Chapter 199

"Are you sure you're really okay?"

Thor carefully examined Eddie, who stood at the door; Eddie looked terrible—his hair hadn't been washed in days and was a tangled bird's nest, the sweater underneath was apparently a brand name but frayed in many places, and the coat was worse—one sleeve bore a dirty oil stain.

Thor had been wandering the Hell's Kitchen these past few days and had seen plenty of homeless people; Eddie's appearance blended perfectly into that crowd.

Seeing his neighbor reduced to this state, Thor felt too awkward to mention the noise complaints again; he could only say, "If you need help, I'm next door…"

"Damn it! I'm not homeless!" Eddie clearly saw the pity in Thor's eyes; he slammed his fist against the doorframe and said, "I'm just…"

He had barely uttered one syllable when he staggered backward, colliding with the entranceway; a glass on the entranceway fell to the floor and shattered. He turned and cursed, "Damn it, how again…"

Then he lurched violently to the left, his head striking the doorframe again; like a puppet on strings, he stumbled backward several steps and staggered over to the sink to vomit.

Thor could no longer stand by; even if not to help him, he had to protect his own hard-won apartment from destruction, so he stepped into Eddie's room to see what was wrong.

Eddie's apartment was a mess—boxes of documents and clutter piled at the entrance, clearly hastily packed, stacked haphazardly without order, ready to collapse at any moment.

Thor stepped over the papers and noticed a pile of unfamiliar machines on his left—some chaotic metal frames, others resembling cannons.

Having lived in the human world for so many days, Thor had learned that any machine he didn't recognize was probably expensive, and breaking it would mean ruin; so he avoided the left side and went to the sofa on the right.

The sofa was piled with clothes, the most noticeable being several suits wrapped in dust covers; they looked different from the rest—even Thor, who couldn't tell human clothing apart, could see these suits were far better made than the others.

Further inside lay an open suitcase on the floor; clearly, this man named Eddie had been thrown out—his suitcase was a chaotic mess, and many items hadn't even been removed, still crammed inside.

Stepping over the suitcase into the kitchen, Thor saw Eddie crouched on the floor, leaning against the cabinet; he seemed completely broken, eyes vacant, muttering to himself.

Eddie noticed a large shadow looming before him; he looked up and saw the towering Thor watching him with concern. He opened his mouth as if to beg for help, but then decided what he wanted to say sounded too absurd, and said nothing.

"Let me take you to the hospital," Thor said, looking down at Eddie. "You look seriously ill."

As Thor turned to leave, apparently to call for help, Eddie scrambled up and grabbed him. "No! Don't! I can't afford another ambulance fee!"

"But you look awful," Thor turned back, pointing at Eddie's face. "You're the most gaunt human I've ever seen. Don't you have a mirror? Don't you ever look at yourself?"

Eddie sighed deeply, shuffled slowly to the sofa, pushed aside the messy clothes, and said, "You're from Texas, right? Sit down. I've got nothing to offer you—grab the two cans of beer by the suitcase."

Thor stared at him for a moment; though he didn't understand Earth people well, he still had basic judgment—he could tell this man wasn't homeless, but had fallen into this state for some reason, and clearly had a story to tell.

Thor looked out the window; it was still early—the warehouse job ran three shifts, and it wasn't his turn yet. With nothing else to do, he followed Eddie's instruction, took two cans of beer from beside the suitcase, sat across from him on the sofa, and handed him one, placing the other in front of himself.

He knew what alcohol was—during his warehouse job, the boss provided one meal, and since Thor worked the night shift, his coworkers would invite him for draft beer after his shift.

To Thor, Earth's beer was too weak, but better than nothing; so on his first day in his new home, he bought several bottles to stock up.

Eddie opened his can himself and gulped down two big swallows. Thor waved at him. "Don't do that—you clearly don't drink often. You're just swallowing foam; it'll bloat your stomach and you won't be able to drink more later."

"Later?" Eddie gave a bitter laugh. "I've only got these two cans. You think I'll be drinking long?"

"No problem—I've got a few more bottles. I'll bring you some later," Thor said carelessly. His rugged, battle-hardened nature showed through. Eddie watched his movements and said, "You're ex-military, aren't you? I can tell—you've seen combat."

Thor raised an eyebrow. No one had ever said that to him before. He told Eddie, "You're not ordinary either. No one's ever recognized my identity before."

Hearing him admit it, Eddie studied him again. "Your physique suggests elite special forces. Which unit? Why aren't you an instructor?"

Thor waved his hand, not intending to elaborate. Over these many days, he'd learned that boasting about his exploits on Earth only got him labeled a lunatic—and fired.

Deep down, Thor still didn't regard ordinary humans as equals; he didn't need their approval of his deeds. So whenever anyone asked after that, he simply waved and stayed silent.

"Alright, I know you've got confidentiality rules—I won't ask," Eddie took another sip of beer. "If that's the case, your mouth must be tight. Maybe I can tell you."

"How did you end up like this?"

Thor looked around the room. "There are plenty of valuable things here. You must've been rich once. How did you end up like this?"

At the mention of it, Eddie sighed deeply again. Emboldened by the alcohol, he opened up.

"What I'm about to tell you may sound incredible. You might think I'm insane—but it's true."

Eddie gulped down another swallow of beer, his fingers gripping the can tightly, tendons bulging on his knuckles.

"I was a journalist—top-tier. I won many awards, interviewed countless celebrities, and many famous reports came from me. At my peak, even the editor-in-chief had to watch his tone around me."

Eddie slammed the beer can onto the coffee table. "But a month ago, everything changed."

His grip on the can tightened further; foam bubbled over the can's rim, shimmering under the dim light. Eddie stared at that shimmer, his thoughts drifting back to a month ago.

"Morning, Eddie."

"Morning. What's up? You've got something to say?" Eddie looked at his colleague, who approached and lowered his voice. "The editor wants you—he's angry. Better watch yourself."

The colleague patted his shoulder and left. Eddie, papers in hand and camera hanging from his chest, pushed open the glass door to the editor's office.

The editor was on the phone. Seeing Eddie enter, he glanced at him, then hung up, tapped the desk, and signaled him over. "Eddie, did you read the Daily Bugle yesterday?"

"Uh, no. What happened?"

"Their latest issue sold out. Their magazine too. They ran a special on New York weirdos—high-res photos of Spider-Man and Iron Man, candid shots of them doing good deeds, even an interview where a reporter spoke to Spider-Man and confirmed he's just a high schooler."

"Meanwhile, our last issue flopped. Nobody cares about river construction projects."

"Eddie, I know you're a renowned journalist, but lately you've been going too far off-track. People don't care about rich men launching new projects—that's irrelevant to them. They want high-res, handsome photos of New York's vigilantes and their juicy gossip…"

"I know…" The editor reached out to soothe Eddie. "I know this isn't your strength, but we have to bow to sales. If we don't get a big story soon, this quarter's performance will be disastrous—we might have to cut salaries."

Eddie heard the threat in the editor's tone. He sighed helplessly. "Didn't we have the upper hand with the vampire incident?"

"That was months ago. For our industry, that's longer than centuries. We need a new breakout!"

"By the way, have you heard about the latest sensation—the Immortality Factor?"

"I've heard of it, but I don't know much."

"That's fine. Tomorrow I've got a meeting with Dr. Drake from the Life Foundation. You'll interview him—ask him about the Immortality Factor."

"The Life Foundation claims they've found a better way to extract the Immortality Factor—faster, more effective. They've recruited many test subjects with excellent feedback. Drake's red-hot right now."

The editor punched his fist. "We've got to seize this chance. If this interview blows up, we won't just bury the Daily Bugle—we might even get to try that miraculous Immortality Factor serum ourselves!"

"Go, Eddie. Your career will hit new heights."