Marvel : Starting as Ghost Riser

George turned to see a delicate, porcelain-doll-like little girl, her mouth open in a smile, revealing a few missing baby teeth.

"Gwen, my darling, come to Daddy."

The little girl skipped and hopped into George Stacy's arms. George held her, spinning her around, then burst into laughter.

"This is my precious daughter, Gwen." Then George patted his daughter. "Sweetheart, go with Mommy to my office and wait for me. I'll be there as soon as I finish talking with Uncle Roger."

"Ahem, it's brother, I'm not married..."

Little Gwen gave George a sweet kiss. "Okay, Daddy. Bye, Uncle."

Then, skipping and hopping, she took her mother's hand at the doorway and left.

Roger rolled his eyes. It's brother, not uncle. This kid just wouldn't listen. No wonder she died later... 

"Roger, that look in your eyes is unsettling. You're not a pedophile, are you?" George, turning back, looked at Roger, feeling that his gaze towards his daughter was very wrong.

"Ahem, don't misunderstand. You've known me long enough to know my sexual orientation. Where were we?"

"Oh, right. They become completely self-centered once they reach that town, right? Are the other townspeople normal?"

George continued, "That's what's puzzling us. The other townspeople have never had any problems. It seems like it's just our two guys and Sally who have been affected."

"The three of them spend their days partying in bars, finding sexual partners, Money laundry..." 

Roger thoughtfully chimed in, "And the source of it all is Sally. Sally went to the town to handle her deceased father's affairs."

"Which means—"

"The cause is her deceased father." + 2 (Both of them said)

Roger and George looked at each other, saying the sentence simultaneously.

"Or rather, something strange among her father's belongings," George added, drawing on his years of investigative experience.

"That's highly likely. Those things made her forget her feelings, or perhaps even stole them away."

"So she remembers her child but doesn't return because, having lost her emotions, she no longer feels love for her son."

"So, George, now that you know the truth, are you still planning to personally carry out this mission?" Roger asked.

"Someone has to deal with these things. Besides, two of our guys are still there," George said with a smile.

"Alright then, call me when you're ready to go. Planning to drive?" Roger finished the rest of his coffee in one gulp. The deduction had pretty much reached its conclusion.

"Yes, we'll leave tomorrow. Two people taking turns driving, it should take about seven or eight hours. Much faster than taking the train, you know."

"Oh, one more question. What's my payment for this?"

George: "...."

Traveling by train in this country really wasn't as convenient as driving. Air travel was out of the question; George, a police officer, couldn't afford a plane ticket, and Roger was perpetually broke, so that was out of the question.

After saying goodbye to George, Roger rode his motorcycle home. His home was located in the notorious Hell's Kitchen.

The reason he bought a place there was simple: the housing prices were cheap...

In a chaotic and lawless area, housing prices were naturally lower. Crime happened every day, and the homeless population was enormous.

Roger had meticulously chosen a place closer to downtown, slightly cleaner and safer. It wasn't that he feared thieves and robbers, but it was a hassle to have things stolen when he wasn't home, especially since many of his belongings couldn't be exposed to the light of day.

This time, he was going on a long-distance demon-hunting trip and needed to prepare a lot of things. He preferred solving problems with force, but it was the non-violent solutions that gave him headaches. Roger had only watched a few thousand episodes of Detective Conan, it didn't mean he was Sherlock Holmes.

He'd achieved his previous life's dream of owning a home, even if it was in a slum.

To be precise, it wasn't a purchase, but a "freebie." Roger had found a demon, made a wish for a house, and when the demon came to collect, Roger had already deleted the character skin. The demon was left bewildered, wondering where the debtor had gone.

Early the next morning, Roger arrived at George's house. He didn't own a car, only a Harley motorcycle, so for long trips, he had to hitch a ride in George's personal vehicle.

"Hey, sweetheart, Daddy will be back soon. Don't worry, I'm just going to find two colleagues. There's no dangerous case." George kissed Gwen's cheek.

"Okay, Daddy. Take this. Mommy and I bought it at the church yesterday. It's a protective amulet." Gwen handed him a crucifix.

"Honey, be sure to come back soon and safe." George's wife, then handed him the packed suitcase.

"Don't worry. This trip isn't dangerous. Otherwise, I wouldn't be going alone." George smiled, took the suitcase, and put it in the car's trunk.

He turned and saw Roger, giving him a nod. He knew Roger didn't have a car, as he was always a "motorcycle guy."

He tilted his head towards the car, gesturing for Roger to get in. Roger smiled, not needing a second invitation. To the astonishment of Gwen and her mother, he made his motorcycle disappear behind him.

He walked to the front, greeted little Gwen, and got into the passenger seat.

Little Gwen, her eyes wide with disbelief, tugged at her mother's hand. "Mommy, is he a magician? How did such a big motorcycle just disappear?"

"Probably... probably."

————

"Honestly, I'm a bit envious of your magic. You don't even need to bring luggage when you travel," George said, smiling, as he drove.

"Don't be envious. You know what I deal with every day. Some demons have some really strange abilities."

The motorcycle's disappearance, of course, wasn't a superpower. It was stored in the system's inventory, but attributing it to demons was a convenient explanation.

"I also envy you, having such a beautiful and lovely daughter." Roger rolled down the window and lit another cigarette.

"Then find a loving woman and get married. With your looks, you won't have any trouble finding a woman."

George chuckled, accepted the cigarette Roger offered, lit it, and started smoking. Police work was stressful, so smoking was common; some even smoked marijuana.

"Marriage is a fortress. Those outside want to get in, and those inside want to get out. Or, you could say marriage is a tomb."

"I didn't know you were a philosopher."

"Hahahaha, bullshit philosopher. I've just slept with a lot of women."

The two chatted like this as they drove onto the highway, heading towards their destination.

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Roger and George took turns driving, stopping only for gas and a quick meal at a gas station.

"I have good news. Our destination is only about two hours away. If all goes well, we won't have to sleep in the car tonight."

"That's great news. Let's speed up a bit, and we can get a good night's sleep tonight."

After driving for over ten hours, even with alternating shifts and sleeping in the car, it was still less comfortable than being on solid ground.

"There's someone ahead," Roger said suddenly.

"Where? I don't see anyone." George strained his eyes. The dark road was completely empty.

Roger, sitting in the passenger seat, silently placed his hand on the steering wheel. "Here it comes. Don't brake."

At some point, Roger's pupils had changed. They were no longer black. His eye sockets were pitch black, the eyeballs gone, replaced by two yellow flames.

George was looking curiously at the empty road ahead when, suddenly, a student with a backpack appeared in the middle of the road.

Because he appeared so suddenly, he was very close to the front of the car. Anyone who's driven knows that in sudden accidents, instinct often overrides thought.

"Fuck—" George's eyes widened. He instinctively slammed on the brakes and yanked the steering wheel.

But the steering wheel was held firmly by a hand, unmovable. Finally, the car screeched to a halt at the side of the road, leaving long, black skid marks.

"Huff... Huff... What just happened?" George, still shaken, was covered in cold sweat. He looked around. Three or four meters to the left was a steep slope, and to the right was a rock face. If Roger hadn't held the steering wheel so tightly, they would have crashed.

At a speed of over 100 kilometers per hour, a crash would mean death or serious injury.

George unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car to look behind him. There was no boy, no blood, only two charred skid marks.

He looked around for a while but found nothing. Confused, he got back into the car.

"Here." Roger had already lit a cigarette and offered one to George.

George took it with trembling hands, took a deep drag, and slowly calmed down.

Although he'd seen "those things" a few times with Roger, he was still deeply poisoned by scientific principles, and encountering them always filled him with some fear. This mindset was impossible to change.

"That boy just now, was it... one of those things?"

"Uh-huh, you got it. But no prize." Roger sat with his legs crossed, humming a tune.

"Did he get away? Why didn't you catch him? That's not like you," George asked curiously.

"Sigh—exorcism isn't my specialty. That's for priests. My specialty is sending them to meet God," Roger said with a touch of resignation.

The evil aura on this boy wasn't strong at all. He was likely a vengeful spirit who had died in an accident. Because this place was remote and there were no cars passing by at night, he couldn't find anyone to harm.

Roger couldn't just go around slaying every vengeful spirit he encountered. These "wild" spirits were everywhere in big cities. Killing them wouldn't yield any energy, and it was a waste of effort.

You can harvest and cook chives, but can you eat wild weeds? These wandering souls were like weeds by the roadside, incredibly numerous in every major city.

If it had been a murderer with immense sin, then he'd be excited—

After a fruitless conversation, George restarted the car, but this time he didn't dare drive so fast.

After driving for a while, George finally couldn't hold back. "I thought I saw your eyes... they looked like they were... on fire?"

"Uh-huh, want to see again? I advise against it. It'll scare you to death. Those aren't human eyes, and most people who see them end up dead."

Roger was telling the truth. The Eyes of Judgment weren't to be trifled with. Even without activating their power, just looking into them for a few seconds would give someone nightmares for days, filled with all the sins they'd ever committed.

If he activated them, it was even more serious. One look could directly ignite a person's soul, resulting in 100% death.

"But... but... we can't just leave him be." George, still in his phase of overflowing justice, couldn't ignore such a vengeful spirit that couldn't find peace.

"Then, when we get back, you can investigate who died on this road, and what their name was. As long as we know his name, it's easy to deal with," Roger said nonchalantly. Exorcising a wandering soul or vengeful spirit required knowing its true name. Once you knew the name, even a half-baked pseudo-magician like himself could send them on their way.

"I see, I understand." George glanced back at the road again, making a mental note. He'd call tomorrow to inquire about deaths on this road.

"We've arrived—"

A town filled with classic architecture and lush greenery appeared before them. It would be a pleasant place to vacation or retire – fresh air, beautiful scenery.

Although some parts of the town were already dark and quiet, the main street was still brightly lit, with some people cheering and partying.

Roger and George parked the car in front of a building and got out. It was a bar.

Bars had always been a favorite haunt of all sorts of people. It was the right place to gather information.

Inside the bar, colorful lights flashed across the dance floor, where men and women were dancing wildly.

Roger and George went to the bar, ordered drinks, and started their investigation.

Roger beckoned to the bartender, pulling out a hundred-dollar bill.

"I want to ask about someone. She's been here for a few days. Her name is Sally. Have you heard of her?"

The bartender held up two fingers. Roger, resigned, pulled out another bill.

The bartender's eyes lit up, and he took the money, swiftly tucking it into his pocket.

"There, that's her—" The bartender flashed a bright smile, nodding towards the center of the dance floor.

Roger: "....."

"The most beautiful woman on the dance floor is her."

Looking at the money in the bartender's pocket, Roger felt like he'd overpaid.

Just then, George approached. "Roger, guess what I just found out? That Sally, she's right there on the dance floor."

"Let's go take a look."

They walked to the middle of the dance floor. George flashed his police badge, gesturing for the men dancing with her to step aside.

"Hello, Ms. Sally, is it? Can we have a word?" George said.

The young and beautiful woman, wearing heavy makeup, was gracefully moving her body, lost in the music with her eyes closed. Hearing George's voice, she opened her eyes, and her expression changed completely.

"Fuck, cops again. How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not going back. Do whatever you want. If you keep bothering me, I'll have my lawyer sue you."

With that, she stopped dancing and headed for the bar, her dancing mood ruined by George and Roger's interruption.

"Hey—beautiful lady, can we talk?" Roger sat down in front of Sally.

Sally's eyes lit up. In the dim light of the dance floor, she hadn't seen clearly. He was a incredibly handsome man.

She swallowed, then ran a hand through her hair, giving Roger a seductive look.

"We can talk about anything you want. How about we go to my place? My bed is big... and comfortable..."

She didn't forget to extend her slender fingers and trace circles on Roger's palm.