A moment later, the hanging girl, the boy who had shattered the light bulbs, and the boy who had created the blood were all sitting before John, looking utterly dejected.
"Names." John sat facing the three, his voice calm but commanding.
"Smedley Taylor."
"Bertram Audis."
"Edward George."
Smedley was the girl's name, Bertram was the electric boy, and Edward was the illusionist. Coincidentally, John had seen all three names when he'd first entered the building.
Glancing at the trembling Edward, John said flatly, "Remove the illusion."
Hearing this command, Edward, who had been desperately holding on, finally deflated. With a wave of his hands, the blood that had been pooling up to their ankles disappeared completely. The old, dilapidated corridor appearance also vanished.
In its place stood a cozy space filled with various handmade sculptures and artwork. All three looked to be around seventeen or eighteen years old—high school age—but each was very special. They possessed unusual abilities that set them apart from ordinary teenagers.
Smedley had the ability to fly, able to make herself levitate effortlessly. This was why she'd played the role of the hanging victim so convincingly.
Bertram could control electricity, making lights flicker and electronics malfunction at will.
Edward possessed illusion abilities, able to create realistic phantoms designed to scare people away.
The three were children who had been adopted by this orphanage years ago. John's gaze fell on Edward's clouded left eye—the boy's eyes were originally blue, but for some reason, one had gone completely blind.
Not only Edward, but Smedley looked far younger than her actual age, with a thin body completely lacking the height and weight appropriate for someone her age. Bertram was missing one arm entirely.
These disabilities were the result of inhumane human experimentation conducted in the magical world. John had personally destroyed that facility and rescued the children from that nightmare. None of the three retained memories of the experiments—John had arranged for wizards to erase those traumatic memories and had established this place for their care and recovery.
Originally there had been thirty-five children, with thirteen suffering irreversible permanent damage from the experiments. The magical world owed these people a debt that could never be fully repaid.
John's eyes darkened with suppressed anger. "Where did the administrator go?"
"Administrator?" Edward was the eldest of the three, muttering uncertainly, "He ran away long ago."
"Ran away?" John pressed for more information.
Edward explained, "Originally Teacher Greg was very good to us, but after he left, the new administrator, Charlie, started managing us much more strictly. Once when Smedley flew up during one of his inspections, he got scared and ran away, never coming back."
Speaking of this, Edward's voice filled with anger. "After he left, the teachers also had to leave because they weren't getting paid anymore."
"I remember the salaries were always being paid," John said, his eyes flashing with cold fury. "Seems someone pocketed that money."
Seeing that John knew about the orphanage's affairs so clearly, the three exchanged nervous glances. Bertram hesitantly asked, "Are you from the government?"
"No," John returned to his calm demeanor, "I'm this orphanage's... investor."
John looked around the space, taking in the makeshift living conditions. "Are there any others here besides you three?"
"Yes, Gerald went to the city to buy supplies. It's too far from the shops here, so these trips take most of the day."
"Never thought about going to school?" John had heard that the school teachers had left, and he asked, "What about your education?"
"Monsters like us—no school would want us." Smedley's expression was gloomy and resigned.
Compared to normal children, whether in appearance or abilities, they were freaks in society's eyes. So they preferred to stay at the orphanage rather than face the outside world's judgment.
Among the children originally sent to Silver Hand Angel Orphanage, these three were the youngest. They might have forgotten that inhuman experiment, but the strange looks and fearful reactions from outsiders were deeply etched in their minds.
John sighed heavily. Normal children got adopted and taken away to loving families. But the abnormal ones with disabilities could only continue staying here, forgotten by the world.
Perhaps they also yearned to be taken away by families, to experience normal lives. But John knew that was impossible. Their parents were long gone, killed by the very wizards who had later experimented on them.
"What's this about?" He took out the eviction notice he'd found. "I don't remember this place being sold."
"It's them, those damn bastards!" As soon as Edward saw the letter, fury consumed his features.
A businessman had taken a fancy to this property, especially after learning it was just an orphanage and not under government protection. He'd gotten greedy ideas about seizing the valuable land.
They'd been harassing these children, trying to force them to move out through intimidation and threats. As for the owner of this place, after hearing that no outsiders had visited for over ten years, the businessman had directly assumed the owner either didn't know about the harassment or was already dead.
As a criminal organization, they weren't afraid of anyone causing trouble for them.
Edward's creation of such elaborate supernatural scares was designed to frighten those people away. But he hadn't expected John to arrive here first. All the tactics meant for the businessman had been used on John instead—and they hadn't worked at all.
"Even the old man has times when he's targeted by criminal forces," John muttered, rubbing his temples in frustration.
Originally this place was registered under John's name, probably because of this connection, those people thought it was an easy target. After all, who didn't know that the underground president had a son who actually ran an orphanage?
"I'll handle these matters for you," John said, resolving this criminal issue being just a matter of convenience for him. "Let's figure out your situation first."
"Us?" Edward was somewhat dazed. How did it sound like the people who had made them feel like they were facing mortal enemies were just small obstacles that could be crushed at will?
John speculated that the magical experiments had caused genetic mutations, giving the three different supernatural abilities. As they say, the rich rely on technology, the poor rely on mutations. The three had developed distinct superpowers: flight, electricity manipulation, and illusions.
But their development was severely limited. Smedley's flight could only reach about ten meters in height. Bertram's electricity was even worse—at most flickering lights and blowing out bulbs left him looking weak and drained, let alone generating any significant electrical power.
Edward's illusions were slightly better developed, capable of creating convincing blood and gore effects. If used strategically, they probably wouldn't need to plan elaborate scares—they could directly go beat up the harassing businessmen.
"Should I just send them to Miracle Children?" John looked at the three silently, considering their potential.
Their current image wasn't exactly impressive, but there was untapped potential. He wondered if Mycroft, who wanted to build a modern Knights of the Round Table, would take them under his wing.
These abilities would be completely wasted if not properly developed and utilized. He also wondered how many of the original orphanage students had developed similar superpowers to these three.
John made a phone call to handle the businessman issue once and for all.
New York
In the Tarasov Industries building, Olov sighed heavily as he stood behind his executive desk.
"When your son was here, I only needed to drive around in a Rolls-Royce and mess around every day," he complained to his old friend.
His gaze moved to the luxurious leather sofa in the office, where Watson Wick sat in a perfectly tailored gray suit.
Hearing his old friend's complaints, Watson's face showed a distinctly proud expression.
"Look whose son that is," he said with unmistakable smugness.
His arrogant appearance made Olov grit his teeth in frustration. Aurelio's bodyguard Danny kept his gaze locked on one particular person—a man who stood beside Watson, facing Danny's vigilant stare with nothing more than a tight-lipped, professional smile.
"Who is this?" Olov also noticed the stranger, asking from his CEO position.
Watson picked up his son's framed photograph from the desk, his fingers stroking the frame with paternal affection as he said, "Brock Rumlow."
Rumlow straightened respectfully and said, "It's my honor to work for you, Mr. Wick."