I Am Gwen's Spider-Man Mentor

Chapter 73 Behind 911 and Gwen's New Pet

Frank Castle pulled the dagger from the corpse, flashed it in his hand, and thrust it into his waist.

Although we have entered the age of electronic information, the veterans who crawled out of the corpses in Iraq and Afghanistan are still accustomed to pen and paper.Right next to the tongue-hanging black body, the Punisher recorded the name of his next target, who was also the superior confessed by the lower-level drug dealer who had just killed himself:
Aaron Davis.

Frank took a deep breath, he picked up the body, and threw it into the trunk of the car—then the body would be transported to his residence, processed with a meat grinder, and then discarded in different batches at different times. Place.

As an anti-hero who is also a judge, policeman and executioner, it is a compulsory course for Frank to avoid the interference of the police while investigating the case. Those blue dogs of the NYPD stick up.

Like Gwen and Raymond, after the investigation pointed to several medical centers for veterans, Frank also keenly realized that the US military had been implicitly involved in Jin Bin's illegal drug case—as a former Marine As a soldier, Frank knew the military's unscrupulous methods, so he had to be careful and careful.

At this time, the middle-aged black man named Aaron Davis, who has a nephew relationship with the legendary Miles Morales, was holding hands with the former fire chief Richard Brown, The latter took out a white box from his pocket and handed it to the former.

"This dose is enough for an elephant." Richard whispered to the black man in front of him, "Be careful when you ship the goods, don't always think that NYPD has nothing to do with it."

"Understood." Aaron reported to Richard in a low voice, "but the medicine... To be honest, it is difficult to control the dose."

"That's not my business." Richard waved his hand, he didn't want to put any affection on a stranger he had never met, so he said, "Even if someone dies, I don't care, as long as you don't expose the channel , you pay attention to handling the things that should be dealt with.”

Aaron nodded, his hands in his pockets, and Richard walked side by side.

In the middle of the night, the street lights on the roads in Queens were flickering, and passers-by with their hoods on hurriedly passed by the two of them—no thugs without eyesight dared to rob them.

Although the lean Aaron Davis doesn't look like a ruthless character, Richard, who looks big and thick at first glance, is not easy to mess with.

"I heard you are a former fire chief." After a while of silence, Aaron took the initiative to break the embarrassment and asked Richard beside him.

"Hmm." Richard nodded, "But not anymore. I retired in 02."

"In 02..." Aaron frowned and was silent for a while before realizing, "Did you go to the World Trade Center Twin Towers in 01?"

"Yes." Richard smiled helplessly. "After that, I fell ill all over. It is impossible for the team to support me as an idler. I also don't want a group of brothers to look at me poorly all day long and give me alms, so I quit."

Aaron sighed. These black people have lived on the fringes of this bustling world since they were young. Naturally, they have a little understanding of the warmth and coldness of human relationships and the inconsistency of the world, but they feel a little bit of sympathy with the former fire chief beside him.

After a while, Aaron took the initiative to break the silence again, and this time his tone was a little more serious and respectful: "I heard that the World Trade Center twin towers burned down and collapsed, it seems that it is not as simple as it was said on TV and newspapers?
Aaron chattered on and continued the legend he heard from the urban tabloids: "I heard that the temperature of jet fuel burning is not enough to burn down the steel-concrete structure of the World Trade Center, let alone collapse the Twin Towers?"

Richard suddenly became alert. He stopped and looked at the black man beside him with scrutiny.After a long while, he spat out a sentence on guard: "Who told you to ask such a question?"

"No one, buddy, no one." Aaron spread out his hands, "Isn't this an urban legend, I just asked it casually!"

The former fire chief didn't answer the black man in front of him, he just scanned the black man's eyes back and forth suspiciously - he didn't relax his vigilance until he was sure that he really didn't see anything from those eyes.

"Don't get involved in these things in the future." Richard sighed: "I have an old brother who was invited to be interviewed by the tabloids before. Within a few days, he disappeared. It is rumored that he was taken away by the FBI."

"No way!" Aaron was a little surprised. "It's a rumor. The FBI naturally doesn't need to care about it, but the FBI does... Doesn't this prove that those urban legends may be true?"

Richard glared at Aaron again: "If you really want to disappear inexplicably, or be found shot 8 times in the back and commit suicide, you can continue to chatter on this topic."

"I understand." Aaron nodded, lowered his head, and muttered softly, "It turns out that 911 is really not as simple as the media said!"

----split line----

When a conspiracy is brewing in another corner of the city, Gwen Stacy, who is a ghost spider, knows almost nothing about it. The blonde girl struggles to drag her suitcase down from the subway.

There are not many people in the New York subway late at night, but it is very strange. In addition to the beggars in shabby coats and blue-collar workers who appear every day, there are of course gentlemen who seem to be a little bit high:
They twitched their noses, stumbled and spoke vague words, and yelled excitedly from time to time, which made people feel that the world was already neurotic.

As for the silent city-running men and women who live in bed with suitcases full of shady tools—

Even without human touch, Gwen could read the tacky smell of makeup and powder from the faces of those women.

There are also hippies in strange costumes, wearing Batman or Superman clothes, or the clothes of characters in Japanese comics, gathering in twos and threes to chat in the subway.

Of course, there are a few black self-proclaimed street artists who are painting the subway cars with paint.

Although on the campus of Empire State University, the girl with blond hair and pink highlights and eyebrow nails looks extraordinarily rebellious, but compared with this world, she is as innocent as a white lotus flower.

So, Gwen left this punk world as if escaping, tightly protecting the 24-inch suitcase in her arms, and then rushed to the dilapidated bedroom, and only then buckled the password on the suitcase, and put Raymond's Gifts are taken out of it.

I don't know if it was my hallucination, but when I took out the chubby white drone that almost filled the entire suitcase and turned it on, Gwen could clearly hear the fat drone The machine let out a "meow".

The slender girl stood up, with one hand on her hip, and smiled helplessly: "Raymond, is there such a fat cat?"

Immediately afterwards, Gwen, who was talking to himself, shook his head again, and knelt down on one knee—the girl planned to study the functions of this drone.

But the drone suddenly moved wildly, the ducted fans on both wings turned out of differential speed, and then Gwen crouched down and watched the chubby drone happily rushing towards him-and then threw the unsuspecting spider The girl rushed to the ground, and circled around her excitedly for a few times before calming down a little.

Gwen, who was knocked down by the innocent, stood up rubbing his forehead in some annoyance, patted the ashes on his body, and muttered, his voice seemed a little annoyed: "Is this a dog or an armed drone?"

Then she seemed to hear the drone that was looking at her tremblingly in the distance "meow" again - different from the last time, this "meow" was actually a bit aggrieved.

Gwen glanced at the time. It was already past 11 o'clock at night. According to Raymond's schedule, he had a meeting tomorrow morning, so he should have gone to bed early.After thinking of this, the girl gave up the idea of ​​sending a message to the instructor to ask about the situation, turned around and squatted down, and tried to greet the drone: "Hey, come here!"

At this point, on the core processor of the drone:

Successful voiceprint recognition, successful facial recognition...Judging it to be Gwen Stacy...Starting the favorability mode...

Like a shivering cat, the drone flew tremblingly in front of Gwen, leveled with the girl's blue eyes, and hovered quietly.

Gwen opened the touch panel on the drone and searched for it, but found no valuable information.The girl sighed, she planned to rest, and didn't want to deal with these complicated procedures anymore.

So, she tried to communicate with the drone: "Standby? Mute?"

The drone stayed there quietly, unresponsive.

"Hey?" Gwen tucked her messy hair back behind her ears, and groped forward lightly, "Hello?"

The drone didn't respond.

Then the blond girl scratched her head at the drone for a while, but couldn't think of a way.The girl sighed, took out her phone, and sent a message to Raymond for help—she thought, even if the professor fell asleep, she would be able to reply to the message tomorrow morning, so that she would have time to figure it out before going to the laboratory.

Unexpectedly, Raymond's message came back in seconds: What's the matter?
"Why hasn't he slept yet?" Gwen murmured, "Return in seconds?"

But the girl's two thumbs were jumping rapidly on the phone buttons—you drone, why didn't you respond suddenly?

Ah—that one!

Gwen looked at the message behind and circled around, and then displayed: "After the drone recognizes you, it automatically enters the 'favorite mode'. You can treat it as a pet and communicate patiently. The behavior of this thing is actually very rigid. .”

"Favorite mode?" The blonde girl's eyebrows twitched, and she asked in the end: "Who stuffed this thing into the armed drone?"

But when this message was sent, Raymond, who responded to the message in seconds, seemed to have disappeared, and did not reply to any messages, leaving only Gwen, and this one who was sneaking up, and did not know what behavior pattern he followed , only thinking about the drone that was focused on rubbing against the girl.

(End of this chapter)