Chapter 31 Good News
After Sloan realized that the other party had the ability to manipulate minds, he sighed slowly and said a name, "Justin Hammer."
Logan raised his eyebrows; this answer was not unexpected.
This guy had always been displeased with Tony, wanting to compete in everything. It was obvious that this time's Iron Man incident had stimulated him, causing him to choose this method.
Even things that wouldn't have happened in the original trajectory were nothing strange in this World.
A stitched World, naturally, had huge variables.
After obtaining the news he wanted, Logan didn't plan to let these people go either. He activated his Magnetic Field Manipulation ability to control sharp metal, killing everyone including Sloan instantly, with movements so fast it was almost in the blink of an eye.
Except for Fox who was still in the Dodge Viper.
Having done all this, he stood up and came to the place where the loom of fate was kept.
Having watched this movie, he was very clear that this loom of fate could indeed weave names. But ever since the names of all Brotherhood members including Sloanappeared, Sloan chose to conceal it and used his identity as a decrypter to tamper with the loom of fate's instructions for his own profit.
He couldn't understand the binary code on the loom of fate, nor could he figure out how this thing worked. He would just leave these matters for Tony to have a headache over.
Therefore, he dialed Tony's phone and asked him to come to his address to move the loom of fate and the regeneration serum back.
Then, he sat in the driver's seat of Fox's Dodge Viper, driving and bringing the unconscious Fox back to his home.
When Fox woke up, it was already three hours later.
When she realized this was an unfamiliar place, she rolled over and reached towards the back of her waist. After touching empty air, she reacted and realized her weapon should have been taken away.
Thus, she no longer tensed her body and slowly relaxed.
Her mentality wasn't bad; since the other party didn't kill her, it meant she was useful. Anyway, she would just take it one step at a time.
When Logan walked in carrying a food tray, he found that Fox was doing a yoga meditation pose. He grinned, "Gotta hand it to you, you really have a big heart."
Fox glanced at the food on the tray, a faint smile appearing on her face, "Since there's no way to resist, it's better to choose submission; perhaps it'll save me some suffering."
"Alright, quite transparent." Logan put down the tray, moved a chair in front of her, and sat down with his arms crossed, asking leisurely, "What are your plans for the future?"
The hand cutting the steak paused for a moment, and Foxsaid nonchalantly, "I'm your prisoner, isn't whatever happens up to you to decide?"
Logan nodded, "Those companions of yours including Sloan have been dealt with by me. As for you, I haven't decided how to handle you yet."
Fox put down the knife and fork, wiped her mouth, and sneered, "Then you might as well deal with me together."
"Finally losing your temper? I thought you didn't have one." Logan wore a bantering expression, "I couldn't tell you had such a strong sense of belonging to the Brotherhood. Then, what if I tell you that the orders you executed didn't come from the loom of fate, but from Sloan himself?"
Fox's pupils constricted, and she blurted out, "Impossible!"
"Why do you think it's impossible? You seem to never doubt the authenticity of the missions? Haven't you done post-incident investigations? Do you really know why Cross betrayed your organization?" Saying this, Logan took out the detailed personal dossier of Wesley, "Do you know who he is?"
A series of questions made Fox's head spin a bit, and she asked instinctively, "Who is he?"
"Cross's son." Logan wore a mocking expression, "Understand now? Sloan just wanted to watch a good show of father and son killing each other."
Fox fell silent, her complexion turning pale.
Logan's words were equivalent to completely overthrowing her past beliefs and faith. Everything she had done would become completely meaningless, and she had even become an accomplice aiding an evildoer.
After a while, a disheartened Fox said dejectedly, "Kill me."
"You can't take this already?" Logan looked surprised, "What on earth is life to you? Choosing to escape at the first sign of a problem instead of solving or making up for it, is this how you do things?"
"Then what do you want me to do?" Fox looked down at her slender yet calloused hands, "I thought what I brought was salvation, and only now do I realize what I brought was only slaughter."
"Since you believe in the path of salvation, then continue to believe in it. It's just that no one will assign you tasks in the future. Use your own hands to do what you want to do, and use your own feet to walk your own path. Isn't a life like this much more meaningful than before?"
Logan's words made Fox feel as if she had grasped a straw of hope after her faith collapsed, finding the motivation to live on, and she picked up the knife and fork again.
Watching her wolfing down the food, Logan smiled and lit a cigar.
He definitely didn't do this because she looked like Angelina Jolie, absolutely not!
The next day, Logan was awakened by Tony's phone call. He answered it drowsily, "Hello?"
"Logan, come over quickly, there's good news to tell you."
"Pal, you can tell me right now so I don't have to get up."
"Hey, listen to me, this news is definitely worth your trip, okay? I am definitely not joking!"
Logan smacked his lips helplessly. Even knowing this guy was deliberately trying to toss him around, he was really curious about what the surprise in the other party's mouth was, so he could only get up impatiently.
"Why not sleep a little longer?"
Inside the quilt, a naked Fox asked in a daze.
"The boss is calling. You watch Ares at home, I'll go and be right back."
After packing up, Logan rode a modified harley straight in the direction of Stark Tower, still yawning with sleepiness.
When he arrived at Tony's laboratory, the latter had dark circles from staying up all night and said excitedly, "I tested the regeneration serum you brought back yesterday. Guess what I found in it?"
Logan's heart stirred, and he cooperated by asking, "What did you find?"
"Not only can it quickly treat injuries, but it can also repair nerve damage, and it has an effect on Parkinson's and Alzheimer's. We're going to get rich, you know!!"
Tony shook Logan's shoulders frantically, "And that friend of yours Maggie, now we don't even need to wait for Dr.Zhao's research."
Thinking of Maggie's inferiority complex appearance, always unobtrusively concealing her flaws during interactions.
Now at last there was no need to worry about her illness.
Thinking of this, Logan showed a brilliant smile, "This is fucking the best news I've received so far."
Chapter 32 Fox's Arrangement
One week later, in the Stark Tower laboratory.
Tony, sporting dark circles under his eyes that rivaled a panda's, slammed a serum sealed in a silver-gray syringe down in front of Logan with a smack, lifting his chin high enough to poke the ceiling: "Here, the optimized version. All side effects are cleared, and the neural repair efficiency is increased by thirty percent. Not to mention early-stage Parkinson's, even mid-stage Alzheimer's can be pulled back by more than half."
Logan picked up the syringe and weighed it in his hand. It wasn't light, and the transparent liquid gleamed with a very faint blue light under the lights.
He raised his eyes to scan the dark bluish-black shadows under Tony's eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching: "Yo, how many all-nighters did you pull for this? I thought you were going to drag yourself into the hospital first. Just this one? Is it enough?"
"Three for a course of treatment, they're in the box." Tonykicked the white insulation box at his feet, his mouth as stubborn as ever: "Don't overthink it. It's mainly because this serum formula has commercial value, and I originally planned to push it into the medical sector. Your friend is just serving as a clinical case by the way."
"Yes, yes, yes, Mr. Stark is utterly selfless." Logan chuckled, picked up the insulation box and weighed it. The weight was solid: "The money will be deducted from my dividends, no need for you to treat."
"Nonsense, of course it'll be deducted from your dividends." Tony rolled his eyes, but added: "I stuck the instructions on the box. Just follow them, and don't come looking for me if you mess it up."
Logan didn't bicker with him, carrying the box and walking out.
Just as he reached the elevator entrance, Tony's shouting came from behind: "Hey! Remember to come back next week to test the mark v! Don't run off without a trace again!"
He waved his hand without turning his head, and the moment the elevator doors closed, the corners of his mouth unconsciously curled up a bit.
This guy, his habit of being all bark and no bite would never change.
There were not many customers in the cafe in the afternoon, and the warm yellow sunlight fell obliquely on the wooden tabletop.
Maggie was crouching behind the counter wiping a cup. Hearing the doorbell ring, she looked up and saw it was Logan, her eyes curving: "Why are you coming over at this hour today? Aren't you working?"
"Slacking off." Logan walked over, placed the insulation box on the counter, and pushed it in front of her: "It's a new gadget from Tony's laboratory, targeted at nerve repair. The clinical data has all passed, and there are no side effects. Follow the instructions, and after a course of treatment, your hand-shaking problem can basically be stabilized."
Maggie's hand wiping the cup paused. She stared at the insulation box for a long time, then looked up at Logan, her lips moving: "This... must be very expensive, right? I can't accept it."
"Whether it's expensive or not has nothing to do with you." Logan leaned against the counter, biting an unlit cigar, his tone casual: "Stark Industries is launching a new product and lacks a trial case. I casually submitted your name. Consider it doing him a favor, and he'll even have to pay you an experience fee later."
He spoke as if it were real, and Maggie was half-doubtful, her fingers gently touching the lid of the insulation box, knowing it clearly in her heart.
How could there be such a coincidence of a trial, and it just happened to find her?
It was nothing more than this person fearing she would have a psychological burden, so he made up a lame excuse.
"Thank you." She didn't expose it, her voice soft, yet very earnest.
"What's there to thank, I didn't make it." Logan averted his gaze, reaching out to ruffle her hair: "Remember to take it on time, and call me if you feel uncomfortable. I've already greeted Helen over there, you can go for a follow-up check anytime."
Maggie nodded, carefully tucking the insulation box under the counter, as if stowing away some precious treasure.
Logan looked at her profile, the sunlight falling on the tips of her hair, making it look fuzzy, and his heart softened.
He didn't stay long, sat for a while and drank a cup of coffee, and before leaving, he reminded her a couple more times about the usage, before sauntering out of the store.
During this week, Fox also completely moved into Logan's house to live.
She wasn't the coy type. Once her faith collapsed, she instead lived more transparently.
Every morning she woke up for morning exercises, conveniently tidied up the house clean and neat, even taking care of Ares's kennel neatly, and occasionally showing off a couple of good cooking skills.
Sometimes when Logan came back in the middle of the night, he could still see her sitting in the living room cleaning a gun, her movements crisp, her gaze calm, no different from the ace assassin who used to lick blood from the blade, except that the hostile aura on her had faded a lot.
That night, Logan sat on the sofa with a cigar in his mouth, watching Fox feed steak to Ares, and casually brought it up: "Don't you find it boring staying at home all the time? I found you a job, will you do it?"
Fox's hand-wiping motion paused, and she turned to look at him: "What job?"
"Be a personal bodyguard for Tony's assistant." Loganflicked the cigarette ash: "Pepper Potts, the executive assistant of Stark Industries, is capable and doesn't have too many trivial issues. It's just that the company hasn't been peaceful lately, there are many corporate spies, and she lacks a reliable person by her side. Tony will pay the salary, it's definitely more than what you made before."
Fox was silent for two seconds, then chuckled softly: "Are you afraid I'll freeload here?"
"Not quite, it's just one more pair of chopsticks." Loganshrugged: "It's just that seeing you clean guns at home every day makes me worry you'll get sick from idleness. If you don't want to go, forget it, staying at home is also pretty good."
"I'll go." Fox was very decisive, throwing the last piece of steak to Ares, standing up and patting her pants: "I can't really rely on you to support me. Besides, I've heard of Pepper Potts. Following her is better than following a scum like Sloan."
Logan smiled. He knew she was someone who had her head screwed on straight.
The next morning, Logan took Fox to Stark Tower.
Pepper was reading documents in her office. Seeing Loganleading in a woman wearing a black suit with a cold and glamorous aura, she was slightly stunned: "Logan? And this is?"
"Fox, used to do security, reliable skills." Logan sat down on the sofa, helping himself to a cup of water with practiced ease: "I figured you've been busy lately and lack someone to lend a hand by your side, so I brought her over for you to see. Usually she can help you handle some odds and ends, and protect you if trouble arises. The salary goes through the company accounts, and I've already given Tonya heads-up."
What a shrewd person Pepper was; at a glance, she could tell Fox wasn't ordinary security.
That standing posture, that gaze, her whole body exuded the crispness of a practiced martial artist, much more professional than the Captain of the company's security team.
She was as clear as a mirror in her heart; most likely, Loganwas afraid that Obadiah's remaining faction would seek revenge, so he deliberately found someone to protect her.
She didn't expose it, and smiled as she extended her hand toward Fox: "Hello, Fox, I'll be troubling you from now on."
"Hello, Miss Potts." Fox reached out and shook hands with her, the strength moderate and the sense of propriety excellent: "From now on, I am responsible for your safety."
As the two were talking, Tony sauntered in pushing the door open. Catching sight of Fox, he raised an eyebrow and turned to wink and make faces at Logan: "Not bad, where did you dig up this beauty? How come I didn't know you had these resources?"
"Cut the crap." Logan tossed him a bottle of mineral water: "She's a decent person, her skills are no worse than mine, more than enough to be Pepper's bodyguard. Don't you go having any crooked ideas."
"Am I that kind of person?" Tony looked aggrieved, then leaned close to Fox, looking her up and down twice, and nodded: "Alright, she looks quite reliable. Double the salary, just as Logan said. Pepper's safety comes first, everything else doesn't matter."
Pepper gave the two of them a helpless look, but she grew even more satisfied with Fox.
This person didn't talk much, had a steady gaze, and standing there gave off an aura that made people feel at ease.
Things were thus settled.
Seeing that the arrangements were settled, Logan didn't stay long, greeted Pepper, and slipped away.
Tony shouted at him from behind to come try out the armor, but he pretended not to hear, his footsteps not stopping as he vanished in a puff of smoke.
Logan bit down on his cigar, mounted his harley, and twisted the throttle leisurely.
The serum had been delivered to Maggie, Fox's job had been arranged, and Tony didn't have any messy situations to clean up for the time being.
Very good, he could finally spend a few quiet days walking the dog and fishing again.
He whistled, and amidst the roaring sound of the motorcycle, headed straight for the lake in the suburbs.
Chapter 33: Dividends
In the lounge on the 36th floor of Stark Tower, the coffee machine was fizzing and steaming.
Early in the morning, Logan had been called over, and he hadn't even had time to drink any coffee.
Tony slapped a stack of documents with golden seals onto the coffee table in front of Logan, collapsed into the opposite sofa, took a huge gulp of coffee, and raised his chin high: "The production approval for the neural restorative has come down, and it will be fully launched next week. We've reserved forty percent of the shares in the newly registered medical company for you, and it will take effect once you sign."
Logan was puffing on a cigar while flipping through a fishing magazine. Hearing this, he lifted his eyelids, reached out to flick the documents, and the words 'StarkBiomedical' on the cover shone brightly.
He grinned and pushed the documents back: "Forty percent? Does that mean I'll have to attend board meetings on time in the future and argue about quarterly reports with a bunch of white-bearded old men? Not doing it."
Tony was stunned, almost choking on his coffee: "Not doing it? Forty percent of the shares! Do you know how much money this thing pays out in dividends every year? It's enough for you to buy a warehouse full of cigars, and even enough to gold-plate your harley!"
"More or less money is one thing, trouble is another." Logan leisurely flicked his ash and sank deeper into the sofa. "If you really want to calculate it, just give me silent shares, and deposit the dividends into my card on time; I won't care about anything else. Company operations, technical research, and personnel wrangling are all your business, so don't bother me."
Tony stared at him for two seconds, as if seeing this person for the first time.
The shares and voting power that others scrambled for had become a hot potato in his hands, terrified of touching even a shred of trouble.
He couldn't quite describe the feeling in his heart; it was a bit amused, yet a bit warm.
After all, the foundation of this potion was brought back by Logan. Anyone else would probably have seized power using the technology, but he was good, only thinking about lying down and sharing the money, finding even one extra thing too tiring.
"You guy..." Tony shook his head, but the corners of his mouth unconsciously curled upward while his words remained unforgiving. "You might as well be bored to death by laziness. Fine, silent shares it is, and not a single penny of the dividends will be missing from you. But let me make the ugly words clear first: if the company encounters tough obstacles in the future, you have to step in and solve them, and don't pretend to go missing when the time comes."
"That will cost extra." Logan raised an eyebrow, smiling with a rogue expression. "Overtime must be paid at triple wages."
"Get lost." Tony laughed and cursed, grabbing the documents and stuffing them into his arms. All the slight emotion in his heart was washed away by this guy's glib tongue, yet he felt inexplicably reassured.
He finally understood: Logan might look unprincipled, but he was crystal clear in his heart, ten thousand times more reliable than those who shouted "brother" on their lips while stabbing you in the back.
The two chatted idly for a few more moments about the progress of mark v, and Tony casually complained about S.H.I.E.L.D. sending people every day to show their presence. Logan laughed heartily, finally pinching out his cigar and getting up: "All right, I'm leaving to go to Maggie's place. You keep grinding on your armor, remember to eat, and don't pass out in the lab someday forcing me to carry you out."
"Hurry up and scram, seeing you annoys me." Tony waved his hand. After the person left, he lowered his head to glance at the share documents in his hand again, letting out a soft hum, though the smile at the corners of his mouth couldn't be suppressed no matter what.
The coffee shop in the afternoon was a bit livelier than in the morning, and behind the bar, Maggie was lowering her head to do latte art for a customer.
Holding the ceramic cup steadily in her hands, the milk foam flowed down finely, pulling out a complete leaf pattern on the surface of the coffee, her wrist remaining completely still.
The customer smiled and praised, "Great craftsmanship." She handed the cup over, her eyebrows curving like crescents: "Enjoy your drink."
Matt walked in at this moment, clutching his white cane, and paused just as he reached the door.
At this time usually, when Maggie wiped cups and grabbed utensils, there would inevitably be subtle clinking sounds, but today it was exceptionally smooth; the collision of cups and saucers was light and steady, and even the sound of the milk frother exuded composure.
"Sis?" He followed the sound to the edge of the bar, gently tapping his fingertips on the countertop: "Not busy today?"
"Not bad, two tables just left." Maggie wiped her hands, took a thermos out from under the counter, and poured him a cup of warm water: "Why did you come over at this hour? Isn't the firm busy?"
"Just finished court, dropped by to check on you." Mattpicked up the water cup and took a sip, his ears twitching slightly, capturing her breath and hand movements while she spoke.
There was no longer the tension of deliberate control from before; she was very relaxed.
He fell silent for two seconds, his voice carrying a trace of imperceptible excitement: "That medicine... is it working?"
Maggie's hand pouring water paused, and she quietly let out an "hmm," her mouth unable to stop turning upward: "Started taking it last week, and these past two days I can clearly feel my hands aren't shaking. The latte art just now was extremely steady; back then I couldn't have done it at all. Doctor said according to this progress, after two more courses of treatment, I basically won't be any different from a normal person."
She spoke lightly, but in Matt's heart it felt like something had struck him.
How many years had his sister been sick? Ever since she was little, she had been extremely cautious, afraid of dropping things, and after growing up, she felt inferior for a long time because of this, not even daring to do the things she liked.
Now that there was suddenly something to look forward to, his chest felt both sour and hot, and he couldn't speak for a long time.
"Logan... really helped a lot." Matt said in a low voice, his fingers unconsciously rubbing against the cup wall: "He said it was some trial case, but how could there be such a coincidence? I asked around, and a single dose of this potion is ridiculously expensive, let alone a whole course of treatment which is an astronomical figure. He clearly just didn't want you to have any burden."
Maggie lowered her eyes, her fingertips gently tracing the rim of the cup, her heart as clear as a mirror.
Logan might look nonchalant, but in everything he did he considered others, even inventing a clumsy reason when delivering the medicine just so she wouldn't feel bad about it.
"I know." She said softly: "I want to thank him too, but he lacks nothing; whether it's money or things, he doesn't care for any of it."
The siblings fell silent for a few seconds. Matt suddenly smiled: "Lacking nothing is his business, thanking him is ours. He doesn't care for valuables, but surely he can't refuse a home-cooked meal? You cook this weekend, make the braised pork ribs and steamed fish he likes, and I'll bring a bottle of good wine over. Just say... just say it's to celebrate me officially joining the law firm, and treat him to a meal by the way; he can't possibly refuse."
Maggie's eyes lit up, and then she felt a bit embarrassed: "My cooking skills are mediocre, will he dislike it?"
"How could he." Matt smiled warmly: "Your cooking is definitely better than him chewing on steak every day. Besides, the thought counts most."
Maggie thought about it, nodded, and the corners of her mouth curved into shallow dimples: "Alright, then I'll go buy groceries early this weekend and stew a soup. He loves to drink, so you bring a better bottle, don't get anything too cheap."
"Rest assured." Matt nodded, but in his heart he was pondering other things.
Logan had helped them so much, a single meal definitely wasn't enough. Once his law firm started up, whenever Logan had any legal matters, he would do his utmost to help sort them out.
Over here, the siblings huddled together to discuss earnestly, while over there Logan was riding his harleytoward the lake in the suburbs, the wind pouring into his collar and blowing his hair wildly.
He was chewing on a cigar, pondering in his mind about changing fishing spots tomorrow. He heard that the western reservoir produced bass, and they were quite a decent size, so he might as well go try it out.
His phone buzzed in his pocket; it was a message from Maggie, saying she was treating him to dinner this weekend to celebrate Matt joining the firm.
Logan smiled and replied with "No problem," twisted the throttle, and amidst the roaring sound of the motorcycle, sped away in the direction of the reservoir.
Chapter 34: Famous?
Dew still clung to the entrance of the residential complex in the early morning, and just as Logan was walking Aresaround the corner, he was blocked right in his tracks by a couple of reporters carrying cameras.
A microphone almost poked him in the face, and the rapid flashing of camera bulbs made his eyes dizzy.
"Mr. Howlett! May I ask if you have any secret to your counterattack from a premier bodyguard to a partner at Stark Biomedical?"
"Rumor has it that you hold forty percent of the company's non-voting shares; is that true? What is your relationship with Mr. Stark like in private?"
Logan's brow furrowed so deeply it could crush a fly, and he reached out to block the camera lens, mentally roasting Tony's ancestors for eighteen generations.
Wasn't it just some non-voting shares? Did it have to cause such a huge uproar?
He pulled Ares and moved a step to the side, and the puppy cooperated, letting out a low whine in its throat, its eighty-plus-pound body planted right there with its fangs half-exposed, scaring the reporters into taking half a step back.
"No comment."
Dropping those four words, he yanked the leash and walked away on a detour, his footsteps so fast it was as if a Vampire were chasing him from behind.
After detouring through three streets and finally finishing walking the dog to return home, the newspaper spread out on the coffee table prominently printed half of his profile.
It was the snapshot taken backstage at Tony's press conference last time, showing him looking slick and dissolute with a cigar in his mouth, accompanied by a bolded headline: "From Premier Bodyguard to Billionaire Partner: The Three-Year Counterattack Journey of James Logan Howlett.
Below was a sprawling excavation of half his resume, from joining Stark Industries as a bodyguard in 2005 to now holding non-voting shares in the medical company and seeing his net worth skyrocket, written with more twists and turns than a web novel.
Even the incident from his interview years ago where he smashed a sandbag with a single punch was dug up, yet not a single half-sentence mentioned real things like Mutants or superpowers.
"These people are really idle."
Logan tossed the newspaper aside, slumped on the sofa with a cigar in his mouth, not even in the mood to light it.
His life of peacefully slacking off and walking the dog was originally fine, but now look at this—going out to buy a pack of cigarettes got him surrounded by people, annoying him to death.
The doorbell rang right at this moment, and Ares trotted over excitedly to claw at the door, its tail wagging furiously and whistling in the wind.
Logan didn't even need to think to know it was the couple next door; opening the door to look, John was standing at the entrance holding his French bulldog, and Helen was carrying a plate of freshly baked cookies, both of them wearing a hint of a smile on their faces.
"Mr. Howlett, it's not easy to see you now."
Helen smiled as she handed over the cookies, her eyes full of teasing, "When I went out this morning, I saw reporters squatting at the entrance of the residential complex, and they were all here for you."
John nodded and added in an even tone: "Yesterday a reporter stopped me and asked if my neighbor was a billionaire. I said I didn't know, I only knew a lazy ghost who sponges off my dog's treats every day."
Logan rolled his eyes and turned sideways to let them in: "Cut the crap, just say it if you want to watch a joke."
He kicked the two dogs crowding over to rub against his legs by his feet, "That guy Tony is so idle, making a fuss over a fart-sized matter until the whole city knows, annoying me to death."
"After all, it's the medical sector of Stark Industries, and all of Wall Street is staring at it."
Helen sat down on the sofa and casually tidied up the messy pile of fishing magazines on the table, "What do you plan to do? You can't just hide at home every day, right?"
John leaned against the door frame, concise and comprehensive: "Move. The Upper East Side affluent area has strict access control, and reporters can't get in. Or the Villa in Long Island, which is quiet."
Logan shook his head without even thinking: "Not moving. I'm used to living here, the yard is big enough for Ares to run around, and going out fishing is also close. Moving back and forth is a pain to death."
He paused, glanced at John, and said half-jokingly, "Besides, with a neighbor like you here, let alone reporters, even assassins would have to think twice before coming. I wouldn't have this sense of security if I moved anywhere else."
John's lips curved almost imperceptibly, and he didn't pick up the topic, which was considered default acquiescence.
Helen laughed straight away, exhorted two more sentences to pay attention to safety when going out, and after sitting for a while, took the dog back.
Seeing the couple off, Logan slumped onto the sofa and stared at the ceiling, sighing.
The matter of becoming famous is something others desperately seek, but for him, it is purely a burden.
Not to mention anything else, in the future if he wanted to go out in the middle of the night to clear out a Vampirenest or deal with some Mutant grunts, he would have to worry about being filmed, which was super troublesome.
Meanwhile, at the New York branch of S.H.I.E.L.D., the underground laboratory was brightly lit.
Nick Fury stood by the experimental table with his hands behind his back, his single eye staring at the well-sealed neuro-repair agent on the table, its metal shell reflecting a cold blue light under the cold light.
This was the stock he obtained at a high price through hospital channels after pulling strings through three layers of relations, and as soon as he got his hands on it, he sent it into the laboratory.
"Fitz, Simmons," his voice was low, "How is the analysis going?"
Behind the console, two young people were huddling together staring at the molecular map on the screen.
Fitz's fingers tapped rapidly on the keyboard, muttering under his breath; Simmons supported her glasses, her brows slightly furrowed, reaching out from time to time to adjust the parameters of the analyzer.
"Officer, this thing is a bit interesting."
Simmons turned around first, holding a tablet in her hand, her tone carrying a hint of amazement, "Conventional neuro-repair agents can at most delay neuronal apoptosis, but this one is different—it can directly induce the regeneration of damaged substantia nigra neurons, and the repair efficiency is more than six times that of current products on the market."
"Not just this."
Fitz also leaned over, swiping his fingers twice on the screen to bring up a string of complex molecular formulas, "Look here, its core active group is not artificially synthesized, but rather seems to be modified from some kind of biological extract, with an extremely delicate structure. Stark Industries' biology department had no such technology reserves before; popping out such a thing out of thin air is too suspicious."
Fury's single eye narrowed slightly: "Can it be replicated?"
Fitz and Simmons exchanged glances, both looking a bit troubled.
"Not in the short term."
Simmons spoke the truth, "We haven't figured out the synthesis path of the core components yet, and there are several trace substances inside that we haven't even identified what they are. It's as if... as if this formula wasn't developed from scratch, but modified from something already existing."
"I suspect it's related to Logan Howlett."
Fitz pushed up his glasses and made a bold speculation, "The time point when this serum just popped up happens to be right after he came back from Afghanistan. And think about it, no matter how much of a genius Tony Stark is, it's impossible for him to build armor and break through biotechnology to this extent at the same time; there has to be a reason, right?"
Fury didn't speak, his fingers tapping lightly on the experimental table.
He had known what was going on in his heart for a long time.
This person Logan Howlett seemed on the surface to be a loose and money-grubbing bodyguard, but he hid more things underneath than anyone else.
Mutant abilities, mysterious technical sources, entanglements with all kinds of freaks and monsters... like an iceberg, what was exposed was only the tip.
"Continue the analysis and figure out the formula as soon as possible."
He paused, his tone dropping a few degrees, "In addition, don't stop the surveillance on Logan Howlett, but don't alert the enemy. I'd like to see just how many tricks this guy still has hidden."
The laboratory quieted down again, with only the soft sound of instruments running.
Meanwhile, Logan, far away in the urban area, was still fighting with Ares for a seat on the sofa, completely unaware that he had already been listed as a key observation target by S.H.I.E.L.D..
Even if he knew, he would probably just roll his eyes and make a sarcastic remark: "Nothing better to do with their time."
Chapter 35 Encountering Frank
Early in the morning, Logan prepared to go out.
Seeing him in such a rush, Fox was a bit puzzled, "I've never seen you be this enthusiastic about going to work."
"Do I still need to work? What I'm doing now is called enjoying life!" Logan walked out the door with Ares in tow without even looking back.
To dodge the reporters staking out downstairs, Loganpurposely wore a low-pulled flat cap, put on a pair of dark sunglasses, and led Ares around two blocks before sneaking into the suburban tackle market.
The market was a mixed bag, with the smell of fish and pine drifting all over the street, which instead became the best cover.
Surely no financial reporters would abandon staking out Stark Tower just to come run here and corner a partner who used to be a bodyguard.
Today, he was here to hunt for a fishing rod.
Last week, when casting at the reservoir, he used too much force and snapped a perfectly good carbon rod into two halves directly—it was too embarrassing to tell others.
After all, with Beast-level strength right here, ordinary fishing rods in his hands were like crisp biscuits, getting scrapped if he wasn't careful.
Wandering through five or six stalls in a row, Loganfrowned more and more.
Either the rods looked fancy but were actually as soft as noodles, or they had enough hardness but were as heavy as carrying steel pipes, making his arm sore after casting for a day.
Squatting in front of a stall and rummaging through the rods with an unlit cigar in his mouth, he grumbled inwardly: Could it be that in such a huge market, he couldn't even find a fishing rod that could withstand his normal exertion of force?
"Try that fiberglass sea rod in the corner."
A low male voice suddenly came from beside him, tone flat and without much fluctuation.
Logan raised his head and glanced over; the man speaking was quite tall, with a buzz cut, a tightly tensed jawline, thick finger joints bearing calluses worn from years of holding guns, and even an ordinary jacket couldn't cover his veteran's upright posture.
A fishing tackle bag was placed by his feet, looking like he was also here to hunt for goods.
Logan raised an eyebrow, walked over as told, picked up the inconspicuous sea rod, weighed it, and swung it a couple of times casually.
The feel was solid, the backbone was sufficient, and the flexibility was passable. Although it couldn't be considered top-tier, its strength lay in being durable; even if he exerted force a bit fiercely, it wouldn't snap into two halves on the spot.
"Not bad at all." He nodded, took out his wallet to pay, turned around and handed over a cigar, "Thanks, buddy, your eye is quite sharp."
The man didn't stand on ceremony either, taking the cigar and pinching it between his fingertips, taking out a lighter to light Logan's first before lighting his own.
Taking a puff, he then spoke, his voice still without much ripple: "Seeing you picking for a long time, you found everything too soft. Ordinary hand poles can't withstand heavy long-distance casting, but this kind of fiberglass is rough and durable."
"Ain't that the truth." Logan exhaled a smoke ring, pointing at his own palm, "Practiced martial arts for a few years in the past, my hand strength is all over the place, I've snapped quite a few."
He didn't tell the truth, just glossed over it vaguely; anyway, the other party didn't mean to pursue it.
The two chatted over the smoke for a couple of sentences. The man didn't talk much, but every word hit the mark; the few suburban fishing spots he mentioned were great places with few people and many fish, much better than Logan searching blindly by himself.
Right when they were chatting enthusiastically, Aressuddenly moved forward a bit, sniffed, and gently wagged its tail.
"Daddy!"
A crisp children's voice ran over from not far away. A little girl with pigtails trotted up to the man's side, first curiously eyeing Ares, and seeing the big dog docilely sitting, she mustered up the courage to reach out wanting to touch the dog's head.
A woman followed behind, carrying a bottle of water in her hand, smiling reproachfully: "Run slower, don't fall."
The man's originally tensed face instantly softened, he reached out to steady the little girl, and said in a low voice: "Don't scare the dog."
"It's fine, it doesn't bite." Logan smiled and patted Ares's head.
This fellow also behaved well, obediently lying on the ground, letting the little girl's soft little hand stroke its ears, even slowing its tail wagging by half a beat for fear of scaring her.
"Frank Castle." Only then did the man state his name, pointing at his wife and daughter, "My wife Maria, daughter Lisa."
The smile on Logan's face faded by half, but his heart skipped a beat.
Frank Castle.
The Punisher.
Fragments of information from the original body's memory instantly flashed through his mind—Marine Corps background, family brutally murdered by the mob, turning into a vigilante ever since, fighting violence with violence, the blood on his hands capable of staining half a street red.
The man in front of him wasn't yet that murderous Punisher of the future.
Right now he was just an ordinary husband and an ordinary father, his gaze full of tenderness as he looked at his daughter, even purposely turning his face sideways when smoking for fear that the smoke smell would drift to the child's side.
Logan felt a bit out of sorts in his heart.
He had seen too many life-and-death separations, living for nearly two hundred years, and the original body's memory was piled high with war and death.
But watching with his own eyes a perfectly fine family meet a doomed end of ruin and death in the future, saying he felt nothing would be fake.
But he didn't plan to meddle either.
Everyone has their own fate; he wasn't a savior, nor did he have the qualification to meddle in other people's lives casually.
Say too much, and he might even be treated as a lunatic.
If that kind of matter really happened to cross his path one day, lending a helping hand wouldn't be out of the question, but going up to them now and saying 'your family will have an accident in the future' would simply be insane.
"Logan." He didn't state his full name, only giving his surname, and smiled at the little girl, "Your daughter is quite cute."
Frank's lips pulled into a faint smile, and he reached out to rub Lisa's hair.
Maria smiled and thanked him from the side, saying Lisa had long wanted to raise a big dog, and today she finally got to pet one.
After chatting for another couple of sentences, Frank left with his wife and daughter.
Lisa rested on her dad's shoulder, still waving her little hand to say goodbye to Ares.
Logan stood in place, biting his cigar as he watched the family of three's figures gradually disappear into the market crowd, not speaking for a long time.
"What are you thinking about?" He muttered to himself, flicking the ash, "People are living their lives just fine, is it your turn to meddle blindly?"
That's what he said, but that bit of compassion in his heart wasn't so easy to disperse.
He squatted down and rubbed Ares's big head. The dog tilted its head to look at him, its wet eyes full of incomprehension.
"Let's go, time to go home and test the new rod." Loganstood up, carried the fishing rod and walked out of the market, his steps leisurely, "If it really happens to be encountered one day, we'll talk then."
Having bought the new rod, naturally he had to test its quality. Logan packed his tackle and prepared to go out, but was grabbed by the trouser leg by Ares.
Looking down at this fellow's eager look, he wore a helpless expression, "You guy, do you know how much trouble it is to take you out every time?"
His family now had three cars: a modified Lamborghini Reventón given by Tony, a Dodge Viper SRT10 belonging to Fox, and a heavily modified harley heavy cruiser.
Not a single one fit Ares's current body size.
Logan could only let it lie on his back, riding the motorcycle leisurely to the reservoir.
He made up his mind to buy a big car; a Hummer happened to be pretty good, so taking the dog out in the future wouldn't be so troublesome.
Chapter 36 Michaela
As the glass door of the Hummer 4S dealership was pushed open, the coffee in the receptionist girl's hand almost spilled out.
The man who walked in was over 1.9 meters tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. The muscle lines under his jacket were tightly defined, and he wore sunglasses on his face, biting on half an unlit cigar. He looked like someone not to be messed with.
Following closely at his feet was a half-man-high large dog with blue-gray long hair. Its shoulder height reached an adult's waist, its ears were upright, and its gaze was steady, resembling a small tank. With the man and the dog standing there, the sense of oppression was dialed straight to the maximum.
"Sir... looking at cars?"
The salesman reacted quickly and hurried forward, his gaze unable to resist glancing toward Ares.
This dog was simply too huge; it looked even fiercer than the security dogs in the store.
"Yeah, an H3."
Logan took off his sunglasses, glanced at the cars in the showroom, and went straight to the point, "Can the rear seats fold down? The dog is big, so it needs to be able to lie down comfortably."
The salesman was stunned for a moment, then quickly nodded, "Yes, yes, yes. The rear seats fold completely flat, and the space is definitely enough. If you often bring pets, we can also custom-install a pet partition and anti-fouling floor mats."
Logan walked around the car, reached out to pat the roof, noting that the steel plate thickness was sufficient and the chassis was also solid. It was extremely durable and much more practical than his Lamborghini.
Ares also leaned over, sniffed the car door with its nose, and obediently squatted to the side without touching anything randomly.
"This exact one, black. Are there any cars in stock?"
Logan took out his card, "If I can pick it up today, let's do it today. Process the paperwork quickly."
The salesman was dumbfounded.
In all his years of selling cars, this was his first time seeing someone so decisive—no bargaining, no test drive, just asking a couple of questions about the space and then directly swiping the card.
He hurriedly took the card, smiling brightly, "Yes, yes, yes! Please wait a moment, I'll go process the paperwork right away, and you can drive it away in half an hour!"
After the paperwork was completed, Logan folded down the rear seats, laid out a velvet mat that came with the car, and patted it, "Get on."
Ares bounded up with a leap, turned around in the spacious back seat, and lay down comfortably, its tail wagging and slapping loudly.
Logan closed the car door, sat in the driver's seat, and turned the key, causing the engine to emit a deep roar.
He nodded with satisfaction; it was much steadier than riding a motorcycle with a dog, making it very convenient to go fishing and walk the dog in the future.
The car drove straight to a well-known modification garage in the suburbs.
Logan was thinking about adding a reinforced guardrail to the truck bed and replacing it with a set of off-road tires, so that driving on mountain roads for fishing in the future would be worry-free.
The smell of engine oil mixed with the scent of metal shavings in the workshop, and parts and tools were scattered all over the ground. Several workers were busy surrounding a sports car.
"Boss, modifying a car?"
The voice was crisp and clear, carrying a vibrant and neat energy.
Logan turned his head and saw a girl wearing overalls shorts sliding out from under a car, her hands stained with engine oil and clutching a wrench.
Her long brownish-gold hair was tied into a high ponytail, with a bit of dust on her temples. Her features were dazzlingly bright, her bridge of the nose was high and pert, and her lips had a natural red tint. She was the spitting image of the Hollywood actress Megan Fox whom he was familiar with before his time travel.
Logan's heart skipped a beat.
Capable of modifications, and possessing the face of Megan Fox.
Michaela Baines?
Has this stitched-together Universe sewn in another Transformers character?
The corners of his mouth twitched, but on the surface he remained calm. He raised his chin, "Modify a Hummer, add a reinforced guardrail to the truck bed, change to a set of AT tires, and raise the chassis by another two inches. Can you handle it?"
"Of course I can."
Michaela stood up, patted the dust off her pants, walked around the Hummer, and tapped her fingers on the car door, her voice extremely confident, "The reinforced guardrail will be made of manganese steel, sturdy and durable; even if you pull an ox, it'll be no problem. For tires, we'll use BFGoodrich, which are off-road wear-resistant, so you won't feel bad running them on bad roads. I have a ready-made chassis lift kit right here, and it can be finished in three days."
When she spoke, her eyes were exceptionally bright, and she talked about modification parameters with complete mastery. There was not a trace of a young girl's delicate frailty; instead, it exuded a dashing, coolness familiar with machinery.
As she spoke, she raised her head to look Logan up and down, her gaze pausing briefly on the muscle lines of his arms. The tips of her ears turned slightly red, but she generously extended her hand, "My name is Michaela, Michaela Baines. I can call the shots on all the modification work here, and I guarantee to get it done right for you."
Sure enough, it really was Michaela.
"Logan."
Logan shook hands with her briefly, his fingertips stained with a bit of the engine oil from her hand. He casually wiped it on his pants and teased with a smile, "You're not old, but your craftsmanship is quite seasoned. I thought this shop was full of rough old men. As a young girl dealing with engine oil and parts every day, don't you find it dirty?"
Upon hearing this, Michaela laughed and raised an eyebrow, looking unconvinced, "A young girl? I'm already nineteen this year, an adult for several years now. Besides, what does understanding cars have to do with gender? I was dismantling engines with my dad since I was fourteen. The little bit of modification work on your car is something I could finish with my eyes closed."
She lifted her chin, her eyes sparkling with a bit of youthful arrogance, while also revealing a hint of curiosity toward the hormone-exploding man in front of her.
This guy was handsome, had a great physique, and although his speech carried a bit of teasing, there was no frivolous feeling to it. He was much more pleasing to the eye than the greasy customers in the workshop who came over to strike up a conversation.
"Alright."
Logan chuckled, pulled out the car keys, and tossed them to her, "Then the job is handed over to you. Give me a call when it's done, money is not an issue."
"Rest assured, I guarantee you'll be satisfied."
Michaela caught the keys, spun them in a circle in her hand, and blinked at him, "By the way, looking at you like this, do you usually like off-roading and fishing? Next time there's a good spot, maybe you can tag me along?"
Logan raised an eyebrow, ignoring that opening, and just smiled as he waved his hand, "Let's get the car modified first. I'm heading out, come back in three days to pick it up."
He let out a whistle, and Ares poked its head out from the passenger seat, wagging its tail at Michaela.
Michaela watched the departing figures of the man and the dog, then looked down at the car keys in her hand, the corners of her mouth curling upward involuntarily.
Walking along the road with a cigar in his mouth, Logancouldn't help but shake his head.
Even Michaela Baines had shown up; in a few more years, would Optimus Prime and Bumblebee pop out too?
This stitched-together Universe was truly getting livelier and livelier.
He turned back to glance at that modification garage one more time, pondering inwardly: If the Transformers really came, he wondered if the Adamantium claws could slice through their armor.
Thinking about it, he chuckled to himself first.
If the Autobots and Decepticons ever fought one day, picking up some x-factor along the way... No wait, it was still questionable whether mechanical gadgets had an x-factor at all.
If he told Tony, he didn't know if that guy would believe him—telling him that metal could talk and that they had their own Planet? He also wondered if Tony would curse him out as a lunatic.
Speaking of which, Tony's mark v must have been built by now, right? It was really fast, at least much faster than the original speed.
Calculating the time, it was going to be 2009 very soon; time really flew by.
Logan lowered his head to look at Ares, who was now two and a half years old, and couldn't help but twitch the corners of his mouth.
Chapter 37: John Attacked
Three days later, at the entrance of the modification shop, the sunlight baked the metallic paint until it was scorching hot.
Just as Logan turned into the yard with a cigar in his mouth, he saw Michaela leaning against a gleaming black Hummer, her overalls rolled up to her knees, clutching a cleaning rag and polishing a wheel hub.
Hearing footsteps, she looked up, her eyes brightening slightly, and shook the rag in her hand: "You're quite punctual. Take a look, are you satisfied?"
Logan walked over and circled the car.
The chassis was noticeably two inches higher, the AT tires had rugged treads, the manganese steel guardrails were welded seamlessly, and even the gaps in the doors were adjusted neatly, looking sturdier than the original factory build.
He reached out and knocked on the rear guardrail; the dull thud was solid, with not a single bit of shaking.
"Nice craftsmanship," Logan whistled. "Sturdier than I expected. Can it really pull a cow?"
"Of course," Michaela lifted her chin proudly. "I welded all the seams myself. Never mind a cow, you could shove a bear in here and it wouldn't fall apart. I also adjusted the shock absorbers for you; it won't bounce around on mountain roads, and you can pile on fishing gear to your heart's content without crushing it."
As she spoke, she walked around to the driver's seat and pulled open the door to show him the interior: "I added a layer of memory foam to the seats so you won't get tired driving for long periods. Underneath the passenger seat, I left a slot for your cigar box and flask, so they won't roll all over the place when you brake hard."
Logan raised an eyebrow.
This girl looked carefree, but she was quite attentive.
He took out his wallet and paid the remaining balance directly without even frowning at the figure, which made Michaela wonder even more—what on earth did this guy do for a living? He looked like a rough guy who liked cars, yet he spent money like water and didn't even bargain.
"The job is well done. Let's go, I'll treat you to dinner." Logan tucked the car keys into his pocket. "Consider it a thank-you for the extra effort."
Michaela was stunned for a moment, then smiled and tossed the cleaning rag aside: "Alright, but I eat quite a bit."
"All you can eat."
The restaurant was chosen at a well-reviewed private French kitchen in Manhattan; it was hidden, with an elegant environment, free from too many reporters and idle onlookers.
When Michaela first walked in, she was a bit constrained, pulling at her work jacket and feeling totally out of place with the surrounding tablecloths and crystal chandeliers.
But as the waiter handed over the menu, Logan casually rattled off a few dishes, specifically ordering her a signature foie gras and truffle pasta, and even choosing a fruit-forward, non-astringent red wine, saving her from any awkwardness. The slight tension in her heart slowly dissipated, replaced by a trace of small excitement.
Growing up, it wasn't like she had never been out to eat with guys, but either the apprentices from the shop would huddle in a burger joint gnawing on fries, or greasy rich kids would lead her to high-end restaurants with an air of showing off, every sentence boasting about how wealthy they were.
This was her first time encountering someone like Logan, who sat quietly opposite her, cutting steak while chatting with her about modified engines and suburban mountain roads, with a steady, open gaze and not a hint of frivolity.
"After your car is modified, will you often go fishing in the mountains to the north?" Michaela forked up a piece of pasta and asked curiously.
"Yeah, that reservoir has a lot of bass." Logan took a sip of the red wine. "The road is terrible, ordinary cars can't drive in, so it's just right after the modification."
"Then can you take me with you next time?" Her eyes were bright. "I've never been properly fishing in my life, I only threw stones by the lake when I was little."
Logan laughed: "Sure, when I have some free time. It's just that there are a lot of mosquitoes in the mountains, don't cry and beg to come back when the time comes."
"No way!" Michaela puffed out her chest defiantly. "I spent a day with my dad at the repair shop, I'm used to the smell of engine oil, why would I be scared of mosquitoes?"
The meal was relaxed and pleasant.
From being restrained to letting go, Michaela chattered endlessly with him about interesting anecdotes from the shop and how she put the apprentices who bullied her in their place.
Logan mostly listened, occasionally chiming in to make the girl laugh non-stop.
When they came out after the meal, the night had already deepened. Logan drove her home; the old neighborhood's streetlights were dim, the alley was narrow, and the car drove slowly. Downstairs, Michaela unbuckled her seatbelt, but didn't rush to get out. Her fingers picked at the seatbelt buckle as she looked up at him: "Um... can we still eat together in the future? Not just to thank me, just... eating together as friends is fine too."
Her face was a little red, but she didn't avoid his gaze; it was open and straightforward, just like her crisp manner when modifying cars.
Logan looked at her and smiled, nodding: "Sure, I'll call you next time I go fishing."
"It's a deal!" Michaela's eyes instantly lit up. She pushed open the car door, hopped out, leaned over the car window, and waved at him, "Drive safe!"
Watching the girl's bouncing figure run into the stairwell, Logan smiled and shook his head, pressing the gas pedal to drive towards home.
The young girl's affection was straightforward and ardent; it wasn't that he couldn't see it, but he didn't take it too much to heart.
Just as the car drove into the residential compound, Logan's brow suddenly furrowed.
A Beast-grade sense of hearing was more accurate than radar. Two buildings away, he heard the dull thuds in the neighboring yard—not ordinary bumps, but the sound of fists hitting flesh, along with the crisp shattering of furniture, mixed with a man's suppressed groans.
Something happened at John's place.
Logan's heart skipped a beat. He slammed on the steering wheel, parked directly on the roadside, didn't even close the car door, and crossed over to outside John's yard in a few steps.
The yard gate was unlocked, ajar, and the noises inside were clearer: heavy breathing, the sound of a wooden stick whistling through the air, and the whimpering of Daisy the French Bulldog.
He kicked open the yard gate; the living room lights were on, and glass was shattered all over the floor.
Helen was lying face down on the carpet, motionless, blood flowing from her temple, her hair matted together with blood.
Three punks in floral shirts had cornered John, holding baseball bats and cursing as they smashed their bats against John's body again and again.
John had already taken several hits on his back, his shirt stained with blood, yet he desperately protected the doghouse behind him—little Daisy was huddled inside, trembling with fright.
"Taking your car is your honor, and you actually dare to resist!" The leading punk spat, raising his baseball bat to smash it onto John's head.
"Bang—"
The loud bang of the front door being kicked off its hinges silenced the room instantly.
The three punks turned around simultaneously and saw a towering man over 1.9 meters tall standing at the door, his jacket open to reveal tense muscle lines underneath. His face was as dark as ice, and his eyes were as cold as if he were looking at a dead person.
"Where did this guy come from? Mind your own business!" The leading punk roared defensively, pointing his baseball bat at Logan. "Do you know who we are? Viggo Tarasov is my dad!"
Logan had originally wanted to play along slowly, but upon hearing the words "Viggo Tarasov", the corners of his mouth instead curled into a cold sneer.
He was wondering who it was; it turned out to be the stupid son of that unlucky mob boss from John Wick.
In the original story, this fellow killed John's dog and forced him back into the underworld; he didn't expect him to come looking for trouble first at this moment. Fine, dealing with him in advance would save him the headache later.
"Viggo, is it?" Logan stretched his fingers, his knuckles producing a series of subtle cracking sounds. "Just right, I've been meaning to settle accounts with him for a long time."
Before his voice fell, his figure had already rushed forward.
The speed was as fast as a dark shadow. The leading punk only felt a blur before his eyes, and before the baseball bat in his hand could be swung out, his wrist was grabbed by a hand like an iron vise.
Just as he wanted to scream in pain, he heard a crisp "crack" sound—his wrist bone was directly crushed, bone shards piercing through the skin and exposing themselves, dripping with blood.
"Ah—!!"
The scream had just rushed to his throat when Logangrabbed his arm with his left hand and twisted it smoothly. The entire arm bent backward at a bizarre angle; the dull thud of a shoulder joint dislocation mixed with the sound of breaking bones, making one's teeth ache just listening to it.
He casually tossed the man aside, and the punk slammed onto the coffee table like a broken sack, smashing the glass coffee table into pieces on the spot.
The remaining two punks were scared out of their wits. Coming to their senses, they howled and rushed forward together.
The one on the left waved a dagger to stab at Logan's stomach, the blade light fast and fierce; the one on the right swung a baseball bat to smash the back of his head from a tricky angle.
Logan stepped into a Bagua Step, his figure shifting to dodge the dagger with a sway. His left hand precisely locked onto the opponent's knife-wielding wrist, applying slight pressure, and the dagger dropped to the ground with a clatter.
Following that, his elbow fiercely smashed into the opponent's chest. The pushing-mountain power of Baji Quan was entirely poured into this elbow; a large area of the punk's sternum collapsed, and he flew backward, spitting blood, crashing against the wall and sliding down to pass out on the spot.
The one behind him holding the baseball bat, watching his companion go down in a single second, was so terrified that his hands were shaking.
He wanted to run, but the moment he turned around, the back of his neck was pressed down by a large hand.
Logan tightened his fingers slightly, and the punk felt as if his neck was clamped by steel bars, unable to breathe, his face turning red with blood.
AI Model: gemini-3.5-flash
"Why are you running?" Logan's voice was as cold as ice. "Weren't you acting tough just now?"
He drove his knee upward, slamming it hard into the other man's lower back.
With another crisp crack, the lumbar spine snapped.
The thug collapsed limply to the ground. His lower body seemed to have lost all sensation, leaving only his upper body twitching as he let out hoarse, rattling groans.
In barely a dozen seconds, all three thugs were sprawled on the ground with broken limbs, wailing incessantly.
Logan shook his hands, not even out of breath. He walked over to John and lent him a hand. "You alright?"
John's lip was split, and he had taken several blows from the clubs to his back, but he still stood firm. Shaking his head, he gave him a complex look. "I'm fine. Thanks."
He knew Logan could fight, but he hadn't expected him to be this good.
Three armed, burly men were like paper mache in his hands. His strikes were precise and brutal, clearly the work of someone accustomed to living on the edge of life and death. This neighbor of his was indeed no ordinary man.
"Let's check Helen first." Logan didn't say much. He knelt down, checked Helen's breathing, and felt her carotid artery. Fortunately, though her breath was weak, it was steady. She had likely passed out from a head injury.
Just as he was about to pick her up, a venomous roar echoed from the ground.
It was the lead thug. His arm was broken, and his face was drenched in sweat from the pain, yet he still forced out a threat: "You fucking dare touch me... My dad won't let you get away with this! Viggo Tarasov! All of New Yorkbelongs to him! I'll make sure both of you die without a grave! And that woman..."
Before he could finish, Logan slowly stood up straight.
He glanced down at the man on the ground and suddenly smiled. But the smile didn't reach his eyes, and it was chillingly cold.
"I originally only planned to break your limbs to teach you a lesson," he said leisurely, bending down to pick up the blood-stained baseball bat from the ground and weighing it in his hand. "Unfortunately, you have a big mouth."
Looking at the bat in his hand, fear finally crept into the thug's eyes. "W-What do you want to do? My dad is..."
"Viggo, right?" Logan interrupted, lightly tapping the bat against his palm. "When he comes looking for me, I'll make sure he gets a good look at what his precious son has become."
With those words, he raised his hand and swung.
"Thud—"
The dull thud was heavy, like a bat hitting a rotten watermelon. The thug's head jerked violently to the side, blood splattering onto the carpet as his scream cut off abruptly.
Logan didn't stop. He swung back with another strike, smashing the other cheek. The sound of fracturing bone was sharp and grating.
He controlled his strength perfectly. Each blow was heavy enough to put the man into a deep coma, yet not enough to kill him on the spot. Dying would be too easy for them; Viggo had to see his son's miserable state with his own eyes for this to be over.
Three strikes, four strikes.
Cracks spread across the wooden handle of the baseball bat, and wood splinters mixed with blood flew everywhere.
All three thugs had their heads split open, their faces swollen like pigs. They were barely breathing, twitching stiffly on the ground, just one breath away from death.
John stood by and watched, his expression unchanged.
The blood on his own hands was no less than Logan's, but he hadn't expected this neighbor to be even more ruthless than him, acting without the slightest hesitation, daring to beat even a mob boss's son to death's door.
"Aren't you afraid of trouble?" John asked in a raspy voice.
"Trouble?" Logan scoffed, tossing the broken bat aside. "They brought this on themselves; they can't blame anyone else. If Viggo has any sense, he'll keep his head down. If he dares to cause trouble, I'll deal with him too."
Without another word, he bent down and carefully picked Helen up.
Helen was very light. The blood from her temple was still flowing, staining his shirt. "Can you walk?"
"Yes," John nodded, bending down to pick up the shivering Daisy. The puppy huddled into his arms, whimpering.
"Let's go, to the hospital."
Logan carried Helen out in front, with John following behind. In the yard, his Hummer was still parked by the roadside with its doors open.
He gently placed Helen in the back seat, found a jacket to cushion her head, and turned to John. "Get in the front. I'll drive fast."
John didn't stand on ceremony and climbed into the passenger seat with Daisy in his arms.
The engine roared, and the Hummer sped away into the night like a black Beast.
Logan drove fast and steady, running red lights without the slightest hesitation.
John held the dog, staring at his profile, remaining silent for a long time.
He knew that after today, Logan was completely dragged into this.
The Tarasov Family held significant power in the New Yorkunderworld, and Viggo was ruthless; he would never let this slide.
"This started because of me," John finally spoke after a long silence, his voice very low. "I'll handle Viggo."
Logan glanced at him and scoffed, "Handle my ass. Your back is so hurt you can't even stand straight, and Helen is still unconscious. How are you going to handle it? Cut the crap, let's get her treated first. They're just a few thugs; they can't turn the world upside down."
He spoke nonchalantly, but John knew in his heart that it wasn't that simple.
But he didn't exchange any more pleasantries, simply nodding and keeping this favor in mind.
The hospital was a private one under Tony's name, with the best Doctors on duty even late at night.
With a single phone call from Logan, the Dean personally led a team to wait at the emergency entrance.
Helen was wheeled into the emergency room, and Johnwas also dragged off to have his back injuries treated—several soft tissue contusions and a bone fracture. Fortunately, he had a tough build; any ordinary person would have collapsed long ago.
It wasn't until the latter half of the night that the Doctorcame out to say that Helen had a concussion and minor intracranial bleeding, but her condition had stabilized. She only needed to be hospitalized for a week of observation, and there was no danger to her life.
John's injuries had also been treated. Bandaged up, he sat on a bench outside the ward, his face still grim.
Logan leaned against the wall, an unlit cigar dangling from his mouth, staring at the window at the end of the hallway.
"Leave Daisy with me for now," he said. "You stay at the hospital with Helen. The dog needs someone to look after her. My Ares is at home; they can play together."
John turned to look at him, paused, and said softly, "Thanks."
"It's no big deal," Logan waved his hand. "Just focus on accompanying Helen and don't worry about the outside stuff. If Viggo dares to cause trouble at the hospital, I'll make sure he walks in on his feet and leaves in a body bag."
John didn't say anything, just nodded. He knew Loganwasn't boasting; the man had the ability to back it up.
By the time they left the hospital, the sky was already beginning to lighten.
Logan drove home. The pet carrier sat in the passenger seat with Daisy curled up inside. After a night of terror, she had finally fallen asleep, her body twitching occasionally.
Upon returning home, the moment he opened the door, Ares trotted over. He sniffed at the carrier, then looked up at Logan, his eyes lighting up. It was his good friend, Daisy.
"Behave, don't scare her," Logan rubbed Ares's head, opened the carrier, and gently lifted Daisy out, placing her on the carpet.
The little one woke up. Seeing her good friend, she couldn't help but nudge forward, but then, remembering her earlier fright, she shrank back.
Ares, however, was very patient. Lying on the ground, he rested his massive head on his paws and watched her without moving, his tail gently sweeping the floor as if to reassure her.
After a long while, Daisy finally summoned the courage to carefully edge closer and sniff Ares's nose.
The big dog didn't budge, letting her sniff, and even gave her tiny head a gentle lick.
The little pup was instantly no longer afraid. She climbed up along Ares's paws and curled up against his furry chest, quickly falling back asleep.
Watching this scene, the corners of Logan's mouth curled up involuntarily.
He walked over to the living room window and watched the sky outside gradually brighten, sighing softly with the cigar in his mouth.
He had originally wanted to fish peacefully for a few days, have a couple of meals with Michaela, and enjoy some quiet time.
Now, with the Tarasov Family sticking their noses in, his peaceful days were officially over.
But... it wasn't all bad.
He flicked his cigarette ash, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.
Viggo Tarasov had so many mob thugs under him. Since he had nothing better to do anyway, it was the perfect time to stretch his limbs.
He turned and walked toward the bathroom, planning to take a shower and catch up on sleep. As for whether Viggowould come for revenge and when, he didn't care in the slightest.
If they came, great.
If they didn't, he wouldn't mind paying them a visit himself.