Chapter 6: Madelyn's Probe, Lynn's God-Tier Disguise
"A flawless set of lies?"
Madelyn narrowed her eyes, her azure irises like barbed searchlights, scraping back and forth across Lynn's face.
The central air conditioning overhead blew a gust of cold air, stirring up a few scattered files on the desk.
The air was thick with the burnt smell of solid wood from Homelander's recent display, mixed with the scent of expensive lily perfume on Madelyn, enough to make one feel nauseous.
"Don't play these word games with me, Lynn."
Madelyn stepped forward in her stilettos, the heels thudding dully on the carpet.
"You just need to tell me, what exactly did you see yesterday at that hellish street corner?"
Lynn hunched his shoulders just the right amount.
He arched his back slightly, clasping his hands in front of him, his thumbs fidgeting against each other.
The edges of his fingernails were a bit pale, looking like a low-level corporate drone terrified of getting fired at any moment.
"Boss, I... I really didn't see anything clearly."
Lynn swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing exaggeratedly, his voice trembling slightly.
"I just saw a blue shadow flash by, the wind was so strong I couldn't even open my eyes, and then... then A-Train was gone."
Madelyn stared at his micro-expressions, her brows knit tightly together.
She attempted to find even a trace of dishonesty in Lynn's pupils.
Lynn sneered inwardly, but forced a fawning, slightly greedy smile onto his face.
He emboldened himself to lean forward half a step, deliberately lowering his voice, as if conducting some shady deal.
"Boss, speaking from the heart, it doesn't matter what monster he encountered; what matters is those thousands of mouths outside waiting for news."
"Go on." Madelyn stopped her questioning, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Hughie's dead girlfriend cannot be a simple car accident."
Lynn pulled a crumpled piece of draft paper from his inner suit pocket, which he had scribbled on his way there.
"We can issue a press release stating that yesterday, an international drug lord armed with heavy weapons infiltrated the streets of Manhattan."
He gestured in the air, his tone gradually becoming excited.
"A-Train was engaged in a high-speed pursuit through the city to intercept these deadly drugs."
Madelyn's eyes flickered, and she lifted her chin slightly.
"The girl was just unlucky, caught in the crossfire of the drug lord's stray bullets or superpowers."
Lynn rubbed his fingers together, the friction of his fingertips making a faint rustling sound.
"This is called collateral damage from a terrorist attack; we pin the blame entirely on the fictional drug lord."
"And what about A-Train?" Madelyn interrupted him, her speaking speed as fast as a machine gun.
"The monitor shows his vital signs are flatlined! Are you telling me I should tell the reporters our ace was killed by drug dealers?"
"Of course not!"
Lynn slapped his thigh, intentionally raising his voice by an octave.
"It's deep-cover infiltration! Boss!"
He pointed at several circles on the draft paper, his eyes gleaming.
"A-Train followed the trail and infiltrated the drug lord's lair directly. For national security, Vought Corporationproactively cut off his signal tracker!"
Lynn grinned, revealing two rows of white teeth, smiling like a jackal that had smelled blood.
"He isn't missing; he's a lone hero, bleeding and sweating for America."
The office fell into a deathly silence.
One could only hear the faint sound of sirens drifting in from outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Madelyn's tense shoulders visibly relaxed.
She walked to the liquor cabinet, picked up a crystal decanter, and poured herself half a glass of whiskey.
The ice cubes struck the glass, making a crisp clinking sound.
She tipped her head back and took a large gulp, the liquor sliding down her throat past her red lips.
This PR strategy was dark—so dark that it perfectly aligned with the interests of Vought Corporation.
It turned a case of drug-fueled speeding and manslaughter into an American superhero blockbuster.
Madelyn turned around, her gaze toward Lynn having changed.
It was no longer the look one gives an insect that could be crushed at any moment, but rather the look of evaluating a useful tool.
She liked employees whose eyes held nothing but money and the ambition to climb.
Greed meant easy to control.
"What about the victim's family?"
Madelyn leaned against the edge of the desk, swirling the ice in her glass.
"That boy named Hughie, he saw his girlfriend turn into meat paste with his own eyes."
"That's easy to handle, Boss."
Lynn patted his chest, the suit fabric emitting a muffled thud.
"Give me some authority, and I'll take a non-disclosure agreement and a large check to smash his mouth shut."
He narrowed his eyes, his tone becoming cold and ruthless.
"If he dares to go out and blab, we'll have the media dig up his dirt, claim he's a sympathizer of the drug lord, and ruin his reputation completely."
Madelyn laughed.
The laughter was short, like an owl hooting in the night.
She walked over in her high heels and reached out to straighten Lynn's crooked tie.
The woman's fingers were icy cold, her nails painted with bright red polish, grazing Lynn's neck.
"Ashley said you were sharp; it seems she wasn't exaggerating."
Madelyn patted Lynn's shoulder with satisfaction.
"Ashley's nervous breakdown has been getting worse lately; I need someone with a strong enough heart to help her share the workload."
Lynn quickly lowered his head, bowing his waist by another ten degrees.
"Happy to serve you, Boss."
"From now on, you are the deputy director of the PR Department."
Madelyn turned around and picked up the intercom phone on the desk.
"Within half an hour, I want to see this press release appear on the headlines of all mainstream media. If you can't handle it, you and Ashley can both pack your bags and leave."
"Just wait and watch the Vought Corporation stock hit the limit."
Lynn walked backward toward the door, wearing that brilliant, smug smile of a villain who had gotten his way.
He felt for the doorknob, gently pulled it open, and walked out.
"Click."
The heavy mahogany door closed behind him.
The moment the latch clicked into place.
The fawning smile on Lynn's face vanished without a trace, as if scraped off by a knife.
His facial muscles returned to their cold, hard lines.
He raised his hand, grabbed the cheap tie that was choking him, and yanked it down hard.
Screw this corporate drone act.
Acting like a sycophant is more exhausting than tearing A-Train apart by hand.
However, the goal was achieved.
Once he had the authority of a deputy director, the black files locked away in Vought Corporation's bottom-layer servers would be undefended against him.
The corridor on the 73rd floor was a chaotic mess.
Interns in business attire were running around clutching stacks of files.
Phone rings echoed one after another, and the beep of paper jams from the copiers was annoyingly loud.
Lynn walked toward the elevator hall with one hand in his pocket, avoiding a few hurrying executives.
He had to go back to the 40th floor to send out that load of nonsense, and incidentally, enjoy the sight of Ashley losing her hair.
He walked to the corner of the breakroom.
The carpet absorbed the sound of his footsteps.
Lynn had just turned the corner.
"Bang."
He collided with something soft.
Lynn's stance was as steady as steel rebar anchored in concrete; he didn't even wobble.
The other person, however, let out a short exclamation of "Ouch," and stumbled back two steps.
Her high heels tripped on the carpet, and she nearly fell against the wall.
A scent of cheap vanilla body lotion wafted over.
Mixed with the sweet, cloying smell of hairspray.
"I—I'm sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going, the heel is a bit... a bit slippery."
The girl's voice had a thick American Midwestern accent and was trembling violently.
Lynn lowered his head.
A head of dazzling blonde hair entered his line of sight.
The girl held her hands tightly over her chest, her fair skin flushed with a large area of embarrassment.
She was wearing a white and gold superhero costume.
The fabric was pitifully scant.
The neckline was cut extremely low, exposing almost half of her breasts to the cold air.
The skirt was so short it couldn't even cover the tops of her thighs.
Starlight.
Annie January.
Lynn raised an eyebrow.
Counting the time, today was the first day of this new member of The Seven officially joining.
It seemed Vought Corporation's higher-ups had already forced her into this borderline outfit designed to cater to a male audience.
Annie bit her lower lip tightly, leaving a row of white teeth marks.
One of her hands was desperately tugging at the pitifully short skirt, while the other held onto the neckline.
Even though there was no one else in the corridor, she felt like she was standing on stage naked.
Her eyes were red-rimmed, and a bit of moisture still clung to her long eyelashes.
She looked up, like a lost fawn, her eyes full of grievance and bewilderment.
Her gaze swept over the newly changed executive badge on Lynn's chest.
Annie seemed to grab onto a lifeline and took half a step forward.
"Um... sir, you're a Vought Corporation employee, right?"
She sniffled, her voice growing quieter as she spoke, carrying a suppressed sob.
"Could you please tell me where The Deep's office is? He just called and said... said there's an orientation ceremony for new members, and that I must report to him immediately."
Chapter 7: Starlight Joins the Team, Casting Couch? Try It If You Dare!
Lynn lowered his gaze, watching Annie's hands rubbing together anxiously.
She was desperately pulling down the hem of her costume, but the pitiful amount of fabric couldn't cover the tops of her thighs at all.
The cold draft in the hallway blew over, and a layer of fine goosebumps instantly broke out on the girl's fair arms.
Even the deep V-neckline rose and fell with her trembling breath.
[Ding.]
[Target'Starlight' psychological defense line is on the verge of collapse, current stability value has fallen below the critical point.]
The mechanical voice rang deep in his mind, and Lynnraised an eyebrow.
There was still something clean in this girl's eyes that hadn't been polluted by capital.
Keeping her would be perfect for planting a mole inside The Seven later on.
"Newcomer orientation ceremony?" Lynn repeated the term, pulling up one corner of his mouth.
Annie sniffled and nodded, tears welling up in her eyes.
"Yeah, Mr. The Deep said… said it's the rules. If I don't go, he'll report me to the higher-ups and kick me off the team."
Before Lynn could reply, a sticky sound of rubber-soled shoes rubbing against the floor suddenly came from behind him.
A pungent smell of cheap cologne, mixed with the fishy stench of fermenting seaweed, drifted over.
"Hey, Annie, why are you still dawdling out here?"
The Deep, wearing his green scale-patterned bodysuit, swaggered around the corner.
The zipper on his chest was deliberately pulled down to his stomach, revealing a few tufts of chest hair he thought were sexy.
His eyes were like barbs, fixed firmly on Annie's exposed cleavage, and he licked his lips.
"Our 'welcome ceremony' hasn't started yet." The Deep rubbed his hands together, approaching step by step.
"Unzip my pants—this is also a required course for a superhero, understand, sweetheart?"
Annie was so scared she took half a step back, her back pressed straight against the cold wallpaper.
Her face was deathly pale, her hands clutched tightly to her chest, and she even stopped breathing for a beat.
Lynn didn't dodge; he took half a step to the side with his left foot, just enough to block the space between Annie and The Deep.
The fabric of his cheap suit brushed against The Deep's slimy, scaly costume.
The Deep stopped, his brows instantly furrowing, and he reached out to push Lynn away.
"Get lost, you PR Department rat from the fourth floor! Are you blind? Don't you see I'm busy teaching the rookie the rules?"
Lynn let him push against his shoulder.
His feet were like steel bars rooted into the ground; he didn't budge an inch.
He unhurriedly plucked his brand-new ID badge from his breast pocket and waved it twice in front of The Deep.
"Sorry, Mr. Gills." Lynn's tone was lazy, with a hint of mockery.
"I am now the Deputy Director of the PR Department; Madelyn just signed off on it ten minutes ago."
The Deep froze, his outstretched hand hanging in mid-air.
"So what?" He stiffened his neck, trying to regain some face.
"I am the core of The Seven! The King who rules The Sevenseas!"
Lynn scoffed and raised his hand to brush off the shoulder The Deep had touched, as if dusting off something dirty.
"King? Your public approval rating dropped by 12% last quarter, and your merchandise sales are ranked second to last."
Lynn sped up, throwing data at The Deep's face like he was spilling beans.
"Even Black Noir, who doesn't have a single line of dialogue, sells twice as many bobbleheads as you do. What kind of King are you?"
The muscles on The Deep's cheeks twitched violently, and his cheeks puffed out like a pufferfish.
"You… you're full of crap! That's because the distribution channels weren't set up right!" He stuttered.
"Distribution channels, my ass." Lynn didn't give him any face and interrupted directly.
He pointed his thumb back at Annie, his eyes as cold as ice.
"The company is going to fully promote her 'conservative girl next door' persona in the Midwest in the second half of the year, targeting the Christian market."
"The budget for this campaign is 300 million."
Lynn stepped forward, the tips of his dress shoes almost touching The Deep's rubber shoes.
"If you dare touch a single hair on her head today, are you planning to spend the rest of your life selling fish sausage to fill this 300-million hole?"
The Deep was completely stunned by this barrage of financial accounting.
He opened his mouth, saliva stringing between his teeth, unable to squeeze out a complete sentence for a long time.
Interns carrying documents walked by the hallway from time to time, glancing over with their heads tilted and covering their mouths to stifle laughter.
The Deep felt like his skin had been peeled off and thrown on the carpet to be trampled on.
"Still not leaving? Do you want me to use the internal line to invite Madelyn over to watch you teach the rookie how to unzip zippers?"
Lynn took out his phone, his thumb hovering over the dial button on the screen.
The veins on The Deep's forehead throbbed.
He clenched his fists tightly, his nails almost digging into the flesh of his palms, but he didn't dare say a single tough word.
At Vought, Madelyn was the empress dowager who held the power of life and death over them.
"Fine, you win…" The Deep gritted his back teeth, squeezing a few words out of his throat.
He suddenly leaned close to Lynn, the smell of dead fish in his mouth rushing straight to Lynn's brain.
"You bottom-feeding mortal, don't think that just because you have a crappy badge, you can ride on my head."
The Deep lowered his voice, glaring viciously at Lynn.
"The night roads in Manhattan are pretty dark; be careful when walking at night, don't fall into a sewer and drown."
Lynn immediately hunched his shoulders and took half a step back, feigning a look of weak-kneed fear.
"I… I'm just following company rules, please don't make it hard for me."
His voice trembled, and he almost dropped the phone in his hand onto the carpet.
Seeing his cowardly appearance, The Deep finally regained some of his superhero superiority.
He snorted coldly, swung his green cape, and turned to walk away.
As soon as The Deep turned the corner, the cowering expression on Lynn's face instantly evaporated completely.
He stared coldly at the green silhouette, his fingertips tapping against the seam of his trousers.
[Ding.]
[Hunt target locked: The Deep.]
Annie's voice came from behind, as thin as a thread, still carrying a heavy nasal tone.
"Thank you… Mr. Director. If it weren't for you, I really wouldn't know what to do."
Lynn turned around, putting on a gentle and professional workplace smile.
"Just call me Lynn. Go back and wash off those tears, and stay away from that fishy-smelling pervert from now on."
Annie nodded gratefully, hugging her shoulders and walking quickly towards the restroom.
The hallway was finally quiet.
Lynn leaned against the water cooler, took out the second-hand phone with the cracked screen, and tapped on Butcher's number.
His thumb typed a line of text on the keyboard, thought for a moment, and then pressed the delete key.
He dialed the voice call directly.
The phone was answered after just one ring.
Butcher's heavy breathing came from the other end, along with the metallic click of a pistol slide chambering a round.
"What is it now, boss? I'm just teaching this little coward how to unload a magazine."
Lynn looked down at the geometric patterns on the carpet, a cruel arc tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Stop playing with guns, Butcher, and go find an abandoned warehouse in the suburbs."
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Butcher asked vaguely: "What are we doing at a warehouse? How big of a space do you need?"
Lynn looked up, his gaze fixed on the solo poster belonging to The Deep at the end of the hall.
"Find a place that can fit a huge glass water tank; remember, the tank needs to be able to hold a living person."
Lynn paused, his voice as heavy as iron.
"And fill it with piranhas that have been starved for three days."
Chapter 8: The Deep Wants to Act Tough? Strip Him Naked and Throw Him into the Piranha Tank
The neon lights of 7th Avenue could not reach this shadowed, old alleyway.
Lynn draped his suit jacket, stained with a bit of coffee, over his arm.
His tie was half-loosened, hanging loosely around his neck.
His leather shoes stepped through puddles in the uneven ground, splashing water onto his pant legs, but he didn't even look down.
It was rush hour, and the street outside was jammed solid; the sound of horns drifted over from several buildings away, muffled.
The air was filled with the sour stench of fermenting slop buckets, mixed with the sharp odor of stray cat urine.
"Zzzzt—"
The old street lamp overhead shorted out, bursting with a faint spark before going completely dark.
The alley fell into dead silence.
Lynn yawned and slowed his pace.
His peripheral vision swept over the rusty iron dumpster to his front right.
A shadow, reeking heavily of seaweed, was crouching on top of the container.
"Bang!"
The fire hydrant pipe against the wall on the left burst without warning.
A thick column of water, like a crazed white python, instantly tore through the iron valve and twisted in mid-air.
The water crashed onto the bluestone floor, kicking up a white mist half a meter high.
"Hey, you bottom-feeding PR rat."
A green figure leaped down from the dumpster and landed steadily beside the water column.
The Deep was wearing that forgiveness-green tight-fitting scale suit, hands on his hips.
The zipper on his chest was still open, with a few wet chest hairs plastered against his skin.
His chin was held high, and the corner of his mouth curled into what he considered a sexy arc.
"I warned you during the day that the night roads in Manhattan are quite dark."
The Deep paced forward slowly, his leather boots stepping into a puddle.
He raised his right hand and hooked his finger in the air.
The wildly spraying high-pressure water column, like an obedient dog, turned along the direction of his fingertip and hovered over Lynn's head.
"Water can give birth to life, uh, and it can also easily crush bones."
The Deep twisted his neck, his joints popping twice.
"You made me lose face in front of Annie today. We need to settle this score like men."
Lynn stood in place, not even blinking an eyelid.
He didn't even take the jacket off his arm, just watched the water hovering above his head.
"Just with this broken water pipe?" Lynn's tone was flat.
The flesh on The Deep's cheeks twitched.
"You death-seeking mortal, you still dare to talk tough!"
His eyes hardened, and his loosely clenched right hand suddenly pressed downward.
"Get on your knees!"
"Whoosh—"
The high-pressure water column hovering in mid-air instantly poured down.
Several hundred kilograms of water pressure, carrying enough kinetic energy to crush a car roof, slammed down onto Lynn's head.
The curtain of water obscured his vision, leaving only the deafening sound of rushing water in the alley.
The Deep laughed triumphantly, reaching up to touch his prized hairstyle.
"This is what happens when you mess with The Seven. Go lie in the hospital for a few months… Huh?"
His laughter stuck in his throat, as if an invisible hand had choked him.
The water crashed onto Lynn, flowing down the suit fabric onto the ground.
The bluestone under Lynn's feet cracked under the pressure of the water.
But he stood like a steel pillar cast deep into the earth's core, not even bending his knees.
The water hitting his Primary Steel Body felt about the same as light raindrops tapping on his shoulders.
"You… how are you still standing?"
The muscles on The Deep's face froze, his eyes bulging as if they were about to pop out of their sockets.
He waved his hands frantically, trying to increase the water pressure.
"This is impossible! A high-pressure water jet can even pierce riot shields!"
Lynn raised his hand and wiped the water off his face.
The cheap suit was completely soaked through, sticking to his body uncomfortably.
"Your superpower is probably just used to perform fountains for female fans."
As soon as he finished speaking, a faint blue arc flashed deep in Lynn's pupils.
Super-speed ability activated.
In Lynn's field of vision, the splashing water droplets instantly froze in mid-air.
The refractive surface of every water droplet was as clear as a stationary glass bead.
The expression on The Deep's terrified, stunned face was contorting at a snail's pace.
Lynn tossed aside his suit jacket and took a step.
His foot shattered the stone slab on the ground, and he blurred into an indistinct afterimage, passing straight through the thick water column.
He slammed a hole right through the water curtain.
The Deep only felt his vision blur for a moment.
The prey that was ten meters away a second ago was now right at the tip of his nose.
He could even feel the heat evaporating from Lynn's clothes.
"You—"
The Deep had just opened his mouth, his tongue yet to touch his teeth.
Lynn had already raised his right hand.
His fingers were spread wide, the veins on the back of his hand bulging from the compression of his strength.
There was no buildup, no flashy movements.
A backhand slap landed solidly on The Deep's left cheek.
"Slap!"
A dull impact exploded in the alley, sounding like a solid lead ball hitting a watermelon.
A series of dense cracking sounds came from The Deep's jawbone.
Several blood-stained molars flew out of his mouth and smashed into the gaps of the nearby sewer.
His prized scale suit didn't even provide any cushioning.
He spun two and a half times in the air like a ragdoll before crashing heavily onto a pile of stinking, rotten cardboard boxes.
"Cough… Ugh!"
The Deep lay on the ground, large mouthfuls of bloody foam pouring from his mouth.
His jaw was tilted to the right at an eerie angle; the pain was so intense he couldn't even scream, only making incoherent gurgling sounds.
Lynn turned off his super-speed state, and the world returned to its normal rhythm.
The high-pressure water stream lost control, splashing onto the ground with a thud and flowing down the drain.
Lynn walked over to The Deep and crouched down.
The Deep rolled his eyes, his face smeared with snot and tears, and shrank back in terror.
His prized strength was like a joke in front of this PR man.
"Don't, don't kill me… I'm Vought's cash cow, Madelyn will, will go crazy…"
He begged vaguely, his jaw shattered, his words whistling through the gaps.
"Cash cow?"
Lynn reached out and grabbed the collar of the scale suit, pulling it down.
With a "rip," a large piece of the high-elasticity fiber was torn open, revealing the pair of fish gills on the sides of The Deep's waist and abdomen, which were flapping violently.
The gills opened and closed, the pink mucous membrane inside exposed to the air, emitting an even stronger fishy smell.
Lynn frowned in disgust.
"You look like a piece of rotten hairtail on a cutting board, and you actually think you're a sea god."
He exerted force with his fingers and yanked down along the zipper.
In a few seconds, the uniform, worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, was stripped into a few rags.
The Deep lay naked on the rotten cardboard boxes, shivering all over from the cold.
A harsh screech of brakes came from the alley entrance.
A chipped, second-hand Ford van pulled up under the street lamp, its exhaust pipe puffing out black smoke.
The sliding door opened, and Butcher, with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, leaned half his body out.
"God, this smell is fucking pungent."
Butcher pinched his nose and kicked away a piece of broken brick blocking the way.
"Boss, did you just finish touring the seafood market? This thing smells worse than a dead abalone that's been sitting for a month."
In the back of the van, Hughie also covered his nose and poked his head out, his face pale.
"What… what is that thing on his waist? It's still moving! Ugh—"
Hughie couldn't help it and turned his head to retch out the car window.
Lynn stood up and clapped his hands.
"Stop talking nonsense and throw him in the back. Lay down some plastic sheeting; don't dirty the chassis."
Butcher walked over, pinched one of The Deep's ankles with disgust, and dragged him toward the van like a dead pig.
The Deep had long since passed out from the pain, his naked back scraping bloody trails along the rough stone floor.
"Clang."
The van's trunk closed, and the car puffed out a cloud of exhaust, disappearing into the night of Manhattan.
Two hours later.
On the outskirts of New York City, there was a closed-down meat processing plant.
Rust crawled all over the high-ceiling beams.
The swaying industrial chandelier on the ceiling emitted a sizzling electrical sound.
The air was filled with the stench of aged, fermenting pig blood, mixed with an indescribable smell of disinfectant.
"Splash—splash—"
A dense sound of splashing water echoed in the empty factory building.
The Deep felt like his head was about to explode.
Blood uncontrollably rushed back to his scalp, making his eyeballs throb with pain.
He struggled to pry open his heavy eyelids.
In his line of sight, the whole world was upside down.
His feet were tightly bound with rough industrial hemp rope.
He was hung upside down in mid-air like a piece of cured meat waiting to be air-dried.
His prized battle suit was long gone, leaving only a pair of green underpants covered in muddy water.
The cool night breeze blew against his naked skin, raising layer after layer of goosebumps.
"Mmm… where is this?"
The Deep shook his head, his shattered jaw throbbing with excruciating pain.
He subconsciously looked down.
Less than half a meter below his head was a huge, transparent glass water tank.
The water in the tank was somewhat murky, glowing with a green light.
Underwater, hundreds of palm-sized black fish were crashing into each other like they were crazy.
They had bulging eyes, mouths full of jaggedly growing sharp teeth, and the edges of their scales were tinged with eerie red blood streaks.
"Click, click."
The sound of teeth biting each other and crashing against the glass drilled densely into The Deep's ears.
The Deep gasped.
He possessed the ability to communicate with aquatic creatures, but at this moment, he only heard one kind of feedback in his mind.
It was pure hunger, violent appetite.
These were not ordinary fish at all; they were mutant piranhas contaminated by Compound V waste.
"Help, help me!"
The Deep struggled violently, the pulley system holding him up emitting creaking, wailing sounds.
He grabbed at the air with his hands, trying to untie the hemp rope on his ankles.
"Is anyone there! I am The Deep of The Seven! Let me down!"
His voice cracked; because he was upside down, saliva mixed with nosebleed flowed back into his windpipe, causing him to cough violently.
"Awake?"
A cold, emotionless voice drifted out from the shadows not far away.
The Deep stopped struggling and turned his head with difficulty.
In the corner of the factory, on that tattered leather sofa.
Lynn had changed into a clean black shirt, sitting there with his legs crossed.
He was toying with an industrial crane remote control with a red button in his hand.
Butcher stood behind the sofa, wiping down a brand-new shotgun, the smell of gun oil permeating the air.
"You… what do you want to do!"
The Deep saw Lynn's face, and fear crawled over his entire body like ice water along his spine.
He finally understood that this PR man, who seemed easy to manipulate, was a complete lunatic.
Lynn rubbed the red button with his fingers, his thumb sliding over the plastic casing.
"I've read your personnel file records."
Lynn's voice echoed in the empty factory, slow and deliberate.
"Over the years, you've forced quite a few newly debuted female heroes under the guise of touring aquariums and marine parks across the country, haven't you?"
The Deep's eye twitched, and he retorted stubbornly.
"That, that was all consensual! This is the rule of the entertainment industry! Madelyn knows!"
He tried to use the higher-ups to pressure him, but tears streamed down his forehead.
"You can't touch me! If you kill me, Vought will tear you to pieces!"
"Rules are set by the living; the dead have no right to talk."
Lynn ignored his bluster.
He stood up, his leather shoes stepping on the water on the floor, and walked step by step to the edge of the glass water tank.
Through the murky water, the mutant piranhas smelled the human presence and crashed against the glass even more crazily.
"Bang, bang!"
Sharp teeth scraped against the glass, making a teeth-grinding noise.
"Aren't you known as the King of the Seas?"
Lynn looked at The Deep, who was swinging above the water, a mocking smirk curling the corner of his mouth.
"Don't you love fish the most?"
The Deep's bladder instantly lost control.
A stream of warm liquid flowed from his lower abdomen across his chest, dripping into the water tank below.
The piranhas smelled the fishy odor of urine and instantly boiled; the water surface churned like a boiling pot.
"Don't… please don't press it!"
The Deep completely broke down, crying like a lost child in a supermarket.
"I promise I'll never touch Annie again! I'll resign! I'll quit The Seven! I'll give you money! Ah—"
Lynn leaned against the edge of the water tank and raised the remote control in his hand.
His thumb hovered over the red descend button.
"Annie's matter is over."
Lynn looked at The Deep's face, twisted in extreme fear.
"Now, go down and join your subjects."
His thumb applied gentle pressure and pressed it down.
Chapter 9: From Today On, There Is No Place For You In The Ocean
"Creeeak—"
The rusty industrial pulley emitted a teeth-grinding friction sound.
The thumb-thick hemp rope loosened bit by bit, lowering The Deep's body toward that murky glass water tank.
The mutant piranhas below instantly went into a frenzy.
The water surface seemed to be boiling, churning up green splashes that reeked of pungent kelp.
The Deep's tiptoes just grazed the surface of the water.
Several black, bulging-eyed fish shot out of the water like arrows released from a bowstring.
"Snap!" A bite.
A mouthful of jagged fangs clamped down hard on The Deep's left big toe, tearing off a small piece of bloody flesh.
"Ahhh!"
The Deep's scream echoed through the empty factory, shaking dust down from the ceiling.
He hung upside down in mid-air, his body twisting frantically like a loach out of water.
The rope swung back and forth, and the pulley let out a mournful sound as if it were about to fall apart.
"Don't bite me! Get away!"
The veins on The Deep's forehead bulged high, and his eyes threatened to split from the strain.
He gritted his teeth, attempting to emit the infrasonic commands that only marine life could receive.
"I am your king! Obey! Back off!"
It was useless.
The waste from Compound V had long since fried these fish's neural pathways.
There was no concept of submission in their brains, only the violent hunger of creatures that hadn't eaten for three days and three nights.
More fish smelled the blood and leaped out of the water.
One fish latched onto The Deep's ankle, followed by a second, then a third.
Barbed fins scraped against his skin, and the faint sound of teeth chewing through cartilage could be heard through the glass.
The water in the tank began to turn red, visible to the naked eye.
Hughie stood in the shadows of the factory, clutching his ears tightly.
His stomach churned violently.
He turned away, retching twice into a rusty iron bucket in the corner, tears welling up in his eyes.
Butcher leaned against a nearby load-bearing column, toying with an old-fashioned DV camera.
He bit down on his cigarette butt, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Wasn't this piece of trash bragging quite a bit earlier?"
Butcher exhaled a cloud of smoke and nudged the retching Hughie with his elbow.
"Stop puking, kid. Turn around and learn something; this is how you deal with these Supes."
Lynn sat on a worn leather sofa, legs crossed.
He tossed the red crane remote control in his hand, his face expressionless.
Deep in his mind, the system's mechanical prompt was ringing incessantly.
[Ding.]
[Target 'The Deep' Fear Value +500.]
[Fear Value +800.]
[Detected target's physiological functions continuously declining, Fear Value doubled...]
Lynn listened to the wonderful sound of coins dropping, his fingertips rhythmically tapping the sofa armrest.
When the unlucky guy's screams below weakened slightly, turning into a hissing sound of gasping for air.
Lynn figured it was about enough.
Any more chewing, and the calf bone would break.
He slid his thumb up and pressed the raise button.
"Hummm—"
The crane motor reversed.
The Deep was jerked out of the water, suspended half a meter above the surface.
Water droplets mixed with dark red blood streamed down.
His once-sturdy calves were now a gruesome sight.
In several places, the flesh had been chewed into ragged pits, exposing white bone splinters to the cold air.
Several mutant fish that hadn't let go were still clamped tightly onto his calves, thrashing in mid-air.
The Deep rolled his eyes in pain, his whole body shivering like he had the chills.
Saliva trailed from his chin in long, sticky strands, dripping into the tank below.
Lynn stood up, his leather shoes splashing through the standing water as he walked to the edge of the tank.
He pulled a few folded A4 sheets from his jacket pocket and flicked them, slapping them onto The Deep's face.
The paper was instantly soaked by the cold sweat and snot on The Deep's face.
"Open your eyes and look at the words."
Lynn's voice was cold and hard as ice, leaving no room for negotiation.
"Read it."
The Deep struggled to open one eye, his blurred vision scanning the bold, capitalized text on the paper.
It was a detailed confession of his sins.
It clearly listed all the dirty deeds he had committed over the years at Vought Corporation, using his position to coerce and sexually harass new female heroes.
Even the times, locations, and room numbers were precise.
"Th-this is..."
The Deep gasped, which tugged at his calf wounds, making him twitch in pain.
"I won't read it! Madelyn will kill me! I'll be ruined!"
Snot bubbles formed as he howled at the top of his lungs.
Lynn couldn't even be bothered to offer a cold laugh.
He raised his foot and kicked the tempered glass of the tank.
The hungry fish below began to ram the glass frantically again.
"Ruin, or becoming a pile of fish bones."
Lynn rested his finger on the remote's lowering button.
"I'll give you three seconds. One."
"I'll read it! I'll read it! Don't put me back down!"
The Deep completely broke down.
He had barely even had a bad cold in his life; how could he endure the agony of being eaten alive?
"Butcher, set up the equipment." Lynn tilted his head.
Butcher walked over with a grin, pressing one eye to the DV's viewfinder, aiming the lens at The Deep's pain-twisted face.
A greasy fingerprint was still printed on the lens cap.
"Lights, camera, action. Lead actor, please begin your performance." Butcher whistled.
The Deep swallowed a mouthful of bloody saliva and, following the words on the paper, began to stutter.
"I... Kevin, am a piece of trash..."
He sniffled, gasping in pain.
"I used my status as a member of The Seven... to force... force Starlight in the locker room..."
"Speak clearly." Lynn interjected coldly from the side.
"Put some sincerity into it. You're confessing, not reciting a recipe."
The Deep shuddered in fear and quickly raised his voice.
Tears dripped down, plop, plop.
For five whole minutes, the only sounds in the empty factory were The Deep's tearful confession and the splashing of the fish in the tank below.
By the last page, The Deep's throat was so hoarse he could barely make a sound.
"I'm sorry to those girls... I am willing to quit The Seven... and accept all legal consequences."
As his voice faded, The Deep gasped for air, his gills flapping desperately due to oxygen deprivation.
He looked at Lynn pleadingly.
"I finished reading... it's all recorded."
He spoke with a sob, like a stray dog begging for a bone.
"Put me down quickly, take me to the hospital... there are bacteria in this water, I'll get an infection."
Butcher pressed the stop button and tossed the DV to Lynn.
Lynn caught the device, removed the memory card, and tucked it into his inner suit pocket.
"Go to the hospital?"
Lynn raised an eyebrow, looking down at this blood-soaked "King of the Ocean."
He tossed the DV camera onto a nearby broken cardboard box, which emitted a dull thud.
Lynn walked over to the iron pillar securing the crane pulley.
On the ground lay a rusty heavy-duty fire axe, the kind used in this factory to chop frozen pork.
He bent down and picked up the axe.
The solid wood handle felt rough to the touch.
The Deep's pupils suddenly shrank to pinpricks.
"What... what are you doing? That's not what the agreement said! I did everything you told me to!"
He twisted his body futilely in mid-air, the hemp rope digging into his flesh and drawing blood.
"Let me go! Please!"
Lynn gripped the axe handle with both hands, pulling his shoulders back.
The power of the Primary Steel Body surged into his forearms.
"You usually swim quite freely in the ocean, don't you?"
Lynn looked up at the water tank.
"Unfortunately, from today on, there is no place for you in the ocean."
"Whoosh—"
The heavy axe blade tore through the air, creating a gust of wind.
"Don't—!" The Deep let out a desperate roar.
"Snap."
The sharp axe blade chopped precisely into the thumb-thick hemp rope.
The immense shearing force severed the rope in half, the end snapping against the iron pillar with a crisp sound.
Losing the tension of the suspension.
The Deep, like a two-hundred-pound weight, plummeted downward in freefall.
"Splash!"
A massive splash erupted over two meters high, mixed with deep green seaweed and a stench, hitting the glass of the tank.
Underwater instantly became a boiling meat grinder.
Hundreds of mutant piranhas swarmed forward.
Large clumps of red foam churned on the water's surface.
The Deep didn't even have time to let out a second scream before he was completely submerged in the tearing frenzy of the fish.
Lynn threw away the fire axe and brushed the rust off his hands.
He leaned against the tank, watching coldly as the inside of the glass was stained red with blood.
Occasionally, a piece of bloody bone would strike the glass, making a dull thudding sound.
Hughie finally couldn't take it anymore, crouching in the corner and vomiting up his dinner entirely.
Butcher walked over, staring at the churning red waves in the tank, and clicked his tongue twice.
"Damn, this way of dying... even Poseidon would have nightmares after seeing it."
Lynn adjusted his tie and turned to walk toward the factory door.
His shoe soles splashed in the standing water, the sound as calm as if nothing had happened.
"Let's go, Butcher. Cleaning up the mess is the PR Department's job; there's a tough battle to fight tomorrow."
...
The next morning.
Manhattan, Vought International Tower, 40th Floor, Crisis PR Department.
The morning sun shone through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, casting slanting light onto the light gray carpet.
Lynn sat in the independent office newly assigned to him.
He put his feet up on the wide mahogany desk, holding a cup of freshly brewed Americano.
The bitterness of the coffee dispelled the fatigue of the night.
This deputy director's leather chair was definitely more comfortable than the hard stools in the cubicles.
He took a deep breath of the cold air with a faint scent of lavender blown by the central air conditioning.
He had just taken a sip of coffee.
"Wooo—woo—wooo—woo—"
An extremely piercing red level-one alarm sounded without warning, exploding throughout the entire floor.
The red warning lights at the top of the corridor began to spin frantically.
The hall outside instantly turned into a chaotic mess.
Interns knocked over files, and supervisors were shouting in the hallway.
Lynn didn't even raise an eyebrow, slowly swallowing the hot coffee in his mouth.
He knew what this noise was.
Another line on the ECG in the top-floor life monitoring center had gone flat.
"Bang!"
The frosted glass door of the office was slammed open with great force.
Ashley rushed in, scrambling.
She had lost one of her high heels in the hallway and was now stepping on the carpet with one bare foot.
Her already sparse short blonde hair was pulled into a bird's nest by her own hands, with several strands still tangled between her fingers.
Her face was as pale as a sheet of paper, and her lips were trembling uncontrollably.
She didn't even cry out in pain when she hit the doorframe, stumbling and collapsing in front of Lynn's desk.
"Ly... Lynn!"
Ashley gripped the edge of the desk tightly, her nails scraping out a screeching sound.
Her eyes were wide, and her voice trembled as if she had been soaking in ice water all night.
"The Deep... that idiot The Deep!"
She took a deep breath and shouted the second half of her sentence with a sob.
"His life monitoring light... just went completely dark!"
Chapter 10: Intimidating Ashley, I'm in Charge of the Vought PR Department
The alarm sounded like a jagged, rusty machete dragging back and forth through the hallway.
Outside, red lights flashed on and off.
The blinding red glare cut through the gaps in the blinds, sweeping rhythmically across the gray office carpet.
Ashley was like a puddle of soft mud, slumped over the edge of Lynn's large desk.
She gripped the edge of the wooden surface so hard that her fingernails turned white.
"Wiped out... completely wiped out!"
A wheezing sound, like a leaky bellows, escaped her throat. Her eyes were bulging, ready to pop out of their sockets.
Her mascara had run, smeared across her eye bags by sweat, making her look like a ridiculous, cheap clown.
"That idiot The Deep!"
Ashley clawed frantically at her hair with her left hand, ripping out several blonde strands that still had blood on the roots.
"His vital signs monitor—right in front of me—just went black in a flash! There wasn't even a warning!"
She tilted her head back to look at Lynn, who was sitting composed in his leather chair.
Her gaze was like a drowning dog looking at a piece of driftwood floating by.
"Madelyn will kill me! She'll skin me alive!"
Ashley gasped for air, flecks of saliva spraying onto the folder on the desk.
Lynn ignored her hysterics.
He leisurely picked up the ceramic mug emblazoned with the Vought logo.
He pressed the rim to his lips and took a small sip of warm Americano.
The bitter liquid slid down his throat, helping the muscles he'd strained from last night's physical exertion relax a little.
"Clink."
The mug landed on the solid wood desk with a dull thud.
Lynn stood up, pulled two tissues from the box, and rounded the large desk to stand beside Ashley.
His leather shoes made no sound on the carpet.
"Boss, wipe your tears."
Lynn pressed the tissues into Ashley's trembling hands, his voice as calm as if he were discussing what to have for lunch.
"If you run out there with your makeup smeared like that, those interns outside will think Vought is going bankrupt."
Ashley couldn't be bothered to wipe her face.
She grabbed Lynn's suit sleeve like a lifeline.
"Lynn, you have to help me... that drug lord story you came up with yesterday was perfect!"
She stammered, words tumbling out incoherently.
"Can we make up another one? Say The Deep went on a drug bust too? Or... or that he went to the bottom of the ocean to fight sea monsters?"
Lynn lowered his gaze to the hand clutching his sleeve, wrinkling the fabric.
He ruthlessly pulled his arm away, inch by inch.
"Using the same lie twice? Do you think those reporters outside with their cameras are idiots?"
Lynn turned and walked with measured steps to the office door.
He reached out and gripped the metal handle of the frosted glass door.
With a click, he locked it.
The chaotic noise outside was instantly muffled by more than half.
The room was left with only the hum of the central air conditioning and Ashley's heavy breathing.
Lynn leaned against the door, his hands tucked into his suit pockets.
He dropped his usual sycophantic corporate drone smile, his chin tilted slightly upward.
His eyes were like two ice-cold blades, staring straight at Ashley.
"Let's review the situation."
Lynn's voice turned cold and hard, carrying an unquestionable sense of oppression.
"Yesterday, the fastest man in America died. To appease the board, Madelyn has already downed half a bottle of heart medication."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"And this morning, the superhero who manages The Sevenseas has vanished into thin air."
Lynn took a step forward, his shoe tip nearly touching the high heels Ashley had kicked off.
"The Seven are down to five now."
Lynn curled his lips, a mirthless smile playing on his face.
"You know Homelander's temper better than I do. If he finds out someone slaughtered his team member right under his nose..."
Lynn raised two fingers and made a sweeping motion in the air, mimicking laser eyes.
"Zzzzt—how many walls do you think will be left standing in this building?"
Ashley's calves cramped, her knees gave way, and she collapsed onto the carpet with a thud.
Cold sweat dripped from the tip of her nose.
She knew all too well what it was like when Homelanderwent crazy; the terror of being sliced in half by heat vision at any moment left her unable to catch her breath.
"Then... what should I do?"
Ashley clutched her shoulders, curling into a ball, her voice laced with desperate sobs.
"I'm the PR Director... if they need a scapegoat, I'll be the first one they throw under the bus."
"At least you're not completely stupid."
Lynn walked over and loomed over the female executive who was usually so imperious.
"You're the perfect scapegoat."
Ashley shivered with every word Lynn spoke.
"Madelyn will pin the blame for poor scheduling on you. The board needs a fall guy, and you're just a replaceable cog."
He crouched down until he was eye-level with Ashley.
"Once you're kicked to the curb, you won't get any severance, and you won't even be able to save your own life."
Ashley broke down.
She covered her face with her hands and sobbed, black eyeliner smearing through her fingers.
"I don't want to die... I'm still paying off my mortgage in Manhattan..."
Seeing that he had pushed her far enough, Lynn pulled a small black plastic card from his pocket.
It was the memory card containing The Deep's confession.
He held the small card between two fingers and dangled it in front of Ashley.
"Stop crying. I'll pay your mortgage."
Lynn's tone softened, taking on a seductive quality.
"I have a plan. It won't just save your neck; it will make you a hero in Madelyn's eyes."
Ashley's sobbing stopped abruptly, like a hungry cat that had just heard a can opening.
She wiped her face frantically and stared intently at the black memory card.
"What... what is this?"
"The Deep's confession."
Lynn stood up and tossed the card onto the mahogany desk, where it landed with a soft plastic clatter.
"It details every rookie he's exploited while on tour over the last few years. Everything is clearly laid out."
Ashley froze, her mind struggling to keep up.
"What's the point of this? This is a scandal! If this gets out, Vought's stock will plummet to rock bottom!"
Lynn rapped his knuckles on the desk in frustration.
"Who said anything about releasing it? This is for Madelynand Homelander."
He pulled out the leather chair and sat down again, crossing his hands beneath his chin.
"The Deep is an idiot anyway, and his approval ratings have been tanking. You just report to the higher-ups that you discovered The Deep was terrified of being fired from The Seven because his scandals were about to break."
Lynn narrowed his eyes, delivering the excuse he'd prepared.
"He couldn't handle the immense psychological pressure, so he fled in fear of punishment and jumped into the ocean overnight to 'find himself.'"
Ashley's mouth hung open, and she even forgot to breathe.
"He's in the ocean, where even radar can't track him, so naturally, the vital signs monitor would go dead."
Lynn leaned back in his chair, spinning it halfway around.
"This isn't a terrorist attack, and there's no psychopathic killer hunting heroes."
"This is just a disgraced superhero who couldn't handle the weight of his own conscience."
Ashley scrambled up from the carpet, not even bothering with her heels.
She rushed to the desk barefoot and snatched up the memory card as if it were a bar of gold.
"Genius... Lynn, you're a fucking genius!"
Her face was flushed, her previous terror replaced by ecstasy, her words coming out as fast as a machine gun.
"With this, Homelander won't think anyone is challenging him! And Madelyn will have an answer for the board!"
She spun around excitedly, dancing with joy.
"The crisis is averted! My job is saved!"
She grabbed her coat and started to run for the door, wanting to head to the top floor to report the good news immediately.
"Stop."
Lynn's voice wasn't loud, but it felt like an ice pick stabbing into the back of Ashley's neck.
Ashley froze, turning her head as the ecstasy on her face stiffened.
She looked at Lynn's cold, expressionless face and suddenly realized that there's no such thing as a free lunch.
"There's no such thing as a free lunch, Boss."
Lynn tapped his fingers on the desk, producing a dull thud.
"I gave you a bargaining chip to save your life; I need to collect some interest."
Ashley swallowed hard and cautiously walked back to the desk.
"What... what do you want? A raise? A private office?"
She gritted her teeth, making a decision.
"I'll approve whatever you want! As long as Madelyn gives the nod, I'll even double your bonus!"
Lynn scoffed and shook his head.
"I don't want that pocket change."
He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the desk, his gaze aggressively boring into Ashley.
"You can keep sitting in that Director's chair."
Lynn lowered his voice, each word landing like a hammer blow.
"You can continue to drink tea and serve coffee in front of Madelyn, playing the part of the scapegoat leader."
"However."
Lynn held up a finger and wagged it in the air.
"From today on, what press releases the PR Departmentputs out, what documents are signed, and what news gets buried..."
He pointed to his own nose.
"...I call the shots."
Ashley froze completely.
He was stripping her of all real power.
He wanted her to be a puppet Director—all for show, but nothing more than a marionette.
She instinctively wanted to object, but as the words reached her lips, she saw the cold, piercing look in Lynn's eyes and swallowed them back.
She knew she had no choice.
If she didn't agree, she'd be burned to ash by Homelanderin an instant.
"Fine... it's a deal."
Ashley closed her eyes and nodded with difficulty, her movements stiff like a rusty mechanical toy.
"From now on, you run the department."
"Pleasure doing business with you."
A smile tugged at the corners of Lynn's mouth, the dark expression on his face vanishing instantly, and he transformed back into the gentle, corporate-drone Deputy Director.
He pointed toward the door.
"Go on, clean up the mess out there. Madelyn is probably dying to hear your good news."
Ashley took a deep breath, clutching the memory card tightly in her palm, and turned to twist the door handle.
The moment her hand touched the metal knob, the smile on Lynn's face froze.
His Kryptonian super-hearing, without any warning, picked up an extremely faint sound.
It was masked by the blaring alarms in the hallway.
An ordinary person would never have heard it.
But Lynn heard it clearly.
It came from the corner of the office on the right, where the potted plants were kept.
The air was slightly displaced, creating a rustling sound like fine fabric rubbing together.
Then came the heartbeat.
"Thump... thump."
It was very slow, the rhythm deliberately suppressed.
It was accompanied by the faint, sour stench of sweat—someone who hadn't bathed in days—mixed with the distinct, acrid smell of carbon fiber.
A cold light flashed in Lynn's eyes.
His azure irises flickered toward the corner, almost imperceptibly.
It was empty, save for a few yellowing monstera plants.
But in this entire building, there was only one person who could cause the air to ripple with that specific carbon-fiber friction.
The Seven: Translucent.
That pervert who spent his days wandering around the women's restrooms naked.
He must have snuck into his office at some point, hearing every word of the intimidation and the deal that had just taken place.
Ashley had already unlocked the door and stepped one foot out.
The chaotic sound of the alarms flooded back into the office.
"Lynn, um..."
Ashley turned back, wanting to say something else.
"Boss."
Lynn cut her off, his voice raised just enough to ensure the "invisible guest" in the corner could hear every word.
He walked to the water cooler, picked up a disposable paper cup, and slowly filled it.
"You go out there and stabilize the situation. I'll stay here and draft a backup report."
Lynn filled the cup with warm water, turned around, and fixed his gaze directly on the empty corner.
A cold, mirthless smile curled his lips.
"Besides, I have to deal with a buzzing bluebottle fly."