Marvel Book of Magical Events

"I don't believe it," he said. "I don't believe your agents made a mistake when they infiltrated Langley, and I don't believe that William is in the way. Victoria Hand, I know you, don't lie to me."

"It's just a euphemism, Frank Castle." Victoria Hand frowned. She hated the feeling that dirty water splashed on the ground might seep into her high-heeled shoes at any moment. She should be standing on the clean and tidy deck of the aircraft carrier's command room and giving orders, but for this mission, she must come to the terrible environment known as Hell's Kitchen in the Clinton District. "William Roslin, Agent Orange... His mission was the CIA's black operation. He completed this mission, and then got his current position. The CIA taught local farmers to grow poppies, rough processed them and shipped them back to China. He was involved in a previous drug trafficking case in New York. Someone once sent a CIA agent in charge of drug trafficking in New York to the police station, and then—"

"—and released on bail?"

Victoria Hand nodded.

"Yes, the agent got into a black car after leaving the police station. We can't trace the information of that car," she said. "According to the video surveillance along the road, we found the body of the agent in the Hudson River. If you want to know the cause of death, it was strangled. If you want to find out the ins and outs of the whole thing, you have to cooperate with us, Frank Custer. You can't do it alone. The truth you are facing is not that simple."

"William Rosling?"

"Agent Orange William Roslin refused to give in, and we were in a hurry." Victoria Hand shrugged. "So we took his head and kept his brain active while mining information. I know this sounds incredible, but when the retrieval is completed, William Roslin will know everything."

"I'll join." Victoria couldn't see Frank Castor's expression, he kept his head down. Yet she knew that he had moved the gun away. "No matter what your master wants, I will join. Just don't let that kind of thing come to me again."

"You can't just say yes to something like that, Frank!" David Lieberman, a former NSA intelligence analyst nicknamed "Chip," yelled, jumping out of his chair with his messy curly hair. "We don't know what those unknown people want! Maybe they just want to find out about us, find out how many of us there are, and kill us all! Are you sure you haven't been followed? You didn't say my name! Did you?"

Frank Castor just glanced at his temporary partner, then continued to sit on the old sofa bed and polish his sccy cpx-2 miniature pistol. It was with this pocket pistol that he negotiated with Victoria Hand, but he never brought it out once.

"Those people contacted you on your number, right? Are you sure you didn't give them your phone number?"

Frank glanced at him.

"Really? Hurry up and give me the phone." David Lieberman held out his hand. Facing Frank's suspicious eyes, he suddenly became irritable, "Don't fucking ask why, just give me that damn phone!" Frank silently did. The chip, that is, David Lieberman snapped off the phone neatly, took out the SIM card and inserted it into a device that Frank didn't know what to do with. David Lieberman finally relaxed after a while of beating and beating for unknown reasons, which was far beyond Frank's knowledge. "You need to change your number," he said. "Since I can track you, those people can also locate your location through your mobile phone number. I don't want this to be exposed. You have to be careful. Many people want us both dead. We are now like an island in the sea. The sea is full of sharks. Even guys who look like dolphins can't be trusted because no one knows what they want to fuck..."

"They're from S.H.I.E.L.D." Frank Castor interrupted David's increasingly outrageous words. He said in a deep voice, "What they want is me, they want me to train soldiers for them."

"S.H.I.E.L.D.?! Well, now we have something to do with terrorists again!" David Lieberman collapsed on his swivel chair as if exhausted, almost throwing his cotton slippers out. He looked up at the light tube above his head, "What should we do now? Do you listen to the instructions of those from SHIELD?"

Frank Castor remained silent, picked up the next gun and began to polish it. He has many weapons to maintain. Once he and Victoria Hand came to an agreement, he had aid from the Immortal City—aid was provided in a sophisticated and safe manner, and three used vans were replaced in total, enough to make Frank Castor's paranoid feel safe. In addition to regular firearms and rocket launchers, Victoria Hand also gave him a mysterious suitcase containing a weapon that can only be used a few times. Frank Castle couldn't figure out how to take the thing apart, so he took the instruction manual and studied it carefully. "Deuterium heating, magnetic confinement, plasma, particle accelerator... use it three times and throw it at the enemy...David, how hot is the solar flare? F*ck!"

"About tens of millions of Kelvin? I don't know, why are you asking this?

Frank Castor threw away the instruction manual and pointed to the weapon in the suitcase, "You can't believe it, it is said that this thing can release energy that can reach the temperature of a solar flare."

"They gave you a high-tech thing?" David jumped up, trying to stay away from the suitcase. "Sounds like a bomb!"

"I don't think they want my life. There's no need for them to do so." Frank pointed to the file on the table with his chin. "They will give me a document, probably about the CIA's black operations. The [Cerberus Operation] I participated in is just one of them. The CIA has many such operations, and Agent Orange is just one of them. But that's none of my business, they promised to give me information."

"You trust them?"

"No, but they can help. That's enough."

David shrugged and stroked his beard that hadn't been shaved for a long time. "You know what? You don't have to lose your life, Frank. I'm investigating this so that I can meet Sarah again one day, and you can start your new life after that."

Frank Castor was silent.

"You don't have to put on a tough guy face for me, Frank," David said. "Have you thought about your life after this is over? Huh? Don't tell me you haven't."

"No, I dream of my family every day, David. I dream of them dying in front of me every day, blood and brains splashing on my face like lava. I can't do anything but watch them being killed." David saw Frank's skin turn red, and the blood vessels in his neck were agitated like a miniature bomb and almost exploded. Even so, Frank Castor did not vent his violence and anger, but forced himself to sit on the damn eighteen-hand sofa chair, roaring with fury and deep voice that could almost burn the skin. "No, David, I don't think about it until I get revenge. I need their blood, their pain, or I can't sleep well. Do you understand, David, do you understand?"

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