I'm not Spider-Man, even though I'm parasitized by an alien!

"No evidence was found regarding the thief, not even the vaguest evidence."

His men searched the vicinity for a long time, even checking all possible surveillance footage, but they couldn't find the thief.

The mayor of New York City had his office burgled, but he couldn't even find a trace of the thief.

This caused considerable frustration among those who were tasked with the investigation.

“I don’t understand why that thief would steal the mayor’s belt. There are clearly more valuable things here.”

The subordinate asked Matt, puzzled.

"That's not surprising."

Matt straightened his tie and said slowly, "Some thieves aren't interested in money; they only steal things that can't be locked up, things that their owners can't get back."

As he spoke, he walked outside.

He was sent to investigate the mayor's theft case, but now he left without saying goodbye, and his subordinates followed him with some doubts.

"Sir, is there no need to continue the investigation?"

"No need, I already know who the thief is."

Matt pushed open the door and said to his men, "She's just a thief with ridiculous principles. Ignore her. We have more important things to do right now."

"clear."

His men immediately followed in his footsteps.

Matt Murdoch returned to his law firm and began a busy day.

His job wasn't like that of a typical lawyer, handling lawsuits and requests for representation; instead, he specialized in dealing with troubles targeting his employer's company.

He retrieved the cassette tape from the filing cabinet and placed it into the recording equipment.

A cacophony of sounds erupted from the equipment in an instant.

Although it sounded incredibly chaotic, he listened with exceptional attention.

He can capture even the smallest detail.

The audio he was playing, if Peter were here, would have recognized as the audio of the Midtown High School football field tragedy.

It started with cheers and celebrations, the excited shouts of the cheerleaders, and the sound of fireworks exploding.

Then an unexpected event occurred. As the murder suspect entered the field, the noise on the playground turned into panicked shouts.

Matt listened to the tape and quickly identified the key points.

"Gwen Stacy again?!"

He whispered the name and pressed the pause button on the recording device.

His employer had a close working relationship with the Hand.

The perpetrator of the Midtown High School massacre was from the Hand, which is why he investigated everything so meticulously.

Frank's transformation is inextricably linked to the "beast" of the Hand.

After his mutation, Frank possesses immense power. Could he really be killed by Gwen Stacy, who has no power whatsoever?

He strongly suspected that something had happened in between.

Who is it?

Matt wanted to get relevant information from the NYPD, but the rigid George Stacy simply wouldn't reveal any information to him.

He stood up and turned his gaze to the window.

His eyes were being stimulated by the bright light when his phone suddenly rang.

He answered the phone and listened for a few minutes before his expression turned serious.

"I'll be there soon."

Chapter 50 You are not a butcher, but a devil!

In a warehouse in Hell's Kitchen, a white male is suspended in mid-air by ropes.

The other person had an upturned nose, curly red hair, wore an outdated black leather jacket, and looked exhausted.

"Please, put me down."

The man pleaded weakly.

"You're not a local, are you?"

Matt stood in front of him and asked.

"Judging from your accent, you are not a local. By 'local,' I mean North America. Perhaps you are German, Polish, or from an Eastern European country."

Matt deduced from the voice and asked the other person, "Am I right, Mr. Jason Tig?"

Jason, who was hanging there, opened his swollen eyes and nodded.

He tried to say something to beg for mercy, but Matt quickly interrupted him.

“Mr. Jason, you shouldn’t have taken my employer’s goods.”

Matt pointed out the mistake the other person had made.

“My employer is a troublemaker who likes people who follow the rules, and you just happened to make a mistake that he doesn’t like.”

"Have the goods he swallowed been found?"

Matt asked his subordinate beside him.

"Most of them have been found, but some still cannot be found."

His subordinate reported to him, "According to him, he sold some of the goods."

Ma nodded to indicate that he already knew.

He gestured to the people next to him, and his men immediately came over and gagged Jason.

Jason struggled desperately to speak, but he couldn't open his mouth.

He had his own smelly sock in his mouth, with a piece of tape stuck to the outside.

Once Jason calmed down, Matt stared at the lamb to the slaughter before him.

Although he couldn't see it, he nodded repeatedly as if appreciating a work of art.

Then Matt's fingers, like spider legs, crawled up Jason's chin.

His fingers traced the dried blood, moved to the ear that was swollen like a cauliflower, and then over a string of numbers on the forehead.

The numbers on his forehead weren't written with a pen, but rather drawn with a razor blade.

Matt lifted Jason's head, his fingers touching the ravaged flesh on the back of his neck.

"It looks like you've suffered a lot."

Matt sighed softly at the bound man.

Then he gently tapped the scabbed area with his fingertips, once, twice.

"Moreover, it's a new method of torture to extract confessions."

Matt turned to his men and asked, "You did this?"

“New tool, sir.”

His subordinate explained to him, "We just picked a few things from his kitchen and brought them over. It was cheese grating, and I even broke three of his fingers with a garlic press."

"The perfect combination of torture and cooking is truly ingenious."

Whether it was sarcasm or praise, Matt spoke to his subordinates with a blank expression.

"Actually, I also know a bit about food. I fried some donuts before I came."

Matt moved a little further away from Jason and casually remarked, "While I have a lot of confidence in your cooking, I don't have much confidence in your interrogation techniques."

As he spoke, he pushed up his sunglasses.

"He has already admitted it."

“I would rather hear him say it in person.”

Matt's expression turned serious. "This has dragged on long enough, and my employer is very unhappy about it."

As he spoke, he took a small bag out of his pocket and placed it on the ground.

He then opened the bag, pinched the bottom, and dumped the contents onto the floor.

The bag was full of tiny bone fragments, most of them smaller than marbles, some resembling long teeth, and many more looking like hand bones or something similar.

The wrist bones are like gravel on a driveway, the metacarpal bones are like Lincoln building blocks, and the finger bones are like dog treats or the tip of an umbrella.

The bones had been thoroughly cleaned and were spread out on the ground as a pristine white expanse.

Matt didn't touch the bones; he just ran his fingers over them, as if he were fiddling with words while reading a children's book.

Jason, who was tied up, looked at him in horror, wondering what this guy in sunglasses wanted to do.

Matt's eyes are blind, but he can easily touch the bones he wants.

"Very good, this is it, start with this finger."

After making his selection, he said with satisfaction.

He then picked up the bones from the ground and put them back into the small bag.

He then stood up and looked into Jason's bloodshot, terrified eyes.

"Actually, you shouldn't have made that mistake."

Matt shook his head and said, "Do you know where these bones come from? I took them from those who were punished."

"I also have another hobby, which is cooking, especially cooking with hands that have been taken from a person."

He continued in a nonchalant tone:

"I cook it until the meat separates from the bone, like stewing veal shank. Once there's no meat left on the bone, I take it out, wash it with bleach, and then smoke it. I'll see if there are any suitable ones and put them in my collection bag."

Before he could finish speaking, Jason stammered in terror, "I...I'm telling the truth, please let me go, don't cut off my hand!"