Strange Ducati Motorcycle

Merlin and the other man were both discussing the price, so they didn't pay much attention.

"No, I don't need your money. Since you're planning to modify it yourself, you'll definitely be buying a lot of parts from me anyway. Consider this bike a freebie."

After all, he had no idea who had dumped this bike here, and he was planning to scrap it anyway.

Since Merlin wanted it, he felt awkward charging him again.

The profit from the parts Merlin was buying from him was already substantial.

And this time, if he was going to do a major overhaul on this motorcycle, it would cost nearly half the price of a new bike.

"Alright, same place as usual. Once I finish my inspection, I'll send you the parts list." Merlin nodded and left the Sons of Silence Club.

"Wait... we haven't talked about yesterday's Lizardman incident yet?" Jack reached out a hand, watching Merlin's disappearing figure, and could only reluctantly head back inside the shop.

Over in Hell's Kitchen, the platform was gradually getting on track, and things were busy lately.

Since yesterday's failure, Peter and Professor Connors would definitely be speeding up their plans. He needed to keep pace, try to recruit some players before Peter and the others launched their scheme, and figure out a way to organize a large-scale mission in Apple City.

Back at the modification shop, Merlin pulled up the technical data and blueprints for the Tyrant MK2, while also sketching out the structure of the Ducati 916, and began adjusting the modification plan.

"Look and see her eyes, they glow..." Just as he was finalizing the modification scheme, his phone suddenly rang.

When he saw who was calling, Merlin immediately got a headache.

The ringtone kept going, as if it wouldn't stop until he answered.

Helpless, he could only press the answer button.

"Merlin!!! You went running off to your modification shop again, didn't you? What did I tell you yesterday? Until the Lizardman is caught, try not to go out."

As soon as the call connected, a loud roar came from the other end.

Merlin sucked in a sharp breath and quickly moved the phone away from his ear.

Only when the voice on the other end—George—gradually calmed down did he put the phone back to his ear.

"You know, my motorcycle was smashed to pieces yesterday. Motorcycles are my soul! I can't live without them."

"So, I just came out today to buy a bike."

He explained in a serious tone.

"What kind of bike do you want? I can buy it for you. You don't need to go out."

"Forget it, I won't bother you. I'm sure you don't have the time." Merlin said firmly.

George: "..."

Well, he really didn't have the time.

"Come home as soon as you can today. I don't know how that Lizardman got his eyes on you, but your situation is dangerous right now. Try not to stay out, and keep your phone on at all times." George knew how important the bike was to the kid, so in the end, he could only worry and give a few reminders.

"We'll see..." Merlin said, then quickly hung up.

If he was lucky, he might be pulling an all-nighter tonight.

At the police station, George looked at the disconnected call and sighed helplessly. The office door suddenly opened.

"Sheriff George, we have news on Spider-Man and the Lizardman."

"Let's go!" George immediately stood up and followed.

After finalizing the modification plan, Merlin sent over the parts list.

Not long after he sent it, Jack shipped both the bike and the parts over.

After unloading the motorcycle and parts from the small truck into the workshop, Merlin stood beside the Ducati, pinched his chin in thought for a moment, then walked to the front of the bike and wiped some grime off the surface with his finger.

He had no idea how long it had been abandoned. The bike's shell and many parts were already rusted and stained, and a lot of components were missing.

Looking at the grime on his finger, he clapped his hands.

"Time to work!"

He first grabbed the water gun and gave the whole bike a wetting down, then applied foam and started rinsing.

After several rounds with the high-pressure water gun, the motorcycle still looked battered, but the surface was much cleaner and fresher.

And beneath the black-and-red rust, hints of a pink paint base were showing.

After rinsing, Merlin began disassembly, then meticulously sanded every part.

It was a project that tested patience, but Merlin actually enjoyed the process of watching the parts gradually become new in his hands.

Time slipped away unnoticed into the night. After Merlin's repeated rounds of cleaning and sanding, and after replacing and installing many electrical components, once the final red and white paint was finished, the battered, nearly scrapped Ducati on the workbench was gone. In its place stood a brand-new Ducati 916 with a red-and-white paint job.

The glossy paint reflected the light, showcasing the bike's elegant curves. The worn-out tires had been replaced with matte black ones, making it look like a fiery beauty crouching low with her rear end up.

"Hot babe?" Merlin scratched his head. Why was he feeling this way? Had he been single too long?

He shook his head and circled the motorcycle for a full inspection. If nothing was wrong, he planned to retrofit it with an Atomic Engine and Deadlock Missiles.

Luckily, when Kingpin had bought weapons a few days ago, he'd thrown in rare atomic energy industrial materials like Plutonium, so there was no worry about building the Atomic Engine.

"Hm?" At that moment, Merlin seemed to notice something. He stopped in front of the bike, then crouched down to look at the two protruding headlights.

Some red paint was smeared on them—probably splattered by accident during the recent spray job.

Even though he'd taken precautions before painting, it was common to find extra paint specks after removing the protective cover.

Merlin grabbed a rag and tried wiping it off a couple of times. When that didn't work, he sprayed some Turpentine and carefully wiped again.

"Squeak, squeak, squeak..." The rag slid against the headlight surface with a series of slipping sounds under the friction of the Turpentine.

After wiping vigorously a few times, Merlin pulled the rag away.

But when he saw the state of the headlight, he froze.

"What the hell!" A red blush spread across the headlight, like diluted red paint had bloomed.

But it was just a tiny speck of red paint—how could it spread that much?

A bit confused, he tried wiping again with the rag. When that failed, he rubbed it with his finger.

His finger slid down the wet, smooth headlight. Merlin looked at his fingertip and found no red paint on it.

He tried rubbing the headlight again to see if he could scrape any off.

"Vroom! Vroom, vroom!!" But just as he was about to pull his hand back and check his fingertip, the motorcycle's engine suddenly roared to life, the frame and exhaust pipe trembling along with it.

Merlin: "???"

"Short to ground on the ignition?"

Thinking it might be a problem with the ignition relay or wiring inside, he stood up, set the headlight issue aside for now, and prepared to inspect it.