Chapter 144: Marcus

The next day, Michael paid a visit to Yan's embryo.

Perhaps because its starting point was exceptionally high, the embryo was developing at a surprisingly slow pace, and even now, it was only about the size of a newly born infant.

Michael glanced at the Tesseract. Weren't they boasting that this thing possessed infinite energy? How came it felt thoroughly unimpressive?

Returning to the laboratory, Michael spotted a stealthy figure.

"What are you doing?"

Susie jumped in fright and hurriedly shoved the bullets in her hand behind her back.

"Nothing at all."

Susie slipped a bug under the desk and then scuttled out with a guilty conscience.

Michael helplessly retrieved the listening device from beneath the desk and crushed it into pieces.

A few robotic spiders scurried over and dropped several identical bugs.

Michael slapped them into fragments with a single wave of his hand.

On the other end, Mike and Marcus, who were monitoring the audio feed, suddenly felt a piercing burst of static in their ears.

"F***."

Every single bug was dismantled the moment it was installed, leaving them even more at their wits' end.

Mike asked, "What should we do now?"

Marcus thought for a moment and said, "Let's take the initiative. He already knows we're watching him anyway."

"True. A face-to-face talk might reveal more flaws."

The two immediately hired a boat and headed for Twilight Island.

The boatman said to them, "Be careful. This is the private territory of the Umbrella Corporation. It's rumored to hold their core corporate secrets, and practically everyone who goes onto the island gets arrested."

"Arrested?" Mike asked curiously. "What happens to the people who get arrested?"

"Simple. Their movements are restricted; they either leave the private territory or live the life of savages by the beach. Good luck to you both."

With that, the boatman turned the vessel around and headed back.

He glanced back at the two men, then tapped his phone and reported, "Red Queen, they have landed on the island."

What a bunch of fools. Did they really not know that the headquarters of the Cobra Security Company had been relocated to the coast?

Watching the boat speed away, Mike turned to Marcus and asked, "What do you think will happen if we get caught?"

Marcus glanced at him sideways without saying a word, simply raising his hands in silence.

Mike was extremely confused and couldn't help asking, "Why are you raising your hands?"

"Lift your chin and look up."

Mike looked up and saw three robots holding massive firearms, silently staring down at them.

Mike slowly raised his hands to indicate he posed no threat.

The leading robot tossed over two pairs of handcuffs. Mike obediently picked them up and cuffed his own wrists.

Then the robot waved its hand, signaling them to follow.

Seeing that the robots made no aggressive moves, Mike asked, "Where on earth are you taking us?"

However, the robots ignored his impotent ranting.

Before long, they were hauled to the center of the island, where they were astounded to find a massive garden.

In the dead center stood a gigantic fountain, featuring an angel holding a vase from which water endlessly flowed.

"These rich bastards really know how to live," Mike couldn't help exclaiming.

They continued forward and arrived at a colossal white building that, at first glance, resembled the White House.

"Did this guy build a replica of the White House here?"

Marcus inspected the surrounding weight-bearing stone pillars and said, "No, this structure is far more majestic than the White House. It almost gives me a sense of pilgrimage."

They approached a flight of steps; each riser was half a meter thick, numbering ninety-nine steps in total.

Mike nodded and said, "Indeed, this isn't the White House. This is a damn temple. Has this guy started viewing himself as a god?"

The robot turned back to look at them, and Mike prudently zipped his mouth shut.

The two of them labored up the stairs. At the top stood a massive pair of stone doors, flanked by sculpted angels on either side.

The stone doors were wide open, offering an immediate view of the magnificent interior.

A colossal red carpet stretched from the top of the steps all the way inside, running straight to a throne.

Standing on the red carpet and looking up at the towering architecture, they instantly felt utterly insignificant.

Marcus examined the red carpet, plucked a thread from it, and said, "Pure wool, and top-tier at that. This carpet alone must be worth a hundred million."

Mike's jaw dropped at the revelation.

"Don't these rich people have anywhere else to spend their money?"

Marcus smiled and said, "Maybe they really do have more money than they know what to do with, much like little Bruce in the movies. The line between him and his butler was classic."

"What line?"

"Don't challenge my pocket money with your family fortune."

Mike closed his mouth.

Though the remark was ironic, it was also dead reality.

The robots unlocked their handcuffs and then quietly retreated on their own.

"What is going on?" Mike asked, somewhat astonished.

Marcus replied, "I'm afraid they aren't qualified to enter this place."

With that, Marcus took the lead and stepped inside.

"Stop daydreaming and get in here."

"Oh."

Mike hurriedly followed.

As he walked on the carpet, a bitter taste lingered in his heart.

Damn rich people, why aren't you paving the ground with banknotes instead?

Entering the sanctuary, the two discovered that the hall was completely empty, save for the massive throne looming in the deepest recess.

Had they come on a genuine pilgrimage, they would long since have been subdued by the solemn and majestic architecture.

Marcus couldn't help feeling puzzled. What was Michael's purpose in bringing them here?

If it was meant as intimidation, the objective should have been achieved long ago.

Michael strolled out leisurely from the back, looked at them, and asked, "Are you here on a pilgrimage?"

Didn't you have the robots bring us here?

Mike was about to blurt it out, but Marcus stopped him.

Marcus spoke directly: "Dr. Morbius, we are FBL special agents. We are here to verify some information with you."

"Ask away."

"If we may ask, what were you doing on the night of July fourteenth?"

Michael flashed a suggestive smile and said, "I was working out."

"Who can vouch for that?"

"My girlfriend."

Marcus produced a photograph and handed it to Michael, asking, "Do you know this man?"

Michael glanced at the photo; it was indeed Councilman Stan.

"Of course I know him. We were friends. What happened to him?"

Since the authorities had not yet made the cases public, Michael had no choice but to feign ignorance.

"He is dead."

"Oh, wonderful. I've long since had no patience for trash like that. How could scum like him become a councilman? It's an insult to the citizens."

Marcus was momentarily speechless, yet he could detect nothing amiss—even Michael's micro-expressions appeared entirely normal.

"Who do you think the killer might be?"

"Anyone could be."

"There were multiple murders committed that night as well. Do you recognize the people in these photos?"

Marcus pulled out another stack of photographs and handed them to Michael.

"Never saw them. But why put all these photos together? Are you suspecting the killer is the same person?"

Marcus froze.

Some of these victims had died from gunshot wounds, some from blunt force trauma, and others suffered even more brutal fates.

Virtually every conceivable method of murder was represented, with only a handful possessing eyewitness accounts claiming the perpetrator wore black bat armor.

Yet, why lump all these cases together?

If it were the work of a single individual, the sheer frequency of traveling back and forth across different regions of America would require a level of operational speed that even superheroes could not achieve.

This was clearly the work of a syndicate.

So why was the police so certain about consolidating these investigations? Did they know some underlying connection between these deaths, or rather, the cause of death?

Marcus instantly realized his train of thought had taken a wrong turn.

"Thank you for the reminder."

Marcus turned around and walked away.