Chapter 69: Preparing a Big Gift for A-Zu
"Bullets?"
Butcher repeated the two words, pressing his cigarette butt into the beer can on the table.
"Ryan, I don't want bullets, I want that blonde bastard's head."
"You'll get the head."
Ryan put his phone on speaker and tapped his finger on the files Maeve had left behind.
"But shooting now would at most peel off a layer of his skin. What I want is a shot through the heart, not giving him the chance to cry and go to Madelyn for milk."
There was the sound of a chair moving on Hughie's end.
"So what exactly do we do?"
"Step one, Butcher, compile the dirt on Homelander."
Ryan pressed a sheet of paper onto the table.
"The Becca case, the plane incident, the six names on the kill list—check them along three separate lines. Each one must have documents, timestamps, handlers, and witnesses who can speak out."
Butcher sneered.
"You say that like it's easy; the witnesses are all in their graves."
"The dead don't talk, but the living get scared."
Ryan picked up his cola and took a sip.
"Every time Vought covers up a murder, someone has to sign off, transfer funds, or alter files. It's useless to check the corpses; check the people who stamped the death certificates."
Mothers Milk took over.
"This is doable. Police stations, hospitals, insurance companies—they all have records."
The sound of Frenchie's typing came rapidly from the other end of the line.
"I like this angle. Dead men tell no tales, but databases are big mouths."
Butcher paced irritably for a couple of steps.
"What about Becca? You're making me dig through these useless papers, and you're just putting Becca aside?"
Ryan looked up at the window.
"The Becca line has the highest priority, but we can't touch the core files."
"Say that again?"
"If you touch the core files now, Edgar will know someone is looking for project r. A-Zu will know, too."
The other end of the line went quiet.
Ryan continued.
"You might be able to accept getting caught, but can you accept Becca being moved?"
Butcher didn't curse.
That spoke volumes more than any curse.
Hughie said in a low voice, "Butcher, listen to him for now."
"Hughie, the only reason I'm not telling you to shut up right now is because I'm afraid I'll crush the phone."
Butcher bit out the words hard.
Ryan chuckled.
"Don't scare Hughie. He still has to relay messages for me later; if you scare him off, you can't afford the damages."
"Cut the crap."
Butcher suppressed his anger.
"What's step two?"
"Annie."
Ryan flipped the paper over and wrote down "Vought Internal Files".
"At Vought, she can access the Public Relations Department, The Seven's schedules, and some internal emails. I need her to find three types of things."
Hughie quickly asked, "Do you want me to contact her now?"
"No."
Ryan shut it down immediately.
"She can contact you during the day, but nothing tonight. Madelyn was just spooked by me; anyone who touches the internal system now will be targeted by her."
Mothers Milk said, "You're worried about Annie getting exposed."
"She is the cleanest card we have inside Vought; we can't waste her on testing the waters."
Ryan tossed the pen onto the table.
"Tomorrow morning, have her pull the old Public Relations Department emails first. The original press release versions for the plane incident, the crisis management logs for Homelander, and the edits signed off by Madelyn."
Frenchie interjected.
"These things can prove Vought is lying, but they can't prove A-Zu committed murder."
"That's why we need step three."
Ryan said.
"Wait until you have the peripheral evidence pieced together, then Annie can go get the core corroborating evidence. We can't do it in reverse."
Hughie asked, "Why?"
Butcher answered for Ryan.
"Because if the core files go missing, Vought will lock down the building and investigate. Lay the groundwork with the peripheral stuff first, and once we have the core, we can detonate it all at once."
Ryan snapped his fingers.
"The Englishman can occasionally use his brain."
"I thank you."
Butcher's tone was ready to set the phone line on fire.
Mothers Milk asked in a low voice, "What about the public channels? Still going through Blackie?"
"Blackie is responsible for the first wave of livestream traffic."
Ryan circled the word "public".
"But this time we can't rely on just one kid's livestream. Hughie, go find Robin and have her contact the accounts that were willing to help repost dirt on Vought before."
Hughie was stunned.
"Robin? She's just a regular person."
"Regular people are the safest."
Ryan said.
"Vought watches reporters, hackers, and sewer-dwelling agents like you. They won't immediately target a girl who just survived an accident."
Hughie was silent for two seconds.
"I don't want to drag her into this."
"Then ask her if she's willing."
Ryan's tone leveled out.
"Don't decide for her. You can protect her, but don't treat her like a glass cup."
There was no sound from Hughie's end.
After a while, he said, "I'll ask her."
Butcher suddenly spoke up.
"What about the timing for going public?"
"After the Washington operation."
"You're going to wreck the Cradle Initiative first, then expose Homelander?"
"Yes."
"The risk is too high."
Mothers Milk replied quickly.
"If you make your move at the base tomorrow, Vought will enter a wartime state. It'll be very hard for us to dig for dirt then."
"That's why tonight until tomorrow noon is your window."
Ryan looked at the three lines on the table.
"Gather enough basic evidence, and Annie will get the first batch of internal files. Once things get chaotic in Washington, Vought will turn all their eyes toward me."
The sound of Frenchie's typing paused.
"You're using yourself as bait?"
"I'm such a big piece of meat; it'd be a waste not to use it for fishing."
Ryan smiled.
"While they're watching me, Annie will have the chance to make her move. And Butcher will have the chance to investigate Becca's periphery."
Butcher said in a low voice, "Are you sure A-Zu won't just go crazy and start killing people first?"
"That's why we can't let him know what we're investigating."
Ryan's voice deepened.
"Do not use Homelander's real name in any files, do not mention Becca, and do not mention project r. Use code names."
Hughie asked, "What code names?"
Ryan looked at the three words on the paper and crossed them out.
"Blonde Birdman, Missing Wife, Air Bus."
The other end of the line was silent.
Frenchie was the first to laugh out loud.
"These code names aren't very professional, but I like them."
Butcher cursed, "You motherfucker, you're calling my wife 'Missing Wife'?"
"Should we call it 'Butcher's Forbidden Out-of-Control Project'?"
Ryan retorted.
Mothers Milk coughed.
"I vote for 'Missing Wife'."
Hughie whispered, "I also think the first one is safer."
Butcher didn't speak for a long time.
Finally, he squeezed a sentence out through his teeth.
"Fine. Let's call them that for now."
Ryan wrote down the three code names.
"Remember, one strike is all it takes. Don't go crazy in the middle of the night looking for reporters to leak stories, don't send threatening texts to Madelyn, and most importantly, don't let A-Zu hear a single word."
Butcher scoffed.
"What kind of person do you take me for?"
"The kind of person who wanted to put a dog leash on me last night."
"You're really not going to let this go, are you?"
"Depends on your performance."
Hughie quickly brought the conversation back.
"So, what should I tell Annie tomorrow?"
"Tell her to only take the old emails and PR attachments; don't touch the 79th Floor, don't touch Edgar's office."
Ryan paused.
"If she notices someone following her, go straight to the women's restroom and send me a blank text."
Mothers Milk asked, "What does a blank text mean?"
"It means no questions asked, I'll go pick her up."
Butcher's voice dropped.
"You still have to go to Washington tomorrow."
"It doesn't take long to get from New York to Washington."
Ryan put the files into an envelope.
"I fly faster than you curse."
Frenchie laughed again.
Butcher didn't laugh.
"Ryan."
"Speak."
"If A-Zu finds out ahead of time, who will he go for first?"
Ryan looked at the phone on the table.
"He'll go for Madelyn first."
Mothers Milk added, "Then Edgar."
"And then, he'll come for you."
Ryan said.
Butcher cursed on the other end of the line.
"Because of Becca?"
"Because you hate him too obviously."
Ryan picked up his pen and wrote "Relocate" on the paper.
"Change the Safe House tonight. Don't use that basement you're in now, don't drive the original cars, and don't take Hughie's old phone."
Hughie panicked.
"Leave now?"
"Now."
Ryan said.
"A-Zu is mentally ill, but his ears work just fine. If you're going to dig his grave tonight, don't live next to the tombstone."
Mothers Milk was already calling people to pack up.
"Frenchie, unplug the computers. Hughie, grab the files. Billy, stop smoking, let's go."
Butcher asked in a low voice, "How do you know he'll make a move tonight?"
"I don't know."
Ryan put the envelope into the drawer.
"So we prepare as if he will."
Before the call ended, Hughie asked one last thing.
"Ryan, this big gift, can it really destroy him?"
Ryan looked at the direction of Vought Tower outside the window.
"Yes."
He turned off the desk lamp, leaving only the phone screen lit.
"But before the gift box is opened, don't let the birthday boy hear a sound."
At the same time, on the 79th Floor of Vought Tower.
Homelander stood in the unlit room, the sound of tiny electrical currents coming from the ventilation ducts above his head.
He wasn't sleeping.
The sounds of the employees' phone calls and typing downstairs, and the echoes of encrypted calls from Madelyn's office, were all being filtered out by him, bit by bit.
"Air Bus..."
Homelander looked up.
This word had appeared in a deleted backup of an old email.
The next second, another word popped out from a server running deep in the night.
"Blonde Birdman."
Homelander raised his hand to press against his ear, the smile on his face twisting little by little.
"Someone is investigating me."
Chapter 70: A-Zu Starts Being Paranoid
"Someone is investigating me."
Homelander stood in the darkness of the 79th Floor, his fingers pressed against the edge of the console.
Five indentations were pressed into the alloy shell by his fingers.
The low-level noise of Vought servers came through his earpiece, and fragments of deleted emails were still flickering in the background cache.
Blonde Birdman.
Airbus.
Missing wife.
These three terms did not write his name, yet each one was aimed at him.
Homelander looked up at the ceiling, the smile on his face pulled tight.
"Who taught you to use code names?"
He took off his earpiece and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.
The lights of New York in the early morning had not yet gone out; downstairs, security guards were changing shifts, Public Relations Department employees were cursing at trending topics, and some programmer was secretly deleting database caches.
Homelander listened for a while, and the smile on his face vanished.
"Madelyn."
Ten minutes later, the elevator door on the 79th Flooropened.
Madelyn walked out in her high heels, holding a tablet she hadn't had time to turn off.
"John, you should be resting right now."
Homelander turned around.
"Are you ordering me?"
Madelyn paused, then quickly changed her tone.
"I am worried about you. There are many things to do tomorrow, and the company needs you to stay in top form."
Homelander walked up to her and looked down at her tablet.
On the screen was the Public Relations Department's trending topic suppression list.
Preservation Walker.
Homelander injured.
Vought hiding the truth.
Homelander tapped the third line with his finger.
"Who released this?"
"Competitors, anti-Vought organizations, and that masked lunatic."
Madelyn answered quickly.
Homelander smiled.
"You've rehearsed your lines."
Madelyn turned off the tablet.
"John, everything is under control."
"You said that last night, too."
Homelander took a step forward, his voice dropping low.
"And then I heard someone reading a note on the second basement level."
Madelyn's expression tightened.
"That was just an internal security check."
"What about that Janitor?"
Homelander stared at her.
"Have you found him?"
Madelyn did not answer immediately.
Homelander reached out, grabbed the tablet from her hand, and cracked the screen with a snap.
"See, not saying anything again."
Madelyn let go of the tablet.
"John, that Janitor is just a suspect, not a conclusion. We have already checked his blood report; his physical condition is very poor."
Homelander laughed out loud.
"Severe anemia?"
Madelyn didn't respond.
"Osteoporosis?"
Homelander moved half a step closer.
"Do you really believe it? Or do you want me to believe it?"
Madelyn looked up at him.
"I hope you won't be led around by an anonymous enemy. You are Homelander; you cannot lose control in front of the public."
"The public."
Homelander repeated, turning to look out the window.
"They were cursing me in the comments last night. They used to cry out my name, but now they call me Blonde Birdman."
Madelyn kept her voice steady.
"That is why we will fight back. Edgar has approved a new PR plan, and Ashley will be responsible for the public opinion cleanup."
Homelander turned back.
"Ashley?"
"She understands media, and she knows how to make people afraid."
Madelyn said.
"Starting tomorrow morning, all mainstream channels will have a unified stance. Preservation Walker will become a dangerous element, a terrorist suspect, and an unregistered superhuman threat."
Homelander looked at her, silent for a long time.
Madelyn added.
"You just need to stand up and protect America."
"Protect America."
Homelander's smile became even uglier.
"You always love to make me say that phrase."
He suddenly raised his hand to cover his ear.
A security supervisor downstairs was making a private call.
"Don't mention Butcher; that Brit has already moved out, and the basement is empty."
Homelander's expression froze.
Madelyn sensed something was wrong.
"John?"
Homelander did not answer.
The next second, he smashed through the outer wall of the 79th Floor and rushed straight out of Vought Tower.
Madelyn rushed to the breach, and the wind blew in, messing up her hair.
"John! Where are you going?"
There was no response.
East Brooklyn.
On the roof of an old warehouse, Homelander hovered in mid-air.
He looked down at the abandoned basement below.
The lock had been pried open, the table inside was still there, an old TV lay on the floor, and the photos on the wall had been torn away, leaving only tape marks.
No one.
No heartbeat.
No breathing.
Not even the sound of Hughie's panicked footsteps.
Homelander landed at the entrance and pushed open the iron door.
The door hinge made a harsh sound.
He walked inside, picked up a half-smoked cigarette butt from the floor, and sniffed it.
"Billy."
Homelander spoke the name.
There was an empty beer can in the corner, the body of the can crushed, with a bit of ash on it.
On the tabletop were paper scraps left from torn notebook pages.
Homelander pressed his face close to the table, his gaze scanning the ink dots in the wood grain.
He saw half of a letter.
B.
B for Becca.
The cigarette butt in Homelander's hand was crushed into ash.
He turned around slowly, looking at the empty basement.
"You run very fast."
In the corner, an old radio suddenly lit up with a red light.
Homelander turned his head.
The pre-recorded voice of Frenchie came from the radio.
"If you are hearing this recording, it means you are late, Mr. Blonde Birdman."
Homelander did not move.
The recording continued.
"Friendly reminder, breaking and entering is a crime in New York, although you probably don't care about the law. ╮(╯▽╰)╭"
Click.
Homelander crushed the radio with his foot.
Electric sparks exploded from the sole of his shoe.
He looked up at the ceiling, Heat Vision lighting up in his eyes, only to be forcibly suppressed.
Can't burn it.
If he burns it, there will be no clues.
For the first time, he realized that he actually needed clues.
This thought made him feel even worse.
Vought Tower.
Madelyn stood at the door of the conference room, with Edgar sitting at the end of the long table.
Ashley stood to the side holding a stack of documents, her hair a mess, but she didn't dare to sit.
"John has left the building."
Madelyn said.
Edgar was flipping through files.
"Where did he go?"
"Brooklyn. Butcher's old Safe House."
Edgar stopped his pen.
"Are they still there?"
"They have already moved."
Edgar looked up at her.
"So someone knew in advance he would go there."
Madelyn didn't speak.
Ashley hugged the documents tighter to her chest.
Edgar turned to her.
"Ashley."
"Yes, sir."
"I want to see the first draft of the public opinion plan before 6:00 AM tomorrow."
Ashley nodded quickly.
"Terrorist angle, or mental instability angle?"
Edgar closed the file.
"Both. First make the public fear him, then make the public hate him."
Ashley licked her lips.
"I can arrange for three TV stations to release reports simultaneously, and find a few victims' family members for interviews."
Madelyn looked at her.
"Victims' family members?"
Ashley said in a low voice.
"I can find actors. I'll write the script, design the crying points, and push a wave of short videos on social media."
Edgar nodded.
"Very good. From now on, you are fully responsible for the public relations handling of Preservation Walker."
Ashley looked up, her eyes shining.
"Fully responsible?"
"Yes."
Edgar said.
"You need to make the people of the whole country believe within 48 hours that he is not a hero."
Madelyn looked at Ashley without objecting.
Because she knew that fists couldn't solve Ryan, but public opinion might be able to hold him back.
Above Brooklyn.
Homelander hovered under the cloud layer, the sounds of the entire city filling his ears.
Car horns, couples arguing, bar music, police channels, Vought internal calls.
He filtered for a long time, until his scalp went numb.
No location for Becca.
No location for Butcher.
No real sound of Preservation Walker.
Everyone was hiding from him.
This feeling made him want to vomit.
"Come out."
Homelander spoke to the city below.
"Don't you want to investigate me?"
"I am right here."
A night flight flew by in the distance, and someone in the cabin was looking at news on their phone.
On the phone screen was a video of his press conference, edited into a meme.
The caption was very glaring.
A-Zu, give it up.
Homelander raised his hand, aiming at that airplane.
Heat Vision lit up for half a second, then stopped.
He heard Madelyn's voice coming from his earpiece.
"John, come back. Tomorrow's public opinion counterattack will begin, and you cannot cause a new incident tonight."
Homelander slowly lowered his hand.
"Are you afraid of me, too?"
There was a pause on Madelyn's end.
"I am protecting you."
Homelander laughed.
"You are all protecting me. Edgar protects me, the Public Relations Department protects me, the fans protect me."
He took off the earpiece and crushed it.
"But none of you are willing to tell me who is judging me."
Madelyn's voice cut off completely.
Homelander looked down at the city.
His cape was blown up by the night wind, and he hung in mid-air, not flying forward again.
After a long time, he said in a low voice.
"No one can judge me."
He raised his head, the red light in his eyes lighting up bit by bit.
"I am the judgment itself."
Chapter 71: Ashley Deifies and Strikes Back
"I am the judgment itself."
This sentence was not transmitted back to Vought Tower; Madelyn's earpiece only held static. She stood beside the broken outer wall of the 79th Floor, the wind blowing meeting documents all over the floor.
Ashley stood at the conference room door clutching her materials, not daring to look at the hole, only pressing her tablet against her chest as she asked: "Ms. Stillwell, will Homelander return for the morning recording?"
Madelyn turned to look at her; her makeup had already been touched up once, but her face could still not hide her exhaustion.
"You're concerned about the recording right now?"
"What I'm concerned about is that if he doesn't come back, who will stand in front of the camera to make Americans believe in us?" Ashley opened her tablet, speaking quickly. "If Homelander causes another incident tonight, we need to prepare an alternative narrative in advance."
Edgar raised his head from the end of the long table, the pen in his hand pausing on the document.
"Go on."
Ashley took two steps forward and cast her tablet onto the conference room screen.
The first image was a public video of the Preservation Walker saving people, labeled below as "Grassroots Hero Narrative."
The second image was a clip of Homelander injured, labeled below as "Vought Authority Compromised."
The third image was a blank news template with the headline already written.
Unregistered Superpowered Individual Suspected of Involvement in Terrorist Plot.
Madelyn stared at the headline, her brows furrowing.
"It's too rushed; it will backfire."
Ashley did not back down.
"The backlash has already happened. They are turning Homelander into memes and treating the Preservation Walker as a savior. If we wait another twenty-four hours, Washington will turn into his coronation."
Edgar put down his pen.
"What do you intend to do?"
Ashley swiped her tablet, and a list of media outlets popped up on the screen.
"At six in the morning, three morning news shows will break the news simultaneously. No conviction, just raising questions. Emphasize that he is unregistered, his whereabouts are unknown, he destroys public property, and is suspected of possessing military-grade destructive capabilities."
Madelyn said coldly: "The word'suspected' won't protect us."
"That's why the second layer will be stated by experts." Ashley clicked to the next page. "A former Homeland Security advisor, a retired psychologist, and an urban safety researcher—they will discuss the risks of superpowered individuals losing control. They won't mention Vought; they will only mention national security."
Edgar asked: "How much do they cost?"
Ashley reported three figures.
After listening, Madelyn looked at Edgar.
"It's too clean; the price is suspiciously low."
Ashley highlighted one of the names.
"We don't need to pay this one; his son receives a subsidy from the Vought Children's Medical Foundation. The other two want cash and television resources, and I've already had legal bypass the company accounts."
Edgar nodded.
"Continue."
Ashley licked her dry lips and clicked on the social media plan.
"We start pushing topics at 7:20. The first wave will use safety panic, the second wave will use victim accusations, and the third wave will use patriotic sentiment. The keywords are 'dangerous individual,' 'unlicensed superhero,' and 'Washington threat.'"
Madelyn looked at the account avatars.
"Bots?"
"Real-name accounts as the base, bots to amplify. Local mom groups, veterans' forums, school safety pages—all posting at once." Ashley looked up. "No one believes corporate announcements, but they will believe a mother crying about how her child is afraid to go to school."
The conference room was quiet for a few seconds.
Edgar said: "Where is the mother?"
Ashley pressed the play button.
A middle-aged woman appeared on the screen, her eyes swollen, clutching a child's jacket as she sat on a sofa.
"My son was just passing by that street. He saw that masked person punch a hole through the wall. He has nightmares every night now."
The video paused.
Madelyn asked: "Is there really such a child?"
Ashley answered steadily.
"There is a child, there are nightmares, but there is no such street."
Madelyn looked at her.
"Are you crazy?"
Ashley turned off the video, her voice dropping lower.
"Ms. Stillwell, the whole internet was laughing at Homelander last night. If they are still laughing this morning, the board will first ask why the Public Relations Department is useless."
She paused, then added another sentence.
"Then they will ask why the management of The Seven is out of control."
Madelyn's expression darkened.
Edgar, however, smiled slightly, the smile very faint.
"She is right."
Madelyn turned to him.
"You want to make actors lie to the whole country?"
Edgar looked at the news template on the screen.
"We have been managing heroes for so many years, Madelyn; you shouldn't waste time on that word."
Ashley immediately followed up.
"I have also prepared a second accuser, a taxi driver, who will say the Preservation Walker flew over the roof of his car, causing him to lose control and hit a streetlight. The accident record is real; we just need to change the time and it can be used."
Madelyn said: "What if he comes out to deny it himself?"
Ashley pushed a photo onto the screen.
The photo showed the blurry back of Ryan, who had appeared before; the image was deliberately darkened, leaving only a silhouette.
"That's even better. As long as he speaks, he will enter our agenda."
Edgar asked: "How do we lock in the agenda?"
Ashley said: "Have the hosts repeatedly ask him three things: identity registration, source of funds, and whether he obeys government regulation. He loses no matter how he answers, and if he doesn't answer, he is assumed to be dangerous."
Madelyn looked at her, for the first time not immediately refuting.
"Why didn't you do this before?"
Ashley paused for half a second.
"Before, I only needed to clean up the mess; today you asked me to wield a knife."
Edgar raised his hand and pointed to the screen.
"The Washington part."
Ashley switched to the last page, which only had one line of text.
Suspected threat of unregistered superpowered individual near Andrews Base.
Madelyn tapped the table with her finger.
"This cannot be released in advance."
"It won't be in advance," Ashley said. "Once he actually appears in Washington, local stations will broadcast safety alerts first, mainstream stations will follow up, and the internet will simultaneously spam that he attacked a military facility. By then, people with preconceived notions will curse him for us."
Madelyn asked: "What if he didn't hurt anyone?"
Ashley looked at her.
"The camera will choose the angle, the headline will choose the verbs, and the audience will only watch the first ten seconds."
Edgar finally stood up.
"Very good."
Ashley's shoulders relaxed a little, but she immediately clutched the materials tight again.
Edgar walked in front of her.
"From now on, all external communications are to be signed off by you. Madelyn will only be responsible for the Washington itinerary."
Madelyn stared at Edgar.
"You're removing me from the PR line?"
Edgar's tone was steady.
"You have a more important position tomorrow."
Ashley pretended not to hear, lowering her head to send the new permission email to the entire Public Relations Department.
A few seconds later, a series of notification sounds rang out in the office area outside.
Someone poked their head out from a cubicle and asked: "Ashley, for the morning news headline, should we use 'terrorist' or 'potential terrorist threat'?"
Ashley turned around and walked out in her high heels.
"Put 'potential terrorist threat' on TV, and 'terrorist' on social media. TV needs to pretend to be neutral; netizens are responsible for going crazy."
Another employee raised a hand.
"Should we censor the victim video?"
"Don't censor the first one, censor the second one. The censored one looks more authentic." Ashley walked to the main screen, her fingers typing rapidly on the keyboard. "First, flood the comment section with three hundred comments in the tone of ordinary people. Don't just shout slogans; include those who are cursing, those who are scared, and those who are pretending to be rational."
"How do I write someone pretending to be rational?"
Ashley turned back to look at him.
"Just write, 'I used to support the Preservation Walker, but this time he has really crossed the line.'"
The employee hurriedly took note.
Ashley pointed to another group of people.
"You contact the local stations and prepare the materials for the Washington parent groups. School, children, military families—use these three words repeatedly. Don't give people time to think about evidence."
The people in the Public Relations Department began to scramble, the sounds of phones and keyboards merging into one.
Madelyn stood outside the glass door, watching Ashleyfeed one fake piece of material after another into the news workflow, her expression growing uglier.
Edgar walked to her side.
"She is more suitable for today than you."
Madelyn looked at him.
"Because she has no bottom line?"
Edgar picked up his coat.
"Because she knows that the bottom line can be priced."
5:59 AM.
Ashley stood in front of the main screen, staring at the final ten seconds of the countdown.
The TV station director asked in her earpiece: "Vought confirms release?"
Ashley glanced at the authorization email sent by Edgar, then looked at the message Madelyn had not replied to.
She pressed the confirm button.
"Release."
6:00 sharp.
Three morning news shows in New York switched screens simultaneously, and the anchors read the first breaking news item in a heavy tone.
"Is the unregistered superpowered individual, Preservation Walker, becoming a new threat to homeland security in the United States?"
At the same time, the social media trending list refreshed.
The theory that the Preservation Walker is a terrorist began to climb the charts.
Chapter 72: Negative Trending Topics Can Also Be Consumed
When the "Preservation Walker is a Terrorist" theory hit third on the trending list, the phones in the Brooklynapartment started vibrating one after another.
Ryan sat on the sofa, holding a cola in his left hand, scrolling through a morning news clip with his right.
The TV host lowered his voice to the camera, using old footage of him smashing through a Vought Black Armor Squad armored vehicle as the background.
"Whether unregistered super-powered individuals should be subject to federal regulation is a question the entire nation must face today."
Ryan finished reading the headline, raised his hand to rewind the video, and clicked on the comments section.
"Yesterday they called me a guardian deity, today they're asking if I should register. This generation of netizens changes their faces faster than A-Train does drugs."
Through the phone, Hughie's voice sounded a bit urgent.
"Ryan, have you seen the news? They've edited all the footage. The parts where you saved people are all gone; only the crumbling walls and flipped cars remain."
"I saw it. The editor's skills are decent; at least they made me look pretty tall."
"Is that the point? A lot of people are really starting to fear you now. Robin just sent me a screenshot; her friend group is already arguing about it."
Ryan clicked on another video, where a middle-aged woman was holding a child's jacket, telling the camera that her child was so scared by Preservation Walker that they couldn't sleep.
He dragged the progress bar to the end. The woman was crying very intensely, and the Vought lawyer logo on the side had been pixelated.
"The crying scene is mediocre, and the lines are too forced. Did Edgar cut the budget Ashley had for hiring actors?"
There was a half-second pause on Hughie's end, and his tone became even more distressed.
"How can you still be critiquing acting skills? She's saying you're a flying violent threat, and people in the comments are already demanding the military arrest you."
Butcher grabbed the phone, his raspy, smoker's voice drowning out Hughie.
"Don't waste time talking to him. Ryan, tell me where Ashley is. I'll shove her head into a camera tonight."
"You haven't even cleared out the trash in the Safe Houseyet, so don't bother researching art installations."
"I'm not joking with you. These bastards are trying to frame you as a terrorist. If you keep waiting, Washington will be full of people waiting to pull the trigger."
Ryan took a sip of cola and placed the phone on the coffee table. Through the speakerphone, he could hear Mothers Milk forcing Butcher to sit down.
"Let them shoot. Bullets don't distinguish between morning and night, and if they hit me, they'll have to worry about the ricochet."
Mothers Milk took over, his tone steadier than Butcher's.
"The problem isn't the bullets; the problem is legitimacy. They'll make the public fear you first, then let the military move against you. After that, all their dirty work can be wrapped in the flag."
Ryan scrolled to the trending list. The first was some celebrity's divorce, the second was the mystery of Homelander's injury, and only the third was the "Preservation Walker is a Terrorist" theory.
"Ashley is still a bit green. Spending so much money and she still can't even suppress a celebrity divorce gossip."
Frenchie's typing sounds cut in.
"I've traced the source of the first wave of bot accounts: three outsourced PR firms, two shell foundations, and a veterans' forum administrator who took money."
Butcher cursed.
"Give me the list. I'll show them what a real terrorist is."
"Don't touch them."
Ryan put down the cola can, his voice suppressing all the noise on the phone.
Butcher paused for two seconds.
"Say that again. You want me to watch them dump a bucket of shit on you?"
"The harder they work now, the more useful they'll be later."
Hughie asked quietly, "What do you mean by 'useful'?"
Ryan didn't answer immediately because a line of text that only he could see popped up at the edge of his vision.
[Negative emotions being harvested: fear, doubt, anger, disgust, and controversial attention are being converted.]
[Note: Negative emotions also generate points, but long-term accumulation will trigger the fear decay effect.]
[After fear decay, ordinary people will shift from attention to numbness, reducing gains and weakening the return of positive worship.]
Ryan looked at the lines of prompts and tapped his finger on the back of his phone twice.
"Interesting. Being cursed counts as attention too. Vought is paying out of their own pocket to buy me traffic."
Hughie didn't understand this, assuming he was just being stubborn.
"Ryan, this isn't regular traffic. They are pushing ordinary people to stand against you."
"That's why we can't let them curse for too long. If they do it for too long, it loses its novelty."
Butcher sneered.
"You finally figured it out? I thought you were planning to cultivate immortality by being cursed at."
"Don't rush. Let me verify how many narrative strategies they've used first."
Ryan clicked on the official Vought statement, which was titled, "The Company is Willing to Assist the Government in Addressing the Risks of Unregistered Super-powered Individuals."
He clicked on the morning interview again, where an expert was saying that Preservation Walker might have a tendency toward violence addiction.
In the third video, a taxi driver sat in a hospital corridor, pointing to his bandaged hand, saying that a masked person had swept over his car roof that day.
Ryan forwarded all three links to Frenchie.
"The first strategy: national security. The second: mental instability. The third: civilian harm. Ashley must have had a lot of coffee today."
Frenchie replied quickly.
"The taxi accident is real, but the timeline doesn't match. The day he hit the streetlamp, you were in the abandoned subway tunnel fighting a female assassin."
Mothers Milk added, "What about that mother?"
"She has a child and medical records, but the cause of the child's nightmares is school bullying, which has nothing to do with Preservation Walker."
Butcher laughed, his laughter sounding malicious.
"Excellent. Vought is faking things again. Doesn't this mean we can strike back?"
Hughie immediately said, "We can release a clarification, putting out the timeline and the records."
Ryan paused the mother's accusation video on the image of the woman crying.
"Not enough."
Hughie was stunned.
"That's not enough? At the very least, it proves they're lying."
"Proving one actor is lying will only make netizens argue for two days. Ashley can just replace them with three more actors."
Mothers Milk said in a low voice, "You want to hit Vought itself."
"Yes, hit the place it's most afraid of letting ordinary people see."
The other end of the phone went quiet for a moment, and Butcher reacted the fastest.
"You mean that batch of waste in the slums?"
"Yeah."
Ryan opened a drawer, which contained an old USB drive and several photos taken secretly outside a hospital.
In the photos, the blue logo on the waste bin was half-covered by mud, but the V-shaped Vought trademark was still clearly visible.
Hughie's voice lowered.
"When did you get these?"
"I picked them up while patrolling the streets before. The hospital in the slums didn't dare to report it, and the parents didn't dare to sign anything; Vought paid them hush money."
Butcher cursed foully.
"You've had this stuff for a while, why didn't you blow it up sooner?"
"Because blowing it up earlier would only have destroyed a local branch. Now, I can shove it into the cannon barrel Ashley opened herself."
Frenchie stopped typing.
"They say you're a terrorist, so you're going to let everyone see who the real monster makers are."
"Frenchie's brain is working well today. I'll reward you by having Butcher curse you for ten minutes less."
Butcher retorted directly.
"Screw off. Me yelling at him is a team tradition."
Hughie didn't laugh. He looked at the group chat screenshot Robin had just forwarded, his tone very low.
"Ryan, if there are children in the videos, should we pixelate them? I don't want them to be gawked at by the whole internet again."
Ryan spread the photos out one by one, not choosing the most gruesome angles.
"Pixelate, change the voices, delete all home addresses. Only leave the hospital corridor, the test reports, the waste bin serial numbers, and the Vought shipping manifests."
Mothers Milk replied quickly.
"I can find someone to verify the shipping manifests. Don't let Vought say we forged them."
"Do it, and make it quick. I want the first version of the video before Washington reacts."
Butcher asked, "Who should post it? Reporters aren't reliable right now, and Vought is watching all the news outlets."
Ryan clicked on his contacts and found Black Noir's account avatar.
"Let the kid post it."
Hughie almost didn't react in time.
"You mean that Black kid who livestreamed you fighting Homelander?"
"Yes. His followers are the most diverse right now: students, street thugs, conspiracy theorists, and a bunch of trolls who specialize in cursing A-Zu."
Frenchie laughed.
"This account is dirty, chaotic, and very real. Vought can't just squash it easily."
Butcher snorted.
"You're putting a kid on the front lines?"
Ryan opened the chat window with Black Noir.
"I'll only have him post a teaser. The original footage will go through multiple backup sources. If Vought bans one, the remaining ten will pop up all at once."
Mothers Milk asked, "What if Vought bans his account first?"
"That would be even better."
Ryan typed in the input box, his tone so lazy it was infuriating.
"A big company just said it was innocent, and then turns around and bans a kid from the slums' video account. Do you think netizens will want to see it even more?"
Hughie finally breathed a sigh of relief on the other end.
"That's a bit mean."
"Thanks for the compliment. I learned it from Vought. The tuition fee was being slandered by them as a terrorist."
On the screen, the system prompts kept popping up.
[Negative emotions are being harvested continuously; current controversy heat is rising.]
[Warning: Fear decay countdown has started. It is recommended to trigger cognitive reversal as soon as possible.]
Ryan looked at the four words "cognitive reversal" and finished the last sip of cola.
Inside the Vought Tower Public Relations Department, Ashley stared at the rising data, her finger pressed against her earpiece.
"Keep pushing, don't stop. Get the 'Washington threat' entry to the top."
An employee looked up and asked, "Preservation Walkerhimself hasn't responded. Should we add a line saying he tacitly accepts the accusations?"
Ashley looked at the trending search curve and finally showed her first smile of the day.
"Add it. Just write that silence is also an answer."
At the same time, Ryan sent the first batch of organized materials to Frenchie and sent a message to Black Noir.
"Are you awake? Let me show you something Vought doesn't want people to see."
The other side replied almost instantly.
"Big Brother, my mom said she'd confiscate my phone if I hang out with you again, but I'm already hiding in the bathroom. Tell me."
Ryan chuckled and typed the video title into the input box.
"Negative emotions are emotions too, after all. However, it's time to fight back."
He pressed the send button, and only one sentence about to be posted remained on the screen.
"Do you want to see the truth?"
Chapter 73: The Truth, One Billion Views, Exploding
"Do you want to see the truth?"
Black Noir stared at the input box for three seconds, when the sound of his mom banging on the door came from outside the bathroom stall.
"Noah, are you playing on your phone in there again?"
Black Noir lowered his voice to the absolute minimum and whispered into the voice message: "Big brother, my account just got throttled once already. Don't get the FBI showing up at my door this time."
Ryan replied very quickly.
"Don't worry, no FBI this time. At most, you'll get the full Vought International legal department treatment."
Black Noir almost dropped his phone into the toilet.
"You call this 'don't worry'? My mom won't even let me skip math tutoring, and you want me to go head-to-head with Vought International?"
Hughie chimed in from the other end of the phone: "Ryan, he's still a kid. Maybe we should use our backup accounts to post the teaser."
Butcher sneered.
"If you post from those backup accounts, Vought International will squash them in five minutes. The kid's account might actually last a bit longer."
Black Noir panicked.
"British uncle, don't talk like that, it's scary. I'm still in puberty!"
Ryan finished editing the final video clip, his tone sounding quite relaxed.
"You only post the teaser and the first link. The original video isn't on your account. If Vought International wants to ban it, let them. The faster they ban it, the more the netizens will want to see it."
Black Noir looked at the cover image Ryan sent. There were no bloody scenes, just a dirty, old waste barrel with the Vought International V logo remaining on it.
He swallowed hard.
"Is this thing real?"
Ryan didn't joke around, saying directly: "It's real. The hospital records are real, the shipping manifests are real, and the children are real."
The banging on the bathroom door stopped for a moment, and Black Noir pushed his earphones in tighter.
"Then I'm posting it."
Hughie wanted to say something, but Ryan spoke first: "Blackie, blur all the kids' faces, change the audio, delete the addresses, and pin a comment in the comment section: do not harass the families."
Black Noir didn't make a snarky remark this time.
"Understood."
One minute later, Black Noir's account updated.
The video didn't start with pumping music, nor were there any scenes of Ryan flying around and hitting people.
The camera first landed in the corridor of a hospital in the slums, where half the wall plaster had peeled off. A little girl was curled up on a chair, her arm skin showing abnormal blue veins, and a nurse next to her was covering her hand with an old blanket.
The footage cut to a test report, with the residual concentration of compound v circled in red, and the report number and hospital stamp clearly visible.
Black Noir's bullet comments started to get chaotic.
"Bro, didn't you say you were counterattacking Vought International? Why are you showing a hospital documentary?"
"What's going on with this kid? Didn't the Vought International Foundation say they were helping the slums?"
"Stop spamming bad memes, look at the logo on the barrel."
The third segment of footage showed an abandoned alleyway, with several blue waste barrels lying in a puddle. The barrel serial numbers and the shipping manifest numbers were displayed on the same screen.
Ryan's voice finally appeared.
"They say I'm a terrorist."
The footage cut to Vought International morning news, with the anchor reading: "Unregistered super-powered threat."
The next second, the news footage was covered by the test report.
Ryan continued: "Then what does that make Vought International, the ones who created all this?"
The comment section paused for two seconds, then the refresh rate became so fast that Black Noir's phone started to overheat.
"Can these serial numbers be checked? Anyone here know about shipping systems?"
"I volunteer at a hospital, and I've seen this girl. The video isn't fake."
"Vought International says this is terrorist propaganda. I just want to ask one thing right now: who dumped the barrels?"
"Don't rush to believe it, save it first. Don't let the video disappear."
The sound of Frenchie's keyboard typing formed a continuous string.
"Nice, the first wave of backups has already spread. It's being shared on student forums, veteran groups, and medical practitioner channels."
Mothers Milk watched the backend data, his tone very low.
"Vought International has started throttling it; the original link can't be found."
Ryan put down his cola.
"Let them throttle it. Post the second one."
Black Noir almost cracked his voice.
"There's a second one? Big brother, this isn't a video, this is a TV series!"
Ryan replied: "Even web novels get daily updates, what are you afraid of?"
The second video used the verification of the shipping manifests.
The contact Mothers Milk found provided warehouse entry and exit records. Vehicles from a Vought Internationalsubsidiary foundation entered the slums in the early hours of the morning and left three hours later, with the vehicle load data not matching before and after.
Hughie watched the screen, his voice dropping.
"They donate toys by day and dump waste by night."
Butcher slammed his cigarette pack onto the table.
"These bastards are too lazy to even change cars when they act."
Ryan asked: "What about Annie?"
Hughie glanced at a new message.
"She got an old email. Inside the Public Relations Department, they called the slum incident a 'controllable brand risk.' The sender's name was erased."
Ryan paused for half a second.
"Don't let her keep investigating. Send the email to Frenchie for sanitization first."
Hughie panicked.
"She says she can get more."
"Tell her that staying alive is worth more than the documents."
Hughie didn't talk back; he lowered his head and replied to Annie.
The third video was released at 1:00 PM.
This time, there were no faces of children, only the public speech of the Vought International Foundation head, played side-by-side with the vehicle entry/exit records from the early hours of that same day.
In the speech, the head smiled at the camera and said: "Vought International will always stand with the community."
On the right side of the screen, the vehicles were shown driving out of the warehouse, their license plates magnified three times, with the numbers matching the shipping manifest perfectly.
Black Noir's livestream room exploded.
"Stand with the community? More like standing next to the hospital payment window."
"I was just cursing Preservation Walker earlier, but now I apologize."
"Where is Vought International's legal team? Come out and sue, don't play dead."
"Are there any reporters following up? Don't let the kid's account carry this alone."
Black Noir watched the number of online viewers jump to eight million, his mouth hanging open.
"Big brother, I'm a little scared right now, but also a little thrilled."
Ryan laughed.
"It's normal. The first time you smash capital with the truth, your hands will shake."
Black Noir asked: "What about the second time?"
Butcher answered first: "The second time, you'll get addicted, kid."
Ryan checked the time.
"Don't get carried away. End the stream, hand the account over to the backup script, and go tell your mom your stomach is better."
Black Noir was stunned.
"You still remember I'm in the bathroom?"
Ryan said: "Your mom is banging on the door again. It's pretty loud."
Black Noir was so scared he unplugged his earphones.
"Stop listening to my bathroom, you perverted big brother!"
At 3:00 PM in New York, Vought International issued its first response.
The statement said the video material sources were suspicious, some footage was misleadingly edited, and Vought International had already reported it to the police.
Five minutes later, Frenchie released the original timestamps.
Ten minutes later, three hospital employees provided anonymous testimony.
Fifteen minutes later, a retired driver uploaded a selfie video, admitting that he had once transported blue waste barrels for a Vought International subsidiary foundation.
Before Vought International could even issue its second statement, the comment section of the first statement was already flooded with screenshots of evidence.
Mothers Milk watched the data and said in a low voice: "They can't suppress it anymore. Local TV stations are starting to follow up."
Hughie asked: "What about the mainstream channels?"
Ryan pointed at the screen.
"They'll wait until they can no longer pretend to be blind to follow up."
Butcher crushed his beer can.
"Is this enough to shoot it through the heart this time?"
Ryan watched the view count jump from 970 million upwards.
"Not enough, but it's enough to puncture its lungs first."
Just past midnight, the view count of Black Noir's original video surpassed one billion.
In a newly posted short video, he only showed half his face, his voice trembling as he lowered it.
"I don't know if my account will still be here tomorrow, but today, this video has been seen by the whole world."
On the other side of the screen, the main screen of Vought International's Public Relations Department flashed a red alert.
Ashley stared at the ten-digit view count, and then at the brand support rate curve plummeting.
The coffee cup in her hand slammed onto the table. An employee next to her asked in a low voice: "Ashley, should we still stick to the original script and call him a terrorist?"
Ashley turned her head, her voice cracking completely.
"It's at one billion! How do you expect me to spin this?"
Chapter 74: I Really Can't Spin This
"It's at a billion, how do you expect me to spin this?"
Ashley ripped off her headset and stood in front of the main screen in the Public Relations Department, while a staff member beside her clutched the draft of the statement, not daring to change even a single punctuation mark.
"But the 'terrorist' narrative has been pushed for eight hours. If we pull it now, the outside world will say we're admitting defeat."
The employee's voice grew quieter and quieter, eventually pulling the tablet half an inch closer to his chest.
Ashley turned to look at him, a coffee stain still clinging to the cuff of her white shirt.
"Admitting defeat is better than admitting guilt, can you distinguish between the two? He brought out hard evidence, hard evidence, do you understand?"
Another employee raised a hand, his face paler than printer paper.
"We could say the shipping orders were forged, the hospital staff were bribed, and that the driver has mental issues."
Ashley grabbed a marker from the table and wrote three lines on the whiteboard.
Shipping orders.
Hospital records.
Driver's testimony.
She pressed the tip of the marker against the third line, the plastic casing emitting a cracking sound.
"If you say one person is crazy, netizens will argue; if you say all three pieces of evidence are crazy, netizens will make psychiatry ads for you, understand?"
No one in the Public Relations Department dared to laugh; there was only the sound of keyboards, one wave of clacking after another.
The telephone operator covered the receiver and shouted: "Ashley, the third TV station is asking if we confirm that we are suing Black Noir."
Ashley almost threw the marker at them.
"Sue a kid who hides in the bathroom to post videos? Do you think we aren't'socially dead' enough?"
The person quickly changed their tune: "Then what about suing the anonymous upload source?"
"The anonymous source has seventeen backup nodes; French servers, school forums, veteran groups, and medical channels are all resharing it. Are you planning to send cease-and-desist letters to half the internet?"
After finishing, Ashley paused for a moment herself.
She watched the rising number of shares on the screen, her voice dropping a notch.
"Issue a statement first, focus on concern for children's health, state that the company will cooperate with the investigation, and don't mention Preservation Walker as a terrorist anymore."
The employee hesitated: "But in the talking points Mr. Edgar signed this morning, Preservation Walker must be a dangerous individual."
Ashley raised her hand and pointed to the main screen, where the brand approval rating had already fallen below thirty-one.
"Go ask an American mom right now, is she more afraid of a masked man, or a blue barrel rolling into her child's hospital?"
No one answered.
Five minutes later, Vought International's third statement was released.
The statement had only been online for twenty seconds before the comment section was flooded with screenshots.
"Cooperating with the investigation? Did your waste barrels grow legs and walk to the slums themselves?"
"Concern for children's health, so you dumped toxic barrels in the middle of the night. Vought, you really know how to care."
"Don't delete it, I've already screen-recorded it. The first two statements are still on my hard drive."
Ashley stared at the comment section, the foundation on her face unable to hide her fatigue.
"Delete the comments."
Just as the employee was about to act, another operations staff member looked up and shouted: "We can't delete them! The faster we delete, the faster they reshare. They are now treating the deletion of comments as part of the evidence chain."
Ashley closed her eyes, then opened them again.
"Then pin rational comments and steer the topic back to regulating Preservation Walker."
The operations staff typed a few keys, and the next second, their expression worsened.
"The pinned comment has been screenshotted, and everyone below is spamming one sentence."
Ashley looked at the screen.
The comment section was uniformly spamming the same sentence.
"Investigate Vought first, then talk about regulation."
Butcher saw this sentence in the Safe House and laughed so hard that cigarette ash fell onto his pants.
"These netizens finally grew a brain. I thought they only knew how to make parodies of the golden-haired bastard."
Hughie sat nearby, his phone still connected to messages from Robin.
"Robin says her classmate group chat has already started organizing to go hold signs in front of Vought Towertomorrow."
Mothers Milk frowned as he looked at the data.
"Don't be happy too soon. Once there are too many people, things will get chaotic, and Vought is best at framing chaos as violent incidents."
Frenchie typed on his keyboard without looking up.
"I've already sent the raw files to three independent journalists. If they want to change the narrative now, they'll have to unplug every internet cable in New York."
Ryan leaned back in his chair and sent a screenshot of the new trending topic to Black Noir.
"See that, kid? If your mom asks what you learned today, just say you learned how to observe a corporate PR disaster in real-time."
Black Noir replied with a voice message instantly.
"Big brother, my mom already knows. She's making me hand over my account password and is asking if Vought will send Homelander to knock on our door."
Ryan chuckled.
"Tell your mom not to panic. Homelander has to ask if the cameras agree before he knocks on anyone's door now."
Hughie couldn't help but interject.
"Don't teach the kid that, he'll actually say it."
A hushed voice came from Black Noir's side.
"I already said it. My mom wants me to ask if you can tutor me in math while you're at it."
Ryan looked at the message and was silent for two seconds.
"I can't help with that. Even compound v can't save my geometry."
Butcher scoffed.
"Is there anything you don't know how to do?"
"There is, like how to spin a story after a billion views. Ashley is more professional than I am."
At Vought Tower, Ashley was being crushed by this disaster, barely able to stand.
The head of legal rushed into the Public Relations Department, holding a stack of temporary injunction applications.
"We can sue the distributors for trade secret leakage and have the platforms take it down first."
Ashley stared at him.
"The video shows children, a hospital, and waste barrels. Are you planning to use the words 'trade secret' to tell the whole country that these barrels are actually ours?"
The head of legal froze for half a second.
"Then we'll say the video violates privacy."
Ashley pushed the tablet in front of him.
"The children's faces are blurred, their voices are altered, and the address is removed. Are you going to sue him for being too diligent in protecting the victims?"
The Public Relations Department fell silent again.
A newcomer asked in a low voice: "How about we get Homelander to record a video about caring for children?"
Ashley turned her head sharply.
"You want someone who was just turned into an internet meme by the entire web to look into the camera and say he cares about children?"
The newcomer lowered their head.
Ashley looked at that young face, forcing her anger back down her throat.
"I'm sorry, don't cry. Enough people have cried today."
Madelyn walked in from outside, followed by two assistants.
"Ashley, Edgar wants you at the board meeting."
Ashley picked up the tablet, then put it back down, turned, and grabbed a tissue to wipe the coffee off her cuff.
"Does he want me to bring a solution, or a suicide note?"
Madelyn glanced at her.
"Bring numbers."
In the conference room, the faces of the board members were all on the encrypted video wall.
Edgar sat at the end of the long table, with only a thin financial brief in front of him.
Ashley stood in front of the projector, and no sooner had she opened her mouth than she was interrupted by a board member.
"I don't need to hear about PR processes; I only want to know the losses."
Ashley looked at Edgar.
Edgar did not speak for her.
She had no choice but to open the first page.
"Over the past seven days, Vought International's market value has evaporated by eighteen billion dollars, the cancellation rate for donations to the Children's Medical Foundation has reached sixty-four percent, and twenty-seven negotiations for The Seven's brand licensing have been suspended."
Someone on the video wall slammed the table.
"Eighteen billion dollars? Because of a masked lunatic and a kid's account?"
Ashley looked up, her speaking pace steadier than before.
"Because the waste is real, the hospital is real, and the transport chain is real, Mr. Board Member."
That board member's face darkened.
"Are you accusing the company?"
Ashley looked at the screen, not backing down.
"I am explaining why I can't spin this any further."
The conference room fell silent for a few seconds.
Edgar closed the financial brief.
"The Washington plan remains unchanged. By tomorrow, public anger must be shifted away from the company."
Madelyn looked at him.
"Pushing Washington now will make the outside world think we are trying to divert attention."
Edgar looked at her.
"What the outside world thinks depends on who controls the next batch of footage."
When Ashley heard this, her fingers stopped on the edge of the tablet.
"If Preservation Walker saves people in Washington, all the mud will come back onto us."
Edgar said: "Then don't let the footage be just about saving people."
Ashley didn't respond.
Her phone vibrated continuously at this moment; the head of the Public Relations Department sent three photos.
The first was downstairs at Vought Tower, with someone holding up a printed photo of a blue waste barrel.
The second was a street corner, where several college students had spread cardboard on the ground to write on.
The third had only one line of bold black text.
Tear down Vought's lies.
Ashley projected the photos onto the conference screen, and everyone in the conference room saw the growing crowd downstairs.
She looked at Edgar, her voice dry.
"Sir, the next batch of footage has already arrived."
Chapter 75: The Janitor Watches the Masses Dismantle Vought
In the conference room, no one was urging Ashley to revise the draft anymore, and the board members on the video wall had also fallen silent, because the crowd below Vought Tower had already crossed the first barricade.
The security supervisor's call came in, his voice amplified by the loudspeaker: "Mr. Edgar, there are at least three thousand people outside. The police say they are only responsible for preventing a stampede, not for dispersing the protest for us."
Ashley grabbed her tablet and tapped the screen twice: "Three thousand people is still controllable. Feed the security footage to the local stations and title it 'Partial Crowd Gathering.' Don't use the word 'protest.'"
An employee at the door looked up, his expression grim: "It's happening in Los Angeles too. The entrance to the Vought Children's Hospital is covered in photos of the blue barrels, and outside the Chicago branch, people are dumping The Seven toys into garbage trucks."
Madelyn looked at Edgar: "This is no longer just a New York incident. If we continue to suppress Preservation Walker, we will only push people toward him."
Ashley couldn't help but retort: "They've already gone over to his side. The new slogan online is that Preservation Walker is the real hero. For every one I delete, they post a hundred more. Even the smiley faces have emoticons now. It's infuriating."
Edgar pushed the financial briefing aside: "Have Legal pause the public threats. Notify the foundation to prepare apology templates. Increase security at all city branches, and do not give them any footage of bloodshed."
A board member spoke coldly on the video screen: "Stan, do you intend to recover eighteen billion dollars with apologies? We are paying for your composure, not your silence."
Edgar looked at the screen: "I am buying time, gentlemen. Emotions will dissipate, anger will tire, and politics will provide them with new enemies."
Upon hearing the last half of the sentence, Ashley's hands froze: "New enemies? If we push Preservation Walker out again now, the audience will eat us alive."
Edgar turned his head, his tone not rising: "So don't let the audience think this is a PR choice. Make them think it's a national security issue."
Madelyn frowned: "You want to contact The Pentagon? They won't touch this hot potato right now."
Edgar picked up his phone: "They will touch it, as long as I give them a plan that can win."
At the same time, in the Janitor's closet on the 42nd floor of Vought Tower, Ryan shoved the mop back into the bucket and casually pulled his Janitor's cap onto his head.
Thomas squeezed in through the door carrying a box of cleaning supplies, lowering his voice: "Ryan, you still dare to come to work today? There are people everywhere outside. The supervisor said the 79th Floor had a wall broken, and the 37th Floor has clogged toilets. Our Cleaning Department is going crazy."
Ryan picked up a rag: "The broken wall on the 79th Floorbelongs to the renovation crew, and the clogged toilets on the 37th Floor are a sign of the regression of human civilization. I'm only responsible for watching the show."
Thomas glanced at the hallway: "Don't be a smart aleck, kid. I just heard the Public Relations Department cursing Preservation Walker, then halfway through, they switched to praising children's health. They're practically schizophrenic."
Ryan pushed the cleaning cart out: "Do capitalists count schizophrenia as a work-related injury? If it's reimbursable, Ashley is making a killing today."
Thomas followed him: "Are there really that many people downstairs? My wife sent me a video saying there are people holding signs even in Times Square, with signs reading 'Dismantle Vought's Lies.'"
The elevator doors opened, and several Vought employees rushed out clutching documents. One of them almost collided with the cleaning cart. Upon seeing Ryan's Janitoruniform, he didn't apologize, only throwing out a sentence: "Don't block the way. Go wipe the coffee stain by the window."
Ryan stepped aside with a smile: "Received. Today the whole nation is dismantling Vought; I'm responsible for wiping the glass. The division of labor is quite reasonable."
Thomas waited until they were far away before cursing: "These people really think of themselves as clergy. It's screaming like that downstairs, and they're still worried about coffee stains ruining the shot."
Ryan pushed the cart to the side window of the lobby. The sounds from outside the glass flooded into his ears first, then crashed into his line of sight.
The street in front of the building was packed with crowds. Photos of the blue waste barrels were printed on cardboard; the children's names were blurred out, but Vought's V logo was circled in red ink.
Some held signs reading "Vought Kills Children," others held signs saying "Investigate Vought First, Then Talk Regulation." Some had even hung a Homelander doll upside down on a street lamp with a sign underneath: "Blonde Birdman, don't come here to whitewash."
A Black mother stood outside the police cordon holding her child, telling the reporter's camera: "I used to buy my son The Seven backpacks. Now, I just want to know who authorized the blue barrels to enter the community."
A college student nearby took the microphone: "They say Preservation Walker is dangerous, but the dangerous person didn't dump waste at the hospital entrance. Vought needs to answer this first."
The reporter wanted to ask more, but a louder roar suddenly erupted from the street corner: "Dismantle Vought's Lies! Dismantle Vought's Lies!"
Thomas stood next to Ryan, the box of cleaning supplies in his hands nearly slipping: "My god, the Los Angeles broadcast is shouting the same thing, and there's even a congressman out in Chicago."
The lobby screen cut to congressional news, where a congressman held up a test report to the camera: "Today, I am officially requesting the establishment of a special investigative committee. Vought International must hand over the children's medical foundation's accounts, and the flow of compound v waste must also be made public."
The female receptionist whispered: "It's over. Congress has stepped in. Will the stock keep falling?"
Another employee replied: "Forget about the stock. My mom just asked me if I work at the Toxic Barrel Company. I don't even dare to go home for dinner tonight."
Ryan wiped the glass with his rag, his gaze falling on the sea of people outside the window, while system prompts continuously refreshed at the edge of his vision.
[National-level mass emotions are gathering.]
[Emotions of anger, trust, worship, and resistance are being converted.]
[Emotional points increased: 8000.]
[Current total points: 38441.]
Ryan's rag paused for half a second, then he wiped a coffee stain off the glass.
Thomas leaned in: "What are you smiling at? Don't tell me you like working overtime. Brother, that smile is very un-Janitor-like."
Ryan tossed the rag into the bucket: "I just think it's funny that upstairs they spend hundreds of millions packaging gods, while downstairs they spend two dollars on cardboard, and in the end, the cardboard won."
Thomas was stunned for a moment: "That sounds pretty profound. Can I post that on my social media when I get back?"
Ryan patted his shoulder: "Don't credit me. I'm afraid you'll get dragged off by the Public Relations Department to write statements."
Just then, the security guards' earpieces in the lobby sounded with instructions simultaneously: "All employees are prohibited from approaching the main entrance. Members of The Seven will not make public appearances for the time being. The Public Relations Department is to prepare the second set of talking points."
Ashley's voice came over the broadcast, having already suppressed her anger several times: "Do not say the protest is out of control. Do not say the company admits responsibility. And definitely do not curse Preservation Walker in front of cameras. Whoever says the wrong thing again can go scrub the floors for the board of directors themselves."
Thomas looked at Ryan: "She's stealing your job."
Ryan nodded seriously: "That won't do. Scrubbing floors is the last shred of dignity for our Cleaning Department."
Noise came from the other end of the broadcast; Ashleyseemed to be arguing with someone: "We can't push the 'terrorist' narrative now, Mr. Edgar. The streets are full of children and parents. How do you expect me to paint them as being incited by Preservation Walker?"
Edgar's voice cut in quickly: "You are only responsible for making them tired. Leave the rest to me."
Ryan looked up toward the elevators, his Super Hearingcrossing floors to capture a lower-volume conversation in the conference room on the 79th Floor.
"The lab needs to give me the sample data before tonight. The temporary project is moved to top priority."
"Right, the dosage risks are not to be disclosed for now. Let's look at the 24-hour stability first."
"Send a briefing to The Pentagon. Phrase it as an escalation of the unregistered superpower threat."
Ryan moved the cleaning cart to the side; he didn't stay in the lobby for too long.
His phone buzzed; it was an encrypted message from Annie.
"I saw a new code name in the experimental level's emails. The clearance is very high. Even Madelyn only got a CC."
Ryan replied: "Name."
It took a few seconds for Annie to send a reply.
"V24."