Bella really didn't have any ulterior motives. She just felt like now that she'd struck it rich, she wanted those around her to share in her joy. Plus, after her recent penny-pinching, she'd been far too frugal. If she didn't spend a bit now, she'd feel uncomfortable.
She drew out her words: "What's wrong with treating you to dinner?"
Natasha studied her eyes carefully. "You definitely have an ulterior motive. Spill it."
Bella hesitated slightly, then lowered her voice. "Let's talk when we get home."
Talk at home? Then home they went. After finishing their meal, they drove back.
Charlie and Samantha were both at the police station working. The little ghost girl was still sleeping in the basement. The house was quiet.
"Come to my room." Bella dragged Natasha into her room, then gently closed the door.
"So mysterious."
Ignoring her muttering, Bella waved her hand. "Time's tight. Quick, take off your shirt first."
Then she produced a tube-like object and some ropes...
Bella's voice dropped even lower. "Can you let me... let me..."
Natasha's eyes widened in surprise. "You're sure you want to do this? Won't it cause an infection?"
"No, no, just lie down."
Two minutes later.
Natasha frowned tightly. "It hurts a bit. Are you any good at this?"
"How can you ask if I'm good at this moment? Of course I am! Trust me, don't move. Let me tie you down tighter..."
Five minutes later.
"Your technique is too rough!" Natasha complained. "There's so much blood!"
Bella was getting annoyed by her complaints and glared at her. "It's my first time! Being a bit rusty is understandable! Relax, relax. I'll go slower. I've got the hang of it now..."
"Easy for you to say when it's not your blood! If you're so capable, you lie down and I'll do it!"
"Stop talking! Did I treat you to lunch for nothing? Just hold still!"
After considerable fuss, Natasha lay weakly on the bed. She needed to rest for a moment—she felt dizzy. Once she recovered some strength, she'd wash the bedsheets.
Bella left the room with the two hundred milliliters of fresh blood she'd just drawn.
She didn't explain what it was for, and Natasha, who trusted her deeply, didn't ask.
Actually, she was going to create Natasha's clone!
Her dear sister's work was far too dangerous, and warnings fell on deaf ears.
Like Natasha herself said, she loved excitement! All her life, she'd been chasing thrills.
Nothing to do with justice or evil. Being an agent felt exciting, so she became an agent. Being an Avenger was exciting, so she became a superhero.
No Captain America-style compassion for humanity, no Tony Stark-level concern for the world—just pure, unpretentious personal pursuit.
Being with Hawkeye was for excitement. Being with the Hulk was too. Calling Black Widow complicated or promiscuous was wrong. She'd always walked her own path without deviating an inch.
That was simply who she was.
But chasing excitement required paying a price. The future world was so dangerous—she could lose her life at any moment.
For a mage, death was never the end. Even if Natasha died, Bella could, with some effort, retrieve her soul and then resurrect her using a cloned body! This was the method she'd devised—a product of science and magic combined.
Of course, this was the absolute last resort.
Whether retrieving a soul from Heaven, Hell, or the Underworld, all were incredibly dangerous. Better to stay alive if possible.
She wanted to use the clone to develop a bio-virus perfectly tailored to Natasha's personal genetics. As long as she could enhance Natasha to Wesker's level, combined with her brilliant mind and natural talent, she'd definitely be much safer in the future.
Also being cultivated simultaneously were clones of the little ghost girl, Violet Harmon, and Shaw.
The little ghost girl's resurrection was relatively simple. Shaw was trickier—she'd fused with Pika. Bella still needed to figure out how to separate the pure soul without harming her spirit form.
Two clones of the little ghost girl, two of Shaw, six of Natasha—ten cultivation tanks lined up in a row.
She stood there for a long time before turning to leave, instructing Dr. Harlow to check on the clones' health periodically. The requirements this time were high—ten months of gestation, then at least another year of growth to reach complete form. These clones wouldn't be ready for use until two years from now.
The excitement over the iron codex and ruins faded quickly. Though some debate continued in academic and religious circles, for the general public, this news had lost all interest.
The iron codex was great, the ruins were wonderful—but so what? What did they have to do with ordinary life?
Mr. Jizz was the one who brought the masses entertainment, even sparking family dinner table discussions.
From eight to eighty, everyone knew about Mr. Jizz!
The nationwide discussion meant that Mr. Jizz's ex-girlfriend, Miss Maria Hill, wore a cold expression every day. According to Natasha, everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D.—from the cleaning ladies to Director Fury himself—avoided walking near Hill, fearing they'd laugh out loud and damage S.H.I.E.L.D.'s internal unity...
In early April, Victoria Hand invited Bella to visit her laboratory.
Not all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were full-time agents. A large portion had real-world jobs and identities. Natasha still attended university, Phil Coulson still served as a high school principal, and Victoria Hand owned her own laboratory. Her public identity was lab director, plus she held a doctorate in biology.
This laboratory also had Stanford as a stakeholder—it was a collaborative project.
If Bella's bestselling author identity was a pretty business card, then Victoria Hand's laboratory director identity was an even more prestigious and elegant one.
But just as Bella's writing wasn't solely for fame—it also brought substantial income—Victoria Hand's laboratory had now developed something worthwhile. Hence her invitation to several Stanford friends and business contacts to witness together.
Weyland Company's Clone Island was in the Caribbean. Victoria Hand's laboratory was located off the coast of Baja California.
Mexico lay between them—her lab was west of Mexico, Clone Island east of Mexico. Both coincidentally avoided the United States, placing their facilities outside U.S. territory.
The offshore laboratory had once been an Allied submarine supply base during World War II. Victoria Hand had used her connections to purchase and convert it into a laboratory and research facility.
The recently renowned Bella also received an invitation. Thinking she had nothing better to do, and hearing this lab was in the ocean, she happily accepted.
She wore a Burberry plaid shirt, tied at the waist to reveal her smooth, toned midriff, with denim shorts and canvas shoes—youthful and fashionable.