Manhattan, Vought Tower.
The black dial phone on the desk made a crisp ringing sound.
Edgar picked up the receiver slowly and put it to his ear.
He didn't take the initiative to speak, but quietly listened to the heavy breathing coming from the other end of the receiver.
After half a minute, Joseph's hoarse voice, as if it was filled with sand, rang out.
"I can tell you the coordinates of some wild Fantastic Beasts's frequent haunts. If Ministry of Magic gets the bodies of some dangerous creatures while performing cleaning tasks, I can also find a way to secretly detain them and send them to your laboratory."
Joseph said this, suddenly raising the pitch,
"But I will never kill those creatures with my own hands, let alone help you capture them alive. Edgar, this is my last concession. If you don't accept it, then we can all die together."
Edgar Listening to old Wizards's humiliating compromise, the corners of his mouth slightly raised, he picked up the Black Tea next to him and took a sip.
When it comes to things like the bottom line, the hardest thing is always to pry open the first opening.
Once even a tiny gap is opened, it is only a matter of time before the bottom line is completely destroyed.
"Deal, Mr. Joseph."
Edgar's tone was gentle, "Vought International has always respected people with principles. Tomorrow morning's Brooklyn Life Newspaper will change the content to a boring science article. I wish your granddaughter a safe journey to school tomorrow. That yellow school bus is always on time."
The phone was hung up with a bang.
At the same time, Queens's underground waterway.
At this time, Benjamin was sitting cross-legged on an abandoned wooden box without any image. The Hoodie he was wearing had not been replaced by the Hoodie that had been burned to pieces by the high temperature of Chest Blast. He looked like a wandering veteran who had just retired from the battlefield.
"Hey, big man, did you really not bring even a piece of black pepper beef flavored pizza today?"
A clear, even childish voice of a little boy rang out in the empty pipe without any warning.
Benjamin was so shocked that he almost fell off the wooden box.
He widened his bloodshot eyes and stared at the little green guy squatting at his feet.
That's the one tied with an orange strip of cloth in Four Little Turtles.
"You... were you talking to me just now?"
Benjamin shook his head, wondering if his brain was burned out by radiation after playing Chest Blast last night.
"Nonsense, apart from you and Teacher Splinter, aren't we the only ones here?"
Another slightly calm voice came from the darkness, and Little Turtles, tied with a blue cloth strip, walked out slowly with his hands behind his back.
Benjamin's eyes almost fell out of their sockets.
When he came here a few days ago, these four little things were just weird little pets lying on the edge of the ditch, unable to even walk.
But now, how long has it been?
These two little guys can not only pronounce a series of authentic New York slang clearly, but they are also growing very fast.
Little Turtles, who was tied with a blue cloth strip, stood up straight, and the edge of the thick turtle shell had almost reached the height of Benjamin's calves.
"What a ghost..."
Benjamin slapped himself on the forehead and muttered.
"Michelangelo, don't be rude."
The Big Rat Splinter, who was carrying a small wooden stick and covered with dark red rag strips, slowly walked out of the shadows and glared sternly at the Little Turtles who was tied with orange cloth strips.
Little Turtles, known as Michelangelo, shrank his neck a little aggrievedly, but his dark eyes couldn't help but scan Benjamin's empty hands, and finally sighed as if resigned to his fate.
"Okay, no pizza is fine, but big man, you smell much better today, almost the same as us."
As Michelangelo said this, he climbed up along the wall to the wooden box where Benjamin was sitting.
It used its little green paw with three stubby fingers to gently scratch Benjamin's tattered sweatshirt sleeve, then put its round, green head close to it, blinking its big eyes and looking at the depressed Superheroes.
Benjamin looked at the little freak squatting next to him.
I don't know why, but looking at Michelangelo's appearance, the Big Golden Retriever in Long Island Estate suddenly flashed through his mind.
Buddy.
This damn dog.
Benjamin subconsciously lowered his head and glanced at the soles of his shoes.
He spat, wishing he could go back and slap his ass hard on the spot.
Thinking of this, Benjamin's chest, which was about to explode after being tortured by the news of Stormfront's death, somehow felt relieved.
The frustration, confusion and anger accumulated in my heart were greatly diluted by a few mutated turtles who only wanted to eat pizza in this sour-smelling sewer.
"I'm not in the mood to joke with you today."
Benjamin stretched out his rough big hand and roughly pushed Michelangelo's slippery forehead, pushing the little guy to roll around on the wooden box.
However, he used very little force, and the muscles at the corners of his mouth even pulled up uncontrollably, and he cursed with a smile:
"It's just like that dead golden retriever on the ground. It has no shame at all."
Michelangelo steadied himself on the box. Not only was he not angry, but he waved to his brothers cheerfully, indicating that this big, fierce-looking man was actually not very lethal.
Seeing this, the other three Little Turtles also came over with clumsy steps from the shadows, gathered around Benjamin's feet, and began to discuss whether they could dig out two pieces of leftover bread from the trash can on the ground tonight.
Benjamin leaned against the dirty brick wall, looking at the noisy little green guys at his feet. He put his hands in his ragged pockets and slowly exhaled in the darkness.