◇ I'll be dropping one bonus chapters for every 10 reviews.
◇ One bonus chapter will be released for every 100 Power Stones. or 500 Collections
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Ciudad Juárez, Mexico.
The scorching sun baked the Earth; the air reeked of burning.
"Damn! What are those guys holding—laser cannons?!"
The city hero "Bulletproof Man" crouched behind a pickup truck riddled with holes, filthy and disheveled.
Though he called himself bulletproof, those retro-fitted Chitauri weapons still hurt like hell—and they ruined his pricey custom suit.
Beside him, the vine-controlling heroine "Ivy Girl" tried to summon plants from underground, but the soil was so dry only a few withered grass stalks poked out.
Across the street stood a drug-lord fortress.
Dozens of gunmen, armed with hacked alien arms, had woven a killing field that pinned the Vought hero squad flat.
"Call for backup?" Ivy Girl shouted. "V.G.D's rapid-response team needs twenty minutes!"
"Twenty? We'll be taco filling by then!"
Bulletproof gritted his teeth and hit a red button on his tactical bracer.
"This is Bulletproof, code V-172. Under heavy fire; coordinates uploaded. Requesting… 'Heavenfall' strike."
A soft female voice answered in his earbud:
"Identity confirmed, Bulletproof. For your location and threat tier, we recommend Orbital Kinetic Strike. Single-use fee: two million dollars. Please confirm payer."
"Bill it to Juárez City Hall—or my mission bonus—just hurry!!"
"Payment confirmed. Target locked. Strike arrives in five seconds. Have a nice day."
Five.
Four.
Three.
Bulletproof shoved Ivy Girl's head down. "Hit the dirt! Cover your ears!"
Two.
One.
On the helicarrier, a few barrels of the antimatter array tilted slightly.
Hexagonal muzzles spilled azure particle streams, and with infrasonic howl and high-pitched shriek they punched through the clouds, slamming dead-center into the fortress.
"Woom————————!!!"
Sound was stripped away.
The reinforced-concrete fortress, along with the dozens of thugs inside, turned to dust in an instant.
The ground quaked; a shockwave uprooted every nearby cactus.
Only a twenty-meter-wide crater remained, its rim still oozing magma.
Bulletproof dusted himself off, stood up, whistled at the hole.
"Sweet."
He flipped off the ruins, then turned to the approaching drone cam with a professional smile.
"As you can see, evil has been eradicated. Vought—making the World safer."
"This operation is proudly sponsored by Osbourne Biotech."
"Osbourne Tech—evolution is a choice."
That post-mission ad line cost a million dollars… and it's just a snapshot of what's happening worldwide.
Since Vought took over the Insight Project, the killing machine once meant for terror-cleansing has become the planet's most efficient—and popular—commercial security service.
Vought seized the moment to launch its epoch-making app: "Ding-Dong Rescue."
Clean interface, fool-proof operation.
One tap lets you order "standard-hero door service" to nab a thief or save a cat, or an "elite hero squad" to handle Terrorists and gunmen.
Even if penguins riot on you in Antarctica, as long as you can pay, a supersonic quinjet will deliver a fully-loaded superhero within thirty minutes.
If it's truly urgent, after a quick backend review the helicarrier's antimatter array arrives first, giving your foes a physical send-off to the afterlife.
"Justice from the sky!"
On the Time cover, Homelander stands on the helicarrier deck with Earth behind him; the caption reads exactly that.
Under this brutally efficient model, even Gotham's Joker would have to get a license before driving… and under this merciless saturation, The Seven have become the World's idlest heroes.
Because they never get the chance.
Any crook who pops up is vaporized by orbital arrays or ground-tier heroes before finishing his villain monologue.
So Ashley keeps The Seven relevant with movies, variety shows, ads—nonstop.
In short: full-Time celebrities.
Hollywood, Vought Pictures.
Before the green screen, Jessica Jones floated mid-air in purple armor, her face dead with boredom.
"Great! Queen Maeve—look more anguished! Show the broken heart that still fights on for the World!"
The director shouted through a megaphone.
"Screw your broken heart…" Jessica muttered.
"Cut! Perfect!" The director beamed as if he'd heard heaven's chorus. "That's the glare—scorn for fate itself! Beautiful! Next up: kiss scene!"
"What?!" Jessica's eyes bulged. "There's no kiss in the script!"
"Added last minute," the director said, rubbing his hands. "The sponsor loves your chemistry with Homelander; the audience wants it. He's not here, so we'll use a stand-in and composite later—"
"Composite your mom! I'm not kissing a double!"
Jessica finally snapped, landing with a boom.
"I'm done! I'm going for a drink!"
She stormed off the set, leaving the crew slack-jawed… while in another studio,
Angela idly toyed with a fireball, listening to Pietro complain as a make-up artist retouched him.
"We're superheroes, not supermodels! Three weeks of shampoo ads—my hair reeks of perfume."
"Count your blessings, hot stuff."
Pietro checked himself in the mirror, arching a brow.
"Yesterday I shot a running-shoe spot—two laps, say 'fast as lightning' to camera, two million in the bank. Where else is it that easy?"
"You've changed, Pietro." Angela sighed. "You used to have… rebellion in you."
"Rebel against who—Franklin?" Pietro snorted. "Come on, he's adorable…"
He glanced at his Patek Philippe.
"…I've got bigger things now."
"Like what?"
"Tony's taking me to Monaco for the F1."
Pietro rose, patting Angela's shoulder.
"That's life, Angela. Enjoy it."