Chapter 17 Murder? Maybe it wasn't a person, then it's alright. ...
For a moment, both Dick and Matthew sensed that something was off about Allen's expression.
It was as if something unexpected had happened, and that thing caused a dramatic fluctuation in Allen's mood—or more accurately, it excited him.
For Allen, something unexpected did happen.
According to his estimate, the 'squid' shouldn't have only lived until now; it could easily last a little longer. The 35.5 hours was just a joke; in reality, it would be at least three days.
Because, unnoticed by Dr. Miller and Dr. Edward, he gave 'Squid' a small gift, a 'gift' he had once given to Norman Osborn, which had pulled the frail Norman back from the brink of death when he was too weak to sit up in bed.
His purpose in giving this gift was to help 'Squid' regain his senses. After Squid told him some things he wanted to know, he would personally send him to meet Satan... Well, he didn't have to do it himself, after all, he had promised Matthew.
But now, not only has the 'squid' not woken up, it's also died prematurely. Allen doesn't think his prediction was wrong... unless someone tampered with it.
Thinking about it carefully, committing murder in the emergency room is indeed not difficult. The defenses of Brudhaven's emergency room are not even as good as the sparrow's nest in the tree outside his apartment, and the security guard at the door is probably only slightly better than Dick, who can't beat Matthew.
Allen wasn't upset about the death of a potentially useful gang leader, after all, he hadn't placed too much hope on 'Squid'.
In just a few seconds, Allen had already listed several suspicious people in his mind. After sorting out the chain of interests between them, the image of Mrs. Johnson covering her face appeared in Allen's mind.
“Allen, do you need me to come with you?” Dick asked.
“No need.” Allen refused without the slightest hesitation. “You all stay home. I won’t be back tonight.”
It wasn't a tone of discussion, but a command.
Dick suddenly felt that Dr. Osborn was very far away from him now, and that once clear figure seemed to have been hidden in the mist, making it impossible for him to see clearly.
Under the sunlight, Allen's eyes shone with a flickering light, and Dick couldn't tell for a moment whether his expression was joy, sorrow, or nothing at all.
Alan Osborne has finally returned to the way Matthew knew him. The doctor looks like a cold, emotionless doll, as if the doctor who was gluttonous, lazy, argumentative, and infuriating to him yesterday and this morning was everyone's illusion.
Just as Dick hesitated about whether to secretly follow, Allen had already grabbed his coat and left like a gust of wind.
Matthew sat on the sofa without moving, simply watching Allen's departing figure, his brows furrowed deeply.
**
Allen firmly refused Dick and Fudge's car and instead flagged down a taxi at the door.
He had just gotten into the car when his phone rang.
Allen answered the phone without a trace of surprise.
The voice on the other end of the phone was familiar, the kind that made Allen just want to roll his eyes.
“Good morning, my dear Allen,” Lex Luthor’s drawn-out voice came through the receiver. “How have you been lately?”
Allen could almost picture how the other person was sitting in his top-floor office in the Lex Building, legs crossed, arrogantly looking down at the Metropolitan skyline while making the call.
Sooner or later they'll blow up your building and bury you and your beloved Blue Scouts together.
Allen thought to himself.
He glanced at the taxi driver in the front seat without any emotion, but the driver seemed to see a condescending threat in Allen's eyes. So the middle-aged man gave Allen a respectful and tacitly ingratiating smile, and then considerately closed the partition between the front and back seats.
Allen clicked his tongue and warned, "I hate it when people pry into my whereabouts, Lex. If you do it again, I'll tell the Blue Scouts the address of your genetic lab in Vanuatu. And your plans to keep having sons for him, Mama Luther."
Lex Luthor coughed, startled by Allen's words. "Don't be like that, Allen. You know I'm just overly concerned about you, after all, you're my best friend. So how was your runaway experience? Did you receive the alien spine I sent you?"
His tone was relaxed and casual, as if he were really chatting with an old friend he hadn't seen in a long time.
The alien spine model that Matthew had been talking about for so long was the one that Allen got from Lex Luthor. It was said to come from a race that had been completely wiped out from the universe, and it was Allen's favorite toy recently.
Matthew's guess was correct; Allen had indeed maintained contact with Lex Luthor. In fact, his arrival in Broodhaven was also somewhat related to Lex Luthor.
He first heard the inverted triple helix symbol from Lex Luthor, who also suggested he come to Broodhaven to look for clues. Allen knew perfectly well that Lex Luthor and the Illuminati behind him definitely knew something.
But he wasn't going to ask directly; the answer he got from asking wouldn't be worth wasting his brain cells thinking about.
Deciphering the mystery was a small source of amusement in his otherwise boring life, and he had no intention of ruining his good mood.
Moreover, he didn't trust Lex Luthor—they weren't exactly friends; their only shared interest was finding ways to break the other's defenses.
“Then tell me, my friend,” Allen said sarcastically, “that you didn’t bother with Fitch Johnson’s death. I remember saying back then that I didn’t need your pointless ‘help’.”
Rather than Luther's beating around the bush, Allen preferred to get straight to the point: "If you're making me waste my time, then I assume you're prepared to accept a little trouble."
Lex Luthor grinned, thinking that Allen was still as impatient as ever.
“I swear I didn’t,” Luther said. “I called you only out of concern for a good friend—after all, I really wanted to know if you’d changed your mind. The Illuminati is still looking forward to your joining us, and we welcome you anytime.”
Allen didn't think Lex Luthor was calling him at this point in time just to check on the membership invitations he'd sent out. The only reason for that was that the other party had actually done or knew something and was certain that he would be angry about it.
Back in New York, he had declined several invitations from the Illuminati. One reason was boredom, and the other... in his words, a group of smart people together is far less efficient than a bunch of idiots; gatherings only create intellectual depressions, and he had no intention of becoming one of those idiots.
After that, Lex Luthor caused him a few minor troubles, which he retaliated against each time. However, out of admiration for their kind, they never went too far in fighting each other.
Then came Emily's death.
Allen knew that Lex Luthor had seen through his intentions long ago. The Kryptonian technology in Luthor's possession had helped him a lot; otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to develop a drug that could temporarily relieve Norman Osborn's pain.
But it wasn't permanent, and he knew very well that it probably wouldn't be long before Norman Osborne was paralyzed in bed again due to retrograde hyperplasia.
Harry might too.
Even himself.
Allen vividly remembers the feeling of his hands trembling and his fingertips aching in the conference room that day, and he is quite certain that it was not an illusion.
Perhaps his life is also coming to an end.
But this is not a big deal, after all, everyone dies, and he has no obsession with immortality.
However, before the goddess of death descends, he must figure out the secrets hidden within him.
And... there are so many people in this world who have died and come back to life, perhaps Emily will be one of them.
Lex Luthor's incessant chatter continued to come through the receiver, and Allen knew what the other person was thinking—nothing more than mocking his unrealistic dependence on maternal love and family affection, and believing that he was wasting his intelligence and time on trivial matters.
This view is exactly the same as his opinion of Lex Luthor; he also feels that Lex wastes his energy on trivial matters. He still cannot understand Lex Luthor's obsession with Superman and human supremacy, and believes that Luthor is essentially a paranoid megalomaniac.
Unfortunately, neither of them could convince the other, and both firmly believed that the other was an incurable fool.
"...Perhaps you'd like to visit the Metropolitan Area for the Bio-Gene Expo, jointly hosted by Lex Group and Osborn Group..."
You idiot, you'll die from your own obsession sooner or later.
Lex Luthor and Allen thought at the same time.
Allen looked out the car window at the passing scenery and, not intending to listen any further, hung up Luther's call.
He no longer wanted to know Luthor's purpose, but he was now certain of one thing—something was going to happen. Lex Luthor knew, and wasn't going to tell him.
He wasn't sure if Luther was just an observer or if he was actively involved.
Luther probably called to give him a little reminder, like a teaser before a new movie is released.
This was a display of power—intelligent people are always eager to show off their achievements to the world, and they are especially eager to defeat someone they consider equally intelligent. This subtly excited Allen.
Allen couldn't help but smile, and his eyes lit up slightly.
This uncontrolled danger... is so interesting.
He found it so interesting that he wanted to share his anticipation and burning excitement with Dick, but he knew very well that Dick probably couldn't understand the joy that came from something far beyond the release of dopamine.
So, to add another layer of joy to his already happy mood, he decided to find Luther something to do, so that the other man wouldn't always be watching him; it was a give-and-take situation.
All sorts of dangerous ideas flashed through Allen's mind, including but not limited to luring the mutant enemies belonging to the Avengers to Metropolis to cause some minor trouble, revealing some of the Kryptonian experimental results to Baron Zemo so that they could steal Lex Luthor's orders, using Luthor's technology production line to create a series of bombings... or even directly getting some Poison Ivy spores to control that heartless blue scout in Metropolis to shove Lex Luthor's bald head down the toilet.
Then, the faces of Emily, Dick, and Matthew suddenly appeared in his mind.
The delicious fried egg and cereal he ate this morning were continuously providing energy from his stomach throughout his body, and he could almost still smell the awful potato soup.
The peaceful, cluttered living room contrasts sharply with the ruins left by the explosion; in the past, Allen would definitely have preferred the latter.
He curled his lip in annoyance, his hand, which was about to post a bounty on some secret website, froze in mid-air.
After a long pause, he put on a stern face, tapped his phone a few times, and then reluctantly made a call to the IRS.
Since Luthor had approached him, he was naturally going to make things difficult for Lex Luthor.
Therefore, he anonymously reported that Lex Luthor deliberately concealed specific information about 11 Swiss accounts and 7 Costa Rican accounts, and requested the IRS to thoroughly investigate Luthor's serious violations of FBAR reporting requirements.
Under the law, the IRS can impose a $250,000 criminal fine and up to five years in federal prison on Lex; hopefully, they will keep their word.
The law enforcement officer on the other end of the phone sounded extremely excited. Allen sincerely hoped that Lex Luthor would feel the same level of excitement when he saw IRS agents storming into his house armed to the teeth.
Praise Matthew.
He actually learned to use illegal means to obtain other people's property information, and then use legal means to laugh at them.
Lex Luthor would never have imagined that he would be so law-abiding now, so he should be able to see a look of vulnerability on Luthor's face this time.
Allen's expression brightened slightly for 0.5 seconds before turning even uglier than before he reported Lex Luthor for tax evasion.
Good heavens, obey the law.
He became so law-abiding and kind.
The driver in the front seat broke out in a cold sweat and tremblingly pulled out his phone to report to his boss.
Allen, sitting in the back, shoved open the partition and whispered, "Listen, get out of the car now and buy me a piece of chocolate... unless you want to be a scapegoat and have your boss send you to jail for him. Tell me, you don't want your eight-year-old daughter visiting you through bars every day, do you?"
The driver shut his mouth in terror and floored the accelerator, as if a ghost were chasing him.
Allen swayed and almost hit his head on the car window.
He cursed under his breath and, without hesitation, blamed Luther for the misfortune of hitting the car window.
Reporting Luther for tax evasion is clearly not enough.
He sent another message to Deathstroke.
"It's time to pay back the favor. I want to see a picture of Lex Luthor's head in the toilet. You have three days. Don't tell me you can't do it!"
**
When the driver took Allen to the ER in Brudhaven, the driver's expression looked like he wanted to kneel down and see him off.
Throughout the journey, the driver witnessed the seemingly cold-blooded doctor cleaning guns the entire time, which made him tremble with fear, terrified that he might accidentally meet his maker.
As soon as Allen disappeared through the emergency room doors, the Maybach, disguised as a taxi, sped away like an arrow.
Ms. Goodman was already waiting for Allen at the entrance of the emergency department.
"Thank goodness." Ms. Goodman finally breathed a sigh of relief. When she heard Allen's voice on the phone, she almost thought she was going to get a good scolding from him. No one else could be a supervisor this bad; she just felt the emergency room should be renamed a problem children's concentration center.
Alan, the number one problem child in the emergency room, stormed into the ward and just happened to see the nurse removing the monitoring device from the 'squid'.
Allen frowned and stared silently at the man who had lost all vital signs.
Feige Johnson's clothes were cut open during the rescue, revealing stitches from his previous surgery on his exposed chest. The once prominent reversed triple helix logo was gone, and the skin with the tattoo was now smooth.
"...Resuscitation efforts failed, time of death 08:34."
Ms. Goodman walked over and patted Allen on the shoulder with great understanding: "Allen, Mrs. Johnson has been waiting for you in the conference room. As your attending physician, she insists on seeing you."
Allen didn't move, but frowned and said in a low voice, "I need to perform an autopsy."
"Provided you get Mrs. Johnson and her lawyer's consent." As if she had known Alan would say this, Ms. Goodman sighed and, as if by magic, pulled a document from the folder in her hand and handed it to Alan. "Here... every new doctor will remember the first patient who dies under their care, even if the person wasn't a good person. Alan, this is something every doctor goes through. Always remember, you are just a doctor, not God."
Allen considered the meaning Goodman was trying to convey logically and rationally, then nodded, "I understand."
In fact, he wasn't thinking about that issue at all; he was just wondering why Mrs. Johnson arrived so quickly, as if they had already predicted the 'squid's' death.
“But there’s something else, Allen.” Ms. Goodman glanced behind her, seemingly casually, before speaking, “Well… it’s like this, a big client suddenly came to our hospital—the kind who’s very interested in investing. He saw your profile on the wall and specifically asked you to introduce the hospital to him.”
Allen refused decisively: "I'm not going."
Ms. Goodman made a sound of "uh..." and looked back at the large shadowy figure that had been hiding in the corner with a regretful look.
Harry Osborn emerged from around the corner, his gaze dark: "Say that again?"
Allen: ...
Matthew and Foggy's arrival almost made him forget that he had a hapless younger brother.
Peter seemed to have reminded him on the phone that Harry had arrived in Brudhaven, but he didn't expect that the kid would actually come to the hospital to wait for him.
Strictly speaking, he hadn't seen Harry in a long time. Before Emily's death, he could occasionally see his brother's face in video calls between Emily and Harry, but since Emily's passing, he and Harry had never initiated a phone call between them.
Harry Osborn flashed his long-lost brother the signature Osborn smile, then said sarcastically, "My genius brother has actually been reduced to working in a lousy little hospital?"
Ms. Goodman stood behind him, attempting a weak protest against the description of the 'small, run-down hospital' by citing Wayne Investment's involvement.
However, neither of the two arrogant Osbornes paid any attention to the poor female manager.
Harry stared intently at Allen: "Tell me, how much does this hospital charge you? I'll pay ten times that amount to get Daisy treated for her cold."
Daisy was a golden retriever that Emily owned when she was still alive. This golden retriever lady with wet brown eyes accompanied them for more than ten years and was a rare mutual friend of Alan and Harry.
Ms. Goodman moved behind Allen and whispered a reminder to him to be mindful of the salary confidentiality policy and not to disclose personal information casually.
Allen's gaze swept over his younger brother, and after confirming that his brother was still an arrogant and rude little brat, he secretly breathed a sigh of relief: "So you can't even take care of a dog anymore? Your incompetence makes me seriously doubt whether you can actually drive Norman to his death so you can inherit his estate—if you just want to waste the good opportunity I left you, then I have nothing to say."
“Is he speechless or just unable to speak? Alan Osborn, you’d better get back to New York.” Harry took a few steps forward.
"Is there someone here who makes you so happy you don't want to leave?"
Alan thought of the cereal cop somewhat inappropriately.
Harry squinted and looked at Allen suspiciously.
Without hesitation, Allen pushed his brother's face away a little, his action showing obvious disgust.
Harry persisted, grabbing his brother's collar: "Listen... I'm planning to invest in hospitals. The future prospects for the medical industry are very good, and you can continue to be in charge of drug development. But I'm not doing this for you. As the heir to the Osborne Corporation, I have to consider the company's reputation—the Daily Bugle and the New York Times have already started speculating that we're at odds, and I don't want that to cause the stock price to drop!"
Alan didn't know why everyone wanted to persuade her to go back to New York today, but the more people tried to persuade her, the less she wanted to go back.
Besides, he didn't think Harry couldn't handle this little thing.
Ms. Goodman took two steps back, turned around, and walked away.
She felt she couldn't stay any longer; if she overheard any more of the secrets of the wealthy that she shouldn't have heard, she felt like she was going to lose all her hair.
More importantly, she needs to think carefully about how to apply to the board for funding to design a sculpture—it seems her little hospital, Osborne, is definitely going to be sponsored, so their emergency department's biggest contributor deserves the same treatment as the previous sponsor.
I'm just wondering if it would be inappropriate to place a statue of the Osborne brothers at the entrance of the emergency department. It might mislead people into thinking that their hospital is Osborne's private hospital.
Bruce Wayne, the big spender, is definitely not happy.
Whether Mr. Wayne, the sponsor, is happy or not, no one knows, but Batman is certainly not happy right now.
Dick is contacting Tim.
And for some well-known reasons, Batman is currently offline.
From the moment 'Squid' died, Dick naturally thought of the other people in Gotham whose deaths were shrouded in mystery. Batman, too, was investigating the new drug that had flowed from Broodhaven into Gotham and other areas, and had been working tirelessly for days.
Unfortunately, Tim didn't have any useful information either.
“…The entire supply chain was cut off, and like in Brudhaven, all the people involved are dead,” Dick said. “We did autopsies, and the cause of death was cardiac arrest. It looks as if they all died suddenly at the same time.”
Dick heard Tim on the other end ask, "How's it going on your end?"
“Not so good,” Dick replied. “There’s no doubt this is related to the magical side, but Constantine won’t say anything. Have you heard anything from Zatana?”
"No. It seems this was just Constantine's personal act... You know that guy's style; if he doesn't want others to know, I'm afraid no one can get him to talk."
Dick sighed. Aside from Constantine and the doctor, his only remaining options were probably—
Dissecting the carcass of a 'squid'.
Although Tim's autopsy yielded no results, he still wanted to see how 'Squid' was doing.
He had also heard from the doctor that squid wouldn't die so quickly.
But at the same time, Dick couldn't help feeling worried. His new boyfriend was bound to be hiding a huge secret. He hadn't intended to investigate too much, but that secret was closely linked to danger and darkness, forcing him to find a way to secretly dig out everything about Allen.
Tim chimed in, "On the surface, Alan Osborn is a genetic genius, and his patents are enough to support the Osborn Corporation. Norman Osborn seemed to have originally intended to groom him as the group's successor, but for some reason, he gave up. Some speculate that Harry Osborn's return pushed the socially awkward Alan Osborn out of New York's high society, forcing him to leave New York for Brudhaven."
On the surface, that does seem to be the case, but Dick is certain that Allen's reason for coming to Brudhaven is not so simple; the cause and effect are reversed, and Allen came here voluntarily.
"Alan Osborn was in charge of several collaborative projects with Lex Group during his time at Osborn Corporation. These projects all appear to be related to genetic engineering. Further details are needed, as these projects are all highly classified."
Dick indicated that he understood.
He thought that perhaps he should try to interact with Allen from a different perspective. As a police officer, Dick Grayson would never have the chance to see the other side of the doctor, but as Nightwing, that might be possible.
What secret is the doctor hiding? Does that equally mysterious lawyer know about it?
Tim heard the clatter of keyboards again, then he let out a soft "Huh?"
“Strange…” Tim said, somewhat puzzled. “I can’t find anything about Alan Osborn before he was fifteen. No school records, not a single photograph… nothing at all, it’s like he never existed. Emily Osborn…”
Most wealthy people are quite good at keeping their finances private, but this level of secrecy is a bit too outrageous.
“That’s fine, I’ll take care of Allen’s matter,” Dick said.
His heart was in his throat. The doctor's face shifted between darkness and light, finally settling on the sleeping face he had seen last night, a face as pure as an angel.
Dick thought for a moment, then turned the steering wheel and drove the car toward the Brudhaven emergency room.
The disconnected communication prevented him from hearing Batman's voice.
"I will go to Brudhaven."
**
In the emergency room corridor, the Osborn brothers were still staring at each other with their similar eyes, until the administrative nurse ran over and patted Allen on the shoulder.
"Dr. Osborne...Mrs. Johnson is still waiting for you in the drawing room. Would you like to go there now?"
Allen withdrew his gaze from Harry, turned away indifferently, and walked away.
He had only taken three steps when he seemed to remember something, took out the keys from his pocket and tossed them to Harry: "I probably won't be going back to stay tonight. If you don't have anywhere to stay, you can come to my place—Matt's there too, I guess you want to talk to him."
Harry accepted the keys honestly, his expression clearly showing satisfaction.
But he continued, "Who wants to live in your shabby little apartment? I bought a villa here. And who wants to go see that jerk Murdoch!"
Despite saying that, Harry followed Alan with a smirk, "Where are you going? I told you to show me around the hospital, and your boss already agreed!"
Harry was met with a door that nearly slammed into his face. Without hesitation, Alan tried to lock his brother out of the meeting room and ordered him to buy a McDonald's Happy Meal.
Harry stared at the conference room door, silently fuming for a moment.
Then, he stomped heavily into the office, taking advantage of his status as an investor, and snatched the seat that belonged to Allen, his face grim and silent.
Dr. Edward walked in and was taken aback when he saw Harry sitting in Allen's seat.
The easygoing Hawaiian doctor blinked and gave a friendly smile: "Oh... hello, are you a friend of Dr. Osborn?"
Harry didn't hear what the other person said, but his attention was drawn to the wallet his brother had placed on the table.
That thing was clearly not Allen's style; his brother would never like this strange black and blue combination.
He hesitated for a moment, then pinched the wallet with two fingers. After looking closely at a photo inside, his face darkened.
It was a picture of his brother, Alan, standing on a balcony with his eyes closed. The soft light of the setting sun fell on Alan's face, revealing an overly handsome face with a contented smile that Harry had never seen before.
Dr. Edward, the gossipmonger, muttered under his breath, "So, the ultimate winner really is Officer Grayson after all..."
Harry turned around abruptly.
"Excuse me, what did you just say?"
**
After getting rid of his annoying younger brother, Allen was finally able to enter the reception room and see the woman who liked to talk nonsense again.
He had a bad feeling when he saw Mrs. Johnson in the conference room. When the woman first stared at him with a sinister look, Allen felt that there was someone else hiding behind his eyes.
Another familiar soul, seemingly one with him.
At that moment, he could feel the reversed triple helix mark on his chest burning slightly, but when Mrs. Johnson was clutching her stomach and making a scene in the conference room, that strange feeling disappeared so quickly it was as if it were just his imagination.
Allen was certain that it wasn't an illusion.
Now, that overwhelmingly familiar feeling has returned.
Allen closed the door to the reception room, crossed his arms, and looked down at Mrs. Johnson, who sat at the table with no trace of sadness on her face.
Mrs. Johnson rested her cheek on her hand, smiled and looked up at him, her posture gentle and elegant, yet she was not intimidated by Allen's sharp gaze.
"Who exactly are you?" Allen asked.
Mrs. Johnson slowly stood up and gave Allen a gentle smile: "Darling, it really hurts me to say that. It hasn't even been 24 hours since we last met, and you've already forgotten me?"
She slowly walked to the glass door of the reception room, gracefully closing the blinds to block the prying eyes of outsiders.
The bright incandescent light in the room flickered, adding an eerie touch to the otherwise clean and tidy conference room.
Allen didn't speak, his eyes fixed on the small patch of tattoo that was showing on the other person's neck.
Mrs. Johnson casually tossed her long hair aside so that Allen could get a better look.
Then she snapped her fingers lightly, and her previously protruding belly suddenly became flat, as if there had never been a fetus in her belly.
In fact, that's probably true; Allen knows that everything the other party does is just a facade.
The woman slowly approached Allen, her slightly parted red lips murmuring something.
Allen understood part of it; it seemed to be in Latin.
“…Darkness will prevail,” she said in a hoarse voice.
The light in the room flickered with her voice, as if there was a bad electrical connection.
Allen squinted, staring intently at the constant movement of skin on Mrs. Johnson's face.
Beneath the woman's fair skin, it looked as if countless insects were struggling desperately, trying to break through the soil. Numerous tiny particles emerged from her face, only to quickly subside.
It seemed as if some creature resided within her, becoming one with her.
Allen, unfazed, continued to stare at him.
When the unsettling chills subsided, Mrs. Johnson's face had changed.
A red-haired, blue-eyed woman walked forward gracefully, her soft fingertips gently touching Allen's cheek.
"Did you miss me, little Allen?"
Allen took a sudden step back, nearly knocking over the table.
It was a very familiar face, with the same gentle expression that Allen used to see almost every day.
Belonging to Emily? Osborne's face reappeared before Ellen, as beautiful and captivating as it had been years ago. Her gaze towards Ellen revealed favoritism and pity, no longer bearing the image of her covered in blood and wounds.
Although he had anticipated something unexpected, the scene before him still sent chills down Allen's spine. For a fleeting moment, he wanted to throw himself into the arms of the woman in front of him, just as he had done countless times as a child.
Emily seemed to be anticipating Allen's embrace like a little bird. She had already opened her arms, slowly blinking at Allen with expectant eyes.
The next second, a soft object did indeed hit 'Emily's' chest.
To ensure patient privacy and the comfort of patients' families, this top-tier private hospital in Brodhaven has equipped each meeting room with premium leather chairs and soft cushions. They have even thoughtfully replaced each backrest with a creamy white color that matches the warm yellow lighting to soothe patients' emotions.
The milky-white cushion was pressed tightly against Emily's chest, forcing Emily to lean back against the immense force and finally fall straight down into the chair.
The heavy chair made a sharp 'screech' as it scraped against the floor.
Immediately, a muffled sound, like a bullet piercing through leather and flesh, exploded in her chest.
Emily lowered her head in disbelief.
Allen had already put the gun away from his hand. On the cream-colored cushion was a small hole with a ring of burn marks. The hole connected to 'Emily's' heart, and blood was slowly seeping from around it.
Allen looked down at the woman whose mouth was bleeding, his green eyes surging with rage like a tidal wave.
The woman made a gurgling sound in her throat; the rushing blood blocked her trachea, preventing her from uttering a single word.
But that didn't stop her from giving Allen a cold yet satisfied smile.
“I am everywhere,” she said, her voice so deep it seemed to echo, or as if a whole roomful of people were whispering in Ellen’s ear. “You did a great job, Ellen baby.”
After saying that, she closed her eyes.
Allen put the gun away and stood there, staring blankly at the blood on his hand.
Half a minute later, the woman's corpse slowly disappeared.
Allen stood in the room for a while, somewhat bewildered, before finally hugging the blood-soaked pillow, opening the conference room door, and slowly walking out.
As Alan passed the doctor's office, he glanced up at Harry inside.
Harry seemed to be having a pleasant conversation with Dr. Edward. After thinking for a moment, Allen turned and left.
Next, he prepared to dissect the 'squid'.
However, when he changed into his surgical gown, another surgery awaited him.
The staff of 'Gift of Hope' stood opposite Allen, with boxes used to store human organs beside them.
“That’s strange.” Dr. Miller stood behind Allen, frowning as he grumbled, “Do people only think of doing good deeds after they’ve died? I never imagined Mrs. Johnson could be so kind and generous.”
Allen didn't say anything.
The content of his conversation with Mrs. Johnson remains unknown; however, when Allen returned to Mrs. Goodman's office, he carried a valid autopsy consent form.
However, to Allen's surprise, Ms. Goodman produced a body donation report—Mrs. Johnson had signed Fitch Johnson's body donation agreement long before meeting with Allen.
For a moment, everyone in the emergency room found it somewhat absurd and laughable. When the staff of "Hope's Gift" pushed "Squid" Fitch Johnson's body in a "honor walk," everyone in the hospital had a fascinating expression on their face.
Especially Alex, the police officer who was also injured in the Black Bond bombing, had his mother stare at the 'squid' corpse with almost hateful eyes, as if she was about to pounce on him and tear him apart, the culprit who would make her son confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Johnson's actions were all legal and compliant; there is no rule that criminals cannot donate their bodies, so Officer Alex's mother was stopped.
Back in the office, Ms. Goodman sighed to Allen: "Allen, tell me the truth, did you forge this agreement?"
She was referring to the autopsy consent report that Allen had given her.
Although she personally handed the agreement to Allen in the hope that he could persuade Mrs. Johnson to agree to an autopsy, Johnson's lawyer delivered the body donation agreement to her as soon as she returned to her office.
This suggests that Mrs. Johnson likely planned to donate her husband's body long ago. If she was already prepared to donate his body, then the autopsy consent form in Allen's hands is simply a joke.
Allen lowered his head, his gaze lingering on his cuff, where a small dark dot stood out conspicuously against the white cuff of his shirt.
He didn't explain anything further, but simply nodded to Ms. Goodman and said, "I'm sorry."
He didn't say what he was apologizing for.
Ms. Goodman didn't say anything more, but simply waved for Allen to leave the office—the body donation agreement stipulated that Dr. Allen was responsible for harvesting the organs, and he had to perform the surgery immediately.
In the operating room, Allen's scalpel mercilessly sliced open Fitch Johnson's chest cavity, removing the sutures he had used to stitch up the previous surgery and revealing the bright red internal organs inside.
The heart, no longer beating, lay silent in the chest cavity, like a piece of dead pork.
He carefully examined every incision and surgical scar, trying to find any imperfections, but he still failed.
“Don’t overthink it,” Dr. Miller suddenly reached out and patted Allen’s arm.
Perhaps because his injured arm hadn't fully recovered, he used a bit too much force, and Allen stumbled as he was pushed.
Allen steadied himself and saw Dr. Miller suddenly lean over and point to the spot where he had made the incision: "Hurry up and continue. Although it's not a very good heart, there are still people waiting for him to save their lives."
Allen looked up at him, but Dr. Miller seemed to deliberately avoid his gaze.
Allen didn't speak again. His hand was supporting the heart, lifting it away from the squid's chest cavity, some of the still-uncongealed blood soaking his surgical gown.
In a daze, the nurse standing opposite Allen seemed to catch a glimpse of something flashing across Allen's white rubber gloves, but it was quickly covered by bloodstains.
The heart is about to be removed from the body.
However, the next second, a nurse screamed.
"ah--"
The operating room was in chaos when the man who had been lying on the operating table suddenly opened his eyes.
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