I Am Gwen's Spider-Man Mentor

Frank Castle pulled the dagger out of the body, flashed it in his hand, and then inserted it into his waist.

Although we have entered the age of electronic information, veterans who crawled out of the corpse piles in Iraq and Afghanistan are still accustomed to pen and paper. Next to the black man's body with his tongue hanging out, the Punisher recorded the name of his next target, who was also the superior revealed by the low-level drug dealer he had just killed:

Aaron Davis.

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

As an anti-hero who is also a judge, policeman and executioner, Frank has to use some bloody methods to deal with the traces he may leave in order to avoid police interference while investigating the case. Those blue dogs from the NYPD are coming.

Like Gwen and Raymond, after the investigation pointed to multiple veterans' medical centers, Frank was also keenly aware that the U.S. military was already vaguely involved in Kingpin's illegal drug case - as a former Navy veteran Team members, Frank knows that the military is unscrupulous in doing things, so he has to be careful and careful.

At this time, this middle-aged black man named Aaron Davis, who has an uncle-nephew relationship with the legendary Miles Morales, is holding hands with former fire captain 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 shipping. Don't always think that the NYPD is covering you up and you have no scruples."

"I know." Aaron reported to Richard in a low voice, "But this medicine... to be honest, it's difficult to control the dosage."

"That's not my business." Richard waved his hand. He didn't want to invest any emotion in a stranger he had never met, so he said, "Even if someone dies, I don't care, as long as the channel is not exposed. , please take care of yourself and take care of what needs to be handled."

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

Late at night, the street lights on the roads in Queens flickered on and off, and hurried passers-by passed by the two of them with their hoods on - but no hoodlum without a sharp eye dared to rob them.

Although the lean Aaron Davis does not look like a ruthless character, Richard, who looks tall and thick at first glance, is not someone to be trifled with.

"I heard that you are a former fire captain." After a while of silence, Aaron took the initiative to break the awkwardness and asked Richard next to him.

"Hmm." Richard nodded, "But not anymore. I retired in 2002."

"In 2002..." Aaron frowned and was silent for a moment before reacting, "In 2001, you went to the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center?"

"Yes." Richard smiled helplessly, "If I fall ill in the future, it is impossible for the team to support an idle person like me, and I don't want a group of brothers to look at me as a poor person all day long and give me alms, so I quit."

Aaron sighed. Black people like them had lived on the edge of this prosperous world since they were young. Naturally, they knew a little bit about the warmth and warmth of human beings and the ins and outs of the world. On the contrary, they developed a sense of sympathy with the former fire chief next to them.

After a while, Aaron took the initiative to break the silence again, this time with a bit more seriousness and respect in his tone: "I heard that the twin towers of the World Trade Center burned down and collapsed. It seems that it was not as simple as what was said on TV and newspapers?

Aaron continued to ramble on about the legend he had heard from urban tabloids: "I heard that the burning temperature of aircraft fuel is not high enough to burn down the steel-concrete structure of the World Trade Center, let alone cause the Twin Towers to collapse?"

Richard suddenly became alert. He stopped and looked at the black man beside him with a critical eye. After a long while, he said defensively: "Who asked you to ask this?"

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

The former fire chief didn't answer the black man in front of him. He just glanced back and forth at the black man's eyes with suspicion - only after he was sure that he really didn't see anything in those eyes did he relax his vigilance.

"Don't get involved in these things in the future." Richard sighed: "I have an old brother who was invited by a tabloid for an interview. Within a few days, he was gone. Rumor has it that he was taken away by the FBI."

"No!" Aaron was a little surprised. "It's a rumor. Of course, the FBI doesn't need to take care of it, but the FBI does take care of it... 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 to have been shot eight times in the back and commit suicide, you can continue to chatter on this topic."

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

----Dividing line----

When a conspiracy was brewing in another corner of the city, Gwen Stacy, who was a ghost spider, knew almost nothing about it. The blonde girl dragged her suitcase down from the subway with some difficulty.

There are not many people in the New York subway late at night, but it is particularly strange. In addition to the beggars in shabby coats and blue-collar workers who come off the night shift that appear every day, of course there are also gentlemen who look a little high:

They twitched their noses, stumbled and spoke vague words, and occasionally shouted excitedly, which made people feel that the world had become neurotic.

As for the silent men and women who carry suitcases filled with all kinds of shady tools, live in the city, and make a living by their skills in bed——

Even without seeing anyone, Gwen could read the tacky smell of makeup on those women's faces.

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

Of course, there are a few black people who call themselves street artists who are using paint to paint on subway cars.

Although on the campus of Empire State University, the girl with blond hair and pink highlights and eyebrow nails looked particularly rebellious, but compared to this world, she was as innocent as a white lotus.

So, Gwen left the punk world as if fleeing, holding the 24-inch suitcase tightly in her arms, and then rushed to the dilapidated bedroom, then opened the code on the suitcase and put Raymond's Gifts are taken out of it.

Not sure if it was her imagination, but when she took out the round white drone that almost filled the entire suitcase and turned it on, Gwen could clearly hear the fat drone. The machine screamed "meow".

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

Then, Gwen, who was talking to herself, shook her head and knelt down on one knee - the girl planned to study the function of this drone.

But the drone suddenly started to move randomly, and the ducted fans on both wings spun out of differential speed. Then Gwen, who crouched down, watched the round drone happily rush towards her - and then hit the unsuspecting spider. The girl rushed to the ground and circled around her excitedly for a few times before she calmed down slightly.

Gwen, who was knocked down by innocence, rubbed her forehead in annoyance and stood up, patted the dust on her body, and muttered in a slightly annoyed voice: "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" sound 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 would have a meeting tomorrow morning and 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. She turned around and squatted down, trying to greet the drone: "Hey, come here!"

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

Voiceprint recognition was successful, facial recognition was successful...it was determined to be Gwen Stacy...favorite mode was activated...

The drone flew tremblingly in front of Gwen like a trembling cat, and then floated quietly after being level with the girl's blue eyes.

Gwen opened the touch panel on the drone and searched for it, but didn't see any valuable information. The girl sighed. She was going 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 sat there silently, unresponsive.

"Hey?" Gwen put her messy hair back behind her ears, and gently touched forward, "Hello?"

The drone didn't respond.

Then the blonde girl scratched her head and ears 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 asking for help - she thought that 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 instantly: What's going on?

"Why hasn't he fallen asleep yet?" Gwen muttered in her mind, "Why did he reply so quickly?"

But the girl's two thumbs quickly jumped on the phone buttons - you drone, why did you suddenly become unresponsive?

Ah——that!

Gwen looked at the message behind it and circled it, and then displayed it: "After the drone recognizes you, it will automatically enter the 'favor mode'. Just treat it as a pet and communicate patiently. This thing's behavior is actually very rigid. .”

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

But after this message was sent, Raymond, who responded to the message instantly, seemed to disappear, and did not reply to any message again. Only Gwen was left, and the dog was sneaking up on it, and he didn't know what behavior pattern he followed. , only thinking about rubbing the girl's drone.