else is on the way back."
Have you contacted the Federal Bureau of Investigation?
Their files on the three are already transmitted.
Good.
Not good.
Hmm?
George shook his head at Ms. Casey. "So far we only have evidence linking the case to the Doran Church, not the Doran Group itself."
Most important, they still hadn't found the missing Philip Campbell inside Doran Group.
Just then the conference-room door swung open.
Beckett stepped in. "George, we've found Philip."
George snapped to attention.
Where?
At the front door.
...
George rose and headed for the door. "What happened?"
Beckett glanced at Ms. Casey and the big boss, the NYPD Director, gave a quick smile in greeting, then caught up. "Someone just dumped him there."
Who?
Uh...
Beckett studied George's face. "Dark Sovereign."
George:...
In the interrogation room George studied Philip behind the glass and frowned.
What happened?
Well...
Ryan, seeing George and Beckett approach, handed over an evidence bag in answer to George's question.
George took it and looked.
notice of sin.
Philip Campbell.
Charges: burned his family at five, sold his soul at ten, murdered the entire Campbell family at sixteen.
Death sentence.
Dark Sovereign Syndra.
...
Beckett frowned. "If she's already pronounced the death sentence, why dump him on us—planning another raid on the station?"
George studied the notice, glanced at Philip, then at Beckett. "Obvious—she wants us to close the case."
Close the case?
Has she done that before?
George laughed and pushed open the interrogation-room door. "Have any of those people ever dealt with a Witch before?"
Before, it was called...
None of our business.
This time it's about witches—things will be different.
George felt sure he'd found the right lead: Dark Sovereign really was connected to that Witch Academyin New Orleans.
Call Kaup and have him pry information about Dark Sovereign from the Witch Academy. Once we have it, the Peerless Assassin—his old nemesis—won't be far behind.
He stepped inside.
Philip Campbell in the interrogation room looked up at George, then, as though a switch flipped, rattled off everything he'd done from age five onward—even spelling out every link between Doran Churchand Doran Group, everything George wanted.
He held nothing back.
Next morning, at dawn, Mayor Ms. Casey, the NYPD Director, and chief inspector George Stacy—none of whom had slept—held a press conference.
There was only one topic: to report on the chaos that had engulfed New York.
Below the podium, a swarm of female reporters fired questions, voices sharp with outrage.
374. This Isn't a Question of Faith
In the wave of the new era, there is no doubt that the female journalists who hold the high ground of public opinion are each and every one the first to awaken and master a series of ultimate skills, such as boxing techniques.
Now...
Persecuting witches?
Persecuting women?
Heh.
Is this the freaking Middle Ages? Moreover, this happened on Federal soil. If they didn't tear the Doran Church to shreds, the female journalists present felt they might as well find a block of tofu to bash their heads against.
Not to mention...
This was a top-tier trending news story.
The New Year had just begun, and such a top-tier trending story had surfaced. If they didn't milk this news for three to six months, again, the female journalists felt they might as well find a block of tofu to bash their heads against.
Sitting on the stage, Ms. Casey, the NYPD Director, and the Lead Agent from the Federal Bureau of Investigation looked at the dense crowd of media below and exchanged glances.
The number of journalists... was a bit too many.
Compared to the press conference held during the sensational Simpson wife-killing case back then, the number of journalists here made that look like child's play.
"Fortunately!"
Although Ms. Casey didn't quite understand why the number of journalists far exceeded expectations, it didn't stop her from feeling a sense of relief that she hadn't chosen to stand on the opposing side.
After all, this morning, a fugitive capitalist from the Dolan Group had called her, hoping she could help out a bit.
However, Ms. Casey didn't even pick up the phone.
Admittedly.
When Ms. Casey was campaigning for office, the Dolan Group had provided campaign donations. But now, Dolan was in a situation where everyone was pushing the falling wall. Moreover, with the notice of sin right before her eyes, Ms. Casey felt that unless she had lost her mind or didn't care about her future, she would never choose to stand with Dolan.
As for the donations Dolan gave?
As long as it was handled properly, that stuff wouldn't even count as a stain; it wouldn't affect Ms. Casey's future in D.C. at all.
Therefore!
Facing the journalists' questions, Ms. Casey didn't hide anything at all. She promised the journalists below that she would investigate the matter to the very end.
As for the NYPD side, the questions were focused on the case itself.
However... just as George had expected from the troublemaking media, all the media seemed very concerned about one question: whether Dolan could be hammered to death once they reached court.
The NYPD Director undoubtedly threw out the clues they currently possessed.
Including physical evidence and... witness testimony!
With a smile on his face, the Director faced the numerous journalists: "Under the full leadership and investigation of Police Superintendent George Stacy, the NYPD has secured physical evidence and a witness who can testify in court, Philip Campbell."
"What?"
"Philip?"
"The person who went missing?"
"He is..."
The Director spoke eloquently: "Philip Campbell was successfully arrested at 4:00 AM today by Senior Superintendent Stacy. During interrogation, Philip Campbell disclosed a series of inside details regarding the Doran Church and the Dolan Group. At the same time, he confessed how he and the Doran Church orchestrated the car accident on Route 74, as well as a family arson case involving an incident from over ten years ago."
The journalists below were dumbfounded upon hearing this.
The people in New Amsterdam Hospital were also looking at each other in shock!
Inside the high-end luxury VIP ward.
Gwen and Cindy watched the live news broadcast on TV, looking at each other in disbelief.
"Philip..."
"He's with the Doran Church?"
"I never heard Jessica mention it."
"Me neither."
The girls checked with each other and then couldn't help but blink, catching a key piece of information from the Director's words just now!
The car accident on Route 74... was a collaboration between Philip and the Doran Church?
"Oh!"
"shit!"
"No way."
Cindy snapped out of it, blurted out a curse, then covered her mouth. She looked at the unconscious Jessica lying on the bed in the master bedroom nearby, then lowered her voice toward Locke and the others sitting in the living room: "God, I didn't hear that wrong, did I? It was Philip..."
My goodness.
Cindy didn't even dare to continue; after all, it was too incredible and too hard to believe.
But... what did it say in the police report? And the word used just now was 'confession'!
The next second.
Cindy was almost fuming with rage: "Damn it, and he's not even Jessica's biological younger brother. Jessica was so good to him; how could he dare to do this? Is he crazy?"
How Jessica treated Philip was something everyone at school had witnessed.
Locke listened to Cindy's words, thought for a moment, and said calmly, "Religion is always fanatical."
Betty looked at Locke: "President, what he joined wasn't just any religion; Dolan has been defined as an illegal organization."
Locke looked at Betty: "Then it's even more fanatical, isn't it?"
Betty nodded: "That's true."
Gwen, listening to their conversation while watching Jessica lying on the bed in the master bedroom, looked worriedly at Cindy and Betty, who were denouncing Philip: "Everyone, the most important thing now is, if Jessica wakes up, how are we going to tell her about this?"
Cindy and Betty immediately fell silent, following Gwen's gaze to Jessica in the master bedroom.
Yeah.
How were they supposed to tell Jessica?
Say, 'Jessica, the reason your father, your mother, and your home are gone is entirely because you adopted a demon, and that demon caused your family's destruction'?
Jessica wouldn't be able to handle the shock.
"And..."
Gwen looked at everyone and pursed her lips: "I asked the teacher who teaches me psychology yesterday. I'm worried that when the car accident happened, Jessica might have already known about this, which is why she's unwilling to wake up—because she can't accept it."
"No way."
"Really?"
Cindy blinked: "Unwilling to accept it? Usually, wouldn't people just get selective amnesia? Why would she be unwilling to wake up?"
The others glanced at Cindy and said nothing.
After all... compared to actually becoming a vegetable, frankly speaking, amnesia would already be the best option.
Locke looked at Gwen: "Maybe you could try my suggestion."
Kill Jessica, then bring her back to life!
Simple and crude was the way to go.
Gwen gave Locke another eye-roll: "Your methods are never on the table. Besides, I had a video chat with Misty yesterday; there are risks involved in that."
Locke shrugged, looked around, and asked curiously, "Where's Sam?"
"He went back to get some clothes."
"Hmm?"
Kahn said, "Cindy and I were the first to arrive this morning. We happened to run into Mr. and Mrs. Jones, who were planning to go down to buy food; they told us."
Cindy added from the side, "Sam has been in the hospital for two days. The smell on him is quite strong. If he doesn't change his clothes, I reckon we'd all have to go outside to talk."
While they were talking...
The door was pushed open.
Mr. and Mrs. Jones, who had been living in another state, walked in from outside.
Gwen and Cindy exchanged a look and went to meet them: "Mrs. Jones, are the arrangements for Mrs. Campbell and Mr. Campbell settled?"
Right now, Jessica was lying unconscious in her hospital bed, while the Campbells were in the hospital morgue. Before yesterday, some of the procedures regarding the Campbells had been handled by Locke and Gwen.
Mrs. Jones, who looked quite similar to Mrs. Campbell, gave a forced smile and thanked Gwen, Locke, and the others. She then said to Gwen, "We've found a place. Originally, we wanted to find a priest, but when we just got back, we saw the press conference, so we canceled it."
After all, Dolan was doing things in the name of God.
From a certain perspective, God had to take the blame for this. the Campbells died because of God. If they were to find another priest, Mrs. Jones felt it would be a bit degrading.
However.
Even if Mrs. Jones wanted to find a priest, she probably wouldn't be able to find one. Since yesterday, it was conservatively estimated that twelve churches had been smashed to pieces.
To find a priest, one would probably have to go to the neighboring countryside of New Jersey to try their luck.
Didn't you see? Last night, the Pope in Europe couldn't sit still and made an emergency statement on behalf of God, saying that the Doran Church had absolutely no relationship with God.
Unfortunately... God doesn't work in the East. Similarly, in the Federation—at least in current New York—He doesn't work anymore either.
In a word.
Is this a freaking question of faith?
This is a freaking issue of men oppressing and suppressing women.
Gwen opened her mouth, expressed her sympathy, and then said, "Mrs. Jones, if there's anything we can help with, please don't hesitate to ask. Jessica is our classmate and one of our best friends."
Cindy, Betty, and Carrie nodded behind her as they met Mrs. Jones's gaze.
Locke and Kahn didn't nod.
However... their girlfriends had already spoken, and in a way, it signified that they had expressed their stance as well.
Mrs. Jones didn't stand on ceremony and looked at Gwen: "We do have a problem here."
Gwen said, "Please, go ahead, if it's something we can help with."
Mrs. Jones then said, "It's like this. I left New York a long time ago. I heard that the Manhattan Cemeteryhas been relocated?"
Gwen nodded: "Yes."
After saying that.
Gwen seemed to know what Mrs. Jones wanted help with. She glanced at Locke and then said to Mrs. Jones, "Locke and I can go to Green-Wood Cemetery this afternoon to make an appointment."
Mrs. Jones's eyes lit up: "That would be wonderful. Thank you so much, Gwen. My husband and I have an appointment for some business at City Hall this afternoon, but my sister and brother-in-law are waiting down there..."
Gwen interrupted with a smile, "It's fine, Mrs. Jones. We're Jessica's friends!"
375. Mephisto??
In New York, there's a golden saying:
Live on Fifth Avenue.
Breathe in Central Park.
And rest eternally in Green-Wood!
These three phrases, three places, encapsulate the lifelong pursuit of true New Yorkers.
Locke has already reached second base.
Stark Tower is on Fifth Avenue, with its balcony directly overlooking Central Park.
As for a home run?
Locke isn't interested, and he has little enthusiasm for baseball. Moreover, his pursuit is eternal life, so Green-Wood, and all that entails, will likely never be an option for him.
George, however, might have that opportunity.
Locke thought to himself.
Green-Wood Cemetery is known as the place where New York's history is buried. If you want to understand New York's history, coming here is enough. Since the 19th century, this cemetery, located in Brooklyn, has welcomed elites from all fields of New York industry, commerce, politics, and art. These individuals all chose to make this their final resting place.
It is hailed as New York's largest and most famous cemetery.
In fact, from the hills of Green-Wood, which resembles a city park, you can even overlook the urban landscapes of Brooklyn and Queens.
"So beautiful."
"..."
Locke withdrew his gaze from the nearby statue of George Clinton and looked at Gwen beside him. After a moment of silence, he said, "Gwen, although I'm not a believer, this is a cemetery, after all. We should show respect!"
Saying it's beautiful in a cemetery… well, it's not strictly wrong.
But it feels a bit strange.
Gwen rolled her eyes at Locke, then walked with him towards the cemetery management office nearby. As if remembering something, she teased, "Aren't you going to reserve a plot for yourself? Land here is already scarce. Who knows, in the future, if you want a detached one, you might not even get the chance."
In recent years, the available area of Green-Wood Cemetery has shrunk. In the nineties, people could still buy a detached plot, but now, unless you're extremely wealthy, it's very difficult to secure a spot in Green-Wood Cemetery.
Locke chuckled and looked at Gwen: "First, I'm not interested in staying in Green-Wood. I'm a Texan, remember? Our journey as Texans is to the stars and the sea. Besides, I have money. When the time comes, I can pay. I can offer a moving fee to the people in the spot I fancy and make them leave."
As he spoke.
Locke winked at Gwen: "Or, we could buy some land somewhere and, in the future, turn it into our family cemetery. What do you think?"
Gwen looked at the eager Locke, speechless: "I was just joking with you."
Locke shook his head: "No, I think it's a great idea!"
Gwen rolled her eyes: "I was wrong, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought up this topic."
Locke's mouth curved upwards: "I accept your apology."
Gwen: "..."
However… Locke rubbed his chin. Buying land to build a cemetery was a joke.
But… Locke looked around, blinking.
"What are you doing?"
"Buying land."
"...I already said I apologized."
"No."
Locke rubbed his chin, looked at Gwen, and said, "Tony Stark has his own manor, and Osborn seems to have one too. I think we should also consider buying some land and building our own manor."
Let's call it Broughton Manor!
By my calculations, the time seems about right.
Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither will a manor. If we start looking for land now, break ground next year, then in about three to five years, it should be completed.
After all, this is the Federation, not the East, there aren't as many laborers.
Gwen's mouth dropped open, then she shook her head: "New York? I'm afraid your savings might not be enough."
Locke shook his head: "New York is out of the question. We can consider Jersey City, right across the Hudson River from Manhattan."
New York is about to enter a new era; building a manor there now?
Locke wasn't crazy; he didn't want his manor to be built one moment, only for the Chitauri to arrive the next and blow it up.
He would be very angry.
So… it's one thing not to know, but knowing and still building a manor in New York, Locke felt like he was asking for trouble. But the Chitauri were poor, so even if he succeeded in getting compensation, they probably wouldn't have anything to give him.
Those few biological warships that needed their own crew for fuel?
What good are they?
Gwen looked at Locke's expression, slightly stunned: "My goodness, are you serious?"
Locke smiled and looked at Gwen: "Don't you want one?"
Gwen smiled slightly: "I do!"
Every girl dreams of a grand manor or castle.
Gwen was no exception.
However… Gwen pulled Locke towards the management office, which was now nearby: "Alright, maybe we can think about buying some land, using our joint account."
The Long Island house investment is still quite good.
It hasn't been long, and housing prices on Long Island have already risen. Gwen thinks that in another year or two, by 2008, it wouldn't be a big problem for prices to double.
Perhaps I should go find Pepper and learn about financial management, something Wall Street women all enjoy.
Gwen thought to herself.
Half an hour later.
Gwen used the thirty thousand dollars Mrs. Jones had given her when they arrived to get an access pass. After stepping out of the management office behind her, she called Jones.
After a while.
Gwen hung up the phone and said to Locke, "Let's go, we need to contact Mr. Breworth."
Breworth, full name William Breworth, is the… undertaker for Green-Wood Cemetery, and also a medical examiner for the NYPD, specifically for the Brooklyn area.
Locke nodded: "Is Mrs. Jones still at City Hall?"
Gwen hummed: "Yes."
"Didn't you call George? How is she still at City Hall?"
"Adoption procedures aren't that easy to change."
Gwen said as she and Locke walked towards William Breworth's office: "Even if Dad called City Hall, at most, it would only reduce the waiting time. They still need to verify all the information."
It's still the same point.
Right now, Jessica's situation is that if Mrs. Cord says to pull the plug, Mrs. Jones has no way to stop it, unless she obtains a court injunction.
After all, this is Jessica's own wish, and Mrs. Cord's priority is greater than Mrs. Jones's.
This is a bad situation.
Although Mrs. Cord wouldn't do such a thing, to avoid troubling her, this matter still needed to be rectified. If anything else happened to Jessica, Mrs. Cord would have to be present, which would be too much trouble for her.
Moreover… Mrs. Cord was also very willing to return this right to Mrs. Jones, who had rushed over immediately after landing, clearly very anxious about Jessica.
"I hope Jessica wakes up a little later."
"Hmm?"
Gwen glanced at Locke, her lips moved, signaling Locke to look in a certain direction.
Locke looked.
In sight!
Not far away, on the path leading to a church inside Green-Wood Cemetery, a stream of women, holding photographs of Jessica and the Campbell couple they had found from who knows where, were marching mightily towards the cemetery church.
Gwen folded her arms: "If Jessica wakes up and sees this, she won't be happy at all."
This was a carnival.
For the media, and for these protesters, it was exactly that.
Although these people's initial intentions might have been good, wanting to seek justice for Jessica's family and the owners of the countless witch skeletons discovered.
But… for the person directly involved, Jessica, this was definitely not a carnival.
Locke looked at Gwen, whose face was filled with worry for Jessica, and comforted her, "Don't worry, Jessica is very strong."
Gwen came back to herself and looked at Locke: "Do you really think so?"
Locke shrugged: "She's our friend, and we're all very strong, so we have to believe in her."
After all, according to the original plot, Jessica was tormented by Purple Man for a long time, almost turned into a weapon, but she still pulled through.
That's right.
Where is Purple Man?
Locke's eyebrows twitched as he suddenly thought of this question.
Also… Locke still hadn't figured it out. After all, according to the source of supernatural powers, if Purple Man truly existed in this world, where would his supernatural powers come from?
Mutation?
Mutation also needs to follow basic rules, and that basic rule is that all supernatural powers have a source.
For example, the source of the Salem witches' supernatural magical power is Salem, and now, Salem's power is also provided by Locke.
The Ancient One's supernatural power mainly comes from the Vishanti. Unfortunately, the Vishanti are not a substantial presence and cannot fully satisfy the Ancient One, so they can only watch as the Ancient One steals, snatches, and freeloads power from other dimensions, not daring to utter a single word. From a certain perspective, the Vishanti are very much like a cuckold?
In short.
Even the power of vampires can be traced back.
But mutation?
Where does that power come from?
Locke hadn't figured this out yet. After all, mutation is a different field, and there isn't much of a sample. Gwen is one, but besides evolving something that looks somewhat similar to a spider-sense, in all other respects, she's still an ordinary person.
"Hiss!"
"...What's wrong?"
Locke came back to his senses, looked to his side at Gwen, who had reached the doorway, and then his gaze fell on the transparent fuzz that had suddenly bristled on the back of Gwen's hand.
Gwen looked at the fuzz on her hand and blinked.
Just then.
The door there opened, and a small black man pushed it open and walked out, looking at Locke and Gwen standing at the entrance: "Can I help you?"
Locke looked at the half-open door of the room, raising an eyebrow.
It seemed… inside was hell!
376. Visiting Military
Cemetery!
Hell?
A perfect match... No, not at all.
Locke raised an eyebrow, feeling the hellish aura emanating from the half-open room, and narrowed his eyes.
Is it Mephisto himself?
No, that's not right.
Is Mephisto's aura really that weak?
Locke thought to himself, comparing it to the aura of the Ghost Rider he had on record.
It's older than the Ghost Rider's.
It's more ancient than the Ghost Rider's.
Uh... is it really Mephisto?
Just then.
A dark-skinned man, who looked quite spirited with bright, piercing eyes, and was impeccably dressed in a black suit, walked out of the room.
It wasn't Mephisto.
Locke looked at the dark-skinned man, who carried a faint scent of hell, and thought to himself that Mephisto was very casual about his choice of human skins, but a dark-skinned one was definitely not among his preferences.
Locke had heard this from the succubus who used to hang out with Chester back in the day.
One could say that all of Locke's essential knowledge about hell came from that succubus before she was completely drained by Chester.
What a pity.
Locke sighed inwardly, remembering the succubus who had been drained dry by Chester; frankly, he quite liked her.
"Who are you looking for?" The dark-skinned man, who was probably in his late forties or early fifties, couldn't really be called "little black."
Gwen snapped back to reality: "Hello, we're here to see Mr. William Burrows."
The dark-skinned man replied: "That's me."
Gwen handed the slip of paper she had just received from the administration to Burrows: "Mr. Burrows, hello, the administration sent us here to find..."
Burrows took the slip, glanced at it, and immediately looked up: "Where is it?"
"Huh?"
"Where is it parked?"
"New Amsterdam Hospital."
William Burrows handed the note back to Gwen and said: "Can it be tomorrow? My afternoon is fully booked."
Gwen nodded and then handed Mrs. Jones's business card to William Burrows: "Of course, this is the contact information."
The latter took it, then handed the business card to the dark-skinned man standing next to him.
The next second.
William Burrows' gaze turned to Locke: "You're quite peculiar, young man."
Locke looked at William Burrows, a smile playing on his lips: "You too."
Something that isn't a hellish creature, yet possesses a hellish aura, and an aura on par with the Ghost Rider, if that's not peculiar, then nothing is.
"Burrows, William Burrows!"
"Broughton, Locke Broughton."
Locke and William Burrows shook hands.
Gwen, standing nearby, couldn't help but twitch her eyelids, looking as if she wanted to speak but held back.
Their handshake was brief, a quick touch and release.
William Burrows' expression, as he looked at Locke, grew increasingly radiant, but he oddly didn't say a word, instead stating: "Excuse me, both of you, I need to leave now; if I'm any later, the gates of hell will close."
Locke smiled: "Please do, Mr. Burrows."
William Burrows nodded, then exchanged a few words with his assistant, before heading towards the van parked nearby. After a moment, the van started up like a struggling old ox, then drove away, heading out to retrieve the bodies to be brought back that afternoon.
"What just happened?"
After William Burrows left, Gwen couldn't hold back anymore and looked at Locke curiously: "You shook hands with Mr. William Burrows?"
The most important point was this.
Gwen looked at his right hand, which he had put directly back into his pocket without wiping it after the handshake, and her brow twitched. This was unscientific; when had Locke ever shaken hands with a dark-skinned person?
Moreover... he had done so before, but after shaking hands, he would immediately wipe and disinfect his right hand.
But this time?
Locke looked at Gwen, whose face showed infinite surprise, and a smile played on his lips: "Gwen, do you have racial prejudice?"
"Huh?"
Gwen came back to herself and blinked at Locke.
Locke's expression was serious: "Gwen, this is not right; we cannot discriminate."
Gwen blinked: "Me... discriminate?"
What's going on?
How did this suddenly turn back to me?
Gwen thought to herself, then, seeing the gradually curving arc on Locke's stern face, she rolled her eyes beautifully and waved her small pink fist: "What exactly happened?"
"You said I shook hands with him?"
"Yes, I know you."
"Ha."
Locke chuckled, put his hands in his pockets, and walked towards the nearby parking lot: "My habits haven't changed."
"..."
Is that an answer?
Gwen paused slightly, then chased after him, linking her arm through Locke's, trying to pull him and slow him down: "Then why did you shake hands with him? That doesn't fit your character."
Locke smiled: "My character has always been this way. He's not dark-skinned, so what's wrong with me shaking his hand?"
Gwen: "Not dark-skinned? Are you kidding me?"
Locke shook his head and looked at Gwen: "You're overthinking it, Gwen!"
Dimensional gods have no racial distinctions.
Only preferences.
After all, with a big enough forest, there are all kinds of birds; it's not surprising to have a few who prefer dark-skinned ones.
The William Burrows Gwen saw was dark-skinned.
But... what Locke saw was a dimensional god.
More precisely, a dimensional god who had lost his own dimension; simply put, a homeless person who had lost his home and was forced to wander outside.
Therefore, Locke would certainly not be willing to shake hands with a dark-skinned person.
But with a dimensional god...
Skin color isn't an issue, just like the soul merchant Locke saw in New Orleans. Others saw the external, while Locke directly conversed with their essence.
The most important point was this.
Even a fallen dimensional god still needed to be given basic respect.
It's like how capitalists only help capitalists and won't stand with the common folk; it's the same principle.
Moreover... Hell?
Locke opened the car door and got in, thinking about the power he had just captured and recorded. He smiled at Gwen, who was getting into the passenger seat, and started the car: "Back to the hospital?"
Gwen glanced at Locke, nodded, and then pondered what he had just said, so much so that she even forgot to consider why the fine hairs on the back of her hand had suddenly stood on end.
This trip wasn't bad.
However, he still didn't know whether this fallen dimensional god would be an enemy or a friend.
Locke thought to himself.
Back at the hospital.
After getting out of the car, Gwen got an answer.
"Locke."
"Hmm?"
After entering the elevator, Gwen looked at Locke: "Let's go see a therapist sometime."
Still sick!
Gwen thought to herself. Ever since she was kidnapped by the peerless assassin, Gwen had been worried about Locke's mental state. However, Locke had always maintained himself well, but recently, after returning from a trip to New Orleans, Gwen felt that Locke still needed to see a psychologist.
It was possible that the witch tragedy in New Orleans had stimulated Locke, causing him to suggest such a treatment method yesterday, and his unusual behavior today when seeing the dark-skinned man.
This is an illness!
Gwen looked at Locke with a serious expression: "I'll go with you."
Locke looked at Gwen, opened his mouth, and three mischievous question marks, one large and two small, popped up above his head.
Gwen smiled: "Consider it our first couples' therapy session?"
Locke raised an eyebrow.
Couples' therapy?
In his previous life, Locke had been very curious about this kind of thing from watching American TV shows.
However... this thing doesn't have a very good connotation.
Locke stroked his chin: "Gwen, this kind of thing is for couples who have problems."
Gwen nodded: "Yes, if you don't go, then we'll have problems."
Must go.
Can't delay any longer.
Gwen thought to herself.
Locke opened his mouth, looked at Gwen's very serious and earnest expression, and shrugged: "Alright, going for fun isn't bad either."
After all, he was quite curious about the process.
"Oh, right."
Stepping out of the elevator, Locke looked at Gwen: "Don't look for cheap ones; cheap things are never good!"
Perhaps this saying isn't accurate in the East, but in the Federation, the phrase "good quality and low price" doesn't exist. "You get what you pay for" is the main theme of the Federation.
The poor?
They don't even deserve to eat dirt.
Gwen chuckled at Locke's words: "Don't worry, I'll definitely find a high-end therapist who charges two thousand dollars an hour!"
Locke shrugged and stopped talking.
Back in the hospital room.
Cindy, Betty, and Carrie were playing cards over there.
Cain was sitting nearby, seemingly working.
As for Sam?
Sam was still in the master bedroom, holding the mummy Jessica's right hand, seemingly talking to her, trying to find a way to wake his sleeping beauty.
"Oh?"
After Gwen returned, she took off her coat and looked at the bouquets of flowers on the coffee table: "Have any classmates visited?"
Cindy turned to look at Gwen: "Yes, Helen Cho and the Wanda siblings were here."
"Did they leave?"
"They just left. Didn't you run into them?"
"No."
Gwen shook her head, placed the receipt and papers from the cemetery on the living room table, weighed them down with a cup, then glanced at Jessica and Sam in the master bedroom: "How is Jessica? Is she better?"
"Still a sleeping beauty."
"Alright."
Gwen said, not knowing whether to be disappointed or relieved: "When can Jessica's bandages be removed? Did they say?"
Cindy nodded.
However... just as Cindy was about to speak, there were two knocks on the door.
Cain, sitting closest to the door, went to open it, then froze: "Who are you looking for?"
Locke and the others turned to look.
What they saw.
Several soldiers in military uniforms walked in from outside, directly filing into the room...
377. Super Soldier Serum
"People from the military?"
Locke and the others looked curiously at the soldiers filing in.
Or rather... at the person who entered like an overlord after the rows of soldiers.
Thin cheeks.
A distinctive mustache!
He was known as the military's strongman, a legendary figure who, in the original plot, remained unscathed no matter what he did, dared to order troops into a university, dared to order tanks to shell a university, and was the first to oppose superheroes without any consequences.
There was no one else like him.
Thaddeus Ross!
Locke raised an eyebrow, looking at Thaddeus Ross who then walked in. His memory instantly pulled up information about Thaddeus Ross, and then he thought of a small detail about Jessica's car accident on Highway 74 this time.
Could it be that the military truck, the other party in Jessica's car accident, belonged to Thaddeus Ross?
For some reason, Locke suddenly felt very certain about this answer.
The reason?
In the military, apart from Thaddeus Ross, it seemed there weren't many prominent figures who enjoyed researching these strange liquids. Connecting this to the fact that Jessica likely mutated after this car accident, Locke was ninety percent sure of the answer.
Indeed.
"Where is Ms. Jessica Campbell now?"
"..."
A lieutenant colonel's assistant rustled, unfolding the documents in his hand, showed them, and then looked at everyone, seemingly searching for who was in charge here. Afterward, his gaze fell on Sam Malik, who had walked out of the bedroom upon hearing the commotion.
Sam Malik paused slightly, looking at the contents of the documents in his hand, then looked up: "What does this mean?"
The content of the document was very simple.
Transfer Jessica Campbell. The reason was related to the military truck, but it involved military secrets, so it wasn't written in the document.
If a reason was absolutely necessary?
Then... the lieutenant colonel's assistant smiled: "I'm doing this for your own good."
"..."
Sam glanced at the lieutenant colonel's assistant, then looked at Thaddeus Ross over there, remained silent for a while, and then spoke: "My name is Sam Malik, Malik from Washington D.C.!"
Thaddeus Ross's mustache twitched slightly as he looked at Sam, who had spoken.
"Gideon Malik?"
"Yes."
Sam nodded, seemingly recognizing Thaddeus Ross as well: "Do you need me to call my father to confirm, General Ross?"
"..."
Thaddeus Ross looked at Sam intently for a few moments, then seemed to recall something: "Gideon's youngest son, Stephanie's younger brother. I saw you at the Christmas dinner in '04, but why didn't you come back for Christmas dinner last year?"
"College Super Bowl."
Sam shrugged: "The season starts right after school, I need to practice. General Ross, could you please tell me what's going on?"
Thaddeus Ross smiled, turned around, and looked out the door: "Ms. Malik?"
"Hmm?"
Sam was slightly startled, hearing General Thaddeus Ross's words. Then, he looked at the woman who walked in from outside, who had just appeared not long ago, with long legs and a pleasant scent: "Sis?"
Locke, next to him, watched Stephanie Malik walk in with interest.
His heart was calm.
After all, ever since Stephanie Malik arrived in New York yesterday, Locke had felt it was unlikely she was here for no reason. Now, it was merely proof of his conjecture.
But... when did Malik and Ross get involved?
What's the situation?
"Ding!"
"Task generating!"
"Task Name: The Birth of Jewel!"
"Task Category: Scientific Research!"
"Task Rewards: Achievement Points * 2W, Potential Points * 2W"
"Task Details: Witness the birth of Jewel."
"Task Notes: Your curiosity is the system's motivation for issuing tasks, dear!"
Locke raised an eyebrow.
Just then.
The Jones couple, who hadn't rested for more than an hour since landing and looked very tired, also rushed back from City Hall. Then, seeing the several military soldiers in the ward, they were also stunned.
After a while.
Mrs. Jones covered her mouth, looked at Jessica, who was wrapped like a mummy in the bedroom, and then looked at Stephanie, who had just given them a scientific explanation, and said in disbelief: "Are you saying Jessica is still in danger?"
In the Highway 74 car accident two days ago, the other party involved, the military vehicle, was loaded with chemically radioactive agents.
However, it's quite normal for the military to always be tinkering with strange things.
But.
What was abnormal was Jessica.
The lieutenant colonel's assistant saw that his boss didn't seem to care about exposing the secret and directly told Locke and the others present: "The chemical reagent loaded in the overturned military truck at the time was called 'G-Reagent'!".
"G-Reagent?"
"What is that?"
As the undisputed top student among them, Gwen frowned and spoke, looking at the lieutenant colonel's assistant: "Super Soldier Serum?"
Thaddeus Ross and Stephanie Malik looked at Gwen curiously.
"You know?"
"This is chemistry!"
"..."
Gwen's major was biochemistry, and she was also a part-time assistant in Dr. Connors' lab at Oscorp Biological Industries. As someone in the relevant field, Gwen was naturally not unfamiliar with G-Reagent.
During World War II, the raw material for the Super Soldier Serum, developed by German scientist Abraham Erskine, which could greatly enhance human physical and mental limits, was this so-called extracted G-Reagent.
However... only one person was successfully transformed by the Super Soldier Serum.
Steve Rogers.
Captain America.
It was as if Abraham Erskine and his Super Soldier Serum existed for only one purpose: to help Steve Rogers become a Super Soldier. Ever since Steve Rogers became a Super Soldier, Abraham Erskine also died at lightning speed, and from then on, the Super Soldier Serum became a lost art.
For years, countless military and civilian organizations have tried to replicate the Super Soldier Serum, and it's not a new endeavor.
But... no one has succeeded.
And the price of G-Reagent, the raw material for the Super Soldier Serum, has always been prohibitively high. Only the military could afford to transport it by the truckload.
For other organizations, buying even 100ML would be enough to sting for a year.
However... Gwen frowned and shook her head: "What does this have to do with Jessica, who has now recovered but hasn't woken up?"
Thaddeus Ross and Stephanie Malik exchanged glances.
If it were an ordinary person, why would the military need to say so much nonsense to take someone away?
But still, the same old saying.
Among those present, how many were ordinary people?
Locke, a billionaire, where money buys everything, not to mention Locke had sued the FBI and Homeland Security, and even violently beat up MI6 and MI5 agents on federal land. It could be said that ninety percent of Locke's billionaire status was contributed by London.
Even the military, which challenged everything, was somewhat intimidated when facing Locke, who was ready to call his lawyer at the slightest disagreement.
After all... the military's reputation among the public was already somewhat unfavorable. If it weren't for excellent salaries and generous benefits, it's estimated that the military wouldn't even be able to recruit enough soldiers.
Even so.
They still needed to open recruitment offices across the federation and intensify their efforts to entice a continuous stream of new soldiers to join the military.
Gwen, of course, goes without saying.
This is New York, and Gwen's father, George Stacy, is a senior police captain in the NYPD. In the federation, George's words might not carry much weight, but in the New York area, George was the boss.
Not to mention Sam Malik was also present.
Just Sam alone, if they wanted to forcibly take Jessica away, it would probably be impossible.
Therefore.
Thaddeus Ross, sitting on the sofa, nodded to his assistant.
The lieutenant colonel's assistant then looked at everyone and stated: "Ms. Jessica Campbell is the only one whose life form is temporarily stable after exposure to G-Reagent."
As soon as the words were spoken, everyone was stunned once again.
"The only one?"
"What does that mean?"
"Wait?"
Sam was slightly startled, catching a keyword in the statement. He looked at his sister, Stephanie Malik, and said in a deep voice: "What do you mean by 'temporarily stable'?"
Stephanie Malik glanced at Locke and the others, thought for a moment, then looked at Sam: "In the past year, due to improper handling, experimental subjects who were exposed to undiluted G-Reagent, even if only partially, suffered irreversible damage and lost their lives. The longest-surviving one lasted seventy-two hours before passing away."
Sam's face instantly dropped as he looked towards the bedroom, feeling completely unwell.
"Jessica, she..."
"No."
Stephanie Malik immediately shook her head when she saw his reaction: "Jessica is fine."
Sam turned his head and looked back at Stephanie Malik.
Stephanie pursed her lips and said, "This is why we need to transfer Jessica. Jessica is the only patient who has been extensively exposed to G-reagent and, so far, has not shown any life-threatening conditions."
Sam understood.
"You want to use Jessica as a test subject?"
Sam said this, standing up directly: "I disagree!"
The Jones couple looked at Sam, who was more anxious than them, and understanding the relationship between Sam and Jessica, they also looked at Stephanie: "Sorry, I..."
Stephanie smiled at Sam: "The military has the most complete response to G-reagent. Can you guarantee that Jessica's current state is a safe one?"
Sam: "..."
The Jones couple: "..."
378 Bourbon Locke
A week later, at Green-Wood Cemetery.
Amidst the light drizzle, two coffins were successfully lowered. Locke and Gwen followed the crowd around the grave, then walked over to the side with Cindy and other classmates.
There was no priest, no prayers, only a few close friends of the Campbells speaking about the couple they knew. Given the events in New York City during this time and the Campbells' fate, even a prayer for the Campbells to go to heaven was omitted.
After all... God would have to take the blame for this one.
Also.
"That damn Philip, he got off too easy."
Cindy, with her arms crossed, took a sip and gritted her teeth: "That guy should be locked up in prison until he's old, the kind who never gets parole."
"Wouldn't the electric chair be better then?"
"The electric chair won't do, it's too easy for him."
"It's too easy for him now too."
"Yeah."
Several classmates chattered, the reason being that yesterday, when the District Attorney's office was fast-tracking Dolan's case, after Philip testified in court, he suddenly died in the holding cell, bleeding from all seven orifices and in great pain. After forensic examination, it was determined that he died from massive hemorrhage caused by heart failure.
In the past, the media would probably have been speculating wildly about Philip's cause of death.
But this time, they were surprisingly silent, their focus still squarely on the Dolan Church. Now that a day had passed, they directly aimed their criticism at the jury, whose results were not yet out, lambasting them and declaring that several male jurors were God's lackeys.
This was a scene that was previously unimaginable.
And now.
Just as the funeral was being held, word got out that the jury could no longer withstand the public pressure from last night. They seemed to have reached a consensus, and even the high-paid lawyers hired by the Dolan Group members who hadn't managed to escape in time had advised their clients to just give up.
"I wonder if the results are out yet."
"They're out."
Kahn, holding his phone and looking at the message from a classmate stationed at the courthouse, told Cindy and the others: "The jury unanimously agreed to all thirteen charges brought by the District Attorney, and they also added a civil compensation claim, demanding that the Dolan Group pay Jessica Campbell five point eight five million US dollars, including medical expenses."
"Shit, no way."
"Vlassy just sent it over from the courthouse."
"Why did he go there?"
"He's an intern reporter for the Daily Bugle now."
"Alright."
Gwen and Cindy looked at each other, then nodded: "This result, for Jessica, should be, well, acceptable."
After all, the dead cannot be brought back to life.
The living still have to look forward. To receive five point eight million US dollars in compensation, from a certain perspective, while it cannot replace the Campbells, it can at least somewhat alleviate the regret of the Campbells no longer being able to be with Jessica.
However... Cindy frowned: "Does the Dolan Group have the ability to pay this compensation?"
After all, the Dolan Group's stock price had already fallen to less than the price of toilet paper, and three of their true executives had already fled the country. The judgment was made, but whether they could pay was another matter entirely.
This was different from the nature of Locke's compensation.
Ultimately, from beginning to end, the four departments that paid Locke's compensation still wanted to save face, and none of them wanted to blow things out of proportion, so they paid the compensation cleanly and quickly.
But... the Dolan Group?
They had already lost all face. If there was no money on their books, it would be very difficult.
Sam Malik walked over from a short distance with Mr. and Mrs. Jones. Hearing Cindy's worried words, he said in a deep voice: "Don't worry, they will pay!"
Cindy looked at Sam and nodded: "That's good then."
Since Sam said so, it was good. After all, collecting debts was a skill. If Malik got involved, Jessica's compensation would definitely not be defaulted on.
Kahn looked at Sam: "Sam, can't we go see Jessica yet?"
Cindy snapped back to reality: "Oh right, can we go see Jessica?"
A week ago, after Thaddeus Ross and Stephanie Malik from the military visited, although their words were somewhat alarmist, it was a fact that Jessica was still in a coma. So, Mr. and Mrs. Jones, under General Ross's promise that they could visit Jessica twenty-four hours a day, chose to let the military take over Jessica's treatment and rehabilitation.
However... Mr. and Mrs. Jones could visit Jessica twenty-four hours a day, and Sam could too, but Locke and the others could not.
After all, it was a military base, not a place where ordinary civilians could enter and exit freely.
Sam gave Cindy and Kahn an apologetic look: "I tried, but the people over there wouldn't agree. However, I'll keep you updated on Jessica's condition."
Cindy said "Alright" with some disappointment.
A little while later.
As the funeral drew to a close, people began to leave.
"Hmm?"
"What's wrong?"
Locke averted his gaze from the disheveled dimensional god standing in the distance at Green-Wood Cemetery, who had been watching him, and smiled at Gwen: "Mr. Nameless just sent a message."
Gwen's eyes lit up. After getting into the car, she looked at Locke: "Really? Is it possible?"
Locke said: "Of course, but should we wait for Sam and Mr. and Mrs. Jones?"
Ordinary civilians naturally couldn't enter a military base.
But was Locke an ordinary civilian?
Without a doubt, he was not. He also had the identity of an unofficial special probationary agent for Langley. It was well known that Langley and the military always had a close working relationship.
Their cooperation overseas could be described as seamless, working hand in glove... bah!
It was seamless!
However... Locke started the car and drove towards New Jersey, looking curiously at Gwen: "Didn't you dislike me getting too close to Langley?"
In order to obtain this permission, to go to the military base through proper channels, as Nameless put it, he pulled a lot of strings to add Locke's name to Langley's agent database, even though Locke hadn't officially joined Langley yet.
From a certain perspective.
Although Locke was still a probationary special unofficial agent, when he went to Langley, he would be a formal agent.
Codename... "Bourbon?"
After a black-suited man with no expression handed Locke a bag through the window, and the car was back on the road, Gwen opened the bag, looked at the ID with the Langley headquarters logo, saw the name on it, blinked, and looked at Locke: "Isn't this codename a bit too casual?"
Locke smiled: "Is it as casual as MI6's 007?"
Gwen shook her head: "No, it's not."
007, it sounded like it was mass-produced on an assembly line.
Bourbon?
Gwen blinked and chuckled: "You're right, comparing them, your codename sounds much better than 007."
At least it didn't give off a cheap feeling.
Locke shook his head: "To get in, I've taken another step closer to Langley."
Gwen smiled: "Locke, we're doing this for a friend. Don't worry, I understand you."
Locke laughed heartily.
Actually, although Nameless said it was a bit difficult to get Locke an ID, Locke could feel that Nameless was eager to get him one. After all, Clyde Sheldon had a very high opinion of him.
If Locke wasn't currently unwilling to work for Langley, and if he were to go to Quantico for training, he would undoubtedly be the top student in overall performance.
Vroom!
The roar quickly faded. After passing through a tree-lined road, the gate of the military base came into view.
"Stop!"
A soldier at the gate stopped Locke: "ID."
Locke handed over his Langley ID: "Looking for Mandy."
Mandy was probably also a fake name, just as mentioned above, an official and operational liaison for Langley stationed with the military, who cooperated with the military.
The soldier looked at the ID in his hand, then at Locke's appearance.
"Wait a moment!"
"Okay."
Locke nodded at the soldier, watched him walk through the gate, then spoke to another soldier nearby, pointing in Locke's direction.
"What are they doing?"
"Maybe they've never seen such a handsome Langley agent before."
"..."
Gwen opened her mouth, then, considering the occasion, gave Locke a roll of her eyes: "Maybe they think your ID is fake."
Locke chuckled.
Five minutes later.
A woman in a business suit with curly hair walked out from inside the base, then took the ID from the soldier at the gate. Her gaze finally landed on the Audi parked at the entrance. She nodded to the soldier, then walked over.
"Bourbon?"
Mandy approached the Audi, looked at Locke who had gotten out of the driver's seat, chuckled, and handed the ID back to Locke: "Or should I call you Locke Broughton?"
Locke smiled: "Am I famous?"
Mandy nodded: "Is there anyone near New York City who doesn't know you? And, in intelligence work, it's necessary to know about prominent figures. I just didn't expect Bourbon to be you."
Locke shrugged: "Then can you tell me your real name?"
Mandy smiled, indicating refusal: "I can't do that."
Locke also smiled, pointing towards the base: "Can we go in now?"
Mandy nodded: "Of course. May I ask about the person in your passenger seat..."
"My assistant!"
"..."
Mandy looked at Locke, who clearly had no intention of elaborating, pursed her lips, and shrugged: "Alright, you call the shots, Agent Bourbon. Come on in, I'll have them let you through."
Locke smiled his thanks...
Three Hundred and Seventy-Nine, Bruce Hulk Banner
In fact, Locke wasn't wrong.
Gwen was originally his assistant. During their time at school, she basically handled all the student council affairs as the president's assistant.
Even… "You even helped with my taxes."
After Locke got back in the car, he looked at Gwen, who was also blinking her big eyes, and said with a smile, "So, you are indeed my assistant, aren't you?"
Gwen thought for a moment, nodded, and then looked at Locke, "I'm not Pepper."
Locke's lips curved upwards, "And I'm not Stark!"
See!
It wasn't just him who noticed; even Gwen and Cindy had seen through it, understanding the story between Pepper and Stark. Yet, the person involved—no, only one of the people involved—either genuinely hadn't noticed or was pretending not to.
After the Poseidon incident, he seemed to behave for half a year, but then he went back to doing as he pleased.
He needed a reality check from society.
A moment later.
After Locke and Gwen got out of the car, Mandy handed Locke two visitor passes, then looked at the base's medical building in the distance and smiled, "Do you need me to accompany you?"
Gwen called out Locke's name and pointed behind them.
Sam and the Joneses had just arrived there.
Locke turned his head, thanked Mandy, and then said, "No, thank you. I appreciate it."
Mandy nodded, "You're welcome. It was a pleasure meeting you, Agent Bourbon. I hope we get a chance to work together."
Locke smiled and shook Mandy's hand, "Me too."
With that.
Mandy turned and left without any hesitation.
There wasn't much emotion between killers, and the same could be said for agents. Hence, there were rarely husband-and-wife agent or killer teams.
Of course.
It was just rare, not entirely absent. The Mr. and Mrs. Smith they saw at the amusement park were a genuine husband-and-wife killer team, though neither knew about the other.
There were also those who knew each other, like the agent under Mr. Nobody.
"Huh?"
"Locke?"
"Gwen?"
Sam, who was a step behind Locke and had arrived here after the funeral with the Joneses, heard the voices after getting out of the car. He turned to look, then blinked, seemingly in disbelief, as he watched Locke and Gwen approach. "How did you two get in here?"
Gwen smiled, "It was pretty simple."
Sam was slightly stunned, then seemed to realize something. "Did Superintendent Stacy make arrangements?"
Locke chuckled.
Gwen smiled, "Something like that. Alright, let's go. Where's Jessica?"
Locke's CIA status was a secret, and Gwen felt that the fewer people who knew, the better.
Sam came back to his senses, looked at Locke curiously, and, hearing Gwen's words, pointed to the medical building in front of them, "She's inside. I'll take you."
Before long.
Everyone was in a very futuristic-looking lab, where they saw Jessica lying on a table through a window, undergoing examination by advanced equipment.
Upon seeing her.
"Jessica's bandages…"
"They were removed today."
Sam said from beside them, "Now we just need to do some checks to confirm everything."
Gwen nodded and looked around. "Where's the doctor?"
"There is no doctor."
"…"
Locke and the others looked at the seemingly refined man with glasses who had interjected.
"Only a doctor."
The man walked over, looked at Gwen, and extended his right hand, "Bruce Banner. Nice to meet you again, Ms. Stacy."
Green Hulk?
Locke looked at the suddenly appearing Bruce "Hulk" Banner, raising an eyebrow internally. He assessed him, confirming that this was an ordinary person who hadn't yet given birth to the Hulk.
Wait.
No.
Locke came back to his senses and looked at Gwen, "You know him?"
Gwen smiled, shook Bruce Banner's hand, said a few words, and then turned to Locke, "Last year, Bruce Banner visited our lab. Bruce Banner and Dr. Connors are good friends. Dr. Connors once said that Dr. Banner's achievements in biology are no less than his own. Moreover, Dr. Banner is a world-class physicist and biologist, and he holds six doctorates…"
"Seven!"
Bruce Banner pushed up his glasses, his eyes gleaming with intelligence, and smiled, "It's seven now. I just added one this Christmas."
Gwen recovered and congratulated Bruce Banner.
Seven?
How many did Tony Stark have?
Four, right?
Locke thought for a moment and decided to stick to his plan of five doctorates. Five was enough. His journey was to the stars and the sea; too many doctorates would be useless. After all, in the universe, it was fists that did the talking.
Sam, meanwhile, quietly pulled Locke aside.
Locke looked at Sam suspiciously, "What's up?"
Sam glanced at Gwen and Bruce Banner, who had immediately started chatting, and said to Locke, "Locke, later, can you ask Gwen to talk to Bruce Banner and try to get me the research results for Jessica?"
Locke looked at him curiously, "You don't know them?"
Sam was silent for a moment, "Locke, while I'm not a bad student, not all brilliant academics are as easygoing as you and Gwen, willing to be friends with us."
Locke raised an eyebrow.
He understood.
Sam had been looked down upon by Bruce Banner.
After all, a brilliant academic with seven doctorates probably looked at everyone else like they were idiots. If it were Sheldon from California, he'd probably just ignore them completely.
Huh.
Could this be why, after Bruce Banner became the Hulk, no one helped him or spoke up for him?
Locke had always been puzzled by one thing.
Before Bruce Banner turned into the Green Hulk, he was, after all, a military scientist. Why, after he became the Green Hulk, did none of his military friends or acquaintances help him? Normally, any normal person would have at least a few close friends who knew them well.
Locke had them too.
Chester was one.
But in the original plot, it seemed the only one willing to help Bruce Banner wasn't from the military, but from New York University, giving the impression that he was an enemy of the world.
So, this was the reason?
Because Bruce Banner seemed to look at his colleagues as if they were idiots, which is why, after his transformation, not a single colleague came forward to speak up for him?
Locke thought to himself, then nodded, "Alright, but I think even if Gwen says something, it won't make a difference."
Sam smiled, "Let's try. Or Gwen could help me understand those experimental data and such. I don't understand it, and every time Dr. Banner explains, I feel like the way he looks at me is similar to how I look at monkeys in a zoo."
That feeling was terrible.
But Sam still forced himself to go every time.
Locke chuckled and said, "Don't worry, I will."
Even if Sam didn't say anything, Locke would still go and ask.
After all… there was a mission.
To witness the birth of Jewel.
Not to mention, Locke was quite curious about the source of these mutated abilities. It was still the same old saying: extraordinary abilities couldn't come out of nowhere; they could all be traced back to a source.
"Supervisor!"
Two women in white lab coats in Jessica's sterile lab were ready, speaking into their walkie-talkies to Bruce Banner, who was asking Gwen about Dr. Connors' latest experimental progress, "All data is normal."
Bruce Banner nodded, said to begin, and then turned to Gwen, "Ms. Stacy, would you like to come to my office and sit for a bit?"
After all, they were about to undress Jessica inside, and it would definitely be inappropriate to watch from here.
Gwen turned to look at Locke, then smiled, "That would be wonderful. I actually have a few questions I'd like to ask you."
Bruce Banner chuckled and pointed to the elevator, "Let's go."
Just then.
Ding!
The elevator doors opened.
A woman stepped out of the elevator.
"Oh?"
Betty Ross, wearing a white lab coat, saw Bruce Banner, who seemed about to leave. She was about to speak when she saw Locke and Gwen for the first time today. "Bruce, who are these two…?"
Bruce Banner then introduced Gwen Stacy to Betty Ross, "Betty, this is Stacy, Gwen Stacy, Dr. Connors' assistant, a future scientist with great potential in the fields of biology and chemistry."
Gwen smiled and shook Betty Ross's hand, "Hello, I still have a lot to learn."
Betty Ross also smiled, then looked at Locke, "I know you."
Locke shrugged.
It was normal; he was a celebrity, after all.
"Broughton, Locke Broughton!"
"Right."
Betty Ross smiled and shook Locke's hand, "My mom even said she wanted to come and see you sometime."
Locke raised an eyebrow.
Betty Ross's mother… hadn't the original plot stated that Betty Ross lost her mother at a young age?
Betty Ross didn't know what Locke was thinking. She smiled and said, "My mom and Lorraine are good friends. I have several photos of them at home if you need them…"
Locke interrupted directly, "No need."
Betty Ross was slightly startled.
Locke smiled faintly and said, "Lorraine and I aren't close, really. I'm an orphan."
What kind of joke was that?
To this day, he still hadn't figured out what the hell Lorraine's delayed twelve-year delivery item was.
Again?
Dream on.
Locke stated that he didn't want to hear any more news about Lorraine.
She was like a lingering ghost…