Chapter 53: Breaking His Spine With One Stomp
Five hundred tons of force, compressed into his heel.
The Deep's fist had just swung halfway.
The wind generated by the punch didn't even stir the hem of Ryan's trousers.
Ryan's heel had already descended.
Crack.
The sound was incredibly crisp.
Like a dry branch being crushed by a heavy truck.
The Deep's body sank downward.
The space between his fourth and fifth lumbar vertebrae was ground into powder by this absolute violence.
Bone fragments pierced into the nerve plexus.
The Deep didn't even have time to scream.
His punching motion froze in mid-air, and then, like a mollusk with its bones removed, he slammed heavily onto the carpet.
Face down.
His lower body had completely lost all control, lying limp on the floor in an extremely twisted posture.
A full three seconds passed.
Before the excruciating pain surged into his brain along the remaining neurons.
"Aaaaaahhh—"
A pig-like shriek exploded in the lounge.
The Deep's facial features crumpled together, his face smeared with tears and snot.
He dug his remaining left hand into the carpet, trying to prop his body up.
It was useless.
Below his waist, there was no feeling at all.
No pain.
No sensation.
He couldn't even move his toes.
"My legs... My legs!"
The Deep screamed in terror.
He turned his head, staring fixedly at Ryan.
"What did you do to me! What exactly did you do to me!"
Ryan withdrew his foot.
He wiped the dust from the sole of his shoe on the clean carpet nearby.
"Helped you correct your posture."
Ryan said in a flat tone.
"Your spine is broken."
"For the rest of your life, you might need to order a custom fish tank with wheels."
This sentence was like a bomb, blasting The Deep's mind into a blank state.
Broken.
The spine was broken.
For a Superhuman, a bone fracture could heal.
But a comminuted fracture of the spine, with complete necrosis of the neurons, couldn't be cured even by Vought's top medical team.
He was finished.
Completely finished.
"You dare to cripple me..."
The Deep's voice was trembling, laced with a crying tone.
"I am The Seven! I am Vought's cash cow!"
"If you cripple me, Edgar won't let you off!"
"Homelander will burn you to ashes!"
Ryan sighed.
"Are you unable to understand human speech?"
"I just said it, A-Zu is currently too busy to even take care of himself."
Ryan crouched down.
Looking at The Deep's face, which was filled with despair.
"Besides, what kind of cash cow are you?"
"Without water, you're not even as good as a security guard at a seafood market."
"If A-Train lost his legs, Vought could still have him sit in a wheelchair to film an inspirational ad for the disabled."
"If you lose your lower body, what can you do?"
"Go to the aquarium and perform seal ball balancing?"
The Deep opened his mouth, unable to say a word.
He knew Ryan was telling the truth.
Vought didn't need a paraplegic water-based Superhuman.
He was done for.
His celebrity career, his mansion, his fans, all finished.
Ashley's sharp intake of breath came through the Bluetooth headset.
"Ryan."
Ashley's voice was shaking.
Shaking like a leaf in the wind.
"My vital sign monitor here shows... The Deep's lower body nerve signals have disappeared."
"What did you do to him?"
"Nothing much." Ryan stood up, "He won't need to stand to talk to me in the future."
"You're crazy!"
Ashley screamed on the other end of the headset.
"Edgar will kill me! How is the Public Relations Department supposed to explain to the public that the second-in-command of The Seven suddenly became paraplegic in his own lounge!"
"Just say he slipped while taking a shower."
"Who can break their spine into a comminuted fracture while showering!"
"Well, for a Superhuman, it's reasonable for the commotion of a shower to be a bit loud."
"Ryan! You are creating a disaster for Vought!"
"Vought itself is a disaster."
Ryan couldn't be bothered to listen to her rant, so he reached out and turned off the headset channel.
The world was quiet again.
Only The Deep's heavy panting and low whimpering remained in the room.
Ryan turned his head.
Looking toward the corner.
Annie was still slumped beside the overturned chair.
Her platinum-colored uniform was covered in dust.
She was hugging her knees, curled up into a ball.
Tears swirled in her eyes.
She looked at Ryan.
Shaking all over.
Afraid.
Extremely afraid.
She thought she had escaped from The Deep's clutches.
Only for an even more terrifying monster to enter.
This man in the blue Janitor uniform had casually crippled the second-in-command of The Seven.
Without using any flashy superpowers.
Just pure violence.
One stomp.
Snapped The Deep's spine.
Just like stepping on a bug by the roadside.
Annie didn't know who this person was.
She only knew that if this person wanted to kill her, it would be easier than pinching an ant to death.
Ryan took a step.
Walking toward her.
His leather shoes made a dull sound on the carpet.
Annie instinctively shrank back.
Her back pressed tightly against the wall.
With nowhere left to retreat.
Ryan stopped in front of her.
He didn't reach out to pull her up.
Nor did he say those hypocritical words of comfort.
He looked down at this terrified girl.
"Stand up."
The tone brooked no argument.
Annie bit her lower lip.
Supporting herself against the wall, she slowly stood up.
Her legs were still shaking.
She didn't dare look into Ryan's eyes, her gaze fixed on the Janitor staff badge on Ryan's uniform.
It read: Ryan. Employee ID 4732.
"As for today's events, you saw nothing."
Ryan spoke.
Annie nodded repeatedly.
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
"I saw nothing... I saw nothing at all..."
"Remember."
Ryan looked at her.
"In this building, you don't need to please anyone."
"And you don't need to take off your pants to prove your worth."
Annie was stunned.
She looked up.
Meeting Ryan's gaze.
In those eyes, there was no mockery, no pity, and none of that disgusting desire like The Deep's.
Only a cold calmness.
"From now on, no one will dare touch you."
Ryan said, enunciating every word.
"If anyone dares."
He paused for a moment.
"Tell me."
Annie stared at him blankly.
The tears in her eyes finally couldn't be held back, pouring out like a broken dam.
She came to New York from a small town.
Carrying the dream of saving the world.
Only to have her dream slapped hard by reality on her first day of work.
She thought this world was just like this.
Dark, dirty, without a bottom line.
But now.
A man in a Janitor uniform stood before her.
Using the most violent means to give her the most solid protection.
The weight of this sentence was heavier than the entire Vought Tower.
Ryan didn't say anything more.
He turned around.
Walking toward the door.
He bent down and picked up the mop he had thrown on the carpet earlier.
He glanced at the wood chips scattered all over the floor.
And then looked at the expensive carpet stained by The Deep's blood.
"Tsk."
Ryan frowned.
"This carpet can't be cleaned."
"The blood has soaked in, it will have to be replaced."
"Those bastards in the Logistics Department are going to complain again."
He shook the dirty water off the mop.
Carrying the mop handle.
Stepped over the broken door frame.
Walked into the corridor.
Without looking back.
Leaving Annie standing alone in the chaotic room.
In the corridor.
Ryan threw the mop into the bucket.
Pushing the bucket, he walked slowly toward the elevator entrance.
Ashley's voice came through the headset again.
She forced her way into the channel.
"Ryan, leave the building immediately!"
"The Security Department has already discovered the commotion on the 78th floor and is sending people up!"
"Got it."
Ryan pushed the bucket into the freight elevator.
"The follow-up PR is up to you."
"How am I supposed to handle PR! How do you expect me to handle PR!"
"That's your job, Ashley. Didn't you want to expand your authority?"
Ryan pressed the button for the first floor.
"Handle The Deep's situation well, and Edgar will see your value."
The freight elevator door closed.
Ryan leaned against the car wall and let out a long sigh.
The system panel flickered in his consciousness.
[Punish key target: The Deep]
[Obtained Emotion Points: +1200]
[Current total Emotion Points: 19621 / 30000]
"Still ten thousand short."
Ryan looked at the jumping numbers.
"Tomorrow, the dirt on Hughie should arrive."
The next day.
10:00 AM.
Vought Tower, 78th-floor corridor.
Ryan was pushing the bucket, holding a brand-new mop.
Working hard to wipe away the water stains left from yesterday.
He was in a good mood today.
Because the morning news reported The Deep's "unfortunate encounter."
The Public Relations Department's press release was written very professionally.
"Important member of The Seven, The Deep, suffered severe spinal damage due to operational error while conducting high-intensity closed-door special training."
"Currently receiving the highest level of medical treatment from Vought."
"Starlight Annie will temporarily take over some of The Deep's security duties."
Ashley's efficiency was indeed impressive.
Ryan rinsed the mop in the bucket.
Wringed it out.
Preparing to mop the next section of the floor.
At the corner ahead, a figure in platinum colors walked out.
Annie.
She had changed into a brand-new uniform today.
It wasn't as revealing as yesterday's.
The makeup on her face was also clean.
She stood in the middle of the corridor.
Looking at Ryan who was pushing the bucket.
Seemingly having waited for a long time.
Seeing Ryan approach, she took a deep breath and walked up to him.
Chapter 54: I'm Just a Janitor Cleaning Up Trash
Annie walked up to meet him.
She stopped half a meter in front of Ryan.
The only sound in the hallway was the swishing of the mop against the marble floor.
Annie's eyes were red-rimmed.
She gripped the hem of her uniform skirt tightly with both hands.
"Thank you."
Annie's voice was very soft, with a noticeable tremor.
"I thought about it all night last night."
"I never thought anyone would help me."
"In that room, I thought my life was ruined."
Ryan didn't stop what he was doing.
The mop drew a semicircle in front of Annie's white boots.
"Move aside."
"You're standing on the floor I just mopped."
Annie quickly took two steps back.
Her soles made a slight sound against the marble.
"I'm just cleaning up trash."
Ryan threw the mop into the bucket.
A few drops of dirty water splashed out.
"It was just on the way."
"You don't have to thank me."
"There is too much trash in Vought Tower, I can't mop it all up by myself."
Annie looked at the dirty water in the bucket.
She knew what Ryan meant by trash.
She hesitated for two seconds.
Her gaze fell on the plastic tag on Ryan's chest that read "Employee ID 4732".
"You... are not just a Janitor, are you?"
Annie looked up.
She looked straight into Ryan's eyes.
"An ordinary person couldn't snap The Deep's spine with one stomp."
"And it's impossible to dare to wear a Janitor's uniform and mop the floor here the day after doing something like that."
"Who exactly are you?"
Ryan stopped moving.
He rested his hands on the mop handle.
He looked at this girl from a small town who still carried a bit of innocence.
The corners of his mouth curled up.
"I am your best colleague."
Ryan winked at her.
"Don't make a sound. ( * ^ ▽ ^ * )"
Annie stood frozen in place.
She didn't get a specific answer.
But she got a promise.
A promise that was more reassuring than any superpower in this man-eating building.
The rapid clicking of high heels came from the other end of the corridor.
An assistant from the Public Relations Department ran over.
"Annie! What are you doing here!"
The assistant was panting.
"The photographer for your promo shots has been waiting for twenty minutes!"
"You have to replace The Deep at the charity gala this afternoon, the schedule is very tight!"
Annie turned her head.
"I'm coming right now."
She turned back and took one last look at Ryan.
She nodded very seriously.
Then she followed the assistant and walked quickly toward the elevator.
Ryan watched her back disappear around the corner.
Golden text boxes popped up in his mind.
[Punishment of key target complete, change in fate line confirmed]
[Key character Starlight (Annie January) fate turn: Escaped the shadow of The Deep, established initial trust]
[Obtained Emotion Points: +800]
[Current total Emotion Points: 20421/30000]
Ryan did the math in his head.
Adding the 1200 points from snapping The Deep's spine yesterday.
He had milked a total of 2000 points from Annie and The Deep.
He was still over 9500 points away from the third purification.
"The efficiency is still a bit low."
Ryan pulled the mop out of the bucket.
"Still have to count on the dirt Butcher has."
The rustling sound of static came from the Bluetooth headset.
Ashley connected the channel.
"Is she gone?"
"Gone." Ryan pushed the bucket forward, "Went to take her promo shots."
"You're really something."
Ashley sneered on the other end.
"You crippled the second-in-command of The Seven, and now you can still chat calmly with a new member."
"How did you handle The Deep?" Ryan asked.
"How else would we handle it."
The sound of Ashley typing on a keyboard came through.
"Sent him to a secret nursing home in New Jerseyovernight by medical helicopter."
"Vought's top neurosurgeons consulted for three hours."
"The conclusion is that there's no saving him."
"The fourth and fifth lumbar vertebrae are completely shattered, with 100% neuron necrosis."
"He will have to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair."
Ryan listened, his tone very flat.
"Wheelchairs are good. Saves on shoes."
"You still have the heart to joke!"
Ashley's voice rose.
"Do you know how the Public Relations Department got through this morning!"
"I wrote eight press releases overnight!"
"Claiming to the public that The Deep suffered a severe spinal injury because he pushed his limits too hard during an extremely dangerous closed-door special training."
"To support this lie, I even had to bribe three orthopedic experts to endorse it on Twitter!"
Ryan laughed.
"Well done."
"Did Edgar see your hard work?"
Ashley paused on the other end.
Her tone changed.
Less anxious, more smug.
"He saw it."
"At the 8 AM meeting, Stillwell was overwhelmed by the whole The Deep situation."
"I slammed the prepared PR plan directly onto the conference table."
"Edgar scolded Stillwell on the spot, and then handed over all authority for handling the follow-up matters regarding The Deep to me."
"I am now the head of the Public Relations Department."
"Congrats on the promotion." Ryan leaned the mop against the wall, "See, following me has much better prospects than following those psychos."
"Don't be happy too soon."
Ashley's tone became serious again.
"I'm not calling you to hear your congratulations."
"Something happened."
Ryan pulled a rag out of his pocket and started wiping the murals in the hallway.
"What happened?"
"Madelyn has gone crazy."
Ashley's voice was very low.
"A-Train's legs were crippled, and now The Deep is paralyzed."
"Two out of three of The Seven are gone."
"Plus, Homelander locked himself in the lounge all night and wouldn't come out."
"Madelyn's mental state is extremely tense right now."
"She feels like someone is targeting Vought, targeting The Seven."
Ryan wiped the dust off the mural.
"Her intuition is spot on. Someone is indeed targeting them."
"The question is what she found."
"She checked the surveillance of the 78th floor."
Ashley spoke very quickly.
"I hacked into the surveillance system last night immediately and deleted the video of you entering the room."
"But I didn't have enough clearance to erase the main corridor surveillance."
"Madelyn saw it."
The rag paused on the mural.
"What did she see?" Ryan asked.
"She saw a Janitor walking to the door of The Deep's lounge carrying a bucket."
"Then the footage skipped."
"By the time the footage returned to normal, The Deep had already been carried out."
There was only the crisp sound of typing in the headset.
"Madelyn is no fool."
"A Janitor appearing at the crime scene, and the surveillance just happened to be sabotaged during that time."
"She immediately had the Security Department check the list of Janitors on duty on the 78th floor during that time."
"There was only one person on the list."
Ashley swallowed on the other end.
"Employee ID 4732. Ryan."
Ryan folded the rag and stuffed it back into his pocket.
"Did she pull my file?"
"She did."
Ashley's voice was trembling.
"She is in the Vice President's office right now."
"Your resume is on the desk in front of her."
"She has already sent the head of the Security Department to catch you."
"Ryan, she's got her eyes on you."
"She's starting to suspect you're not an ordinary Janitor."
Ryan looked at the elevator at the end of the corridor.
The numbers above the elevator were jumping rapidly.
30th floor.
40th floor.
50th floor.
That was the express elevator for the Security Department.
It was rising to the 78th floor.
"Get downstairs immediately!"
Ashley urged on the other end.
"Take the freight elevator! I have a car arranged in the underground garage!"
"Once you are caught by the Security Department, Madelyn will send you to the lab to be sliced up!"
Ryan didn't move.
He stood in place, watching the elevator numbers jump to 70.
"Ashley."
"What?"
"When Madelyn looked at my file, did she say anything?"
"You're worried about what she said at a time like this! Run!"
"Answer me."
Ashley was about to break down.
"She said... she said this Janitor's background is too clean, so clean it looks like a fake identity."
"She also said she would break your bones one by one to find out who is behind you."
Ryan listened, the corners of his mouth curling up.
The elevator number jumped to 78.
Ding.
A crisp prompt sound echoed in the hallway.
The elevator doors slowly opened to both sides.
Eight fully armed Vought internal security personnel rushed out with rifles.
The pitch-black muzzles were aimed directly at Ryan, who was standing in the middle of the hallway.
The supervisor in charge held a photo and compared it to Ryan's face.
"Employee ID 4732, Ryan?"
The supervisor shouted.
Ryan didn't raise his hands.
He extended his right foot and kicked the bucket on the ground to the side.
"It's me."
The supervisor waved his hand.
"Ms. Madelyn wants to see you. Take him!"
Two security personnel walked forward with handcuffs.
In the headset, Ashley was so anxious she was about to cry.
"Ryan! What are you doing!"
"Why aren't you running!"
Ryan watched the security personnel walking over.
His tone was as relaxed as if he were discussing what to have for lunch.
"Why run."
"Madelyn wants to see me, and I happen to want to see her too."
He voluntarily stretched out his hands.
Letting the cold metal handcuffs click onto his wrists.
"Tell Hughie, get the dirt ready."
Ryan said the last sentence into the headset.
"Tonight, Vought is going to set off fireworks."
Chapter 55: The Seven Can Hardly Even Scrape Together a Mahjong Table
Vought Tower, 79th Floor, Vice President's office.
Madelyn slammed the tablet in her hand hard onto the solid wood desk.
The screen cracked into a spiderweb pattern.
It displayed the latest press release just issued by the Public Relations Department.
"Important member of The Seven, The Deep, is going to another location for recuperation due to injury."
Recuperation, my ass.
Madelyn pressed her hands firmly against the desk, her chest heaving violently.
Ten minutes ago, the chief surgeon at the New Jerseysecret medical center had called her.
The Deep's fourth and fifth lumbar vertebrae had been crushed into powder by external force.
Even the nerve plexus was shattered to bits.
Vought International's top medical team had worked all night, and there was only one conclusion.
The Deep would have to live the rest of his life relying on a urinary catheter.
"A-Train's leg is broken."
Madelyn gritted her molars, the sound squeezing out from her throat.
"Now The Deep is paralyzed too."
"Translucent had his internal organs shattered by someone on the street."
"Two out of three of The Seven are gone!"
She grabbed the cold coffee cup on the desk and smashed it hard against the floor-to-ceiling window.
The brown coffee liquid flowed down the bulletproof glass.
The foundation of Vought International was collapsing.
What made her feel even more creeped out was that the one who wrecked The Deep was actually a Janitor.
In the surveillance footage, that man in the blue uniform walked to the lounge door carrying a bucket.
Then the footage skipped frames.
When it returned to normal, The Deep had already been carried out like a dead dog.
The office door was knocked.
The security supervisor pushed open the door and brought someone in under guard.
"Ms. Madelyn, the person has been brought."
Ryan's hands were locked behind his back with steel handcuffs.
He was wearing that clean blue Janitor uniform, walking slowly into the office.
He looked around.
"This carpet is nice, handmade Persian, right? It feels quite soft underfoot."
Ryan stepped on the carpet under his feet.
The security supervisor kicked at the back of Ryan's knee.
"Behave!"
Bang.
The supervisor's leather shoe kicked Ryan's leg, making a dull, thudding sound.
Ryan didn't budge.
The supervisor clutched his toes, sucking in a cold breath from the pain.
It felt like kicking a solid steel pillar.
Madelyn waved her hand, signaling the supervisor to withdraw.
Only she, the security supervisor, and two armed guards remained in the office.
Madelyn walked to the desk and picked up a thin file.
"Ryan. Employee ID 4732."
She read out the name on the file.
"Came to New York five years ago, has been working odd jobs at the bottom. Joined the Vought Tower Cleaning Department half a month ago."
"The background is as clean as a blank sheet of paper."
Madelyn threw the file on the desk.
"Too clean."
"How much did Stan pay you?"
Ryan found a leather sofa and sat down comfortably.
"No money. I'm just a guy who mops floors."
"The Deep was in my way, so I stepped on him."
Ryan leaned back against the sofa.
"Who knew his bones were so brittle."
Madelyn sneered.
"Stepped on him?"
"You think I'll believe that nonsense about being able to crush a Superhuman's spine into powder?"
She walked around the desk and stood in front of Ryan.
Looking down at him from above.
"You were injected with inferior compound v, right?"
"Those competitors hiding in the sewers turned bottom-feeding trash like you into a suicide soldier, wanting to dismantle Vought International from the inside."
Madelyn's gaze was like looking at an inanimate object.
"What did they promise you? Money? Or the safety of your family?"
Ryan looked up at Madelyn's face, which looked slightly haggard due to anxiety.
"You have heavy dark circles."
Ryan suddenly changed the subject.
"Didn't sleep well last night? A-Zu didn't let you sleep peacefully?"
Madelyn didn't take the bait, her face sinking until it could drip water.
"I'm giving you one chance now. Tell me who is behind you, and I'll spare your life."
Ryan laughed.
"Madelyn, did you get one thing wrong?"
"It's not that I have someone behind me."
"It's that you have big trouble in front of you."
Ryan leaned forward.
"A-Train is crippled, Translucent is ruined, The Deep is paralyzed."
"Now, your The Seven can hardly even scrape together a Mahjong table."
Madelyn's breathing quickened.
"For a Janitor, you certainly know a lot."
"I know even more."
Ryan's tone was relaxed.
"For example... A-Zu was beaten until he bled last night."
"He's currently locking himself in the 79th Floor lounge, doubting life while looking at the fist print on his chest."
As soon as these words came out.
There was no sound in the office.
Madelyn stared fixedly at Ryan.
The fact that Homelander was injured was Vought International's top secret.
Except for her, Edgar, and a few core executives, no one knew there was a fist print on Homelander's chest!
How could this Janitor know?!
"You..." Madelyn's voice began to tremble.
An extremely absurd thought flashed through her mind.
But she immediately denied it herself.
Impossible.
How could that monster who beat Homelander until he bled at three thousand meters altitude be a bottom-tier employee wearing a Janitor uniform, brought in by security with handcuffs?
"Who exactly are you?!"
Madelyn stepped back two paces, her hand reaching for the alarm button under the desk.
"I said, my name is Ryan. Employee ID 4732."
Ryan sighed.
"You capitalists always like to complicate simple things. ╮(╯▽╰)╭"
Madelyn pressed the alarm.
She didn't want to waste any more words.
"Security Department! Take him to the biological laboratory on the third basement level!"
She shouted into the intercom on the desk.
"Drain his blood! Cut open his spine!"
"I want to know how every muscle on his body grew!"
The security supervisor and two guards immediately raised their guns, aiming them all at Ryan on the sofa.
"Stand up!" the supervisor roared.
Ryan ignored him.
His gaze fell into the void.
The system panel was jumping wildly.
[Detected key character Madelyn experiencing extreme fear and anxiety]
[Detected The Deep paralysis incident fermenting on a small scale online]
[Obtained Emotion Points: +3500]
[Current Total Emotion Points: 23921 / 30000]
Still missing over six thousand points.
Ryan estimated the time.
The dirt Hughie Campbell organized should have already been sent out through Blackie's live stream channel.
The nuclear bomb of online public opinion was counting down.
As long as the dirt explodes, the remaining Emotion Points can be gathered in minutes.
"Forget the underground laboratory."
Ryan stood up from the sofa.
"I think that place is dirty."
The security supervisor smashed the gun butt toward the back of Ryan's head.
"Cut the crap! Move!"
The gun butt hadn't even touched Ryan's hair.
Snap.
A crisp sound.
Ryan's hands, locked behind his back, just expanded slightly outward.
That pair of steel handcuffs claimed to be able to lock up a third-tier Superhuman.
Like a crispy biscuit, it shattered into seven or eight pieces of scrap metal.
Clattering onto the carpet.
The security supervisor's movement froze in mid-air.
Madelyn's eyes bulged as if they were about to pop out.
The steel handcuffs, broken?
Snapped purely by the muscle strength of his wrists?
Ryan flexed his wrists.
Turning around, looking at Madelyn.
"I have a very important appointment tonight."
Ryan straightened the collar of his Janitor uniform.
"Need a more spacious place."
He ignored the assault rifles around him.
Walking straight toward the floor-to-ceiling window.
"Shoot! Shoot and break his legs!" Madelyn screamed.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
Fire tongues spat.
A dozen armor-piercing rounds hit Ryan's back.
Not even the fabric of his clothes was penetrated; the bullet heads were squeezed into iron discs by an invisible force field and fell onto the carpet.
The security guards were completely dumbfounded.
Ryan walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.
Looking at the New York skyline outside the window.
"The scenery over the Atlantic Ocean should be nice."
He raised his right hand.
His index finger flicked lightly against the bulletproof glass.
Boom!
The entire wall of specially made bulletproof glass shattered outward.
Gale winds poured into the office, blowing over Madelyn's desk.
Ryan stepped out of the window in one stride.
His body suspended in the air.
Gravity lost its effect on him.
In the horrified gazes of Madelyn and the group of security guards, Ryan shot into the sky, tearing through a Sonic Boom cone, heading straight into the depths of the clouds.
Chapter 56: 2000 Tons of Power! A-Zu, Are You Ready?
The wind howled in his ears.
Ren broke through the cloud cover, leaving the steel jungle of New York beneath his feet.
Hughie Campbell's hurried breathing came through the earpiece.
"Ren, are you sure you want to detonate this now? Madelyn just sent people to capture you!" Hughie's voice was trembling.
"She can't catch me." Ren adjusted his posture in the clouds, a Sonic Boom exploding behind him. "She's currently staring at the shattered bulletproof glass, questioning her life. Send it, let the world see just how dirty the underwear of Vought International really is."
"Alright... Blackie is ready on his end. Three, two, one, send!"
At the same time, in a dilapidated apartment in Brooklyn, the black kid Blackie pressed the button to start the live stream.
The title was extremely eye-catching: Vought International's Underground Morgue".
Hundreds of encrypted files, illegal V drug human experiment records, and criminal videos of The Seven from the past years flooded the global internet without reservation.
Ren hovered at an altitude of three thousand meters.
The system's golden panel flickered in his consciousness.
[Global-level emotion tsunami detection in progress...]
[Detected emotional fluctuations intertwined with extreme anger, panic, and worship]
[Emotion Points: +1500]
[Emotion Points: +2800]
[Emotion Points: +4200]
The speed of the scrolling numbers exceeded the limits of the naked eye.
In less than three minutes, the total balance broke through that critical node.
[Current Total Emotion Points: 31421 / 30000]
"Enough." Ren's mouth curled upward.
He did not linger over New York, turning and flying at full speed toward the Atlantic Ocean.
The speed of Mach 8 tore through the air.
Ten minutes later, he arrived at the central waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
Beneath his feet was the deep ocean, and above his head was the thin atmosphere.
Ten thousand meters high.
No one could disturb him here.
"System, initiate the third DNA purification."
[Command confirmed. Deducted 30000 Emotion Points.]
[Third bloodline evolution initiated.]
Severe pain exploded from the depths of his bone marrow.
The disturbance this time was more terrifying than the previous two combined.
The clouds around Ren were forcibly pushed away by an invisible repulsive force, forming an absolute vacuum zone with a diameter of several kilometers.
Muscle fibers were reorganizing, and bone density climbed geometrically.
The gene chain of Tighten was violently dismantled, impurities were removed, and it was fused anew.
Ten minutes later.
The pain gradually faded.
Ren opened his eyes.
Dazzling blue light flashed in his pupils.
[Purification complete.]
[Current Tighten DNA purity: 40%]
[Base Strength: 2000 tons]
[Flight Speed: 15 Mach]
[Defense Field upgraded: Active Bio-field. Can be projected to form a field shockwave.]
[New Ability 1: Vision Enhancement. Ignores all conventional shielding materials.]
[New Ability 2: Absolute Zero Breath.]
Ren looked at the data on the panel.
Two thousand tons.
What kind of concept was this?
Homelander's limit for lifting was between 1200 and 1500 tons.
This meant that in terms of pure physical strength, he had already completely surpassed Homelander.
Not just in speed and defense.
Now, even in strength, he could pin that blonde giant baby to the ground and rub him into the dirt.
Ren extended his right hand.
His intent flickered.
The Bio-field on his body surface was no longer just passive defense.
A layer of visible, Translucent energy shield spread out from his palm.
He clenched his fist hard.
Boom!
The field shockwave exploded outward, and the thin air at ten thousand meters was forcibly squeezed into a visible circular shockwave, sweeping in all directions.
The clouds on the sea surface were split in two by this shockwave.
"Active field." Ren retracted his hand with satisfaction. "This thing is much better than a shield."
He took another deep breath.
His chest expanded.
He exhaled toward the sea below.
White cold air whistled out.
The moment it touched the sea surface, the seawater within a few kilometers was completely frozen, forming a huge ice field.
Absolute zero.
Even molecular motion could be completely stopped.
"A-Zu." Ren hovered above the ice field, his tone relaxed. "Next time we meet, you'd better wear more clothes. Otherwise, you might catch a cold. ╮(╯▽╰)╭"
The scene cut back to New York.
East Brooklyn, a basement hidden from the light.
Several old televisions on the wall were simultaneously playing Blackie's live stream and emergency interruptions from major news channels.
"Vought International's stock price has plummeted by forty percent!"
"Protest marches have erupted in many places across the US, demanding a thorough investigation into the V drug scandal!"
In front of the TV screen, a man wearing a black trench coat was biting on a cigar.
Billy Butcher.
He was not watching those protest scenes.
His gaze was locked tightly on another television.
That television was looping a blurry mobile phone recording.
The scene of Preservation Walker punching Homelanderuntil he bled at an altitude of three thousand meters.
"This kid is simply a lunatic."
Frenchie, sitting in the corner, was wiping a large-caliber sniper rifle and looked up at the screen.
"He stripped Vought International bare. Deep is paralyzed, Translucent is finished, A-Train is a cripple. Now even Homelander has been beaten by him."
Frenchie shook his head.
"He did things by himself that we haven't managed to do in years."
Beside him, a burly black man with his arms crossed had his brows knitted into a tight knot.
Mothers Milk.
"This is not a good thing." Mothers Milk's voice was deep. "He is too strong. Ridiculously strong. Didn't you guys see the news analysis? His speed exceeds Mach 8, and he can withstand Heat Vision."
"So what?" Butcher exhaled a puff of thick smoke.
"So what?" Mothers Milk raised his volume. "Butcher, are you crazy? Dealing with one Homelander is already hard enough for us. Now a monster who can fight even better than Homelander has appeared!"
"He can snap Deep's spine today, and he can twist our heads off tomorrow."
"He is an uncontrollable bomb!"
Butcher turned his head and looked at Mothers Milk.
"Uncontrollable?" Butcher sneered. "There is no such thing as an uncontrollable person in this world. As long as they are human, they have weaknesses."
He stretched out his rough finger and tapped on the mask of Preservation Walker on the TV screen.
"He has a purpose."
"He didn't kill Homelander directly, but chose to humiliate him. He had that black kid stream it, and he handed the dirt to us to detonate."
Butcher's eyes were extremely sharp.
"He is creating momentum."
"He is pushing Vought International into the abyss."
Frenchie stopped the movement in his hands: "You want to recruit him?"
"Recruit is not the word." Butcher crushed the cigar in the ashtray. "It's cooperation."
"The enemy of an enemy is a friend. Especially a blade that can pierce Homelander's heart."
Mothers Milk stepped forward and stared into Butcher's eyes.
"What if this blade turns and stabs us in the end?"
"What if he is also a monster wearing the cloak of justice?"
The basement was quiet for three seconds.
Only the hurried reporting of the news anchor on the television echoed.
Butcher turned around, picked up a revolver loaded with armor-piercing rounds from the table, and tucked it into the holster at his lower back.
He looked at the dark figure hovering in the night sky on the screen.
"Then we wait until he slaughters Homelander."
Butcher pulled out a cruel smile.
"Then we figure out a way to slaughter him too."
Chapter 57: You Call This Borrowing a Knife?
Mothers Milk looked at Butcher's face and let out a heavy sigh.
"You make slaughtering a monster that can withstand Heat Vision sound as easy as going to the supermarket to buy two heads of cabbage," Mothers Milk said, pointing at the television screen. "Billy, don't compare him to someone like Translucent. This is a flying nuke, for fuck's sake!"
"Even a nuke needs someone to push the launch button." Butcher holstered his revolver and walked over to the corkboard in the basement covered in photos.
He reached out and pulled down a photo.
It was a scene captured by convenience store surveillance. Ryan was wearing a hoodie, blocking the supersonic charge of A-Train with one hand.
"Do you really think this kid is some justice-bringer who just popped out of nowhere?" Butcher slapped the photo onto the table. "I've turned the sewers of Brooklyn upside down these past few weeks."
Frenchie lowered the barrel of the sniper rifle in his hands and leaned in.
"What did you find?"
"He's too purposeful." Butcher's fingers tapped heavily on the tabletop. "Saving Hughie's girlfriend. Taking out Translucent. Breaking A-Train's leg. Today, he wrecked Vought's shit and had Hughie release all the dirt we had."
Butcher looked up at the other two.
"Every step he takes is precisely stomping on Vought's windpipe. He doesn't need us to provide intelligence; he already knows exactly where to hit."
Mothers Milk's brow furrowed into a knot.
"Then what use are we? He can tear down Vought all by himself."
"He can't," Butcher sneered. "That old fox Edgar at Vought definitely still has an ace up his sleeve. Even taking a step back, even if he really could tear down Vought, can you guarantee he won't become the next Homelander?"
The room went silent. Only the buzzing sound of the television could be heard.
"These Superhumans are rotten to the core, every single one of them." Butcher gritted his teeth, his voice squeezed out from between them. "Power will burn away whatever conscience they have left in their brains. Today he can stomp The Deep into paralysis for the sake of justice, tomorrow he could blow your whole family to the sky just because he doesn't like the look of you."
Mothers Milk didn't speak. He knew Butcher's hatred for Superhumans was etched into his DNA.
"So what do you want to do?" Frenchie asked.
"Go see him." Butcher turned and grabbed his black trench coat from the hanger. "Go teach him how to be a proper knife."
"Now?" Mothers Milk glanced at the wall clock. "Two in the morning?"
"While he's just finished a big job and his head is still hot." Butcher put on his trench coat. "This is when he's most prone to arrogance, and also when he's most likely to listen to people."
"You know where he is?"
Butcher grinned, his smile full of malice.
"Our little brother Hughie, though his lips are sealed tight, has zero counter-surveillance awareness." Butcher pulled a locator receiver from his pocket. "I long ago stuffed a tracker into the heel of Hughie's shoe. This kid has run to East Brooklyn three times in the last two days."
Mothers Milk shook his head helplessly.
"If Hughie knew you were calculating against even him, he'd go crazy."
"He'll thank me later." Butcher strode toward the basement's iron door. "Let's go, boys. Time to go say hello to this Preservation Walker."
Half an hour later.
In East Brooklyn, a black van drove through the night.
"Do you think he'll agree?" Frenchie asked from the passenger seat, looking back.
"He has no choice." Butcher said while driving. "He's a one-man army right now. A wimp like Hughie can't help him much. He needs people who actually know the business to help him clean up his mess."
"I always feel like we're playing with fire." Mothers Milklooked at the night scenery outside the window. "He broke The Deep's spine today. Right in Vought Tower. He doesn't care about the consequences at all."
"People who don't care about consequences are the easiest to deceive." Butcher turned the steering wheel. "Just give him a big enough target, and he'll bite right onto it. We just need to hold that dog leash tight."
The car stopped under a dilapidated apartment building.
Butcher pushed open the car door and stepped out into the puddles.
Mothers Milk and Frenchie followed behind.
"Third floor, the one at the very end." Butcher looked at the receiver in his hand. "The last time Hughie's signal disappeared was here."
Most of the lights in the hallway were broken, and the walls were covered in messy graffiti.
The air was filled with the smell of moldy pizza and low-quality marijuana.
"This place is really shitty." Frenchie covered his nose. "A guy who can pin Homelander in the sky and beat him up lives in a place like this?"
"This just shows he needs money." Butcher walked in front, his leather shoes making dull sounds on the concrete stairs. "If he needs money, that's easy to handle. People with needs are easier to control."
Mothers Milk walked at the back, his right hand resting on the handle of the gun at his waist.
"Billy, I'll remind you one more time." Mothers Milk lowered his voice. "If the negotiations break down, the three of us combined wouldn't be enough for him to crush with one finger. You'd better put away that provocation tactic of yours."
"Don't worry." Butcher didn't turn his head. "I brought sugar-coated bullets today."
The three arrived at the end of the third-floor corridor.
A peeling security door was tightly closed.
Door number: 304.
Butcher stopped in front of the door.
He straightened the collar of his trench coat and took a deep breath.
He quickly went over the prepared script in his head.
First, affirm the other party's achievements to satisfy their vanity.
Then, point out their current situation. Vought will definitely retaliate crazily; fighting alone is a guaranteed death sentence.
Finally, offer an olive branch. The Boys have an intelligence network, logistics, and a common enemy.
A perfect combo.
Specifically designed to deal with these young Superhumans who have just emerged and think they are invincible.
Butcher raised his right hand.
Just as he was about to knock.
Click.
The door lock popped open from the inside on its own.
The security door opened a crack.
The lights in the room were off; only the faint glow of the streetlights outside filtered in.
Mothers Milk and Frenchie immediately tensed up.
Butcher, however, remained calm and reached out to push the door open.
He walked in swaggering.
The living room was very small.
A person was sitting on the sofa.
That person was wearing an ordinary gray hoodie and holding a can of Coke.
He wasn't wearing a mask.
By the light of the streetlamp, Butcher saw that face clearly.
Plain and unremarkable.
The kind you would never be able to pick out on the streets of Brooklyn.
"The door's unlocked, find a place to sit." Ryan took a sip of Coke without even lifting his eyelids. "The sofa's a bit dirty, don't mind it. ╮(╯▽╰)╭"
Mothers Milk and Frenchie stood at the door, not daring to move.
Butcher smiled and walked straight to the broken chair opposite the sofa and sat down.
He crossed his legs and placed his hands, interlaced, on his knees.
He struck a negotiating pose, ready to have the upper hand.
"Ryan, right?" Butcher looked into the other's eyes. "Hughie mentioned you to me."
Ryan set the Coke can on the coffee table.
"Hughie didn't mention you." Ryan leaned back on the sofa. "But I know what you're called. Billy Butcher. The Brit. Full of shit. Every day plotting how to slice Homelander into pieces."
The smile on Butcher's face widened a bit.
"Since you already know, we can skip the self-introduction part."
Butcher leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"You did a beautiful job tonight. Vought's stock price is cheaper than waste paper now." Butcher went straight to the point. "But you've also broken the sky. That bitch Madelyn must have already put your name on Vought's kill list."
Ryan looked at him without responding.
Butcher thought his script was working, so he softened his tone and began to set the trap.
"You can fight. I admit that." Butcher spread his hands. "But Vought isn't just a few people; it's a massive machine. They have armies, politicians, and countless resources. How many can you fight alone?"
Butcher reached out one hand.
"You need a team. You need eyes and ears."
"Join us."
Butcher threw out his final ace.
"Together, we'll root out Vought."
The room went quiet.
Mothers Milk swallowed at the door.
He felt that Butcher's words were impeccable.
Ryan looked at the hand Butcher had extended in mid-air.
He looked for a full three seconds.
Then, Ryan smiled.
He stood up.
Chapter 58: I Gave You a Chance and You Failed
Ryan stood up.
The smile on Butcher's face widened, and his hand, extended in mid-air, reached forward another half-inch.
He thought this was a done deal.
Young people, you know—having just pulled off a big job, they're at their most arrogant. A few flattering words, slap a "save the world" label on them, and in a moment of heat, they'll agree to anything.
Ryan looked at that rough hand.
He did not shake it.
He took a step forward.
Just that one step.
Butcher didn't even see how Ryan crossed the coffee table. All that remained on his retina was a gray afterimage.
Immediately after, a sharp pain shot through his throat.
Butcher's 180-pound body was lifted right off the ground.
Bang.
His back slammed heavily against the wall. Old plaster rained down, dusting Butcher's black trench coat.
"Fuck!" Frenchie cursed loudly, raising his assault rifle.
Mothers Milk drew his weapon with lightning speed, aiming his large-caliber revolver directly at the back of Ryan's head.
Ryan, holding Butcher's throat with one hand, didn't even turn his head.
"Did you take the safety off?" Ryan asked in a flat tone. "If not, I'll take it off for you. Even if you did, don't aim for the head. This hoodie was just washed, and you can't afford to pay for it if you get it dirty."
Mothers Milk held the gun, his palms slick with sweat.
He didn't dare fire. The image of Ryan tanking Homelander's Heat Vision on TV was still spinning in his mind. Firing this gun would do nothing but enrage the other party.
Butcher clutched Ryan's wrist with both hands, his legs flailing in mid-air.
Ryan watched Butcher's face turn purple.
Two thousand tons of base strength surged through his muscles. Ryan had to carefully control his force, fearing that one slip would turn the neck of this Boys captain into a pile of mush.
"Keep the dog leash tight?" Ryan tilted his head, his gaze locked onto Butcher's eyes. "That's what you said in the car downstairs, right?"
Butcher's eyes bulged.
He heard that?
He was on the third floor, the car was parked on the street corner, and they were separated by brick walls and the sound of rain—how could he possibly hear the conversation in the car?
"Your scheming is so loud, I could hear it all the way in New Jersey." Ryan applied a little more pressure. "Do you think you're a chess player? Coming here to act like some seasoned veteran?"
"Cough… cough, cough…" Butcher squeezed a broken sound from his throat.
Ryan loosened his grip slightly to let him breathe.
"Do you think I need your intelligence network?" Ryan picked up the Coke on the coffee table with his other hand, popped the tab with one finger, and took a sip. "The tracker on Hughie's shoe—you installed it, right? Hughie treats you like a friend, and you treat him like bait. You're the kind of person who would sell out his own people just to kill Homelander."
Butcher gasped for air, his hands clawing at the back of Ryan's hand until his fingernails curled back.
"You… cough… you don't know shit!" Butcher gritted his teeth, stubborn to the end. "To deal with Vought… you have to be dirtier than them!"
"Dirty?" Ryan laughed. "That's not dirty. That's just impotent rage. ╮(╯▽╰)╭"
"You've been hiding in the sewers for years, and what have you found? Besides taking a few nude photos of Superhumans, have you ever accomplished a single real thing?"
Ryan crushed the empty Coke can into a metal ball and tossed it into the trash can.
"I've been in Brooklyn for half a month. Translucent is finished. A-Train is crippled. The Deep is paralyzed. Homelander was beaten by me and spent the whole night on the roof catching a cold. Vought's stock price has fallen so low it's not even worth using as toilet paper."
Ryan leaned close to Butcher's face.
"What do you have to negotiate with me?"
"That piece-of-junk revolver on your hip? Or those shameful little schemes in your pocket?"
No one in the room made a sound.
Mothers Milk swallowed hard and took a step forward.
"Ryan, let him go. We didn't come here to fight."
Ryan turned to look at Mothers Milk.
"Marvin." Ryan called out his real name. "You're a good father and a good husband."
Mothers Milk froze. Sweat broke out on his back.
How did he know his real name? Even Hughie didn't know his full name!
"You have a wife and kids at home." Ryan looked into Mothers Milk's eyes. "If you keep following this lunatic, he'll get you killed sooner or later. He only cares about his wife; other people's lives mean nothing to him. Your obsessive-compulsive disorder can't save your life."
Frenchie muttered a French curse under his breath.
Ryan retorted immediately in perfect, Parisian-accented French.
Frenchie was so startled he nearly dropped his gun.
Ryan turned his attention back to Butcher.
"You want a blade to stab Homelander. You think I'm that blade. You want to use this blade to pierce Vought first, and then, after the job is done, find a way to snap the blade."
Ryan exposed Butcher's deepest calculation.
"You got one thing wrong."
"I'm not the blade. I'm the one holding the blade."
Ryan loosened his hand.
Thud.
Butcher dropped to the floor, clutching his throat, coughing violently. Tears and snot were streaming down his face.
Ryan pulled over a broken chair and sat down with a commanding air. He looked down at Butcher, who was crawling on the floor.
"Let's reintroduce ourselves."
Ryan said, enunciating every word.
"Listen up. I'm not here to join you."
"I'm here to command you."
Butcher leaned against the wall, looking up at Ryan while coughing.
The expression on his face was incredibly complex.
Anger. Humiliation. Resentment.
But beneath all those emotions, there was an uncontrollable fanaticism.
He was a madman. He didn't care about being choked, nor did he care about having his dignity trampled underfoot. He only cared about whether the person in front of him could really help him kill Homelander.
Clearly, Ryan could—and was even more terrifying than he had imagined.
Not just terrifying in terms of raw power.
This kid's brain and intelligence network were even more sinister than the CIA's.
Butcher grinned, revealing an ugly smile. He stood up, steadying himself against the wall, and brushed the dust off his trench coat.
"How do you want… cough, cough… to command?" Butcherasked in a hoarse voice.
"Find out where the global distribution network for compound v is." Ryan leaned back in the chair. "I've already stripped Vought down to their underwear; now, I want to pull them out by the roots."
Butcher rubbed the red mark on his neck and frowned.
"The supply chain for compound v is Vought's top secret. Even Edgar uses a single-line contact. You ask for this right off the bat—do you think you're at the supermarket buying cabbage?"
"That's your problem." Ryan spread his hands. "Didn't you claim to have an intelligence network? Aren't you a former CIA agent? If you can't even find this out, what face do you have to sit here and negotiate terms with me?"
Ryan sighed.
"I gave you a chance, and you failed, Billy."
Butcher gritted his back teeth.
"If I find it, what do I get?"
"You get a chance to stay alive." Ryan pointed out the window. "And you get to see the fireworks as Vought Tower collapses. Isn't that what you've dreamed of seeing?"
Butcher looked at the man in front of him, wearing a cheap hoodie.
He had seen countless Superhumans in his life.
Arrogant ones, perverted ones, hypocritical ones.
But he had never seen anyone like Ryan.
Extremely violent. Extremely clear-headed. Completely disregarding the rules.
The worst part was, Ryan didn't follow his script at all.
Butcher spat out a mouthful of blood.
"Fine. You want the distribution network? I'll find it for you."
Butcher stepped forward and stood on the other side of the coffee table.
"But we need to get things straight. We do the work for you, what are you responsible for?"
Ryan looked into Butcher's eyes.
"I'm responsible for smashing everything that stands in our way."
Butcher nodded.
He needed this hammer. Even if this hammer might smash down on his own head at any moment.
"Deal," Butcher said.
Ryan didn't respond, instead turning his head to look at Mothers Milk and Frenchie, who were standing by the door, remaining in a state of high tension.
Ryan stood up.
Mothers Milk instinctively gripped the handle of his gun.
"By the way, a word of advice."
Ryan looked into Mothers Milk's eyes, his tone softening slightly.
"Don't worry, I don't hit good people."
Ryan paused, his gaze sweeping over Butcher.
"But if you lie to me—"
Chapter 59: Hughie Is Mine, You Guys Go Do the Dirty Work
"But if you lie to me—" Ryan didn't finish his sentence; he turned around and pulled a solid steel pipe, left over from plumbing repairs, from under the coffee table.
He placed his thumb and index finger on both ends. He didn't even seem to use much strength.
With a crisp crunch, the thing that could smash through a load-bearing wall was crushed into a fist-sized lump of iron right before the eyes of Butcher and his two companions.
Ryan tossed it onto the coffee table. Bang—the solid wood table cracked on the spot.
"That's the outcome." Ryan grabbed a tissue to wipe his hands.
No one in the room made a sound. Outside, raindrops pattered against the glass, and the sound of Frenchieswallowing was exceptionally clear.
He lowered his assault rifle, pointing the muzzle toward the floor.
Mothers Milk tucked his revolver back into the holster at his waist, staring at the lump of iron for a long time; the fingerprints on it were terrifyingly clear.
Butcher stood against the wall, the purple-red welt on his neck still swollen. He took a few deep breaths and reached up to tug at the collar of his trench coat.
"Fine." Butcher's voice was still hoarse. "Your fist is bigger, I'll listen to you."
He pulled over the chair that had been kicked aside earlier and sat down again, this time without crossing his legs.
"Let's sort this out." Butcher stared at Ryan. "I'm responsible for finding the compound v factories Vought International has hidden all over the world, and you're responsible for smashing them."
"Correct."
"Intelligence doesn't just fall from the sky." Butcher began to bargain. "Vought International's security level is higher than The Pentagon's. We need funds, equipment, and time."
Ryan interrupted him. "Figure out the funds yourselves. Whether you rob a bank or steal from a Vought International vault, I don't care."
Ryan leaned back on the sofa. "Scrounge up the equipment yourselves. As for time, I'm only giving you one week. Within a week, I want to see the coordinates of the first factory."
Butcher slapped his thigh. "A week? Do you think I'm a god? That old fox Edgar even encrypts the color of his underwear. In a week, I wouldn't even be able to breach the outer firewall!"
"That's your problem." Ryan spread his hands. "Aren't you a former CIA agent? Don't you claim to know Vought International best? If you can't do it, just say so. Turn left at the door, and I won't see you out. I can solve the problem myself by tearing down Vought Tower."
Butcher was choked by the words. He knew Ryan really could do it; just this afternoon, the kid had crushed The Deep's spine into powder on the 78th floor of Vought Tower. He didn't play by the rules at all.
"Fine, one week it is." Butcher gritted his teeth and agreed. "But how do we contact you? This dump of yours doesn't even have a secure, encrypted line."
"No need for an encrypted line." Ryan picked up the freshly opened can of soda on the coffee table. "Hughie will be responsible for contact."
Butcher frowned. "Hughie won't work." Butcher refused outright. "That kid is too soft; his hands shake even when he fires a gun. If you make him the contact, the moment Vought International interrogates him, he'll spill everything, even the color of our underwear."
Ryan took a sip of soda. "I'm not asking for your opinion." Ryan slammed the can onto the coffee table. "Hughie is mine now. From now on, he only listens to me. When you find intelligence, give it to him, and he'll pass it on to me."
Butcher stood up. "I'm the one who pulled Hughie into this! I'm the one who taught him how to deal with Translucent!"
"You call that teaching?" Ryan sneered. "You were using him as bait. Where were you when Translucent went to the electronics store to find him? Hiding in the car, watching the show. If I hadn't happened to pass by and taken out Translucent, Hughie's ashes would have been scattered over the Brooklyn Bridge by now."
Butcher fell silent. Ryan stood up and walked over to him. "Hughie is a good person. A good person shouldn't be used as expendable material by a lunatic like you."
Ryan pointed at Butcher's nose. "Don't make him do the dirty work anymore. You three go do the grunt work—digging for data, scouting, gathering intel. Hughie is only responsible for passing messages."
Butcher looked into Ryan's eyes and realized there was no room for negotiation.
"Fine." Butcher compromised. "Hughie is yours, and the communication is his."
Ryan turned his head to look at Mothers Milk and Frenchieat the door. Mothers Milk's muscles tensed up, and Frenchie took a half-step back.
"Marvin." Ryan called Mothers Milk by his name. "Is your wife, Monique, still complaining lately that you never come home?"
Mothers Milk's expression changed. "How do you know about Monique?" Mothers Milk's voice went up an octave.
"I also know you have a daughter." Ryan's tone was calm. "You came to do this life-threatening job without even writing a will. If Vought International traces this back to you, do you think they'll spare your wife and child?"
Mothers Milk wiped his sweaty fingers on his pant leg. "Are you threatening me?"
"I said it before: I don't hit good people." Ryan waved his hand. "I'm reminding you to keep your guard up when working with Butcher. When he goes crazy, he even screws himself over. Don't let him drag your whole family down with him."
Ryan looked at Frenchie again. "And you, Serge." Ryan called out Frenchie's real name. "Stop messing around with that junk explosive all day. Your yield isn't even enough to shatter the glass of Vought Tower. Put more effort into network hacking; that's a job you're good at."
Frenchie opened his mouth but couldn't get a word out for a long time, feeling as transparent as if he were naked in front of this man in the hoodie.
Ryan walked back to the sofa and sat down. "The rules are set." Ryan issued an order to leave. "The door is over there. Remember to close it on your way out; this crappy lock is expensive to fix."
Butcher didn't waste any more breath. He knew he had completely lost tonight, going from the leader to a hired hand.
He turned and strode toward the door, with Mothers Milkand Frenchie hurriedly following. The security door closed, and the sound of the three of them walking downstairs echoed in the hallway.
Ryan sat on the sofa listening to the movement outside. Only after the black van started up downstairs and drove out of the street did he retract his Super Hearing.
Inside the van, Butcher pressed the cigarette lighter while driving. Mothers Milk sat in the passenger seat, rubbing his temples with both hands.
"What the fuck kind of monster is this?" Mothers Milk let out a long breath. "He knows my wife's name, he knows my real name. Even the CIA files aren't that detailed."
Frenchie sat in the back, checking his assault rifle. "When he crushed that steel pipe into a ball earlier, I couldn't even see his muscle contractions." Frenchie was still shaken. "Billy, you almost died back there."
The cigarette lighter popped out. Butcher pulled it out, lit the cigar in his mouth, and took a deep drag. "I know." Butcher exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. "He didn't want to kill me. If he wanted to kill me, I wouldn't have even had the chance to step through that door."
"Then why did you agree to him?" Mothers Milk turned to look at Butcher. "This kid is completely uncontrollable. We've become his outsourced intelligence team, and Hughie was snatched away by him, too."
"Hughie is safer with him than with us." Butcher watched the road ahead. "As for whether he's controllable or not, that's not important. What's important is that he actually dares to go smash Vought International's places."
Butcher touched the welt on his neck. "As long as he can kill Homelander, I'll be his dog if I have to."
In the Brooklyn rental apartment, Ryan tossed the empty soda can into the trash. He summoned the system panel and took a look.
[Current Total Emotion Points: 31421] The third purification is complete: two thousand tons of strength, Mach 15 speed.
Now he could completely swagger into Vought Tower and throw Homelander off the 79th Floor. But he didn't do that.
Killing Homelander directly would be letting Vought International off too easy. Vought International is a massive community of interests; even if Homelander is killed, Edgar can just prop up the next Homelander.
Only by revealing all the trump cards regarding compound v and uprooting Vought International's connections in politics and the military would this matter be considered finished.
Ryan stood up, ready to take a shower. Just as he reached the bathroom door, the old-fashioned flip phone on the coffee table vibrated.
This was the backup communication device he had specifically left for Annie before leaving Vought Tower this afternoon.
Ryan walked over and flipped open the phone. It was an encrypted text message from Annie. The content of the message was long, and between the lines, it revealed panic.
"Ryan, something huge has happened. Madelyn has gone crazy. The paralysis of The Deep and the exposure of the dirt have caused Vought International's top management to completely lose control of the situation."
"Tonight, Edgar is personally chairing the board meeting. They have decided to launch the Cradle Initiative ahead of schedule."
"I overheard an internal meeting of the Public Relations Department; they are going to sell compound v directly to The Pentagon."
"They want to mass-produce Superhuman soldiers in the military, codenamed the Super Soldier Program."
"Once the contract is signed, Vought International will be completely tied to the US military. They will no longer be just a company."
"They will become the shadow government of this country."
Ryan looked at the text on the screen, the faint light of the phone screen shining on his face. "Super Soldier Program." Ryan read the words out loud.
The plot line from the original story had been significantly advanced because of his intervention. Vought International, pushed into a corner, was preparing to flip the table and tie the entire country to their war chariot.
At the end of the message, there was one more line. "Tomorrow afternoon at 3 PM, Madelyn will take the first batch of experimental drugs to a secret military base outside Washington to meet the Secretary of Defense. Ryan, what should we do?"
Ryan closed the phone, the plastic shell making a crisp sound. "What to do?" Ryan tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Of course, we go to Washington."
Ryan looked at the night outside the window. "And bring the Secretary of Defense a local specialty."
Chapter 60: Is Vought Planning a Rebellion? Time to Deliver Some Local Specialties to the Secretary of State
Ten thousand meters above the Atlantic Ocean.
A Sonic Boom cloud carved a long white trail over the sea. The fierce wind whipped the seawater into giant waves dozens of meters high.
Ryan hovered in mid-air. Flying at Mach 15 had left his hoodie feeling slightly warm.
He tucked the old-fashioned flip phone he used to receive information from Annie into his pocket.
Then, he took out another waterproof smartphone and dialed Hughie's number.
The phone rang three times before being answered.
The background noise was extremely chaotic. The sounds of metal clashing and heavy objects slamming into the ground were mixed together.
"Ryan?" Hughie's voice trembled. "What on earth did you do to Butcher? After he got back, he smashed all the TVs in the basement."
"I taught him some basic manners. (*^▽^* )" Ryan said in a relaxed tone. "Put the phone on speaker. Tell that Englishman to shut up and listen to me."
There was a flurry of scrambling noises from the other end of the line.
The sound of things being smashed stopped.
Butcher's heavy breathing came through. "What do you want now?"
"Vought has been pushed into a corner." Ryan looked at the deep ocean beneath his feet. "They've initiated the Cradle Initiative ahead of schedule."
The basement fell silent for a few seconds.
"Cradle Initiative?" Butcher's voice was a bit hoarse. "What the hell is that?"
"A Superhuman soldier program." Ryan spat out the words. "Edgar is preparing to sell the stable version of compound v directly to The Pentagon. They want to mass-produce an army of Superhumans that will follow orders absolutely."
A sharp intake of breath came from the other end. It was Hughie.
"Selling compound v to the military?" Hughie stammered. "Then Vought won't be an entertainment company anymore! They'll control the country's military power! How could the government agree to something like this?"
"In the face of absolute power, politicians are more obedient than dogs." Ryan sneered. "The Seven are ruined, and Vought's stock price has plummeted to worthless paper. Edgar has to provide a bait large enough to strap the entire country to his war chariot."
Butcher cursed with an extremely foul expletive on the other end.
"Madelyn is going to a secret military base outside Washington tomorrow at three in the afternoon." Ryan issued the order. "She is taking the first batch of stable agents for a demonstration to meet the Secretary of State."
"You're going to Washington?" Butcher's voice rose. "Are you crazy? That's military territory! No matter how good you are at fighting, can you withstand a missile bombardment?"
"Missiles?" Ryan curled his lips. "Do you think I'm that idiot Homelander who only knows how to tank hits? At my current speed, missiles wouldn't even be able to catch my exhaust."
Ryan put away his smile, his tone becoming uncompromising.
"Have Frenchie dig through the CIA's dark web. By noon tomorrow, I want the exact coordinates of that base. Security level, troop deployment, evacuation routes—get it all checked out for me."
"There's not enough time!" Butcher gritted his teeth. "Edgar's security clearance is extremely high; there's no way to break through the firewall in half a day!"
"That's your problem." Ryan interrupted him directly. "Aren't you a former CIA agent? If you can't find it, I'll go and tear down your pathetic basement."
"What exactly are you trying to do in Washington?" Hughie couldn't help but ask.
"I'm going to deliver some local specialties to the Secretary of State." Ryan looked up at the distant clouds. "And by the way, I'll let the whole world see exactly what kind of trash Vought is selling them."
The call ended.
New York, Vought Tower.
The women's restroom on the 78th floor.
Annie stepped on the edge of the toilet and stuffed the old-fashioned flip phone into the ceiling ventilation duct.
She jumped down and straightened the hem of her white-and-gold uniform skirt.
Her palms were covered in sweat.
Half an hour ago, she went to the Vice President's office to deliver a new schedule.
The door was ajar.
She heard Madelyn speaking to a military general on the screen.
"General, The Seven are just an entertainment product. The real weapon is a Superhuman soldier that absolutely obeys orders."
"The first batch of agents for the Cradle Initiative is ready. Tomorrow at 3:00 PM, I will personally deliver them to Andrews Air Force Base."
"As long as you sign, Vought can build an invincible army for you. No tanks needed, no aircraft carriers needed. One person can destroy a city."
Annie felt cold from head to toe as she listened outside the door.
Vought wasn't creating stars at all.
They were creating weapons.
Once the plan succeeded, Vought would completely control this country. No one would be able to sanction them ever again.
Annie walked to the sink and turned on the faucet.
Cold water splashed on her face, barely suppressing her racing heart.
The sound of high heels clicking on the floor tiles echoed in the hallway.
Extremely fast.
Extremely heavy.
The restroom door was pushed open.
Madelyn walked in.
She had lost all her usual refinement. Her hair was disheveled, her dark circles were heavy, and the collar of her professional suit was wrinkled.
Annie straightened up and grabbed a tissue to wipe her face.
"Ms. Madelyn." Annie greeted her.
Madelyn walked to the sink next to Annie. She turned on the faucet and braced her hands against the marble countertop.
"The Deep is paralyzed." Madelyn said. Her voice was terribly hoarse.
Annie threw the tissue she had used to wipe her face into the trash can.
"The Public Relations Department released an announcement." Annie replied.
"That's to fool the idiots outside." Madelyn turned her head and looked at Annie in the mirror. "You were at the scene. Tell me, what exactly happened?"
Annie met Madelyn's gaze.
"I don't know." Annie replied using the script Ryan had instructed her to use. "I was terrified at the time. I had my back to him. I only heard a loud bang. By the time I turned around, he was already lying on the ground."
Madelyn sneered.
She turned off the faucet and pulled a tablet out of her pocket.
"You're a good girl, Annie." Madelyn swiped the screen. "You came from the countryside with dreams of saving the world. You're not good at lying."
Madelyn held the tablet out in front of Annie.
There was a photo on the screen.
Ryan, wearing a blue Janitor uniform. A badge with employee number 4732 hung on his chest.
"Have you seen this person?" Madelyn asked.
Annie glanced at the photo.
"He was mopping the hallway this morning. I almost stepped on his bucket." Annie said in a steady tone.
Madelyn took back the tablet.
"He is not a Janitor." Madelyn stared into Annie's eyes. "A few hours ago, he was in my office. He snapped steel handcuffs with his bare hands, tanked over a dozen armor-piercing rounds, and then smashed through bulletproof glass and flew away."
Annie opened her mouth, feigning extreme shock at the appropriate moment.
Madelyn ignored Annie's reaction.
"A-Zu has locked himself on the 79th Floor. He isn't eating or drinking. He won't allow anyone to go in." Madelyn's voice began to tremble. "The Seven are dead in name only. Vought needs an explanation."
Madelyn swiped on the screen.
The photo changed.
It became an extremely blurry screenshot.
It was the back view of Preservation Walker hovering three thousand meters in the air from Blackie's livestream last night.
"The security department checked the surveillance for that time period. When the incident with The Deep happened, the footage skipped frames. It was deliberate sabotage."
Madelyn pressed the tablet against her chest.
"This Janitor named Ryan has a background as clean as a blank sheet of paper. He's been doing odd jobs in New York for five years, then suddenly joined Vought Tower half a month ago."
Madelyn took a step forward, closing in on Annie.
"Look at this back. Look at his shoulders and waistline."
"Height 1.85 meters. Shoulder width 52 centimeters. The physical characteristics match perfectly."
Annie held her breath, her hands gripping the edge of the sink tightly.
"I should have realized it sooner." Madelyn gritted her teeth, her facial muscles twitching. "Why was he so familiar with the internal structure of Vought Tower? Why was he able to pinpoint the locations of Translucent and A-Train so accurately?"
"Because he was mopping floors in this building every day. He watched us walk around. He listened to our conversations."
Madelyn didn't look at Annie again. She took the tablet and turned toward the restroom door.
When she reached the door, Madelyn stopped.
She stared at the door panel, her voice freezing cold.
"A rat… actually hiding in our home…"