Chapter 43: Three Sniper Rifles
The rain had been falling since the afternoon. It hadn't stopped by midnight.
Stormfront's Villa was halfway up the mountain, and outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was the entire night view of New York.
Rain pelted against the glass, and the lights were blurred and smeared by the water into indistinct blobs.
Chen Mo leaned against the sofa, a can of beer resting on his lap—unopened, cold.
Stormfront sat on the other end.
She had changed clothes into a black robe, her hair damp from just having taken a shower.
She hugged her knees, staring out the window for a long time.
The only sound left in the room was the rain.
"Do you want to hear it?" she suddenly said.
Chen Mo turned his head.
Stormfront didn't look at him.
Her gaze was fixed on the curtain of rain outside the window, her voice flat.
"My story. Do you want to hear it?"
Chen Mo didn't speak. He placed the beer on the coffee table and sat up straight.
"Go ahead."
Stormfront was silent for a few seconds.
When she spoke, her tone was as if she were telling someone else's story.
It wasn't told with emotion—just dry, bare facts.
It was like pulling things out of her stomach, whatever came out was what it was.
"When I was twelve, I was walking home from school one day. There was a black car parked in the alley. No license plate. Two men got out of the car and said to me in Korean, 'Come with us, something happened to your mother.'"
Chen Mo's brow twitched.
"You believed them?"
"I was twelve," Stormfront said, her voice faint. "Who, at twelve years old, would think that an adult was lying to them?"
She lowered her head, her fingers tracing lines on her knees.
"They didn't take me to a hospital. We went straight to the airport. A private jet, and then we arrived in Nevada. Then there was a van with no windows. It drove for about... six hours? Or seven hours. I don't know. I was crying the whole time."
Chen Mo didn't speak.
"I only found out later what that place was called," Stormfront said, looking up at him.
"Red River Institute," she said, "Vought's underground laboratory. It was specifically for locking up children with superpowers. We weren't there for training—we were test subjects."
The sound of the rain outside grew louder.
"We?" Chen Mo asked.
"There were twenty-three children with me at the time," Stormfront said, her tone flat.
"I stayed for seven years. When I came out, there were only eleven left."
Chen Mo's fingers paused on the beer can.
"What about the rest?"
Stormfront didn't answer.
She turned her head to look out the window.
The rain was too heavy; the lights of New York were almost impossible to see.
"It's not a good story anyway."
There was silence for about five seconds.
Then Chen Mo's Battle Armor system lit up.
It wasn't something he activated—it was a warning.
[External scan: 3 infrared signals — 1.2 kilometers away · 230 meters elevation to the southeast · top of a building 175 meters to the northwest]
Chen Mo's body stiffened for a moment.
In the Battle Armor's neural link, the scan data was displayed.
Three sniper rifles.
One on a hillside 1.2 kilometers away, one hidden in a tower crane operator's cabin over two hundred meters high to the southeast, one to the northwest at one hundred seventy—damn, they really knew how to pick their spots.
Three people.
Aiming simultaneously—not at Stormfront, but at him.
Chen Mo's mouth twitched.
"Interesting."
Stormfront turned back, noticing his expression had changed.
"What's wrong?"
"Someone's here to deliver a package."
Stormfront's pupils constricted.
She immediately realized—at this distance, with this level of precision, she knew who it was.
"It's Vought's," she said.
"I expected as much."
Chen Mo stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.
He could feel those three aiming points locked onto his chest.
Three red dots, separated by the curtain of rain, invisible but perceivable.
"What the hell are you doing standing by the window?" Stormfront's voice changed, lowered to a hiss.
Chen Mo didn't move.
He stood straight facing the rainy night outside the window.
Then he reached out and made a "come here" gesture.
"Chen Mo!"
It was too late.
Seven hundred meters away, in the tower crane operator's cabin.
Sniper Shawn saw this scene through his scope.
That Asian man in the white T-shirt was standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, gesturing for them to come over.
Shawn pressed his radio.
"Captain, the target has exposed himself."
The Captain's voice came through the radio.
There was some static, and the tone was one of uncertain irritation.
"I see him. Wearing a damn T-shirt. One shot is enough, why use three?"
"Could it be a trap?" another person said.
"What kind of trap? What kind of trap can you have wearing a T-shirt? Shoot."
Shawn adjusted his breathing.
The wind speed was high, and he adjusted his right hand by half a mil.
The crosshairs aimed at the white T-shirt's chest—
"Three."
"Two."
"One."
He pulled the trigger.
Chen Mo stood where he was.
Three sniper rounds arrived simultaneously.
Almost at the same instant—three impacts hit his chest.
It felt like being struck by three sledgehammers at once.
His body retreated half a step, but he didn't fall.
The bullets hit beneath the T-shirt.
Hiss—hiss—hiss.
Three warheads slammed into a layer of silver-gray metal surface.
The nano-armor completed local hardening within a millionth of a second of contact.
The warheads deformed, shattered, and bounced off.
One warhead bounced onto the ceiling, leaving a dent.
One bounced onto the coffee table, knocking over the beer can.
The last one embedded itself in the back of the sofa.
Chen Mo looked down at his chest.
On the white T-shirt were three charred bullet holes.
The edges were scorched by high heat, and what was revealed wasn't skin—it was a silver-gray metal layer.
He reached out and patted the spot.
"Damn," he said.
"My only T-shirt. I thought the nano Battle Armor was thin enough."
He raised his right hand.
The micro-missile launch bay in his palm opened.
Three thumb-sized micro-missiles had their guidance heads glowing red.
Locked. Fire.
Three short, sharp whistles—shoo-shoo-shoo.
Three missiles cut through the curtain of rain, trailing long, thin white smoke.
They struck. All three scopes exploded simultaneously.
On the tower crane.
Shawn was just preparing to check the landing point of the second shot when the scope suddenly exploded in front of his eyes.
Shards of the lens pierced into his right eye socket.
He screamed and fell backward, his face covered in blood.
The radio fell to the ground.
"Captain—Captain—my eye—"
On the hillside 1.2 kilometers away, the Captain's radio transmitted the scream.
He dropped his gun and covered his right eye.
Fragments of the scope were embedded in his palm.
Glass shards mixed with blood dripped down.
He roared into the radio.
"Retreat! Retreat! Get the hell out of here!"
There was no further response after the gunfire.
The Villa was quiet.
The rain was still falling.
Chen Mo kicked the shell casings at his feet away.
He tore off the ruined T-shirt and tossed it onto the floor.
The silver-gray nano Battle Armor covered his entire upper body, looking icy cold under the lights.
Stormfront sat on the sofa, watching him.
She didn't move for a long time.
"Didn't you say the Battle Armor was worn underneath?"
Chen Mo patted his chest.
"I am wearing it. Didn't it block it?"
"Your T-shirt is a single layer."
"So?"
"So how did you wear it inside?"
Chen Mo paused for a moment.
"Uh... that's a good question."
Stormfront stared at him for three seconds.
Then she laughed.
Not the happy kind—it was that post-survival kind.
A bit neurotic.
She picked up the remaining half-can of beer on the coffee table and took a sip.
"I thought I was going to die just now," she said.
"But you were standing there."
"You actually had the nerve to gesture at them."
Chen Mo shrugged.
"They couldn't penetrate it anyway."
"Couldn't penetrate it. Three snipers couldn't penetrate someone wearing a T-shirt."
Stormfront placed the beer can on the table, leaned back on the sofa, and looked up at the ceiling.
"I'll buy you a hundred of them tomorrow."
Chen Mo walked over and sat down.
He opened a new beer and took a gulp. It was cold.
The sound of the rain slowly grew quieter.
Stormfront turned her head to look at him.
Her gaze wasn't as cold as before.
The shadow of that twelve-year-old girl still lingered in the corners of her eyes, but what she said didn't sound as panicked.
"You know," she said, "I haven't talked to anyone about Red River in a long time."
"Why?"
"Because no one wants to hear it," Stormfront said.
"Vought people frown when they hear Red River. Butcher's bunch get bright eyes when they hear Red River—they think it's evidence of a crime, not a place where people lived."
Chen Mo didn't respond.
Stormfront stared at him for a long time.
"Aren't you curious what my original name was?"
"I am."
"Then why don't you ask?"
"You'll say it when you want to."
Stormfront was silent for a moment.
Then she laughed, a very light laugh.
"My name used to be Kim Jisoo."
Chen Mo paused.
"Kim Jisoo?"
"That's about the sound in Chinese," Stormfront said.
"Is it very tacky?"
"Not tacky. It sounds quite nice."
Stormfront didn't say anything more.
She tilted her head against the back of the sofa, watching New York outside the window as the rain faded.
There was half a beer left by her hand.
She picked it up and took a sip.
"The rain has stopped." she said.
Chen Mo looked outside.
The rain had really stopped.
The clouds split apart, and moonlight spilled into the room.
The lights of New York lit up again.
Three hours ago, three bullets had passed through this night sky, and one was currently embedded in the back of his sofa.
"Yeah." he said.
"The rain has stopped."
He finished his beer. He stood up.
Stormfront didn't move.
She just looked up at him.
"Are you leaving?"
"Not leaving. I'll sit for a while longer."
Stormfront smiled.
She pulled her legs in, making space for him.
Chen Mo sat back down.
Outside the window, the rain had completely stopped.
Moonlight leaked through the cracks in the clouds, spilling onto the wet exterior walls of the Villa.
Three broken sniper rifles were scattered in different corners.
Three snipers were fleeing for their lives in the moonlight.
But that was their business.
The Villa was very quiet.
Chapter 44: The Missing Superheroes
The next day, Chen Mo began searching for the missing superheroes on the list.
Three serial numbers—CV-0089, CV-0156, and CV-0234. Three missing people. He needed to find them, as they were the only ones who might know information about The Creator.
He started with the simplest method—searching online.
He sat on the couch in the safe house and opened his laptop—not the offline one, but another that could connect to the internet.
He entered the first serial number—CV-0089. Zero results. He tried CV-0156 and CV-0234—still no results. Vought had locked down the information on these people very tightly.
He thought for a moment and changed his approach. He searched for news related to the Legacy Project—nothing. He searched for "Vought missing superheroes"—there were a few results, but they were all about minor characters and had nothing to do with the Legacy Project.
He leaned back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. The trail had gone cold.
Then he remembered Butcher.
Butcher had said he had an informant inside Vought. That informant might know some information not on the list.
Chen Mo picked up his phone and called Butcher. The phone rang five times before Butcher answered.
"What is it?"
"I need you to help me look into a few people."
"Who?"
"The missing personnel from Vought's Legacy Project."
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds. Then Butcher said, "How the fuck do you know about the Legacy Project?"
"Stormfront told me."
Butcher paused again for a moment. Then he cursed. "You're working with Stormfront?"
"Yes."
"Are you insane?"
"Maybe," Chen Mo said. "But I need you to help me check these three serial numbers—CV-0089, CV-0156, and CV-0234."
The sound of a lighter came from Butcher's side—he was lighting a cigarette. Then he took a deep drag and exhaled. "I'll look into it. But you have to promise me one thing."
"What?"
"Don't you fucking trust Stormfront completely."
Chen Mo paused. "Why?"
"Because Stormfront is Vought's person." Butcher's voice was cold. "She could work with you today and betray you tomorrow. That's how Vought people are."
"I know."
"You don't know shit." Butcher cursed and hung up the phone.
Chen Mo put down the phone and looked out the window. Sunlight shone in, casting a patch of light in the room. Dust motes danced in the light.
Butcher was right. Stormfront was Vought's person. He couldn't fully trust her.
But he had no other choice.
— —
In the afternoon, Chen Mo went to an underground bar in Brooklyn.
The bar was on a remote street, with no sign, only a black iron door. There was a peephole on the iron door—the people inside could see out, but the people outside couldn't see in. Chen Mo knocked three times, paused for two seconds, and knocked twice more.
The door opened.
A bald man stood at the door, wearing a black T-shirt, his arms covered in tattoos. He glanced at Chen Mo and stepped aside.
Chen Mo walked in. The bar was dark, with only a few red lights glowing in the corners. The air was filled with the smell of smoke and alcohol. A few men sat at the bar, drinking, not looking up at him.
Butcher was sitting in a booth in the back with a glass of whiskey in front of him. Seeing Chen Mo, he lifted his chin, signaling him to sit down.
Chen Mo sat down opposite him. Butcher pushed a glass of liquor toward him. Chen Mo didn't drink it.
"Did you find anything?" Chen Mo asked.
Butcher took a sip of whiskey and set the glass down. He pulled a note from his pocket and pushed it toward him. Three addresses were written on the note.
"CV-0089, codename 'Iron Fist'. Ability—super strength. Last seen in Chicago. The address is his last known residence in Chicago."
"CV-0156, codename 'Phantom'. Ability—invisibility. Last seen in Los Angeles. Address as above."
"CV-0234, codename 'Echo'. Ability—sonic manipulation. Last seen in Miami. Address as above."
Chen Mo stared at the note and was silent for a moment. Three people, three cities. He couldn't go to three places at once.
"What else did your informant say?"
Butcher took a sip of his drink. "He said these three people went missing around the same time—all around 2015. And, before they went missing, they all went to the same place."
"Where?"
"Northern New York State. A small town called 'White Oak'."
Chen Mo frowned. "White Oak?"
"Yes." Butcher put down his glass and leaned back in the booth. "Your informant—Stormfront—didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"White Oak is one of Vought's secret research facilities." Butcher's voice lowered. "It specializes in researching Compound V. It's also the headquarters of the Legacy Project."
Chen Mo looked at Butcher, digesting this information. White Oak. Vought's secret research facility. The headquarters of the Legacy Project. Three missing superheroes who had all been there before they disappeared.
"What did they go there for?"
"Don't know." Butcher shrugged. "Maybe they were called back for check-ups. Maybe they were decommissioned. Maybe—" He paused, looking at Chen Mo. "Maybe they were destroyed."
Chen Mo didn't respond. He picked up the glass in front of him and took a sip. The whiskey was strong, burning all the way from his throat to his stomach.
"Are you planning to go to White Oak?" Butcher asked.
"Yes."
"You're crazy. That's Vought's territory. Going alone is suicide."
"I'm not going alone."
Butcher looked at him, waiting for him to continue.
"Stormfront is coming with me."
Butcher stared at him for five seconds. Then he laughed—not a happy laugh, but the "are you fucking kidding me" kind of laugh. "You're really fucking insane."
"Maybe." Chen Mo stood up and put the note in his pocket. "But this is my only lead."
He turned and walked toward the door.
"Chen Mo." Butcher called after him.
Chen Mo stopped and looked back at him.
Butcher's expression was complex—not anger, not worry, but an expression he rarely saw on Butcher's face—concern. "Don't you fucking die."
Chen Mo nodded, pushed open the door, and walked into the afternoon sun.
— —
That night, Chen Mo returned to the safe house and called Stormfront.
The phone rang for a long time before Stormfrontanswered. Her voice sounded a bit tired—not physically tired, but mentally tired.
"What is it?"
"I need you to do me a favor."
"What favor?"
"Accompany me to White Oak."
Silence on the other end. After a long while, Stormfrontsaid, "Do you know what kind of place White Oak is?"
"I do."
"Do you know what going there means?"
"I do."
Stormfront was silent again. Then she said, "Do you know why I don't want to go to White Oak?"
"Why?"
"Because I spent time there."
Chen Mo was stunned. He held the phone, silent. Stormfront's voice came from the other end, very soft, very calm—but unnaturally calm.
"I spent five years in the Legacy Project. From age fifteen to twenty. White Oak—that was my second home."
Chen Mo said, "I didn't know..."
"Of course you didn't." There was a hint of bitterness in Stormfront's voice. "No one knows. Vought deleted all my records from the Legacy Project. To the public, I'm a superhero recruited from Germany. In reality—I'm a test subject raised by Vought since I was a child."
Chen Mo leaned against the wall, digesting this news. Stormfront—Stormfront was also a test subject of the Legacy Project. She was also a superhero who had been injected with Compound V since infancy.
"So you helped me steal the list because—"
"Because I want to know what they actually did to me." Stormfront's voice was very soft, almost inaudible. "I want to know what I actually am."
Chen Mo was silent for a long time. Then he said, "I'll go with you."
Stormfront didn't answer. But Chen Mo heard a soft breath from the other end—not a sigh, but relief.
"Okay." Stormfront said. "Tomorrow night. White Oak."
The call ended.
Chen Mo put down the phone and looked at the night view outside the window. The lights of Manhattan shone on the horizon like a golden river.
He remembered what Stormfront said—"What I actually am."
He remembered what Zero said—"You were created."
He remembered those memories in his mind that didn't belong to him.
Chen Mo clenched his fists.
He, too, needed to know—what he actually was.
Chapter 45: White Oak
The next evening, Chen Mo and Stormfront met on a highway in upstate New York.
Upstate New York in autumn was beautiful—the leaves on both sides of the road had turned red and gold, resembling a burning flame under the setting sun.
But Chen Mo was in no mood to appreciate the scenery.
He sat in a gray sedan that Butcher had prepared for him, watching the road ahead.
Stormfront sat in the passenger seat.
She was wearing a black jacket with her hair tied in a ponytail, looking like an ordinary traveler.
But the light in her eyes was not ordinary—it was a mixture of tension and determination.
"How much further?" Chen Mo asked.
"About ten kilometers," Stormfront said, looking at the road ahead, her fingers tapping lightly on her knees.
"White Oak is deep in the forest. You can't see it from the outside."
The car drove on the highway for another ten minutes, then Stormfront said, "Turn right up ahead."
Chen Mo turned the steering wheel, and the sedan turned onto a dirt road.
On both sides of the dirt road were dense woods, with branches scraping against the roof of the car, making a rustling sound.
The headlights illuminated a narrow path in the darkness, the road surface covered with fallen leaves.
After driving about two kilometers, Stormfront said, "Stop the car."
Chen Mo stepped on the brake.
The sedan stopped in the middle of the road.
All around were trees—tall oaks and maples that looked like silent giants in the twilight.
"We have to walk the rest of the way," Stormfront said, opening the car door and getting out.
"If we drive in, we'll be spotted."
Chen Mo also got out of the car.
He locked the door and followed Stormfront into the woods.
It was dark in the woods—the light of the setting sun was blocked by the canopy, with only a few golden rays leaking through the gaps in the leaves.
The ground was covered with fallen leaves, which made a rustling sound when stepped on.
Stormfront walked in front, her pace fast and steady.
She was clearly very familiar with this place—she had walked through these woods countless times.
Chen Mo followed behind her, keeping an eye on the surroundings.
The woods were very quiet—there were only the sounds of birds and the wind blowing through the treetops.
After walking for about fifteen minutes, Stormfrontstopped.
"We're here."
Chen Mo walked to her side and followed her gaze—at the end of the woods stood a huge white building.
The building was nestled among the trees, its exterior walls made of white concrete, looking like a modern hospital—but much larger than a hospital.
The building was surrounded by a tall iron fence, with barbed wire hanging on it.
There was a guard post at the main gate with lights on, where two security guards in black uniforms could be seen.
"White Oak." Stormfront's voice was very soft, carrying a hint of complex emotion.
"I lived here for five years."
Chen Mo looked at the building.
In the twilight, White Oak didn't look like a research facility—it looked like a prison.
The white exterior walls cast a cold light in the setting sun, and the windows were small, like peepholes.
There were no trees around the building—there was an open lawn, neatly trimmed, but it looked somewhat desolate.
"How do we get in?" Chen Mo asked.
"Follow me." Stormfront turned and walked along the iron fence for a while, stopping at a corner of the fence.
She crouched down and brushed away the fallen leaves on the ground, revealing a rusted gap—the iron fence was broken at the bottom, creating a hole about half a meter wide.
"I found this when I was fifteen," Stormfront said.
"Crawl in through here."
She lay down and crawled through the hole.
Chen Mo followed behind her.
The hole was very small, and he had to struggle to get through.
The shell of his Battle Armor scraped against the iron fence, making a harsh sound.
The two crouched in the shadow on the inside of the fence.
The main building of White Oak was about a hundred meters ahead.
The lights on the lawn were already on, the yellow light appearing somewhat dim in the twilight.
"The main building has four entrances," Stormfront said in a low voice.
"Front door, back door, and two side doors.
Both the front and back doors have surveillance.
The side door—the one on the east side is an employee passage, and the lock is electronic.
I have a way."
She took an access card out of her pocket.
"I stole it when I left.
I don't know if it still works."
Chen Mo took the access card and looked at it.
It was an ordinary white card with the Vought logo printed on it.
"Let's go."
The two bent over and moved quickly along the shadow of the fence.
The lights on the lawn illuminated the surroundings brightly, but it was very dark in the shadows.
They hugged the base of the building wall and made their way to the east side.
The door on the east side was a gray iron door with an access card sensor on it.
Stormfront pressed the access card against it—the sensor made a "beep" sound, and the green indicator light lit up.
The door opened.
Stormfront pushed the door open, and the two slipped inside.
The door closed automatically behind them with a dull thud.
They stood in a corridor.
The corridor was long, with white walls, white floors, white ceilings—everything was white.
The lights on the ceiling emitted a white light, illuminating the corridor as brightly as an operating room.
The air was filled with the smell of disinfectant—the kind of smell Chen Mo had smelled in hospital corridors.
There was no one in the corridor.
It was very quiet—so quiet that one could hear their own heartbeat.
Stormfront stood in the corridor, looking ahead.
Her expression was complex—not fear, but an indescribable emotion.
She had stayed here for five years.
She was familiar with every corner here—but she didn't want to see any of them ever again.
"The lab is on the second basement level," Stormfront's voice was very soft.
"Follow me."
She walked forward along the corridor, her footsteps very light.
Chen Mo followed behind her, keeping an eye on the surroundings.
On both sides of the corridor were closed doors—with signs on them: "Area A—Laboratory", "Area B—Archives", "Area C—Living Quarters".
They walked to the end of the corridor, where there was a door leading to a stairwell.
Stormfront pushed the door open, and the two walked down the stairs.
The stairwell was equally quiet—only their footsteps echoed in the stairwell, one by one, very rhythmic.
Second basement level.
Stormfront pushed open the stairwell door and walked into a white corridor just like the one upstairs.
But at the end of this corridor was a heavy iron door—not an ordinary door, but the kind used for bank vaults, its silver-gray metal surface casting a cold light under the lights.
"This is it." Stormfront walked to the door and looked at it.
"The laboratory.
The core of the Legacy Project."
Chen Mo walked to the door and looked at the lock—it was not an electronic lock, but a mechanical one.
It required a key.
"Do you have the key?"
Stormfront shook her head.
"I don't.
Only Margaret Shaw has it."
Chen Mo crouched down and looked at the lock.
The keyhole was large—not a standard pin tumbler lock, but an old-fashioned gear lock.
He tried it with a wire—it didn't work.
The lock cylinder was too complex.
He stood up and looked at the door.
The silver-gray metal surface cast a cold light under the lights, like a silent guard.
"Is there any other way?"
Stormfront thought for a moment, and then her expression changed.
"Yes."
"What?"
"Use your Battle Armor.
Blast this door open."
Chen Mo looked at her and was silent for a few seconds.
"Are you sure?"
"Not sure," Stormfront said.
"But this is our only way."
Chen Mo stepped back and raised his right hand.
The thruster on his hand aimed at the door lock.
Blue light gathered in his palm, getting brighter and brighter.
"Step back."
Stormfront retreated to the corner of the corridor.
Chen Mo took a deep breath, then released the energy of the thruster.
Boom—
A beam of blue light shot out from his palm and struck the door lock.
The metal made a harsh sound, and sparks flew everywhere.
The door lock was blasted with a fist-sized hole, the metal at the edges still glowing red, emitting blue smoke.
Chen Mo lowered his hand, stepped forward, and kicked it.
The door opened.
Behind the door was a wider corridor.
On both sides of the corridor were glass walls—behind the glass walls was a huge laboratory.
The laboratory was filled with various instruments—centrifuges, microscopes, incubators, and rows of glass containers.
Chen Mo walked into the laboratory and stood in front of those glass containers.
The containers were filled with a pale blue liquid—the same color as Compound V.
But what was soaking in the liquid wasn't chemical reagents—it was something.
It was something humanoid.
Chen Mo looked at those containers, his pupils contracting.
What was soaking in the containers was—unfinished superheroes.
Some were already formed—with hands and feet, faces and features.
Some were still just embryos—curled up in the pale blue liquid, like an unborn baby.
Stormfront walked to his side and looked at those containers.
Her expression was calm—calm to the point of being abnormal.
She had seen these things too many times here.
"This is the Legacy Project," Stormfront's voice was very soft, echoing in the empty laboratory.
"A factory for manufacturing superheroes."
Chapter 46: The Truth in the Laboratory
Chen Mo stood before the glass containers, watching the test subjects submerged within. The pale blue liquid shimmered slightly under the lights, like blocks of solidified light. The test subjects in the containers—some looked human, others did not. In one container, a boy of about ten was submerged; his body was normal, but his arms were covered in scales, like a fish. In another container, a girl was submerged; her eyes were closed, but her skin was transparent, revealing the blood vessels and bones beneath.
Chen Mo's hands clenched. He looked at the children soaking in the liquid; the youngest appeared to be only five or six years old. "Are these... all alive?"
Stormfront walked over to a container and tapped the glass with her finger. The liquid inside shifted slightly, and the ten-year-old boy's finger twitched—as if responding to her knock. "Alive. But not really living. They've been injected with sedatives and are in a semi-dormant state. Vought only wakes them up when they need them. Some have been soaking in here for over a decade."
Chen Mo looked at her. Her profile appeared somewhat pale under the pale blue light. Her expression was calm, but there was something in her eyes he had never seen before—sadness.
"Did you come out of these containers, too?"
Stormfront was silent for a moment. "No. I began receiving Compound V injections when I was an infant. I never stayed in a container. But—" She pointed to a row of filing cabinets deep in the laboratory. "My file is there."
Chen Mo walked over and pulled open the first drawer. Inside were rows of folders, each labeled with a number. He searched quickly—CV-0047. Zero's file.
He pulled out the folder and opened it. Inside was Zero's complete record—starting from birth. Zero was born on September 12, 2008. On the third day after her birth, she was injected with Compound V. Following the injection, she suffered a violent rejection reaction—high fever, convulsions, and organ failure. But three days later, the rejection reaction disappeared, and Zero survived.
He turned to the next page—ability test records. Zero's powers first manifested when she was five—she unintentionally absorbed the electrical energy from a lightbulb, causing it to go out, while faint blue electrical arcs danced on her fingertips. From that day on, Vought subjected her to systematic power training.
He turned to the last page—2015, Zero escaped from White Oak. The notes section read: "Subject caused significant property damage during the escape. Three security personnel injured. Recommendation—Recover immediately upon discovery. If resistance is met, lethal force is authorized."
Chen Mo closed the folder, his fingers tightening on the edge until his knuckles turned white. Zero's entire childhood was recorded in this folder—every injection of Compound V, every power test, every instance of pain. He could not imagine how a five-year-old child had endured it.
"Zero wasn't the first to escape." Stormfront pulled another folder from the drawer. "Look at this."
Chen Mo took it and opened it—CV-0089, Iron Fist. Missing since 2015. The notes section read: "Subject left White Oak after a routine check-up and did not return. Presumed dead."
"Did not return. Presumed dead." Chen Mo repeated the line. "So Vought thinks they're dead?"
"Vought believes all the escaped test subjects are dead. Because they don't believe anyone can escape from White Oak and survive. But Zero survived. Iron Fist, Shadow, Echo—they might have survived, too."
"I need to find them," Chen Mo said.
"I'll help you. But first—" Stormfront walked to the center of the laboratory and stood before a massive piece of equipment. The device looked like a CT scanner—a circular metal frame with a bed in the middle.
"What is this?"
"A memory scanner. Vought uses this to extract the memories of test subjects. They want to know what's going on inside our heads."
Chen Mo looked at the device. The silver-gray metal frame gleamed coldly under the lights. He recalled those memories in his mind that did not belong to him—Iron Man's technological blueprints, the designs for the Battle Armor, the principles of energy circuits. Those memories were scattered in his mind like fragments, and he had been searching for their source. "If I use this, can I find the source of those memories in my mind?"
Stormfront looked at him and paused for a moment. "Yes. But it's dangerous. This device was designed to read memories. But if operated incorrectly—it will fry your brain."
Chen Mo stared at the device, silent for a long time. Then he said, "Use it."
Stormfront pressed the start button. The device emitted a low hum, and the circular frame began to rotate slowly, blue light flowing along it.
Chen Mo lay down on it. Stormfront walked over to the console and typed on the keyboard; lines of data appeared on the screen—his brain waves, heart rate, and blood pressure.
"Are you ready?"
"Ready."
Stormfront pressed the final button. Chen Mo felt a current of electricity pass through his head—it wasn't pain, but a strange sensation, as if something were crawling inside his brain, like countless ants crawling through his brain matter. White light appeared before his eyes—getting brighter and brighter, until the entire World turned white.
Then the image appeared.
It wasn't the laboratory. It was a room—very small, about ten square meters, with no windows. The ceiling was high, and a lamp hung overhead, emitting a harsh white light. The walls were white, and the floor was covered in white tiles. In the center of the room was a metal chair, and tied to the chair was a young child—about five or six years old.
Chen Mo's heart skipped a beat.
That child was himself.
He recognized those eyes—that hollow, vacant gaze that didn't want to look at anything. He remembered the feeling. Being tied to the chair, cold shackles clamping his wrists, someone speaking nearby, but he couldn't understand—not that he didn't understand the language, but he didn't understand the meaning of the words. He was too young.
The scene shifted. A person in a white lab coat was operating a syringe—pale blue liquid. Chen Mo couldn't see the person's face, only a hand—the left hand, wearing a silver ring on the ring finger, with a small cross on it.
Then the image changed again. He was lying in a darker place, and someone was calling his name—not "Chen Mo," but another name, very blurry—
"Run."
"Run—"
"Run—"
He opened his eyes abruptly.
He was lying on the bed of the memory scanner, gasping for breath. Sweat streamed down his forehead, soaking his collar. Stormfront stood beside him, holding a glass of water, her expression full of concern.
"What did you see?"
Chen Mo sat up and took the glass of water, taking a sip. The water was cool, but his hand was shaking. "I saw Red River. I was tied to a chair. Someone was giving me an injection. There was a person... wearing a silver cross ring."
Stormfront's face stiffened. "A silver cross? On the index finger?"
Chen Mo nodded.
Stormfront was silent for a long time. "That is the person in charge of the Red River laboratory—Dr. Anderson. He was my supervising Doctor at Red River. He was responsible for injecting all the children with Compound V. That cross ring of his—I remember it."
Chen Mo closed his eyes, recalling that hand in his mind—the silver cross, reflecting light under the fluorescent lamps. "If I see him again—I will recognize him."
Chapter 47: Zero's Past
After returning from White Oak, Chen Mo did not go directly back to the safe house.
He sat in the back seat of the taxi, watching the streetscape outside the window, his mind filled with the images from the memory scanner—the white room of the Red River laboratory, the hand wearing a silver cross ring, and that phrase "Run."
He needed to see Zero.
He needed to tell her what he had seen at White Oak.
The taxi stopped in front of an old apartment building.
Chen Mo paid the fare and got out.
The night wind blew against his face, carrying the smell of a barbecue stall—charcoal, cumin, and the charred aroma of grilled meat.
Zero's room was on the third floor, with the lights on in the window.
He walked into the stairwell; the lights in the stairwell were broken, and only the moonlight filtering in from the window barely illuminated the stairs.
He stepped up the creaking wooden stairs, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.
He stood at the door and knocked.
Park Soon-ja opened the door.
"Xiao Mo? Why are you here?"
"Auntie, is Zero home?"
Park Soon-ja's smile faded a little.
"Yes. She's in her room."
Chen Mo walked into the living room.
The living room was very quiet, the TV was off, and a bowl of unfinished kimchi sat on the table.
The air was filled with the scent of kimchi and soybean paste soup—that was the smell of Park Soon-ja's cooking, and also the most familiar smell of this home.
Zero's room was closed, with light shining through the crack.
He walked to the door and knocked.
"Zero, it's me."
After a few seconds, the door opened a crack.
Zero looked at him through the gap, her eyes holding the wariness only someone who has lived in fear for a long time would have.
"I have something to tell you. About White Oak."
Zero's expression changed, she was silent for a few seconds, and then she opened the door.
Chen Mo walked into her room.
The room was very small—a bed, a table, a wardrobe.
On the table was a worn copy of "Fundamentals of Quantum Mechanics," and next to it was a notebook densely packed with formulas.
Zero sat on the bed, hugging her knees, her fingers tapping lightly on her knees—that was her habitual action when nervous.
"You went to White Oak?" Zero asked.
"I did. I saw your file. CV-0047. Born September 12, 2008. Injected with Compound V on the third day after birth. Manifested abilities at five—energy absorption and release. Escaped from White Oak in 2015."
Zero lowered her head, saying nothing.
Her hair covered her face, but her shoulders were trembling slightly.
"Zero. You never told me that you escaped from White Oak."
"You never asked." Zero's voice was very small, as faint as a mosquito.
"I'm asking now."
Zero looked up, her eyes glistening with tears, but she didn't cry.
She took a deep breath.
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
Zero was quiet for a long time.
The streetlights outside shone in, casting a rectangular patch of light on the wall.
In the distance came the sound of a siren, getting closer and then moving away, finally disappearing into the night.
The room was so quiet that the ticking of the wall clock could be heard.
Then she began to speak.
"I knew I was different from a young age.
Not because I had any superpowers—but because I didn't have parents.
The children in White Oak didn't have parents.
We were manufactured."
Chen Mo listened quietly, not interrupting her.
He could feel Zero's voice trembling—not a tremble of fear, but a tremble brought on by memories.
Those memories were like knives, each one leaving a scar on her heart.
"I stayed in White Oak for seven years.
From five to twelve.
Wake up at six every morning, ability tests at seven, classes at nine, and continue testing in the afternoon.
Sleep at nine at night.
Every day was the same.
No weekends, no holidays, no birthdays.
Time felt like it had been frozen."
Her voice was very calm, so calm it was like she was telling someone else's story.
But Chen Mo knew that the calmer the tone, the deeper the wounds she had suffered.
"They gave us injections.
Once a week.
Compound V.
It would be very painful after the injection—like something was crawling inside the bones, like the bones were melting and then regrowing.
Some children couldn't take it and rolled on the ground in pain.
Some children died.
After they died, they would dispose of the bodies.
The next day, they continued to inject the remaining children.
No one asked where the children who disappeared went.
Because it was useless to ask."
Chen Mo's hands clenched.
His fingernails dug into the flesh of his palms, but he didn't let go.
He needed this pain to remind himself how cruel this World was.
"When I was twelve, they started giving me a new kind of test.
Not an ability test—a memory test.
They made me lie on a machine, and then many images would appear in my mind—not my memories, but someone else's memories."
Chen Mo's heart skipped a beat.
"Those memories—" Zero's voice became somewhat shaky.
"They were about Red River.
Someone getting an injection.
Someone crying.
And a researcher's hand—wearing a silver cross ring."
"Dr. Anderson." Chen Mo said.
Zero looked up at him, her eyes shining—not with tears, but with another kind of light.
"You know?"
"I saw it today at White Oak too.
I used the memory scanner.
I saw that researcher too."
Zero looked at him, silent for a moment.
Her eyes appeared very deep in the dim light.
"The one we saw is the same person."
"The person who injected all the children at Red River with Compound V."
Zero nodded.
"Do you hate him?" Chen Mo asked.
Zero lowered her head, looking at her hands.
After a long time, she said: "I don't know.
If it weren't for that damn injection, I wouldn't have become like this.
But I also hate—hate him for turning me into a monster.
After I escaped, I didn't dare to contact anyone, didn't dare to use electric lights, because my ability would uncontrollably absorb electrical energy.
I was like a rat scurrying across the street, hiding in the darkness."
"You are not a monster." Chen Mo said.
Zero looked up, her eyes glistening with tears, but she still didn't cry.
She tried hard to hold it back, like someone used to endurance.
"Do you know how long I stayed outside after I escaped?
Three years.
In those three years, I didn't speak to anyone.
I didn't dare.
I was afraid Vought's people would find me.
I was afraid they would drag me back.
I slept in bridge underpasses, dug through trash cans for food, and hid in abandoned buildings on rainy days."
She lowered her head, her voice becoming even softer.
"Until Park Soon-ja took me in.
She gave me food, gave me a place to stay, and never asked where I came from.
She is the first person in this World who has been good to me."
Chen Mo was silent.
He remembered the first time he saw Zero—she was hiding in a corner, like a wounded little animal.
At that time, he didn't know what she had been through.
Now he knew.
"Zero." Chen Mo said.
"I will find the person wearing the silver cross ring.
I will ask clearly what exactly he did to us."
Zero looked at him, quiet for a long time.
"And after you find him?"
Chen Mo did not answer.
Because he didn't know the answer either.
He only knew—he had to find that answer.
No matter what the answer was.
——
Coming out of Zero's room, Chen Mo saw Park Soon-jasitting on the sofa in the living room.
She was holding a cup of tea, but the tea had already gone cold.
She looked at Chen Mo, her eyes holding a complex emotion—there was concern, worry, and a hint of something indescribable.
"Did Zero tell you everything?"
"Yes."
Park Soon-ja sighed and set the teacup on the table.
"That child hasn't had it easy.
When I met her, she was covered in wounds, hiding in an alley like a wounded kitten.
She never told me where she came from.
And I never asked.
But you're different—she's willing to talk to you."
Chen Mo didn't speak.
He knew that Park Soon-ja knew everything—knew that Zero wasn't an ordinary child, knew that Zero had secrets.
But she never asked.
She just silently took care of Zero, like taking care of her own daughter.
Park Soon-ja stood up, walked to him, reached out and gently patted his shoulder.
Her hands were warm and rough—the hands of someone who had done decades of housework.
The warmth of her palm transmitted through his clothes, carrying a warmth unique to a mother.
"Take good care of her."
Chen Mo nodded.
He stood up, walked to the door, and looked back at Zero's room.
The light through the crack in the door was still on.
He could imagine Zero sitting on the bed, hugging her knees, looking at the night outside the window.
That image made his heart tighten.
He remembered the images from the memory scanner—himself soaking in pale blue liquid, and the words that old man said: "This is your future."
Zero was just like him.
They were both manufactured.
They both carried memories that didn't belong to them.
They were both looking for the same answer.
Chapter 48: Battle Armor Formed
Five days later, Chen Mo stood in Old Ma's factory.
On the workbench in the center of the factory floor sat a complete Battle Armor. The silver-gray titanium alloy shell gleamed coldly under the lights, its lines sleek and sharp—unlike the crude version pieced together from scrap metal before, this was a true Battle Armor.
Chen Mo stood before the workbench, motionless for a long time. His gaze slid from the Battle Armor's shoulders to its arms, from its chest to its waist, carefully inspecting every detail. The silver-gray shell gleamed coldly under the lights, like a silver dragon coiled on the workbench. He reached out, his fingertips gently touching the breastplate—the metal felt cold and solid, completely different from the roughness of the previous Iron Skin Battle Armor.
The arc reactor for the chest had not yet been installed—that position was a circular recess, surrounded by intricate circuits and energy conduits like concentric circles. The servo motors for the arms and legs had already been installed, the hydraulic rods gleaming with a metallic luster under the lights, each connecting rod polished as smooth as a mirror. The helmet sat beside the workbench; the faceplate was gold—not paint, but plated with a layer of gold-titanium alloy, reflecting a warm halo under the lights.
Old Ma stood beside the workbench, arms crossed, looking at his creation. There was an expression on his face—not pride, but satisfaction. Like an artist who had completed his masterpiece. He walked a circle around the workbench, reaching out to touch the edges of the Battle Armor, inspecting the welded seams.
"How is it?" Old Ma asked.
Chen Mo walked to the workbench and reached out to touch the Battle Armor's shell. The surface was smooth and cool. His fingers traced along those lines—from the shoulders to the arms, from the chest to the waist. Every detail was exactly the same as in his design drawings. He could even feel the curvature of those lines—perfectly matching the blueprint of Iron Man in his mind.
"Perfect." He said.
Old Ma smiled. That smile looked somewhat ferocious on his tattooed face, but his tone carried sincerity. "Your damn design drawings are good. My damn craftsmanship is good. Put them together—and you get a good thing."
Chen Mo picked up the helmet and looked at it. The faceplate was gold, reflecting his face under the lights—a blurred, distorted face. He put the helmet down and picked up the arc reactor—that blue glowing object. The blue light appeared exceptionally bright in the dim factory, like a miniature star. He could feel the warmth radiating into his palm—the reactor was self-heating. It wasn't a malfunction; it was a normal phenomenon. The heat generated by the nuclear fusion reaction formed a warm halo in his palm.
Old Ma looked at the blue glowing object, his expression becoming serious. He lowered his crossed arms, walked up to Chen Mo, and stared at the glowing object for a long time. "This thing—are you sure you can install it?"
"Yes."
"I've worked in military industry for twenty years, and I've never seen this kind of design concept." Old Ma shook his head, his tone carrying a hint of amazement. "This thing of yours—did you steal it from Vought's technical archives?"
Chen Mo did not answer. He aligned the arc reactor with the recess in the chest and pressed it in gently.
Click.
The arc reactor clicked into the recess. The blue light flared up in that instant—spreading outward from the center of the reactor, flowing along the energy conduits to every part of the Battle Armor. The lights on the arms lit up, the lights on the legs lit up, and the lights on the helmet lit up as well. Those lights flowed along the lines of the Battle Armor, like blood circulating in blood vessels.
The Battle Armor came alive.
Old Ma stepped back. His eyes widened—not in fear, but in shock. He had been making equipment for so many years, and he had never seen anything like this. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but swallowed the words that came to his lips.
"Fuck." He said.
Chen Mo put on the Battle Armor. The metal shell fit against his body, and every joint moved freely. The servo motors were running, emitting a faint hum, like a sleeping Beast breathing. The arc reactor on his chest emitted a rhythmic blue light—like a heartbeat. He could feel the reactor's energy flowing inside the Battle Armor, transported along the energy conduits to every component. Arms, legs, back—every part was filled with power.
He raised his hand and clenched his fist. The finger movements were very flexible—a hundred times more flexible than the previous scrap metal Battle Armor. He moved his shoulders and rotated his neck. Every part of the Battle Armor coordinated with his movements, like a true second skin. He could even feel the pressure sensors on the inner wall of the gloves transmitting tactile signals—he could feel the flow of the air and the temperature in his palms.
He activated the thrusters.
The blue flames under his feet erupted, and he rose slowly. It wasn't the unstable, erratic flight from before—it was a steady, controlled ascent. He hovered in mid-air, adjusted his angle, and then landed slowly. The metal boots landed on the concrete floor with a crisp sound.
Old Ma looked at him, his mouth wide open.
"You damn—" Old Ma said. "You really fucking built it."
Chen Mo flipped open the helmet and looked at him. There was a smile on his face—not a smug smile, but the smile of "finally finished it." Sweat ran down his forehead, but he didn't care.
"Thank you."
Old Ma waved his hand. "Don't thank me. I'm just the one doing the labor. You're the genius."
Chen Mo walked out of the factory and stood on the streets of Queens. The night wind blew on his face, feeling cool. He looked down at the arc reactor on his chest—the blue light pulsed slightly in the night, like a living creature. The street was empty, with only the occasional sound of a car passing by in the distance. Streetlights shone overhead, casting a circle of dim yellow light.
He activated the thrusters.
The blue flames under his feet erupted, and he shot into the sky. It wasn't the slow climb from before—it was a true sprint. The wind whistled in his ears, and the ground shrank rapidly. The lights of Queens turned into a patch of golden dots beneath his feet, getting smaller and smaller. He could feel the air flowing over the surface of the Battle Armor and could feel his altitude climbing rapidly. The arc reactor's energy output was stable and powerful, and the blue flames from the thrusters carved a bright trail of light in the night sky.
He flew above the clouds.
The moon shone overhead, and the silvery moonlight illuminated the sea of clouds, like a boundless silver desert. He hovered in the air, looking at the sea of clouds beneath his feet. The clouds surged under the moonlight like a white ocean. The arc reactor on his chest emitted a steady blue light, like a heart of Eternity.
He smiled.
Since he arrived in this World, this was the first time he felt he truly controlled his own destiny. He looked down at his hands—the silver-gray metal gloves gleamed coldly in the moonlight. He clenched his fist, feeling the power transmitted by the Battle Armor. The arc reactor pulsed on his chest, like a second heart.
—
Meanwhile, Manhattan, Vought Tower.
Homelander stood before the floor-to-ceiling window of his office, looking at the night view outside. He held a glass of milk in his hand—it had already gone cold. He didn't drink it. He was waiting for news. Outside the window, Manhattan was brightly lit, neon lights flickering in the night like a huge luminous gem. But his gaze was not on those lights—he was looking in the direction of Queens.
His phone vibrated.
He picked up the phone and took a look—it was a message from Vogelbaum.
"Abnormal energy fluctuation detected. Queens. Energy signature—consistent with the previously recorded Chinese Battle Armor. But the energy level—has increased by at least three times."
Homelander looked at that message and was silent for a moment. His fingers gently caressed the phone screen, as if stroking a precious object. Then he smiled.
That smile was light and short. But in that second, the temperature in the office seemed to drop by several degrees. The lights outside the window seemed to dim for an instant.
"Interesting." He put down the phone and took a sip of milk. The milk was cold, but he didn't care. "It's getting more and more interesting."
He walked to the window and looked at New York outside. In the direction of Queens, a blue light flashed across the night sky—very fast, so fast it was almost invisible. But Homelander saw it. His blue eyes lit up in the dark, like two burning stars.
"Chen Mo." He said in a low voice, his tone carrying a dangerous pleasure. "Let me see how high you can fly."
Chapter 49: Iron Fist
The next day, Chen Mo went to Chicago.
He was looking for the first missing superhero on the list—Iron Fist. CV-0089. Codename: Iron Fist. Ability: Super Strength. Last seen in Chicago.
The address Butcher gave him was an old apartment building in the South Side of Chicago. Chen Mo stood downstairs, looking up at the building—six stories, red brick exterior, windows covered with newspapers, graffiti on the walls. The building looked at least forty years old, with weeds growing from the cracks in the bricks, swaying gently in the wind. Across the street was a closed-down convenience store, its rolling shutter covered in graffiti. A few homeless men were squatting on the street corner, clutching bottles in paper bags, and they didn't even look up when they saw Chen Mo.
He walked into the hallway. The hallway smelled of mold, mixed with the stench of garbage and urine. The paint on the walls had peeled off, revealing the yellowed cement underneath. Half of the lightbulbs were broken, and only a few were still lit, casting dim light and shaky shadows on the walls. The stairs creaked under his feet, and several steps were cracked. He held onto the railing as he walked up; it was covered in rust, shedding iron flakes at the slightest touch.
He climbed to the third floor and walked to door 304. The paint on the door had completely peeled away, revealing the rusted Iron Skin underneath. On the door frame was a crooked number plate—"304"—written in black marker on white tape. He knocked on the door. The metal door made a hollow sound, echoing through the empty hallway.
There was no response.
He knocked again. "Iron Fist?"
A voice came from inside—a hoarse, guarded voice. "Who is it?"
"My name is Chen Mo. I'm from New York. I want to talk to you."
There was silence inside. After a long time, the door opened a crack. An eye looked at him through the gap—a black eye, full of wariness. The eye scanned him up and down, as if assessing a potential threat. Chen Mo could feel the gaze sweeping over him—from his face to his clothes, from his clothes to his hands—finally stopping at his eyes.
"I don't know you."
"Do you know Zero?"
The eye blinked. The light through the door crack shifted—the person inside was moving.
"Zero—CV-0047. The girl who escaped from White Oak."
The door opened wider. A face appeared in the gap—a Black man, about thirty years old, with stubble on his face and a very weary look in his eyes. He was burly—even wearing a loose T-shirt, one could see the solid muscles underneath. The collar of the T-shirt was washed out and misshapen, revealing a scar on his collarbone. Hanging around his neck was a red string, and tied to the string was a small metal tag—like a soldier's dog tag.
"How do you know Zero?"
"I'm like her," Chen Mo said. "I also came out of White Oak."
Iron Fist stared at him for a long time. His gaze lingered on Chen Mo's face for a few seconds, then moved downward—sweeping over his shoulders, his arms, his chest. Finally, his gaze stopped on Chen Mo's eyes. The two looked at each other for a few seconds. Then, Iron Fist opened the door.
The room was very small—a bed, a table, and a chair. On the table were several empty beer bottles and a pile of fast-food wrappers. The curtains were drawn tightly, and sunlight couldn't get in. The room had a foul smell—sweat, alcohol, and the stench of rotting food. In the corner, a few black garbage bags were piled up, tied shut, but the odor was still seeping out from inside.
Iron Fist walked to the bed and sat down. The mattress let out a groan, the springs protesting. He picked up a beer bottle and took a sip—the beer had gone flat, but he didn't care. As he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbed, as if he were swallowing something bitter.
"What do you want with me?"
Chen Mo sat down on the chair. The chair leg was unstable, wobbling when he sat on it. He adjusted his posture and looked at Iron Fist. "I need to know what happened in 2015. You, Shadow, Echo—why did you leave White Oak?"
Iron Fist didn't answer. He stared at the beer bottle in his hand for a long time. The label on the bottle had worn off, leaving only a blurry pattern. His fingers gently rubbed against the bottle, as if caressing a precious memory. Then he put the beer bottle on the table, looked up, and looked at Chen Mo. There were bloodshot veins in his eyes—not the kind from staying up late, but the kind from long-term alcoholism. There were deep shadows under his eyelids, like two bruises.
"Because we were going to die."
Chen Mo frowned. "What do you mean?"
"In 2015, White Oak started a new project." Iron Fist's voice was hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing together. When he spoke, a rough sound came from his throat, like rusty gears turning. "They were no longer satisfied with injecting Compound V. They started doing gene editing."
"The Creator project."
Iron Fist glanced at him, a flash of surprise in his eyes. In that instant, the weary look in his eyes vanished, replaced by a sense of alertness. "You know about it?"
"I've seen it."
Iron Fist was silent for a few seconds. Then he continued: "The Creator project—they wanted to write Compound V directly into our DNA. That way, we wouldn't need regular injections. Our children—if we had children—would also be born as superheroes."
Chen Mo's hands clenched. His nails dug into his palms, but he didn't let go.
"But the experiments went wrong." Iron Fist's voice became lower, so low it was almost inaudible. "They used us for experiments—Iron Fist, Shadow, Echo—the three of us were the first test subjects. After the gene editing, our bodies started to reject it."
He rolled up his sleeve, revealing his arm. The arm was covered in scars—not knife wounds, but a strange kind of scar, as if the skin had been torn from the inside by something. Those scars were distributed radially, extending from the wrist to the elbow, like open mouths. Some of the scars were still pink, indicating they had formed recently.
"My body is falling apart." Iron Fist's voice was calm—so calm it was like he was talking about something unrelated to him. He pulled down his sleeve, covering those scars. "Compound V has gone out of control in my blood. If I don't get regular injections of the inhibitor, I will die."
"Inhibitor?"
"White Oak has an inhibitor. It can temporarily suppress the side effects of Compound V. But only White Oak has it." Iron Fist put down his sleeve and looked at Chen Mo. His eyes were hollow, like someone who had already accepted their fate. "After we escaped, we couldn't find the inhibitor. Shadow died last year. When she died, her body was like sun-dried mud—cracking and falling off piece by piece. Echo—I don't know where he is, maybe he's dead too."
Chen Mo looked at him and remained silent for a long time. The room was quiet, with only the faint buzzing of the lightbulb overhead. He could hear his own heartbeat, which sounded exceptionally clear in the quiet room.
"The inhibitor—I can help you find it."
Iron Fist looked at him, a glimmer of hope in his eyes—but it vanished quickly, like a match extinguished in the wind. "Who the hell are you? Why would you help me?"
"Because—" Chen Mo stood up and looked at him. "I also want to know the truth. About The Creator. About what we actually are."
Iron Fist stared at him for a long time. His gaze lingered on Chen Mo's face, as if searching for something—searching for signs of a lie, searching for false promises. But he found none. Chen Mo's gaze was firm, as firm as a stone.
Then he laughed—not a happy laugh, but a bitter one. "You're a fucking idealist."
"Maybe."
Iron Fist stood up, walked to the window, pulled the curtain open a crack, and looked at the street outside. Sunlight shone in, casting a beam of light into the room. Dust danced in the light, like tiny golden particles. He stood in that beam of light, the scars on his face looking even clearer in the sunlight.
"If you can find the inhibitor—" Iron Fist turned to look at him. "I'll help you."
Chen Mo nodded.
He walked out of Iron Fist's room and stood in the hallway. The smell of mold in the corridor hit him, mixed with the stench of garbage and urine. He took out his phone and sent a message to Stormfront.
"I need an inhibitor. White Oak has it. Can you help me get it?"
Five minutes later, Stormfront replied.
"I can. But I need time."
"How long?"
"Three days."
Chen Mo looked at the message, then put his phone away. He walked down the stairs, exited the apartment building, and stood in the Chicago sunshine. The sunlight was dazzling, shining on his face, feeling warm. But his hands were cold.
Three days.
In three days, he would be able to know more about the truth of The Creator.
But he also knew—the truth is often more cruel than one imagines.