Marvel's Princess - Chapter 32
The black medical examiner, not wearing protective gear, seemed very unprofessional. After the forensic team finished photographing and recording, he pulled the knife from the teacher’s eye socket and placed it in a sealed bag.
Then, wiping his hands, he walked up to the trio and casually asked, “Was this your friend?”
Only Claire had interacted with the teacher, so naturally, she answered.
“She was a good teacher; she didn’t deserve this end.”
It was clear Claire felt a strong sorrow.
“What end do you think she deserved? A car accident? Crushed by a drawbridge? Electrocuted? Strangled by a wire? Or drowned? Which do you think would have been more fitting for her?” the examiner asked with the focus of a scholar discussing an academic problem in a classroom.
“You!”— Claire’s eyes flared with anger, her right fist clenched, feeling his comments were out of line.
Chris stepped in front of his sister, staring at the medical examiner: “Friend, I think you should show the bare minimum of respect for the deceased.”
“Hmph,” the examiner snorted, “Everyone dies. There are no wrongful or tragic deaths, only the destiny that comes to us all. Before that destined fate arrives, there is no cruelty or kindness. Your sympathy—she can’t feel it. I have things to do, goodbye.”
The examiner shook his head with a smile, instructed the officers to return the body to the morgue, and then left alone.
Bella didn’t sense any extraordinary power from him; she just had an unabashed fascination with death, which she found typical of someone obsessed with the macabre—a rarity but not unheard of in reality.
She considered launching a surprise attack to test the examiner but decided against it. If he were just an ordinary person, playing tricks would be pointless. If he were hiding his abilities, such a minor test would be meaningless and could alarm him.
After spending twelve hours dealing with an Invisible Man, plus contacting survivors and visiting the deceased, they had spent most of their day.
Bella convinced Claire and her brother that the incident was an act of nature’s revenge on humanity, advising against speculating about terrorists or places like Iraq, Afghanistan, Iran, or Beirut.
Of the three, only Chris had connections with governmental agencies, naturally seeking official help.
The survivors distrusted the authorities, believing they were safe at home and that misfortune wouldn’t strike them from the sky.
But this is the information age, and news travels fast.
The authorities were clever, reporting every survivor’s death to all the others.
When the death count reached seven, with five confirmed fatalities, the remaining survivors panicked.
“It must be those rich people behind this! They want us dead!”
Survivors gathered in an open-air gymnasium in east Phoenix, believing that reducing the chances of controlled accidents by Death itself would minimize risks.
A few elderly men, thin and white-haired but with loud voices, gathered to express their fears.
They blamed global airlines for targeting the survivors to reduce compensation.
Bella was speechless; she knew the truth about Death but couldn’t speak it out loud without evidence.
Many people judge events based on their experiences, like Chris, who deep down still believed the killer was a high-IQ criminal, while these old men blamed the capitalists.
Some thought a demon was responsible. Others suspected a familiar acquaintance, a business partner, or a neighbor coveting their spouse, leveraging the Flight 180 incident to kill them.
All sorts of theories were speculated.
Bella was in a dilemma; she had a rough plan to deal with Death but didn’t know how to propose it.
“Hmm?” As she studied a map and an ancient Native American manuscript, a bright spot suddenly appeared in her perception.
If an average person’s mental power was like a firefly, this person was a flashlight.
The ordinary person’s mental power was jumbled and scattered, while this individual’s was more focused, indicating specialized training.
Who was this?
Bella’s psychic probing was very discreet; she didn’t alert the person and casually came out to observe.
A woman with brown skin caught her eye, seemingly biracial, with short silver hair and a calm gaze. She was dressed in a black leather suit with a black cloak, her waist adorned with a belt marked with an X.
After learning about Professor John Grey’s deep connection with the X-Men, Bella researched online information about the X-Men in this world. Students couldn’t see it, but a few teachers could; after all, they weren’t terrorists or secret societies but were using the Genius Youth School as a front to train mutant students.
The teachers’ appearances and names were publicly available online.
The woman in black was Ororo Munroe, the Storm, an African-American.
The storm’s mental power was strong, and in Bella’s perception, it was like a thick cloud pregnant with wind and lightning.
But because her aggressiveness was so strong, her mental power seemed quite volatile, with poor control and lacking probing or mind-reading abilities. Bella
Observed her several times without Storm noticing.
Storm was consciously lowering her presence as she entered the gym with a group of formidable men and women.
These people looked elite, handguns tucked behind their backs, and several of them scanned the gym upon entering, radiating an aura of ‘agents’.
A very tall redhead woman led them, her beautiful face offset by a serious demeanor that made her unapproachable.
As the survivors started to stand up, they looked toward this uninvited group.
The redhead nodded to an agent with a square face, who then flashed his credentials.
“We’re from the FBI, and please trust us. We will protect you. We’ve set up many safe houses, which are very secure.”
These are also FBI? Bella couldn’t help but turn to her companion, Chris Redfield, “Are these your colleagues too?”
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