Chapter 115: The True Culprit

"Orange soda?"

Fletcher shook her head. "Didn't I tell you? I don't share your interests."

"You might enjoy other flavors."

The cinema manager, Gina, interjected, "I thought if we spent time together, talked, walked, or watched movies, our tastes might align."

"Tastes don't change easily, just like personalities are set."

Watching the movie screen where Kraven was boasting, Fletcher continued, "If I were you, Gina, I'd keep my distance. After all, I'm not a good person; I've been planning to ruin this city."

"Good, because I'm just as rotten."

Gina confessed to Fletcher, "There's nothing good about me. My thoughts are evil, my actions even worse. I curse, smoke, and drink. Frankly, my mouth and mind are full of crap, always ready to spew it out—like a bunch of maggots."

After accurately assessing herself, she took off her glasses, revealing pupils as black as ink. "Or do you think, Fletcher, that I'm an honest and kind person, a good person? Anyone who's with me will only get into trouble. My troubles, my issues, my emotions, everything about me is like a bucket of filth poured over your head. Good girls are well-behaved, wearing pretty sundresses, not spewing profanity all day long, but I'm not."

Fletcher was a film investor, and Gina managed the cinema.

But their relationship was anything but simple.

Fletcher operated behind the scenes, often filming "reality show" movies. In her movies, everyone created by her would invariably be killed by the monsters she created.

"Since I boarded your ship, this not-so-good person has no way out."

As Gina watched the movie screen, she remarked, "This hunter Kraven is quite the romantic."

Fletcher shifted in her seat. "What, you want to date him? Or do you think a man acting like an animal in the woods is romantic?"

"Feel free to be sarcastic and mock, but from another perspective, it's quite romantic. I mean, he might encounter romantic things, like dating a red-haired ape or a baboon."

"Too bad, he won't encounter any today. I've already sent his favorite prey over."

Fletcher said calmly, "I hope this reality show satisfies me."

"Aren't you afraid of attracting attention?"

Gina thought that bringing this matter to the media might attract the attention of those with ill intentions.

"Who do you think will hinder me? A vampire? Or that vampire hunter?"

Fletcher said calmly, "Or the two Spider-Men who were popular before? That Spider-Man is a bit tricky, but he's just one person."

"Whoever it is, they can't stop my plan."

Fletcher stood up and walked outside. "There will be a good show soon; you can enjoy it to your heart's content."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to make a phone call and order some pizza."

Her eyes gradually turned blood-red, shining brighter in the shadows.

"Who? Who are you calling?"

Brooklyn, behind the bar.

With a dull thud, a guy was thrown out heavily from the door.

The thrown man was like a mountain of flesh, covered in tattoos like terraced fields.

A fatty, to be precise, with his upper body bare, his two fingers wearing splints, stumbling out.

The Blade Warrior grabbed his body and slammed it against the door.

The fatty's body shook, causing the wall to shed countless plaster flakes.

A snake spewing fire was tattooed around his belly button, while another snake, in response, coiled around his thigh, reaching toward the inside.

The Blade Warrior delivered a punch to the fiery snake on his belly.

The pain made the fatty fall to the ground.

"If you keep talking tough, I don't mind getting my hands dirty in a place where you've tattooed."

Threatened by the Blade, the fatty exhaled and said, "If you dare, believe me, I'll shoot you in the mouth."

"Good, I like your attitude."

The Blade pressed directly against his crotch and delivered a harsh blow.

The fatty immediately fell to his knees, clutching his groin.

The Blade then approached, reaching for his clothes.

The fatty endured the pain and extended his left hand—the one without a splint—as if to grab the Blade's chin and pull it off.

Unfortunately, his arms weren't long enough.

Expressionless, the Blade suddenly reached out and grabbed his throat.

The fatty screamed loudly, swinging his meaty palm to slap the Blade.

The Blade leaned back, and the fatty's hand hit a nearby rusty trash can.

His index and middle fingers bent back at a terrifying angle, followed by a crisp snap and a heart-wrenching scream.

The Blade slowly drew a silver knife from behind and said, "Good, break two fingers on your left hand, it's symmetrical."

He released the fatty's throat and gave him a push.

The fatty stumbled backward into the trash can.

The trash can seemed to have been turned into a makeshift shelter by a homeless person—dirty dishes were everywhere, attracting flies.

Next to the rear trash can was a simple bed, with the middle of the mattress deeply sunken.

The Blade Warrior then grabbed the fatty's head and slammed it onto the stained and crumbled trash lid.

With a silver knife in his left hand, his right hand reached for the fatty's head.

After lifting the fatty's head, the Blade held a photo in front of his nose.

He stared at the tearful eyes.

"The woman in the background is named Fletcher Gaines."

The Blade asked him, "She's your superior, isn't she? You're in this photo! Tell me, what's her identity?!"

The photo was taken by the fatty at a party, holding a drink, probably beer, laughing heartily.

Everyone around was bathed in a sea of fiery Christmas lights.

On the stage behind him, there was a woman sitting in the middle.

Even just sitting there, she still managed to attract everyone's attention.

"A bartender said you might know her."

"Yes, yes," the fatty cried out in pain, "I know her. Why didn't you show the photo earlier?"

He just raised his hand with the splint, waving it like an injured penguin flapping its fins.

"Speak, what's her real identity? Is she behind the recent vampires popping up in New York?"

"She's a major shareholder of Midnight Films, whom I met when I worked on set before. Although she's a vampire, she rarely interacts with us."

"Which faction of vampire is she from?"

"No one knows her; she seemed to emerge suddenly, and there also seems to be werewolves around her, but no one has seen them."

"Is that all?"

"That's all. She's close with the manager of the Quine Cinema, maybe you can go find her. I remember her name is Gina."

The Blade raised his sword and continued, "Who did you just talk to on the phone?"

"It's her, Fletcher Gaines. She wants us to continue recruiting a batch of actors."

"Actors?"

"Yes, some extras."

"What does she want?"

"I don't know! I really don't know! I know these actors often go missing; maybe she's feeding them to her werewolves directly, or doing something else, but we dare not ask her. No vampire is her match; everyone fears her."

After confirming he wasn't lying, the Blade nodded, "Good, thank you for your cooperation."

After the Blade left.

"You damn people are all going to die." The fatty cursed through tears.

But suddenly, a dart flew out of the darkness and hit the fatty's mouth, knocking out several teeth instantly.

He rolled over, coughing violently, bubbles of blood forming at the corners of his mouth, a bloody tooth falling to the ground.

The silver dart penetrated deep into his mouth, and a fiery pain immediately engulfed him.