By the evening, Frank returned, covered in a strong smell of blood. Even Coulson was a bit overwhelmed and said, "How many people are still alive in Hampton? Maybe we should let S.H.I.E.L.D. come in."

Frank opened his mouth to say something but stopped, then said, "Get me a towel first. I’ve got blood on my shoes."

A towel flew out directly from the bathroom and smacked onto his face. Without looking up from the bar where he was updating medical records, Strange said, "Go out, clean up first before coming in."

Frank, who normally had a bad temper and wouldn’t tolerate such rudeness, happened to already see Strange updating records when he arrived earlier and knew he was a doctor. Frank respected doctors a lot.

More accurately, he had a simple concept: he respected those who achieved high success in traditional fields, whether lawyers, doctors, or teachers, he showed relatively higher tolerance.

Moreover, he had a good relationship with Shiller and didn’t want to make Shiller’s new home look like a crime scene. So he went out the door, intending to clean up before coming back in. Just then, Greed came with half a pot of borscht, looked at Frank standing outside, and was a bit puzzled, "Frank, why aren’t you coming in?"

"I got some blood on me," Frank said as he wiped, "hold on, I’ll clean it up in a second."

"Why clean up outside, it’s so cold. Get in here," Greed called to him, "A little blood doesn’t matter in this place."

Frank tried to wipe as much as he could, at least making sure he wouldn’t leave bloody footprints. He walked over, glanced into the pot, raised an eyebrow, and said, "What’s this? It looks a lot like..."

Frank’s expression twitched slightly as if he thought of something unpleasant. Greed rolled his eyes and said, "Borscht. I assure you it contains no blood-based ingredients."

Only then did Frank breathe a sigh of relief. He was a bit violent but not a psychopath. At that moment, he realized he still had some boundaries.

Greed served him a big bowl. Frank took a sip and frowned, "Ugh, it’s a bit sour."

"Add some sugar yourself. How’s Hampton?"

"More people have died," Frank said, "I only killed two, the other four were all victims of ghostly revenge."

He paused and then said, "I’ve organized them to recite the Bible and pray to stabilize their mental state. The ones who died were all drinking and doing drugs, totally self-destructive."

"When people are collapsing, they always want something to numb themselves. But to still take hallucinogens at this time, they deserved their deaths."

"What about the bodies?" Coulson asked, turning his head.

"All sent to the police," Frank said, "but even the police force isn’t looking good. Augustus died there, most police are trembling, some even said they want to find their way here; I stopped them."

Greed was busy serving the borscht and didn’t speak. Frank wasn’t one for talking much either. Plus, he wasn’t a genetically modified person, he needed rest too. After eating something, he went upstairs to shower and sleep.

"Do you think the police will take action?" Steve asked.

"We can wait tonight," Greed said, "I guess they’ll send the bodies over. Since bodies disappear when they’re sent to us, just like before. They’ll think it’s better to give them to us."

"Oh my god," Natasha sighed, "we’re not Dracula. What if the cellar gets filled up?"

"That’s nothing to worry about." Greed shook his head.

Thick borscht with bread, and a steak fried for everyone. Everyone was full; they should have sat by the fireplace chatting to digest, but Greed asked them to help write housewarming invitations. So they all sat around the dining table writing.

"I mean, is it really necessary to be so grand?" Stark said, frowning, "Good things never come from such feasts, why not just inform them verbally?"

"From our perspective, nothing good will happen. But don’t forget, we’re just clueless buyers who happened to wander here, unknowing of any abnormalities, happily hosting a party. Naturally, it must be grand to show we’re not bothered by supernatural events, letting them know we seek nothing."

"My handwriting looks like a dog’s scrawl, I won’t write," Natasha said, "I’ll fold the envelopes instead... what? There’s a wax seal too? Did I travel back to Tsarist Russia?"

Greed placed his invitation into an envelope and sealed it with wax. Bucky glanced at it and said, "I doubt they’d dare to accept this. It looks like a ghost sent it from the 17th century."

Natasha also admired her work, shaking her head, "Nothing looks more like a ghost’s trap. It seems like it’s meant to gather everyone in a house to exterminate them."

"That’s actually true." Strange folded an envelope, "I have doubts about how many will walk out alive from here."

"It really shows how much we value them," Greed emphasized, "You don’t understand; they love this stuff. Besides, the more fearful they are, the more they like such unnecessary formalities. It makes them feel they’re still in control and respected; they’ll have to come for the sake of appearances."

Natasha thought about it and realized that it made sense. The less secure people feel, the more they need external things to remind them that they still belong to the high and mighty.

If, at this moment, we inform them in a very perfunctory and neglectful manner to come over, they’ll feel that after something goes wrong, no one will care about them. On the contrary, if the invitation is especially solemn—even if it’s to find something to anchor their identity—they will come.

"How do you plan to scare them?" Dr. Banner was more interested in this, "Let me make it clear first, I’m not a fan of bloody scenes. If there’s going to be something intense, give me a heads up so I can leave in advance, lest The Hulk gets triggered."

"That’s indeed a problem," Coulson looked at Greed and said, "Though The Hulk has been quite calm lately, it’s hard to guarantee he won’t suddenly appear. You’d better not pull any surprises."

"How about this," Greed thought for a moment and said, "I can guarantee the first corpse will be completely non-bloody. After that, you can head back to your room, Doctor."

Dr. Banner nodded. He clearly wasn’t interested in such banquets; he’d rather have an online group meeting with his students since the communication function is restored.

The number of people in East Hampton is actually not many. Within the supernatural lockdown scope, there are only dozens of families, but the number of people in large clans is more, with various main and side branches living in one big estate.

In America, traditionally, invitations are sent based on small family units. This means neither one invitation for each person nor one for the entire family, but for a unit of a couple and their children.

For instance, if this generation of the family has three boys, each starting their own family, despite sharing the same surname and living in the same estate, three sets of invitations are needed. Add in envelopes and sealing wax, it took a whole night for them to finally finish.

When they were cleaning up, ready to go upstairs and sleep, Greed went out to take a look, and as expected, there was a pile of corpses in the backyard. Needless to say, they were delivered by the police.

"You guys go sleep," Greed told them, "I can move them by myself."

Steve wanted to help, but was pulled away by Stark. Upstairs, Stark whispered, "That freak is doing something in the cellar, we better stay away."

"What is he doing?" Steve asked in confusion.

Although Steve isn’t particularly aggressive, his impression of Arrogant isn’t good either. The Gotham vibe is too strong on him, and Steve generally dislikes anyone from Gotham City. These people aren’t normal; they’re like walking time bombs.

"Playing with corpses," Stark whispered, "What else could it be?"

"Don’t you want to stop him?"

"Have you not realized it yet? Only a madman can deal with these Hampton people." Stark shook his head and said, "Seeing the coffin doesn’t bring tears, but whoever visits Gotham City will cry."

The next morning, the corpses in the backyard were gone. It’s obvious they were moved to the cellar, and Arrogant didn’t appear. Steve still couldn’t figure out what could be done with corpses to occupy a whole night, but he learned not to question too deeply.

The snow finally stopped, and they could finally go out and buy some things in preparation for the banquet. They didn’t lack ingredients, but the banquet needed some ceremonial items, like a red carpet, tablecloths, and tableware.

Now that the weather was a bit cold, there were almost no outdoor activities, so indoor arrangements required more meticulous planning. They went their separate ways to shop.

Though they couldn’t leave Hampton, of course, Hampton had malls. When the power was out, most ordinary staff left, and now with the lockdown, they couldn’t enter either, leaving the mall almost empty.

However, a few employees who were staying locally helped them check out. Steve noticed these people clearly knew something, they just weren’t affected by supernatural phenomena. This indicated they knew part of the truth, yet hadn’t done anything to betray their conscience.

With everything bought, they could start setting up. They began moving tables, laying down the red carpet and tablecloths, placing some candle holders, and getting the champagne tower ready.

This task was given to Natasha, completely like asking a rat to guard the grain warehouse. But unfortunately, she was the only one who understood the structural nuances of the champagne tower, even managing to remove four glasses from a layer holding only eight without toppling the tower, so she had to do it.

Natasha did not let everyone down; she drank till she was blissfully drunk. As a result, by the time the banquet started the next day, she was still hungover, and it was Bucky who dragged her out of bed, urging her to dress up for the event.

Hungover Natasha was somewhat irritable, she slapped Bucky aside, slipped into her formal dress, grabbed her hair haphazardly, skipped makeup, applied some lipstick, and stumbled downstairs in high heels with Bucky helplessly following behind her.

Still a bit drowsy, Natasha decided to have another drink to perk up. She shut her eyes tightly, catching sight of the champagne tower in the middle of the banquet hall, after rubbing her face, she headed towards it.

Approaching the champagne tower, Natasha was still in a daze. Just as she reached out, a shadow fell from the atrium.

"Bang!"

"Crash!"

The beautiful, tipsy lady was drenched like a wet chicken. Natasha forcefully shut her eyes, clenched her fists, using all her willpower to restrain herself from impulsively drawing her gun.