Chapter 11: Translucent Peeping? Weld Him Into the Women's Restroom
"Green-headed fly?"
Ashley froze at the doorway.
Her mind was currently stuffed with that life-saving memory card; she had no time to ponder the riddle in Lynn's words.
She nodded haphazardly, her shoeless foot stepping onto the carpet and leaving a trail of gray, dusty footprints.
"O-okay, Lynn, you write the backup report... I'm going to find Madelyn now!"
Like a panicked tornado, she stumbled out of the office.
"Click."
The glass door, relying on the hydraulic shaft of the door closer, closed slowly and heavily.
The office returned to dead silence.
Lynn stood by the water cooler, clutching that disposable paper cup in his hand.
Warm steam misted his chin.
He didn't even turn his head, his gaze fixed on the blinking red light on the water cooler panel.
Right behind him to the left, next to that yellowing monstera plant.
The ripples in the air twisted slightly.
"Thump, thump."
That was the sound of a heart beating violently in a chest cavity, the rhythm twice as fast as before.
This Translucent was panicking.
Hearing that The Deep had been fed to the fish, and then hearing that Lynn held leverage over Ashley.
This guy was definitely bottling up a bellyful of big news, wanting to sneak back to claim credit with Madelyn or Homelander.
The eardrums in Lynn's ears vibrated slightly.
The Kryptonian's super-hearing dismantled that body odor, carrying the astringent taste of carbon fiber and cheap lubricant, quite clearly.
To maintain invisibility, this guy had to get stark naked.
Walking around naked in a corridor with the air conditioning set to twenty degrees, his breathing carried a distinct tremor.
Lynn tilted his head back and drained the warm water in the paper cup.
He deliberately crumpled the empty paper cup until it crunched, then threw it forcefully into the trash can beside his feet.
Then, he irritably tugged at his tie, putting on a worried appearance, and strode toward the office door.
Opening the door, the alarm in the corridor hadn't stopped.
Lynn walked with a steady, unhurried pace in the opposite direction of the elevator lobby.
That way led to the pantry and restroom area.
Two meters behind him.
The long fibers of the carpet emitted an extremely slight "rustling" sound.
That was the sound of bare feet stepping on it.
This rat had followed him.
Lynn pulled a faint, imperceptible sneer at the corner of his mouth and slowed his pace even further.
At the corner of the corridor, a female intern holding a folder ran towards him in a hurry.
The girl was wearing a short skirt, the body-con style hugging her curves tightly.
She was looking down at her documents as she brushed past Lynn.
Lynn's ears sharply captured the anomaly behind him.
That trail of barefoot footsteps suddenly stopped.
Immediately after, a "hissing" intake of breath came from the air.
That was the sound of a nose pressed near the girl's upper thigh, greedily inhaling the scent of shampoo and body fragrance.
This damn pervert.
His own teammate didn't even have bone fragments left, yet he still had the heart to think about this sort of thing.
These Vought heroes, their brainstems were filled with nothing but waste from their lower bodies.
Lynn didn't turn back and continued walking forward.
Pushing open the frosted glass door, the restroom was right in front.
On the left was the men's restroom with the blue sign, and on the right was the women's restroom with the pink sign.
Lynn stopped and pretended to take out his phone to check messages.
He was waiting for that mass of air behind him to catch up.
A few seconds later, that faint, acidic smell of carbon fiber friction drifted to his back.
Lynn put away his phone and didn't walk to the left.
He reached out, pushed open the door to the women's restroom on the right, and stepped straight inside.
If it had been anyone else, Translucent, following behind, would definitely have felt something was wrong.
What would a grown man be doing wandering into the women's restroom for no reason?
But Translucent was different.
In this building, the women's restroom was his happy home.
Out of twenty-four hours a day, he spent ten of them squatting bare-assed on top of the stalls here, or beside the sinks.
The air here drifted with the scent of high-end women's perfume and the smell of air freshener from the flush toilets.
To him, this place was much more attractive than The Seven's conference room.
Sure enough.
The heavy wooden door of the women's restroom hadn't had time to close yet.
An invisible hand propped open the door gap.
With a "creak," the door was pushed open again.
That trail of barefoot footsteps, carrying a sense of impatient excitement, followed in without hesitation.
The restroom was empty.
A huge half-length mirror hung on the pink tiled wall.
Lynn walked to the marble vanity.
He slowly turned on the brass faucet.
"Whoosh—"
The white stream of water splashed into the ceramic basin, the sound echoing in the narrow space, just enough to cover the sound of breathing.
Lynn lowered his head, washing his hands under the stream.
His gaze, however, was locked onto the bright mirror in front of him.
In the mirror, there was only himself.
But on the reflective surface below the mirror, a small pink tile in the center of the restroom suddenly depressed by half a millimeter.
That was the mark of over two hundred pounds of weight pressing down on it.
That mass of air didn't stop behind Lynn.
Instead, it headed straight for the large handicapped-accessible stall at the very back.
That space was large with a good view; it was his favorite "VIP seat" for squatting.
Lynn pulled out a paper towel.
While leisurely wiping the water droplets between his fingers, he watched that mass of air move to the stall door.
The wooden louvered door was pushed open a crack by an invisible hand.
Now.
Lynn casually tossed the half-wet paper ball backward.
The paper ball traced an arc in mid-air and landed accurately in the trash can.
At the same time.
His heels exerted sudden force.
The explosive power of the Primary Steel Body made him like a dud shell fired from a chamber, instantly crossing a distance of five meters.
"Bang!"
Lynn slammed his back hard against the women's restroom door, twisting the brass lock to the end with his backhand.
The crisp sound of the latch popping out seemed particularly harsh in the restroom.
At the stall entrance.
That louvered door, just pushed open halfway, froze.
Translucent sensed something was wrong.
The running water hadn't stopped, but Lynn's movements were too fast—too fast for his proud superhuman nerves to react.
"The ventilation system in this women's restroom seems a bit clogged."
Lynn turned around, leaning his back against the door, his hands in his pants pockets.
"Why is there a smell of rotten kelp mixed with stinky sweat?"
The air was deathly silent.
Only the faucet continued to run with a splash.
Translucent didn't make a sound.
He held his breath, muscles tense, trying to completely blend himself into the surrounding environment.
His carbon-metamaterial skin, which could refract light, not only made him invisible but was also so hard that even anti-materiel sniper rifles couldn't pierce it.
He felt that this PR director was just bluffing him.
How could a mortal possibly see him?
"Don't hide."
Lynn took a step forward, his leather shoes clicking on the tiles.
"Just now in the corridor, was the scent on that red-headed intern's legs good?"
Translucent's heart skipped a beat.
He had been discovered.
Completely exposed.
Not only did this kid kill people, but he could also counter-recon invisible people?
"Go to hell, you son of a bitch!"
A hoarse roar suddenly exploded in the air.
The shame of being exposed and the dark psychology cultivated by long-term peeping made Translucent choose to go for the kill directly.
That mass of distorted air lunged violently at Lynn.
The invisible fist, carrying a whistling sound of wind, smashed straight at Lynn's temple.
With this force, if it were an ordinary person, half their head would be smashed into pulp.
Pity.
In the Kryptonian's dynamic vision, this speed was no different from slow-motion playback.
Lynn didn't even dodge.
He raised his left arm, his forearm muscles tensing instantly, taking this heavy punch head-on.
"Thud!"
A muffled sound.
Lynn's suit sleeve was smashed into a circle of ripples, and the tiles under his feet cracked with a few spiderweb-like fine lines.
But he didn't even sway.
"Ah—hiss!"
A sound of painful intake of breath came from the air.
Translucent felt like his finger bones had smashed into a solid titanium alloy plate, numbing his entire arm.
He hadn't had time to retreat and open up distance.
Lynn's right hand had already struck out like a viper.
His five fingers spread, his fingertips carrying a sharp whistling wind, accurately grabbing a piece of nothingness.
It felt hard to the touch.
The surface had a rough, granular feel similar to fine sandpaper, and it was bone-chillingly cold.
"Gotcha."
Lynn pulled a bloodthirsty arc at the corner of his mouth.
His five fingers suddenly contracted and exerted force, locking tightly onto the throat position of that mass of air.
"Urgh... cough!"
The air distorted violently.
The moment his throat was grabbed, Translucent's ability failed.
His figure flickered twice like an old TV changing channels, completely exposed under the incandescent lights of the women's restroom.
This guy was stark naked, his skin presenting a strange, dark gray color.
The surface was covered with geometric carbon fiber textures, like a human-shaped piece of charcoal.
At this moment.
This piece of charcoal was being held by the neck with Lynn's one hand, his toes a few centimeters off the ground, kicking uselessly in mid-air.
"Let... let go!"
Translucent used both hands to desperately pry at Lynn's fingers.
But that hand was like a hydraulic clamp welded onto his neck, not moving an inch.
Oxygen deprivation caused Translucent's eyeballs to start bulging outward.
Looking at this suit-wearing man in front of him with a terrifyingly calm expression, his arrogance was completely shattered.
"You... cough cough... you can't kill me..."
He gritted his teeth, squeezing out a few broken-sounding words from the slits of his throat.
"My skin... can't even be... blown open by bombs!"
"Is that so?"
Lynn raised an eyebrow, his eyes revealing an excitement like seeing a novel toy.
The hand gripping Translucent's neck didn't let go; instead, it continued to increase its force.
"Carbon metamaterial, can refract light, and is bulletproof."
Lynn was like evaluating a piece of pork in a wet market.
"It's indeed hard."
He suddenly stepped forward, dragging Translucent to the row of marble sinks.
"But no matter how hard a rat is, in its bones, it's still just a rat."
Lynn's right hand had veins popping out as he grabbed the back of Translucent's head, lifting that dark gray head high up.
Translucent finally realized what he was about to do.
"No! Wait! We can talk—"
Before he could finish.
Lynn pressed down his right arm.
Grabbing that indestructible head, like swinging a heavy sledgehammer, with terrifying wind pressure.
He smashed it hard against the cold, hard marble countertop.
"Skin is hard, huh?"
Lynn sneered.
"Let me see if you get a concussion!"
Chapter 12: Chainsaw Doesn't Work? Use Your Own Bomb to Blow Yourself Up
"Bang!"
A dull thud, like a pile driver on a construction site, exploded in the narrow women's restroom.
Lynn gripped that dark gray head, his arm muscles stretched to their limit, and slammed it downward with full force.
The marble vanity first cracked with a few spiderweb-like lines.
Then, with a "crash," it shattered completely into a pile of white stone fragments and powder.
The water pipe burst, and tap water sprayed everywhere.
Lynn didn't stop at all.
He grabbed Translucent by his curly hair and continued slamming him against the exposed cast-iron water pipe below.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Translucent's carbon metamaterial skin was truly ridiculously hard.
After slamming him seventy or eighty times, that dark gray epidermis didn't even have a white mark on it.
But this outer shell couldn't protect the soft tissue inside.
The immense shock force passed through his hard skull and acted directly on his brain matter, like putting tofu into a tumble dryer and spinning it.
By the hundredth slam.
Translucent choked out a mouthful of acidic fluid mixed with blood foam.
Those lecherous eyeballs rolled upward, leaving only large patches of white.
His legs went limp like cooked noodles, and he completely passed out, collapsing onto the water-soaked tiles.
Lynn let go and shook the water droplets off his knuckles.
He pulled several specialized lead nets used by the cleaning staff from the restroom storage locker.
This stuff was originally emergency supplies for Vought Corporation to deal with radioactive pollution sources; it was extremely flexible and tough, and even bulletproof vest material couldn't tear it.
It was perfect for bundling up an unconscious pervert.
He wrapped Translucent up tightly like a mummy.
Afterward, he pulled a micro-communicator from his suit's inner pocket; this was high-end gear he had just received when he became deputy head of public relations.
"Butcher, drive to the freight tunnel on the third basement level of the building."
Lynn kicked the rubble on the floor aside.
"Bring a cart; I got some good cargo."
An hour later, an abandoned basement in Brooklyn.
The air was permanently filled with the smell of moldy old newspapers.
Today, there was also a hint of the pungent smell of gun oil.
"Clang."
Lynn threw the heavy lead-net bundle onto the concrete floor, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Hughie was squatting in the corner, gnawing on a cold slice of cheese pizza.
Hearing the commotion, he quickly stuffed the pizza into his mouth and scurried over, his cheeks bulging.
Butcher, chewing on an unlit, low-quality cigar, strode forward and yanked open the slipknot of the lead net.
A naked man rolled out.
His skin was an eerie dark gray, covered with geometric carbon-fiber textures, looking like a piece of human-shaped charcoal.
"Cough... cough, cough!" Hughie almost choked to death on his pizza.
He pounded his chest twice, pointing at the person on the ground, his tongue tied in knots.
"Isn't, isn't this fucking... that guy from The Seven! The one who's always on talk shows!"
Butcher spat out his cigar, his eyes instantly lighting up like a wolf that had smelled blood.
"Good one, boss, you really went to Vought Corporationheadquarters to restock."
He squatted down and poked Translucent's rock-hard shoulder with his rough fingers, producing a crisp metallic sound.
Lynn walked over to the tattered leather sofa nearby, sat down, and loosened his tie.
"Be quick about it, lock him to the load-bearing pillar; this bastard could wake up at any moment."
Five minutes later, two non-slip iron chains as thick as thumbs were tightly wrapped around Translucent's wrists and ankles.
Translucent's eyelids twitched twice on the floor, and he was jolted awake by the pale incandescent light of the basement.
He shook his still-buzzing head, and upon opening his eyes, he saw three grown men surrounding him.
"Fuck..."
He instinctively tried to turn invisible and escape.
But he realized his hands and feet were locked tight to the concrete pillar, and the chains rubbed against his carbon-fiber skin, making a teeth-grinding screeching sound.
"Awake? Did you sleep well, peeping tom?"
Butcher stood up and cracked his neck, his joints popping.
Translucent saw Butcher's stubbly face clearly, then glanced at Lynn sitting on the sofa.
He froze for two seconds, then suddenly burst into wild laughter.
He laughed until tears almost came out.
"Hahahaha! You sewer rats, what's the use of tying me up?"
Translucent spat on the ground, his face full of unbridled arrogance.
"My skin is made of carbon metamaterial; it can even crack diamonds! You can't even hurt a single hair on me!"
He stiffened his neck and swept a contemptuous gaze over Hughie's pale face.
"When Homelander realizes I'm missing, you'll all be turned into shish kebabs!"
Hughie shrank back half a step under his gaze, hiding next to the table.
Butcher sneered and turned toward the workbench in the corner.
"Harder than diamonds? I'll be a jeweler today."
He grabbed a heavy-duty chainsaw covered in black grease and yanked the starter cord.
"Vroom—put-put-put!"
The ear-piercing sound of the motor exploded in the basement.
Blue exhaust fumes sprayed onto Hughie's face, choking him until he covered his nose and coughed uncontrollably.
Butcher gripped the chainsaw with both hands, aimed at Translucent's thigh, and pressed down hard.
"Screech—!"
Sparks instantly flew over a meter high, illuminating the dim room.
The chainsaw's high-speed rotating teeth ground crazily against the carbon-fiber skin, emitting a pungent, burnt metallic smell.
The high heat made the air distort.
Translucent didn't even frown, instead laughing even more wildly.
"Use some force! Didn't you eat, you old fart? Are you scratching an itch for me?"
"Snap!"
In less than ten seconds, the chainsaw chain couldn't withstand the terrifying heat and hardness, and it snapped directly.
Half of the broken chain flew past Butcher's cheek, smashing a hole in the concrete wall.
"Fuck!"
Butcher threw away the smoking chainsaw and wiped the grease off his face while cursing.
He pulled a modified large-caliber sniper rifle from a canvas bag and skillfully pulled the bolt.
A golden armor-piercing round was pushed into the chamber.
"Back up, Hughie, cover your ears."
Butcher pressed the barrel against Translucent's chest, his eyes fierce, and pulled the trigger directly.
"Bang!"
The deafening gunshot made the basement lightbulbs flicker twice, and dust fell from the ceiling.
The smoke cleared.
On Translucent's chest, not even a white spot was left.
That armor-piercing round, which could penetrate the steel plate of an armored vehicle, had been forcibly compressed into a flat copper disc.
It fell onto the concrete floor with a "clang," still steaming.
"Hahahaha!"
Translucent laughed until he was rocking back and forth, the chains rattling as he pulled on them.
"Is that all you've got? You bunch of losers! Come on! Keep going!"
He provocatively lifted his chin, his face showing the loneliness of the invincible.
"Even if you work yourselves to death, you won't break through my skin!"
Butcher was so angry he slammed the sniper rifle onto the floor, his chest heaving violently.
Lynn had been sitting on the sofa watching the show, fiddling with a metal lighter in his hand.
The grinding wheel sparked, illuminating his temperatureless eyes.
He closed the lighter with a crisp "click."
"That's enough, Butcher, put that pile of junk away; it's giving me a headache."
Lynn stepped forward, his leather shoes crunching over the shell casings on the floor, and walked up to Translucent.
Translucent looked at this man in a suit who had knocked him unconscious in the restroom, and his laughter stopped instinctively.
He swallowed hard, but relying on his invulnerability, he still stiffened his neck.
"What, PR dog? You want to drown me with spit?"
Lynn ignored his provocation.
He turned and walked over to Butcher's ammo box, bent down, and rummaged through the pile of messy weapons.
A few seconds later, he took out a gray-green block that looked like modeling clay.
High-explosive C4 plastic explosive.
Then, he fumbled around on the tool rack nearby.
He picked up a can of industrial lubricant usually used for lubricating firearm parts.
Lynn turned around and slowly tore open the moisture-proof packaging film of the C4 explosive.
In front of Translucent, he rolled the square plastic explosive into a long shape bit by bit.
Like kneading dough, he molded it into a thick cylinder.
His movements were so skilled it made one's scalp tingle.
Then, he unscrewed the plastic cap of the lubricant.
He evenly applied the Translucent, viscous liquid onto the surface of that C4 explosive.
The sticky, wet sound could be heard clearly in the quiet basement.
The air in the basement suddenly went deathly silent.
Only the buzzing of the exhaust fan and the faint sound of Lynn's fingers rubbing against the surface of the bomb remained.
The wild laughter on Translucent's face completely froze.
His gaze was glued to that lubricant-coated cylindrical object, his pupils uncontrollably and violently contracting.
Some unspeakable, terrifying guess crawled up his spine like a poisonous snake.
That arrogant and domineering energy instantly vanished.
His invincible dark gray thighs suddenly snapped together as if electrocuted.
His legs clamped together tightly, and his knees were trembling.
This caused the chains locking his ankles to rattle sharply.
"What... what do you want to do?!"
Translucent's voice changed pitch completely, filled with undisguisable terror and sharpness.
Sweat flowed down along the carbon-fiber texture of his forehead.
"This isn't funny! Really! If Vought Corporation finds out, they will absolutely never let you go!"
He desperately tried to shrink back behind the pillar, but the chains were tied too tightly, and he couldn't move even a fraction.
Hughie watched from the side, stunned, not even noticing the pizza crumbs falling from his mouth all over the floor.
Lynn walked up to Translucent, holding the prepared C4.
He leaned down slightly, his eyes looking as if he were examining a piece of scrap meant to be dismantled.
There wasn't even a hint of emotional fluctuation.
"Who's playing with you?"
Lynn curled his lips into a benign smile.
He reached out with his free left hand and patted Translucent's stiff, dark gray cheek, making a slapping sound similar to patting a steel plate.
"Since the outside is impenetrable."
Lynn extended the lubricant-covered C4 in his hand forward.
The light hit the surface of the bomb, reflecting an eerie sheen.
"Then we'll go through the back door."
Chapter 13: Translucent Becomes Fireworks, Homelander's Impotent Rage
"No! Don't touch me! Don't you fucking touch me—"
Translucent's voice cracked completely, letting out a shrill, off-key screech.
He twisted his hips and waist like a madman, trying to pull his buttocks back.
But the iron chains bound to his ankles were pulled taut, causing his grey-black carbon fiber skin to creak under the strain.
He had nowhere left to retreat, his back pressed hard against the cold concrete pillar.
Lynn's expression didn't show even a ripple of emotion.
With his left hand, he pinned down Translucent's flailing thigh, the terrifying power of his Primary Steel Bodyinstantly nailing him to the ground.
His right hand gripped the C4 explosive, coated in thick lubricant, and aimed it at that hidden opening.
"You… you can't do this! Vought will avenge me! Homelander will tear you to pieces!"
Translucent's face was a mess of tears and snot, his whole body trembling like a sieve.
"Please, buddy! Big brother! I'll give you whatever money you want…"
"Splutch."
A bone-chilling, wet sound.
Lynn thrust his wrist forward violently.
That plastic explosive, thick as most of an arm, slid right in, guided by the slick lubricant.
More than half of the explosive disappeared inside instantly.
Translucent's eyes bulged, bloodshot veins spider-webbing across them.
He opened his mouth wide, making a "hissing" sound in his throat, the pain so intense that even his scream was stuck in his windpipe.
The veins in his neck bulged one by one, as if they were about to burst.
"Perfect fit."
Lynn let go and stood up.
He pulled a detonating wire from his pocket and connected it to the exposed fuse of the explosive.
Hughie crouched in the corner, covering his eyes with both hands, acid churning in his stomach.
"God… this… this is too twisted." He peeked through his fingers, then shrank back, terrified.
Butcher, on the other hand, was watching with relish.
He grinned, took the cigar from his mouth, and blew a smoke ring at Translucent.
"Well, you're certainly 'full of it' now, big star."
Lynn grabbed a rag from the workbench nearby and leisurely wiped the lubricant off his fingers.
He gripped the remote detonator in his hand and tilted his head toward Butcher.
"Let's go, Butcher, bring the rookie."
Lynn walked toward the heavy explosion-proof steel door leading out of the basement.
"Stay here, and you'll get splattered with blood that won't wash off later."
Butcher grabbed the still-weak-kneed Hughie and strode after him.
The three of them stepped out of the room.
Lynn grabbed the half-ton explosion-proof door behind him.
In the final second before the gap closed.
Translucent finally caught his breath from the excruciating pain and let out a shrill, mournful wail.
"No—!"
"Click."
The hydraulic lock of the explosion-proof door slammed shut, completely cutting off the scream.
Only the dim wall lamps flickered in the hallway.
Lynn leaned against the steel door, his thumb finding the red detonation button on the remote.
"Cover your ears."
He gave a warning and pressed it without hesitation.
"Boom—"
A dull, massive explosion erupted behind the explosion-proof door.
The entire hallway floor shook violently, and dust rained down from the ceiling.
The explosion-proof door emitted a teeth-gritting sound of twisting metal, and a thick smell of gunpowder smoke instantly sprayed out from the gap in the door frame.
A few seconds later.
A trickle of dark red liquid slowly seeped out along the gap at the bottom of the steel door, flowing onto the floor tiles.
The air was filled with a pungent smell of roasted meat, mixed with the distinct chemical stench of burning C4.
Hughie covered his ears, staring at the pool of blood with a deathly pale face.
"Is… is he dead?"
"You can go in and check his pulse."
Butcher chuckled, stepped forward, and turned the mechanical dial of the explosion-proof door.
"Provided you can still find where his wrist is."
The steel door was pulled open with effort.
Thick smoke mixed with the smell of blood rushed out.
The area around the load-bearing pillar in the center of the basement had become a small slaughterhouse.
Large patches of dark red minced meat and organ fragments were splattered radially onto the surrounding concrete walls and ceiling.
Blood dripped down along the base of the wall.
And where the chains were tied.
Only a grey-black, tattered skin remained.
The external carbon-super material skin was indeed indestructible; even the high temperature and shockwave of the bomb hadn't torn it.
But the explosion had occurred from the inside.
The immense pressure had squeezed Translucent's bones, muscles, and organs out through his seven orifices and that stretched-open "back door."
Like squeezing a tube of ketchup.
Now, that tough skin hung limply on the chains.
It was empty inside, with only a few strands of sticky flesh clinging to the carbon fiber texture.
[Ding.]
[Detected: Hunting target 'Translucent' is dead.]
[Congratulations to the host for obtaining massive experience points.]
[Extracted target's core ability: Optical Invisibility (Advanced Version / Ignores Infrared Detection).]
Lynn stood at the doorway, feeling a subtle tingling sensation across his skin.
It felt like countless tiny static charges were coursing through his pores.
He looked down at his palm; with just a thought, his fingertips instantly blended into the surrounding air, without even a hint of refractive halo.
This ability was truly a god-tier skill for infiltration and assassination.
"Nice work, boss."
Butcher walked over and kicked the empty skin on the ground with his boot.
"This thing is just a bloody sleeping bag now. How should we handle it next?"
Lynn deactivated his invisibility ability, and his fingertips returned to their flesh color.
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to cover his nose, blocking out the pungent smell of blood.
"Find a shipping box."
Lynn's eyes were as cold as a frozen lake.
"Pack it in a sealed bag and fill it with ice. Address it to 73rd Avenue, Manhattan, Vought International Tower."
He sneered.
"Recipient: Madelyn Stillwell."
Three hours later.
Vought International Tower, top-floor CEO office.
The air conditioning in the room was blasting, but Madelyn's forehead was covered in fine beads of sweat.
She was wearing a silk professional suit, pacing irritably behind the mahogany desk.
Her high heels stomped on the carpet, rhythmically chaotic.
"A-Train's PR release just went out, and The Deep has gone off to 'find himself' in the ocean again!"
Madelyn grabbed her hair tightly, her voice sharp enough to shatter glass.
"Within one day! The Seven are down by two! How am I supposed to explain this to that board of directors who value money more than their own lives!"
Homelander stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, arms crossed over his chest.
His Stars and Stripes cape dragged on the floor.
His jaw was tight, the corners of his mouth turned down, like a petulant child whose toy had been snatched away.
"Madelyn, calm down."
He turned around, suppressed rage visible in his blue eyes.
"It's better that idiot The Deep is gone anyway; he was just dead weight."
Just then, the office door was knocked.
Ashley walked in, clutching a square cardboard box, trembling.
"Ms. Stillwell…"
Ashley stammered, her eyes darting to Homelander, then quickly looking down in fear.
"Security sent over a package. They said… they said it was sent to you anonymously, and explicitly requested that you open it yourself."
She placed the box on the mahogany desk worth over a hundred thousand, her hands shaking as if she had Parkinson's.
Madelyn frowned.
"Is security useless? They dare send an anonymous package to me? Didn't it go through the X-ray machine?"
"It did…" Ashley swallowed hard.
"The scan showed no explosives, just a pile of ice and a clump of something like… polymer material."
Madelyn stepped forward and grabbed the sterling silver letter opener from the desk.
"Slish."
The sharp blade sliced through the yellow tape on the box.
She lifted the lid of the box.
A thick, icy smell of blood instantly rushed out.
Mixed with the stench of dead rats that had been fermenting for days.
Madelyn took only one look inside.
The letter opener in her hand clattered to the floor.
She covered her mouth abruptly, her stomach churning violently, and she stumbled back two steps, nearly breaking her high heel.
"Ugh—"
She leaned against the back of the chair, retching until tears came to her eyes.
Homelander sensed something was wrong and strode over.
He ripped open the plastic sealed bag inside the box.
Resting quietly in a pile of ice that hadn't completely melted was a grey-black skin.
The surface of the skin was covered in geometric carbon fiber textures.
The parts that had curled inside were still coated with dark red minced meat and fat particles.
Homelander's breathing stopped instantly.
His pupils contracted violently, his gaze locked onto that skin.
He recognized the material.
This was Translucent's skin.
That Translucent who claimed his skin was harder than diamond, impenetrable even by anti-materiel sniper rifles.
Now, he had been gutted alive like a rabbit, his insides scooped out, and shipped in a box to the top floor of Vought.
"Who did this…"
Homelander's voice was trembling.
Not from fear.
It was the rage of a god on high, suddenly discovering that an ant beneath his feet had bitten through his skin.
He jerked his head up, his once azure eyes instantly filled with scarlet light.
Scorching Heat Vision, like two red-hot lightsabers, shot out from his eyes without warning.
"Zzzzt—"
The red beams swept across the entire office.
The priceless mahogany desk was instantly sliced in half and burst into a raging fire.
The floor-to-ceiling glass behind it shattered with a crash, and the wind, mixed with the car exhaust of Manhattan, poured in.
"Ah—"
Ashley crouched on the floor, clutching her head in terror, her scream nearly tearing her throat.
Madelyn collapsed into the leather swivel chair, her face deathly pale, watching half the office turn into a sea of fire, forgetting even how to breathe.
Homelander, like a beast out of control, had his chest heaving violently.
He turned his head, his gaze locking onto the silent black figure in the corner of the office.
Black Noir had appeared there at some point.
He wore that pitch-black ninja armor, like a soulless ghost, silently watching the frenzied Homelander.
"Bang!"
Homelander took a step, his figure turning into a red and blue blur.
His right hand, like an iron vice, grabbed Black Noir's throat, pinning him hard against the load-bearing wall that hadn't collapsed.
The marble on the wall instantly cracked with a dense web of fissures.
The red light in Homelander's eyes grew brighter and brighter, nearly scorching the fibers of the mask on Black Noir's face.
He gritted his teeth, spit spraying onto Black Noir's mask.
"Find him…"
Homelander's voice was as low as a demon crawling out of hell.
His hand gripping Black Noir's throat tightened, his knuckles cracking.
"Find this rat for me!!!"
Chapter 14: Extracting Invisibility Powers, Infiltrating Vought International Tower's Core Archive
Homelander's fingers were like five hydraulic steel bars, clamped tightly around Black Noir's neck.
The cervical vertebrae beneath the mask emitted a teeth-grinding sound of friction.
His chest heaved violently, the red light in his eyes flickering as he stared intently at Black Noir's goggles.
"Find it."
Homelander squeezed these words through his teeth and let go.
Black Noir slid down the wall onto the carpet, neither coughing nor clutching his neck.
He straightened up and gave Homelander a single nod.
Then, the man in black armor took a half-step back, his entire figure dissolving like a drop of ink in water, silently melting into the shadows of the corridor.
...
An abandoned basement in Brooklyn.
Butcher held up a palm-sized infrared thermal imager, squinting one eye.
He scanned the empty room back and forth, but the screen was filled with static, unable to find even a trace of a person.
"What the hell..."
Butcher clamped his cigar with his chin and reached out to grope in the air.
His fingers suddenly brushed against a solid pectoral muscle, startling him so much that his wrist jerked, and ash fell all over his boots.
"Your spit is about to land on my face, Butcher."
Lynn's voice suddenly rang out in the air.
Immediately after, his face, bearing a touch of laziness, materialized out of thin air.
From head to toe, his clothes and even his leather shoes slowly shifted from transparent back to solid form.
The advanced version of the ability given by the system was truly useful; it could even cover inanimate objects within one centimeter of the body surface in invisibility.
There was no need to run around naked like Translucent.
Hughie huddled on a folding chair, clutching half a bottle of beer, his jaw nearly dropping to his knees.
"Boss... are, are you a ghost now?"
Lynn grabbed a tissue from the table and wiped a speck of dust off the back of his hand.
"Translucent's skin could only refract visible light; an infrared scan would reveal his true form immediately."
He tossed the tissue ball precisely into the trash can in the corner.
"The version I have now can even lock down thermal radiation."
Butcher tossed the thermal imager onto the table with a clatter.
"With this trick, how about we go straight to the top floor and shove some C4 up Homelander's ass?"
He grinned, laughing like a malicious old thug.
Lynn shook his head and walked over to the whiteboard hanging on the wall, which displayed the structural map of the Vought International Tower.
"Killing a giant baby like Homelander would be letting him off too easily."
Lynn picked up a red marker and drew a heavy circle around the location of the fifth underground level.
The tip of the pen squeaked against the whiteboard.
"Killing a few guard dogs won't damage Vought's foundation. We need to dig out the leash that holds the dogs."
He turned his head and looked at Butcher.
"Compound V. As long as we get the original inventory data from the last ten years, the entire superhero empire will rot from the inside."
Hughie swallowed hard, the beer bottle in his hand creaking as he squeezed it.
"The fifth underground level? That place... not even a fly can get in there."
Lynn tossed the marker to Hughie.
"A fly can't get in, but air can."
Late at night, 7th Avenue in Manhattan.
Vought International Tower had been surrounded by heavily armed security, turning it into an impenetrable fortress.
Bright yellow caution tape was strung up at the entrance of the lobby, and bomb-sniffing dogs paced irritably on the steps.
Lynn walked swaggeringly through the main entrance.
He didn't dodge the infrared sensors, nor did he avoid the security guards' line of sight.
In his invisible state, he was like a puff of void air.
A security guard wearing a tactical vest held his rifle and yawned.
Lynn reached out and flicked his helmet.
"Pop."
The guard jumped in fright, raised his rifle to scan the surroundings, and finally could only rub his helmet while cursing under his breath.
Lynn curled his lip, finding it boring, and headed straight for the executive elevator.
The number above the elevator door was rapidly counting down from "73".
With a "ding," the stainless steel door slid open slowly.
A wave of heat that could almost roast a person rushed out.
Homelander walked out of the elevator with a dark face, his Stars and Stripes cape whipping behind him in an angry arc.
His suit still carried the scent of scorched ash from the desk on the top floor.
All the security guards in the lobby instantly straightened their backs, not daring to breathe loudly.
Lynn stood at the elevator entrance, not moving an inch.
He just watched quietly as this man, hailed as a god, walked over.
The distance between the two instantly shrank to less than half a meter.
Homelander suddenly stopped, his brow furrowing sharply.
He sniffed, his eyes scanning the empty lobby like a radar.
That sixth sense of being watched by something made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
Lynn could even see the few strands of golden stubble on Homelander's chin.
He deliberately leaned half a step forward.
The airflow from his breath was almost about to hit Homelander's nose.
A flash of panic crossed Homelander's eyes, and he subconsciously clenched his fists.
"Who's there?" He lowered his voice and growled at the air.
[Detected target 'Homelander' experiencing unknown panic, Emotion Points +1200.]
The notification sound in his mind was simply the most pleasant accompaniment in the world.
Lynn smiled silently.
He turned sideways, his shoulder brushing against the edge of Homelander's cape as he walked past.
The thrill of playing the strongest combatant for a blind fool made his blood flow a little faster.
Taking advantage of the fact that the elevator door hadn't closed yet, Lynn slipped inside and pressed the button for the fifth underground level.
The elevator plunged into freefall.
Underground level 5, Core Archive.
The air here was as cold as a morgue.
Lynn followed behind a plump cleaning lady pushing a cart, successfully slipping through the final iris scanner access point.
After the lady finished mopping and pushed her cart out, the heavy metal door locked again.
In the archive, only the monotonous sound of the exhaust fan remained.
Rows of black server racks stood like tombstones.
Various indicator lights flickered eerily, casting bizarre and grotesque shadows on the floor.
Lynn deactivated his invisibility and walked to the main console at the deepest part of the room.
He fished the custom decryption USB drive given by Frenchie out of his pocket.
He rubbed his fingers over the cold metal casing and plugged it directly into the host interface.
The screen instantly lit up with blue light.
Lines of green code scrolled frantically like a waterfall.
Lynn pulled over a swivel chair and sat down, his eyes fixed on the progress bar in the bottom right corner.
"Beep—Beep—"
The host emitted a faint sound of data reading.
10%... 35%... 60%.
Frenchie's gadget was actually quite useful.
Lynn leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest.
The air suddenly took on a strange scent.
It wasn't the smell of silicone and heating wires typical of a server room.
It was a metallic, fishy smell, like rusty wires rubbing against each other.
The progress bar jumped to 90%.
Lynn's ears twitched.
The Kryptonian's super hearing keenly captured the anomaly above his head.
Right above the console, in that half-meter-square central air conditioning vent.
"Click."
A tiny sound of metal friction.
Just like a fingernail lightly scraping across an aluminum alloy panel.
Lynn didn't look up, his gaze still fixed on the screen.
95%... 98%.
Almost there.
The louvers of the vent silently cracked open a slit.
A pair of hands wearing black tactical gloves clung to the edge of the ventilation duct like a gecko.
Black Noir.
He was like a shadow squeezed out of the darkness.
No sound of breathing, no accelerated heartbeat; even the friction of his armor plates was controlled to zero.
The progress bar on the screen finally jumped to 99%.
In that very instant.
Black Noir let go.
He fell headfirst, like a black meteorite, dropping silently from the ceiling.
In mid-air, a poison-coated dagger from his waist slid into his palm.
The sharp blade, aided by the momentum of the fall, struck precisely toward Lynn's crown.
The tip of the blade was less than ten centimeters from Lynn's scalp.
The cold wind had already stirred Lynn's hair.
Lynn yanked out the USB drive.
With a crisp "ding," the data copy was complete.
He didn't even turn his body, just tilted his head slightly.
"Your blade is too slow."
Lynn said lightly to the air.
Chapter 15: Frenchie Submits, The Boss's Methods Are Like Gods and Demons
"Your blade is too slow."
This light, mocking remark was still swirling near the ventilation duct.
Black Noir's dagger had already torn through the cold air of the server room.
The blade, bearing a faint, dark matte sheen, grazed Lynn's scalp as it slashed past.
This mute assassin could not see the target in an invisible state at all.
But his well-honed muscle memory captured the slight resistance in the airflow.
Black Noir was in mid-air, his wrist flipping in an uncanny motion.
The blade instantly changed trajectory, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue, aiming directly for Lynn's throat.
A trace of faint blue electric light flashed in Lynn's eyes. Ability activated.
The rotation of the exhaust fan blades turned into slow-motion playback at this moment.
Black Noir's sharp, lethal swing was three beats slower than an old man doing Tai Chi in the park in Lynn's eyes.
Lynn stepped back half a step, dodging the blade.
With two fingers of his right hand, he steadily gripped the USB drive on the host interface and gently pulled it out.
"Ding."
The sound of the metal interface separating was drawn out long in the silent server room.
Lynn didn't want to fight to the death with Black Noir here.
This server rack held a decade's worth of Vought Corporation's dirty laundry; if he accidentally smashed a few servers, the data would be completely destroyed.
He tapped his toes on the ground, his figure like a wisp of weightless smoke, instantly sliding several meters away.
"Clack!"
Black Noir landed on both feet, his dagger stabbing fiercely into the engineering plastic panel of the console.
Sparks flew everywhere.
He arched his back vigilantly, like a black panther with its fur standing on end, staring intently at the empty corridor.
There was nothing there.
Even the sounds of heartbeat and breathing had been completely erased.
Only that mocking, cold laugh floated into Black Noir's ears along with the cold wind from the central air conditioning.
...
Brooklyn, basement safe house.
The filament of the incandescent bulb on the ceiling was about to burn out, emitting a crackling electrical sound.
Lynn appeared out of thin air on that worn leather sofa.
His invisibility ability deactivated, and the outline of his cheap suit gradually appeared.
He tossed the black metal USB drive onto the wooden table, making a dull thud.
"Got the goods."
Butcher was using a screwdriver to scrape the blood and mud from under his fingernails.
Hearing the commotion, he sprang up, grabbed the USB drive, and plugged it into the broken computer with the yellowed casing nearby.
He typed furiously on the keyboard, making a clattering sound.
A string of garbled code popped up on the screen.
Immediately following was a huge red warning box, flashing frantically.
"Damn it..."
Butcher cursed through gritted teeth, his rough fingertips slamming hard onto the Enter key.
"Those bastards at Vought Corporation use a military-grade composite encryption algorithm; input the wrong password three times, and the data automatically self-destructs."
Hughie came over, holding a cup of cold instant coffee.
He glanced at the screen full of red text and swallowed hard.
"Then... should we find a hacker at an internet cafe? I used to know a few guys who fix computers; they're pretty good."
"Shut up, rookie."
Butcher rolled his eyes at him and spat the chewed-up cigar into the trash can.
"This firewall would roast your computer-fixing buddies into charcoal on the spot."
Butcher pulled that ragged flip phone out of his pocket, his thumb skillfully pressing a few numbers.
"To deal with a twisted system like this, you need a real lunatic."
Half an hour later.
The heavy iron door of the basement was kicked open.
A strong smell of marijuana mixed with the scent of cheap cologne instantly filled the narrow space.
Frenchie walked in, wearing a leather jacket covered in oil stains and sporting a head of messy curls.
He had goggles hanging around his neck and was holding half a bottle of leftover vodka in his hand.
"Merde (French profanity)! Butcher, have you lost your mind?"
Frenchie burped, gesturing exaggeratedly in mid-air with both hands.
"Two in the morning! I was cuddling with two hot Russian girls discussing body art, and you called me into this moldy rat hole!"
Butcher ignored his complaints and pointed to the computer screen on the table.
"Less talk, Frenchie. Crack this encryption shell for me."
Frenchie rolled his eyes and shuffled over.
He only glanced at the red code jumping on the screen, and his eyelids twitched violently.
His drunkenness instantly faded by more than half.
"Are you crazy?"
Frenchie slammed the vodka bottle heavily onto the wooden table, making Hughie shrink back.
"This is the core key for Vought Corporation's internal network! Touching this thing is like sticking your head into a meat grinder!"
Frenchie shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to walk out the door.
"I can't do it."
He shook his head, his tone carrying the slickness of someone who had spent years struggling in the underground world.
"Although I'm a piece of trash, I haven't lived enough yet. If you want to die, go do it yourselves; don't drag me down with you."
He passed by the worn sofa and glanced sideways at Lynn, who had been sitting there without saying a word.
Lynn was looking down, toying with a lighter; the flame reflected on his face, making his expression unreadable.
"Who is this Asian kid? Your new errand boy?"
Frenchie scoffed.
"He looks so delicate; once Vought's people interrogate him, he'll spill the color of your underwear."
Butcher didn't say anything.
He just looked at Frenchie with the eyes of someone looking at a dead man.
Hughie was so scared that the hand holding his coffee was shaking, and he desperately tried to signal Frenchie to say less.
Frenchie felt the atmosphere was inexplicable.
He had just walked to the iron door, his hand not yet touching the rusty doorknob.
"Plop."
A gray-black mass, emitting a strong smell of blood, was thrown at Frenchie's feet.
Frenchie stopped and looked down.
It was Translucent's skin.
Although the internal organs had been blown out, its signature carbon fiber texture was a material famous in the black market.
"This... this is..."
Frenchie's Adam's apple bobbed violently, and he crouched down to touch the hard skin.
He was a weapons expert and was too familiar with special materials.
This was absolutely the original piece skinned directly from Translucent.
Immediately after, a small black memory card hit him on the forehead and fell into the pocket of his leather jacket.
"The Deep's confession video, full HD, uncensored."
Lynn finally spoke, his voice as cold as if it had been soaked in ice water.
"In your circle, isn't this kind of drama, where superheroes fall from their pedestals, the most popular?"
Frenchie's brain was buzzing.
The Seven had lost two members in a row; the news outside had already gone crazy, and the bounty on the black market had reached an astronomical price.
He never expected that the badass who did this was right here in this dilapidated basement.
He swallowed hard, his palms full of cold sweat.
He was just about to turn around and put on a smiling face to say something to smooth things over.
The sofa in front of him was suddenly empty.
No afterimage, no sound of wind.
The young man in the cheap suit had just vanished into thin air.
Frenchie's scalp tingled intensely.
All the hair on his body stood on end.
Years of living on the edge instinctively made him want to draw the handgun at his waist.
But he didn't even have time to complete half the motion of drawing his gun.
Two cold, slender fingers were already resting lightly but firmly on his carotid artery.
The temperature of the fingertips seeped through his skin, making Frenchie shiver.
Lynn's voice sounded like a ghost, right against Frenchie's earlobe.
No anger, only an absolute sense of oppression that controlled life and death.
"I don't keep dead people; which one do you choose?"
Frenchie's legs went weak.
His knees uncontrollably hit the concrete floor hard, kicking up a small cloud of dust.
"Boss!"