Chapter 26: A Massive Turn in Public Opinion, Superheroes Fall from Their Pedestals
New York Times Square, at the intersection.
Dozens of multi-story high LCD screens stuttered simultaneously.
Accompanied by a harsh "zzzt" noise, the blood-stained face of the Mind Reader disappeared.
In its place was a screen full of jumping black and white static.
Tens of thousands of citizens, either rushing to work or standing still with hot dogs and cups, froze in their tracks.
The air felt as if it had been sucked dry.
Even the usually noisy car horns stopped completely for those few seconds.
No one knew who started it.
Half an unfinished iced Americano traced a parabolic arc through the air.
With a "splat," it slammed into the giant Homelanderposter at the street corner.
The brown coffee liquid trickled down Homelander's perfect smiling face, as if it were shedding dirty water.
This cup of coffee was like a starting pistol.
The crowd exploded.
It was a roar of fury capable of blowing the roof off.
"Liars! A bunch of manufactured scum!"
A white-collar worker in a suit turned beet red, screaming at the top of his lungs, and slammed his briefcase onto the ground.
"Refund! I just bought my son a full set of action figures yesterday!"
A chubby middle-aged woman nearby had bloodshot eyes, waving her phone frantically, spraying spit onto the back of the person in front of her.
At the corner of 7th Avenue.
A third-rate superhero in a blue bodysuit, codenamed "Blue Lightning."
A minute ago, he was still taking photos and signing autographs for a few female fans, a professional smile plastered on his lips.
Right now, the marker in a female fan's hand poked directly onto the bridge of his nose.
"Monster! Your muscles are also drug-induced, aren't they!"
The girl screamed, her sharp nails scratching a bloody mark onto Blue Lightning's cheek.
Blue Lightning clutched his face and backed away, knocking over a trash can on the side of the road.
"Hey! Listen to me, that's fabricated! I was born with..."
A half-brick covered in mud cut off his explanation, landing solidly on his shoulder.
The crowd swarmed up like a hive of bees.
Some grabbed his collar, others tore at his cape.
Blue Lightning was terrified out of his wits, forgetting even to use the superpowers he was so proud of, shielding his head with both hands as he tried to push his way out of the crowd.
"Don't hit! Don't hit the face!"
He scrambled into a police car that had just stopped nearby, pulling the door shut and hitting the central lock.
Outside the car windows were nothing but palms slapping the glass and angry, shouting faces.
The police officer in the front seat gripped the radio, his voice trembling: "Headquarters! Requesting backup! A mob is attacking a superhero!"
This storm blew more fiercely than any hurricane.
In Annie's apartment.
The TV screen flickered with blue light, replaying the footage that had just been forcibly cut off.
She curled her legs up on the sofa, the remote in her hand slipping and bouncing twice on the floor.
The main lights in the room were off.
Only the light from the screen shone onto her deathly pale face.
Annie gasped for air, her chest heaving violently, feeling as if the oxygen she inhaled into her lungs had thorns.
It scraped her windpipe, causing sharp pain.
"Chemical agent... Compound V..."
She murmured these awkward-sounding words, her eyes hollow and unfocused.
Her fingers subconsciously gripped the pure gold cross around her neck.
The metal edges dug into her palm, but she couldn't even feel the pain.
The phone screen on the coffee table lit up.
The caller ID displayed "Mom." Accompanying the vibration, it made a muffled buzzing sound on the glass tabletop.
Annie shivered, reaching out to grab the phone.
She swiped to answer.
"Annie! Baby, listen to me, don't watch TV!"
The voice on the other end was urgent, with a noticeably guilty tremor.
"That's all computer-generated fake news, someone is trying to take down Vought Corporation, you must not believe it..."
"Mom."
Annie interrupted her.
Her throat was as hoarse as if she had swallowed a handful of sand.
"You knew all along, didn't you?"
The phone went silent, leaving only heavy breathing.
"Answer me!"
Annie's eyes were red, tears welling up, biting her lower lip hard.
"The halo I was born with, did it really come from God, or did it come out of a test tube!"
"Baby, Mom did it for your own good..."
The woman's voice took on a sobbing tone.
"That serum was very expensive, I borrowed so much money, all to make you a big star, so you wouldn't have to live that hard life anymore..."
Annie didn't listen any further.
Her stomach convulsed, and she felt nothing but nausea.
So the "divine gift" she had believed in for over twenty years was just a biochemical transaction with a clear price tag.
The superpowers she was so proud of were achieved by injecting a vial of serum.
Her fingers tightened abruptly, "click," and she ended the call.
Annie ripped the gold necklace from her neck, the chain leaving a red mark on her collarbone.
She smashed the cross hard against the TV screen.
"It's all fucking fake..."
The girl buried her head in her knees, her shoulders heaving violently.
Top floor of Vought Corporation tower, CEO's office.
Behind the mahogany desk, Madelyn was kneeling on the carpet.
Half her body was thrust into that black, high-end trash can.
"Ugh—"
The acid in her stomach, mixed with undigested salad, surged out all at once.
Her face was smeared with tears and snot, her throat burning painfully from the stomach acid.
She lifted her face, covered in cold sweat, and glanced at the computer screen on the desk.
The line representing Vought Corporation's stock price had taken a cliff-diving plunge with no buffer in the short thirty minutes since opening.
A drop of forty percent.
The red circuit breaker warning box flashed incessantly in the center of the screen, casting a ghastly red glow on Madelyn's face.
"It's over... It's all over now."
Madelyn slumped to the floor, holding onto the table leg, gasping for air.
She had climbed to this position for so many years, and she knew better than anyone the cold cruelty of the capital market.
Once the scandal was confirmed, those old guys on the board would devour her without hesitation, not leaving even the bone scraps behind.
She didn't even bother to wipe her face, crawling on all fours toward the safe nearby.
She pressed her finger on the fingerprint lock and turned the dial.
Her movements were wrong several times due to trembling, and in her anxiety, she slammed the heel of her high heel against the safe door.
"Beep."
The door popped open.
She grabbed the fake passports and bundles of bearer bonds inside, stuffing them haphazardly into her Hermès bag.
Her movements were so rough that she tore apart several stacks of cash, and green banknotes fell all over the floor.
"Must leave... Call the police immediately for a police helicopter..."
Madelyn muttered neurotically, turning to grab the phone on the desk.
Just as her fingertips touched the phone casing.
"Ring-ring—"
In the corner of the office, an old-fashioned red landline phone, covered in a thin layer of dust, suddenly screamed.
The ring wasn't loud, but in the empty office, it was like a death knell.
Madelyn's hand, which was stuffing money, froze in mid-air.
She turned her head abruptly, staring fixedly at that red phone, her pupils contracting violently.
That was a private line that only one person would call on.
The true tyrant behind Vought Corporation, a man who never appeared in public, but who kept all the Superheroes and executives in the palm of his hand.
Stan Edgar.
The phone rang stubbornly, one ring after another.
Like a rusty saw, it tugged at Madelyn's taut nerves.
She swallowed a mouthful of sour saliva, her legs weak as she stood up by holding onto the edge of the table.
Taking a deep breath, her trembling fingers grabbed the red receiver and pressed it to her ear.
"Mr. Edgar... I..."
Madelyn tried to make her voice sound steadier, but the end of her words couldn't stop trembling.
"The situation is still under control, the PR Department is currently..."
"Have you packed your passport?"
The voice on the other end cut off her explanation.
The tone was steady without a hint of fluctuation, like a pool of stagnant water, devoid of any anger or panic.
Madelyn's breath hitched, and her face turned ashen instantly.
"I... I haven't..."
"If you've packed it, put it down."
Edgar's voice, through the receiver, carried a chill that stripped away one's soul.
"Ten minutes from now, my car will be waiting for you in the underground garage. If you aren't in the car, you'll be in a trash bag."
Chapter 27: Stan Edgar's Cold Sweat, The Situation Is Out of Control
Madelyn froze in place, the red receiver pressed tightly against her ear.
Bitter bile ran down from the corner of her mouth to her chin, dripping onto the collar of her silk shirt, but she didn't even dare to wipe it off.
The male voice on the other end of the phone had no inflection.
But the pace of his speech was clearly half a beat faster than usual.
"Save your little tricks, Madelyn. You've turned my company into a pile of shit."
On the other side of Manhattan.
Stan Edgar sat in the president's private darkroom on the eighty-second floor.
The main lights in the room were off.
Only a few lifeless beams of light filtered in through the blinds, cutting across his expressionless Black face.
He raised his left hand, his thumb slowly wiping across his temple.
His fingertips were covered in a fine layer of cold sweat.
This touch of cold sweat made Edgar's eyelid twitch uncontrollably twice.
He had sat in this chair for twenty years; even when facing the relentless bombardment of congressional hearings, his heart rate had never changed.
But today, he smelled the gunpowder of death.
"This is no ordinary PR scandal, Madelyn."
Edgar gripped his solid gold fountain pen, the tip carving a white mark into the mahogany desktop.
"This is a premeditated decapitation strike."
He spoke faster, as if frantically calculating a losing game of chess in his mind.
"Translucent, A-Train, The Deep—now it's a Compound Vleak."
Edgar exhaled a murky breath.
"The opposition has a grip on our jugular, pushing Vought into the meat grinder step by step."
Madelyn swallowed, her throat hurting too much to form complete syllables.
"Then... what should we do? The protesters outside are about to tear down the lobby's bulletproof glass."
"Release Homelander."
Edgar's voice was as cold as a stone pulled from an ice cellar.
"The mob doesn't understand reason; they only fear power. Let that caped freak fly a couple of laps in the sky and suppress the ringleaders."
Madelyn shivered, her teeth chattering.
"But his mental state isn't right; ever since Black Noir was severely injured, he has been..."
"That is your job!"
Edgar raised his voice, a rare occurrence, cutting off her defense directly.
"Use your disgusting tricks to keep this dog on a leash!"
He paused, his tone conveying an unquestionable, ironclad order.
"Also, notify the PR Department. Within twelve hours, give me a perfect scapegoat."
A harsh busy signal came from the phone.
Edgar hung up the dedicated line.
Listening to the beeping, Madelyn loosened her fingers.
The red receiver hit the desk and bounced twice.
She slumped into her executive chair; the cash and fake passports scattered all over the floor felt like a huge joke.
A scapegoat.
Who could take the fall for something this big?
With trembling hands, she pressed the intercom button.
"Lynn... tell Lynn to get in here right now!"
Her voice was hoarse, as if it had been dragged across coarse sandpaper.
Third floor, PR Department restroom.
Lynn stood before the sink, turned on the faucet, and splashed a handful of cold water onto his face.
He reached out, undid two shirt buttons, and yanked his tie until it was crooked.
Water droplets dripped from his chin, soaking a large patch of his collar.
He looked as if he had been sweating profusely from running the whole way.
Lynn stared at himself in the mirror, a mocking curve playing on the corners of his lips.
He wiped his face, turned, pushed open the door, and stepped into the private elevator.
"Bang."
Lynn burst through the double doors of the president's office, his chest heaving violently.
"Boss!"
He gasped for air, wiping the water from his forehead.
"Three riot police shields downstairs have been smashed, and reporters have blocked all the exits to the underground garage."
Madelyn came around from behind the desk, not even wearing her high heels.
She stepped barefoot onto the carpet stained with coffee and vomit, grabbing Lynn's wrist.
Her bright red nails dug deep into the fabric of Lynn's suit sleeve.
"Lynn, you have to help me... that old fox Edgar has spoken."
Madelyn leaned in extremely close, the lingering scent of stomach acid from her mouth hitting Lynn's nostrils directly.
"He wants a scapegoat. A dead man who can take the fall for everything related to Compound V."
Her eyes darted around, she bit her lip nervously, and her eyes were full of panic.
"And Homelander... that lunatic is smashing things on the top floor; he might tear this building down at any moment!"
Lynn reached out to steady Madelyn's faltering arms.
His brow was furrowed, adopting a look of loyal, reliable, and desperate contemplation.
"Don't panic, Boss. A scapegoat is easy to handle."
As he spoke, his left hand dropped naturally.
His fingertips flicked the edge of his suit's inner pocket, flipping out a black bug smaller than a grain of rice.
Lynn helped Madelyn sit back down on the edge of the desk.
His left hand took the opportunity to swipe under the desk.
The bug, with its strong adhesive backing, stuck silently into a blind spot on the edge of the solid wood desk.
"We can dump all the blame on those outsourced security companies responsible for transport."
Lynn met Madelyn's gaze, his tone steady and clear.
"Forge a few corruption documents, claim they stole Compound V privately and sold it to terrorists. That Mind Reader was the accomplice they hired."
Madelyn's eyes lit up, as if she had grabbed a sturdy rope in a desperate situation.
"Yes... yes! That logic holds up. Those idiots on the board only look at evidence."
She let out a sigh of relief, her tensed shoulders slumping.
But immediately, she clutched her head in pain again.
"Then what about Homelander? He won't listen to anyone right now, even Black Noir has been incapacitated, and he feels like the whole world is against him."
Lynn's eyes flickered.
This was exactly the opportunity he had been waiting for.
He released Madelyn's arm, stepped back half a pace, and put a little distance between them.
He lowered his voice slightly.
The light hit his flawless face, revealing the concern of a thoughtful subordinate.
"Boss, what Homelander needs most right now is a sense of security. It would be best if you went to 'comfort' him yourself tonight."
Chapter 28: Homelander's Oedipus complex is truly disgusting.
Upon hearing the word "comfort," Madelyn's fingers, which were resting on the edge of the table, stiffened.
She didn't make a sound, her lowered eyelids concealing the calculation flashing in her pupils.
Her breathing slowed, the feeling of impending death replaced by a morbid scheme.
She knew Homelander too well.
That Superman who could casually shoot through airplanes in the sky was, at his core, a giant infant who hadn't been weaned and was starved for affection to the point of madness.
As long as she gave him enough of his so-called "maternal love" and stroked his fur the right way,
This uncontrollable beast would turn into a mad dog that bit whatever she pointed at.
"I understand."
Madelyn gritted her back teeth, forcing these words out through her teeth.
She raised her hand, tucked a strand of blonde hair stuck to her forehead behind her ear, and took a deep breath of the air that still smelled of burnt residue.
"You go out first and stabilize the mess in the PR Department."
She stared fixedly at the pile of messy cash and fake passports on the table.
"Leave tonight's business to me."
Lynn bowed slightly, a hint of mockery hidden in his eyes.
He turned and exited the office, his footsteps very light.
The moment the door closed, he reached out to touch the inner pocket of his suit.
Inside lay the signal receiver for a miniature bug.
...
Nighttime, the suburbs of New York City.
Madelyn's private luxury villa stood on the mountainside.
It was surrounded by neatly trimmed lawns and shrubbery.
The night wind carried the chill of late autumn, making the oak leaves rustle.
Three hundred meters away from the villa, in a thick, century-old oak tree.
Lynn leaned against the trunk, his legs dangling loosely in the air.
The rough bark rubbed against his suit jacket, leaving a few specks of grayish-white moss.
A miniature wireless earpiece was stuffed in his left ear.
His fingertips toyed idly with the metal lighter.
A clear sound of fabric rubbing came through the earpiece, mixed with a man's heavy breathing.
"They are all lying to me... they are all targeting me!"
Homelander's voice leaked with flustered grievance, like a five-year-old child whose toy had been snatched away.
"Black Noir is useless, and those ants outside actually dared to throw rotten tomatoes at my poster!"
"I am a god! How dare they!"
Then came a flurry of hurried footsteps. Madelyn seemed to walk over and grabbed him in a hug.
"Shh... it's okay, John, I'm here."
Madelyn's voice was so gentle it could wring water, carrying a deliberately affected maternal radiance.
"What do those people outside know? They are just a bunch of bugs jealous of your radiance."
The muffled sound of clothes being patted reached Lynn's ears; she was patting Homelander's back.
Lynn, on the tree trunk, frowned.
Acid rose in his stomach, and a wave of physiological nausea reached his throat.
To protect her pathetic power and status, this woman had thrown all her bottom lines into the sewer.
The movements in the earpiece became increasingly uncomfortable. The harsh sound of a zipper opening was particularly jarring in the quiet room.
Immediately following was a sticky, sucking sound. "Gulp... gulp..."
That invincible Superman, who could lift a tank with one hand, was currently burying his face deeply in Madelyn's chest.
Like a starving infant, he was greedily swallowing breast milk, occasionally letting out satisfied sighs.
The breathing of this freak was amplified countless times by the bug, scraping against Lynn's eardrums.
Madelyn suppressed the pain and disgust of being gnawed on by the monster. One hand stroked Homelander's blonde hair.
"Good boy... eat more."
She panted, guiding the topic toward business with patient persuasion.
"That old bastard Edgar wants to make us the scapegoats."
Her voice carried a touch of sorrowful crying. "Those congressmen leading the trouble are also fueling the flames behind the scenes, wanting to seize our assets."
"John, they want to destroy us, they want to drive me away from your side... you have to protect Mommy, right?"
The sucking sound stopped. A low growl, like an animal guarding its food, rolled from Homelander's throat, carrying heavy killing intent.
"Whoever dares to touch you... I will burn through their eyeballs!"
He took a deep breath of the perfume on Madelyn, his tone becoming fanatical.
"Give me the list. Tonight, those politicians who are shouting the loudest, not a single one will survive."
"Good boy, that is my good John."
Madelyn chuckled in the earpiece, revealing the ruthlessness of a successful scheme.
"Keep it clean, leave no survivors."
After a brief silence, a deafening explosion of airflow came from the direction of the villa's second-floor balcony.
The strong wind whipped up grass clippings from the lawn, whistling across the distance of several hundred meters. Even the oak tree where Lynn was hiding shook violently.
A red and blue afterimage shattered the night. With a ring of white sonic boom cloud, it flew straight toward the direction of Washington D.C.
It was so fast that only the red trail left in mid-air could be seen.
Lynn looked up at the clouds stirred up by the sonic boom.
He reached up and took off the miniature earpiece, squeezing it with two fingers. "Snap."
The precise electronic components were crushed to pieces. Fragments of the plastic casing leaked through his fingers and fell into the weed pile under the tree.
"Pah." Lynn turned his head and spat on the tree branch beside him in disgust.
"This freak's fetish is truly nauseating."
He brushed the bark dust off his pant legs and leaned forward. His whole body, like a weightless falling leaf, leaped down from the dozen-meter-high century-old oak tree.
The wind whistled past his ears, making the hem of his suit flap loudly. "Thud." His feet landed steadily.
His leather shoes trod on the slightly damp soil without even leaving a deep impression.
Lynn straightened up, his gaze crossing the neatly trimmed shrubbery, locking onto the brightly lit luxury villa a few hundred meters away.
Homelander had been sent away to clean up those political enemies in Congress. This most troublesome mad dog wouldn't be able to return for at least half an hour.
That was enough time for him to finish his business.
Lynn reached behind his back. A cold, heavy Glock pistol appeared in his palm.
The blued gun body shimmered with a dark, matte finish under the moonlight. His thumb skillfully pressed the magazine release.
The magazine slid out halfway; he glanced at the golden bullets inside, then pushed it back into place with a "click."
His other hand fished a black cylindrical silencer out of his suit pocket. The metal threads engaged circle by circle, making a faint rustling sound.
After attaching the silencer, Lynn gripped the handle and flipped the safety off with his thumb. A faint scent of gun oil drifted into his nostrils.
He strode toward the villa.
His leather shoes trod on the winding pebble path. Expensive Bulgarian roses were planted on both sides, their fragrance thick and somewhat pungent.
The water jets in the fountain pool circulated with a splash, spraying fine droplets in the night.
By preying on the flesh and blood of low-level super-powered individuals, Madelyn lived in a mansion worth tens of millions of dollars.
She treated the life of Hughie's girlfriend as just a cold number on a PR report.
Now, retribution had come knocking.
Lynn stopped in front of the villa's back door. The lock was a high-end electronic fingerprint recognition system, with a keypad next to it.
He didn't even glance at it. He raised his left hand, his thumb and index finger gripping the thick metal doorknob.
The power of Primary Steel Body silently activated. "Creak—"
The steel latch was directly deformed under the terrifying grip strength.
Lynn gave his wrist a light twist, and the electronic lock made a short-circuiting "zizz" sound, emitting a wisp of blue smoke.
The heavy security door was pushed open by him just like that, with effortless ease.
The house was quiet. The central air conditioning sent out comfortable warm air, dispelling the night dew on his body.
Lynn stood in the shadows of the first-floor hall, looking up at the end of the spiral staircase on the second floor. Madelyn's bedroom was right there.
Through the crack in the door, he could still hear her humming an unknown tune; the clinking sound of glass as she poured wine was crisp and pleasant.
That was the relaxation unique to prey before death.
Lynn raised his hand to press the other hidden communicator in his ear, connecting to Frenchie's channel.
"Frenchie, has the perimeter surveillance gone completely dark?"
A clatter of keyboard typing came through the earpiece, accompanied by the munching sound of eating potato chips.
"It's been dark for a while, boss." Frenchie let out a burp, "Within three hundred meters of the villa, not even an electronic fly can fly in."
"What about the security system?" Lynn stared at the infrared cameras in the hallway.
"Those cameras look like they're working, but the footage they're transmitting is all from the day before yesterday."
Frenchie's voice was filled with pride, "You can waltz right through the front door now."
Lynn gripped the silenced pistol in his hand tightly. The barrel pressed against the outside of his thigh. A mocking arc curled at the corner of his mouth.
"Are you ready to go in and talk about life with that female CEO?" Frenchie teased casually on the other end of the communicator.
"No." Lynn replied into the microphone in a low voice, stepping onto the solid wood staircase covered with wool carpet.
"I'm going to settle her severance package."
Chapter 29: Kidnapping Madelyn, Setting a Death Trap for Homelander
The wool carpet swallowed the sound of his leather shoes.
Lynn walked up the wide, solid wood staircase, the suppressed Glock in his right hand pressed against the seam of his suit pants.
The blued metal of the gun body exuded a heavy, cold chill.
The hallway on the second floor of the villa looked like a small gallery.
The air was filled with a pungent, cloying scent of perfume, mixed with a lingering, raw, musk-like odor.
That was the scent left behind by Homelander.
Lynn wrinkled his nose, a wave of nausea rising in his stomach.
These pieces of trash who fancied themselves gods lived in private in a way that was even more repulsive than rats in the sewer.
The double doors to the master bedroom were ajar, leaving a gap two fingers wide.
The warm yellow light from the wall lamps leaked through the gap, casting a long, diagonal line across the dark floor of the hallway.
A faint clinking of glassware came from through the gap.
Lynn raised his left hand and used the tip of the gun barrel to gently push open the wooden door.
The hinges had been greased with high-quality lubricant and didn't make a single creak.
The bedroom was ridiculously large, and on the bed that could sleep five people, the silk sheets were crumpled into a mess.
A large portion of the silk fabric had slid onto the carpet.
Madelyn was standing by the mahogany bar in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows.
She had just tightened the belt of her wine-red silk robe and tied it off casually.
The woman stood with her back to the door, her waist curved into a lazy arc.
Her slender fingers held a crystal decanter.
The scarlet wine flowed down the side of the glass, making a splashing sound.
"John, you hurt me just now."
She didn't even turn her head, her voice carrying a deliberately affected sweetness and playful reproach.
"Next time you really should learn how to control your strength; I'm not one of those durable toys."
She clearly thought the giant baby in the cape had returned.
Lynn didn't make a sound.
He stepped over several velvet throw pillows scattered on the floor, his footsteps as light as a cheetah locking onto its prey.
He slowly raised his right hand, the muzzle of the gun pushing steadily forward.
The cold tip of the metal suppressor pressed firmly against the scalp on the back of Madelyn's head.
Her hair was pressed into a dent by the barrel.
The decanter froze in mid-air, and the sound of pouring wine came to an abrupt halt.
Madelyn shuddered violently.
The muscles in her back tightened instantly, causing her shoulders to hunch up.
A fine layer of goosebumps rose on her skin.
"Clatter."
The expensive wine glass slipped from her fingers and shattered against the marble countertop.
Glass shards flew everywhere, and red wine splattered onto her pant leg, looking like blooming bloodstains on her robe.
"Don't make a sound."
Lynn's voice was very low, carrying an unmelting chill.
"Raise your hands to shoulder height, slowly."
Madelyn swallowed a mouthful of dry saliva, her Adam's apple bobbing with difficulty.
She raised her hands, trembling, her fingers splayed unnaturally in mid-air.
She turned her body stiffly, her gaze following the pitch-black gun barrel, moving up little by little.
The moment she saw his face.
Her pupils contracted violently, and all the color drained from her face.
Her lips turned pale, and she even stopped breathing for a beat.
"Ly... Lynn?"
Her tongue was tied in knots, and terror surged in her eyes.
"How did you get in? What about the perimeter security system?"
Lynn tilted his head, pushing the muzzle forward another half-inch.
It pressed directly into the skin of her forehead, leaving a red, circular mark.
"Your security system is currently watching the weather forecast from two days ago."
Lynn curled one corner of his mouth, his eyes devoid of any humor.
Madelyn had been in the corporate world for decades; she had seen all kinds of storms.
After the initial panic, her brain began to race.
She realized this wasn't a common home invasion.
The deputy director of PR, who had always been meek and obedient, was looking at her as if she were livestock waiting to be slaughtered.
This kind of coldness was something only a cold-blooded professional butcher would possess.
"Listen, Lynn... let's talk this over."
Her chest heaved violently as she gasped for air.
She deliberately pulled down the collar of her already loose robe, revealing a large expanse of fair collarbone and that deep cleavage.
"Whatever they're paying you, no matter who hired you, I'll pay double."
Madelyn leaned forward half a step.
The intense perfume scent drilled straight into Lynn's nostrils.
Her voice softened, carrying a hint of seduction.
"What do you want? The CEO position? Company shares?"
She bit her lower lip, her eyes becoming hazy.
"Or... do you want some other reward? I can satisfy you, as long as you put down that terrifying piece of iron."
Lynn looked at this old face pretending to be calm.
The nausea in his stomach grew stronger.
This woman's mind was full of power-sex trades; she really thought all men were horny dogs like Homelander.
"Lady, your acting is too exaggerated."
Lynn let out a cold snort.
Madelyn's expression froze, a flash of annoyance appearing in her eyes.
Just as she opened her mouth to argue a bit more.
Lynn didn't give her a chance at all.
He flipped his wrist violently, gripping the gun barrel with his other hand.
The heavy, solid gun butt swung down with a whistling sound, smashing down hard.
"Bang."
The butt smashed solidly against the right temple of Madelyn's head, making a sickening, muffled sound.
She couldn't even let out a scream.
Her eyes rolled back, leaving only the whites visible.
Her whole body went limp, as if her bones had been removed, and she slid onto the carpet, knocking over a few hardcover magazines nearby.
Lynn shook his slightly sore wrist.
He holstered the pistol back into the holster at his lower back.
He walked to the bed, ripped off the expensive silk sheets, and threw them on the floor.
He reached into his suit's inner pocket.
He pulled out a bundle of high-strength military nylon rope.
This was high-end stuff Frenchie had gotten from the black market, strong enough to tow an armored vehicle.
Lynn dragged over a heavy oak armchair with one hand and placed it in the center of the room.
He bent down, as if dragging a sack of moldy flour.
He grabbed Madelyn's ankles and dragged her onto the chair.
He wrapped the rope around her shoulders and pulled it tight.
Madelyn's body was tied tightly to the back of the chair.
Lynn went around to the back and tied a dead knot.
Then came her wrists and ankles.
The rough nylon rope dug deep into the silk robe, leaving purplish-red welts on her fair skin.
Tied more securely than an iron barrel, she couldn't move a single finger.
After finishing all this.
Lynn pulled two grayish-green blocks from the left pocket of his coat.
This was C4 plastic explosive he had just prepared that afternoon, connected to complex red and blue wires and a miniature detonator.
A faint smell of chemical agents filled the air.
Lynn tore open the strong double-sided tape on the back of the explosives.
He bent down and stuck the two blocks of C4 tightly to the crossbeam at the bottom of the oak chair.
He ran his fingers along the fuse line to confirm the detonator was well connected.
This amount was enough to blow this master bedroom into a gaping hole.
After finishing these preparations.
Lynn dusted off his hands and turned to walk into the adjacent luxury bathroom.
He turned on the brass faucet of the sink.
Cold water splashed out.
He grabbed a washbasin and filled it with a full basin of bone-chilling cold water.
He carried the basin back to the bedroom.
Lynn stood in front of the chair, looking at the unconscious woman.
With both arms, he splashed it right into her face.
"Splash."
A whole basin of ice water was poured over Madelyn's head.
The water flowed down her hair and cheeks into her neck.
Soaking her silk robe and making it cling tightly to her body.
Her exquisite eye makeup was completely ruined.
Two streaks of black eyeliner ran down her cheeks, making her look both ridiculous and disheveled.
"Cough, cough... cough!"
Madelyn gasped sharply, waking up while coughing violently.
Water droplets choked her windpipe, making her face turn bright red from coughing.
The icy stimulation made her shiver all over.
She tried to raise her hand to wipe the water off her face, only to find her arms were fixed tightly to the armrests.
She couldn't move her legs either.
She lowered her head in terror.
Her gaze swept over her thighs, and she happened to see the C4 explosive under the chair, its little red light blinking regularly.
The red light blinked on and off, reflecting on the floor.
"Aaaah—"
She shrieked, her voice cracking.
"You're crazy, Lynn, you lunatic! What is that thing underneath!"
Madelyn struggled desperately.
The chair shook and clattered along with her.
The wooden joints made creaking sounds, unable to bear the strain.
"Save your energy; you won't be able to break these ropes."
Lynn tossed the empty basin onto the carpet with a dull thud.
He pulled over a leather stool and sat down opposite Madelyn.
He crossed his legs.
He fished Madelyn's custom smartphone out of his pocket.
The screen was still lit, showing a few unread messages.
Lynn swiped his finger across the screen twice to unlock it.
He opened the contact list and saw the pinned name at the top at a glance: John.
Lynn's thumb hovered over the voice recording button.
He lifted his eyelids, his gaze landing on the female CEO opposite him, who was crying snot and tears in fear.
"Now, send a voice message to Homelander in your most affectionate tone."
Lynn's mouth curled up slightly, forming an arc devoid of warmth.
Madelyn looked at Lynn, her lips trembling and pale.
"Just say you're in danger and tell him to get back here immediately."
Chapter 30: Homelander bursts through the door, only to see a corpse.
"John... save me!"
Madelyn's voice was hoarse and distorted, her fingers pressing tightly against the green recording button on her phone screen.
The surface of the screen was slick, covered in the cold sweat from her palms.
"Someone is trying to kill me! Come back quickly... I beg you!"
As she screamed, tears mixed with black mascara cascaded down.
They dripped onto the phone screen, shattering into droplets.
Her finger released, and the green voice message bubble flew off.
Lynn casually snatched the custom-made phone and tucked it into the inner pocket of his suit.
Time ticked by, second by second.
It was only a matter of eight or nine seconds.
At the edge of the night sky in the direction of Washington D.C., a deafening roar suddenly tore through the air.
A sonic boom.
The sound rolled over from hundreds of kilometers away, slamming solidly against the villa's thick floor-to-ceiling windows.
The entire pane of explosion-proof glass hummed as if it were electrified.
Even a porcelain vase perched on the edge of the windowsill wobbled and fell to the floor, shattering into pieces.
Madelyn's eyes lit up, like someone dying of thirst who had just tasted a drop of water.
She knew all too well what that sound meant.
That thug in the stars-and-stripes cape had heard her plea for help and was racing back like a madman.
"Lynn... did you hear that?"
Madelyn's lips trembled, pulling into a smile that looked worse than crying.
The muscles on her face bunched together from excitement.
"He's back... he'll be here any second."
She was tightly bound to an oak chair with nylon rope, her body straining forward desperately.
The rope dug into her flesh, drawing thin lines of blood.
"You can still leave now, I swear... I won't tell him who you are!"
Lynn lowered his eyelids, looking at her as if she were an idiot.
"Lady, do you really think I came here in the middle of the night just to listen to you negotiate?"
Madelyn panicked.
The glimmer of hope she had just felt shattered into dust.
Her chest heaved violently, her soaked nightgown clinging to her skin, and she shivered uncontrollably from the cold.
"I have money... I'll give you all the passwords to my Swiss bank accounts!"
She struggled violently, the legs of the chair scraping against the carpet with a dull, grating sound.
"Or Vought shares! I'll sign them all over to you!"
Lynn raised his hand.
He pressed his thumb against the safety catch of his Glock pistol and flicked it down.
"Click."
The sharp sound was clear and jarring in the spacious bedroom.
Madelyn stared at the pitch-black silencer, snot streaming from her nose.
"Don't kill me! I have a son! Teddy is only a few months old!"
She shrieked at the top of her lungs, the veins in her neck bulging.
Her voice was loud enough to drown out the approaching roar of the sonic boom outside.
"He can't be without a mother... You have family too, right? You know how that feels!"
The muscles on Lynn's face remained motionless.
The roaring sound outside had reached directly overhead, as if hundreds of fighter jets were circling the roof.
The crystal chandelier in the villa swayed, the crystals clinking together with a crisp sound.
"Your son is cursed for eight lifetimes to have a mother like you."
Lynn stood up, leveled his gun, and aimed directly at the center of Madelyn's forehead.
The blued finish of the gun barrel reflected the warm yellow light of the wall lamp.
"Besides."
Lynn's eyes were as cold as a frozen lake, without a single ripple.
"That girl who was turned into mush by A-Train? She had parents too."
Madelyn's eyes widened, her mouth agape as she tried to shriek something else.
Lynn didn't even bother with a countdown.
He pulled the trigger directly with his index finger.
"Pfft!"
The suppressed muzzle flashed with a faint, orange light.
Madelyn's head snapped back violently, the back of her skull slamming heavily against the chair.
A gleaming yellow bullet drilled into her forehead, shredding her frontal lobe.
It burst out the back of her head, carrying a spray of red and white gore.
The viscous flesh and blood splattered onto the million-dollar European oil painting behind her, dripping down the canvas.
The smell of blood mixed with the scent of gunpowder instantly permeated the climate-controlled bedroom.
Madelyn's jaw hung limp.
Her eyes were wide open, bloodshot, staring fixedly at the ceiling.
Fresh blood flowed down her nose, dripping steadily onto her wine-red silk nightgown.
Slowly staining it into a dark, blackish patch.
Lynn lowered the gun and flicked his wrist casually.
The wisp of smoke on the barrel was blown away by the air conditioning.
He took two steps back, his leather shoes avoiding the spreading pool of blood on the carpet.
With a thought.
The Kryptonian's advanced invisibility ability instantly covered his entire body.
From his toes to his hair, along with the blood-stained gun.
It melted bit by bit into the air.
In less than two seconds, only the female corpse remained, tied to the chair in the bedroom.
And under the chair, the red light on the C4 plastic explosive was blinking slowly and steadily.
At the very second Lynn retreated to the corner of the room.
"Boom—!"
A deafening roar shattered the sky above.
The villa's sturdy roof was smashed open by a brute force, creating a large hole.
Large chunks of reinforced concrete rained down like meteorites.
Dust, wood chips, and plaster powder instantly engulfed most of the room, so thick it was hard to open one's eyes.
Homelander, covered in night dew and the distinct smell of ozone from high altitude, slammed into the floor like a falling weight.
He crushed two deep pits into the marble floor, cracks spreading to the base of the walls.
His stars-and-stripes cape was still stained with the black blood of some unfortunate politician.
"Madelyn! Where are you!"
He didn't even bother to brush the dust off his face, his voice filled with an unprecedented panic.
Just like a three-year-old child who had lost his mother in a supermarket.
Two red beams of Heat Vision swirled within his eyes.
Ready at any moment to slice the hidden enemy in two.
The dust gradually dissipated under the breeze of the air conditioning.
Homelander took a step forward, his gaze piercing through the swirling dust.
He saw the oak chair in the center of the room.
And the female corpse on it, still steaming, with a chunk of her skull missing.
Homelander's footsteps froze instantly.
It was as if he had been struck on the head by a multi-ton hammer, and he stood there, stunned.
His azure pupils vibrated violently, shrinking to the size of pinpricks.
His gaze was nailed to that bloody, mangled face.
The blood hadn't coagulated yet, dripping down in sticky strands.
"No... this is impossible..."
A hoarse, gasping sound caught in Homelander's throat.
His pride and strength were completely drained in that instant.
His knees gave way.
"Thud."
This man, hailed as the strongest god in America, knelt straight down into the pool of blood spreading toward him.
His knees hit the wooden floor with a dull thud.
He reached out with his red-gloved hands, which were still trembling.
He wanted to touch Madelyn's face, but pulled his hand back in mid-air, as if afraid of shattering something fragile.
"Madelyn... Mom..."
Homelander's eyes were bloodshot, and tears mixed with the dust on his eyelashes fell.
Washing two muddy tracks down his face.
"Who did this... who on earth did this to you!"