Chapter 76: V24? I know this formula.
"V24."
Ryan stared at these two characters on the screen, his mop leaning against the handle of the cleaning cart, water droplets sliding down the pole.
He knew it.
Not just knew it, but in the original story, this thing was the temporary drug that nearly caused A-Train to suffer kidney failure—a 24-hour superpower trial card, with a bonus package of organ failure as a side effect.
Annie sent another message: "Email permissions are locked. I can only see the project code and priority markers. Madelyn is on the CC list but hasn't replied."
Ryan stuffed his phone back into his apron pocket and replied: "Stop investigating. Delete the chat history, and go to the cafeteria to have a sandwich to calm your nerves."
Annie waited over ten seconds before replying: "Are you joking?"
"I'm very serious. The sandwich is more important than the intel. If your hands are shaking now, even your typing will be flagged by the monitoring software."
There was no further reply from the other side, and Ryan guessed she had gone to the cafeteria.
He pushed the cleaning cart into the logistics corridor and dialed Hughie.
"What is it now?" Hughie's voice sounded even weaker than yesterday.
"Help me check something. Have there been any new supply procurements for the Vought experimental level recently? The keywords are compound precursor, syringe, and cold chain transport."
The sound of flipping through a notebook came from Hughie's end. "You're asking me to check procurement orders at three in the morning?"
"You can choose not to check, and then be cornered at your door tomorrow by an army of temporary Superhuman."
The phone was quiet for two seconds before Butcher's voice cut in. "What army of temporary Superhuman?"
"V24." Ryan leaned against the wall. "A temporarily enhanced version of compound v. You gain superpowers within 24 hours after injection, and it expires afterward. Side effects include, but are not limited to, internal bleeding, bone brittleness, and potential sudden death."
Butcher cursed. "Has Vought gone insane? Using their own employees as disposable weapons?"
"Edgar doesn't treat employees as people; he treats them as bullets. Once the bullets are fired, he doesn't care if they live or die. (^▽^)"
Frenchie's keyboard sounds came from the background. "I'm checking the experimental level's procurement records. In the past forty-eight hours, three batches of cold chain packages have entered the 79th Floor. The shipper is a biotech company called Novartis-Gen, registered in Delaware."
"A shell company."
"Of course it's a shell company, but the legal agent for this shell company is the same one used by another laboratory Vought closed three years ago." Frenchie's speech sped up. "Ryan, this shipment is not small; it's enough to inject at least thirty people."
Butcher jumped in quickly. "Thirty temporary Superhuman, plus the existing combat power of The Seven... Edgar is trying to use a human wave tactic."
"He can't create a human wave, but he can create a suicide squad." Ryan pushed the cleaning cart to the elevator entrance. "V24 users don't know about the side effects. Edgar will only tell them it's an upgraded enhancer, and once injected, they'll be able to go toe-to-toe with Preservation Walker."
Mothers Milk asked in a deep voice from the side: "Will those people believe it?"
"Vought's security personnel have an average annual salary of forty-eight thousand, twenty-year mortgages, and two kids. You tell them one shot will make them a superhero and save their jobs, and they'll line up for it."
No one spoke on the other end of the line.
Ryan pressed the elevator button and continued: "But V24 has a fatal flaw: it's unstable."
"How is it unstable?" Hughie asked.
"In the original story, A-Train took V24; his speed did skyrocket, but afterward his heart stopped for forty seconds, and his glomerular filtration rate dropped to thirty percent of normal." Ryan walked into the elevator and pressed B1. "The original design intent of this stuff was to give ordinary people temporary abilities, not for Superhuman to stack powers. If the dosage is slightly off, the person injected is finished on the spot."
Butcher sneered. "So Edgar is planning to use a bunch of temps who could die at any moment to block Preservation Walker?"
"Yes, just block him; he doesn't care if they live or die." Ryan watched the elevator floor numbers drop. "And the abilities of V24 users are random. Some might get super strength, some might get acid spray, and some might just get longer fingernails."
Frenchie chuckled. "That sounds like Russian roulette."
"A capitalist's roulette, where the stakes are other people's lives. ╮(╯▽╰)╭"
The elevator doors opened, and Ryan pushed the cart into the B1 logistics warehouse. The lighting was dim, and the shelves were arranged neatly.
"One more thing." He lowered his voice. "Edgar sent a briefing to The Pentagon today regarding an escalation in the threat of unregistered superpowers. He wants to drag the military in under the guise of national security."
Butcher's voice dropped instantly. "Military intervention? That makes the Washington operation troublesome."
"That's why he chose to strike in Washington. There are military forces near the base, the V24 suicide squad will lead the charge, the military will provide backup, and Preservation Walker will be surrounded."
Mothers Milk asked: "You're still going to Washington?"
"Of course I am. If I don't, Edgar will think I'm scared. His next step would be to roll out V24 to all Vought security personnel, and then the streets will be full of temporary Superhuman."
Hughie got anxious. "Then how will you handle it? Thirty Superhuman plus the military—you're going to take them all on by yourself?"
"Who said I was going to take them on?" Ryan parked the cleaning cart next to a shelf, bent down, and pulled out a box with a yellow label from the very bottom. "The biggest weakness of V24 isn't the side effects; it's the activation time."
"What do you mean?"
"It takes four to six minutes after injection for the powers to fully activate. During those four to six minutes, the person injected is just a normal person who got a shot of saline." Ryan patted the dust off the box. "How much do you think I can get done in those six minutes?"
Butcher laughed, a short laugh. "Enough to take all thirty of them down."
"That's conservative, but I like your optimism. (^▽^)"
Frenchie chimed in again. "What about the military? You have no problem fighting regular soldiers, but what if they use heavy weapons?"
"If they use heavy weapons against Preservation Walker, afterward, the citizens of New York will ask one question: Why did the US military use missiles on a person on American soil?"
Hughie paused. "You're going to let public opinion fight for you again?"
"Public opinion is the gun, the truth is the bullet. I never waste ammunition."
Ryan turned off the warehouse lights and pushed the cleaning cart toward the elevator.
"Tonight's mission is simple. Frenchie, keep investigating the V24 supply chain; intercept it if you can, record it if you can't. Mothers Milk, keep an eye on The Pentagon's movements to see which base receives Edgar's briefing. Butcher—"
"I know, look into Becca."
"Smart, but don't check tonight." Ryan said. "Change where you sleep tonight. Change the Safe House again."
"Again?" Hughie's voice sounded pained.
"Because Edgar isn't the only problem." Ryan walked out of the elevator and back to the lobby. Security guards were putting up caution tape at the main entrance, and the shouts of the crowd outside were louder than during the day.
"You mean Homelander?" Butcher's voice was very low.
"He hasn't appeared in any of Vought's public schedules tonight, the hole on the 79th Floor hasn't been repaired, and Madelyn can't reach him." Ryan pushed the cleaning cart back into the Janitor's closet and took off his Janitor's cap. "A paranoid Superhuman with Heat Vision and ears that can hear the heartbeat of the entire city—where do you think he'll be tonight?"
Butcher was silent for three seconds. "He'll come looking for you."
"He will definitely come looking for me; the question is when."
Ryan walked out the back door of Vought Tower. The night wind of Brooklyn blew into his collar. In the distance, several helicopters were circling—he didn't know if they were news or police.
"So tonight, nobody go back to your place, don't use landlines, and don't sleep with the lights on."
Mothers Milk asked: "What about you?"
"I'm going back to my rental to sleep."
Hughie almost shouted. "Didn't you just say Homelanderwould come looking for you?"
"He will come." Ryan looked up at the night sky; the clouds were thick, and the moon was half-hidden. "But when he can't find me, he'll do something even stupider."
Butcher asked: "What stupid thing?"
"He'll get desperate." Ryan turned into a Brooklyn alley. "A desperate Homelander is more useful than a hundred V24 users."
The call hung up. Ryan walked into his rental, not turning on the lights.
He placed his phone next to his pillow, took off his coat and draped it over the back of a chair, and lay down under the covers.
There was wind outside the window, the pipes were making noise, and the shouts of the crowd in the distance could no longer be heard.
Ryan closed his eyes.
At the same time, on the 79th Floor of Vought Tower.
Homelander stood before the broken wall, the wind making his cape snap loudly.
He dialed Madelyn's number; no one answered.
He dialed Edgar's direct line again; it connected, but no one spoke.
Homelander crushed the phone, the fragments falling through his fingers, dropping seventy-nine floors.
"You won't tell me who is investigating me." He spoke to the empty room, his voice very soft.
"Then I'll find them myself."
He looked up, the red light in his eyes brightening in the darkness, and then he flew out, disappearing into the night sky of New York.
Chapter 77: Using a Pillow to Bait A-Zu
3:00 AM in New York, Homelander swept past beneath the clouds, his cape pressed against his back, without disturbing a single lit window in the neighborhood.
He didn't go to the Safe House arranged by Vought, nor did he listen to the dozen voice messages Madelyn had left; he simply followed the address he had memorized and flew straight to Brooklyn.
The rental building was very old; there was the sound of heating pipes in the hallway, a couple on the third floor was still arguing about bills, and a child on the second floor was sleeping while hugging a tablet. Only the area behind the street-facing window on the top floor was excessively quiet.
Homelander hovered outside the window and listened for a few seconds through the thin curtains. Stable breathing came from the bed, the frequency steady, and the rise and fall of the chest quite regular.
He raised his hand, his fingertips touching the glass, a forced smile hanging on his face.
"You're sleeping quite well."
There was no answer from the room. The figure on the bed was lying on its side, the quilt raised in a lump, and a mobile phone was placed by the pillow, its screen dark.
Homelander pressed his ear against the glass, hearing the residual electrical hum from the phone, as well as the faint sound of the refrigerator compressor downstairs.
"You all like to hide."
He wasn't using an earpiece when he spoke, nor did he send his location to Vought, because he didn't want anyone else interfering anymore.
"Butcher hides, Madelyn hides, and Edgar hides too."
The figure on the bed didn't move. Red light lit up in Homelander's eyes, and the edges of the glass were scorched into white mist by the heat.
"Then let's start with you."
The red light passed through the curtains and swept in along the head of the bed. The cotton fabric caught fire first, scorched black holes curled up on the surface of the quilt, and the bed frame emitted a crackling sound.
Homelander didn't stop. He narrowed his Heat Vision even further and sliced along the raised position of the quilt, preparing to burn right through the person on the bed, bones and all.
There was no screaming in the room.
No heart rate spiking.
No smell of burning flesh.
Only a wad of cotton was burned open, white fibers flying up and landing on the charred sheets.
Homelander's Heat Vision stopped. He stared at the "figure" on the bed that had been burned through, reached out, pushed open the window, and climbed inside.
Under the quilt were only two pillows, an old jacket, and a small recorder looping the sound of breathing.
The red light on the recorder was still flashing. Homelander picked it up, and Ryan's lazy voice came from inside.
"If you're hearing this, it means your posture for breaking through a window in the middle of the night is quite practiced. I suggest you knock next time, A-Zu."
The recorder in Homelander's hand shattered into powder, the plastic casing leaking from his palm onto the floor.
He looked down and scanned the room. There was half a can of cola on the table, a jacket draped over the back of a chair, and the smell of detergent on the windowsill. Everything was deliberately left to look like someone had just gone to sleep.
"Come out."
He spoke in a low voice, his Heat Vision glowing again in his eyes.
Behind the wall next door, an old person turned over and coughed, someone downstairs opened the door to get takeout, and a patrol car slowly drove past the intersection at the corner of the street.
Homelander listened to the whole building, but didn't hear Ryan's heartbeat.
He turned to look at the door. The lock was intact, there were no new footprints on the floor, and there wasn't even any steam in the bathroom.
"Do you think this is funny?"
The room still smelled only of scorched cotton. Homelander lifted his foot and crushed the bed frame; the wooden boards collapsed, and the old mattress was pressed into a lump.
A sticky note rolled out from under the bed.
Homelander bent down to pick it up. There was only one line of text on it.
"Don't burn the house down; the landlord's deposit is very expensive."
Homelander stared at the line of text, the smile on his face no longer able to hold. He crumpled the sticky note and turned to rush out the window.
But he had barely flown a dozen meters when he stopped in mid-air.
There was the sound of wind behind him.
It wasn't heavy, but very steady, deliberately stopping at a position where he could hear it.
Homelander turned around slowly.
Ryan was hovering ten meters behind him, arms crossed, still wearing that loose jacket, stepping on the night breeze of Brooklyn.
He wasn't wearing a mask, nor was he in a fighting stance; he was just looking at the window that had been burned through, his tone full of annoying disdain.
"You really have no manners, breaking into a private residence in the middle of the night and casually destroying rental furniture."
Homelander stared at him, his voice very low.
"You knew I would come."
Ryan nodded, his attitude so serious it was even more infuriating.
"Otherwise? You break walls during the day, go crazy at night; if you didn't come to break through the window at 3:00 AM, I'd suspect you weren't feeling well today."
Homelander floated half a meter forward, his cape straightening out behind him.
"Have you been playing me the whole time?"
"Don't put it that way."
Ryan raised his hand to indicate a very small distance.
"I just left a pillow for you; you were quite invested in burning it."
Homelander looked toward the window that had been burned through. Someone in the building had already woken up; a man on the third floor cursed, and a child on the second floor started crying.
He didn't make another move because there were ordinary people everywhere here. If any Heat Vision beam went astray, the whole internet would know tomorrow that Homelander attacked a residential building in the middle of the night.
Ryan also glanced downstairs and added insult to injury with a smile.
"Why not continue? Afraid of burning the house down, or afraid the headlines won't look good tomorrow?"
Homelander turned back, the red light in his eyes suppressing, then emerging bit by bit.
"Do you think that just because there are cameras and those idiots' phones, I wouldn't dare kill you?"
"You dare."
Ryan answered quickly.
"But you wouldn't dare bet on whether you can kill me or not."
Homelander's expression darkened. He moved forward to within five meters, the night wind squeezing between the two of them.
"Last time was just an accident."
"Right, you being kicked away by me was an accident, being edited into memes by the whole internet was an accident, and burning a pillow tonight is another accident."
Ryan spread his hands, his tone very sincere.
"A-Zu, the accident content in your life is a bit excessive. I suggest you ask Vought to buy insurance."
Homelander's jaw moved. A window opened downstairs, and a man stuck his head out and shouted, "Who's up there?"
Ryan looked down and replied, "It's nothing, a neighbor is practicing their vocals; it'll be over soon."
The man cursed and closed the window, and Homelander's face became even uglier.
"You treat me like a joke."
Ryan put away the bit of joking, his gaze falling back onto Homelander's face.
"You came to burn my bed in the middle of the night yourself, and you won't let me laugh?"
Homelander didn't reply. He rose a bit, leading Ryan away from the perimeter of the rental building's outer wall.
Ryan followed, rising as well, maintaining a ten-meter distance the whole time, neither preemptively attacking nor retreating.
The two stopped beneath the clouds. The lights of Manhattan in the distance were still on, and the broken 79th Floor of Vought Tower was glaring in the night.
Homelander looked toward that building, his tone suddenly changing.
"They are all lying to me."
Ryan raised an eyebrow.
"If that sentence came out of your mouth, Vought's legal department would have to work overtime."
Homelander turned to look at him, Heat Vision pressed within his eye sockets, ready to shoot out at any moment.
"Did Maeve come to see you?"
Ryan didn't answer, just crossed his arms tighter.
Homelander closed in by another meter.
"Is Butcher investigating me too?"
Ryan still didn't answer.
Homelander's voice raised a notch.
"What exactly do you know?"
Ryan looked at him and finally smiled.
"You came to assassinate me in the middle of the night, and yet you need me to help you organize your questions. The professional standard of The Seven's leader is truly worrying."
The muscles on Homelander's body tensed; his fist raised halfway, then stopped in mid-air.
Ryan saw this motion, and his tone became even more annoying.
"Don't rush. If you want to fight, you can fight, but think it through first."
Homelander asked, biting out the words: "Think what through?"
Ryan looked down at the smoking window, then looked back up at him.
"Think through whether you can win today, and think through how Vought will spin your myth after you lose."
Homelander's breathing deepened, and the wind over New York whipped his cape, making it snap loudly.
Ryan, however, floated half a meter forward and finally threw out the words he had prepared.
"A-Zu, a sneak attack? Is that all the potential The Sevenhas?"
Chapter 78: A-Zu's Mental Breakdown Night Talk
"A-Zu, a sneak attack? Is that all The Seven are capable of?"
Homelander paused in the night sky, his right hand half-raised, Heat Vision hovering at the edge of his eyes. Several windows downstairs were still lit, and some people were holding up their phones, snapping photos of the sky at random.
Ryan glanced at those phones and gave a provocative smile: "Don't rush, the angles are good. If you hit me now, I've already thought up the headline for you tomorrow: 'Homelander attacks residential area at dawn, reason turns out to be pillows not to his liking.'"
Homelander lowered his hand, his voice squeezed through his teeth: "Do you think a few phones can protect you?"
"They can't," Ryan answered quickly, "but they can protect your idol image. Isn't that what you care about most?"
Homelander flew forward two meters, closing the distance to just a few steps: "What I care about is someone hiding in the gutter investigating me."
Ryan also drifted forward half a meter: "Are you afraid of that?"
The smile on Homelander's face froze: "What did you say?"
"I asked what you're afraid of," Ryan said, hands in his jacket pockets, his tone no different from casual conversation. "Afraid of Butcher? Afraid of Maeve? Afraid that those old fogies at Vought finally can't control you anymore?"
The red light in Homelander's eyes dimmed for a moment, then flared up again: "I'm afraid of them? What are they?"
"Then why did you come here in the middle of the night to burn my bed?" Ryan tilted his head to look at him. "Rent in New York is so expensive, are you doing charity for the landlord?"
Homelander's chest heaved more heavily. He glanced down at the smoking rental apartment, then pulled his gaze back to Ryan: "I just came to confirm one thing."
"Confirming if I sleep more soundly than you?" Ryan nodded. "The answer is yes. I don't have the trouble of Madelyn not answering her phone in the middle of the night."
The muscles on Homelander's face twitched: "Don't mention her."
"Fine, no Madelyn," Ryan complied readily. "Then how about Vought labs? How about how they raised you, how they recorded your smiles, how they taught you to stand in front of the camera and say America needs you?"
Homelander's fists pressed to his sides, his cape pulled taut by the wind: "Shut up."
"See, there's the crack," Ryan laughed. "You're not afraid of Butcher, you're not afraid of evidence; you're afraid of people discovering that you were never a hero from the very beginning."
Homelander suddenly rushed in front of Ryan, his fist stopping a few centimeters from the side of Ryan's face. The wind pressure lifted a corner of Ryan's jacket.
Ryan didn't dodge, just looked at him: "Hit me, don't stop. I've even posed for you."
The veins on the back of Homelander's hand bulged: "Do you really think I wouldn't dare?"
"You dare to kill ordinary people, you dare to threaten teammates, you dare to throw people off planes, you dare to fake smiles for the camera," Ryan's voice lowered slightly, "but you don't dare to gamble here."
A low sound emitted from Homelander's throat: "Gamble on what?"
"Gamble on whether you can beat me," Ryan raised his hand, his fingertip tapping Homelander's chest. "Last time you lost, you could call it an accident. If you lose again this time, what will you do?"
Homelander slapped his hand away: "I didn't lose."
Ryan laughed out loud: "The video of me kicking you away is on loop all over the internet. You call that not losing?"
"That was edited!"
"True, the netizens even added music for you," Ryan nodded earnestly. "The rhythm is spot on. I watched it three times. A-Zu, that mid-air flip of yours was incredibly smooth."
The red light in Homelander's eyes surged out half an inch, then he forced it back down: "You are very good at provoking me."
"Wrong," Ryan stepped back half a step. "I'm helping you recognize yourself."
Homelander sneered: "What are you, to be worthy of judging me?"
"You just said you were the judge yourself," Ryan spread his hands. "But you don't even dare to answer one question."
Homelander stared at him: "What question?"
Ryan spoke slowly: "What are you afraid of?"
Homelander didn't respond, only the wind passed between the two of them.
Ryan continued to ask: "Afraid someone is stronger than you? Afraid fans won't kneel and chant your name anymore? Afraid those people at Vought treat you like a product number, afraid that when Madelyn is coaxing you, she's actually calculating tomorrow's stock price?"
Homelander raised his hand and pointed at Ryan: "Say one more word."
"Afraid they'll discover Homelander isn't a born savior," Ryan pressed forward a little. "Just a test-tube baby raised in a lab, wearing a cape, learning to smile like people, learning to wave like people, learning to say 'I love you all'."
Homelander's body shuddered.
This shudder was very brief, but Ryan saw it clearly.
Ryan didn't let him off: "They didn't teach you how to be hated, did they?"
Homelander's breathing grew heavy: "Stop."
"They only taught you how to be loved," Ryan said. "When you were young, you had no mother, no friends, no normal people to hold you, so you could only live by clinging to the applause in the camera."
Homelander swung his fist, the force of the punch brushing past Ryan's ear.
Ryan didn't fight back, just sidestepped, his tone sounding quite regretful: "Missed. The emotional management class was a waste."
Homelander turned to move again, but Ryan raised his hand and pointed to a news helicopter in the distance.
"Look carefully before you hit, there's a camera over there," Ryan said. "If you want the whole US to livestream Homelander having a mental breakdown and attacking at night, feel free to continue."
Homelander stopped, the veins on his neck throbbing clearly.
Ryan smiled: "See, you're calculating the cameras again."
Homelander said in a low voice: "What do you know?"
"I know you need them to love you," Ryan stopped smiling. "You say they are ants, but if they don't look at you, you panic."
The red light in Homelander's eyes flared up again: "I don't need anyone."
"Then why don't you go back to Vought?" Ryan asked. "Why do you run out and go crazy when Madelyn doesn't answer the phone? Why do you search the whole city for clues when Edgar doesn't tell you the truth?"
Homelander didn't answer.
Ryan added for him: "Because you're afraid they'll abandon you."
After these words fell, the heaving of Homelander's chest skipped a beat.
Taking advantage of that pause, Ryan kept digging: "You're also afraid that Maeve isn't afraid of you anymore, afraid that someone in The Seven is laughing at you behind your back, afraid that Butcher will find the rotten things you've hidden."
The red light in Homelander's eyes shot past Ryan's shoulder, burning through a billboard in the distance, sparks falling from the sign.
Ryan looked down at the heat mark beside his shoulder: "Not bad, at least you didn't hit the residential building, which means you still pay attention to news headlines."
Homelander gritted out the words: "What on earth did you find out?"
"Guess," Ryan replied with a smile.
Homelander pressed forward: "Becca?"
Ryan didn't answer.
Homelander asked again: "The plane?"
Ryan still didn't answer.
Homelander's voice began to rise: "Did Maeve say something?"
This time, Ryan spoke: "Every name you ask about proves there's a grave in your heart."
Homelander's breathing grew heavy. He hung steadily in the night sky, but his hands were shaking.
Ryan looked at him: "A-Zu, stop pretending. You didn't come here to kill me; you came here to beg for answers."
Homelander seemed to be struck by this sentence, raising his hand to grab Ryan's collar.
This time, Ryan didn't dodge, letting him grab the front of his jacket.
Homelander pulled him close: "I don't beg anyone."
Ryan looked down at the crumpled jacket: "This one cost nine dollars, it's not hard to pay for."
Homelander's voice was very low: "I can tear you apart."
"You want to do that," Ryan looked up at him, "but you aren't sure if you can."
Homelander's fingers tightened, and the fabric made a tearing sound.
Ryan smiled: "Last time you couldn't break my defense, and this time you aren't sure either. You're afraid that if I stand here and let you hit me, in the end, you won't even be able to tear my clothes."
The Heat Vision in Homelander's eyes hovered close to the side of Ryan's face, the red light illuminating both their faces.
Ryan still didn't move: "Come on, give yourself an answer."
The helicopter in the distance turned, aiming its lens at this patch of the night sky.
People downstairs also started shouting: "Is that Homelander?"
Someone else shouted: "Preservation Walker is up there too!"
Homelander heard it.
He also heard someone on the street say: "Is Homelanderlosing control again?"
This sentence made his hand stop.
Ryan leaned close to his ear, his voice audible only to Homelander: "Did you hear that? They've already started to doubt you."
Homelander threw Ryan away, using a lot of force, but didn't pursue.
Ryan steadied himself and patted his jacket: "You're anxious, but not completely panicked yet, which means the therapy is working."
Homelander looked at him, his teeth grinding audibly: "You will regret this."
"That villain line is too old," Ryan waved his hand. "Next time, get Ashley to polish it. Although she's not good at making up excuses, she should be decent at writing threat notes."
Homelander looked up at the helicopter, his Heat Visionflaring up several times, then suppressing it each time.
Ryan saw it clearly, his smile becoming more obvious: "See, you don't even dare to hit the camera, because you're afraid of another billion views."
Homelander's body shook even more violently. He suddenly threw his head back and roared, the sound shaking the windows and triggering alarms in several nearby buildings.
A notification popped up at the edge of Ryan's vision, his emotional points skyrocketing, but he didn't look at it, only staring at Homelander.
Homelander took one last look at Ryan, his voice squeezed out from the roar: "I will make them love me again."
Ryan replied quickly: "First, make them forget you burned the pillows."
Homelander didn't say another word. He turned and shot into the clouds, his cape whipping in the wind as he tore through the night sky, flying off in the direction of Vought Tower.
Chapter 79: A 30,000-Ton Punch
After Homelander charged into the clouds, Ryan didn't pursue him, only looked down at the smoking window of the rental apartment downstairs.
Downstairs, someone was still cursing the property management, someone was filming the sky with their phone, someone was yelling about calling the police, and the landlord was already calling frantically.
Ryan answered, and the landlord exploded with the first sentence: "Ryan, why is there trouble in your room again? Last time the coffee table cracked, this time the window is gone?"
Ryan looked at the burnt-through bed, his tone very sincere: "If I said the pillow spontaneously combusted, would you believe me?"
The landlord paused for half a second on the other end of the line: "Yeah, right, I believe that. You pay the deposit tomorrow, or I'll throw you out to sleep in the trash can."
Ryan hung up, looked down at the broken bed frame, and couldn't help but sigh: "A-Zu, oh A-Zu, failing to kill me, you first made me lose my deposit, your tactical skills have improved significantly."
The phone vibrated again, this time it was Hughie calling.
Hughie's voice was very low: "We just saw someone post a video online, saying Homelander and you were facing off over Brooklyn, you're still alive, right?"
Butcher snatched the phone: "Cut the crap, if he can answer the phone, he's not dead. Ryan, where did that blonde bastard go?"
Ryan walked to the window and picked up the charred jacket from the bed: "Back to Vought, left behind a furniture compensation case while he was at it."
Mothers Milk's voice cut in: "He didn't fight you?"
"He wanted to, but there were too many cameras; his idol baggage is heavier than his cape."
Frenchie chuckled: "I just watched the candid video, his posture as he flew away was very hurried; the comment section is already asking if he was scolded to tears by you."
Butcher snorted coldly: "Don't laugh too early. He didn't make a move this time, next time he'll be even crazier."
"So don't sleep in a fixed location, keep changing nests tonight."
Hughie said, breaking down: "We've already changed Safe Houses three times. Robin just asked me if I joined a homeless association."
Ryan tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear, squatted down to pick up the remains of the small recorder under the bed: "Tell her this is a high-end anti-tracking life experience; Vought employees couldn't buy it even if they wanted to."
Butcher didn't take the joke: "What about you? Are you still going to stay in that broken room?"
Ryan looked around the room: "Can't stay, the bed is gone, and the landlord is running out of patience."
Mothers Milk said in a low voice: "Then come to our side?"
"No, you guys have too many people, if I go over, I'll bring Homelander with me."
Butcher cursed: "You finally have some brains."
Ryan looked at the numbers constantly jumping at the edge of his vision and didn't bicker with him anymore.
After Homelander broke down and left earlier, the emotion points surged, and the fear, mockery, worship, and doubt brought by the spread of the candid video flooded in.
[ Current Emotion Points: 40623. ]
[ Consume 20000 points for the third Bloodline Purification? ]
Ryan stared at the prompt and chuckled softly: "A-Zudidn't come for nothing this trip; he even earned me enough money for the bed."
Hughie didn't hear clearly: "What did you say?"
"I said don't look for me tonight; whoever looks for me will be unlucky."
Butcher's tone sank: "What are you going to do?"
Ryan tore down the curtains, rolled them into a ball, and stuffed them into a trash bag: "Upgrading the service package. The meal in Washington tomorrow is a bit tough; I need to change my set of teeth."
Frenchie stopped typing on the other end: "That phrasing sounds very unscientific."
"Science can't explain Vought, nor can it explain how Butcher is still alive without being poisoned by his own mouth."
Before Butcher's curse could come out, Ryan had already hung up.
He turned off all devices in the room that could make sound, set his phone to silent, and finally walked to the rooftop.
The early morning wind blew across the roof. In the distance, the broken 79th Floor of Vought Tower was still lit, and several news helicopters circled Manhattan.
Ryan stood at the edge of the roof and confirmed directly.
[ Third Bloodline Purification started. ]
[ Emotion points consumed: 20000. ]
[ Current DNA Purity: 40%. ]
The first wave of heat exploded from his chest and pressed along his bones into his limbs.
Ryan looked down at his palms; there was no exaggerated light under his skin, nor the flashy special effects seen in movies, only a more direct change.
His body was heavier, but his control was steadier.
He casually pinched a piece of abandoned steel pipe on the edge of the roof, closed his fingers, and the pipe didn't bend into a twist but was directly pressed into a flat piece of iron in his palm.
Ryan raised an eyebrow: "This feel... Homelander's skull is probably about this grade."
[ DNA Purity increased to 50%. ]
Clearer sounds of the entire city reached his ears.
In the police channel, someone was discussing the Brooklyn night sky incident; someone in the Public Relations Department was straining their voice to change the news narrative; a certain anchor was editing a compilation of Homelander burning the pillow.
Ashley's voice came from Vought Tower: "Don't use the term 'Pillow-gate' again; whoever posts it is fired!"
Ryan couldn't help but laugh out loud: "Ashley, don't struggle anymore; the netizens have already learned to coin their own terms."
[ DNA Purity increased to 60%. ]
Fine cracks began to appear in the concrete floor under Ryan's feet. He didn't move, but his Bio-field spread out on its own, pressing those cracks back.
This time the field was no longer just clinging to his body but could form a complete range around him.
Ryan raised his hand and pushed his palm forward.
The scrap paper, dust, and rain blown by the wind on the roof all stopped three meters in front of him.
There was no sound, no impact, only a small area isolated by physical rules.
Ryan reached out and knocked on that invisible boundary, his knuckles receiving a solid feedback.
[ Bio-field evolution complete. ]
[ New form: Absolute Field. ]
[ Effect: Can briefly create a small-range physical isolation field, duration affected by output intensity. ]
Ryan looked at the scrap paper blocked outside, his tone serious: "This thing is quite suitable for blocking missiles or locking A-Zu in a dark room."
System prompts continued to pop up.
[ DNA Purity increased to 70%. ]
[ Basic strength breakthrough: 5000 tons. ]
[ Conventional flight speed increased: Mach 25. ]
[ Comprehensive defensive strength increased. ]
Ryan closed his eyes, feeling the power sinking into every inch of his muscles.
Homelander's normal strength had always been at a surface-level monster tier in his cognition, but now that line had been stepped under his feet.
5000 tons of basic strength, already exceeding Homelander's normal state by more than three times.
Coupled with the field projection and speed increase, even if that group of V24 suicide squads in Washington lined up to take injections, they would only be handing him warm-up equipment.
But what really made him stop was the last line of the prompt.
[ New ability unlocked: City Superman Punch. ]
[ Description: Compresses full-body strength and field into a single punch, peak output exceeds 30,000 tons. ]
Ryan slowly clenched his fist, and the air at the edge of the roof was pressed into a short, sharp explosion by him.
He didn't swing it out, just kept the fist in front of him.
The steel structure of the entire building under his feet emitted a low vibration, and someone downstairs cursed: "Whose washing machine is tearing down the building in the middle of the night?"
Ryan let go, the force was all retracted, and the roof returned to quiet.
He looked down at his fist and whispered: "A 30,000-ton punch; A-Zu, you'd better not take it with your face."
The phone vibrated in his pocket, and Annie's encrypted message popped up.
"Vought is internally investigating the V24 leak source; I am safe for now, but Maeve was just called to the 79th Floor."
After reading the message, Ryan received another text from Maeve.
"Homelander is back; he is looking for everyone who knows the truth."
Ryan looked at the two messages side-by-side for a few seconds, the smile on his face fading a bit.
The power was enough.
The fist was enough too.
But for Homelander's idol statue to collapse, it couldn't just rely on him throwing a punch from the sky.
He dialed Annie's encrypted number and pulled Maeve into the same line.
Annie's first sentence was very urgent: "Are you safe now?"
Maeve's voice was lower: "Did you just meet with him?"
Ryan stood at the edge of the roof, looking at the lit-up Vought Tower in the distance.
"I'm good, A-Zu is good too, at least he can still fly back to embarrass himself."
Annie didn't take the joke: "Ryan, Vought is investigating me, Maeve might be exposed too. When exactly are you planning to make those things public?"
Maeve was silent for two seconds: "If you need me to testify, I can."
Hearing this, Ryan looked up at the skylight behind the clouds.
"Don't rush, the next step isn't for me to step out."
Both sides of the phone went quiet.
Ryan held the phone closer to his ear, his tone lower than before.
"Annie, Maeve, on the day the dirt is made public, the person standing in front of the camera telling the truth shouldn't be me."
Annie's breathing paused for half a beat: "Then who should it be?"
Ryan looked at the hole in the 79th Floor of Vought Tower and slowly opened his mouth.
"It should be you."
Chapter 80: That Is a Declaration of War
Annie went quiet for a few seconds, then her hushed breathing came through, as if she were afraid someone might be passing by outside the office door.
"You mean us?"
She kept her voice very low; there was the sound of an elevator chime on the other end of the phone, clearly indicating she was still moving inside Vought Tower.
"Ryan, do you know what this means? If I step forward, Vought will tear me to shreds."
From Maeve's end came the sound of a glass being set down. She didn't laugh, nor did she respond to Annie.
"She's right. Stepping in front of the cameras to talk about Homelander isn't just resigning or quitting the team."
Maeve paused, her tone dropping. "That is a declaration of war."
Ryan sat on the edge of the rooftop with a still-sleeping New York beneath his feet; in the distance, the hole in Vought Tower was still lit up.
"I know, that's why I didn't tell you to storm into a live broadcast tonight and shout that Homelander is trash."
Annie's voice tightened slightly. "You actually thought about it?"
"I did. The visual would've been great, but Ashley would've fainted on the spot, and it would've been a broadcast disaster that's hard to clean up. ╮(╯▽╰)╭"
Maeve interrupted coldly. "Stop joking around, Ryan. What exactly do you want us to do?"
Ryan switched the phone to his other hand, his tone becoming more serious.
"First, Annie, you don't need to steal anything right now. Don't touch the compound v, don't touch the experimental levels, and don't touch any emails with top-level clearance."
Annie couldn't help but retort. "Then what am I staying inside for? To be Vought's mascot?"
"To be someone who can still walk out of that building safely."
After Ryan said this, there was silence on Annie's end. Maeve took over.
"And what about me? Keep wearing that armor, standing next to Homelander, and playing deaf?"
"Yes."
Ryan answered quickly, and a short, cold laugh came from Maeve's side. "You're really good at comforting people."
"I'm not responsible for comfort; I'm responsible for keeping you alive until the day of the trial."
Ryan looked up at the 79th Floor of Vought Tower.
"Homelander's dirt will be exposed, but the order needs to change. First, release the Vought waste line to suppress their terrorist narrative. Then, release the plane crash and cover-up lines to shatter Homelander's idol image. Only then do we touch the Becca case."
Hearing the name Becca, Annie's voice grew quieter. "Because she's still alive?"
Ryan didn't answer directly. "Because a living person is more important than view counts."
There was an even longer silence on Maeve's end; she knew this sentence was also about Elena.
After a while, she spoke. "If I testify, Elena will get dragged into this."
"That's why you don't need to show your face at the start," Ryan said.
"Voice modulation, segmented testimony, timelines verified by journalists, and you only step out for the key moments. By the time you appear, Vought will no longer have the energy to hide their knives."
Maeve's tone remained hard. "You've arranged all of this?"
"Just about. I'm just missing your nod."
Annie couldn't help but ask. "And if we don't nod?"
Ryan answered very calmly. "Then we don't do it."
This time it was Maeve's turn to be stunned. "You're not forcing us?"
Ryan laughed. "I'm not Vought. They're the ones who like to push people onto the stage and then tell you it's for the sake of a greater brand."
A very low gasp came from Annie's side; she seemed to have stopped at some corner. "But I'm scared."
After saying those three words, she quickly added another sentence. "I'm not afraid of Vought scolding me. I'm afraid that after I step forward, I'll find out that nobody believes me at all."
Maeve finally spoke. "Some people won't believe you. Some will say you took money, that you're trying to climb the ladder, that you're jealous of Homelander."
Annie didn't refute this. Ryan, however, chimed in. "And some people will believe you."
He paused, his voice not as annoying as usual. "The nurse at the slum hospital believed, the kid hiding in the bathroom from Black Noir believed, and the parents holding photos of the blue barrels downstairs believed."
Annie's hand holding the phone was a bit unsteady; she pressed the phone closer.
Ryan continued. "Annie, you didn't become a hero because of the uniform Vought gave you. Maeve, you don't have value because of your seat in The Seven."
From Maeve's side came the sound of a chair being pushed back; she seemed to have stood up. "Stop feeding me chicken soup for the soul."
"Don't worry, my chicken soup is usually spiked with compound v. It makes you fly easily."
Annie was amused by this remark and sniffled, but Maeve didn't laugh.
Ryan stopped beating around the bush. "I'm serious. The people who step out to tell the truth shouldn't be me. Fists can tear down a building, but they can't tear down the fear in everyone's hearts."
Annie asked in a low voice. "Then what can?"
"The victims speaking up for themselves." Ryan looked at the lights in the distance.
"What Homelander fears most isn't me punching him; it's you standing in front of the whole world and telling everyone that he hurt you, he threatened you, he ruined other people's lives, and then made you shut up."
Maeve gripped the phone, her fingertips pressing against the edge of the screen. "Do you know how long I've kept my mouth shut?"
"I do." "You don't."
Maeve's voice was very low. "Every day I told myself: just endure it one more time, have one more drink, hold on for one more day. But one day turned into a year, and three years have passed; I don't even want to look in the mirror anymore."
Annie didn't interrupt; she pressed her back against the wall of the stairwell, listening to Maeve tear open these past years.
Ryan didn't interrupt either. Maeve continued.
"If I step out, I might lose Elena, lose my last bit of security, and maybe even lose my life."
"So the choice is yours," Ryan said. "If you want to back out, I'll help you send Elena away. If you want to step forward, I'll stand in front of you to take the first round of fire."
There was a very soft sound of breathing from Maeve's side. Annie asked in a low voice. "What about me?"
"Same for you," Ryan said. "You can continue being Starlight, or you can peel off that skin Vought issued you. You decide which name you want to speak with."
Annie raised her hand to wipe the corner of her eye, her voice sounding a bit nasal. "I used to think that by joining The Seven, I could change a lot of things."
"You did change things," Ryan said, his tone serious.
"If it weren't for you, Hughie would've been scared back home long ago. Butcher badmouths you, but in reality, he doesn't treat you like a Vought person. Maeve being willing to take this call is also partly because of you."
Maeve was silent for two seconds. "Don't admit to such sentimental scenes for me."
"Fine, then admit it yourself," Ryan said.
Maeve went quiet for a few seconds, and finally just spat out one sentence. "She's braver than I was back then."
Annie's eyes grew even redder, but she forced a smile. "Thanks. I kind of want to cry right now, but this is a Vought stairwell; crying would get caught on camera, it's embarrassing."
Ryan answered quickly. "Don't cry. Vought would edit the footage to make it look like Starlight is mentally unstable, and then make Ashley write an eight-hundred-word statement."
Annie cursed under her breath. "You really know how to ruin the mood."
"I'm protecting the chain of evidence." Ryan paused, his voice finally dropping. "Girls, you are the real heroes."
After these words fell, neither side of the call responded.
Annie leaned against the wall of the stairwell, looking up at the white light overhead, her red eyes unable to be suppressed.
Maeve stood in front of her apartment window; she poured the glass of wine she was holding into the sink, and the glass made a crisp sound when she set it back on the counter.
Ryan didn't rush them.
After a long time, Annie spoke first. "I will step forward, but I have to send my mom away first." "Fine."
Maeve continued. "I will also step forward, but Elena must be safe first." "Fine."
Annie asked. "Then when do you want us to prepare our testimony?"
Ryan glanced at the time on his phone. "After Washington."
Maeve immediately heard that something was wrong. "You're still going to the base tomorrow?" "Yeah."
"V24, the military, Homelander, Edgar—they're all waiting for you."
"Sounds lively. It saves me from knocking on their doors one by one."
Maeve held back for two seconds, but still cursed. "You'll die because of your smart mouth sooner or later."
Ryan laughed. "Don't worry, my mouth is very hard—in the physical sense."
Just as Annie was about to say something, another encrypted call popped up on Ryan's phone. The caller was Butcher.
Ryan looked at the name, and the smile on his face faded a bit. "You two hang up first, clear the chat, and don't look back at the surveillance."
Annie asked. "Something happened?" "Not yet, but someone is about to burst."
Maeve said in a deep voice. "Butcher?" Ryan didn't deny it. "Yeah, the two words 'Becca' have almost burned him through."
After the call was cut, Ryan picked up Butcher's call. As soon as the call connected, Butcher's voice pressed in, with no trace of a joke in his raspy, smoker's voice.
"Ryan, stop beating around the bush with me." Ryan didn't speak.
From Butcher's side came the sound of paper being slammed onto a table. "The plane, the cover-ups, the Vought waste—I can wait for all of those."
He paused, pressing down hard on every word. "But where is Becca?"
Chapter 81: Becca is Alive
"But where is Becca?"
After Butcher pressed this question, both ends of the phone fell silent for a few seconds.
Ryan stood at the edge of the rooftop, tapping his fingertips against the phone casing, not taking the bait of Butcher's anger.
"Your tone doesn't sound like you're asking a question; it sounds more like you're preparing to put a knife to my throat."
From Butcher's side came the sound of a lighter opening and closing; he didn't light a cigarette, just repeatedly snapped the metal lid shut.
"Cut the crap, Ryan. You know I'm not asking for ordinary intel."
Hughie chimed in from the side, his voice noticeably lowered.
"Butcher, let's calm down first. Maybe Ryan just has a lead right now."
"Shut up, Hughie."
Butcher interrupted quickly, slamming his hand against the table with a loud bang.
"He's known too much since day one. Translucent, A-Train, The Deep, Homelander—every step he's taken has been terrifyingly precise."
Ryan laughed, his tone still lazy.
"Your way of complimenting people is quite unique; it sounds like you're preparing to erect a tombstone for me."
"I'm not complimenting you."
Butcher tossed the lighter onto the table, the metallic clatter echoing through the phone.
"I'm asking you, is my wife dead or not?"
When these words fell, Hughie didn't speak again, and Mothers Milk didn't try to smooth things over on his end either.
Ryan looked up at the lights of Vought Tower in the distance and answered without evasion.
"She's not dead."
The breathing on the other end of the line faltered for a beat. Butcher didn't shout, nor did he curse.
He paused for a long time before squeezing a sentence through his teeth.
"Say that again."
"Becca is not dead."
Ryan made it clearer.
"At least the leads I have point to that. Vought didn't get rid of her; they hid her away."
On Butcher's side, a chair was knocked over, and Hughiehurriedly shouted.
"Butcher, where are you going? Don't be impulsive!"
"Where am I going?"
Butcher's voice suddenly rose.
"I'm going to tear apart every floor of Vought Tower, go ask that suit-wearing black guy, ask Madelyn, ask that blonde bastard Homelander!"
Ryan's tone didn't change.
"If you go to Vought now, you'll get three things."
Butcher asked, biting out the words.
"Which three things?"
"Electric shocks, restraints, and a death certificate."
Ryan paused for a moment, then twisted the knife.
"And by the way, let Edgar confirm one thing: Becca is a button; press it once, and you'll deliver yourself right to them."
Heavy footsteps came from Butcher's side, followed by a chaotic commotion, as if someone was stopping him.
Mothers Milk's voice pressed into the phone.
"Billy, put the gun down. Don't sacrifice all our lives as a gift to Vought."
Butcher said angrily.
"That's my wife!"
Mothers Milk didn't back down.
"I know, which is why you absolutely cannot force her location to be erased."
Listening to the commotion on the other end, Ryan picked up the conversation.
"Mothers Milk is right. If you move now, Becca will go from being a secret asset to a dangerous witness."
Butcher panted a few times, his voice dropping, but sounding even worse.
"You knew all along."
Ryan didn't deny it.
"I knew there was a high probability she was alive, and I knew Vought had her hidden outside—not in New York, not in a public prison, not in a regular Safe House."
"You knew it, you motherfucker!"
Butcher finally exploded; something on the table was swept to the floor.
"You watched me investigate like a dog for so long, watched me think about how to kill Homelander every day, and you didn't say a single word?"
Ryan held the phone a bit further away and waited until he finished roaring before replying.
"I told you, you would go get yourself killed."
"What right do you have to decide for me?"
"Because when you heard she wasn't dead just now, your first reaction was to grab a gun and leave."
Butcher was stuck.
Hughie whispered a follow-up.
"He put it a bit harshly, but you were indeed looking for the car keys just now."
Butcher cursed, and after cursing, he turned the spearhead back.
"Ryan, you'd better not use Becca as a bargaining chip, or I guarantee that before Homelander dies, the two of us will have a falling out."
Ryan didn't laugh this time.
"I'm not using Becca as a bargaining chip; I'm using Homelander's weakness as one."
Butcher paused on his end.
"What do you mean?"
Ryan didn't reveal everything, only exposing the sharpest point of the blade.
"Vought hiding Becca isn't just because she's a victim."
Butcher's voice tightened.
"Go on."
"There is something else with her, or rather, someone else, who can make Homelander lose control."
Ryan looked at the white cloud lines on the horizon, slowing his speech.
"Edgar can tolerate Homelander going crazy, can tolerate him burning pillows, can tolerate him acting like a god in front of the camera, but there is one card he won't let Homelander touch."
The silence on Butcher's end was abnormal.
Hughie couldn't help but ask.
"What card?"
Ryan didn't answer Hughie, only speaking to Butcher.
"If you want to save Becca, you can't play that card recklessly."
Butcher sneered.
"Cut the riddles. If you keep beating around the bush, I'm going to find Madelyn right now."
"You won't find her."
Ryan replied quickly.
"Vought is cleaning up leaks tonight; Madelyn herself might not even be safe. If you go there, you'll only run into Homelander."
Butcher's voice lowered.
"Then I'll find Edgar."
"Even stupider."
Ryan was blunt.
"Edgar is waiting for me in Washington, and he's dying for you to lose control right now so he can expose the entire Boys team."
Frenchie finally chimed in, and the sound of typing stopped.
"Billy, the V24 cold chain is still on the way. Vought is preparing for more than just a PR war."
Mothers Milk added.
"There are base movements near The Pentagon. Although we haven't gotten the full list yet, there will definitely be a dragnet in Washington tomorrow."
Butcher ignored them and only asked Ryan.
"So you want me to wait?"
"Yes."
"Wait for you to finish in Washington?"
"Yes."
"Wait for you to arrange Starlight, arrange Maeve, arrange everyone's lives, and then it's my wife's turn?"
Ryan heard that fire starting to burn again and made his tone even firmer.
"Billy, your wife isn't a patient waiting in line for a number. She is the person most easily silenced in Vought's hands."
Butcher didn't respond.
Ryan continued.
"If you rush in tonight, she dies."
"If you tell Homelander the news, he goes crazy."
"If you make Hughie investigate, Hughie dies."
Hughie protested quietly from the side.
"Although I don't like this example, it sounds reasonable."
Butcher cursed under his breath.
"Shut up."
Ryan didn't give him a chance to catch his breath.
"You wanted an answer, I gave you an answer: Becca is alive, isolated by Vought in an external community. I'm just missing the final coordinate confirmation."
Butcher's breathing dropped.
"A community?"
"Yes, fake houses, fake neighbors, fake safety, real surveillance."
Ryan said.
"That place isn't for prisoners; it's more like a cage built for an important specimen."
Butcher caught onto that word.
"Specimen?"
Ryan didn't explain further.
"You just need to know right now that Becca is still in the cage; she wasn't thrown into the ocean, nor was she burned to ashes by Vought."
A long silence came from Butcher's side, so long that Hughie wanted to speak but was stopped by Mothers Milk.
After a while, Butcher finally spoke.
"Does she know I'm looking for her?"
Ryan was silent for a moment.
"I don't know."
This answer was harder than any comfort. Butcherlaughed, a short laugh.
"You're certainly honest."
"If I lied to you once, you'd drag all of us into the pit tonight."
Butcher asked in a hushed voice.
"Then what right do you have to make me trust you?"
Ryan looked down at the windows downstairs that Homelander had burned, his tone recovering a bit of its cockiness.
"Because I just pissed Homelander off enough to make him burn pillows in the middle of the night, and I haven't had time to switch careers to become Vought customer service."
Hughie couldn't help but laugh, then quickly stifled it.
Butcher didn't laugh.
"Ryan, I'll ask one last time: will you help me find her?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"After Washington, I'll go confirm the coordinates myself."
Butcher's voice lowered.
"I'm going with you."
"No."
"Say that again?"
"You can't go."
Ryan said it very bluntly.
"Before you see Becca, you have to learn not to shove your gun into the mouth of everyone who knows the truth."
Butcher laughed in anger.
"Who do you think you are, my marriage counselor?"
"I don't have that license."
Ryan replied quickly.
"But I know that if you see Homelander right now, you'll forget about everyone else on the street."
Butcher was silent.
Mothers Milk didn't speak up for him this time, and Frenchie didn't crack any jokes either.
Ryan's voice lowered a bit.
"Billy, the one you are looking for is Becca, not an excuse that allows you to die in a way that feels good."
When these words fell, only the sound of Butcher's breathing remained on the other end of the line.
After a long time, he said.
"You're very good at stabbing into the cracks of people's bones."
Ryan hummed.
"Homelander just experienced it, and the feedback was good."
Hughie whispered.
"Is joking really appropriate at a time like this?"
Ryan answered seriously.
"Appropriate, otherwise your boss would be crying."
Butcher cursed, but his voice wasn't as explosive as before.
"I won't cry."
"Fine, you're just sweating from your eyes, the limited British edition."
"Ryan."
Butcher interrupted him, his tone sinking again.
"If you dare to lie to me, even just once, I will spend the rest of my life chasing you down to bite you."
Ryan didn't evade.
"Fine."
Butcher asked again.
"If Becca is really alive, why don't you bring her out right now?"
Ryan looked at Vought Tower, where lights were still flickering on the 79th Floor.
"Because the person beside Becca is more dangerous than Becca's location."
Butcher's voice changed instantly.
"Who?"
Ryan didn't answer immediately.
Butcher suppressed his anger and pressed on.
"Ryan, don't stop here."
Ryan held the phone close to his ear, his tone very slow.
"I will help you find her, but we need to solve a bigger problem first."
Butcher squeezed the words out from between his teeth.
"What problem could be bigger than Becca?"
Ryan watched the sky in the distance gradually brightening, finally revealing a corner of the next card.
"Because there is also a child beside Becca."
Chapter 82: A-Zu's son is only eight years old
"A child?"
Butcher's voice on the other end was very low, and the sound of Hughie knocking over a chair came through the phone.
Ryan didn't continue to explain; he just pulled the phone away from his ear and glanced at the encrypted line pulsing on the screen.
Butcher asked again, his tone no longer a demand, but carrying a dull sound of someone about to lose control.
"Ryan, you just said there is a child with Becca. Who is that child?"
Ryan kept his voice steady.
"Billy, knowing this now will only make you aim your gun at the wrong person."
Butcher let out a laugh on the other end of the line.
"The wrong person? You'd better not tell me that child has something to do with that blond bastard."
Hughie couldn't help but chime in.
"Wait, isn't this direction getting a bit too bad?"
Mothers Milk cursed under his breath.
"This isn't just bad; this is the kind of bad that Vought would write into an emergency contingency plan."
Ryan looked up at the horizon; behind the clouds, a Vought private jet was changing its flight path.
"I'm going to confirm it. Before I do, none of you move."
Butcher's breathing was heavy over the phone.
"I want the coordinates."
"If you want the coordinates, I'll change my number."
"Ryan."
"Billy."
Ryan cut him off, his tone not joking.
"If you want to see Becca, then survive tonight, and make sure she survives tonight too."
There was a pause of a few seconds on the other end, then Butcher slammed something onto the table.
"You'd better be more reliable than those bastards at Vought."
Ryan replied before hanging up.
"Rest assured, I charge less than Vought, and I don't kill my clients after the sale. ╮(╯▽╰)╭"
After the call was cut, Ryan turned off his phone, dropped from the edge of the rooftop, and didn't disturb the landlord downstairs who was still cursing at the property management.
He didn't go to Vought Tower, nor did he notify Annie or Maeve.
This card was too sensitive; the more people who knew, the faster they would die.
New York shrank into a sea of lights behind him. Ryan kept his speed within the margin of error for standard radar, flying south along the East Coast.
The early morning wind was blocked outside by his Bio-field; cities, forests, highways, and lake districts receded beneath his feet.
When a residential community enclosed by a fence appeared in his field of vision, Ryan stopped at a high altitude three kilometers away.
The community wasn't large. Outside, it hung a sign for an ordinary real estate company. At the entrance, there was a security booth, old people walking dogs, a newspaper delivery truck, and two broken streetlights that no one had repaired.
It was too ordinary.
So ordinary that the angle of the curtains in every house had been calculated, and the cameras in every alleyway avoided the blind spots of external sightlines.
Ryan swept over the first row of houses and whispered.
"Edgar, you're quite good at decorating the cages you build for people."
He didn't rush to get closer, just extended his hearing.
In a small white two-story house, the TV was playing a children's show, the kitchen faucet was turned on, and a woman was whispering a reminder.
"Ryan, finish your milk before you play."
The boy's voice was very clear.
"Mom, can I go out and kick for ten minutes? Just ten minutes, I promise I won't kick the ball into Mrs. Jones's house."
The woman paused.
"Not today."
"Why?"
"Because it's windy outside."
The boy dragged out his voice.
"But the trees aren't moving."
Standing high in the sky, Ryan twitched an eyebrow after hearing this.
Pretty smart.
Becca didn't answer the question, just set the cup on the table.
"Ryan, finish your homework first."
The boy muttered softly.
"The Vought Instructor said I'm improving very fast."
Becca's voice tightened.
"Don't mention them."
The room was quiet for a while, then the boy's voice lowered.
"Mom, are you unhappy again?"
Becca put down the plate, her fingers pausing on the table for two seconds.
"No, baby, I'm just a little tired."
Ryan didn't continue listening to Becca's breathing; he cast his gaze onto the boy.
Ryan was sitting by the dining table, around eight years old, blond hair, blue eyes, with a bit of milk on his face.
He was holding a pencil, doing his homework. Halfway through, he secretly flicked an eraser at a glass cup, and after missing, he quickly looked up at Becca.
Ryan had originally prepared himself to see a monster embryo.
But the child in the room was afraid of homework, would sneak peeks at the TV, and would kick his slippers under the chair because he couldn't go out to kick the ball.
He was just a child.
Ryan activated his Microscopic Vision, his gaze passing through walls and bone, falling deeper into Ryan's body.
Cellular activity was far beyond that of a normal person, nerve conduction speed was abnormal, bone density was slowly increasing, and there were highly stable Compound V residues in some dormant areas of his body.
Those genes weren't fully activated yet, but they were already waiting for a trigger point.
Ryan withdrew his gaze, the playfulness on his face fading a bit.
"Homelander's son, potential on the level of Homelander."
He said it very quietly, only the wind could hear.
"Vought is raising a nuclear bomb, and they even bought the nuclear bomb children's picture books."
Inside the house, Ryan finally closed his workbook, hugged his soccer ball, and ran to the living room.
"Mom, I'll just kick it at the door. Doesn't the door count as home?"
Becca poked her head out from the kitchen.
"No."
"Then I'll kick it in the living room?"
"No."
"Then I'll walk around holding the ball?"
Becca was stopped by his circular logic, and in the end, she could only wipe her hands with a towel.
"You can sit down while holding the ball."
Ryan sighed.
"Adults are really good at crushing an athlete's dreams."
Ryan, high in the sky, was amused.
"This level of sass is nothing like A-Zu, which is worth celebrating."
In the security booth at the entrance of the community, a man picked up a walkie-talkie.
"Target house lighting is normal, maternal status is normal, juvenile shows no abnormalities."
Another voice came through the underground line.
"Keep the record. Headquarters is stepping up patrols tonight. Report any abnormalities first; do not make contact."
Ryan finished listening to this conversation and swept his gaze toward the power supply box outside the community and the underground backup lines.
Three layers of surveillance, two hidden sentries, and one evacuation vehicle disguised as a maintenance truck.
Vought didn't treat this as a home; they treated it as an experimental asset repository.
Ryan was in the house holding the ball when he suddenly looked up at the window.
Becca stopped what she was doing.
"Ryan, what's wrong?"
The boy stared at the night sky for a few seconds.
"Someone was watching us just now."
The cup in Becca's hand hit the sink, making a crisp sound.
Ryan didn't move high in the sky.
This child hadn't awakened yet, but he already had instinctive reactions.
The people in the security booth also noticed the change inside the house, and the walkie-talkie sounded.
"Target is showing abnormal looking-up behavior. Shall we initiate the soothing protocol?"
Hearing the words "soothing protocol," Ryan tapped his finger in mid-air.
A fuse inside the distant power supply box blew, and one-third of the community's surveillance screens went black simultaneously.
Cursing came from the security booth.
"Circuit failure? Who is responsible for maintenance on the north side?"
Ryan didn't go in; he just made himself disappear from all the cameras and landed behind the tree shadows opposite the small white house.
Inside the house, Becca had already pulled Ryan behind her.
"Baby, go upstairs."
Ryan didn't move, still holding the ball.
"Mom, is it Vought people?"
Becca squatted down, pressing both hands on his shoulders.
"No matter who it is, you go upstairs first and close the door."
Ryan still wanted to ask, but Becca pushed him toward the stairs.
"Be good."
The boy looked back every few steps, but in the end, he went upstairs with the ball.
Ryan watched that small second-floor window light up, and the sound of Ryan dragging a chair to block the door came from inside.
He couldn't help but whisper.
"If someone had taught A-Zu to block the door instead of posing for photos when he was eight, he might not have grown up to be such a mess."
Becca turned off the kitchen light, picked up a kitchen knife, and walked behind the entryway.
Her hand was steady, but the tip of the knife didn't leave the direction of the door crack.
Ryan didn't knock on the door.
He stood outside the yard, raised his hand to cut off the power to the door camera from a distance, making that red dot go out completely.
Becca heard a slight electrical sound and raised the hand holding the knife by half an inch.
"Who is it?"
Ryan stopped outside the door, not using the name from the Vought file, nor the name Ryan.
"Preservation Walker."
There was no response from inside, only Becca checking the position of Ryan's door once more.
Ryan continued.
"I am not with Vought."
Becca's voice came from behind the door.
"Vought people would say the same thing."
"Then let me rephrase."
Ryan looked at the small shadow behind the second-floor curtain and lowered his voice.
"Butcher is still alive, and he has been looking for you."
Behind the door, the kitchen knife dropped to the floor with a very soft sound.
Becca asked through the door.
"Who did you say?"