Chapter 4830

"Hampton's lost power."

Coulson didn't return until evening. Snow had fallen all day, blanketing all of Long Island in a dim, yellowish gloom. Looking out the window, the originally brightly lit streets retained only a few scattered points of light, blurred like Impressionist brushstrokes. The distant mountains and cliffs were even darker, like the charred edges of an old photograph.

Snow dusted his hair and shoulders. Hawkeye handed him a Mao Jin. He stood on the doormat at the doorway, wiping his hair as he said, "The power company's supply is normal; it might be a line issue. But most estates here have generators, though they probably can't handle the heating system. Tonight's going to be rough."

"Can't an estate that big just keep a few more generators?" Seeing Natasha shook her head. "These people never learn to be prepared for danger in times of peace."

"In fact, the power company's people have already come several times. The lines have all been checked and repaired. The cause of the outage probably isn't that simple." Coulson said.

He didn't spell it out, but everyone already understood — this was likely another supernatural phenomenon at work.

Actually, having generators at these estates was already pretty good. These people lived the most top-tier lifestyle; the entire city's basic infrastructure revolved around them. The power and water companies practically inspected the lines here eight times a day; any issue was handled instantly. Because the community budget was ample, snowplows and fire trucks and such facilities were deployed at saturation levels. In modern society, it was still very hard to make basic living conditions fail in a place like this.

"Then why didn't we lose power here?" Natasha asked, puzzled again. She glanced up at the chandelier. However retro this castle was, it couldn't possibly run entirely on candles like centuries ago; it was still hooked up to the modern grid. Logically, it should have gone out with Hampton.

At that moment, Greed came down from upstairs: "You guys guess why Tony isn't here?"

Everyone looked at him. Greed shrugged. "He noticed when the current got unstable earlier. Right now he's powering the main breaker in the basement with the Ark Reactor."

"Looks like we've got the best generator here." Steve said with a laugh.

"If he put his mind to it, he could probably power all of Long Island." Natasha curled her lip. "I was actually hoping if the power went out, we could really tell ghost stories..."

"Even if he could, there's no need," Greed said. "Leaving aside that those people have generators, some very critical facilities won't lose power completely. In big estates like these, every household has a fireplace; even burning wood, they won't freeze to death."

The group was currently gathered around the fireplace. Though actually, this fireplace only looked the part; it wasn't very hot when lit. The real heat came mainly from the floor heating.

Heating coverage in the US is very high, but they don't have district heating; it's individual heating. Around New York, electric heaters are more common, and some use natural gas heating.

The advantage of individual heating is you can turn it off anytime — on when you're home, off when you're not, saving money. The downside is if the power cuts, the heat goes too.

Many American households keep fireplaces not just for tradition, but to guard against sudden heating failure, and to save on electricity bills. Northern electricity isn't as expensive as the South, but it's still a significant expense.

Normally, buying firewood isn't cheap either, and most people can't log privately. But the reason many absurd US policies persist is "policies at the top, countermeasures at the bottom." There are still plenty of ways to quietly get combustibles. Even some houses with aging wiring trip the breaker the moment the heat turns on; in winter they can only survive by burning the fireplace.

"No need to worry about them," Strange said, checking his cases on his laptop. "Those who can't stand the cold will run. They don't only have this one house."

"The housewarming party probably won't have anyone show up now," Natasha shook her head. "I was actually looking forward to this party."

"You just want to drink my stash dry." Greed called her out. "If Nick finds out how much you've drunk here, he might confiscate my office."

"I spend every winter like this," Natasha said. "When the weather gets cold, I can't help wanting a drink. Probably a genetic curse."

"Oh, wait." Greed snatched the cup that had just floated up, looking at his Doujie interface. It had just notified him of a new message from Peter Parker — and the message was asking why his calls wouldn't go through.

Greed pulled out his phone and found the signal showed normal. So he said, "Cap, I'll give you a call. See if you can receive it."

Steve took out his phone. Greed dialed. Result: Greed's end showed "weak signal on receiving end," while Steve's end had no incoming call display at all — but his phone signal also showed normal.

Soon, Peter sent a second message: "I'm already there, Doctor, but I think I'm a bit lost. I feel like I've seen this street for the third time now."

Greed immediately understood what was happening. He replied: "Don't bother, Peter. This place probably can't be entered anymore. You should just go back."

Peter sent a confused emoji. He was clearly baffled. It wasn't that he didn't want to join the Avengers' moving effort on time; he had a project on hand, agreed to come later, and only arrived two days late — how could he still not get in?

"Should I open a portal?" Strange asked.

"Better not," Steve spoke up first to stop it. "Peter absolutely cannot stand by for any murder case, even if they deserve it. You know that."

Greed kept replying to Peter, trying to persuade him to go back. His personality really wasn't suited for this — mainly because all Spider-Men have a shadow over this kind of thing.

Although the central universe's Peter didn't lose his uncle, he'd seen too many Spider-Man tragedies. So like all Spider-Men, he couldn't ignore any crime. Even knowing there were hidden circumstances, they still plunged in without hesitation.

"Actually I think letting him come over isn't a big deal," Natasha offered a different opinion. "Spider-Man isn't good at solving this. Even if he acts to save them, he probably can't save them. It'll just plunge those rich people into deeper despair."

"But it'll also upset him," Greed said. "And we can't let him feel like he's the only one trying while we stand by. That would hurt his heart."

"I've probably had too much to drink," Natasha withdrew her opinion. In fact, she was indeed holding a can of beer, and then flopped onto the sofa rather wildly, head pillowed on the armrest. "Never believe a single word a Russian says while lying on a sofa on a snowy day."

"Right, ma'am," Steve, on the single sofa beside her, looked at her with some concern. "Is your dysmenorrhea still bad?"

"It's been much better since I started taking Chinese medicine." Natasha lay flat on the sofa, looking at the ceiling.

"Wait," Greed suddenly turned to look at her. "You're taking Chinese medicine?! And you're still drinking alcohol???"

Natasha didn't make a sound. Greed strode over and took the beer can away. Natasha tried to jump up, but Steve's eyes and hands were fast; he pinned her down. "He's right, Natasha. You can't indulge your genetic instincts like this."

Natasha muttered a few words under her breath but didn't argue back. She rolled over, facing the sofa back, as if asleep. Bucky helplessly fetched a blanket and covered her.

"I'll go get some firewood." Coulson went upstairs, changed into a coat, came out and said, "We need to get the fireplace going stronger."

At that moment, Stark suddenly walked in through the back door. Everyone looked at him in surprise; Stark was surprised at their surprise.

"You don't think I have to stand there to supply power, do you?"

"Turns out not. What a pity." Strange didn't even look up. "If you stood there all night, Lord Rodriguez might be willing to grant you a knighthood."

Stark rolled his eyes. He couldn't be bothered to argue with Strange; this guy was extra irritable when writing medical records, picking fights and scolding people for no reason. He wasn't going to touch that moldy head at a time like this.

"Phew—" Greed let out a long breath. He'd finally persuaded Peter to go home first and not get involved in Hampton's business.

But suddenly, a cry of alarm came from the backyard. Everyone scrambled up and rushed toward the back door. Steve moved fastest. Just as he went out, he saw a corpse lying at Coulson's feet.

"Good God, what happened?!" Steve rushed over, checking Coulson first. But Coulson seemed only shocked, not attacked. Then looking at the ground — the corpse had just been tossed there, snow haphazardly piled on top.

Coulson wasn't shocked just because he suddenly found a corpse, but because the exposed arms of the corpse were covered in deep scratches down to the bone. And judging by the corpse's state, it looked like death from excessive blood loss.

"Wait," Strange, who had come out, turned grave. "This is the bride from the wedding."

Everyone looked at him. Strange went over for a closer look, then said: "No mistake. I've seen her. She's Augustus's eldest daughter."

"But the body should be at the police morgue." Coulson reacted immediately. Because the bride died yesterday, the commotion was huge. Besides the police, SHIELD also participated in the investigation. They knew where the body went.

"Look for footprints," Pride said. "Snow's falling heavy now. They'll think snow will cover their tracks quickly, so they won't bother cleaning up. In a guilty, panicked state, their steps will be messy. We should be able to find some traces."

Everyone immediately spread out to search nearby. Sure enough, although most footprints were already covered by snow, one step happened to land under a tree root. There, the cover blocked most snow, and this step was heavy — the shoe print was clearly left on the dirt slope by the root.

"Hampton Police Department," Coulson said. "This is the tread of their standard-issue police boots. When we worked the joint case that day, the prints in the snow were all this type."

"Looks like there are guilty thieves in the police station too." Bucky shook his head with a sigh.

"Move it to the cellar first," Pride said. "Now's not a good time to handle it."