Chapter 23: Stripping Away The Seven's Fig Leaf
"Let's go. It's time to go out and let the whole world see your true face."
This sentence was clearly recorded by Blackie's phone.
On the stone steps in front of the Zenith Club, Translucentlay sprawled on the cold stairs, his Carbon Metamaterialskin covered in blood, with not a single piece of cloth covering his body.
The streetlights illuminated him in stark detail.
Over twenty passersby had gathered, holding up their phones in a dense crowd.
The viewer count in Blackie's livestream started at fifty thousand and doubled within ten seconds.
The chat scrolled by so fast the text was unreadable, filled with nothing but exclamation marks and question marks.
"You... you can't do this to me..." Translucent lay on the ground, blood-flecked saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth onto the stone steps, "I am with The Seven..."
"You've said that eight hundred times already." Ryan squatted in front of him, reached out a finger, and poked his shoulder, "Can't you come up with a new line?"
"Vought International... Vought International won't let you get away with this..."
"You've said that one too."
Translucent's eyes darted back and forth, as if looking for an escape route.
Ryan's hand pressed down on his back.
It wasn't heavy, but Translucent was pinned in place, unable to move.
"Don't bother."
"Just stay here quietly and wait for the police."
"What if I... turn invisible and run away?" Translucentasked, his words slurred.
"You can try." Ryan leaned down and whispered into his ear, "But you have internal bleeding right now. You'll vomit after taking three steps. By then, even if you're invisible, you'll be dripping blood the whole way, just like scattering breadcrumbs in a fairy tale. Do you really think I won't be able to find you?"
Translucent fell silent.
The crowd on the street grew larger.
Someone shouted.
"That's really Translucent! From The Seven!"
"Why is he naked? What happened?"
"Someone hit him! That guy in the gray coat hit someone from The Seven!"
Camera flashes went off one after another, the white light illuminating the entire street like daytime.
Blackie held his phone up and squeezed to the front, the camera fixed steadily on Ryan and Translucent on the steps.
"Hey guys! Hey guys!" Blackie's voice was cracking, "Did you see that! Preservation Walker hit Translucent from The Seven! One slap! Just one slap! He sent Translucentflying through three walls from the third floor!"
Online viewers: 387,000.
It was still rising.
The chat was no longer a chat; it was a waterfall.
"Oh my god, oh my god! Is this for real?"
"Translucent got hit?? Translucent from The Seven??"
"One slap? Was it really just one slap?"
"Preservation Walker is awesome! He's seriously awesome this time!"
Ryan stood up straight and scanned the surrounding crowd.
Some people were applauding.
Some were screaming.
The phone screens lit up the area.
His Super Hearing caught various fragments of sound from the crowd—
"That's great... finally someone is teaching The Seven a lesson..."
"I heard Translucent is a total pervert... A woman reported being stalked by him before..."
"Well hit! Well hit!"
[Ding! A large amount of emotional points incoming!]
[Direct witnessing positive worship + angry approval: +1200]
[Livestream emotional harvest: +890]
[One-time reward for defeating The Seven member 'Translucent': +1500]
[Current total emotional points: 12447/10000!]
[First Bloodline Purification threshold broken! 10000 emotional points reserved!]
[Perform first Bloodline Purification immediately?]
Ryan's veins pulsed.
Twelve thousand.
He had broken through.
He didn't respond to the system prompt immediately.
He needed to finish up what was in front of him first.
"Blackie, give me the camera."
Blackie pointed the phone at him.
The viewer count jumped to 890,000.
Nearly nine hundred thousand.
Ryan faced the camera and pulled his scarf down a little, revealing his chin and the corners of his mouth.
"I know many of you have seen the promotional videos for The Seven."
"In those ads, they wear fancy combat suits, smile brightly for the camera, and claim they are protecting the people."
"But look at this guy."
He tapped Translucent's back with the toe of his shoe.
"Number six of The Seven, Translucent."
"What was he doing just now? At the Zenith Club, invisible, stark naked, peeping at women changing clothes."
The crowd booed.
"This is your superhero."
"This is the 'Guardian of the People' packaged by Vought International."
"A perverted peeping tom."
Ryan paused for a second.
"Your heroes, is that it?"
The chat stopped for half a second.
Then it exploded.
The online viewer count surged past one million in one go.
1,000,000.
One million.
"Preservation Walker! Preservation Walker! Preservation Walker!"
The chat was flooded with those three words.
The crowd on the street started chanting too.
I don't know who started it, but the roar rose from one corner of the crowd and quickly spread throughout the whole street.
"Preservation Walker!"
"Preservation Walker!"
Ryan stood at the top of the steps in front of the club, the streetlights casting his long shadow.
His scarf fluttered slightly in the night wind.
Listening to those sounds, his heart rate remained steady, as if nothing were happening.
He looked down at Translucent at his feet.
That naked member of The Seven curled up on the steps, face buried in his arms, lacking even the courage to look up.
Sirens could be heard in the distance.
Someone had called the police.
"Blackie, wrap it up."
"Huh? But—"
"The police are coming; it's not convenient for me to show my face."
"You got it!" Blackie did a final wrap-up for the camera, "Hey guys! Tonight's livestream ends here! Preservation Walker slapped down Translucent from The Seven! See you tomorrow!"
He ended the stream.
The online viewer count finally settled at 1,147,000.
One million one hundred and forty-seven thousand.
Ryan patted Blackie on the shoulder.
"Make sure to back up tonight's video and save three encrypted copies."
"Got it, Brother Walker!"
"Be safe on your way home."
"What about you?"
"Me?" Ryan pulled his scarf back up over his nose and walked into the depths of the alley.
"I'm going home to do something big."
Blackie tilted his head, watching his back disappear into the darkness, then looked down at his phone.
The view count for the livestream replay was already jumping.
Forty minutes later, Ryan returned to his rental apartment.
He threw his long gray coat on the chair and tossed his scarf and sunglasses onto the table.
He sat on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes.
The system panel unfolded in his consciousness.
[Host: Ryan]
[Current Panel: Tighten (Dandruff Minor Flaw Version)]
[DNA Purity: 0.3%]
[Current Emotional Points: 12447/10000]
[Requirement for First DNA Purification: 10000 points. Condition met.]
[Perform first Bloodline Purification?]
"Execute."
[First Bloodline Purification initiated!]
[Consuming 10000 emotional points...]
[Remaining emotional points: 2447]
[Purification in progress...]
The veins all over his body began to heat up.
It felt like something was surging in his blood.
Muscle fibers were rearranging themselves.
It lasted for about three minutes.
Then everything calmed down.
[First Bloodline Purification complete!]
[Tighten DNA Purity: 0.3% → 3%]
[Base Strength: 80 tons → 88 tons]
[Speed: Slightly increased (still lower than Homelander)]
[Bio-field Strength: +15%]
[X-ray Vision unlock probability check... Failed. Will check again next purification.]
Ryan clenched his fist.
Eighty-eight tons.
It had increased by one-tenth compared to before.
His Bio-field was also a layer thicker.
"3%... still a long way to go." He looked at the numbers on the panel and rolled over to lie down, "But it's enough for now. Let's get the second ten thousand first."
His phone vibrated.
A message from Blackie.
"Brother Walker! The livestream replay has already broken twenty million views! The top three on Twitter trending are all you!"
Ryan replied with one word.
"Sleep."
"System, tell me how explosive the news will be tomorrow."
[Estimated... very explosive.]
Chapter 24: The Internet Explodes, A Single Slap Sweeps the Trending Topics
"Estimated... very explosive."
The system was right this time.
At six o'clock the next morning, before Ryan's alarm even went off, his phone buzzed.
Messages from Blackie.
One after another.
"Preservation Walker, my man!!!"
"Number one trending topic on Twitter globally!!!"
"Translucent streaking in the streets! 3.7 billion views!"
"CNN is talking about you!! BBC is talking about you too!!!"
"Vought International stock plummeted 3% pre-market! Three percentage points!!!"
Ryan rubbed his eyes, climbed out of bed, and unlocked his phone.
Twitter Trending Topics.
Number one: Preservation Walker takes on The Seven.
Number two: Translucent streaking in the streets.
Number three: Vought International stock price plummets.
Number four: The Seven's Translucent voyeurism scandal.
Number five: Zenith Club incident.
The top five were all about him.
He scrolled through the comments.
The pinned post had been retweeted over 900,000 times: "Last night, a man in a gray jacket slapped Translucent of The Seven through three walls, then threw him onto the street naked. Carbon Metamaterial is invulnerable? Shattered with a single slap. This is the hero Vought packaged for us."
The comment section was polarized.
Half the people were celebrating.
"Preservation Walker is the real superhero! Not that bunch of show-off losers from Vought!"
"Translucent is just a pervert! Serves him right!"
"A slap! Just one slap, everyone! Carbon Metamaterial had his internal organs shattered by a single slap! Just how strong is this guy?"
The other half were panicking.
"Once a war between Superhumans escalates, who gets hurt? We ordinary people!"
"If he can beat up The Seven today, he can beat up ordinary people tomorrow! Who's going to control him?"
"Vought is at least organized; this Preservation Walker is a completely uncontrollable lone wolf! Too dangerous!"
Ryan threw his phone onto his pillow.
Polarized.
As expected.
Humans are instinctively afraid of uncontrollable power, even if that power is helping them.
But fear is also an emotion.
Positive adoration plus negative fear, the system collects it all.
He closed his eyes and pulled up the panel.
[Massive amounts of online emotion are continuously flooding in!]
[Total views of last night's livestream recording across the internet: 420 million]
[Effective positive emotion harvested (after multi-level decay): +2340]
[Effective negative fear harvested (after multi-level decay): +860]
[Total increase: +3200]
[Current total emotion points: 5647 + historical cumulative adjustment = 7141 / 10000]
Seven thousand one hundred and forty-one.
Two thousand eight hundred and fifty-nine away from the 10,000 points needed for the second DNA purification.
"Less than three thousand." Ryan rubbed his hands together. "At this rate, one more big stunt will be enough."
He jumped out of bed, washed his face, put on his Janitoruniform, and headed out.
When he passed by a convenience store, the morning news was playing on the TV.
"...Vought International released a statement this morning, stating that The Seven member Translucent is currently receiving medical treatment and his condition is stable. Vought also condemned the violent act by the unregistered Superhuman calling himself 'Preservation Walker' against a legitimate superhero, calling it a'serious threat to public safety'..."
"...However, polls on social media show that over 64% of respondents'support' or 'understand' Preservation Walker's actions, with only 21% expressing 'opposition'..."
"...Vought International's stock price continued to slide after opening this morning, having fallen a cumulative 3.2% as of press time, with market value evaporating by approximately $13.8 billion..."
The convenience store owner poked his head out from behind the counter.
"Young man! Did you see it! Preservation Walker beat up Translucent last night!"
"Saw it, yeah."
"Let me tell you, serves him right! That pervert Translucentshould have been beaten up a long time ago! Do you know that last year a woman posted on Twitter saying Translucent was stalking her, and the post got deleted the next day? Vought suppressed it!"
"Is that so."
"You bet it is! This Preservation Walker only does the right thing! Beating up perverts! Beating up drug dealers! Beating up arms dealers! Which one of those doesn't make the common folk cheer?"
"Pretty impressive." Ryan slapped the money for the coffee on the counter.
"You bet! If I were twenty years younger—"
"Sir, I'm late."
Ryan walked out of the convenience store with his coffee.
The corners of his mouth curled up, then pressed back down.
When he walked into Vought Tower, the atmosphere in the lobby was ten times tenser than yesterday.
Every employee seemed to want to hug the wall as they walked.
People from the Public Relations Department were scurrying between floors like they were hopped up on caffeine, holding tablets and printed materials.
Several lawyers in sharp suits from the Legal Department arrived, their expressions showing bitter faces hidden beneath professional smiles.
On the lobby LED screen, the frequency of The Seven's promotional videos had tripled—all of it content featuring Homelander. Homelander saving a plane crash, Homelander attending a charity banquet, Homelandersaying to the camera, "As long as I'm here, you are safe."
Vought was using Homelander's traffic to offset the negative public opinion.
Ryan pushed his mop across the lobby; as he passed the front desk, he heard two receptionists whispering.
"The stock price fell again... Bonuses are going to be affected, right?"
"Not just bonuses, I heard a few departments are going to have layoffs."
"It's all that Preservation Walker's fault..."
"You can't really say that; Translucent peeping on women is a fact..."
"But you still can't beat up a member of The Seven in the middle of the street! Who does he think he is?"
Ryan didn't stop, pushing his cleaning cart as he continued forward.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Hughie.
"Did you beat up Translucent last night? The whole internet is talking about it!"
"Yeah."
"Are you crazy? That's The Seven!"
"The Seven are exactly who I'm targeting."
"...That Billy Butcher came by again today."
"What did he say?"
"He said he watched your livestream and that you did what he's always wanted to do. He also said he has more dirt on Vought, but he needs help."
"What did you tell him?"
"I said I needed to consult with someone first."
"Good call. Keep him steady for now; I'll talk to you about it in detail later."
Ryan sent the message and continued mopping.
When he passed the elevator bank, a familiar figure walked out.
Ashley.
Her complexion was even worse today than yesterday.
Her eyes were dark, and her mouth was set in a tight line.
When she saw Ryan, her steps visibly faltered, then she quickened her pace and walked over.
"What did you do?" Her voice was lowered to almost a whisper.
"Mopping."
"You beat up Translucent! You beat up a member of The Seven! And you threw him onto the street naked!"
"Yeah."
"Do you have any idea what the situation is like upstairs right now?"
"The stock price dropped three points, I saw the news."
Ashley ground her teeth.
"Stillwell has gone crazy. She arrived at the company at six this morning and has held three emergency meetings in a row."
"What were they about?"
"I don't know, they were all closed-door meetings, and I was excluded."
"Aren't you the head of Public Relations?"
"This matter has already exceeded the authority of the Public Relations Department." Ashley looked at him. "Stillwell has taken over personally."
Ryan's mopping hand paused for a second.
Stillwell taking over personally.
This meant the level of response would escalate to a completely different level.
"There's one more thing." Ashley hesitated. "She just made a phone call, and I only heard the last sentence when I walked by."
"What?"
"She said—deploy the Black Armor Squad."
"Black Armor Squad?"
"Vought's private armed force, specifically for dealing with 'uncooperative' Superhumans. Equipped with armor-piercing rounds, EMP weapons, and at least two second-tier Superhumans for assistance."
Ryan stuck the mop back into the bucket.
"That's it?"
"You're still saying 'that's it'? That's an entire special forces unit!"
"They're still just a special forces unit." Ryan tilted his head. "Ashley, you forgot one thing."
"What?"
"Rocket launchers feel like a tickle when they hit me; do you think armor-piercing rounds will work any better?"
Ashley opened her mouth, but couldn't say anything.
Ryan picked up the mop and continued working, humming to himself.
"Let them come; it'll be just the right opportunity to help me rack up some more emotion points."
Chapter 25: Madelyn's Emergency Meeting
"Let them come. It'll just help me gather some emotional points."
Ashley stared at him for two seconds, then turned and walked away.
Her high heels struck the marble floor, the frequency getting faster and more frantic.
Ryan watched the elevator doors swallow her up before pushing his mop and cleaning cart into the stairwell.
Change route, go upstairs.
The 72nd floor.
There was only one hour for the lunch break; taking the stairs was too slow, and the elevator was too conspicuous.
He took the elevator to the 65th floor and walked the remaining seven floors.
Footsteps thundered from above. Two analysts in suits were practically tumbling down the stairs, their ties thrown over their shoulders, the folders under their arms nearly slipping from their grasp.
As they brushed past, their conversation poured into his ears.
"The data model has completely collapsed; his physical resistance has absolutely no limit!"
"What about Legal?"
"Legal says they've drafted a hundred different prosecution plans, but the prerequisite is that we have to be able to pin him down first."
The sound of their footsteps was swallowed up by the stairwell.
Ryan didn't stop moving.
"Pin me down?"
"A decent idea."
He finished the seven flights of stairs in two minutes without even breaking a sweat.
At the corner of the 72nd-floor corridor, he crouched against the wall for a few seconds. After confirming there were no security patrols, he went back to wiping the baseboards with his rag, keeping close to the wall.
Stillwell's office was at the end of the corridor.
He activated Super Hearing, and sounds flooded in, layered. The hum of the air conditioning rotors, the distant clacking of keyboards—he stripped them away layer by layer.
He locked his focus on that office.
Five people.
He recognized Stillwell's voice. Among the other four, one had a very jarring way of speaking; every sentence was short, dry, and devoid of any unnecessary tone.
A soldier.
The commander of the Black Armor Squad, it was most likely this person.
"Everyone saw what happened last night," Stillwell began. "Translucent was slapped through three walls. His Carbon Metamaterial skin was intact, but he suffered internal hemorrhaging."
She paused.
"What does this mean?"
"The strike force bypassed his physical defenses and acted directly on his internal organs," the soldier replied.
"Correct. Conventional protection is meaningless before him. Even if you wear full-body armor, it's useless; the plating remains intact while the person inside is reduced to a pulp."
A younger voice interjected, his throat tight with uncontrollable panic.
"Isn't this just a directional earthquake? Man-made, small-scale…"
"Don't use such layman terms," Stillwell cut him off. "I want a solution."
"What about armor-piercing rounds?" asked another person.
The sound of pages turning came from the other side of the wall; Stillwell was reading from a file.
"Previous combat records show that he has a layer of passive Bio-field."
"During the armored truck heist, pistol and rifle bullets all bounced off."
"In the Brooklyn sweep, heavy machine gun fire was ineffective, and rocket launchers exploded on him without even breaking his skin."
"We can try armor-piercing rounds, but my personal assessment is that the effect will be limited."
Ryan crouched at the base of the wall, twisting his rag in his hand.
Armor-piercing rounds? They're just concentrating kinetic energy on a single point. If the blast impact of a rocket launcher doesn't even count as a tickle, a single bullet head wants to break through?
"What's the plan?" asked the third person.
"Combined strike," the soldier said. "Armor-piercing rounds lead the way to test the limits of his field, while simultaneously deploying two EMP devices."
He added,
"EMPs have an interference effect on the Superhumannervous system. For some Bio-field type Superhumans, their fields will flicker in a strong EMP environment."
"That's assuming his field is tied to active neuronal maintenance."
"If it's passive gene expression, an EMP hitting him will be like setting off fireworks."
"This is the first thing we need to verify."
"As for manpower," he continued, "I've brought two contracted Superhumans. One is a strength-based type with 30-ton output. The other is an elemental type, capable of controlling fire and low-level lightning."
"Is 30 tons enough?" Stillwell asked.
"Not enough. But their job isn't to take him head-on; it's to stick to the target. The strength-type will close in for melee combat to buy a window for the backline, and the elemental-type will throw fire and lightning from a distance to test his field's reaction to different attack types."
"The Black Armor Squad will provide crossfire from four directions, with armor-piercing rounds and EMP pulses covering him simultaneously."
"What if it all fails?" the fourth person's voice emerged.
The office went silent for three seconds.
"If it all fails," Stillwell began, her tone dragging with something stifling, "it means his defensive capabilities are on par with Homelander."
"Then it will no longer be a matter for the Black Armor Squad."
"But I must make one thing clear," her voice suddenly tightened. "All details of this operation are to be kept from Homelander."
"Why?" the soldier asked.
"Homelander is in a very strange state right now. If he finds out a Superhuman has appeared on the market who might be on his level, no one will be able to control what he does."
Her voice dropped another half-octave.
"You don't need to ask why, just execute."
"Yes."
"The operation is set for tonight. He appears in Brooklynaround nine o'clock every day, and his route is extremely regular. Set an ambush in the areas he might pass through. Start with an EMP wave to check the field fluctuations, then make subsequent judgments."
"Understood."
"One last thing."
Stillwell's voice dropped another half-step.
"The goal of this operation is not to kill."
"Then what is it?"
"Assessment. To assess where his capability ceiling lies."
"I want a complete set of data."
"Because if his strength really is approaching Homelander's level…"
She paused for a beat.
"Then what we are facing is not just some rogue superhero."
"It's a second Homelander."
Ryan crouched at the base of the corridor wall, wringing water out of the rag in his hand.
A second Homelander.
Stillwell's sense of smell was sharper than he had estimated.
After the first DNA purification was completed, his Bio-field had indeed wrapped another layer around him; his defensive power had already touched the threshold of Homelander's level.
Armor-piercing rounds wouldn't be enough.
EMPs would be even less effective. His field was written into the lowest level of his genes, tied to his heartbeat and breathing. Unless an EMP could stop his heart, the field wouldn't break for even a second.
Those two second-tier Superhumans were even less worth mentioning; a 30-ton output was about as effective as a strong man pushing a door in front of him.
But there was one thing he noted.
"The goal of this operation is not to kill, but to assess the capability ceiling."
She was gathering data.
Who would she give the data to once it was gathered?
She claimed to keep it a secret from Homelander, yet she was piecing together a complete capability profile.
The day the strength limit, speed limit, and field limit were all written on paper, this report would end up on Homelander's desk.
By then, the way Homelander looked at him wouldn't be out of interest.
"It would be a threat."
And Homelander's method of dealing with threats had always been one word.
"Eliminate."
Ryan stood up, tossed the rag into the bucket, and walked toward the stairwell with the mop.
Walking to the stairwell entrance, he looked back at the closed door at the end of the corridor.
"Want to test the waters?"
The corner of his mouth crooked upward.
"Then have a blast testing them tonight."
It doesn't hurt when they hit me anyway, so I might as well use them to stretch my muscles.
Returning to the first-floor lobby, the mop left a long trail of water on the floor tiles.
His phone vibrated.
A message from Blackie.
"Brother Walker, are you coming out tonight?"
Ryan typed with one hand.
"Coming out. Someone is treating me tonight."
"Treating? Who's treating?"
"Vought. They're going to send me a special forces unit plus two Superhumans as a side dish for my drinks."
A long string of question marks popped up on the screen.
Ryan typed another line.
"Livestream as usual. Keep the camera steady; there will be people at Vought HQ watching tonight's footage."
Blackie replied instantly.
"Brother, you set the theme!"
Ryan swiped his thumb across the screen a few times.
"Let's call it: A Report on Mortal's Ineffective Attacks Against a God."
He looked up at the giant 'V' on the top of the building.
"Let them see that the best things they have at the bottom of their box, when placed in front of me…"
He slammed the mop onto the floor, making a crisp sound.
"Are nothing."
Chapter 26: Ambush by the Black Armor Squad
"Not worth a damn."
Blackie looked at this message, a layer of sweat forming on his palms.
He was already accustomed to the Preservation Walker's trash-talking style, but seeing the words "Special Forces plus two Superhumans" put together still made his little heart skip several beats.
Nine-ten in the evening.
Brooklyn West Side.
Ryan changed into a long gray coat, pulled his scarf up to the bridge of his nose, secured his sunglasses, and strode down the street.
This time, he didn't bother with any concealment.
He walked down the main road.
The streetlights illuminated his figure clearly.
Blackie was fifty meters behind him, holding his phone steady; the livestream had already started.
The number of online viewers started at three hundred and seventy thousand.
The lingering impact of beating up Translucent last night was still spreading.
"He's here, he's here! Preservation Walker is out again tonight!"
"He beat up Translucent last night, who's he hitting tonight?"
"Begging him to hit Homelander!"
"Hey, the guy above, are you tired of living?"
The comments scrolled by rapidly.
When Ryan reached the intersection of the fourth block, he stopped.
His Super Hearing captured some abnormal sounds.
In the alley two hundred meters ahead, multiple heartbeats were keeping a rhythmic pace.
The trained kind.
Behind the third-floor window on the left, there was the slight sound of metal components colliding—firearms were adjusting their angles.
Inside a van parked on the right, there was a low-frequency buzzing of electronic equipment—an EMP generator was warming up.
There were also two heartbeats that stood out, with frequencies different from ordinary people—the unique heart rate pattern of a Superhuman.
One at the alley entrance, one on the rooftop.
"We're here." Ryan stood in the center of the intersection, hands tucked into his coat pockets.
He looked up and scanned his surroundings.
Moonlight and streetlights intertwined, cutting his shadow into several segments.
"If you're going to use this street as your ambush site, the lighting isn't quite enough." Ryan said to the air.
Three seconds of silence.
Then, all the windows on the third floor to the left shattered.
The Black Armor Squad opened fire simultaneously from six directions.
Armor-piercing rounds.
Specially made ammunition that was twice as fast and three times heavier than regular bullets, each one capable of piercing thirty-millimeter thick steel plate.
The density of the bullet rain was so great that it made the asphalt on the road splash everywhere like blooming flowers.
Tongues of fire crossed and covered the center of the intersection from six directions.
Smoke, gravel, and shell fragments churned into a gray cloud.
It lasted for fifteen seconds.
Then the firepower stopped.
The ammunition was spent.
The first wave.
The smoke slowly dissipated.
Ryan stood in his original spot.
Beneath his feet was a three-meter diameter crater; the armor-piercing rounds had stripped away a layer of the road surface all around him.
But the ground where he stood was completely undamaged.
The coverage of his Bio-field had protected every inch beneath his feet.
His gray long coat was whipped around by the airflow, and his scarf was slightly askew.
Other than that, nothing had changed.
"Are you done?"
The firing positions in the six directions fell silent.
Then—
Buzz, buzz, buzz!
Two EMP generators activated simultaneously.
The electromagnetic pulse diffused outward in visible blue light ripples, hitting Ryan.
The streetlights on the street all went out.
The mobile signal was instantly interrupted.
Blackie's livestream feed froze for a moment—but his phone was fifty meters away, right at the edge of the EMP coverage, so the signal was weak but not completely cut off.
Ryan stood at the very center of the electromagnetic pulse.
The blue light ripples slapped against the surface of his Bio-field, splashing up circles of visible halos.
It looked pretty good.
But it was useless.
Tighten's Bio-field was a DNA-level passive ability and had absolutely nothing to do with electronic equipment.
EMPs could paralyze machines, but they couldn't paralyze genes.
After the blue light dissipated, Ryan reached out and brushed the dust off his sleeves.
"EMP? Using an EMP on me?"
He turned around and took two steps toward the direction of one of the EMP generators.
"Did you guys pick up the wrong manual?"
A person rushed out from the alley entrance.
A strength-type Superhuman.
Standing at 2.1 meters tall, his muscles were bulging as if inflated, and dark red enhancement veins surfaced on his arms.
A muscle-type monster spawned by compound v.
He threw a punch at Ryan's head.
Thirty tons.
Ryan tilted his head.
That punch grazed past his ear, the wind from the fist blowing up a few strands of his hair.
"Not bad, quite strong."
Ryan reached out and grabbed the strength-type Superhuman's fist.
He closed his five fingers.
Crack.
The strength-type Superhuman's fist was like a crushed soda can in his palm, the finger bones dislocated, and a scream of pain burst from the bottom of the man's throat.
Ryan didn't let go.
He held this 2.1-meter giant with one hand and rotated his body half a turn—
Then threw him out like he was tossing a shot put.
The strength-type Superhuman's body flew out in an arc, accurately hitting the van parked in the alley.
A human-shaped dent was smashed into the side of the van, the vehicle flipped over directly, and the EMP equipment inside sputtered with sparks and was destroyed.
"One more."
On the rooftop, an elemental-type Superhuman moved.
A pillar of fire descended from the sky, the temperature so high that the surrounding air was distorting.
The flames engulfed Ryan's entire body.
The entire intersection was illuminated brightly.
Blackie was holding his phone fifty meters away, the screen filled with raging flames.
"Holy crap! He's on fire! He's being burned!"
The flames lasted for five seconds.
Then a voice came from the very center of the flames.
"A bit warm."
The flames dissipated.
Ryan stood in his original spot, the edges of his gray long coat scorched, and a small patch of his scarf melted.
Other than that, he was completely unharmed.
The Bio-field blocked all the heat of the flames on the outside.
The elemental-type Superhuman jumped down from the rooftop, releasing attacks with both hands—flames in the left, lightning in the right.
Both attacks hit Ryan's chest simultaneously.
Tongues of fire and arcs of electricity intertwined, collided, and dissipated on the surface of his force field.
Just like setting off fireworks.
"Your heat is still lacking a bit." Ryan took a step toward the elemental-type, "You couldn't even roast a chicken."
He slapped him.
He didn't use his full eighty-eight tons of strength.
About five percent.
Around four and a half tons.
The elemental-type Superhuman was slapped sideways, flying out and crashing into the outer wall of a building, smashing a human-shaped crater, and remained embedded in the wall, covered in dust and motionless.
The intersection returned to silence.
The soldiers of the Black Armor Squad poked their heads out from their various firing positions, looking at each other.
Their armor-piercing rounds were spent.
The EMP equipment was destroyed.
Of the two contracted Superhumans, one had been thrown like a bowling ball, and the other had been embedded in a wall.
And that man in the gray coat stood in the center of the crater, his scarf slightly askew, a corner of his coat scorched.
That was it.
"Where's your commander?" Ryan spun around, scanning the surrounding firing positions, "Tell him to come out and say something."
No one answered.
"Not coming out, huh?"
Ryan bent down to pick up a broken piece of asphalt from the crater and swung his arm.
The chunk of asphalt shot out at dozens of times the speed of sound, accurately hitting the window frame of the third-floor firing position, blasting the entire window and half the wall into fragments.
"I know you have surveillance equipment."
"Your boss is watching from the other end, right."
"Alright then—take me to your camera."
Chapter 27: Flipping the Bird at the Surveillance
"Alright then—take me to see your cameras."
No one dared to move.
The soldiers of the Black Armor Squad lay prone behind their various firing positions, their faces pressed against the cold concrete floor, their breathing shallow.
Ryan didn't wait for their answer.
His Super Hearing swept across a two-hundred-meter radius.
Six heartbeats were distributed in different locations—four behind windows above the third floor, one beside a dumpster in the alley, and one under the overturned truck.
Besides those, there was another sound.
A very, very faint electronic hum.
Coming from the top of a utility pole at the northeast corner of the intersection.
Ryan looked up.
A spherical surveillance camera hung from the cantilever of the utility pole.
The lens was pointed directly at him.
That wasn't municipal public surveillance—a small 'V' logo was engraved on its casing.
Vought's private surveillance equipment.
"So that's where you are."
Ryan walked toward the utility pole.
When he reached the base of the pole, he stopped.
He looked up, staring straight into the lens of the spherical camera.
He knew that on the other end—likely in some surveillance room inside Vought Tower—Madelyn Stillwell was staring at this screen.
Perhaps there were others, too.
Maybe Edgar was watching as well.
Ryan stood in front of the camera for three seconds.
Then, he slowly raised his right hand.
He curled his fingers into a fist.
Leaving only the middle one extended.
Right in the center of the lens.
He held it steady for three seconds.
No shaking, no trembling; every second was perfectly timed.
Then he retracted his middle finger, switched to his index finger, and lightly flicked the spherical casing of the camera.
With a crisp "ding."
The casing cracked into three pieces, the circuit board and lens module scattered down, leaving only an empty bracket on the utility pole.
Blackie captured the entire process from fifty meters away.
Live stream viewers: 1,870,000.
Nearly two million.
The chat had become a solid block of scrolling colors; no text was legible anymore.
But Ryan knew roughly what the comments were saying.
He tucked his hand back into his pocket and turned to walk deep into the alley.
The intersection behind him was in shambles—craters, shattered glass, the overturned truck, Superhumans embedded in the walls, blown-out windows.
The entire force Vought had dispatched hadn't even lasted twenty minutes.
[ Ding! Emotional points flooding in! ]
[ Offline: +680 ]
[ Online: +440 (after attenuation) ]
[ Defeated Vought Black Armor Squad + two contracted Superhumans: +320 ]
[ Contemptuous behavior triggered viral popularity bonus: +180 ]
[ Current total emotional points: 8761/10000 ]
Over eight thousand seven hundred.
One thousand two hundred more points until the second refinement.
At the same time.
Vought Tower, second basement level surveillance center.
Stillwell stood in front of a large screen.
The screen was black—the camera had been smashed.
The final frozen frame was that raised middle finger.
Close-up.
High definition.
Unmistakable.
Three people stood behind her—the Black Armor Squad's remote commander, the Vought security department director, and a man in a gray suit.
No one spoke.
"Report the losses." Stillwell's voice was devoid of warmth.
The commander swallowed hard and looked down at the tablet in his hand.
"All armor-piercing rounds expended, a total of 6,400 rounds, and none penetrated the target's Bio-field."
"Both EMP generators were completely destroyed, with zero effect on the target."
"Power-type contracted superhero 'Iron Fist', comminuted clavicle fracture, all finger bones in the right hand dislocated except for the thumb."
"Elemental-type contracted superhero 'Ember Flame', scapular fracture, three spinal contusions."
"Six members of the Black Armor Squad: four lightly injured, two lost the will to fight and retreated voluntarily."
"One armored truck totaled."
The commander closed the tablet.
"Summary—total failure, no visible damage caused to the target."
Stillwell didn't look at him.
Her gaze remained fixed on the black screen.
The final frame was imprinted on her retina—that middle finger, and the face behind it, half-hidden by a scarf.
"He's mocking us," the security director muttered.
"It's not mockery," Stillwell finally spoke.
"What?"
"He's making a statement."
She turned around and looked at the commander.
"What level do you think his defensive capabilities are?"
The commander hesitated for two seconds.
"Based on tonight's field data... his Bio-field can completely immunize against armor-piercing rounds, EMPs, flames, and low-level electricity. His strength is at least eighty tons, possibly higher. As for speed... we didn't observe his maximum speed tonight, but his reaction time is extremely fast."
"Comprehensive assessment?"
"Defensive capabilities... at least on par with Homelander."
"Possibly even higher."
Stillwell closed her eyes.
She had already guessed this before.
But hearing it from a professional military expert carried a completely different weight.
On par with Homelander.
Even higher.
"That's enough," she opened her eyes. "Archive tonight's mission report as encrypted; it must not be leaked to any unauthorized personnel."
"Especially—"
"Homelander."
"Understood."
"You are dismissed."
The three of them filed out of the surveillance center.
After the door closed, Stillwell stood alone in front of the black screen.
She took out her phone.
She hesitated for a long time.
Finally, she dialed a number.
"Mr. Edgar."
"Hmm." The voice on the other end was very calm.
"The Black Armor Squad mission failed."
"I know."
"His defensive capabilities exceeded our estimates. Armor-piercing rounds and EMPs were completely ineffective. Two contracted Superhumans were incapacitated by him alone."
"Hmm."
"I need new authorization."
"What authorization?"
"If conventional means and secondary Superhumans cannot control him—" Stillwell took a deep breath, "we may need to deploy Homelander."
There was silence on the other end for five seconds.
"No."
"Sir?"
"Homelander cannot touch this matter." Edgar's voice remained calm, without a ripple, "It's not because I don't trust his combat prowess."
"It's because once Homelander gets involved, the situation will become uncontrollable." "He will tear half of New Yorkapart."
Stillwell gritted her teeth.
"Then what should we do?"
"Continue observing."
"Observe? He crushed our military unit tonight. If he storms Vought Tower tomorrow—"
"He won't," Edgar interrupted her. "If he wanted to storm Vought Tower, he would have done it already. The fact that he's still out there fighting them one by one shows he has his own rhythm."
"You go analyze his rhythm and find his objective."
"A person with rhythm and purpose is much easier to deal with than someone who acts randomly."
"But—"
"Madelyn." Edgar's voice finally showed a hint of change.
"Do as I say."
The phone hung up.
Stillwell stood clutching her phone for ten seconds.
Then she walked out of the surveillance center and headed toward the elevators.
The moment the elevator doors opened, she saw someone standing inside.
Blonde hair. Blue eyes. A red cape.
Homelander.
A brilliant smile.
"Hi, Madelyn."
"You... why are you here?"
"Just here to watch the show." Homelander tilted his head, "I heard there was some operation tonight, the Black Armor Squad went out?"
"Just a routine training exercise."
Homelander's smile didn't change.
But his gaze shifted from Stillwell's face to the door of the surveillance center behind her.
"Is that so?"
"Yes."
Homelander stared at that door for two seconds.
Then he retracted his gaze and patted Stillwell on the shoulder.
"That's good then."
"I was just asking."
He stepped aside to let her into the elevator.
Stillwell stepped in and pressed the button for the 72nd floor.
In the last second before the elevator doors closed, she saw Homelander still standing in the hallway.
He hadn't left.
The smile was still on his face.
But those blue eyes were no longer smiling.
Chapter 28: Hughie, I need your help.
Homelander's smile hung on his face, but his eyes were ice-cold.
Stillwell had been choked by that image all night, tossing and turning as she pondered those two seconds of eye contact.
How much did he know?
He hadn't said a word, but those eyes held more pressure than any interrogation.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the same night.
12:40 AM.
Brooklyn, a quiet residential street.
Ryan stood at the entrance of an appliance repair shop, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his scarf pulled up above the bridge of his nose.
The shop's sign light was off, but the second-floor window emitted a warm yellow glow.
Someone was still awake.
Ryan raised his hand and knocked three times.
He waited five seconds.
Footsteps came down the stairs, light and hurried.
The door opened a crack.
Half of Hughie's face appeared through the gap; when he saw Ryan, the tension in his eyes eased significantly.
"You… why are you here?"
"Let me in to talk."
Hughie pulled the door open and stepped aside to let him in.
The first floor of the repair shop was piled with various appliance parts and tools. Several old televisions waiting to be repaired were stacked on the counter, and the tool rack in the corner was covered with screwdrivers and multimeters.
Robin poked her head out from the stairs, wrapped in a plaid bathrobe, clutching a half-finished cup of hot cocoa.
"Is it him?" Robin glanced at Ryan.
"Yeah, it's him." Hughie pulled over a folding chair for Ryan.
"I won't sit. I'll leave once I'm done." Ryan leaned against the counter and got straight to the point, "Hughie, how much do you know about Billy Butcher?"
Hughie's expression tightened.
"Not much. He's come to find me twice, and every time he says the same thing—he has an organization dedicated to dealing with Vought International and Superhuman, and he wants me to join."
"Did he tell you anything that tempted you?"
"He said…" Hughie hesitated, "He said he knows the inside story of A-Train's drug-fueled rampage, and he knows how Vought International covers up Superhuman crimes. He says he has proof."
"What kind of proof?"
"He didn't go into detail, just said he'd show me when the time is right."
Ryan thought for a moment.
Butcher was a ruthless character. In the original story, this man would stop at nothing for revenge, even using his own teammates as pawns. But his intelligence network was top-notch, and his understanding of Vought International's inner workings even exceeded that of some executives.
"Is he worth working with?" Hughie asked.
"Worth using, but not to be trusted."
"What do you mean?"
"Butcher has his own agenda. He hates Superhuman, hates them to the bone. You can get intelligence by working with him, but never turn your back on him."
"Then… what do you want me to do?"
Ryan looked at him.
"I don't intend for you to join Butcher's organization."
Hughie was stunned.
"I need you to do something else for me."
"What is it?"
"Be my informant."
Hughie blinked twice.
"An informant?"
"Yes. You're an ordinary person, you have no Superhumanabilities, and Vought International won't pay attention to you. Keep in touch with Butcher, and pass on any information he reveals to me. But your identity must not be exposed—you're not anyone's person, just a small appliance repair shop owner."
"At the same time, help me keep an eye on what's happening in Brooklyn. Who's selling drugs, who's dealing arms, which Superhuman is causing trouble—this information is useful to me."
"As an appliance repairman, you come into contact with all kinds of customers every day; you know the neighborhood affairs better than anyone. That's your advantage."
Hughie lowered his head and thought for a long while.
Robin walked down the stairs and stood next to Hughie.
"You don't have to force him." Robin looked at Ryan, her voice flat, "He's an ordinary person."
"I know." Ryan nodded, "That's why I came to him."
"What do you mean?"
"In the world of Superhuman, what's missing most is the perspective of ordinary people." Ryan slowed his speech, "Vought International's people use Superhuman abilities to solve every problem, yet they don't even know their own employees are stealing and selling compound v. Butcher's people use violence to fight Superhuman, and as a result, every operation suffers heavy casualties."
"The information that can truly change the situation is often hidden in the most ordinary places."
"You can't be a superhero, but you can do things superheroes can't."
Hughie looked up.
Robin took his hand.
The two of them exchanged a look.
"He saved my life," Robin said softly.
Hughie nodded.
"Alright." His voice was a bit hoarse, "I'll help you."
"But I have one condition."
"Speak."
"Robin's safety." Hughie looked at Ryan, "If for even a single second I find that this is putting her in danger, I'm out immediately."
"Fair." Ryan extended his right hand.
Hughie looked at the hand, then raised his own and shook it.
An ordinary appliance repairman and a Superhuman with eighty-eight tons of strength shook hands in a cluttered repair shop.
Ryan let go and turned to leave.
"Oh, right." He stopped at the door, "Next time Butchercomes to find you, say yes to him."
"Say yes?"
"Yes. Join his organization, but your primary loyalty is to me. Stay on his side and figure out his plans, his people, and his sources of intelligence."
"You want me to be a double agent?" Hughie's face went a bit pale.
"Not a double agent." Ryan looked back at him, "You're my person. Butcher's side is just your workstation."
"It's just a job, don't have any psychological burden."
Hughie's mouth twitched at this remark.
"Alright… alright then."
Ryan pulled the shop door open, and the night wind rushed in.
Just as he stepped out, a red warning box popped up on the system panel.
[Emergency Warning!]
[Detected Key Character — A-Train]
[Current Status: Overdose of compound v, mental state extremely unstable]
[Prediction: Major event to be triggered within 24 hours!]
[Event Type: High-speed rampage, route uncontrollable, expected to affect a large number of civilians]
Ryan stared at the text, his thumb resting on the screen, motionless.
A-Train.
That supersonic junkie who did so much compound v he couldn't even control himself.
In the original story, the worst of A-Train's rampages turned an innocent passerby into a mist of blood.
He had already changed the fate of Hughie and Robin—Robin was stopped by him at the convenience store entrance and didn't die.
But A-Train's own rampage cycle had not changed.
That guy, who ran until he lost his sanity, would go crazy again at some point.
If it wasn't Robin he hit, it would be some other ordinary person.
"Hughie." Ryan turned back.
"What's wrong?"
"Do you remember that day at the convenience store entrance, when A-Train almost killed Robin?"
Hughie's hands clenched involuntarily.
Robin's expression also changed.
"I remember." Hughie's voice was hoarse.
"He's going to run again."
"What?!"
"The dose of compound v that Vought Internationalpumped into him is too high; his body can't take it anymore. Within twenty-four hours, he will lose control and go on a rampage."
Hughie stood up, the chair scraping harshly against the floor.
"Then… then who will he hit?"
"I don't know." Ryan's voice was flat, "But someone will definitely be unlucky."
"Unless someone stops him."
Hughie stared at him.
"Can you stop him?"
Ryan didn't answer immediately.
He thought for two seconds.
Then the corner of his mouth tilted.
"Last time he hit me, he shattered his own shoulder."
"If he comes to hit me again this time, I'll see what else he has that can shatter."
Chapter 29: System Detects A-Train
"Let him crash into me one more time; I want to see what else he has left to shatter."
Ryan finished this sentence and pulled the shop door shut.
The night wind swept in from the end of the Brooklynstreet, carrying a mixture of scents from trash cans and street stalls.
He walked for about three blocks before turning into a small, unlit alley.
With no one around, he leaned against the wall, pulled out his phone, and opened the system panel.
The red warning box was still flashing.
[Key Character Warning: A-Train]
[compound v Injection Dosage: 2.3 times over the limit]
[Heart Load: Critical]
[Predicted Rampage Trigger Time: 18 to 24 hours later]
[Rampage Route: Unpredictable, depends on location and mental state at the time]
[Host advised to deploy interception plan in advance]
"Eighteen to twenty-four hours," Ryan muttered to himself, "which means before tomorrow night."
[Current Total Emotion Points: 8761/10000]
[Until Second DNA Purification: 1239 points]
He was short by twelve hundred.
If he could stop A-Train, those twelve hundred plus points should be made up.
A-Train was a member of The Seven, with extremely high popularity.
Furthermore, if he intercepted the rampage in a public setting, with onlookers and live streaming, the harvest of emotion points would be absurdly high.
But A-Train was different from Translucent.
Apart from invisibility and a layer of tough skin, Translucent had no attack methods whatsoever. Hitting him was like hitting a sandbag.
A-Train's core ability was speed.
1.1 Mach.
Approximately 1,350 kilometers per hour.
Ryan's own speed—had improved after the first DNA purification, but the system hadn't provided a precise number.
"System, what is my current flight speed?"
[Current Flight Speed Limit: Approximately 0.85 Mach. Increased by about 6% after the first purification.]
0.85 Mach.
A-Train was 1.1.
The gap had narrowed a bit, but he still couldn't catch up.
"However—not being able to catch up doesn't mean I can't stop him."
Ryan pulled up all the information on A-Train in his mind.
Fast speed, average strength.
The kinetic energy when he ran was absurdly high, but that was because of speed, not muscle strength.
Once his position was locked and he was forced to stop, A-Train was only at the level of an ordinary Superhuman in close combat.
Moreover, A-Train had been taking too much compound v, and his body was already starting to have issues. His heart load was too high; he had to pant after running for a while, and in a rampage state, his heart might even stop.
"His greatest weakness is his greatest strength—speed."
Ryan fished the crumpled notebook out of his pocket and flipped to the last page.
He wrote a few lines in the blank space.
"A-Train Interception Plan—"
"1. Don't chase. If I can't catch him, don't chase."
"2. Predict the route. A-Train's habitual route during a rampage is a straight-line sprint because he's moving too fast to turn."
"3. Stand on the road."
"4. Let him crash into me."
"5. After the crash, he'll be in worse shape than me."
After writing it down, he read it twice and nodded.
Simple and brutal, but very reasonable.
The last time at the convenience store entrance had already verified it—A-Train had crashed into his Bio-fieldat full speed and shattered half his own shoulder.
After this purification, the Bio-field was 15% thicker.
The result of A-Train crashing into him could only be even worse.
"The problem is how to determine his rampage route."
The system said the rampage route was unpredictable—depending on the location and mental state at the time of trigger.
But there was a pattern.
A-Train's habit after taking drugs was to run—he used running to release the high brought on by compound v.
And he had a few fixed routes for his daily running training—
The first was the straight line from Vought Tower to Central Park.
The second was the coastal route from Manhattan Bridge to Brooklyn Bridge.
The third—and the one he liked running most after getting high—was Broadway.
Because Broadway had people.
Lots and lots of people.
A-Train liked the feeling of weaving through crowds.
compound v made him feel like he was the fastest person in the world, and he needed to see those "slow-motion ants" he overtook to confirm this sense of superiority.
"If he goes on a rampage, Broadway has the highest probability."
Ryan closed the notebook.
"But I can't gamble."
He needed a source of information—someone who could notify him the moment before A-Train went on a rampage.
Hughie? No, Hughie didn't have the ability to access the inside of Vought.
Butcher? Possibly, but Hughie had only just connected with him, not to the point where he could ask for intelligence.
Ashley?
Ryan took out his phone and sent a message to Ashley.
"How is A-Train's condition recently?"
1:15 AM.
Ashley actually replied instantly.
"Why are you asking this?"
"Answer me."
"…Not great. His compound v injection frequency is three times higher than before, and the fitness coach reported that his heart rate often spikes above two hundred. The medical team advised him to stop, but he won't listen."
"Does he have any public events scheduled recently?"
"Yes. Tomorrow afternoon at three, he's having a public fan meet-and-greet at Times Square. It was arranged by Vought to offset the negative heat from the Translucentincident."
Ryan's finger paused on the screen.
Times Square.
3:00 PM.
Public event.
Large crowd gathering.
If A-Train went on a rampage at the fan meet-and-greet—
Times Square had an average daily foot traffic of 330,000 people. 3:00 PM was peak hour.
A 1.1 Mach supersonic rampager sprinting out of control through the crowd.
Ryan didn't even dare to imagine that scene.
"Can't tomorrow's meet-and-greet be canceled?"
"It can't be canceled. Vought's marketing department has already spent two million in publicity fees, and this is to directly offset the negative impact of you fighting Translucent—if it's canceled, it's equivalent to Vought admitting defeat."
"Stillwell won't allow it to be canceled."
Ryan gripped his phone and walked out of the alley.
He walked a few steps, stopped, and looked up at the night sky over Brooklyn.
In the distance, the V-shaped logo of Vought Tower hung on the skyline, flashing in the night.
"Tomorrow afternoon at three. Times Square."
He opened the notebook and added another item after "A-Train Interception Plan."
"6. Location confirmed—Times Square."
"7. Arrive early. Prepare Blackie for live streaming."
"8. Stand on the route approaching the crowd and wait for him."
He closed the notebook.
Stuffed it back into his pocket.
The phone vibrated again.
Blackie's message.
"Brother Walker! You still awake? Do you have work tomorrow?"
Ryan thought for a moment and replied.
"Meet at Times Square at 2:30 PM tomorrow."
"Times Square? Isn't that A-Train's fan meet-and-greet? You're going there?"
"Yes."
"What are you going there for?"
"To stage an accident."
Blackie sent a question mark.
Ryan typed a line.
"A-Train might lose control and go on a rampage tomorrow; I need to guard there and stop him."
"Ah? Rampage? What does that mean?"
"It means he's taken too many drugs, the kind where he can't stop once he starts running."
"Isn't that dangerous? There are so many people in Times Square..."
"That's why I have to go."
Blackie was silent for a few seconds.
"Brother Walker, are you really not afraid of anything?"
"I am."
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid that he'll run too fast and I won't be able to intercept him accurately, so I'll have to stand in a couple more positions to block him."
"...The 'afraid' you're talking about doesn't seem to be the same as the 'afraid' I understand."
Ryan chuckled.
"Get some sleep, bring a power bank tomorrow. The livestream might be long."
"Alright!"
Ryan put his phone away.
Before returning to his rental, he bought a bottle of water from the vending machine downstairs.
He took two sips and leaned against the wall of the stairwell.
The current situation—
First, 8,761 emotion points, just over a thousand short of being able to perform the second purification.
Second, A-Train's rampage is a high-value event; if successfully intercepted and broadcast via livestream, the emotion points will definitely exceed ten thousand.
Third, the time window is very tight. Tomorrow afternoon at three, about fourteen hours from now.
Fourth, A-Train's speed is faster than his own. Can't catch him. Can only wait for him to come to him.
"Stand in the middle of the road," Ryan looked up at the stairwell light, "Let him crash into me."
"Last time I shattered his shoulder."
"This time I should be able to shatter more."
He went upstairs, pushed open the door to his rental, and threw his jacket onto the chair.
He set his alarm for 12:00 PM—no need to go to work tomorrow, can't worry about the Janitor job.
Before lying down, he glanced at the system panel.
[Current Emotion Points: 8761/10000]
[Until Second DNA Purification: 1239 points]
[Key Character Warning still active: A-Train rampage countdown approximately 16 hours]
"1239."
"A-Train, you're worth more than just this."
He turned over and closed his eyes.
The last thought drifted through his mind.
"So what if you're fast? Crashing into me is no different than crashing into a wall."