Chapter 50: You're Not a Butcher, but a Devil!

In a warehouse within Hell's Kitchen, a white man hangs suspended in mid-air by ropes.

He has a prominent nose pointing skyward, curly red hair, and wears an outdated black leather jacket, appearing utterly exhausted.

"Please, let me down," he weakly pleads.

Matt stands before him and asks, "You're not a local, are you?"

"From your accent, I can tell you're not from around here. By 'local,' I mean the North American continent. Perhaps you're German or Polish, or from some Eastern European country," Matt deduces based on the man's voice and then inquires, "Am I correct, Mr. Jason Teague?"

Jason, hanging, opens his swollen eyes and nods.

He wants to beg for mercy but is quickly interrupted by Matt.

"Mr. Teague, you shouldn't have consumed my employer's merchandise," Matt points out the mistake the man made.

"My employer is someone who dislikes troublemakers. He prefers people who follow the rules, and you happen to have made a mistake that displeased him."

"Have they found the consumed merchandise?" Matt asks his henchman nearby.

"Most of it has been found, but there's still a portion that remains undiscovered," the henchman reports, "According to him, he sold off some of the goods."

Matt nods, indicating he's aware.

He gestures to his side, and the henchman immediately comes over and silences Jason's mouth.

Jason struggles desperately to speak but can't as his mouth is stuffed with his own smelly sock and taped shut.

Once Jason settles down, Matt gazes at his captive as if admiring a piece of art, even though he cannot see.

Then Matt's fingers, like spider legs, crawl up Jason's chin, pass over dried bloodstains, reach cauliflower-like ears, and move past a series of numbers on his forehead.

The numbers on his forehead aren't written with a pen but carved with a razor blade.

Matt lifts Jason's head, fingers touching the mess on his neck.

"You've endured quite a bit of torture," Matt sighs softly to the bound man.

Then he lightly taps the scabbed areas with his fingertips, once, twice.

"And it's a new method of interrogation," Matt turns to his henchman, "Did you do this?"

"A new tool, sir," the henchman explains, "We picked a few things randomly from his kitchen, some cheese graters, and I even used a garlic press to crush three of his fingers."

"Torture combined with cooking, quite creative," Matt remarks, expressionless, to his henchman.

"In fact, I have some knowledge of gastronomy. Before I came here, I fried some donuts," Matt says casually, pushing Jason away, "Although I have confidence in your cooking skills, I'm not so sure about your torture methods."

He pushes his sunglasses frame a bit.

"He's confessed," the henchman says, "Does that mean he hasn't told the truth?"

"I prefer to hear it from him myself," Matt's expression becomes grave, "This has dragged on long enough. My employer is very displeased."

He takes out a small bag from his pocket and places it on the ground.

Then he opens the bag, pinches the bottom, and pours out its contents onto the floor.

The bag is filled with tiny bones, some not much bigger than marbles, some resembling long teeth, and others looking like finger bones.

Wrist bones like gravel on a driveway, palm bones like Lincoln Logs, finger bones like dog treats or umbrella handles.

These bones are cleaned to a shine, creating a gleaming white pile on the floor.

Matt doesn't touch the bones, only runs his fingers over them like reading a child's book.

Jason, bound, watches him in horror, unsure of what this sunglasses-wearing man intends to do.

Matt's eyes can't see, but he can easily find the bones he wants to touch.

"Very good, this is it, starting with this finger," he says satisfactorily after selecting.

Then he gathers up the bones from the floor, puts them back into the small bag, and stands up, looking into Jason's bloodshot, terrified eyes.

"In fact, you shouldn't have made mistakes," Matt shakes his head, "Do you know where these bones came from? They're from people who've been punished, all taken from them by me."

"I have a hobby, I like cooking, especially using the hands I've taken from people."

He continues with an indifferent tone, "Boil them until the meat separates from the bone, like braising veal shanks, and when the bones are clean, take them out, bleach them, and smoke them. I'll see if there's anything suitable and put it in my collection bag."

Before he finishes, Jason, in a panicked and indistinct voice, says, "I'll tell the truth, please let me go, don't cut off my hands!"

Hearing this, Matt nods in satisfaction.

Once everything is settled, he leaves the warehouse.

After his henchman exits the warehouse, nervously asking him, "Sir, did you really do that? Collecting cooking bones?"

Matt pushes his sunglasses and smiles, "How could I? I'm a lawyer, not a butcher."

"What I showed him was just some cow bones and bear paw bones. I wouldn't be so bored as to play such a butcher's game, but my employer did it before."

The henchman swallows and looks at Matt's somewhat handsome profile, thinking to himself, "You're not a butcher, you're a devil."

Midtown High School.

Peter puts his backpack in the locker and looks at the empty locker next to his.

It's Gwen's locker.

After hesitating, he takes out his phone and sends Gwen a text message.

"Are you resting today? Gwen."

Gwen quickly replies, "Yes, I need to take some time to control myself. If I keep slamming 'Kong' on the ground every time, it would be a disaster for me."

Peter furrows his brow and replies, "Control? How do you control?"

"It's a long story. Controlling one's body is always difficult. I need to change myself a bit. Don't worry, I'll be in class tomorrow, and maybe I'll surprise you then."

"Okay, I look forward to it."

Peter puts away his phone and heads to class.

But upon entering the classroom, he notices that the atmosphere seems somewhat different than usual.

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