"Buzz—"
A black hole tore open in the air.
Crystal emerged astride the Locktooth Hound, the massive canine's tuning fork still humming faintly with residual energy.
"This is the person you were talking about?" she asked, her gaze falling on Mary, cradled in Matt's arms.
The Locktooth Hound nudged Mary gently, its wet nose twitching against her cheek. Then it lifted its head and let out a soft, mournful whimper toward Crystal.
"The Locktooth Hound didn't detect any traces of Terrigen," Crystal said, frowning.
"It's likely an old mutation—her genes are contaminated. Some form of artificial mental interference has scrambled her ability structure."
Matt tightened his hold on Mary, his knuckles whitening.
"Can you cure her?"
Crystal stepped closer, studying Mary's vacant eyes with clinical precision—and a flicker of pity.
"She needs to return to Attilan for full genetic analysis. Our tech can reverse most of the damage… but I can't promise she'll get her memories back."
Matt's breath hitched. This might be the last time he ever held his Mary—the woman he knew, not the hollow echo left behind.
"Uncle… why are you crying?" Mary whispered, her small hand fumbling toward his face.
Matt caught her fingers and swallowed hard.
"Nothing," he rasped. "You're just going with this sister—to a very nice place."
"I don't want to go," she said, shaking her head, clutching his hand like a lifeline. "I want to stay with Uncle."
He cupped her cheek, brushing a thumb over her temple. "Good girl. Listen to me. Uncle can't take care of you right now… but she can."
Crystal knelt, lowering herself to Mary's level. Her voice softened, warm as sunlight through frost.
"My name is Crystal. We're going to a beautiful place—full of people just like you. Special people."
"Special?" Mary tilted her head, eyes wide.
"Yes." Crystal smiled and extended her hand. With the barest flick of her fingers, moisture from the air coalesced into a delicate ice flower, glinting in the dim light.
"Like this."
Mary gasped, reaching out. The moment her fingers closed around the bloom, her face lit up with pure, childlike wonder. "So beautiful! Can I do that too?"
"Of course," Crystal said gently. "But you'll need to learn."
Mary hesitated, glancing back at Matt—uncertainty warring with curiosity. Then, slowly, she stood and walked toward Crystal… and the Locktooth Hound.
Matt watched, throat tight.
"Thank you," he said quietly, "for taking care of her."
"It's our duty," Crystal replied. She turned to Joren. "Our agreement?"
"Settled," Joren confirmed.
The Locktooth Hound's tuning fork vibrated once more. Space rippled, warping around them like fabric pulled taut.
"Goodbye, Uncle!" Mary called, waving with innocent brightness.
And then they were gone—swallowed by the black hole.
On the rooftop, only Joren and Matt remained.
Matt sank to his knees, palms pressed against the cold concrete, shoulders trembling.
"I failed her again," he choked out. "The one person I swore to protect… in the end—"
"She's still alive," Joren cut in sharply. "And safe."
"But she doesn't remember me!" Matt snapped, voice cracking. "She doesn't remember us—anything we had!"
"So what?" Joren shot back, unflinching. "Do you really want her to remember the pain? The hatred? The madness?"
Matt was stunned.
"Sometimes, forgetting is a relief."
Joren turned to leave.
"At least she can start over now."
He was used to people's indecisiveness. He didn't like killing—but with men like Bullseye? He had no qualms.
Or rather, he had no qualms about killing those who wanted him dead.
Peter had been young and immature. Even after catching the man who shot Uncle Ben, he'd only given him a beating.
Daredevil—Hell's Kitchen's self-appointed guardian—clung to a strict no-kill rule.
Throw them in jail. Wait for them to get out. Watch them rob, rape, and murder again.
Then catch them once more, haul them back to the precinct, and repeat the cycle.
It was a waste of time. A permanent solution was always better.
Lost in thought, Joren returned to his front door.
The house looked unchanged from the outside—but inside, it had been completely renovated.
The construction crews were gone. Only a black sedan remained, parked at the curb.
Jimmy Wu stepped out and tossed Joren a new set of keys.
"We replaced all the locks, windows, and part of the wall structure."
Joren caught the keys and gave Jimmy a slow once-over.
"And listening devices?"
Jimmy's expression didn't flicker.
"We operated strictly within privacy laws."
"Is that so?"
Joren said nothing more. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The interior was unrecognizable: furniture rearranged, walls freshly painted, floors replaced.
Behind him, Star Platinum materialized, scanning every inch of the space.
Nothing.
That only made Joren warier. Since when did S.H.I.E.L.D. play by the rules?
"About that matter," Jimmy said, following him in. "Have you found the mind controller?"
Joren sank onto the sofa, weighing how much to reveal.
"We found her."
"Where is she?"
"She was taken."
Jimmy frowned. "By who?"
"Someone unimportant." Joren waved a dismissive hand. "Her name's Mary Walker—codename Typhoid Mary. A Kingpin loyalist with multiple personalities. She handles his dirtiest work."
"Multiple personalities?"
"Four," Joren confirmed. "Each with distinct abilities and temperaments. She's skilled in assassination—and mind control."
Jimmy tapped notes into his phone. "What's the range of her powers?"
"At least ten kilometers."
Joren exaggerated deliberately.
Jimmy's posture stiffened. That kind of threat warranted S.H.I.E.L.D.'s highest alert status.
"Where is she now?"
"I don't know," Joren lied smoothly. "Whoever took her left no trace."
Jimmy clearly doubted him—but didn't press.
"I'd like to invite you to our base this weekend for a full debrief." He hesitated. "On this incident… and the others you've encountered."
"No."
"We can offer protection—"
"I said I'm not going."
Jimmy studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Understood. If you change your mind, contact me anytime."
"I won't."
At the door, Jimmy paused and turned back. His tone grew grave.
"Mr. Joestar, you're in a delicate position. Multiple organizations—and individuals—are watching you closely. S.H.I.E.L.D. operates within legal boundaries. Others… may not."
"A threat?"
"A friendly reminder," Jimmy said, spreading his hands. "We're on the same side."
"I'm only on my own side."
Jimmy offered a wry smile and left.
Joren locked the door behind him and
signaled Star Platinum to sweep the house again.
Only after confirming it was clean did he finally let his guard down.
Phew. Maybe now I can get some peaceful sleep.
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