Chapter 61: The Mop Is Clean, But What About A-Zu's Face?
"A rat, actually hiding in our home..."
Madelyn's gaze was like two cold steel awls, nailing itself firmly onto Annie's face.
Annie's fingers gripped the edge of the sink until her knuckles turned white. Her brain was whirring frantically.
"Ms. Madelyn..." Annie's voice trembled just the right amount, "Are you saying... that the Janitor mopping in the hallway is the monster who paralyzed The Deep?"
Annie took half a step back, her back pressing against the cold tiles, her eyes revealing genuine fear.
She was indeed afraid. But not of Madelyn; she was afraid that Madelyn would spot a flaw.
Madelyn stared at Annie for a full five seconds.
During those five seconds, only the monotonous hum of the exhaust fan remained in the restroom.
"You had better pray that you truly know nothing, Annie." Madelyn withdrew her gaze and stuffed her tablet back into her pocket. "Vought is a leaking ship right now. If I find anyone drilling holes in the bottom of the boat, I will tie her to an anchor and throw her straight into the Atlantic Ocean."
Madelyn turned and walked toward the door.
"Fix your makeup. For tomorrow morning's PR event, you need to smile sweeter for the cameras than you ever have before."
The door slammed shut with a bang.
Annie's legs went weak, and she nearly slid to the floor.
She looked at her pale reflection in the mirror and let out a long breath.
She couldn't panic. Ren had already gone to deal with the Cradle Initiative; she had to hold her ground within Vought.
Vought Tower, Security Command Center.
Madelyn pushed open the glass door, her high heels clicking loudly.
"Seal off the entire building! Lock down all exit permissions!" Madelyn roared at the head of security, "Go to the employee locker room on the second basement level and drag out the Janitor with employee ID 4732! I want him alive!"
Over a dozen fully armed security personnel immediately rushed out.
Madelyn stood in front of the massive surveillance screen and pulled up Ren's employment file.
It was too clean.
It was so clean that it looked like a dummy randomly generated by AI. Five years of gig work records in Brooklyn, no family, no friends, and no prior record of Superhuman crimes.
"He appeared on the 78th floor this afternoon." Madelynbit her thumbnail, chewing it neurotically, "He was mopping in the Vice President's office area. What did he hear? Did he hear my call with Andrews Air Force Base?"
Once this thought surfaced, Madelyn's back was instantly soaked with cold sweat.
If the Preservation Walker knew about the Cradle Initiative, if he went to Washington to cause trouble...
"Ms. Madelyn!"
The breathless voice of the security chief came over the walkie-talkie.
"We've arrived at the second basement level. There's no one in the locker room."
"Then search his locker! Scan every inch of the place he touched with UV light!"
"We... we opened his locker." The security chief's voice was trembling.
"What did you find?!"
"Only a folded set of Janitor clothes... and, and a note."
Madelyn snatched up the walkie-talkie: "Read it!"
The person on the other end of the walkie-talkie swallowed hard.
"The note says... 'I've already cleaned the mop. Has A-Zu's face been washed? ╮(╯▽╰)╭'"
Crack.
The walkie-talkie in Madelyn's hand was crushed, a crack appearing in it under her grip.
Humiliation.
Naked humiliation.
That monster not only rubbed Vought's face into the dirt, but he also had to spit a glob of phlegm on it before leaving.
"Ms. Madelyn, should we continue the search?"
"Search my ass!" Madelyn slammed the walkie-talkie onto the console, causing the screen to spark. "He's long flown away! Contact Washington immediately, move up tomorrow's schedule! Raise the security level to maximum!"
Madelyn braced her hands on the console, panting heavily.
She couldn't tell Homelander about this.
If that blonde giant baby found out that the guy who made him bleed had been mopping under his feet every day, he would absolutely go insane and burn the entire Vought Tower into glass slag.
79th Floor.
Homelander's private lounge.
There was no light here. Heavy blackout curtains completely blocked out the New York night view.
The 80-inch LCD TV on the wall emitted a faint blue glow.
The screen was looping a blurry mobile phone recording.
It was the footage released by Blackie's livestream last night. The Preservation Walker was hovering at an altitude of 3,000 meters.
Immediately after, the footage switched to another secretly filmed video.
Over Manhattan, the Preservation Walker delivered a whip kick, slamming it fiercely into Homelander's face. Homelander smashed through three floors like a cannonball, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth.
Bang!
Two dark red Heat Vision beams instantly pierced through the TV screen.
The $100,000 monitor exploded into a pile of charred plastic waste.
Homelander hovered in mid-air.
His chest heaved violently, his blonde hair was disheveled, and half of his iconic Stars and Stripes cape had been ripped off, hanging off his shoulder like a rag.
"Fake."
Homelander gritted his teeth, the muscles at the corners of his eyes twitching madly.
"It's all fucking fake!"
He turned his head and looked at a full-length mirror in the corner of the room.
In the mirror, there was still a tiny bruise on his right cheek.
Although it was almost healed, under his Super Vision, that bruise looked like a brand carved into his bones.
It hurt.
He had lived for over thirty years, and for the first time, he felt pain in the physical sense.
What drove him even crazier was that he didn't even know who the other person was!
"I am a god..." Homelander landed slowly on the carpet, covering his face with his hands, his voice squeezing through his fingers, "I am the most powerful existence in this world. You ants, how dare you look at me like that?"
He could hear the shouts of the protesters on the street below.
"Investigate Vought!"
"Put Homelander in jail!"
Those ordinary people who once knelt on the ground licking the soles of his shoes, now actually dared to hold up signs telling him to die?
Because of that masked scumbag!
Because that Preservation Walker had shattered his myth of invincibility!
"Madelyn..." Homelander suddenly raised his head.
He needed comfort. He needed Madelyn's soft embrace and her milky-scented soothing.
But his Super Hearing caught the movement on the second basement level.
He heard the note that the security chief had read out.
"Has A-Zu's face been washed?"
Boom!
Homelander's eyes burst with red light, instantly melting the full-length mirror in front of him into a pool of boiling glass.
Madelyn knew!
Madelyn knew who that scumbag was! But she had actually kept it from him!
"You are all lying to me."
Homelander's mouth twisted into an extremely distorted smile.
"You bunch of vampires who only know how to make money. You don't care at all about how much I've been wronged."
He turned around and looked out the window.
His gaze penetrated the walls, locking directly onto the top floor of Vought Tower, the office belonging to the highest authority.
Since Madelyn was just a lying bitch.
Then he would go find the person who could actually make the decisions.
He would go find that old thing who had always been hiding behind the scenes, playing with him like a commodity.
Top floor, CEO office.
Stan Edgar sat behind a large mahogany desk.
He wore a well-tailored custom suit, with gold-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He held a cup of steaming black coffee in his hand.
There were several documents on the desk.
The one on top was stamped with a red seal marked Top Secret.
"Cradle Initiative: Super Soldier Project".
Edgar glanced at the antique clock on the wall.
3:30 AM.
For Vought, this was the darkest night since the company was founded. The stock price had evaporated by 40 billion, half of The Seven were crippled, and global public opinion was boiling.
But there was no expression on Edgar's face.
Not even a trace of anxiety could be found.
He picked up his coffee and took an elegant sip.
Just then.
Rumble!
The entire bulletproof glass wall was shattered from the outside by a terrifying force.
The raging wind, carrying glass shards and rain, instantly swept through the entire office. A multi-million dollar antique vase smashed onto the floor, shattering into pieces. Documents were swept up by the wind, flying everywhere.
Edgar didn't dodge.
He didn't even blink an eye; he just slightly raised his hand to block a piece of glass shard flying above his coffee cup.
In the raging wind, a figure in a red and blue suit landed slowly.
Homelander.
His eyes burned with a blinding dark red light, the energy of his Heat Vision boiling in his eye sockets, as if he would cut the entire room in half the next second.
He stared fixedly at the black old man sitting behind the desk.
"Someone hit my team member."
Homelander's voice sounded like it had been sanded on sandpaper, revealing extreme, suppressed madness and grievance.
"Someone burned our factory. Someone threw our most core secret onto the entire internet."
He took a step forward.
His military boots stepped on the glass shards, making a teeth-grinding crunching sound.
"He was still in the sky, and in front of the whole world, he beat me up!"
Homelander pressed both hands onto the mahogany desk, leaning his body forward, his twisted face almost touching the tip of Edgar's nose.
The red light in his eyes illuminated Edgar's calm, expressionless face.
"Tell me, Edgar."
Homelander gritted his teeth, enunciating every word.
"What do you intend to do?"
Chapter 62: Giant Baby Complains, Capital Doesn't Believe in Tears
Top floor, CEO office.
A mess.
Gale winds carrying cold rain poured in from the shattered floor-to-ceiling windows, and a multi-million dollar antique vase lay shattered on the ground.
Edgar sat behind the large mahogany desk. He didn't even put down the coffee cup in his hand.
"What do you intend to do?" Homelander roared, the dark red light in his eye sockets illuminating half the room in a crimson glow.
Edgar put down his cup, leisurely took out a handkerchief, and wiped a few drops of coffee splashed on the back of his hand.
"I intend to have the Logistics Department come tomorrow to replace it with stronger bulletproof glass." Edgar's tone was flat, and he didn't even lift his head.
Homelander was stunned.
Immediately after, an uncontrollable sense of humiliation rushed to his head.
"Someone beat me until I bled in the sky! Are you deaf?!" Homelander slapped the desk, and the hard mahogany instantly cracked with a huge fissure.
"I am not deaf. My eyesight is also very good." Edgarlooked up, his gaze passing over the edge of his gold-rimmed glasses, calmly staring at Homelander. "I even clearly saw that when Nasdaq closed last night, Vought's stock price plummeted by forty percent. This is all thanks to your team member, The Deep, who can't keep his lower body in check."
"What does this have to do with me!" Homelander gritted his teeth, the muscles on his face twitching wildly. "I am the captain of The Seven! I am the face of Vought! Now someone has smashed the face, and you, as CEO, are just sitting here drinking this damn black water?"
Edgar stood up.
He was half a head shorter than Homelander, an ordinary old black man without any Superhuman powers.
But his gaze at Homelander held no awe, only the indifference of assessing a product's residual value. It was like looking at a household appliance that had suffered a serious malfunction.
"You got one thing wrong, John." Edgar used Homelander's real name.
Homelander's pupils contracted sharply.
"You are not the face of Vought. You are just one of many products under Vought. And, a product that is rapidly depreciating."
The red light in Homelander's eyes instantly brightened to a blinding level.
The high temperature of the Heat Vision made the air between them begin to distort, and the edge of the carpet started to emit scorched gray smoke.
"Do you believe I can burn your head to ash in a second?" Homelander's voice squeezed out from between his teeth, carrying pure murderous intent.
"I believe it." Edgar put his hands behind his back and took a step forward, actively meeting the deadly high temperature. "And then what?"
Homelander stared at him, saying nothing.
"Then you will be wanted across the United States. You will lose the two hundred million dollars in public relations maintenance fees every year. You will lose those movie contracts tailored for you." Edgar's voice was not loud, but every word hammered on Homelander's nerves. "Those limited-edition sports cars in your name, the mansions in Beverly Hills, and even the cape with the Stars and Stripes you are wearing, will all be repossessed by the bank with interest."
Edgar extended a finger and poked Homelander's indestructible chest.
"You think you are a god?"
"You are just an actor who relies on Vought's scripts to show off your muscles in front of the camera. Without Vought cleaning up after you, you wouldn't even know how to say a complete sentence in front of the public."
The red light in Homelander's eyes flickered.
He wanted to kill. He really wanted to tear the old man in front of him into pieces.
But he didn't dare.
The absolute composure on Edgar made him feel a fear etched into his bones. That was the fear of being dominated by those researchers in white coats in the laboratory since childhood. The chains of capital had long been tightened around his neck.
"Madelyn lied to me." Homelander acted like a giant baby who had been wronged, his momentum instantly deflated, and his voice carried unwillingness. "She knows who that bastard who hit me is, but she won't tell me."
Edgar sat back in his chair.
"Madelyn has more important things to do. Tomorrow afternoon, she is going to Washington to finalize a contract that will change Vought's destiny."
Edgar looked at Homelander.
"As for that guy who hit you. Since you claim to be the strongest Superhuman in the world, then this is your personal grudge. Don't expect the company to send security to fight for you."
Edgar picked up the coffee that had already turned lukewarm.
"Now, get out of my office. By the way, go to the Public Relations Department to get a copy of tomorrow's apology statement and memorize it."
Homelander stood in place, his chest heaving violently.
He stared at Edgar, and finally, the red light in his eyes extinguished completely.
He turned and walked toward the shattered floor-to-ceiling window, soared into the sky, kicked up a gust of wind, and disappeared into the pitch-black night.
The office quieted down again.
Edgar placed the coffee cup on the table.
His right hand was trembling slightly. A few drops of black-brown coffee splashed on the desktop.
"Preservation Walker..." Edgar muttered to himself, the look behind his lenses becoming extremely cold.
...
The next morning. Second basement level of Vought Tower, Cleaning Department changing room.
Ryan wore a slightly loose gray T-shirt and pushed open the door of the changing room.
The matter of scouting Washington last night had already been arranged for Frenchie, and he now had plenty of time to play psychological warfare with Madelyn.
The changing room was noisy.
Several cleaning ladies and the black guy were pointing at locker No. 4732.
The lock on that cabinet had been violently pried open, and the door hung crookedly on the hinges.
"Ryan! You finally arrived!" The black guy, Thomas, saw Ryan and quickly waved. "Did you cause any trouble last night?"
Ryan walked over with a blank face.
"Cause trouble? I went back to Brooklyn to eat pizza after work last night. What happened?"
Ryan looked at his pried-open locker door and gasped.
"Fuck! Why is my locker like this? Where is the half pack of Marlboros I kept inside? (O_O)"
Thomas lowered his voice and leaned in mysteriously.
"Last night in the middle of the night, those mad dogs from the Security Department rushed in and turned your locker upside down! I heard they even used high-precision ultraviolet lights. Did you steal any executive's underwear?"
"Get lost." Ryan rolled his eyes. "I don't even have a key card for the 78th floor. What did they find?"
"Nothing. They just took a set of your unwashed spare cleaning uniform."
Ryan sneered in his heart.
Madelyn really didn't dare to make a scene.
She must be in extreme mental exhaustion right now. She clearly knows that the bottom-level Janitor who mops the floor every day is the monster who can press Homelanderto the ground, but she can't produce any substantive evidence.
Arrest him directly? She didn't dare. Once Ryan was provoked, the entire Vought Tower would become a graveyard.
Call the police? The police couldn't even hurt a single leg hair of Ryan's.
She could only pretend that nothing had happened and then try every possible way to test him.
"Damn unlucky. I have to pay for this broken lock myself." Ryan grumbled and rummaged through the spare locker next to him to find a new blue cleaning uniform to put on.
He picked up the mop and bucket.
"Let's go guys, it's my turn to clean the conference room on the 60th floor today. If I don't finish, the supervisor will deduct my salary again. ╮(╯▽╰)╭"
Ryan whistled and swaggered toward the elevator.
10:00 AM.
Ryan was mopping the floor hard in the corridor on the 60th floor.
He swung the mop with vigor, and even a few drops of sweat were forced out on his forehead.
At the end of the corridor, several female employees from the Public Relations Department were drinking coffee and slacking off.
Ryan activated his Super Hearing.
"Did you see the news last night? That Preservation Walker is simply handsome! A-Zu is usually so arrogant, but he ended up being beaten like a sandbag."
"Shh! Keep your voice down! Director Ashley lost her temper this morning. Anyone who mentions Preservation Walker in the company will be fired immediately."
Ryan carried the bucket and walked over.
"Ladies, excuse me. Be careful not to splash water on your shoes."
Ryan lowered his head, looking like a subservient bottom-level worker.
One of the female employees looked at Ryan and suddenly asked: "Hey, little Janitor, you look quite strong. If you met Preservation Walker, how many punches do you think you could take from him?"
Ryan stopped the mop and thought seriously for a moment.
"I think I could hold out until he kneels down and begs me not to die. (￣▽￣)"
Several female employees were stunned for a moment, then burst into laughter.
"You are really humorous. Hurry up and mop your floor."
Ryan smiled honestly and continued to mop the floor with his head down.
Just then, the broadcast at the top of the corridor suddenly rang.
It was Ashley's extremely sharp voice with obvious anxiety.
"All employees please note. Urgent notice from Vice President Madelyn."
"In order to protect the physical health of all employees, the company has decided to conduct a comprehensive surprise physical examination this morning."
"Everyone, including the logistics and Cleaning Departments. Go to the medical center on the third basement level immediately. In-depth blood drawing and testing are required. No one is allowed to be absent; violators will be fired immediately."
The corridor was instantly filled with complaints.
"What are you doing? Didn't we just have a physical exam last month?"
"In-depth blood drawing? I'm most afraid of needles!"
Ryan stopped the action in his hands.
He looked up at the broadcast speaker on the ceiling, and a playful arc hooked up at the corner of his mouth.
Madelyn finally made her move.
She dared not tear her face off directly, so she wanted to use medical data and DNA comparison to completely confirm Ryan's identity. As long as Ryan's blood sample showed any abnormal characteristics of a Superhuman, Madelyn could legitimately activate Vought's highest defense mechanism.
"Blood drawing, huh..."
Ryan threw the mop into the bucket.
The bloodline of Tighten gave him absolute control over every cell in his body. He could even make his heartbeat stop for ten minutes without dying, and changing the nutritional components in his blood was even easier.
Want to see my physical examination report?
Ryan twisted his neck, and his bones made a crisp explosion.
Then I'll give you a report of severe malnutrition, so weak that even the wind could blow it over.
Chapter 63: A Medical Miracle? This Janitor Is Falling Apart
Ryan followed the crowd toward the elevator.
Thomas, the black guy, leaned over and patted Ryan on the shoulder.
"Ryan, why do you look so pale?" Thomas lowered his voice. "Did you really get caught stealing lingerie from the executives last night?"
Ryan took the opportunity to clutch his chest, took a deep breath, and let his shoulders slump half an inch.
"Steal my ass. I had diarrhea until four in the morning last night." Ryan waved his hand weakly. "And this shitty company won't even reimburse me for stomach medicine. (T_T)"
Basement Level 3, Medical Center.
Dozens of security personnel stood fully armed on both sides of the corridor. This setup didn't look like a physical examination at all; it looked more like they were guarding high-security prisoners.
Ryan was in the middle of the line, with a few girls from the Public Relations Department in front of him, chirping away and complaining that coming to the physical exam without makeup would make them lose followers.
It was Ryan's turn.
He pulled up the sleeve of his gray T-shirt and sat down at the blood draw station.
The doctor in the white coat opposite him held a syringe, while two security guards with their hands on the tasers at their waists stood nearby. Two pairs of eyes were locked onto Ryan's arm.
Ryan sneered inwardly.
Madelyn really went to great lengths.
"Relax, buddy." The doctor wiped Ryan's vein with an alcohol swab.
The moment the needle pierced his skin.
Ryan immediately dispersed the Bio-field on his skin, while simultaneously controlling the muscle fibers in his arm to become softer than tofu.
Otherwise, this stainless steel needle would have shattered into a metal pancake within a tenth of a second of touching his skin.
The needle successfully pierced the vein.
Ryan closed his eyes. Tighten's absolute control over cells began to operate.
His blood vessels constricted. His red blood cell count plummeted off a cliff. His blood sugar level instantly dropped to freezing point. The blood that was originally full of explosive power was forcibly modulated by him into watered-down, inferior fruit juice.
Dark red blood flowed through the tube into the collection vial.
After drawing two tubes of blood, Ryan suddenly leaned back, slumped against the chair, and rolled his eyes.
"Hey! Hey! What's wrong with you?" The doctor was startled.
"Di... dizzy from the blood..." Ryan said, his breath weak, his hands blindly grabbing at the air. "Low blood sugar... do you have any sugar..."
The nurse quickly shoved two free chocolates into Ryan's hand and grabbed a carton of whole milk meant for replenishment.
Clutching his spoils, Ryan walked out of the examination room with unsteady steps.
78th floor, Vice President's office.
Madelyn stared intently at the big screen on the wall.
The screen displayed data transmitted in real-time from the Medical Center. The security chief and the Chief Medical Officer stood in front of the desk, not daring to even breathe loudly.
"The report is out." The Medical Officer wiped the sweat from his forehead and opened a file.
Madelyn stood up abruptly, bracing her hands on the desk, her eyes glaring as if she were going to eat someone.
"What about the DNA comparison results? Is there any residue of compound v? Is the cell activity far superior to an ordinary person's?" Madelyn fired questions like a machine gun.
The Medical Officer swallowed hard.
"Ms. Madelyn... this report is a bit... special."
"Read it!"
The Medical Officer looked at the tablet in his hand, his voice trembling.
"Employee ID 4732, Ryan. Blood test shows... severe anemia. Blood sugar concentration is 40% below the normal threshold. Low white blood cell count, extremely poor immunity."
Madelyn was stunned.
"What did you say?"
The Medical Officer braced himself and continued reading.
"Bone density scan results show that his bone aging is equivalent to that of a sixty-year-old. There are signs of severe nutritional atrophy in the muscle fibers."
The Medical Officer looked up, his expression extremely complex.
"Ms. Madelyn, from a medical perspective, the fact that this man hasn't died suddenly on his mop is already a testament to the mental support provided by Vought International's corporate culture."
There was dead silence in the office.
Madelyn slumped into her leather swivel chair.
She looked at the medical report on the screen, full of red downward-pointing arrows, and her brain briefly crashed.
Severe anemia? Malnutrition? Osteoporosis?
Could that monster who kicked Homelander out of the sky and crushed bulletproof glass with his bare hands really be a sickly weakling who could be blown over by the wind?
"Impossible..." Madelyn chewed her thumbnail nervously. "This is absolutely impossible! The surveillance footage matches! His build, his silhouette!"
"Ma'am." The security chief spoke cautiously. "Perhaps... Preservation Walker really is someone else. We may have been misled."
Madelyn grabbed the coffee cup on the desk and smashed it hard against the wall.
Brown liquid splattered all over the floor.
"Get out! All of you, get out!"
Madelyn pointed at the door and screamed.
The two felt as if they had received a pardon and scrambled out of the office, tumbling over themselves.
Madelyn covered her face with both hands, messing up her exquisite hair. She felt like she was having a mental breakdown. Could it be that she was under too much pressure and had developed severe paranoid delusions?
How could a mouse be a giant dragon?
2:00 PM.
65th floor public lounge.
Ryan was holding a rag, breathing onto the floor-to-ceiling window, and diligently wiping away fingerprints on the glass.
He had the stolen chocolates in his pocket and was biting on the straw of the free milk carton.
Several young girls from the Public Relations Departmentwere sitting on the nearby sofa, drinking Starbucks and scrolling through their phones.
"Hey, did you guys see the trending topics?" A blonde girl lowered her voice. "The internet is saying that A-Zu was actually beaten until he coughed up blood last night."
"Fake, right? A-Zu is invincible." Another girl covered her mouth.
Ryan carried his bucket and wandered over.
"Ladies, what are you chatting about?" Ryan asked with a naive expression. "I heard that guy called Preservation Walker has green fangs and a hideous face, and can eat three children in one meal. (O_O)"
The girls were amused by Ryan.
"Janitor, stop reading those tabloid novels." The blonde girl rolled her eyes. "Preservation Walker is a national idol right now. Didn't you see the video of him beating up A-Zuin the sky? That leg technique was so handsome it made people weak in the knees."
Ryan nodded earnestly.
"It is pretty handsome. But I think A-Zu definitely didn't use his full strength. After all, he's our top star at Vought International."
Ryan portrayed the image of an ultimate gossip-loving, bottom-tier worker perfectly.
Just then.
The 80-inch big screen on the wall of the lounge suddenly flickered.
The Vought International shampoo commercial that was playing was cut off. The screen turned into a highly oppressive blue background.
"Breaking news."
The news anchor's voice came from the big screen.
"The leader of The Seven at Vought International, Homelander, is about to hold a special press conference, broadcast live to the entire web."
The girls in the lounge immediately stopped chatting and all stared at the screen.
Employees passing by in the corridor also stopped one after another.
Ryan draped the rag over his shoulder, took a bite of the chocolate in his hand, and turned his head with great interest.
The screen switched.
The scene of the press conference.
Hundreds of camera flashes formed a white ocean.
Homelander walked onto the podium.
He had changed into a brand-new uniform. The dark blue bodysuit didn't have a single wrinkle, and the Stars and Stripes cape draped perfectly behind him. His golden hair was combed meticulously.
He pressed his hands on the edge of the podium, facing countless cameras and microphones aimed at him.
Homelander raised the corners of his mouth, squeezing out that iconic smile that had been calculated countless times by the Public Relations Department to be the most reassuring.
"Fellow American citizens. Good afternoon."
Homelander's voice was deep and magnetic, exuding a high and mighty compassion.
"I know that in the last twenty-four hours, the internet has been flooded with all kinds of absurd rumors. Some people are trying to smear Vought International, to smear The Seven."
Homelander paused, his eyes becoming sharp.
"The so-called Preservation Walker is not a hero at all."
"He is just a genetically mutated, completely out-of-control dangerous element."
Homelander raised his right hand, clenched it into a fist, and pressed it against his chest.
"I am here to assure all the people of the United States."
"I will personally resolve this threat. I will bring him to justice and protect the safety of every one of you."
Ryan stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the righteous-looking Homelander on the screen.
His gaze moved downward.
Below the screen, the real-time barrage on major streaming platforms had completely exploded.
Tens of thousands of comments were being posted every second, densely covering Homelander's hypocritical face.
Ryan finished the last bit of milk in the carton, casually crushed the empty box, and tossed it accurately into a trash can three meters away.
"Oh, A-Zu..."
Ryan tugged at the corner of his mouth, revealing a sneer of extreme mockery.
"Is your skin bulletproof, or what?"
Chapter 64: A-Zu, Give It Up, the Outside Is Full of Comments
"A-Zu..."
Ryan twitched the corner of his mouth, revealing a sneer of extreme mockery.
"Is your skin bulletproof?"
Several female employees in the break area didn't catch Ryan's mumbling; they were all focused intently on the 80-inch screen on the wall.
On the screen, Homelander's speech continued.
"I understand everyone's panic." Homelander rested his hands on the podium, his eyes deep and pained—a compassionate expression that could win an Oscar. "A Preservation Walker, an uncontrollable extreme mutant, poses a serious threat to the stability of our entire society. His atrocities over Manhattan last night have already proven his antisocial tendencies."
Homelander took a deep breath, his Stars and Stripes cape fluttering slightly.
"But I assure you, Vought International has the ability and the responsibility to deal with this cancer. I will take action personally to bring him to justice!"
The media reporters below frantically pressed their shutters, and the flashes lit up the room like daylight.
But in the real-time live chat room below the big screen, the vibe was completely at the other extreme.
Ryan bit into his chocolate, watching the rapidly scrolling comments, and nearly laughed out loud.
"Setting aside the facts, wasn't A-Zu beaten until he vomited blood last night?"
"A-Zu, give it up, the outside is full of Preservation Walkers."
"Guys, who gets it? This blond loser is still acting tough. If he hadn't run fast last night, his ashes would've been scattered."
"I will take action personally (meaning changing into a cooler pose while getting beaten up)."
"You weren't saying that when Preservation Walker was beating you!"
The screen was filled with mockery, densely covering Homelander's righteous face.
At the press conference.
Homelander maintained that perfectly calculated smile.
But his Superhuman vision, far beyond that of an ordinary person, could not only see the dust on the reporters' lenses below but also the frantically scrolling netizen comments on the director's monitor nearby.
Those vicious, mocking, and irreverent words were like rusty saws, tearing at his nerves.
"You weren't saying that when Preservation Walker was beating you!"
This sentence was copied and pasted by countless people, dominating the entire screen.
The muscle at the corner of Homelander's eye twitched violently.
His hands, resting on the edge of the podium, tightened subconsciously.
Creak.
The solid wood podium was crushed by him, leaving several deep cracks. Wood shavings fell down with a rustle.
A female reporter standing in the front row keenly sensed something was wrong.
"Mr. Homelander!" The female reporter raised her microphone. "Netizens are saying that you were at a disadvantage in your fight with Preservation Walker last night, and were even injured. How do you explain this?"
As soon as this question was asked, the room fell into instant silence.
All lenses were aimed at Homelander's face.
The smile on Homelander's face froze completely.
Deep in his pupils, a faint dark red light flickered. He just wanted to use his Heat Vision to slice this reckless female reporter, along with everyone in the room, in half!
But Edgar's cold face flashed through his mind, along with the line, "You are just a product that is depreciating."
"That is pure nonsense." Homelander forced the red light in his eyes to fade, his voice as cold as ice. "Those are just low-quality videos synthesized by people with ulterior motives. The press conference is over."
After speaking, Homelander turned and walked away, not even giving the media an extra glance.
Leaving only an uproar behind in the audience.
Vought Tower, 78th-floor Vice President's office.
Bang!
Madelyn smashed the crystal ashtray in her hand hard against the screen.
The screen burst into a blinding spark and went completely black.
"Idiot! A hopeless man-baby!" Madelyn was trembling with rage, her chest heaving violently. "Who told him to hold a press conference? What is the Public Relations Department even doing? This is a total disaster!"
Ashley, standing in front of the desk, shrank her neck in fear, her voice trembling.
"Ms. Madelyn... A-Zu simply wouldn't listen to us. He rushed straight into the press hall; we couldn't stop him..."
"If you couldn't stop him, then go die!" Madelyn pointed at the door. "Get out! Tell the Public Relations Department to suppress the trending topics immediately! Ban every account you can!"
Ashley scrambled out.
Only Madelyn was left in the office.
She slumped into her leather chair, rubbing her throbbing temples with both hands.
She had to take the stabilized compound v to meet the Secretary of Defense tomorrow afternoon; the "Cradle Initiative" could not have any mistakes. As long as the contract was signed, Vought could make a complete comeback.
But now, there was Homelander, a ticking time bomb that could lose control at any moment, and on the outside, there was that mysterious monster, the Preservation Walker.
Madelyn's gaze fell on the medical report belonging to "Ryan" on the desk.
Severe anemia, osteoporosis, malnutrition.
Madelyn sneered.
"Too fake. So fake it's as if it was intentionally made for me to see."
She opened the drawer and pressed a red encrypted communicator.
"Stinger, come to my office," Madelyn said into the communicator.
Less than a minute later, the office door was pushed open.
An Asian woman in tight black leather, tall and slender, walked in. She wore no ID badge and walked silently, like a black cat prowling in the shadows.
An elite Superhuman assassin secretly trained by Vought, code-named "Black Widow."
Her ability was not strength or speed, but the ability to secrete a highly lethal neurotoxin from under her fingernails. As long as it pierced the skin, one microgram could cause an elephant's heart to stop within three seconds.
"Ms. Madelyn." Black Widow bowed her head slightly, her voice devoid of any inflection.
Madelyn pushed Ryan's file to the edge of the desk.
"This person, employee number 4732, from the Cleaning Department. He gets off work at five." Madelyn stared into Black Widow's eyes. "Go follow him. Find a place where no one is around and test him."
"Dead or alive?" Black Widow asked.
"If he's just an ordinary Janitor, then he can die; just find an excuse of an accident to cover it up." Madelyn's eyes were vicious. "If he doesn't die... retreat immediately, do not engage in a prolonged fight. Do you understand?"
"Understood." Black Widow picked up the file and turned to leave.
Madelyn leaned back in her chair and let out a long sigh.
If Ryan really was the Preservation Walker, Black Widow's toxin definitely wouldn't kill him. But as long as he fought back, he would be completely exposed.
"Let's see how long you can keep up the act."
Five in the afternoon.
The bell for clocking out rang on time.
Ryan changed out of his blue Janitor uniform and put on his slightly faded gray hoodie.
"See you guys tomorrow." Ryan waved to the cleaning ladies in the locker room.
"Ryan, drink more brown sugar water when you get back to replenish your blood!" Thomas shouted from behind.
"Got it! ╮(╯▽╰)╭"
Ryan strolled out of Vought Tower and merged into the Manhattan evening rush hour crowd.
He had that old-fashioned flip phone in his pocket. Frenchie had just sent the preliminary intelligence on Andrews Air Force Base.
Tomorrow's schedule was packed, so he needed to go back early tonight and get a good night's sleep.
Ryan walked down the stairs to the subway station.
The New York subway station during rush hour was as crowded as a sardine can. The air was filled with the smell of sweat, cheap perfume, and the burnt odor of tracks friction.
Ryan stood on the platform, hands in his pockets, waiting for the train in boredom.
His Super Hearing was half-activated, filtering out the useless noise.
Suddenly, an extremely faint sound of footsteps caught his attention.
Amidst the chaotic footsteps around him, this sound was too rhythmic. The heartbeat was extremely steady, the breathing long, and the force of every step was exactly the same.
This was an assassin who had received top-tier training.
Ryan didn't turn around. Through the reflection in the subway station's glass billboard, he saw the woman approaching him.
Wearing an ordinary trench coat, a baseball cap, and head down, she looked just like a tired office worker.
But her right hand, tucked into her pocket, had fingernails that were rapidly hardening and lengthening, a strange, ghostly blue luster appearing on the surface.
"That old hag Madelyn really doesn't know when to give up."
Ryan sighed in his heart.
He didn't make any defensive moves, still standing lazily.
The roar of the train entering the station came from deep within the tunnel.
A gust of wind kicked up the dust on the platform.
Now!
Taking advantage of the crowd pushing, the woman suddenly closed in on Ryan's back.
Her right hand, hidden under the trench coat, shot out like lightning, that sharp fingernail soaked in lethal neurotoxin aiming precisely at Ryan's undefended nape.
The speed was so fast that an ordinary person couldn't even see the afterimage.
A glimmer of cold mockery flashed in the woman's eyes. The mission was too simple.
The next second.
Ding!
An extremely crisp sound of metal clashing rang out eerily amidst the roar of the train.
The woman's pupils instantly contracted to the size of pinpricks.
She felt as if her pride and joy, the Stinger fingernail that could pierce steel plates, had poked into a neutron star of infinite density!
Snap.
The ghostly blue fingernail snapped directly from the root, and the broken tip flew away.
A massive recoil force surged up her finger and into her arm, and the woman's wrist emitted a teeth-grinding sound of bone cracking.
Ryan felt as if his neck had been lightly scratched by something.
He touched the back of his neck in confusion. There wasn't even a red mark.
Ryan turned his head and looked at the woman who was clutching her wrist with an expression as if she had seen a ghost.
"Huh? A mosquito?"
Chapter 65: The Assassin's Defense Broken, This Janitor Is Cheating
"Hmm? A mosquito?"
Ryan turned his head, looking at the woman who was clutching her wrist with a look of sheer disbelief on her face.
Stinger's brain completely shut down in that split second.
She stared fixedly at her pride and joy—the poisoned fingernail that could easily pierce ten-millimeter bulletproof steel plate. Right now, it looked just like a cheap plastic toothpick, snapped clean off at the base.
Yet, on the opponent's seemingly defenseless nape, not even the slightest white mark was left behind.
Severe anemia? Osteoporosis? To hell with the Vought Medical Center's physical examination report! This guy's skin hardness was even more exaggerated than the hull of a nuclear submarine!
Stinger didn't hesitate for a second. As a top-tier assassin secretly trained by Vought, her first rule was: if the strike misses, flee a thousand miles.
Suppressing the excruciating pain of her fractured wrist, she abruptly lowered her head and, like a slippery loach, dove straight into the surging crowd of the evening rush hour.
Shedding her conspicuous trench coat. Removing her baseball cap. Letting down her coiled long hair. Changing her gait. In just three seconds, she had perfectly blended into the hundreds of commuters at the Brooklyn subway station.
Stinger squeezed into a train that had just opened its doors, following the flow of people.
The doors closed slowly with two "beep" sounds.
Stinger leaned against the handrail in the corner of the carriage, gasping for breath. Cold sweat had completely soaked her back. Safe, she thought. Even if that Janitor is a good fighter, there's no way he can pinpoint my location among thousands of people.
Just then, the broadcast speaker on the ceiling of the carriage emitted a harsh burst of static.
The female voice that had been announcing the stops disappeared. Replacing it was a male voice, carrying a hint of playfulness and enunciating with extreme clarity.
"Hello? Testing, testing. Can you hear me?"
The passengers in the carriage all raised their heads, looking at the broadcast speaker with bewildered expressions.
Every hair on Stinger's body stood on end at that moment. This voice—it was that Janitor from just now!
"Good evening, passengers. Sorry for interrupting your mood after work." Ryan's voice echoed throughout the entire subway line. "That Asian lady wearing a black sweater, with a fractured left wrist, currently leaning against the door of the third carriage. Yes, don't look around, I'm talking to you."
Whoosh!
The gazes of a dozen people in the carriage focused on Stinger simultaneously.
Stinger's pupils shrank to the size of needle tips. Her heart beat wildly, as if it were about to shatter her ribs and jump out.
"You're running in the wrong direction. Vought Tower is in the opposite direction. ╮(╯▽╰)╭" Ryan's tone was just like someone reminding a lost tourist. "By the way, the quality of your fake fingernails is too poor. Dropping them on the platform affects the appearance of the city; do you know how hard it is for the Janitor to sweep the floors?"
The passengers in the carriage looked at each other, and some even took out their phones to start recording.
Stinger felt a chill shoot from the soles of her feet straight to her scalp. He could see her! Separated by an unknown distance, and through several layers of reinforced concrete, he could actually accurately see which carriage she was in!
The train happened to pull into the next station.
As soon as the doors opened a crack, Stinger pushed through the crowd like a madwoman and rushed out.
She dared not take public transportation again. She climbed over the platform railing and jumped directly into the pitch-black abandoned subway maintenance tunnel.
Meanwhile.
Vought Tower, 78th-floor Vice President's office.
Madelyn stared fixedly at the tablet on her desk. The screen displayed Stinger's real-time vital signs and GPS location.
"Heart rate 195... Adrenaline spiking... She's running for her life." Madelyn bit her thumb nail, her face as pale as paper.
Stinger's red locator dot was moving frantically through the underground pipe network. Madelyn couldn't hold back anymore; she pressed the red encrypted communicator on her desk.
"Stinger! Report the situation immediately! What did you find out from probing him?!" Madelyn yelled into the microphone.
A burst of static came from the other end of the communicator.
There was no answer from Stinger.
"Ms. Madelyn, good evening." Ryan's highly recognizable voice came out of Madelyn's desktop speakers without warning.
Madelyn shuddered in fright, and the coffee cup in her hand smashed directly onto the floor, shattering into pieces.
"You... how did you hack into Vought's encrypted channel?" Madelyn's voice trembled uncontrollably.
"Making employees do dirty work after hours, not paying overtime is one thing, but sending them to their deaths? You capitalists really have black hearts. I feel aggrieved for her. (T_T)"
"Who on earth are you!" Madelyn screamed hysterically, bracing her hands on the desk.
"Who I am is not important. What's important is, for tomorrow's trip to Washington, you'd better bring more people. Otherwise, I'm afraid you won't make it back."
Snap.
An extremely crisp cracking sound came from the speaker. The red GPS dot representing Stinger instantly vanished from the screen.
Madelyn slumped into her leather swivel chair, gasping for breath. It was over. Everything was over. That monster hadn't just seen through her probe; he had also intercepted her top-secret itinerary for tomorrow's trip to Andrews Air Force Base. The Cradle Initiative was completely exposed!
Deep underground. Abandoned subway tunnel.
Stinger leaned against the moss-covered brick wall, looking despairingly at the communicator that had fallen to the ground and been crushed into powder.
At the end of the tunnel, Ryan was walking over unhurriedly. He was even holding a cup of iced cola he had just bought from a vending machine, biting on the straw and slurping loudly.
"Run. Why aren't you running anymore?" Ryan stopped five meters away from Stinger and tossed the empty cola cup aside. "The environment in the Brooklyn sewers is not bad, right? It's quite suitable for rats like you who like to hide in the dark."
Stinger bit the tip of her tongue, using the sharp pain to force herself to calm down.
There was no escape. The opponent's speed, strength, and perception formed a dimensional strike against her in every aspect.
Since she was going to die either way, she might as well drag him to hell with her!
A flash of crazy ruthlessness crossed Stinger's eyes. She ripped open her collar and pressed her crossed hands against her chest. "Go to hell! Monster!"
Hiss—
Accompanying a hair-raising sound of airflow, the poison glands in Stinger's body operated at overload. A dense, deep blue toxic mist, visible to the naked eye, gushed out from her pores.
This was her ultimate trump card. High-concentration nerve toxin vaporization. Even inhaling just one milligram would be enough to cause brain death in an adult African elephant within three seconds.
The toxic mist spread rapidly in the enclosed tunnel, like a blue behemoth, instantly swallowing Ryan completely. Stinger gasped violently, staring fixedly at the rolling mist.
Did it work? Even if his skin was bulletproof, he still had to breathe, right! As long as the poison gas entered his lungs, even a deity would have to die!
In the center of the toxic mist.
Ryan stood in place, not even bothering to activate his Bio-field. The moment the Tighten cells came into contact with the toxin, they automatically secreted antibodies. These nerve toxins, enough to kill an entire city, were not even as harmful as secondhand smoke to him.
Ryan even took a deep breath.
"Cough, cough..." Ryan's coughing sound came from within the toxic mist.
A light of ecstasy exploded in Stinger's eyes. It worked! He had been hit!
The next second, a large hand, like brushing away a spiderweb, casually dissipated the dense toxic mist in front of him. Ryan walked out unscathed.
He fanned his hand in front of his nose, his face full of disgust.
"I say, lady, did you mix body odor into this poison gas? It's too stinging to the eyes. Does Vought usually not give you guys any deodorizer? (O_O)"
The ecstasy on Stinger's face froze instantly, transforming into extreme terror as if she had seen a ghost.
Immunity? He was actually inhaling high-concentration nerve toxins like air without any protection?!
This wasn't a human at all! This was an ancient beast wearing human skin!
Stinger's legs went soft, and she completely lost the courage to resist. She turned around, wanting to make a final struggle.
But Ryan had already lost the patience to keep playing. He crossed the five-meter distance at a speed impossible for ordinary people to see, grabbed Stinger's wrist, and lifted her whole body into mid-air like a chick.
Stinger frantically waved her other hand, attempting to release the last bit of toxin. It had absolutely no effect on Ryan.
Ryan smiled and said to her, "Go back and tell your boss, Madelyn, that next time she wants to kill me, she should at least send someone who can make me itch a little."
After speaking, Ryan raised his right hand, hooking his index finger and thumb together. With a light flick, he snapped his finger against her forehead.
Bang!
Stinger rolled her eyes and passed out instantly.
Chapter 66: Pass a Message to Madelyn for Me: Next Time, Send Someone Who Can Actually Fight
Ryan let go, and Stinger slid down the wall, slumping onto the waterlogged ground.
The tunnel fell silent again, rusty water from the overhead pipes dripping onto her back one drop at a time.
Ryan squatted down and fished out the shattered remains of a communicator, broken into three pieces, from Stinger's trench coat pocket.
"Tsk, stepped on it too hard just now," Ryan murmured, tossing the fragments aside.
In her other pocket, he found a lipstick and an internal Vought parking permit.
Ryan unscrewed the lipstick cap, brought it close to sniff, then pursed his lips and shook his head.
"Your taste isn't great, sis. This shade makes you look ten years older. (￣△￣)"
Using the lipstick, Ryan drew a crooked smiley face on Stinger's forehead.
Then, flipping open the inside lapel of her trench coat, he scribbled a line of text.
"For Ms. Madelyn: Your package has been signed for and returned. Please upgrade your delivery plan next time."
Ryan capped the lipstick and stuffed it back into her pocket, returning it to its owner.
He stood up, patted the dust off his knees, and nudged Stinger's body toward a dry spot against the wall.
Only after making sure she wouldn't catch some weird tetanus from soaking in the dirty water did Ryan turn and walk toward the tunnel exit.
Twenty minutes later, at his rented apartment in East Brooklyn.
Ryan turned on the hot water tap in the bathroom, the stream splashing noisily against the bottom of the enamel bathtub.
He took off his gray hoodie, threw it into the laundry basket, and dialed a number on the waterproof smartphone sitting on the coffee table.
The phone rang twice before connecting, and Hughie's extremely low voice came through the line.
"Ryan! Are you okay? Butcher said you might be in trouble tonight."
"No trouble," Ryan said, wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder as he opened the fridge to rummage for a Cola.
"Some woman tried to scratch my neck with her nails, so I gave her a manicure. (^▽^)"
"What?" Hughie's voice pitched up.
"Don't worry about that." Ryan popped open the Cola tab. "Has Frenchie's intel arrived?"
There was the sound of Hughie rustling papers on the other end.
"Half of it. He said he's figured out the layout of Andrews Base's outer defense perimeter."
Hughie read from his notes, his voice growing tense as he went on.
"Three layers of electric fencing, two armored companies stationed there, and an anti-air missile defense battery."
"Ryan, this place is harder to get into than White House."
"Anti-air missiles?" Ryan took a massive gulp of Cola and burped.
"At Mach 15, if a missile can catch me, I'll call it a miracle. Go on."
"There's one more issue." Hughie hesitated. "Butcher says he can't find the internal layout of the base."
"The CIA's dark web database has a two-factor authentication lock. Frenchie spent all night trying to crack it but couldn't get in."
Ryan set the Cola can on the coffee table and switched the phone to his other hand.
"Tell Butcher to stop digging around the dark web and contact his old connections in MI6."
"The British have two retired military advisors at Andrews. One is named Schofield."
Hughie gasped on the other end.
"How do you know everything? You even know the names of retired British MI6 personnel?"
"I did a lot of things in my past life. (￣▽￣)" Ryan's tone was breezy.
"Give that name to Butcher and have him secure the internal layout by tonight. I need it by noon tomorrow."
"Okay, I'll pass it along." Hughie paused. "Ryan, are you really going there alone tomorrow?"
"One person is enough." Ryan walked to the window, looking down at the dim streetlights below.
"More people would just get in the way. Vought's security will open fire early if they see more than one person."
"But if you need backup..."
"Hughie," Ryan interrupted him. "Your task is to tune into Blackie's livestream channel at exactly three o'clock tomorrow afternoon."
"A livestream?" Hughie didn't understand.
"I want the global audience to see what absolute garbage Vought's so-called Super Soldier Program really is."
Ryan hung up and tossed the phone onto the sofa.
The hot water in the bathroom had already filled half the tub.
Ryan soaked in it, steam rising around him. He closed his eyes and ran through tomorrow's plan in his head.
Madelyn would take Compound V to the base, meet with the Secretary of Defense, do a demonstration, and sign the contract.
He only needed to show up during the demonstration and scrap that batch of stable Compound V right in front of the military.
Let the people at The Pentagon see with their own eyes that the stuff Vought is selling them can't even stop a single person.
Meanwhile, on the seventy-eighth floor of Vought Tower.
Madelyn sat behind her desk, her makeup mostly ruined.
The encrypted communicator on her desk was still emitting intermittent beeps; Stinger's vital signs signal had restored.
GPS tracking showed Stinger was in an abandoned tunnel in Brooklyn.
"She's still alive." Madelyn gripped the communicator, her knuckles turning white.
The security chief stood at the door, not daring to enter, speaking from three meters away.
"Do we need to send someone to retrieve her?"
"Go," Madelyn uttered a single word. "Bring her back. Don't alert anyone."
At 1:15 AM, the security team carried Stinger into the secret lounge on the seventy-eighth floor.
Madelyn looked at Stinger, who was lying on the sofa and hadn't fully woken up yet, and stared at the lipstick smiley face drawn on her forehead.
Then she flipped open the inside of her trench coat.
"Your package has been signed for and returned. Please upgrade your delivery plan next time."
Madelyn's hand was shaking.
She slammed the trench coat onto the floor, turned around, and grabbed the red encrypted phone on her desk.
She dialed Edgar's private number.
It connected after three rings.
"What is it?" Edgar's voice showed no sign of sleepiness; it was unclear if he had even slept at all.
"The Cradle Initiative has been exposed." Madelynrecounted everything that happened tonight in one breath.
The failed physical exam, Stinger being instantly defeated, Ryan's warning over the encrypted channel, and that line: "You'd better bring more people on your trip to Washington tomorrow."
There was a four-second silence on the other end of the line.
"You should have told me right away." Edgar's tone remained completely flat.
"I thought Stinger could handle it..."
"You thought," Edgar interrupted her. "An entity capable of repelling John head-on, and you sent a C-class assassin to test him?"
Madelyn bit her tongue, not daring to talk back.
"Tomorrow's schedule remains unchanged," Edgar decided.
"What? He already knows! He will come to intercept us!"
"Of course he will come," Edgar's voice was strangely calm. "I want him to come."
Madelyn froze in place.
"Send the Compound V samples away in advance. Use empty cases for tomorrow's demonstration, and you will appear as scheduled."
"You mean... use me as bait?" Madelyn's voice trembled.
"You are the Senior Vice President of Vought, Madelyn." Edgar's words carried no warmth.
"When the company needs you, you should feel honored."
The call ended.
Madelyn clutched the receiver, the veins on the back of her hand bulging one by one.
She had been nurtured by Vought for fifteen years, climbing from an intern to Vice President, only for her final value to be serving as a meat shield.
The Brooklyn rental apartment.
Ryan got out of the bathtub, dried himself off, changed into sweatpants, and was about to turn off the lights to sleep.
It was 1:43 AM.
His Super Hearing caught a sound that didn't belong to this rundown building.
The sound of a pair of high-heeled boots stepping on the concrete ground came from downstairs, with a steady pace and a powerful heartbeat.
It wasn't a normal human's heart rate; it was a third slower than a normal person's, and the muscle density was extremely high.
A Superhuman.
Heading upstairs.
Coming toward the third floor.
Ryan didn't raise his guard.
Because he had been listening to this heart rate and muscle movement pattern for months at Vought Tower.
Not an enemy.
At least, not for now.
Three extremely soft knocks sounded on the door.
Ryan walked over and pulled open the security door.
A woman stood outside the door, wearing a dark hooded coat with the hood pulled down very low.
She pulled back her hood, revealing a face known to everyone in America.
A sharp jawline, exhausted eyes—the cold, hard expression she always wore in front of the cameras was completely gone now.
Queen Maeve.
The number two figure of The Seven.
"You've got the wrong place, haven't you?" Ryan leaned against the doorframe, raising an eyebrow.
Maeve skipped the pleasantries and spoke directly, her voice kept very low.
"I know you're the Preservation Walker."
Ryan looked at her, neither admitting nor denying it.
Maeve pulled a manila envelope from the inside of her coat and held it out to Ryan.
"I can help you kill him."
Chapter 67: The Queen Disarms, Homelander's Grave Is Already Dug
Ryan didn't take the kraft paper portfolio.
Leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, he sized up the Superhuman woman in front of him, who ranked second in combat power in the entire United States.
"Running all the way to Brooklyn in the middle of the night just to tell me this?"
Ryan tilted his head. "How do I know you're not the second delivery sent by Madelyn? (￣△￣)"
Maeve's hand holding the portfolio paused for a moment.
"If I were one of Madelyn's people, would I have greeted you before coming in?"
"Fair point." Ryan stepped aside slightly. "Come in. If the neighbors see you standing in the hallway, I'll be chased for autographs tomorrow."
Maeve walked into the cramped living room.
She glanced at the crack on the coffee table and the scattered empty cola cans, making no comment.
Ryan closed the door behind him and walked to the refrigerator to pull it open.
"What do you want to drink? There's only cola and expired orange juice."
"Nothing." Maeve placed the portfolio on the coffee table, remaining standing.
Ryan grabbed a can of cola, walked back, and plopped onto the sofa.
"Alright." Ryan popped the tab and took a sip. "You said you could help me take him out. Help with what?"
"This." Maeve tapped the portfolio with her knuckles. "The global secret distribution network of compound v, including the coordinates of underground laboratories in seventeen countries."
Ryan stopped drinking his cola.
He glanced at Maeve, set the can down, and pulled the portfolio over.
Inside was a thick stack of printouts, along with a USB drive.
He casually flipped through a few pages—Southeast Asia, Eastern Europe, the Middle East, South America—each location marked with its specific address and person in charge.
"Where did you get this stuff?" Ryan asked.
"From Vought's internal Alpha-level server." Maeve's voice was flat. "I have the highest clearance in The Seven. Edgardoesn't know I copied it."
"He doesn't know you hate him?"
"He knows." Maeve sat on the chair opposite the sofa, which looked like it was about to fall apart. "But he thinks I wouldn't dare."
Ryan put the documents back and leaned back into the sofa.
"Why do you dare now?"
This question made Maeve fall silent for a few seconds.
Her hands rested on her knees, her knuckles turning slightly white.
"Because you beat him." Maeve looked up. "You made him bleed. No one has done that in thirty years."
"So you think I can kill him?"
"I don't think so. I'm sure of it." Maeve looked Ryan straight in the eye. "I've watched last night's video dozens of times. When you were beating him in the sky, you were smiling."
"Well, it really was quite funny. The way he looked when he got kicked flying was so pathetic. (^▽^)"
Maeve didn't laugh.
She clasped her hands together, her knuckles cracking.
"Do you know what it feels like to be on a team with him?"
Ryan didn't reply.
"He'll fly to your window at three in the morning and watch you sleep with X-ray vision." Maeve lowered her voice. "If you refuse any of his demands, he won't beat you. He'll go after the people you care about."
"Your girlfriend?" Ryan asked.
Maeve's body tensed.
"How do you know..."
"I know a lot of things." Ryan spread his hands. "Go on."
Maeve stared at Ryan for two seconds, swallowing the urge to press further.
"Three years ago, a reporter dug up some of A-Zu's past and was planning to expose it." Maeve's voice grew very soft. "A-Zu threw all two hundred and thirty-seven people on that plane off at thirty thousand feet. I stood right next to him, watching those people scream as they fell."
"He turned to me and said, 'You're a part of this too, don't even think about running.'"
The only sound left in the living room was the rain beating against the window glass.
Ryan crushed the cola can and threw it into the trash can.
"So you've been playing dumb for the past three years?" Ryan asked.
"Would it have done any good if I spoke up?" A rough edge crept into Maeve's tone. "Go to the police? Or the FBI? The entire justice system has been infiltrated by Vought. The only thing I could do was pretend I saw nothing, and then drink myself into a blackout every night."
"You don't have to drink anymore." Ryan stood up from the sofa.
He walked to the window, his back to Maeve.
"What you gave me is enough to choke the life out of Vought. But there's a question."
"What?"
"What's in it for you?" Ryan turned around. "After taking out A-Zu, what do you want? Freedom? Fame? Or do you want to be the next leader?"
Maeve stood up and walked over to Ryan.
She was a few centimeters shorter than Ryan, but her aura was not weak at all.
"I want Elena to be safe." Maeve said her girlfriend's name. "Once A-Zu is dead, Vought won't be able to threaten her anymore."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
Ryan looked into Maeve's eyes.
There was no scheming, no testing. Just a person who had been trapped for too long, finally seeing an exit.
"Deal." Ryan held out his hand.
Maeve looked at the hand, hesitated for half a second, and shook it.
Ryan controlled his grip well, not causing the Queen any discomfort.
"But I have one condition." Ryan let go of her hand. "You cannot participate in tomorrow's action in Washington."
"Why?" Maeve frowned.
"Because your greatest value right now is that Vought doesn't know you've turned." Ryan picked up the portfolio from the coffee table. "Keep playing your part as the Queen, keep acting like a submissive dog in front of A-Zu. When I need you, then you move."
"I am not your pawn." Maeve's tone grew noticeably colder.
"You're not." Ryan shook his head. "You are a nail I'm driving into Vought's heart. A nail doesn't need to move; it just needs to split the whole wall open at the critical moment. ╮(╯▽╰)╭"
Looking at Ryan's casual, devil-may-care face, Maeve suddenly felt that this man in sweatpants was far more dangerous than Vought's entire board of directors.
"There's one more thing." Maeve walked toward the door, stopping halfway.
"What?"
"Something that isn't on this list." Maeve turned around. "The things A-Zu has done are more disgusting than you can possibly imagine."
"Like what?"
"Like eight years ago, he raped a woman." Maeve's voice was very soft, but every word carried immense weight. "That woman got pregnant with his child. Vought hid her away. They still haven't released her."
Ryan's expression didn't change.
But the cola tab in his hand was silently squeezed into a small silver ball.
"What is her name?" Ryan asked.
Of course, he knew the answer. Becca Butcher. The wife Billy Butcher had been searching the world for over the last eight years.
"But he needed to hear the name from Maeve's mouth."
"I only know Vought's codename." Maeve shook her head. "The file says 'project r Subject'. Only Edgar knows her actual name and address."
"What about the child?"
"Alive." Maeve looked at Ryan. "It's a boy. Vought has been secretly monitoring the development of his abilities."
Ryan flicked the small silver ball into the trash can.
A crisp clink echoed with extra clarity in the quiet living room.
"What else?" Ryan walked to the door and pulled open the security door for Maeve. "You've told me about the plane. You've told me about the rape. What else has he done?"
Maeve stood at the doorway, pulling her hood back up to cover her weary face.
"Do you want to know how many people he has silenced over the years?"
"I want to know all of them."
Maeve reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a twice-folded slip of paper, and handed it over.
"There are six names on this. All of them are reporters and informants who tried to expose A-Zu over the last five years."
"Where are they now?"
"In their graves." Leaving those words behind, Maeve turned and walked into the pitch-black hallway.
Her high-heeled boots clicked against the concrete steps, descending step by step.
Ryan leaned against the doorframe, watching her silhouette disappear around the corner of the stairs.
He looked down and unfolded the slip of paper in his hand.
Six names, six dates of death. The most recent one was just four months ago.
Ryan folded the slip of paper and stuffed it into his pocket.
He closed the door, walked over to sit at the coffee table, and opened the documents inside the portfolio.
Seventeen countries, twenty-three underground laboratories, the global distribution network laid out crystal clear.
Combined with the dirt Maeve had provided, Homelander's coffin lid was already half-nailed shut.
Ryan picked up his waterproof phone from the coffee table and dialed Hughie's number.
"What is it now?" Hughie's voice carried a clear tone of sleepiness.
"Wake up." Ryan flipped the document to the first page. "Get Butcher up to work."
"Now? It's two-thirty in the morning!"
"Tell him someone gave me a huge gift. The global distribution list of compound v, and the coordinates of twenty-three laboratories."
The other end of the line fell silent for three seconds.
Then, the sound of Butcher grumbling in the distance as he climbed out of bed came through.
"There's one more thing." Ryan paused. "Butcher's wife, Becca."
Hughie's breath caught. "What did you say? Becca? Isn't she missing?"
"She isn't missing." Ryan stared at the slip of paper in his hand containing the six dead names.
"She was hidden away by Vought. Because she was pregnant with Homelander's child."
A dull thud of something dropping to the floor came from the other end of the line.
Immediately following was Butcher's voice, trembling with proximity, as he snatched the phone directly from Hughie.
"Say that again, you motherfucker."
Chapter 68: A-Zu's Dirt Leaks
"Say that again, you motherfucker."
Butcher's voice squeezed out of the phone, like someone pressing into a wound.
Ryan held the phone a bit further away.
"Don't yell if your ears aren't broken. This phone isn't expensive, but I'd still feel bad if I dropped it."
"Ryan!"
Butcher was practically roaring.
"Where is Becca? Where is the child? If you dare to play games with me on this, I'll crawl all the way to Brooklyn to strangle you!"
Hughie was getting anxious nearby.
"Butcher, calm down. Let him finish speaking first."
"Shut up, Hughie!"
Butcher snatched the receiver, his breathing terrifyingly heavy.
"Ryan, you know I've been looking for her for eight years."
"That's why I'm telling you now."
Ryan flipped open the note Maeve left behind and spread the six names out on the table.
"Maeve was just here. She gave me something."
There was silence on the other end of the line for half a second.
Butcher lowered his voice.
"Queen Maeve?"
"Yeah, the one in The Seven who hasn't completely rotted yet."
Ryan pushed the note under the light.
"She said that eight years ago, Homelander raped a woman, and Vought hid her away. The file code name is project r Subject."
A sound of tables and chairs being knocked over came from Butcher's side.
Mothers Milk's voice cut in.
"Billy, sit down!"
"Get lost!"
Butcher's voice was fierce.
"What the hell is a project r Subject? Becca is a person, not a fucking experiment number!"
Ryan didn't try to persuade him. It was useless at a time like this.
"She's still alive."
On the other end of the phone, there was only the sound of Butcher's stifled gasps.
Ryan continued.
"The child is alive too. It's a boy. Vought has been monitoring his ability development."
"Name."
Butcher gritted out the word.
"I want the address, I want the name of the person in charge, and I want Homelander's head."
"I don't have the address right now."
"Aren't you supposed to know everything?"
Butcher smashed the words back.
"And now you're telling me you don't?"
Ryan put down the soda can.
"I know Vought hid her, but the specific location is locked in Edgar's highest-level files."
"Then go break it open!"
"I will."
Ryan's tone didn't rise.
"But if you rush to Vought Tower now, Homelander will know someone has found out about Becca. By then, the first one to die might not be you."
There was silence on the other end.
Hughie spoke carefully.
"Butcher, Ryan is right. We can't let A-Zu know."
"Don't call him A-Zu."
Butcher said.
"That thing doesn't deserve a name."
Ryan read out the six names Maeve had given him.
After reading the first name, the sound of pen on paper came from Butcher's side.
After reading the second name, Mothers Milk cursed.
After reading the third name, Frenchie asked: "Are these people all journalists?"
"Journalists, informants, Vought internal whistleblowers."
Ryan flipped the note over.
"They all investigated the same direction: Homelander's records of losing control, Vought's forced silence, and the Becca case."
Hughie's voice tightened.
"They're all dead?"
"In the records Maeve gave, all of them are dead."
Butcher laughed, a short, sharp sound.
"Accidental car crash, gas explosion, drug overdose, suicide, right?"
"You know Vought very well."
"I've been dealing with these bastards for eight years."
The sound of Butcher grabbing the paper came over the phone.
"Frenchie, check all six names. Death reports, hospital records, police files, insurance records—dig up everything you can."
Frenchie replied from a distance.
"The way you're ordering me around right now is very unromantic."
"Less talk, get to work!"
Ryan picked up another file.
"And the plane incident."
Everyone on the phone paused.
Hughie asked: "What plane?"
The information Maeve gave wasn't long, and Ryan only picked the usable parts to tell them.
"Three years ago, a passenger plane was hijacked. Homelander and Maeve went up there."
Mothers Milk cut in quickly.
"Vought publicized it at the time, saying they didn't make the rescue window."
Ryan looked at the flight number circled on the file.
"The truth is, they made it."
Hughie's breathing faltered.
"What about the passengers?"
"They all died."
No one spoke on the other end.
Ryan read out the flight number.
"Homelander destroyed the cockpit, and the plane lost control. He didn't save them, and he wouldn't let Maeve save them."
Hughie's voice was dry.
"Why?"
"Because he couldn't save everyone, and he didn't want to leave any survivors."
A heavy thud of a hand hitting a table came from Mothers Milk's side.
"Damn it."
Butcher asked in a low voice.
"Is there any evidence?"
"Maeve was there in person; that's an eyewitness."
Ryan tapped the table.
"We're still missing the black box records, Vought's internal PR emails from that time, and traces of the accident investigation being tampered with."
Hughie said quickly.
"Annie might be able to get some of it. She's still inside Vought."
"We'll talk about the next step later."
Ryan interrupted him.
"For now, let's categorize what we can confirm."
Sounds of rummaging through boxes and cabinets came from Butcher's side quickly.
"Category one, the Becca case."
He panted as he spoke.
"Rape, illegal detention, hiding the victim, monitoring the child without authorization."
Ryan nodded.
"Category two, the cover-up murders."
Mothers Milk continued.
"Six names, six leads. Check who they were in contact with before they died, their last communication before death, and who pressured the police department."
The sound of Frenchie's keyboard started up.
"I've checked the first one. Reporter Alan Miles sent an email to an encrypted address two days before he died, with the subject line 'Blond Man and Underground Mother'."
Butcher cursed.
"Keep digging."
Ryan sent the flight number to Hughie.
"Category three, the plane incident."
Hughie responded quickly.
"All passengers fell to their deaths, Vought PR covered it up, and Homelander watched them die without intervening."
Butcher suddenly spoke.
"Is there any video?"
Ryan looked at the file bag on the table.
"Maeve might not have it, but Vought definitely has a backup."
"Then we steal it."
"What's the rush?"
Ryan took a sip of soda.
"Your mind is full of Becca right now; your hands will shake, and your judgment will be skewed."
Butcher sneered.
"Are you teaching me how to do my job?"
"Yes."
Ryan answered quickly.
"If you leak this now, A-Zu will kill the reporters first, then the witnesses, and finally move Becca to a place you'll never find in your lifetime."
On the other end, Butcher's heavy breathing, suppressing his rage, could be heard.
After a few seconds, he said: "What do you want to do?"
"First, piece together the chain of evidence."
Ryan picked up a pen and wrote three words on the paper: Becca. Cover-up. Plane.
"Don't just want stories. I want files, recordings, autopsies, emails, wire transfers, surveillance footage, and signatories."
Hughie couldn't help but ask.
"Are we really going to make these public?"
"Of course."
Ryan looked at the three words on the paper.
"Fists can break Homelander's bones, but they can't shatter the idol the Americans have built for him."
Butcher's voice lowered.
"You want the whole world to see him for what he is."
"Let them tear down the posters themselves."
Ryan threw the pen on the table.
"Once the idol collapses, I'll go crack his skull; it'll sound much more crisp. ╮(╯▽╰)╭"
Hughie couldn't hold back.
"You're making jokes at a time like this?"
"If I don't joke, the three of you would tear the basement apart right now."
Mothers Milk said muffledly on the other end: "He's right, Billy. Sit down first."
Butcher didn't respond to him. He only asked Ryan.
"The Becca thing, do you guarantee you'll investigate it to the end?"
Ryan put away the casual look on his face.
"I guarantee it. If she's alive, I'll bring her out. If she's dead, I'll dig up her grave and put it on the Vought board of directors' table."
The click of a lighter came from Butcher's side.
"Good."
He took a drag of his cigarette, his voice very low.
"I'll listen to you. We'll check the evidence chain first."
Ryan stuffed the documents Maeve gave him back into the file bag.
"Remember, don't alert Homelander, don't alert Edgar, and don't let Madelyn know you're investigating Becca."
"Do you take me for a rookie?"
"You tried to put a dog collar on me last night."
Butcher was silent for two seconds.
"Can you move on from that?"
"Depends on your performance."
Hughie quickly changed the subject.
"What about Annie? It's hard to get Vought's internal files without her help."
Ryan glanced out the window.
"Contact her tomorrow."
"Why not now?"
"Because a bunch of people at Vought aren't sleeping right now, and Madelyn was just scared by me. Any abnormal behavior from Annie will be watched."
Mothers Milk cut in.
"So let us check the periphery first and dig up everything we can."
"Yes."
Ryan stood up and folded the note.
"The more complete the peripheral evidence is, the safer it will be for Annie to go in and get the core files."
Butcher exhaled a cloud of smoke.
"Ryan."
"Speak."
"If you find Becca's location, tell me immediately."
"Sure."
"What if that child stands in front of Homelander?"
The sound in the room stopped.
Hughie hurriedly shouted: "Butcher, that child is innocent!"
Butcher ignored him. He only waited for Ryan's answer.
Ryan held the phone close to his ear.
"The child is the child, and Homelander is Homelander."
Butcher chuckled.
"You really do fancy yourself a judge."
"Better than you treating all Superhumans like cattle."
Both sides went quiet.
Finally, Butcher spoke first.
"Fine, I won't argue about this tonight."
Ryan looked at the three words on the table, tapping his fingertip on "Plane Incident."
"Don't sleep tonight. Dig up the six dead people first."
"What about you?"
"I'm organizing the materials Maeve gave me."
"You still have to go to Washington tomorrow afternoon."
"So you'd better hurry. Don't make me wait for your files while I'm tearing apart a military base."
Butcher cursed and threw the phone back to Hughie.
Hughie caught the phone, his voice still a bit chaotic.
"Ryan, if all of this is true, Homelander is finished."
Ryan pressed the file bag onto the table.
"Hughie, remember one thing."
"What?"
Ryan looked at the three words—Becca Case, Cover-up, Plane Incident—and lowered his voice.
"These things are the bullets to take him down."