Man in the Black Robe: A Strong Kill at the Start of the Game
Chapter 1: You Were Sent for PR, and You Slaughtered the Employer?
Heat rose from the asphalt at the street corner.
Lynn felt as if thousands of cicadas were screeching in his ears.
He shook his heavy head, and a strong smell of rust instantly flooded his nasal cavity.
He looked down.
His dark gray, low-quality suit jacket was splattered with warm red dots.
His fingertips subconsciously touched the hard plastic badge on his chest.
He looked down again.
"Vought Corporation - Crisis PR Department Specialist - Lynn"
This string of black letters pierced his optic nerves like needles, pulling out large chunks of unfamiliar memories.
He had transmigrated.
Before he could sort out the mess in his mind, a squelching sound came from under his feet, as if his soles had stepped into mud.
No, this wasn't mud.
Lynn lowered his head; the edge of his leather shoes was stained with dark red minced meat and organ tissue.
Half a step ahead, a young man in a plaid shirt was kneeling on the ground.
The man held his hands out straight in front of him.
In his hands, he clutched two arms that had just been ripped off at the shoulders.
Blood from the severed ends dripped through the young man's fingers, hitting the iron grate of the sewer.
"Ro... Robin?"
Hughie's voice trembled like a withered leaf in the autumn wind.
His eyes stared fixedly at the empty space ahead, his Adam's apple bobbing, unable to squeeze out a complete word for a long time.
"W-we were just talking about... going to get hot dogs..."
A sonic boom that tore through the air suddenly rang out.
A plastic trash can on the side of the street was swept into the air by the airflow.
An afterimage in a blue bodysuit screeched to a halt a few meters away, sparks flying.
A-Train.
The fastest superhero in America was bent over, gasping for air.
He wore goggles, and the muscles in his chin twitched uncontrollably.
Sweat mixed with an unknown powder ran from his neck into the collar of his suit.
"Whew—whoa, man!"
A-Train straightened up and raised his right hand, which was covered in a blue glove.
He casually wiped the blood splatter off his mask, as if cleaning bird droppings off a windshield.
"I couldn't stop, I... I had an emergency mission to track down a robber!"
He backed away while chewing the gum in his mouth.
His eyes, hidden behind goggles, darted around, completely ignoring Hughie, who was kneeling on the ground.
Hughie turned his head slowly, like a rusty puppet.
"You... you smashed her to pieces..."
Hughie swallowed, his face smeared with a mixture of tears and blood.
"Hey, sorry, okay? I'm really in a rush!"
A-Train pushed off with his heels, leaving a black scorch mark on the asphalt.
Just as he was about to take off and slip away.
A worn-in black leather shoe stepped over the pool of blood on the ground.
Lynn stood in front of Hughie, blocking the imaginary escape route.
The wind blew in from the street corner, lifting the blood-stained hem of Lynn's clothes.
A-Train stopped his movement.
He tilted his head, examining this suicidal Asian face.
His gaze moved down, scanning the plastic work badge that rose and fell with his breathing.
"Ha."
A-Train blew a sticky bubble, which then popped.
"I thought I'd run into some meddlesome good citizen."
He extended his index finger and pointed at Lynn's chest from a distance.
"A minimum-wage rat from the fourth-floor Crisis PR Department? Named... Lynn, right?"
Lynn didn't respond; he just felt his stomach churning violently.
It wasn't out of fear, but because this body was still adapting to the spatial shift, bringing on a sense of motion sickness and dry heaving.
He swallowed dryly and reached up to loosen the cheap tie choking his neck.
A-Train thought Lynn was scared and took half a step forward.
A strong scent of hormones and sweat hit him in the face.
"Listen, rookie."
"I don't care why you're at this hellish intersection; now, call Ashley immediately."
A-Train used a long fingernail to pick at a piece of meat stuck between his teeth.
"Just tell her I accidentally... stepped on a bug."
Hughie heard this from behind and his body shuddered violently.
"A bug? Her name is Robin! You— "
"Shut up!"
A-Train whipped his head around, his face twisted with malice, scaring Hughie into swallowing the rest of his words.
"You." A-Train stared back at Lynn, a mocking smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Isn't that what you guys in the PR Department do? Clean up the shit we leave behind."
"Make it quick, clean up the scene, and don't keep me from going to the nightclub."
Lynn half-lowered his eyelids, watching the greasy face opposite him.
This person hadn't just killed someone; he couldn't even be bothered to put on a basic facade.
Vought Corporation had spoiled them into becoming arrogant animals.
[Ding.]
An emotionless, mechanical voice exploded deep within Lynn's mind.
[superhero Execution System activated.]
[Host identity detected, Newbie Gift Pack being distributed...]
[Reward obtained: Kryptonian Primary Steel Body.]
Hum—
Lynn only felt a sudden, intense numbness and itching in his back bones.
Immediately after, his heart rate dropped instantly.
His originally thin muscles seemed to have been injected with boiling molten lead.
A heavy, crushing power spread through his blood vessels to his entire body.
The seams of his suit emitted the sound of threads snapping under the unbearable strain.
The shirt on his back was stretched, creating several creases.
[First Kill Mission issued: Execute the murderer in front of you.]
[Mission failure results in termination.]
Lynn slowly raised his head.
A faint, barely perceptible azure glimmer flashed in the depths of his eyes.
Opposite him, A-Train saw Lynn standing still and clicked his tongue impatiently.
"Are you deaf or stupid? Can't you understand what I'm saying?"
He extended his hand, protected by carbon fiber gear, and shoved hard at Lynn's shoulder.
This was a shove from a superhero.
Although he hadn't used his full strength, it was enough to send an ordinary person flying a dozen meters away.
Bang.
His palm made contact with the suit fabric.
A-Train's expression changed.
He couldn't push him.
The seemingly frail body in front of him was like a load-bearing pillar welded deep into the earth's crust.
The massive recoil made A-Train's wrist go numb, and he stumbled back half a step.
"You..."
A-Train widened his eyes, clenching his fists in vigilance.
"Did you take the wrong medicine, kid? You dare block my path?"
"Where are you going?" Lynn spoke.
His voice was a bit raspy, carrying the unfamiliarity of adapting to a new body.
A-Train spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the ground.
"Get lost, I'm going to..."
"Go fight for screen time with Supersonic? Or go back to get another shot of Compound V?"
Lynn interrupted him.
His speaking pace was slow, but every word stabbed right into A-Train's lungs.
The air seemed to freeze for a second.
Hughie watched the two men blankly from behind, unable to interject at all.
The muscles at the corner of A-Train's eyes twitched violently twice.
This was Vought Corporation's top secret.
How could a bottom-tier PR lackey dare to say the name Compound V out on the street?
"You're courting death."
Malice flared in A-Train's eyes.
He stopped wasting words, and his legs were instantly enveloped in a blue electrical glow.
Super-speed ability activated.
He intended to use a hand-blade to directly sever the neck of this loose-lipped employee.
Faking it as a car accident scene caused by being hit by bone fragments.
0.1 seconds.
This was the limit of A-Train's attack speed.
But in Lynn's eyes right now, this movement was so slow it was like watching an old film slide show.
Lynn even had time to see the black grime under A-Train's fingernails.
The dynamic vision brought by the Primary Steel Bodycompletely crushed this junkie with a dimensionality advantage.
Lynn smiled.
A cold, temperatureless arc curled at the corner of his mouth.
Instead of retreating, he stepped forward, meeting the incoming hand-blade.
He raised his right hand nonchalantly.
"Snap."
A crisp sound rang out.
Lynn spread his five fingers and firmly pressed them onto A-Train's high-speed moving right shoulder.
The kinetic energy was like a clay ox entering the sea, not causing a single ripple.
A-Train's body was forced to come to a sudden halt in mid-air, his soles grinding sparks onto the ground.
"How... is it possible..."
A-Train's mouth hung open, drool dripping from his chin onto Lynn's cuff.
His pride and joy, his speed, was in front of this bottom-tier employee.
Actually stopped easily by one hand.
"Run, then." Lynn raised an eyebrow.
His fingertips felt the rough texture of the other man's suit.
A-Train struggled in terror, only to find that the hand on his shoulder was like a hydraulic clamp.
Tightening more and more.
"Let... let go of me!"
A-Train started to panic, his breathing becoming rapid.
He clenched his left fist, gathering all his strength, and smashed it fiercely toward the side of Lynn's face.
"Go to hell, bug!"
"Bang!"
The fist landed solidly.
However.
Lynn's face didn't even tilt a single bit.
Instead, A-Train let out a miserable howl.
Several of the phalanges in his left hand bent at an eerie angle.
Blood seeped out from the gaps in his glove.
"Does it hurt?"
Lynn asked softly.
"Who the hell are you! Vought doesn't have anyone like you!"
A-Train's tears were streaming out; he couldn't care about his superhero dignity anymore.
He kicked the ground frantically to shrink back, like a frightened quail.
"I'm just a bottom-tier PR guy."
The smile on Lynn's lips deepened, his fingertips gradually applying force.
"Specifically here to clean up your trash."
The moment the words fell.
His five fingers suddenly closed in.
"Crack!"
A teeth-grinding sound of bone shattering exploded in the empty street corner.
The collarbone of the fastest man in America was crushed into shards like a biscuit.
The broken bone fragments pierced through his skin and suit, white and ghastly, exposed to the air.
A-Train's knees went weak, and he knelt heavily on the ground.
He twitched all over in pain, snot and tears smeared all over his face; there was no shadow of a national idol left.
Lynn looked down at him from a height.
His blood-stained leather shoe took half a step forward, stepping on A-Train's black scorch mark.
Hughie watched from behind, stunned, still clutching Robin's arm, his lips trembling.
"My god... you..."
Lynn didn't look back, just bent down slightly.
His fingers were still pinching that mass of minced meat and bone, feeling the tremors beneath his palm.
He stared at A-Train's bloodshot eyes, which were filled with intense pain.
"The rat is asking you a question." Lynn lowered his voice.
"With broken bones, how much faster can you run?"
Chapter 2: The Fastest Man in America? Break His Legs and See Where He Runs
"Ahhh!"
The piercing scream drowned out the sound of the wind at the street corner.
A-Train's face was twisted in agony, snot and sweat smearing the edges of his goggles.
He struggled desperately, his left leg muscles instantly tensing, and blue electrical sparks exploded along the patterns of his suit.
"Let go! Get away!"
Ignoring his shattered collarbone, he turned himself into a blue afterimage, lowering his head and slamming violently into Lynn's chest.
If this hit landed fully, even an armored vehicle could have been overturned.
"Bang."
A muffled thud accompanied by the sound of bone dislocation.
The leather shoes on Lynn's feet didn't move even half a millimeter, and his cheap suit didn't even wrinkle.
Instead, it was A-Train who looked like he had slammed into a solid titanium-alloy load-bearing wall.
He screamed as he bounced back, his nasal bone visibly collapsing, blood spraying wildly.
Lynn shook his numb right hand.
Primary Steel Body was indeed useful; even the sensation of pain was dulled to the lowest point.
Seeing that this junkie was opening his mouth to wail again, Lynn stepped forward and slapped his wide palm directly across A-Train's face.
The rough leather glove blocked that motor-mouth, stifling the scream in his throat.
Lynn grabbed the collar of his suit by the back of the neck and, dragging him like a dead dog, turned and walked toward the dark, camera-free back alley at the street corner.
Hughie was still kneeling outside, holding Robin's remains in his arms, shaking like a leaf in the autumn wind, completely unaware of what had just happened.
"Wooo... Wooo!"
A-Train kicked his feet wildly on the asphalt, the soles of his shoes scraping two crooked black lines.
The back alley reeked of stale urine and the sour stench of fermenting rotten vegetable leaves.
Lynn let go, tossing this lump of blue sludge next to a rusty trash can.
As soon as A-Train fell into the muddy water, his survival instinct made him bolt upright.
His left hand reached for his belt, where a high-frequency pulse weapon issued by Vought Corporation was hidden, originally intended for use against rioters.
Since he couldn't create distance to run, he would kill this man in the suit in close combat.
Zzzzt.
Blue pulse energy gathered in his palm into a blinding ball of light, and with a screech that tore through the air, he pressed it fiercely toward Lynn's chin.
"Die, you bug!"
The pulse energy exploded violently against Lynn's jawbone.
The intense light illuminated the dim alley to a ghastly white.
A-Train thought he had succeeded and hadn't yet managed to pull off a triumphant smirk.
The light dissipated.
Lynn didn't even break the skin; he only had a single strand of hair singed off by the hot airflow.
He touched his chin, looking down at the stunned A-Train.
"Is that all the strength you've got? It's not even as strong as the milk frother at the coffee shop downstairs from the company."
A-Train completely broke down.
His proud superpowers and weapons had become a huge joke in front of this PR Department employee who wasn't even wearing a uniform.
"Listen... brother, listen!"
His voice changed pitch, filled with sobs, like a dog that had its tail stepped on.
"I was wrong, buddy, I was really wrong! That woman... right, Robin! I'll pay compensation, I'll pay ten million!"
He crawled backward using his hands and feet, smearing all the rotten cabbage leaves on the ground onto his expensive suit.
With nowhere left to retreat, his back was pressed firmly against the cold brick wall.
"Madelyn is right at headquarters, right, Madelyn! As long as you pretend you didn't see me today, I'll have her promote you to department head!"
He was trembling as he spoke, his teeth chattering, causing the flesh on his chin to quiver.
"You don't have to wear this rag of a suit, you can live in a penthouse apartment! I promise!"
Lynn watched his performance with cold eyes, casually kicking a ripple into a muddy puddle.
"Ten million? To buy a life?"
Lynn leisurely rolled up his sleeves, revealing his sturdy forearms.
"You so-called heroes, aren't you usually pretty tough on TV?"
A-Train was still stuttering as he tried to sweet-talk him, tears washing away the blood on his face, looking both ridiculous and pathetic.
Lynn had no patience left to listen.
He stepped forward violently, stomping on A-Train's chest.
Crack, crack. The sound of ribs breaking was crisp and pleasant.
Lynn bent down, his hands like iron pincers, gripping A-Train's proud ankles tightly, one on each side.
Those legs, which calculated data thousands of times on a treadmill every day, were no different from two stalks of sugarcane in Lynn's hands right now.
"No... wait! Don't touch my legs! This is how I make my living!"
A-Train sensed the threat of death, beating Lynn's calves with all his might, not even caring that his fingernails were breaking.
"Please— Ah!"
Lynn gritted his teeth and exerted force from his waist and back.
The seams of his suit jacket burst open completely, making a sound like tearing silk.
There was no bickering in court, no long-winded trial.
"Riiiip—"
The high-elastic fibers of the suit were torn apart first.
Then came the sickening sounds of flesh separating, blood vessels snapping, and joints dislocating.
Blood sprayed like a high-pressure water gun, splashing over half of Lynn's body with a splat.
A-Train's right leg, along with a small piece of his hip bone, was ripped off alive.
"If I leave one leg, your walking won't be balanced."
Lynn casually threw the severed leg onto the trash can lid, making a dull thud.
He turned around, ignoring the wailing on the ground, and grabbed the other leg that was still twitching.
"No... Homelander will kill you! He will definitely find you!"
"Snap."
Accompanied by the sound of cartilage shattering, the left leg was also torn off by Lynn.
The heavy scent of blood completely overwhelmed the sour stench in the alley.
The once fastest man in America was now just an incomplete torso, lying in a pool of blood like a dying maggot.
He didn't even have the strength to scream anymore, only able to make a wheezing "hiss, hiss" sound in his throat.
Tears, snot, and blood mixed into one.
Lynn stood up straight and leisurely took a handkerchief out of his suit pocket to wipe the blood off his knuckles.
"The Vought Corporation PR Department has a hundred ways to whitewash you."
Lynn lowered his eyelids, looking down at the desperate eyes on the ground.
He raised his right foot, the hard heel of his leather shoe aimed at A-Train's mask.
"But don't worry, I am the Vought Corporation PR Department."
Lynn curled the corners of his mouth, revealing a row of white teeth.
"I'll write you a good eulogy."
As soon as he finished speaking, the heel, carrying immense force, stomped down violently.
"Squelch."
It was just like stepping on a ripe, rotten watermelon.
Red and white liquid splashed onto the moss at the base of the wall, and the sound of the skull shattering was exceptionally crisp in the deathly silent alley.
A-Train's twitching half-body went completely still, then went limp into a pile of mush.
[Ding.]
In his mind, the system's mechanical voice arrived right on schedule, dispelling the chill in the alley.
[First kill mission completed.]
[Congratulations to the host for obtaining: Speed Ability.]
[Detected massive emotional fluctuations from the target before death, Fear Value skyrocketed +5000.]
Lynn only felt a warmth in his calf muscles; that was the new ability remodeling his body.
He casually threw the handkerchief onto the headless corpse and turned to walk toward the alley entrance.
On the street outside, Hughie was still kneeling in Robin's pool of blood, shaking like a sieve.
And at the very same second in central Manhattan.
Vought International Tower, top-floor life monitoring center.
On the giant electronic screen covering the entire wall, The Seven blue rings representing The Seven were blinking steadily.
Just at the moment Lynn landed his foot.
The blue ring on the far right labeled "A-Train" flickered without warning, then turned into a glaring crimson.
"Beep— Beep— Beep—"
A sharp alarm that could pierce the eardrums echoed wildly in the hall.
The data curve of the electrocardiogram fell like a cut rope, crashing straight to the bottom at zero.
Ashley had just pushed open the door carrying an iced Americano, not yet having time to complain about the air conditioning being too cold.
She raised her head, looked at the straight red line, and her eyelids jumped uncontrollably.
The plastic coffee cup in her hand fell to the ground with a plop, ice cubes and brown liquid splashing everywhere.
She turned her head violently, her high heels almost twisting her ankle, and shouted at the corridor outside.
"Security! Notify Vice President Madelyn immediately! A-Train... he's gone offline!"
Chapter 3: Butcher at the Door? It's You Who Has Been Requisitioned by Me
Ashley's scream was still echoing in the control center when a thunderclap exploded over 7th Avenue in Manhattan.
A red, white, and blue afterimage tore through the clouds, carrying the pungent smell of ozone, and slammed into that filthy alleyway.
The shockwave knocked several patrol officers outside the police cordon onto the hoods of their cruisers, shattering their walkie-talkies.
Homelander's leather boots hit the ground, crushing a muddy plastic water bottle.
His pristine Stars and Stripes cape draped down, its hem immediately stained by the blood on the ground.
The alley was deathly silent; even the wind had stopped, leaving only the police lights flickering against the walls.
Homelander's gaze passed over the overturned trash can and fixed on the heap of remains that looked like a puddle of mud.
No head, no legs; the high-elastic combat suit had been shredded into rags of indistinguishable color.
But he recognized the blue "A" emblem on the chest, stained with bits of flesh.
This was a brother he had personally interviewed and recruited into The Seven.
"Who did this..." Homelander's voice was raspy; he didn't even notice his voice trembling at the end.
His pupils constricted sharply like a cat's eyes encountering bright light, and a scarlet glow welled up uncontrollably in his eyes.
That was a precursor to his Heat Vision about to spiral out of control.
The gruesome sight on the ground made his stomach churn.
It wasn't because of disgust, but rather a sensation he had never experienced before—like ice water drenching his spine.
Even if A-Train was a piece of trash, he was at least a piece of trash capable of running at supersonic speeds.
What on earth could have torn this kid into such a hellish state while he was alive?
Homelander swallowed hard, his gloved fingertips twitching slightly; he didn't even dare to step forward and examine the corpse.
The perimeter of the alley was crowded with onlookers craning their necks, and flashes lit up the area.
Lynn stood with his hands in his suit pockets, blending in with a group of high school students who were recording with their phones.
He tilted his head, watching Homelander's tensed back.
[Ding.]
[Target 'Homelander' emotional fluctuation detected.]
[Fear value +1000.]
[Fear value +1500... continuing to stack.]
Lynn raised an eyebrow, tugged at his sleeve, and sniffed it; a faint, unsettling scent of blood still lingered there.
This so-called invincible man-child was actually capable of fearing the unknown.
Too lazy to continue watching Homelander lose his mind, he turned and squeezed out of the crowd, casually buying a hot dog from a street stall.
In the dilapidated apartment building in Brooklyn, the hallway lights had been broken for three months without anyone fixing them.
Lynn stepped on the creaking wooden stairs and pulled out the rusty key at the end of the fourth floor.
He couldn't quite figure out why, given that the salary for the Vought Corporation PR Department was at least white-collar level.
How the previous owner of this body had lived such a stingy life, staying in this place that reeked of mold.
The key was inserted into the lock, and he had just turned it halfway.
Lynn stopped his movement.
The enhanced five senses from Primary Steel Bodyallowed him to hear the deliberately flattened breathing behind the door.
And the sour, pungent smell of low-quality tobacco mixed with fermented whiskey.
The smell of gun oil was also quite strong.
Lynn bit off the last piece of the hot dog bun, thought nothing of it, and pushed the door open.
The room was pitch black.
The curtains were drawn tight, not letting in a sliver of streetlight.
Lynn closed the door behind him and casually reached for the light switch on the wall with his right hand.
"Don't touch that thing, unless you want your brains smeared all over that ugly wallpaper."
A rough, raspy voice emerged from the shadows behind the sofa, carrying a thick British accent.
A cold metal tube pressed against the back of Lynn's head, hard and rigid.
"Mr. Lynn from the Vought Corporation PR Department, right?"
Butcher stepped half a step out of the darkness, and in the faint light leaking in from outside, one could see his wrinkled black leather jacket.
He was unshaven, with a cold, bloody smirk hanging from the corner of his mouth.
"Those freaks in spandex from your company caused quite a scene on the street today."
Lynn didn't raise his hands; he continued to swallow the breadcrumbs slowly and deliberately, then licked his thumb, which was stained with mustard.
"Who are you? If you're here for a robbery, there should be thirty bucks in change on the shoe cabinet to the left."
"Quit fucking playing dumb with me!"
Butcher shoved the gun barrel forward viciously; the front sight of the large-caliber pistol poked into Lynn's scalp, causing pain.
"That kid named Hughie called the police, and then he disappeared."
Butcher was chewing a piece of gum, making his speech slurred, but that didn't hinder the murderous intent in his tone.
"There was a guy in a suit at the scene; that's you, right?"
He leaned close to Lynn's ear, his warm, foul breath hitting the collar of the cheap suit.
"Tell me, where did Vought Corporation hide A-Train? What kind of cover-up are you motherfuckers playing at now?"
Butcher had been staking out for half the day.
He had originally wanted to find a breakthrough from the victim, Hughie, but he arrived a step too late.
After asking around, he learned that someone from the PR Department had intervened at the scene.
He followed the trail all the way to this dumpy apartment.
He naturally assumed that Lynn was a cleaner sent by Vought Corporation to tidy up the scene.
Kidnap Hughie, hide A-Train, and then just issue some statement saying it was a normal car accident.
Lynn listened to the heavy breathing in his ear and found it somewhat amusing.
This mad dog blinded by hatred had a keen sense of smell, but he had gotten the direction completely wrong.
"You're looking for A-Train?"
Lynn's voice sounded overly calm in the darkness; he didn't even fake the slightest bit of trembling that one should have.
Butcher frowned; his years of military instinct vaguely told him that something was wrong.
This kid was too calm.
A normal person with a gun pointed at their head would have already pissed their pants in begging or become incoherent.
"Cut the crap, where is that junkie piece of shit? If you don't talk, I'll blow your lying head off."
Butcher tightened his finger on the trigger, which made a crisp metallic click.
Lynn didn't take the bait.
He didn't turn around at all, and he couldn't even be bothered to turn his body.
He just nonchalantly raised his right hand, reaching behind his head as if shooing away a fly.
His index and middle fingers precisely pinched that hot gun barrel.
"What are you doing! You want to die—"
Butcher hadn't finished his curse before the end of his sentence got stuck in his throat.
Lynn's fingers just twisted casually in the opposite direction.
"Snap."
No smoke, no struggle.
That large-caliber pistol, which had accompanied Butcherfor years and could shatter a wild boar's skull.
The barrel was like a cheap plastic straw, snapped right in the middle.
Butcher's mouth hung wide open, his jaw unable to close as if it had been dislocated.
All he had left in his hand was a bare gun handle, the metal texture at the break twisted like a pretzel.
Cold sweat instantly broke out on his forehead, dripping down his temples.
He stumbled back two steps, his back hitting the old coffee table with a dull thud.
Could this PR specialist in a cheap suit in front of him also be a supe?
Lynn turned around, only then leisurely pressing the switch on the wall.
The incandescent light flickered twice, illuminating the narrow living room.
Lynn looked at Butcher, who was full of vigilance and whose hand was stealthily reaching for the military knife at his lower back.
He casually threw the half of the metal gun barrel pinched between his fingers onto the floor, where it clattered against the wooden floorboards.
Then, he reached into the inner pocket of his suit.
Butcher's nerves tightened instantly, thinking the other party was going to pull out some lethal weapon, his leg muscles contracting in preparation to pounce for hand-to-hand combat.
"Clink."
Lynn pulled out a small object and tossed it onto the chipped wooden tabletop.
Under the light, the thing glinted with a dull gold luster, with a bit of uncleaned red flesh still attached in the groove.
It was half a broken gold tooth.
Butcher froze, his gaze locked on that tooth, as several images flashed through his mind.
A-Train often grinned wide on camera, and that gold-inlaid molar on the right was his signature.
"You're asking me where he's hidden?"
Lynn pulled a tissue from the table, wiping the gun oil off his knuckles.
"I tore him to pieces and threw him next to a trash can; right now, Homelander is probably holding that pile of flesh, mourning."
Butcher's breathing stalled.
He stared with bloodshot eyes, looking at the gold tooth, and then back at the young man in front of him who wore a faint smile.
It was as if a bomb had been detonated in his brain, buzzing loudly.
That perverted killer who offed A-Train was actually an insider at Vought Corporation?
He actually... killed a member of The Seven all by himself?
"You..." Butcher's throat went dry; he managed to squeeze out one word after a long time, having forgotten all the profanities he usually used to curse people.
Lynn walked around the coffee table to Butcher and patted his dirty leather jacket.
The cigarette ash on the clothes fell off in a flurry.
"Put away your childish scare tactics, old man."
Lynn lowered his head slightly, his eyes looking as if he were observing a tamed hunting dog.
"Want to kill all the supes? Stop wandering around aimlessly."
He tapped on Butcher's chest with his index finger knuckle.
"From now on, call me Boss."
Chapter 4: Vought Corporation in Chaos, HomelanderPanics
Butcher stared at the half of the blood-stained gold tooth, his Adam's apple bobbing with difficulty.
The chewing gum he had been chewing slid down his dry esophagus, choking him so hard he let out two muffled hiccups.
His brain felt like a handful of rusty gears had been shoved into it, completely jammed.
His gaze slowly shifted to the twisted gun barrel on the floor, then back to the young man in the cheap suit before him.
Crushing a gun barrel with one hand? Tearing that drugged-up A-Train to pieces?
Butcher felt his calves cramping, and cold sweat dripped from his chin onto the floor, making a crisp tapping sound.
"What… what the hell kind of monster are you?"
He opened his mouth, his voice as raspy as sandpaper rubbing against glass.
Lynn pulled out a piece of cheap tissue, slowly wiping the dust from between his fingers, not even sparing him a glance.
"I am a worker who strictly follows labor laws; you can check the PR Department's attendance sheet for that."
Butcher panted heavily, his chest heaving violently a few times.
He had been in the underground world for so many years, and his instincts were screaming—the man in front of him was even more dangerous than Homelander.
But so what? As long as he could kill those bastards in spandex, he would sign a contract with the devil.
Butcher gritted his back teeth, took a half-step back with his right leg, bent his knee, and knelt heavily on the dusty wooden floor.
The old floorboards gave a dull groan.
"Boss."
He lowered his head, his posture somewhat awkward, carrying the stubbornness of a veteran and the compromise of a scoundrel.
Lynn tossed the crumpled tissue into the trash can in the corner with pinpoint accuracy.
"That kid named Hughie is holding half of his girlfriend's arm, and he's probably still giving a statement at the police station right now."
Lynn walked to the window, lifted a slat of the blinds, and the cold wind blew the smell of smoke out of the room through the gap.
"People from Vought Corporation will soon go to silence him, either with money or by killing him."
"Go bring him out and hide him in a safe house."
Butcher stood up, bracing himself on his knees, patted the dust off his pant legs, and snorted a rough breath through his nose.
"That kid is scared out of his wits, why bring him along? He doesn't even know how to use a gun."
"He will learn."
Lynn turned around, the corner of his mouth curling up, and pointed at the gold tooth on the table.
"Hatred is a good thing, aren't you the one who knows that best?"
Butcher's eyelids twitched, he didn't talk back, grabbed the gold tooth from the table, shoved it into his pocket, and pushed the door open, disappearing into the darkness of the hallway.
The scene cut back to the center of Manhattan, the high-level conference room on the top floor of Vought International Tower.
The air conditioning was on blast, and the air was filled with a pungent smell of disinfectant.
Ashley huddled in the corner, her hands gripping her already sparse hair so tightly that her scalp was pulled red.
On the oval mahogany conference table, over a dozen high-definition scene photos were scattered.
They were all piles of blue and red mangled flesh.
Madelyn slumped in the leather swivel chair, a few strands of her normally meticulously groomed blonde hair falling loose, sticking to her sweat-covered forehead.
She irritably unbuttoned the top two buttons of her silk shirt.
"Can someone tell me, what kind of monster did this?"
Madelyn slammed a photo onto the table, her nails scratching against the photo paper with a harsh sound.
"Drug dealers? Terrorists? Or some mutated monster that escaped?!"
The conference room was so quiet that one could hear a pin drop.
Homelander stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, his Stars and Stripes cape dragging on the expensive carpet.
He had his hands behind his back, his shoulders tensed tightly, and the muscles in his jaw were uncontrollably twitching.
As the most powerful being in the world, he felt the air was thin even to breathe.
No matter how useless A-Train was, he was still a member of The Seven, with a physique hundreds of times stronger than an ordinary person's.
To be able to tear him into pieces and retreat unscathed without leaving any security footage—
This exceeded Homelander's understanding, and the unknown was the breeding ground for fear.
"Madelyn…"
Homelander turned around, his deep blue eyes bloodshot, like a child who had been wronged and couldn't find anyone to vent on.
"Someone is provoking me; he is watching us run around like idiots from the shadows."
Madelyn took a deep breath, suppressing the dizziness caused by arrhythmia, and switched to a gentle, coaxing tone.
"Listen, darling, we will find him, you don't need to worry…"
"I'm not worried! I am a god!"
Homelander suddenly shouted, his voice cracking, and spittle sprayed onto the glass.
The crimson glow in his eyes ignited without warning, and thick beams of Heat Vision shot out like two red-hot light sabers.
"Sizzle—"
A pungent charred smell instantly filled the conference room.
The mahogany long table, worth tens of thousands of dollars, was split in two from the middle, orange flames igniting at the cut.
Files, photos, and coffee cups crashed to the ground with a clatter.
Ashley screamed in terror, covered her head, and dove under the sofa, trembling like an electric toy.
Madelyn was forced back two steps by the heat wave, twisted her high heel, and nearly fell to the ground.
She looked at the manic, panting Homelander, her stomach churning.
"Getting angry won't solve the problem of the stock price plummeting!"
Madelyn no longer cared about being gentle and yelled back at the top of her lungs.
"After dawn, the entire US media will be asking where A-Train is, and those old guys on the board of directors will swallow me alive!"
Homelander's chest heaved violently; he looked at the flames on the ground, and the red light slowly faded from his eyes.
Like a giant baby who had done something wrong, he pursed his lips tightly and turned his face back to the window.
Madelyn pressed hard on her throbbing temple, turned her head, and kicked under the sofa.
"Ashley! Get out here!"
Ashley crawled out with disheveled hair, her professional suit all stained, and replied stammeringly.
"I-I'm here, Vice President…"
Madelyn grabbed the backup intercom phone in the corner, veins bulging on the back of her hand.
"No matter what excuse you use—counter-terrorism operations, charity work in Africa, whatever—I want a perfect lie."
She took a breath, her eyes like poison-tipped knives.
"Get the smartest person from the PR Department here immediately; if you can't smooth this over, you're all fired!"
Ashley scrambled out of the conference room, leaving a mess behind.
The morning in Brooklyn was awakened by the roar of the garbage truck downstairs.
Lynn lay sprawled on the narrow single bed, not even having taken off his cheap suit.
Primary Steel Body didn't actually need much sleep, but he enjoyed indulging in these lazy human habits.
On the nightstand, the second-hand smartphone with a cracked screen corner suddenly began to vibrate.
"Buzz—Buzz—"
The low-quality motor caused the old wooden table to emit an unpleasant resonant sound.
Lynn closed his eyes and turned over, the bed frame giving a creak as if it were about to fall apart.
He reached out and fumbled for a long time before grabbing the hot piece of metal and bringing it to his ear.
He squinted open a sliver of an eye.
The cold light of the screen shone on his face; the caller ID was a string of internally encrypted numbers.
Below it was a note: Vought Vice President - Madelyn.
Lynn stared at the screen for two seconds, and the corner of his mouth slowly curled into a sleepy smile.
He cleared his throat, adjusting his voice to that usual timid, slightly sycophantic corporate slave channel.
He swiped his finger and answered the call.
"Hello? Hello Vice President, this is Lynn from the PR Department."
On the other end of the line, Madelyn's voice was as raspy as if she had swallowed a handful of sand, filled with the exhaustion of having stayed up all night.
"Is this Lynn? Ashley recommended you."
Madelyn paused, seemingly drinking strong coffee, accompanied by the crisp sound of a cup clinking against the table.
"Give you twenty minutes to appear in my office, or you can go to the cleaning department and scrub toilets for the rest of your life!"
Lynn yawned and casually picked a bit of sleep from the corner of his eye.
He looked at the ray of sunlight coming through the window and replied slowly.
"Okay boss, I'll be there."
Chapter 5: Recruiting The Boys, Hughie's Shock
The phone call ended.
The moment the screen went dark, Lynn casually shoved the broken phone into his suit's inner pocket.
He tugged at his tight tie, and the obsequious smile on his lips vanished completely.
Madelyn was panting like a broken bellows on the other end of the line.
One could almost smell the sour scent of her frantic desperation through the receiver.
She was panicked.
One of Vought Corporation's cash cows had been cut down, and those old men on the board were probably lining up to devour her alive.
Lynn walked over to the sink and turned on the rusty faucet.
Cold water washed away the dried blood from under his fingernails—remnants left by A-Train last night.
Shaking the water droplets from his hands, he threw on a slightly cleaner jacket and pushed the door open to head downstairs.
Twenty minutes later.
On the edge of Brooklyn, in an abandoned basement.
Pushing open the paint-chipped iron door, the rusty hinges let out a teeth-grinding screech.
A thick, musty odor mixed with the tarry smell of cheap tobacco drilled straight into his nostrils.
The incandescent bulb overhead flickered with a buzzing sound due to a bad connection.
"Cough... Damn it, this dump doesn't even have a ventilation fan."
Butcher crouched in the corner, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke; the cigarette butt glowed faintly between his rough fingers.
His leather jacket was as wrinkled as pickled vegetables, and he mashed a cigarette butt under his boot.
In the center of the room.
Hughie was bound tightly with yellow tape to a folding chair with a broken leg.
His plaid shirt was crumpled, and there was a large, dark red bloodstain on his chest.
It was Robin's.
The kid's eyes were bloodshot, his lips were cracked and peeling, and he was shaking like a short-circuited motor.
Hearing the door open, Hughie jerked his head up like a startled rabbit.
The moment his gaze met Lynn's Asian face, Hughie's pupils dilated sharply.
"You... You!"
A strange cry stuck in Hughie's throat as he tried desperately to lean back, chair and all.
"You're one of Vought Corporation's people! Yesterday on the street... it was you!"
The chair, unbalanced, tilted backward, about to crash onto the concrete floor.
Butcher, cigarette still in hand, lunged forward and kicked the back of the chair upright.
"Shut up, you coward, or I'll cut your tongue out first."
Butcher grumbled, brushed the dust off his leather jacket, and turned to look at Lynn.
"Boss, I got him. Took a bit of effort; after the kid called the police, he wanted to jump in the river."
Hughie gasped for air, his chest heaving violently.
He looked at the menacing Butcher, then at the formally dressed Lynn.
His brain was a complete mess.
"What... what do you want? Trying to silence me? Come on then! I wasn't planning on living anyway!"
He roared at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking, tears and snot streaming into the corners of his mouth—a pathetic sight.
Lynn ignored his breakdown.
His heels clicked rhythmically against the damp concrete floor.
He stopped in front of Hughie, a faint scent of aftershave masking the surrounding mustiness.
In his hand, he carried a bulging black trash bag.
The surface of the bag was stained with some unidentified dark red slime.
"Clang."
Lynn let go, and the bag hit the floor by Hughie's feet, emitting a nauseating, fishy stench.
"Open it and look," Lynn said calmly, his voice devoid of any inflection.
Hughie gagged from the smell and shook his head desperately.
"I won't... I didn't see anything! I'm not looking!"
Butcher scoffed, walked over, and kicked the bag over.
The bag spilled open.
A tattered, blue-and-white spandex suit rolled out.
The high-elastic fiber material was torn to shreds, covered in bits of flesh and bone fragments.
The incomplete blue "A" logo on the chest looked glaring under the flickering light.
Hughie's breathing stopped.
He stared fixedly at the fabric, his throat feeling as if it were stuffed with barbed wire.
"This... this is..."
He stammered, unable to form a complete syllable.
Butcher walked to the side, pulled up a broken wooden stool, and sat down.
"This is that piece of trash who smashed your girlfriend yesterday, A-Train."
Butcher spat.
"Actually, no, you should call him ground meat now."
Hughie's jaw dropped involuntarily.
He stared at the ruined clothes, then suddenly, as if gone mad, struggled to pull his hands free from the tape.
He didn't even notice his wrists being scraped raw, leaving bloody welts.
Finally, he reached that fabric.
When his fingertips touched the sticky blood clots, Hughieshuddered.
A real, tangible sensation.
This wasn't an hallucination.
"A-Train... is dead?"
Hughie looked up, his eyes unfocused but burning with an abnormal fervor.
"Who did it? Was it you?"
Lynn pulled the half-bloodied gold tooth from his pocket and tossed it onto Hughie's lap.
"Vought Corporation will announce that he went missing while on a secret mission."
Lynn leaned down slightly, looking Hughie straight in the eyes.
"But you need to know in your heart that the animal who killed your girlfriend didn't even leave a whole body behind."
Hughie stared fixedly at the gold tooth, tears splashing onto the back of his hand.
He suddenly let out a laugh.
The laugh was uglier than crying, a hoarse wheeze sounding from his chest like a broken bellows.
Cowardice, fear, despair.
In this moment, they were all burned to ash by the bloody reality of revenge.
"Good... well deserved..."
Hughie gasped for air, a spark of fire igniting in his bloodshot eyes.
He jerked his head up, biting his lower lip until it bled.
"I want to join you. I want to send those bastards at Vought Corporation to hell!"
Butcher grinned from the side, revealing two rows of yellow teeth.
He stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, and patted Hughie's cheek.
"Welcome to the real world, rookie."
Lynn straightened up, brushing non-existent dust from the hem of his suit.
The kid's spirit had been completely shattered and rebuilt.
Hatred is a good thing; it can turn a sheep into a rabid dog that bites.
"Don't be in such a hurry to make threats."
Lynn glanced at Butcher.
"Don't go anywhere for the next few days; follow Butcherand learn how to dismantle a pistol, and how to put a bullet into an enemy's eye socket."
He pointed at Hughie's still-trembling hands.
"If you can't hold a gun steady, you won't even be able to beat the doorman at Vought International Tower."
Hughie nodded vigorously, the cowardice in his eyes completely faded.
He stared at Lynn, as if clutching a life-saving straw.
Lynn turned around and walked toward the iron door leading to the surface.
"Then where are you going?" Hughie shouted from behind, his voice still trembling a little.
Lynn placed his hand on the rusty doorknob.
The smell of rust clung to his palm.
He turned his head, half his face hidden in the shadows of the stairwell.
"I'm going to clock in for work."
Lynn pushed the door open.
The blinding morning sunlight outside slammed down, shining on his crisp, cheap suit.
He squinted in the sunlight, adjusting to the brightness.
Butcher pulled a military dagger from his pocket and walked behind Hughie, preparing to cut the tape.
The blade sliced through the tape with a ripping sound.
"Butcher, get him a decent set of clothes; throw that bloody shirt into the incinerator."
Lynn stood on the steps, not looking back.
"Madelyn is probably feeling like hanging herself, so I need to go be a considerate, good subordinate."
Butcher, with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, paused with the knife in his hand.
"Watch yourself; who knows when that lunatic Homelander might snap."
Lynn tugged at his tie, not stopping his pace, his voice drifting into the basement with the wind.
"That's perfect; I've even prepared a second body bag for him."
The iron door slammed shut with a bang.
Sending dust falling from the basement ceiling.
Hughie rubbed his red-welted wrists, staring at the closed iron door.
"Mr. Butcher, is he always this..."
Hughie swallowed, unable to find the right word.
Butcher sheathed the dagger on his thigh and scoffed.
"Don't ask stupid questions, kid. Just know that if you provoke him, even a god would end up missing limbs."
Butcher grabbed Hughie by the back of his collar and hauled him up.
"Alright, don't sit there like a girl. Come over here and handle this gun; I don't have time to teach you how to use chopsticks."
Meanwhile, at Vought International Tower.
The 73rd floor, Vice President's office.
Lynn reached out and pushed open the heavy double mahogany doors.
The air pressure in the office was so low it was suffocating.
The floor was covered in shards of shattered porcelain cups, and coffee stains splattered the priceless Persian rug.
Madelyn stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, her hands gripping the windowsill so tightly her knuckles were white.
Hearing the door, she spun around sharply.
Her golden curls were messily plastered against her cheeks, and dark circles were visible under her eyes.
Seeing it was Lynn, she stumbled forward two steps, like a drowning person grabbing a piece of driftwood.
"Lynn... you're finally here!"
Madelyn grabbed Lynn's arm, her nails almost digging into the fabric of his suit.
Her breathing was rapid, her chest heaving violently.
"It's all over! There are thousands of reporters downstairs, and those old geezers on the board are waiting for me to make a fool of myself!"
Lynn held Madelyn's arm in return and gently helped her sit down on the sofa.
He grabbed a wet wipe from the table and handed it to her.
"Boss, catch your breath first."
Lynn's tone was gentle and submissive, impeccable.
"No matter if the sky falls, the PR Department will hold it up for you."
Madelyn took the wet wipe and wiped the sweat off her face haphazardly.
She looked up, her eyes showing a hint of ruthlessness amidst the panic.
"A-Train is missing, and there are no clues left behind. Homelander almost burned down the surveillance room."
She bit her lip, staring fixedly into Lynn's eyes.
"Lynn, tell me the truth: when you were on the perimeter of the crash site yesterday, did you see anyone suspicious?"
The muscles in Lynn's face twitched, and he managed to squeeze out an expression of fear and confusion, perfectly timed.
He swallowed, his fingers tightening involuntarily on the hem of his suit.
Taking a deep breath, he lowered his voice as if afraid of being overheard.
"Boss, I saw... no, I can't be sure if it was human."
He paused, his eyes darting away.
"But if you want to appease the reporters outside, I happen to have cooked up a flawless lie—would you like to hear it?"