"Mr. Alex, you've told a lot of people about your hallucinations. Do you still stand by that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Mr. Alex, several passengers claimed you made a fuss shortly after boarding and insisted on leaving. Why did you do that? Who told you to? Have you received any military training abroad?"
The skinny student, Alex, turned red with anger. Veins bulged on his neck as he shouted, "No! Nothing! Are you happy now, you idiot?!"
"Miss Swan, many people are grateful for what you did. They believe your early warning played a key role in their survival. Can you explain what was going through your mind at that time?"
"I just wanted to save people. That's all."
The FBI supervisor had a stack of documents on his desk and flipped through them quickly. "Your former teachers said you had trouble fitting in at school. Several classmates said you showed signs of antisocial behavior. What do you think caused that?"
Bella answered seriously, "They hated me because I was just too beautiful."
Pfft! The coffee in the supervisor's mouth sprayed all over the report. He did not expect that.
Beauty is subjective, but as a social elite, the FBI supervisor had sharper eyes than the average person. Bella was, objectively, better-looking than most people.
Most girls were still wearing those baggy wide-legged jeans chasing the hip-hop trend. Bella hated that. She thought, What the hell is this? The pants are so wide they cover your feet. Ugly as hell.
She preferred fitted jeans, completely against the current fashion trend—one reason many girls at the airport called her "tacky."
Bella had a minimalist style. With her pale face and her attitude of looking down on the average crowd, psychology would explain this as arrogance. People like that rarely bother to lie.
The FBI supervisor crumpled the coffee-stained report and tossed it in the trash. "Alright, I forgive you. Keep that confidence up."
Bella was questioned for only five minutes before she came out.
It wasn't because they let her off—it was because there were just too many survivors.
Sixty to seventy people made it out alive. Why did you survive? Who let you live? Why did others die but you didn't? That's suspicious. Everyone working at the airport was a suspect. If they expanded the investigation, they'd need to check every passenger who came through in the past week. If you're alive and breathing, you're a suspect to the FBI.
Bella bought a sandwich for lunch and was eating when her phone rang. She looked at the female agent beside her—who was supposedly "protecting" her but was actually watching her.
"Can I answer this?"
"Put it on speaker."
Fine, whatever. It wasn't a secret.
She didn't recognize the number, but when she answered, it turned out to be Miss Natasha from that morning.
It had only been a few hours, but it already felt like a long time ago.
"What's up, Nat?"
"I'm really sorry, Bella. We've run into some trouble here. When are you coming back to Phoenix? The police want to ask you a few questions."
Bella laughed into the phone. "Phoenix? Hah—don't you know something huge just happened at the airport this morning?"
"No, what happened? We've been stuck at the station all day."
Natasha's call shifted the whole direction of the Flight 180 crash investigation.
A C1-level FBI supervisor took over both the toy car robbery and Flight 180 crash case—treating them as one combined incident.
Fifteen minutes later, Bella finished her Coke and saw Natasha and her whole family walk in, looking completely lost—along with the three robbers.
One of the robbers had already been on the run for half a day, but the FBI agents were confident. Half a day? So what. As long as he was still on Earth, they'd find him.
The family of five were all interrogated like suspects.
The FBI believed in true equality. From 60-something-year-old Professor John Gray to the baby in a woman's arms, everyone got questioned. That old man might sympathize with terrorists. The baby might be a powerful mutant. Anyone could be a threat.
Attractive women got extra attention. Can't help it. Good looks cause problems. It's in the FBI handbook—beautiful women can manipulate strangers into doing things for them.
After Bella was personally questioned by the intel chief, Natasha got the same treatment.
"Miss Romanoff, I heard your surname comes from your mother. What are your thoughts on Russia?"
"No thoughts."
"Miss Romanoff, I looked at your grades. You're excellent in every subject. So why did you deliberately make simple mistakes on your exams? What are you hiding?"
"I just can't stand those teachers. They're dumb as rocks."
"Miss Romanoff, your P.E. teacher gave a few suggestions. You're in great physical shape. Why don't you join any clubs? Don't you think those activities are fun?"
Natasha rolled her eyes. These questions were so, so, so stupid.
Because of her attitude and Russian background, even though she didn't know what was going on, she became another key person of interest—just like Bella.
With so many people at the scene, it wasn't until 2 PM that the FBI even finished the first round of screening. They still hadn't found anyone clearly linked to the explosion.
No one could say for sure how the plane exploded. So, naturally, the FBI tried to pin it on Magneto. Plane, train, missile—if it involved metal and no clear cause could be found, then blame Magneto.
This tactic had worked every time. They figured it was another one of Magneto's attacks on democracy.
But this time, they were disappointed. Just as their report was ready—before it was even released—the Brotherhood of Mutants sent a secret message: It wasn't us. Don't make stuff up.
They couldn't pass the blame, so the investigation had to continue.
Over a hundred people had died. News of the crash had spread all over the world. The FBI was under massive pressure, especially since they planned to hold all survivors in a hotel for 48 hours and investigate every passenger who'd been at the airport in the past three days.
People were pissed. Survivors were pissed. But it didn't matter. Orders were orders.
Bella and Natasha, as two major suspects, were assigned to the same hotel room. A female agent was stationed outside their door to keep watch.