Bella summoned Pyramid Head. The two-meter-long great blade swung in wide arcs as it hacked furiously. Coordinating with Mind Blast and Ice Rapiers, she spent considerable effort before finally dragging the great white shark forcibly out of the sea and onto the shore.
The aura belonging to the sea goddess Calypso had long since vanished, but the ferocious murderous intent in the great white shark's eyes remained. This creature was still a terrifying ocean predator.
Pyramid Head worked like a burly laborer, being directed back and forth without rest.
First, they used the tow rope and steel cables from the car to bind the shark. Then they drove stakes into the sand along the beach to anchor it in place—ensuring the great white wouldn't die from being out of the water, but also couldn't escape.
Bella examined the fruits of her night's labor and felt fairly satisfied. Great white sharks were said to be rare animals these days—this one should fetch a decent price, right?
She couldn't help pondering whether she should sell it to Tony Stark, or to Charles Xavier.
Shark Iron Man? Shark Professor?
Both sounded pretty good!
With the great white shark tied up on the beach, Bella felt quite at ease. Anyone truly capable wouldn't care about a single shark, and anyone incapable wouldn't be able to take it away anyway.
After washing the mud and sand off herself and changing into clean clothes, she drove back to the small town. Bella planned to custom-order an extra-large, extremely sturdy fish tank to hold the shark.
Twenty meters long, ten meters wide, ten meters deep—and solid enough to withstand abuse. The town welder found the request bizarre, but these days, as long as you paid, anything could be made. The welder slapped his chest and guaranteed the job would be done within a day.
Following the address, Bella quickly found the hotel where Natasha was staying. But before she even reached it, she spotted her so-called little sister wearing a sharp women's suit, hair draped over her shoulders, makeup strikingly mature, discussing something with the town sheriff.
What the hell?
Natasha dressed like this looked exactly like Samantha—like she'd aged twenty years overnight!
"Hey, Bella, you're back!" Natasha waved at her, then lowered her voice while explaining to the sheriff, "I'm traveling with my daughter. Who would've thought we'd run into something like this…"
Daughter? Me?
You're my mother now?
Bella's eyes went wide. You dare take advantage of me? Tonight I'll show you what I'm capable of…
The town sheriff glanced back and forth a few times, then looked at Natasha. "You two don't really look alike… You must've been pretty young when you had her?"
"Yes, yes. That was a very long time ago…" Natasha replied smoothly.
Bella crossed her arms and listened. If anyone said one more word about "mother and daughter," she'd drag someone off for a proper lesson. Fortunately, the sheriff was quite old and uninterested in gossip. He quickly steered the conversation back to the case.
Only then did Bella learn that there had been deaths in the town—two victims in total: one outsider and one local.
One man and one woman.
Both deaths were extremely gruesome.
"Alright. I've got a general understanding of the case," the sheriff said. "I'll report it to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. If anything comes up, remember to inform us."
Natasha politely bade farewell and dragged Bella away.
Once they reached a secluded spot, she lowered her voice. "Two people have died in Oak Street within three days."
Bella stared at her without saying a word.
Natasha seemed oblivious to her expression and continued. "We even know the second victim. Died horribly."
Bella casually filed her nails, still silent.
"Tch. How boring! I was just taking a little verbal advantage of you. You were touching me this morning too!"
This time Bella reacted. "That was applying sunscreen! You touched me too!"
"Fine, fine. Let's talk about the case."
"Talk about what damn case? What does it have to do with me?" Bella snapped. "I'll save living people if I can. But dead people? Why are you looking for me? Isn't that your FBI's job?"
She deliberately emphasized FBI.
Natasha smiled brightly. "Then you're mistaken. Not yours. Ours. Agent Daisy Johnson."
She pulled out a small black notebook. Bella accepted it with a strange look and opened it.
Huh?
Blue FBI letters.
Her photograph.
The name Daisy Johnson.
Below it, a serial number and a so-called director's signature.
The craftsmanship was excellent. This definitely didn't look like something made in a back-alley workshop.
"It's officially registered," Natasha said. "But it's best to stay low-key. It was a reward for me—they said my work performance was outstanding. I added your photo while I was at it. Having credentials makes things more convenient…"
Natasha wasn't being entirely honest. Whether her performance was outstanding was debatable—but her talent for causing trouble was absolutely exceptional.
That bald black bastard had already allowed her to enjoy the benefits of a full S.H.I.E.L.D. agent in advance. This ID was one of those perks.
Bella's was just a bonus.
Still, Bella was genuinely pleased. Fake or not, it looked much better than flashing a Stanford student ID.
"Alright, I forgive you. You really are a good little sister. Didn't dote on you for nothing."
"Get lost. So cheesy."
Even with the credentials, Bella still had to pretend to be Natasha's daughter for a few more days in this town. Natasha had already committed to the story just to amuse herself.
Bella had no interest in the dead. She saved the living because she respected the value of life—but once someone was dead, what could she do? She didn't know how to investigate cases anyway.
"The case details are very strange," Natasha said. "I never expected the victim to be her. Want to take a look?"
She handed Bella a photograph.
Bella took it casually, glanced once—and her eyes widened.
It really was someone she knew. She'd seen her just two months ago.
One of the girls they had rescued in Paris—the best friend of that blonde girl.
The bold, uninhibited woman: Amanda.
In the photo, Amanda's eyes were lifeless, staring straight ahead. She wore cotton pajamas, her body sprawled flat on the bed. A massive wound ran from her throat down to her lower abdomen, nearly splitting her open.
"Could it be a hired killing?" Bella muttered. "Retaliation from Europe?"
It wasn't an unreasonable guess. They had humiliated the French government badly.
France's reputation had been utterly trashed by the human trafficking scandal. Diplomatically they weren't isolated, but among the public, their image was completely ruined.
These days, no matter what French spokespersons talked about, they started every press conference by confessing first:
"We were wrong."
"We repent."
"We apologize to the people of the world."
"We surrender."
They'd repeat that nonsense for a full minute before getting to the actual topic.
They couldn't find Bella, Natasha, or the old agent. Targeting survivors like Amanda was hardly surprising.
Amanda's private life was messy, but when it came to defending her rights, she was fierce—reckless, even.
Carrying that trademark American pride, she publicly blasted the French government every day and testified in court multiple times. She'd drawn more than enough hatred.
Retaliation made perfect sense.