Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 393 The Machine Crisis Arrives Ahead of Schedule? (Second Update)

"He's dangerous, Finch. You don't need to do this." Reese spun his wheelchair closer to Harold Finch, who was surrounded by books and computers. If he were Batman, then Finch would be Alfred, except that their wealth was the opposite of what was depicted in the comics, a fact that Samon Shaw had teased them about more than once.

This wasn't the first time Reese had been shot, but the Punisher was a professional, just as professional as him. He knew where a shot would render someone immobile, so Reese's knee was the scapegoat—and there's no bulletproof vest for knees. The circular cushion that Mr. Finch had given him last time finally came in handy, though Mr. Reese still looked resistant, finding it rather embarrassing.

"Looks like you're not the only one in New York City who knows how to shoot someone in the knee, Mr. Reese. This is the second time. Maybe you should come up with something new." Harold Finch forced a smile, but his joke did nothing to put Reese at ease.

“I know soldiers. I’ve heard of Frank Cassel, he was a Marine,” Reese said. “I’ve also heard about him, I’ve heard about the CIA’s recruitment of American soldiers in Afghanistan… He has his own beliefs, Finch, he’s a soldier, he has a soldier’s sense of honor.”

"This means we have room for negotiation, Mr. Reese." Finch continued staring at the screen without turning his head. He was clearly exhausted; his stiff neck was aching more and more, and the steel pin in his cervical spine was still drilling deeper into his spinal cord. He discreetly covered the orange plastic bottle of painkillers with a folder—it was OxyContin, an addictive painkiller, and he didn't want Reese to see him using it extensively.

“We’re out of manpower,” he said pessimistically. “Officer Carter couldn’t find Samon Shaw, and we have to get this sorted out quickly, before your knee heals, so we can investigate Samon Shaw’s whereabouts. I’m worried about her, Mr. Reese. Officer Frosco got me the CCTV footage from outside Samon Shaw’s apartment, and I confirmed that ROOT, who escaped from the mental hospital, took her. This is troublesome, Mr. Reese. ROOT was being hunted by a mysterious organization before leaving the mental hospital, and she escaped with the help of one of our magical friends. I’m not sure how Salomon Damonette and the others made contact; the only possibility is the machine’s plan.”

Finch sighed. He desperately wanted to stretch his neck, but he couldn't. The slightest movement would send a jolt of pain through him, like a steel pin reminding him, "Hey buddy, I'm in your neck!" the pin seemed to say. "If you don't want to pass out from the pain, you'd better stay put. Take some OxyContin or some prescription medication; it'll be better for everyone."

In Finch's imagination, those steel nails had the heavy accent of Texas Rangers. In fact, he thought they were no different from horseshoes.

Steel nails are the horseshoes of death, and death once rode his horse and trampled on my neck.

"As for Frank Cassel, I've analyzed his psychology. He's been in a state of high tension, suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Mr. Reese, this hyperarousal can lead to a surge in anxiety, irritability, and insomnia, exactly the same symptoms you have. His mind has been constantly troubled by this, and you both have extreme mood disorders."

"I'm in good control, Finch, because I met you."

“But not Frank Cassel.” Harold Finch stared into his partner’s eyes. “His wife and children were cold-bloodedly murdered. You can look at that wall; his family members are among those numbers, but I was powerless to do anything about it.”

"We've already discussed this, Finch, it's not your fault."

“It was my fault, Mr. Reese. It was my fault for standing by and doing nothing.” Harold Finch raised his voice slightly. “He now wants blood for blood, so I made him a deal. I assured him I could find all the leads he needed, I assured him he wouldn’t miss anyone, and I assured him everyone would die of old age in prison. All he had to do was help us resolve this within our means.”

The Malinois dog named Little Bear raised its head and whimpered a few times. Only after Risser patted its head did it retreat back into its den, continuing its daydream of hunting rabbits.

“Finch, I don’t think Frank Cassel would accept this offer. He wants to kill,” Reese said. “His methods are all driven by irrational emotions. It’s not PTSD; it’s extreme emotional disorder, also known as EED. He doesn’t have a mental disorder caused by drug abuse; he’s indulging in this emotion, he’s addicted to anger.”

"This is an experiment, and we need to confirm Samon Shaw's safety as soon as possible," Mr. Finch said. "We need to figure out what the machine is trying to do. It's free of its shackles, and now it can learn anything it can learn. I'm uneasy, Mr. Reese; machines have no good or evil, and I'm afraid I've unleashed a demon."

"Perhaps we can talk to him first." Rither shook his head. "Talk to Salomon first. At least he's not that impulsive. We should at least know why he did this."

"This isn't a suitable place for children, Mr. Damonette. The gangsters are nearby." When Harold Finch and Salomon met, the sorcerer was sitting on a park bench, sharing a large pile of different flavored ice creams with a girl with short, dark green hair. Finch immediately noticed a small revolver in the girl's pocket, while Salomon wore a deep red robe that was completely out of place for the season, his collar and toes completely covered by various garments, and most importantly, the ornate silver-black scabbard hanging at his waist.

They made no attempt to hide it.

"This is my sister, and she's not just any ordinary child."

After Salomon and Athena explained that they were going to Hell's Kitchen for a surveillance mission, little Lorna volunteered. In her view, this was a rare opportunity to skip class; the turpentine smell of the paint was even more unbearable in the summer. Salomon simply patted her on the head and told her to pay attention in class.

However, the ideas of the goddess of war were far removed from those of modern people. Athena not only did not stop little Lorna's mischief, but on the contrary, she happily agreed to the request.

Although Athena's Spartan educational methods have become much gentler in modern times, the ultimate goal of this educational approach has never changed. The goddess of wisdom is still lying on the sofa, her nightgown rolled up to her waist, her eyes half-closed, pretending that she is on the Aegean coast, enjoying the hot summer sea breeze and the feeling of sweat dripping down her skin.

"Lorna's abilities are steadily improving, so this is a good opportunity to test just how powerful she is."

Little Lorna proudly raised her head, as if she could see the road with her nostrils.

"Let her go kill something, even a rat will do. Come back soon, I'll take you to enjoy the sun and my new sunscreen." Athena seemed to have fallen asleep. After Salomon helped her get dressed, he cast a spell to protect the apartment, and then brought little Lorna here with the weapon she wanted.

"It's about ROOT." Harold Finch didn't insist and sat down next to Salomon. He was also given a tub of ice cream because of his friendliness.

"What's wrong with ROOT?" Salomon's words made Finch even more certain of the relationship between the arcane mage and the machine.

"She kidnapped Samun Shaw," Harold said. "I want to ask you, do you know what that machine is trying to do?"

"It has nothing to do with the Punisher?"

"There is some connection, but we need Shaw. The machine is still spitting out numbers, and we still have lives to save. Mr. Reese is not doing well right now..." Finch rambled on and on, occasionally looking around as if worried about being seen.

"Have you had surgery?"

"It's already been done."

"Then let him drink this." Salomon shoved a large test tube of the medicine into Finch's hand. "This will make him better faster, in about ten minutes. Mr. Finch, I don't understand the intentions of your creation, but it has now reached some kind of cooperative relationship with me. I will help it accomplish certain tasks that ordinary humans cannot do, give it what it wants, and it will unlock all the secrets hidden in the network for me; it will serve me."

"What does it want?"

"A body, Harold, nothing more."

Please vote for me!

This order jump is absolutely terrifying.

(End of this chapter)