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Chapter 63: The Gathering and Gotham City
2022-10-19 Author: Great Demon Spirit
All the way, Slim was noisy, chatting about this, then scolding that. His scrawny body oddly possessed a booming voice, so peculiar that he could be heard in several cars ahead and behind them.
Finally, Tony reached his limit and knocked Slim out with a brick. The world was finally quiet; everyone let out a sigh of relief and smiled in relief.
Tony set out the food in the house, bought some good wine, and laid out a grand spread in the living room. The enticing aroma filled the air, with a vast array of dishes, encompassing both Eastern and Western cuisines, and a steady stream of restaurant staff delivering meals.
“This time, I'll splurge this once for a luxurious feast,” Tony said.
The mention of a feast reminded Tony of the dinner at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters that day. That was true luxury; Professor X was a billionaire magnate worth billions of dollars, and the cost of a meal was nothing to him.
However, Tony's abilities were a huge money sink. After some time, he would go to find Tony, gather relevant information and books to study, and further upgrade his Transformer. He didn't know how much money that would burn through.
The group sat down around the table. The Old Bartender took out the red wine he had plundered from Deacon; a fine wine, sealed for over thirty years. Bottles in hand, they began to boast.
Slim shamelessly followed them in, showing no intention of treating himself as an outsider, insisting on having a couple of drinks. He poured himself a large glass, drinking the red wine like beer. The Old Bartender's eyes reddened, and he nearly lunged at Slim, hastily snatching the wine back, announcing he would be responsible for pouring drinks for everyone from now on.
“Back in the day, when I first stepped into the mercenary world, I was at my peak…”
Slim spoke first, immediately launching into a tall tale, boastfully exaggerating how formidable he was back then, claiming to be undefeated throughout the world.
Everyone burst into scornful laughter, smiling as they watched him boast. Slim, being thick-skinned, naturally took it as praise.
“Pour me more, why are you so stingy?” Whistler was very displeased. He was elderly, with white hair, and also enjoyed a drink. The Old Bartender was so stingy, pouring him just a tiny bit with a reluctant look, which greatly annoyed Whistler.
“Ask him for it,” the Old Bartender said, clutching the red wine like a thief, stubbornly refusing to give any more. He pointed a finger at Slim, suggesting everyone hassle Slim, preferably beating this brute who drank red wine like beer to death.
“What, what's this? Are you bullying me because I’m honest? I’m an honest man, you shouldn't treat me like this.” Slim had just poured himself half a glass in one gulp. Seeing Whistler’s unfriendly expression, he decisively drained the wine in his glass, then inverted his glass to show Whistler it was empty.
“Go on. I’ve seen you a few times; I only know you’re a ‘renowned’ fellow, and many of your peers speak highly of you,” Tony said teasingly. An oddity like Slim was truly rare; it was hard to imagine how he had survived this long.
The Old Bartender instinctively squinted, sizing up Slim with his peripheral vision, but quickly returned to normal. For a split second, he had instinctively become paranoid; his self-preservation instincts were strong, making him wary of everyone.
“Of course, everyone praises me like that,” Slim said, elated, his words almost floating away. “Do you know, I once encountered a mercenary in red? He was a super chatterbox, full of endless nonsense. His mere verbal attacks could make you collapse. That time, I was hunted by him and almost lost my life.”
Slim talked incessantly, as if he hadn't spoken in years and had finally found someone willing to listen intently.
“Red clothes? Chatterbox?” Tony instinctively raised an eyebrow, probing, “Mercenaries who dare to openly wear red are not ordinary people; after all, that image is too distinctive.”
“Yes, that strange guy in red. He was very strong; I was no match for him and almost got killed several times,” Slim said, seemingly carefree, speaking whatever came to his mind.
Tony stared intently, feeling a bit puzzled. Deadpool, in the eyes of ordinary people, might seem eccentric in his behavior and speech, but generally, he wasn't someone who killed indiscriminately. His persistent pursuit of Slim must have had an absolutely critical reason. Moreover, for Slim to be chased by Deadpool and still survive multiple times…
“Why did he try to kill you?”
“Who knows? It seemed I messed up one of his deals, which pushed him too far. I’m telling you, that guy’s a total lunatic, too powerful. If you see him, walk the other way,” Slim said. He dropped his glass and started focusing on the exquisite food, his mouth watering, replying to Tony intermittently.
Tony shrugged, making a gesture of indifference. If Deadpool set his sights on someone, it was indeed possible, as long as someone was willing to pay him. If Deadpool really came knocking, Tony wouldn't be afraid. If pushed, he'd just throw money at him until Deadpool was overwhelmed; after all, he was about to become a shareholder of Stark Industries.
Blade and the others had already dug in. They, too, were people who had survived on the brink of death, and weren't particularly interested in Slim's experiences. What astonishing resume could a guy who went down with one punch possibly have? Perhaps that red-clothed fellow was just a third-rate mercenary. They were more concerned with the food; this table full of delicacies was top-notch, and this spread alone had cost Tony over ten thousand US dollars.
Blade, the Old Bartender, and Whistler usually lived very frugal lives. It was a rare opportunity for them to eat and drink without restraint, and they cherished it all.
As time passed, a large amount of alcohol was consumed, and everyone became quite drunk, putting their arms around each other's shoulders, boasting about their glorious pasts and splendid deeds. Blade was the most intoxicated; at any other time, this great warrior would never allow himself to get drunk; he always needed to be battle-ready.
But he had been greatly provoked, and Tony and the others implicitly understood not to ask him what had happened. If Blade didn't care, he would tell them himself; if he did care, why should Tony and the others bring it up? It was better to let time smooth everything over.
The female doctor was a cold-hearted person, but she seemed to harbor a different kind of emotion for Blade, which was evident from her constantly looking after him, ceaselessly pouring him wine. Although she didn't speak, she only poured wine for Blade, completely ignoring everyone else.
Now, in this moment, not just her, everyone simply needed to get this born warrior desperately drunk. Blade's life had always been about slaying enemies; it was time for a brief rest.
Everyone was drunk. Every single person here had their own story, a past they didn't wish to speak of. They understood, every one of them understood; no one had it easy.
Tony sat aside with a bottle of beer, smiling as he watched these guys, his thoughts drifting. No matter what the future held, no matter what terrible things he might experience, at least he now had a few good friends, and that was enough, wasn't it?
Suddenly, his phone screen lit up, accompanied by a pleasant ringtone. Someone was calling Tony. He looked down and saw the contact name: “Jean Grey.”
Tony's eyes narrowed slightly, and he subtly walked to the window. The others didn't notice, still drinking and boasting.
“I've already breached the system of that phone of yours,” Jean said directly as soon as the call connected, informing Tony of their progress.
“This phone had indeed been encrypted, but the encryption was unusually crude. This was illogical; people with such capabilities wouldn't need to do this, they could have encrypted it further. The phone's encryption only covered its outermost system layer, which could be cracked with a large amount of computation. The final deciphered result was a place name.”
Jean recounted her research findings in a serious tone. From the deepest part of the phone, she had obtained a place name.
Gotham City.
(end of chapter)
2022-10-19 Author: Great Demon Spirit
All the way, Slim was noisy, chatting about this, then scolding that. His scrawny body oddly possessed a booming voice, so peculiar that he could be heard in several cars ahead and behind them.
Finally, Tony reached his limit and knocked Slim out with a brick. The world was finally quiet; everyone let out a sigh of relief and smiled in relief.
Tony set out the food in the house, bought some good wine, and laid out a grand spread in the living room. The enticing aroma filled the air, with a vast array of dishes, encompassing both Eastern and Western cuisines, and a steady stream of restaurant staff delivering meals.
“This time, I'll splurge this once for a luxurious feast,” Tony said.
The mention of a feast reminded Tony of the dinner at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters that day. That was true luxury; Professor X was a billionaire magnate worth billions of dollars, and the cost of a meal was nothing to him.
However, Tony's abilities were a huge money sink. After some time, he would go to find Tony, gather relevant information and books to study, and further upgrade his Transformer. He didn't know how much money that would burn through.
The group sat down around the table. The Old Bartender took out the red wine he had plundered from Deacon; a fine wine, sealed for over thirty years. Bottles in hand, they began to boast.
Slim shamelessly followed them in, showing no intention of treating himself as an outsider, insisting on having a couple of drinks. He poured himself a large glass, drinking the red wine like beer. The Old Bartender's eyes reddened, and he nearly lunged at Slim, hastily snatching the wine back, announcing he would be responsible for pouring drinks for everyone from now on.
“Back in the day, when I first stepped into the mercenary world, I was at my peak…”
Slim spoke first, immediately launching into a tall tale, boastfully exaggerating how formidable he was back then, claiming to be undefeated throughout the world.
Everyone burst into scornful laughter, smiling as they watched him boast. Slim, being thick-skinned, naturally took it as praise.
“Pour me more, why are you so stingy?” Whistler was very displeased. He was elderly, with white hair, and also enjoyed a drink. The Old Bartender was so stingy, pouring him just a tiny bit with a reluctant look, which greatly annoyed Whistler.
“Ask him for it,” the Old Bartender said, clutching the red wine like a thief, stubbornly refusing to give any more. He pointed a finger at Slim, suggesting everyone hassle Slim, preferably beating this brute who drank red wine like beer to death.
“What, what's this? Are you bullying me because I’m honest? I’m an honest man, you shouldn't treat me like this.” Slim had just poured himself half a glass in one gulp. Seeing Whistler’s unfriendly expression, he decisively drained the wine in his glass, then inverted his glass to show Whistler it was empty.
“Go on. I’ve seen you a few times; I only know you’re a ‘renowned’ fellow, and many of your peers speak highly of you,” Tony said teasingly. An oddity like Slim was truly rare; it was hard to imagine how he had survived this long.
The Old Bartender instinctively squinted, sizing up Slim with his peripheral vision, but quickly returned to normal. For a split second, he had instinctively become paranoid; his self-preservation instincts were strong, making him wary of everyone.
“Of course, everyone praises me like that,” Slim said, elated, his words almost floating away. “Do you know, I once encountered a mercenary in red? He was a super chatterbox, full of endless nonsense. His mere verbal attacks could make you collapse. That time, I was hunted by him and almost lost my life.”
Slim talked incessantly, as if he hadn't spoken in years and had finally found someone willing to listen intently.
“Red clothes? Chatterbox?” Tony instinctively raised an eyebrow, probing, “Mercenaries who dare to openly wear red are not ordinary people; after all, that image is too distinctive.”
“Yes, that strange guy in red. He was very strong; I was no match for him and almost got killed several times,” Slim said, seemingly carefree, speaking whatever came to his mind.
Tony stared intently, feeling a bit puzzled. Deadpool, in the eyes of ordinary people, might seem eccentric in his behavior and speech, but generally, he wasn't someone who killed indiscriminately. His persistent pursuit of Slim must have had an absolutely critical reason. Moreover, for Slim to be chased by Deadpool and still survive multiple times…
“Why did he try to kill you?”
“Who knows? It seemed I messed up one of his deals, which pushed him too far. I’m telling you, that guy’s a total lunatic, too powerful. If you see him, walk the other way,” Slim said. He dropped his glass and started focusing on the exquisite food, his mouth watering, replying to Tony intermittently.
Tony shrugged, making a gesture of indifference. If Deadpool set his sights on someone, it was indeed possible, as long as someone was willing to pay him. If Deadpool really came knocking, Tony wouldn't be afraid. If pushed, he'd just throw money at him until Deadpool was overwhelmed; after all, he was about to become a shareholder of Stark Industries.
Blade and the others had already dug in. They, too, were people who had survived on the brink of death, and weren't particularly interested in Slim's experiences. What astonishing resume could a guy who went down with one punch possibly have? Perhaps that red-clothed fellow was just a third-rate mercenary. They were more concerned with the food; this table full of delicacies was top-notch, and this spread alone had cost Tony over ten thousand US dollars.
Blade, the Old Bartender, and Whistler usually lived very frugal lives. It was a rare opportunity for them to eat and drink without restraint, and they cherished it all.
As time passed, a large amount of alcohol was consumed, and everyone became quite drunk, putting their arms around each other's shoulders, boasting about their glorious pasts and splendid deeds. Blade was the most intoxicated; at any other time, this great warrior would never allow himself to get drunk; he always needed to be battle-ready.
But he had been greatly provoked, and Tony and the others implicitly understood not to ask him what had happened. If Blade didn't care, he would tell them himself; if he did care, why should Tony and the others bring it up? It was better to let time smooth everything over.
The female doctor was a cold-hearted person, but she seemed to harbor a different kind of emotion for Blade, which was evident from her constantly looking after him, ceaselessly pouring him wine. Although she didn't speak, she only poured wine for Blade, completely ignoring everyone else.
Now, in this moment, not just her, everyone simply needed to get this born warrior desperately drunk. Blade's life had always been about slaying enemies; it was time for a brief rest.
Everyone was drunk. Every single person here had their own story, a past they didn't wish to speak of. They understood, every one of them understood; no one had it easy.
Tony sat aside with a bottle of beer, smiling as he watched these guys, his thoughts drifting. No matter what the future held, no matter what terrible things he might experience, at least he now had a few good friends, and that was enough, wasn't it?
Suddenly, his phone screen lit up, accompanied by a pleasant ringtone. Someone was calling Tony. He looked down and saw the contact name: “Jean Grey.”
Tony's eyes narrowed slightly, and he subtly walked to the window. The others didn't notice, still drinking and boasting.
“I've already breached the system of that phone of yours,” Jean said directly as soon as the call connected, informing Tony of their progress.
“This phone had indeed been encrypted, but the encryption was unusually crude. This was illogical; people with such capabilities wouldn't need to do this, they could have encrypted it further. The phone's encryption only covered its outermost system layer, which could be cracked with a large amount of computation. The final deciphered result was a place name.”
Jean recounted her research findings in a serious tone. From the deepest part of the phone, she had obtained a place name.
Gotham City.
(end of chapter)
