Marvel’s Disassembler

The Future World Exhibition Hall was bustling with people, gathered in small groups or paired off, exploring the imaginative designs on display.

Some exhibits were bizarre, others comical, igniting the crowd's emotions.

Morrison blended into the crowd, appearing like an ordinary visitor, casually observing the surrounding exhibits.

With expressive eyes, he conveyed his feelings toward each exhibit, whether it be disdain, eager anticipation, or complete bewilderment. He believed his expressions and eye movements were flawlessly seamless.

No one, he thought, would suspect that his real purpose wasn't the items in the exhibition hall but that damned Dr. Abraham Erskine!

"Hey, buddy."

A hand suddenly rested on his shoulder and it was powerful enough to restrict his movements entirely. Simultaneously pressed against his back by a hard object, a voice whispered in his ear, "If you don't want anything unexpected to happen, I hope to gain some decent loot. Let's avoid misunderstandings that might hinder our good communication. What do you think?"

Morrison widened his eyes, and a cold, murderous intent began to emanate from his gaze.

But the voice sounded panicked, "Oh God, if you need money, it's in the pocket on my left."

"Great, but I hope to get more."

The voice behind him stated.

Morrison sighed in relief, a small probe that seemed to yield the answer he sought.

Even in this era, shameless little thieves were everywhere. It didn't matter; finding a secluded spot would suffice to deal with him.

In such times, even if he killed many of these pests, it wouldn't attract much attention. At most, it would consume a little time, but that was fine. He was confident a little thief like this wouldn't delay him for too long.

With these thoughts in mind, Morrison willingly gestured in a direction. "There's no one over there."

"I like people who are cooperative and sensible." The voice behind him sounded urgent and anxious, perhaps because the prey was within reach and eager to reap the rewards. Would this greedy worm pay the price it deserved?

At least, this was Morrison's mindset until he left the exhibition hall and entered an alley.

Once there, his head was immediately pressed against the wall, and after searching him and confiscating two handguns, Morrison's heart sank into despair.

"Another P38?"

The voice behind him sounded somewhat disdainful. "So, you're with the little mustache and not Hydra?"

Simultaneously with this voice, a force pulled him around, and when he saw the person's face, Morrison's pupils instantly contracted.

"It's you!"

The soldier who accompanied Dr. Erskine before.

With a typical Eastern face, Morrison had instinctively overlooked him, but now he realized that the other had detected him long ago.

"Yes, it's me."

Arthur smiled and said, "Nice to meet you. Let me think, cut off one head, and two more will grow back?"

"You…"

Morrison's face changed dramatically, realizing that things were not going well.

The other knew more than he had imagined.

"Indeed, judging your origin by handguns is not really that reliable…"

Arthur laughed again before grabbing Morrison's chin with one hand.

But at that very moment, Morrison suddenly launched a kick— a low blow!

"Is this a universally recognized martial art move?"

Arthur remarked in surprise.

Arthur's reaction was swift. The moment the opponent's leg lifted, he not only realized it but also launched a counterattack. First, he kicked the opponent's knee, rendering the sinister kick ineffective. Following that, he grabbed the opponent's shoulders, pulled him forward, and delivered a knee strike directly to the abdomen.

The opponent's body immediately arched like a shrimp, and Arthur took a step back, shaking his right hand before delivering a powerful hook punch, exclaiming, "Ouroboros!"

This punch landed solidly on the opponent's chin. The originally forward-leaning body was sent soaring through the air with small white teeth dancing in the breeze, resembling a scattering of flower petals.

Finally, the opponent crashed forcefully onto the ground, sprawled in a disheveled manner.

However, Morrison bit down forcefully… Well, he tried to, but Arthur had knocked all his teeth out. Despite the absence of the "biting" assistance, Morrison managed a sudden somersault, initiating a frantic search for his teeth scattered across the ground.

"Hehe."

Arthur chuckled. "I guess you're searching for your venomous fangs, right? Laden with poison, an immediate suicide mechanism if captured. Quite a creative young man… but you're too naive."

Grabbing Morrison's ankle, Arthur dragged him away from the scattered teeth, then sat on his back, saying, "So, do you enjoy the current situation?"

Morrison turned his head fiercely to look at Arthur on his back, his neck twisted at a strange angle. Then, he began cursing with muffled sounds, "#%…&*￥#!"

After finishing his sentence, the two stared at each other with wide and narrow eyes.

Morrison was almost in tears. This bastard had knocked out all his teeth. Without teeth, speaking was like a gusty wind passing through; he couldn't even understand what he had said!

Arthur, in surprise, commented, "Is this your own invented language? Trying to communicate with me using this seems a bit unrealistic, don't you think?"

Morrison, filled with sorrow and anger, found himself unable to commit suicide. Instead, he placed both hands on the ground, turned his head toward the ground, and forcefully smashed his head against it.

Even if he couldn't die, he could at least smear his face with blood!

That's how ruthless Morrison was!!!

But just as his forehead was about to make close contact with the ground, his neck suddenly tightened, almost strangling him. The next moment, someone pulled him up by the back of his neck, "Your will to die is quite firm, huh? Since that's the case, I can't let you have your way."

Arthur grabbed his head and slammed it against the wall!

Thunk!

Arthur admired, "That sound was so satisfying to hear."

While he enjoyed the sound, Morrison's eyes rolled like mosquito-repellent coils, and he fainted without even grumbling.

Taking off the opponent's coat, tearing it into strips, Arthur bound him in a hogtie.

With the remaining strips, he gagged Morrison's mouth. Opening a nearby trash can, Arthur tossed him inside.

Finally, he grabbed a few garbage bags and covered him up a bit. "Well, this is much better. I hope you're still here when I come back…"