There's nothing quite like eating hot dogs after an autopsy. Adds flavor to the irony.
...
Seeing the undead's eyes shift color, Lynn subtly raised his hand, releasing a faint wisp of death energy that flowed into the spirit's body.
The raging soul, moments away from going berserk, instantly calmed under the influence of Lynn's power.
The violent energy dissipated, and the once-agitated spirit grew sluggish again.
Neither the medical examiner nor George Stacy noticed what Lynn had done—they were only puzzled as to why the temperature in the autopsy room had suddenly dropped so sharply.
"Cough, cough."
Clearing his throat, Lynn asked, "So, what did the autopsy show? Any leads?"
In response, the medical examiner said, "According to the X-ray scan, not a single bone in the victim's body is broken."
"That's quite remarkable, considering the suitcase is only about fifty centimeters long, while the victim stood at one meter eighty-three. The way his body was twisted makes that a clear contradiction."
"Cause of death?"
"Asphyxiation."
Pointing toward the corpse's lungs, the examiner continued, "I dissected the body—his hyoid bone isn't fractured, and there are no fibers in his trachea."
"That rules out strangulation or smothering. Based on the evidence, I believe the victim was forced into the suitcase alive."
"The pressure on his chest cavity prevented his lungs from expanding properly, leading to asphyxiation inside the suitcase."
After the medical examiner finished speaking, George Stacy and Lynn exchanged a look. "Could the victim have been drugged?" George asked.
"Nothing detected internally," the examiner replied, shaking his head. "There were no traces of any substances in his system, so we can rule that out. But look here—"
He turned the victim's arm and pointed to several dark bruises. "Although there are no signs of struggle or resistance elsewhere on the body, these bruises suggest restraint. I suspect he was threatened before his death, which might explain why he willingly climbed into a fifty-centimeter suitcase."
When the explanation ended, George turned to Lynn. "Lynn, what's your take?"
Lynn tapped the iron tag mentioned in the report. "A man who's one meter eighty-three, folded into a suitcase without a single broken bone… plus an iron tag marked with a circus emblem? I'd say he was probably a circus stunt performer."
"Come on, George—let's check out that circus and find out."
"Alright."
With a nod, the two left the autopsy room together.
Outside the precinct, George opened the car door—only to notice Lynn walking toward the street instead of getting in.
"Hey! Where are you going?"
Hearing George's question from behind, Lynn replied, "It's almost eleven—what else would I be doing but getting lunch? What do you want?"
"Get me a hot dog!" George called back before climbing into the car.
At the hot dog stand, Lynn had just paid for four hot dogs when a ripple of surprise spread through the nearby crowd.
His Super Senses flared—someone was approaching fast.
Looking up, he saw Spider-Woman swooping down gracefully on a strand of web, her blue-and-white jumpsuit accentuating every curve as she landed nearby.
"Two hot dogs, please. Thanks," she said, paying quickly before glancing sideways at him. "Hi, Mr. Hall."
"Hello, Spidey," Lynn replied with a faint smile.
They'd met before—once when she had webbed up a robber and dropped him right at the NYPD's doorstep.
At the time, George Stacy had nearly drawn his service weapon to arrest her.
Fortunately, Lynn had stepped in to stop what would've been a very awkward "father-daughter showdown." Gwen had quickly taken the hint and swung away on her web.
As for Spider-Man—Peter Parker—Lynn had already done some quiet digging into him on his own time.
He hadn't become Spider-Man.
Why that was the case, Lynn had no idea.
"Haven't had lunch yet, Mr. Lynn?"
Looking around, Gwen didn't spot her father. "Where's your partner—the one who wanted to arrest me last time? I mean…"
"I know what you're trying to ask," Lynn said with a smirk. "Relax, he's in the car outside the station. He's not going to jump out and slap cuffs on you."
It had to be said—though Gwen wasn't yet eighteen, her figure was already well developed.
And in that tight blue-and-white spider suit, her youthful energy and beauty stood out even more.
Lynn's gaze swept over her, calm and measured, holding nothing but appreciation—not a trace of impropriety.
Noticing that, Gwen didn't feel awkward at all. Instead, she placed her hands on her hips, striking a confident pose.
"Detective Lynn, here are your hot dogs!"
As the vendor handed over the bag, Lynn took it and smiled. "Thanks. Goodbye, Spidey."
"Okay, goodbye, Mr. Hall!"
She waved cheerfully as he turned to leave.
Then, once he was gone, Gwen's eyes narrowed slightly beneath her mask.
The first time they met, Gwen hadn't noticed anything unusual—mostly because her dad had been trying to arrest her.
But this time, her spider-sense reacted sharply.
It wasn't that Lynn was evil; rather, it was the kind of danger that came from someone who wasn't ordinary—someone who possessed a power of his own.
That realization only made Gwen more curious about him.
Unfortunately, her father had warned her countless times that Lynn was a womanizer and that she was not to get too close to him.
He was terrified she'd one day "accidentally" end up in his bed.
Naturally, the more her father insisted, the more curious Gwen became.
Everyone had their secrets, after all.
...
Back in the patrol car.
Lynn opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.
He handed George a hot dog while unwrapping one for himself. "Oh, by the way, I ran into Spider-Woman while I was buying these."
"Hm?"
At those words, George froze mid-bite. His expression immediately darkened.
Seeing him reach for the door handle, Lynn sighed.
Lynn quickly stopped him. "Alright, relax and finish your lunch. There's no arrest warrant out for her. Unless you somehow become police chief overnight, you can't just order Spider-Woman's arrest."
Then, with a teasing grin, he added, "But seriously, George—with your record, your commendations, and all those alumni connections from the West Coast, getting promoted to chief shouldn't be that hard, right?"
George snorted. "I didn't join the NYPD to climb the ranks."
"Alright, alright—you're noble, you're righteous, you're amazing," Lynn said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "But one last question."
George was halfway through his hot dog when Lynn looked over, smiling slyly.
"You know, I washed my hands after examining the corpse. Several times, actually. Did you wash yours before eating that hot dog?"
George froze mid-bite. His face immediately went pale.
"F*ck, Lynn—you're such a bastard!"