Hello, Phil, good evening."
No response.
Just as Mike thought the call had been hung up, Coulson's voice drifted over: "Mike, when you talk like that… I feel very uneasy."
"Uneasy about what? I wouldn't harm you. I'm not that kind of person, you know me. This time it's good news, I have a gift for you."
"What kind of gift? Not one of those 'boom' gifts that blows up an entire block, is it?" Coulson muttered to himself, 'It's precisely because I know you that I'm uneasy.'
"How could that be?!"
"Phew!"
Just as Coulson was breathing a sigh of relief, Mike continued, "Just a corpse…"
"Uh!"
"…And the corpse has a special virus."
"Gah!"
Coulson almost fainted.
A virus is even more terrifying!
"Can you please finish a sentence at once? You're going to give me a heart attack." Coulson's veins were practically popping on his forehead. "Also, what kind of gift is a corpse?!"
"Oh…"
Next, Mike briefly described the Purple Man's situation and his superpowers.
Coulson's eyes turned green.
The Purple Man's abilities were terrifying. If they could be reverse-engineered and mass-produced… the picture was truly horrifying.
It couldn't be in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s hands, nor could it fall into anyone else's.
Mike listened as Coulson's breathing grew heavy.
Then he hung up the phone.
Heh heh ~
Reverse-engineering, mass-producing Purple Men…
It's not that simple.
Thinking too wishfully.
Humans have been researching for a long time, but the superpowered individuals created in laboratories have various defects and side effects. Most legitimate superpowered individuals are either naturally gifted or result from various accidents—exposure to radiation, contact with chemicals, etc., making them difficult to replicate.
Besides, if S.H.I.E.L.D. manages to research the Purple Man's abilities, then what?
Contribute indelibly to HYDRA's World domination?
The reason for asking S.H.I.E.L.D. to help dispose of the body was simply that Mike couldn't just discard the Purple Man's body on the street. While S.H.I.E.L.D. might be clumsy in some aspects, their ability to wrap things up and handle aftermaths is commendable.
In places like Hell's Kitchen, where gangs run rampant, various gray industries naturally emerge to serve them. "Cleaners" are one such type. They help dispose of bodies—either by burning them to ash or dissolving them with strong acid—and then clean crime scenes of bloodstains and DNA. They are quite professional, much more so than the amateur efforts of gang members.
"Cleaners" are a manifestation of professionalized and refined crime, a nightmare for the Police.
Not only do gangs have cleaners, but among the services offered by the Continental Hotel, there is a "cleaner service."
However, the Purple Man's body might pose potential dangers, so entrusting it to S.H.I.E.L.D. was safer.
Not long after, S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents arrived first. They quickly set up a cordon, dispersing the onlookers who dared not approach but still wanted to gawk.
Initially, these Agents were tasked with monitoring Mike, but later, when monitoring became unnecessary, they transformed into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Hell's Kitchen Street Office, responsible for handling matters related to "trouble magnet" Mike. Like tonight's incident. However, they arrived in a hurry, and all they could do was keep people away and watch Mike make a call.
Mike was calling Jessica, telling her that the Purple Man situation was resolved and she didn't need to worry about Hope's situation either.
Mike gave S.H.I.E.L.D. such a "big gift," so it was reasonable for them to help with Hope's matter, right? Hope's acquittal might be impossible for ordinary people, but for an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D., official channels or bending the rules would work. A few phone calls, a few favors, and it could be settled.
Then Mike heard Jessica's suppressed sobs and felt helpless.
He didn't know how to comfort her.
Some pain cannot be relieved with a few words. Perhaps only time and long-term companionship can truly heal deep pain, so Mike could only offer a few conventional words of comfort.
How to put it, regardless of what Jessica might think, her experience was truly tragic—imprisonment, sexual abuse, mental and physical torment, followed by being controlled to kill innocents, isolating and alienating her from the entire World. Anyone else would have had a mental breakdown long ago.
Sighing, Mike hung up the phone.
At least she's still alive.
About ten minutes later, a helicopter landed near the street.
Coulson and Agents in hazmat suits streamed out. He immediately saw Mike leaning against the car door, smoking.
"Show-off!" Coulson grumbled.
He didn't know if he was complaining about the person or the car.
Possibly both.
Mike threw a cigarette from afar, and Coulson, agile, caught it steadily.
He lit it.
And took a satisfying drag.
"I thought you didn't smoke."
"I don't, smoking is bad for your health." Coulson exhaled smoke, rolled his eyes at Mike, and said, "It's just that with this much overtime, I probably won't live to see the day I get cancer, so don't worry."
"Uh, when you put it like that, it makes it sound like I was worried about you."
"Get lost!" Coulson walked around the lamborghini. "Nice car!"
"Can't compare to your 'Laura'."
Laura is a red antique car, a concept car produced by Stark Industries that was not mass-produced. All four tires conceal jet engines, giving it vertical takeoff and landing and low-altitude flight capabilities, and it also has flamethrowers.
Comparing a Batmobile to the black-tech Laura is a bit unfair.
It's not that Mike didn't want to buy something better, it's just that the three ultimate supercars—the Porsche 918, McLaren P1, and Ferrari LaFerrari—hadn't been released yet, and lamborghini's own star, the "Veneno," hadn't debuted either.
Besides, truly limited edition supercars are already reserved by their Master before they even leave the factory. Unless there are special circumstances, how could you find one readily available on the market?
He could only settle for the "Batmobile."
Settle for it…
A man with over a billion U.S. dollars in his account is just that imposing. How does that saying go?—Money is a man's courage, a woman's face, a poor man's dignity, the foundation of marriage.
Not an absolute truth, but it makes sense.
After some idle chatter, they got down to business.
The Purple Man's abilities destined him to be able to kill and take whatever he wanted in the World of mortals. He didn't need to swipe a card, didn't need to register; as long as he erased surveillance, he was an "untraceable person."
S.H.I.E.L.D. not only knew of the Purple Man's existence but had even held him for a period, only for him to escape, as expected. From then on, the Purple Man acted cautiously, leaving almost no trace. S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn't track him, let alone capture him.
Now the Purple Man was dead.
Coulson was both sad and happy.
The sadness was because the higher-ups wanted the Purple Man alive to study his abilities. As for the casualties caused by him, for the higher-ups, as long as the casualties didn't exceed a certain range, they were just numbers on paper.
Who cares?
The happiness was that the Purple Man had mental issues and dangerous abilities. One less person like him makes the World a better place.
Fortunately, with the body, they could at least appease the higher-ups.
Suddenly, Mike said, "Some friends have arrived. I'm going to check on them."
"Would it be convenient to introduce them?" Coulson asked tentatively.
"I'm afraid not. They are masked friends and it's not convenient for them to interact with the official side."
"All right." Coulson didn't press the issue.