Chapter 6: The Price of Madness
9:45 AM, Vought Tower.
Lu Ren stood in the backstage dressing room, looking at himself in the mirror. The makeup artist was a middle-aged woman with a Russian accent, using foundation to cover a cut on his chin that he'd inexplicably scraped last night—he wasn't easily injured anymore, but razors seemed to be the only kryptonite for a Kryptonian.
"Don't move," the makeup artist said, pressing down on his shoulder. "Your skin is like stone; I have to scrub hard with the brush."
"Scrub away," Lu Ren said, closing his eyes.
He hadn't slept all night. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but he hadn't found that "abandoned shelter." He had spent two hours wandering through the underground tunnels of Manhattan, discovering rats, homeless people, a passageway leading to an abandoned subway station, and a room filled with old files—but nothing that matched what the mysterious woman had described.
Maybe she was lying to him. Maybe she never intended for him to find it.
The makeup artist stepped back and examined her work. "There. You look like a hero now."
Lu Ren opened his eyes.
The man in the mirror had sharp features, a strong jawline, and his hair was styled into just the right amount of messiness. The stylists at Vought International had prepared a dark blue suit for him—no, not a suit, an "heroic image set." A dark blue tight-fitting top, Silver Lightningpatterns extending from the shoulders down to the waist, black tactical pants, and a pair of shoes that looked like combat boots but were actually soft-soled leather shoes.
"Isn't the chest too empty?" the stylist muttered nearby. "Should we add a logo? Lightning? A thundercloud?"
"No need," Lu Ren said, standing up. "My face is the logo."
The stylist paused, then laughed. "I've recorded that; I'll use it as a slogan later."
The TV screen backstage was broadcasting the situation in the plaza. There were even more people than yesterday, at least ten thousand, packed densely in the plaza in front of Vought Tower. The giant screens were playing a slow-motion replay of Lu Ren turning into lightning and shooting into the sky yesterday, accompanied by stirring symphonic music. The subtitles read: "Silver Lightning—The Hero of the New Era."
"Silver Lightning." Lu Ren said the name, feeling it was a bit cheesy, but much better than "Lightning Boy."
Ashley pushed the door open, holding a tablet, her high heels clicking sharply.
"Are you ready? Homelander is already in position. He's in a good mood today—or at least, he looks like it."
"When does he ever look like he's not?" Lu Ren asked.
Ashley didn't answer the question, instead quickly flipping through the pages on her tablet. "Did you memorize your speech? Remember, the focus is on three points: First, apologize for your impulsive behavior; Second, you've dreamed of being a hero since you were a child; Third, you are honored to join the Vought International family."
"I memorized it."
"Did you really?"
"I memorized it in the bathroom for twenty minutes."
Ashley stared at him for two seconds, seemingly judging if he was joking, then nodded. "Fine, let's go. Starlight will be on stage too, and she has agreed to accept your apology. Remember, don't touch her, don't get too close, don't—I mean, absolutely do not—have any physical contact."
"Understood."
Lu Ren followed Ashley down the long corridor, flanked by posters of heroes from different eras, from Soldier Boy to The Seven, each smiling face shining under the lights. At the end of the corridor was a heavy metal door; beyond it lay the stage.
The moment the door opened, the roar of the crowd surged in like a tide.
"Silver Lightning! Silver Lightning! Silver Lightning!"
People in the crowd were shouting his name. In less than twenty-four hours, Vought International's propaganda machine had rebranded a jerk who forcibly kissed a heroine into a "new-generation hero with a bit of a rebellious spirit." The PR team's copy was well-written— "He doesn't follow the rules, because sometimes the rules are wrong."
Lu Ren took a deep breath and walked onto the stage.
The spotlight hit him, blindingly bright, making him squint. Below was a blurred sea of people, with light boards, cell phones, banners—everything. Among those points of light, he saw the names of Starlight and Homelander, and a few fans holding signs that read "Forgive him, Starlight."
In the center of the stage, The Seven had already taken their positions.
Homelander stood in the center, smiling as brightly as if he had just finished filming a toothpaste commercial. Queen Maeve stood to his right, expressionless, her gaze fixed in the distance. The Deep stood next to Maeve, winking and making faces at someone in the crowd. A-Train was on the far edge, hands in his pockets, looking like he didn't care. Translucent's spot was empty—no, invisible; he was right there, just unseen. Black Noir stood to Homelander's left like a silent statue, his pitch-black mask reflecting the stage lights.
Starlight stood in the second row, not in a primary position, but not in the corner either.
She was wearing that iconic white skirt suit today, her blonde hair draped over her shoulders, her facial expression perfectly managed—neither enthusiastic nor cold, just the right professional smile.
Lu Ren walked to the front of the stage, where a spot had been left just for him, between Homelander and Starlight.
Homelander proactively reached out his hand.
The applause from the crowd suddenly intensified.
Lu Ren shook Homelander's hand. The palm was dry, warm, and the grip was just right—not the kind of grip meant to crush bones, but a standard, rehearsed "hero handshake."
"Welcome aboard," Homelander said with a smile, his voice carrying across the entire plaza via the microphone.
"Thank you," Lu Ren said.
Camera flashes popped incessantly.
Starlight walked over and stood in front of Lu Ren.
The crowd went quiet.
All the cameras were trained on them.
Starlight looked at Lu Ren; there was no coldness from yesterday in her eyes, nor any extra warmth. Like a professional actor, she perfectly played the role of the "forgiving senior."
"I don't blame you," she said, her voice clear and calm. "Everyone makes mistakes. What's important is that you can grow from your mistakes."
Lu Ren replied according to the script: "Thank you, Starlight. Your forgiveness makes me admire you even more."
There was a round of applause and cheering from the crowd.
Someone shouted: "Kiss!"
No one paid them any mind.
During the photo op, Lu Ren stood between Homelanderand Starlight, smiling at the cameras. Homelander's hand rested on his shoulder, and the pressure suddenly increased slightly—not a normal amount of weight, but the kind of oppressive feeling that only a Supe could perceive. It was as if he were saying: You are here because I allow it.
Lu Ren didn't react; his smile didn't waver.
The shutter clicked about three hundred times.
The photo op ended, and The Seven exited the stage. Lu Ren followed the flow of people toward the backstage area. As he passed the side of the stage, a hand suddenly grabbed his sleeve.
Starlight.
"Come with me," she whispered, her expression serious.
Lu Ren followed her into a side corridor, avoiding the crowds and cameras. At the end of the corridor was a fire door. Starlight pushed it open, revealing a small terrace that overlooked the downtown Manhattan skyline.
The door closed, shutting out the noise.
Starlight turned around, arms crossed over her chest.
"You did well today," she said.
"You too," Lu Ren said, leaning against the railing. "You memorized your lines well."
"I didn't memorize them," Starlight said. "Every word I said was sincere. I don't blame you, but that doesn't mean I've forgotten. I just didn't want to make you look bad at the press conference."
"I know."
"Do you really?" Starlight stepped closer, lowering her voice. "The things you said to me yesterday—about my mother, about the contract, about how I hate this uniform—those words kept me up all night. I want to know, what else do you actually know?"
Chapter 7 Victoria Neuman
Lu Ren looked at her.
The breeze on the terrace blew through her blonde hair, and the sunlight hitting her profile made her look not like a superhero, but like an ordinary girl in her early twenties, pushed into a corner by life.
"I also know," Lu Ren said, "that every night when you return to your apartment at Vought Tower, the first thing you do is take off that uniform and change into that old hoodie you brought from home.
It's a blue hoodie with a cigarette burn hole on the left cuff, made by you when you were fifteen."
Starlight's lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.
"I also know that your favorite food isn't the quinoa salad the Vought International nutritionist prepares for you, but the pepperoni pizza from the pizza shop downstairs.
You secretly order it every three days, and every time, you wait until the delivery guy is far away before you dare to open the door to get it."
Starlight's hands dropped to her sides.
"I also know," Lu Ren's voice lowered, "that when you were a child—before the compound v injection—you had an asthma inhaler.
It was pink, with My Little Pony stickers on it.
You've kept it all this time, tucked away in your nightstand drawer, right next to your mother's old photo."
Starlight's eyes turned red.
"How do you..." Her voice trembled slightly. "Who exactly are you? Did Vought International send you to monitor me? Or are you..."
"Neither," Lu Ren said. "I'm just someone who knows a lot of things.
Some things I know why I know, and some things I don't know why I know.
But these things I know, so far, I have only told you."
Starlight was silent for a long time.
In the distance, the low, long sound of a ship's horn came from the Manhattan river.
"If everything you said is true," Starlight finally spoke, "then you shouldn't have told me.
You should have kept these as leverage to threaten me later."
"I'm not here to threaten you."
"Then what are you?"
Lu Ren thought for a moment: "Someone... who doesn't want you to carry it all alone."
Starlight looked at him, the redness in her eyes fading, replaced by a complex, indescribable expression.
"You're very strange," she said.
"I know."
"I don't trust you."
"You don't need to trust me."
"Then what do you want?"
Lu Ren looked seriously into her eyes: "I want you to remember—when you feel like you can't go on anymore, there's someone you can reach out to.
That person doesn't necessarily have to be me, but at least now you know you don't have to be alone."
Starlight took a deep breath, turned around, and faced the Manhattan skyline.
"After the press conference, I'm going back to Wisconsin for two days," she said, her voice returning to calm.
"My mom hasn't been well lately.
Vought International wasn't too happy about it, but Homelander approved my leave—he said I needed to 'adjust my mindset'."
"Are those his exact words?"
"Pretty much," Starlight gave a wry smile. "The exact words were: 'You look like you're about to cry. Go back and adjust yourself; don't affect the team's image.'"
"He's so thoughtful."
"Thoughtful like a scalpel."
The two stood side by side on the terrace, neither of them speaking again.
The wind blew over, carrying the city's unique scent—exhaust fumes, onions from hot dog stands, and the smell of grass drifting from Central Park.
"I have to go back," Starlight broke the silence first. "There's a media scrum later."
"Okay."
Starlight turned and walked two steps, then stopped.
"Lu Ren."
"Hm?"
"That pizza shop you mentioned," she paused, "their cheese pizza is better than the pepperoni one.
You can try it next time."
She pushed open the door and left.
Lu Ren stood on the terrace; he felt pretty good.
---
The media scrum was held in the hall on the third floor of Vought Tower.
The audience was packed with reporters, their cameras aimed at the members of The Seven on stage.
Homelander sat in the middle, with Maeve on his left and Lu Ren on his right—this seating arrangement was the result of Ashley coordinating it three hours in advance; it was rumored that it involved two rounds of arguing and one slammed door.
"Mr. Lu Ren!" A female reporter wearing glasses stood up. "Your behavior of forcibly kissing Starlight yesterday caused a lot of controversy.
You apologized on stage today, but many people think it was just a PR stunt.
How do you respond to this?"
Lu Ren leaned into the microphone: "First of all, my behavior yesterday was indeed wrong, and I apologize to Starlight again.
Secondly, what I want to say is—I am not a perfect person.
I am not a model hero raised from childhood.
I have flaws, and I make mistakes.
But when I realize I am wrong, I will correct it."
Homelander, sitting next to him, tilted his head slightly to look at him, his expression unchanged.
"Do you mean," another reporter followed up, "that you are different from the other members of The Seven? That you are more... real?"
"I didn't say that," Lu Ren smiled. "I just said, I am not perfect."
Maeve stared straight ahead with an expressionless face, but Lu Ren noticed her fingers tapping lightly on the armrest—perhaps it was some kind of signal, or perhaps she was just bored.
The Deep sat on the far edge, looking at his phone the whole time, seemingly uninterested in the scrum.
A-Train was playing with his shoelaces.
There was a cushion on Translucent's chair—probably to prevent anyone from sitting on him.
"Mr. Lu Ren," a male reporter in a blue suit stood up. "There are rumors that before joining Vought International, you tried to contact some anti-Supes grassroots organizations.
Is this true?"
The atmosphere in the room changed subtly.
Lu Ren recognized this reporter—he was from the New York Gazette, a media outlet known for digging up dirt on Vought International; it was hard to say if Butcher was behind it.
"I don't know where you heard that rumor," Lu Ren's voice was calm. "I did contact some people, but that was because I wanted to understand how ordinary people view Supes.
As it turns out, most people just want a safe living environment.
I hope to contribute to that goal."
Homelander suddenly interjected: "Lu Ren is a young man with many ideas." He said with a smile, patting Lu Ren on the shoulder. "Vought International welcomes all constructive ideas.
That is also why we signed him—we need fresh blood."
The reporters took notes.
Lu Ren noticed a woman he hadn't seen before sitting in the corner.
She was around forty, with dark hair, wearing a conservative gray suit, with a briefcase on her lap.
She didn't ask questions, nor did she take notes, just sitting there quietly, her gaze occasionally sweeping over everyone on stage.
Victoria Neuman.
She was here.
Lu Ren didn't stare at her, just memorized her location.
After the scrum ended, the reporters dispersed.
Just as Lu Ren was preparing to leave, the woman in the gray suit stood up and walked toward him.
"Mr. Lu Ren." She extended her hand. "Victoria Neuman.
Congressional Office of Supe Affairs.
I'd like to speak with you privately."
Her hand was dry and firm, and the rhythm of the handshake was just right—a two-second hold, not too short, not too long.
"Of course," Lu Ren said.
Neuman took him to a quiet small conference room, closed the door, and gestured for him to sit down.
"I won't beat around the bush," Neuman opened her briefcase and took out a document. "Vought Internationalwants you in The Seven, and I think that's a good idea.
But there are some dissenting voices within Congress—they are worried you will become the second Homelander."
"The second Homelander?"
"An uncontrolled, overly powerful Supe." Neuman's expression was very serious. "You know, although Homelander is an excellent hero, he is sometimes... not easy to manage.
Congress hopes your addition can create a form of checks and balances."
Lu Ren almost laughed out loud.
Checks and balances on Homelander?
Did those people in Congress really think he would obediently listen?
"What do I need to do?" he asked.
"Nothing at all," Neuman pushed the document over. "Just keep things the way they are—humble, controllable, and willing to cooperate with government and corporate management.
Your very existence is a constraint on Homelander."
Lu Ren looked down at the document.
It was an informal "cooperation agreement," the gist of which was that Lu Ren was willing to cooperate with the work of the Congressional Office of Supe Affairs, providing necessary information and assistance.
Don't sign.
"I need time to consider," Lu Ren pushed the document back.
Chapter 8: The Deep
Victoria Neuman's smile didn't change at all: "Of course. This is a major decision; take your time to consider it."
She stood up, packed her briefcase, and walked toward the door.
When she reached the door, she stopped and turned her head slightly.
"Oh, right, Mr. Lu Ren. A small piece of advice—be careful with Butcher. There isn't a word of truth in his mouth."
The door closed.
Lu Ren sat in the empty conference room, staring at the closed door.
Victoria Neuman knew he had met Butcher.
What did this mean? It meant that she was also monitoring Butcher, or her people had seen Lu Ren entering and leaving the fried chicken shop, or perhaps—there was a mole of hers in Butcher's team as well.
"Interesting."
He stood up and left the conference room.
4:00 PM, the gym at Vought Tower.
Lu Ren had changed into workout gear and was testing his strength. The training equipment at Vought Internationalwas designed for Supes and could withstand several tons of pressure.
He easily lifted a three-ton barbell and felt he could add more—but he restrained himself, not wanting to appear too exaggerated.
"Not bad."
A voice came from behind him.
Lu Ren turned around and saw Black Noir standing at the door.
He was dressed in his usual attire: black bodysuit, black mask, with a katana strapped to his back. The eye area of the mask consisted of two dark lenses, making it impossible to see the eyes inside.
"Something up?" Lu Ren put down the barbell.
Black Noir didn't speak.
He walked into the gym, took a sandbag off the rack, hung it on a hook, and then signaled for Lu Ren to throw a punch.
Lu Ren hesitated for a moment but followed suit.
One punch.
The sandbag was punched through, leaving a hole, and the sand inside spilled all over the floor.
Black Noir tilted his head, seemingly deep in thought. Then he walked up to Lu Ren, pulled something out of the pocket at his waist, and handed it to Lu Ren.
A button-sized badge with a black "X" engraved on it.
Lu Ren recognized the symbol—the "X" badge that Black Noir wore in The Boys comics? No, that was from another universe. In The Boys TV series, Black Noir didn't have this badge.
But here, he gave one to Lu Ren.
"What does this mean?" Lu Ren asked.
Black Noir didn't answer.
He turned and left.
When he reached the door, he stopped and looked back at Lu Ren—at least Lu Ren felt he was looking at him, because the mask was facing his face.
Then he left.
Lu Ren looked down at the black "X" badge in his hand and flipped it over.
On the back, a line of small text was engraved, looking as if it had been hand-carved:
"They cannot hear what I say."
Lu Ren clenched the badge tightly.
Black Noir—this mute who was thought to never speak, this coward who was too scared to even fart in front of Homelander—was finding his own way to make a sound.
"They cannot hear what I say."
How many bugs had they installed in Vought Tower? Was Homelander listening to everyone's conversations at all times? Black Noir choosing to communicate this way meant he was afraid of being heard.
Lu Ren put the badge in his pocket.
Tonight, he was going to the archives of Vought Tower.
There were some things he had to see with his own eyes to know the truth.
9:00 PM, the 47th floor of Vought Tower.
Lu Ren was walking down the hallway, pretending to take a stroll. He had moved into the apartment arranged by Vought International on the 46th floor, right across from Starlight's room. The hallway lights were sound-activated, turning off every few seconds and then being lit back up by his footsteps.
He passed a corner and saw a figure leaning against the door of the fire exit.
The Deep.
He was wearing a bathrobe, his hair wet, looking like he had just come up from a swimming pool—no, wait, Vought Tower didn't have a swimming pool; he had a private aquarium where he kept a dolphin.
"Hi." The Deep smiled at him. "New guy, want to chat?"
Lu Ren stopped.
"Chat about what?"
"You did well today." The Deep's voice was soft, carrying a deliberate friendliness. "Homelander can be a bit... intense sometimes. Don't take it to heart."
"I haven't."
"That's good." The Deep leaned in a bit closer, lowering his voice. "So, I heard you talked to Starlight alone? How did it go? Did she say anything to you about me?"
Lu Ren understood.
The Deep was interested in Starlight—or rather, he was interested in all his female teammates. In the original story, The Deep was a habitual sexual harasser, had been reported by Starlight, and was later kicked out of The Seven.
"She didn't mention you." Lu Ren said.
"Oh." The Deep's expression relaxed a bit. "Then what do you think of her? Is she hard to approach? Let me tell you, when I first arrived, I couldn't talk to her either, but we're pretty good now."
Lu Ren looked into The Deep's eyes. There was an uncomfortable expectation in those eyes—he wanted to probe Lu Ren for Starlight's attitude, and perhaps hoped Lu Ren could help him make a connection.
"I'm not close with her." Lu Ren said. "Sorry, I have things to do."
He walked past The Deep and entered the fire exit.
The Deep stood in the hallway, his smile slowly fading.
"Acting all high and mighty." He muttered, turned around, and walked back to his room.
In the fire exit, Lu Ren went down one floor to the 45th floor.
This floor was for the archives and abandoned offices. Vought International had moved its headquarters once, and the old paper files were stored here, with very few people coming by.
He pushed open the door to the archives, and a musty smell hit him in the face.
The room was filled with rows of metal cabinets, half of the ceiling fluorescent lights were broken, and the other half emitted a dim, yellowish light.
Lu Ren started searching.
He wasn't looking for files on compound v—those things definitely wouldn't be in a place like this. He was looking for records about one person.
Mindstorm.
That woman had appeared on his TV, saying so many strange things; she must have had a connection to Vought International—or she was a Supe created by Vought International herself.
After searching for an hour, he found nothing.
Until just as he was about to give up, on the bottom shelf of the last cabinet, he found an unlabeled folder.
Inside was only one sheet of paper.
It was a death report.
Name: Unknown. Codename: "White Noise". Date of Death: March 12, 1986. Cause of Death: Self-inflicted head trauma. Notes: The test subject showed extremely strong mental interference capabilities during development, able to remotely hack electronic devices and human brains via electromagnetic signals. Due to being uncontrollable, the Vought International board of directors ordered the termination of the experiment.
Method of termination: Injection of an overdose of sedatives, resulting in brain death.
The last line of the notes section was partially blacked out, with only a few remaining letters visible: "...did not die, approved by the board of directors, transferred to..."
The content that followed had been torn off.
Lu Ren held the report, his hand trembling slightly.
1986. Forty years ago.
That woman—if it was indeed the same person—had been dead for forty years.
But she had appeared on the TV screen last night.
"A ghost?" Lu Ren didn't believe it.
Then someone was impersonating her, or Vought International hadn't killed her at all, but had locked her up somewhere for forty years.
He remembered what the woman had said: "A woman who has been imprisoned for forty years, her blood can cure any disease and kill any living thing."
White Noise wasn't talking about herself.
She was talking about someone else.
A woman who had been imprisoned for forty years, whose blood could cure everything and kill everything.
Lu Ren folded the report and put it in his pocket.
He had to leave.
The moment he turned around, all the lights in the archives went out.
Chapter 9: The Person in the Wall
It wasn't the light tubes that were broken—the power for the entire floor had been cut.
In the darkness, only the silver-white electric arcs dancing at his fingertips emitted a faint light.
Footsteps.
They came from the end of the hallway, slow and heavy, like someone wearing iron shoes walking.
Lu Ren clenched his fists.
The electric arcs condensed into a bright ball of lightning on his fist, illuminating the entire hallway.
The hallway was empty.
The footsteps stopped.
Then, all the light tubes on the ceiling suddenly lit up.
Everything returned to normal.
As if nothing had happened.
Lu Ren stood in the center of the hallway, the lightning fading from his fingertips.
He looked down at his hand—there was a faint scorch mark on his finger, not caused by himself, but because something had touched him just now.
But there was nothing around him.
"Fuck."
He cursed and turned to walk toward the elevator.
There were too many things happening tonight.
Black Noir's badge, The Deep's probing, Mindstorm's death report, the footsteps in the hallway, and the scorch mark that appeared out of thin air.
This tower contained far more than just The Seven.
When the elevator door opened, Lu Ren was still thinking about that scorch mark.
It wasn't a burn, nor was it an electric shock. It was more like a thin layer of skin had been scraped off his finger by something, revealing the tender pink flesh underneath. His healing ability repaired it within seconds, but the sensation remained—something cold, smooth, and like glass or metal, had lightly brushed against his skin.
He walked into the elevator and pressed the button for the 46th floor.
The elevator began to descend, the floor numbers ticking down one by one. Forty-four, forty-three, forty-two—then it stopped.
He hadn't pressed the stop button. The elevator had stopped on its own.
The door opened.
The hallway was empty. The lights were off, and only the green light of the emergency exit sign at the end emitted a faint fluorescent glow. Lu Ren waited for three seconds, but the door didn't close. He pressed the close button again, but there was no response.
He stepped out of the elevator.
The hallway was long, with rows of closed doors on both sides. The doorplates displayed room numbers, from 4201 to 4220. This floor was guest rooms prepared by Vought International for visitors and temporary staff; no one lived here permanently.
The fluorescent green sign at the end of the hallway suddenly went out, then lit up again, and then went out again. It repeated this three times, like someone inexperienced playing with a switch.
A small arc of electricity lit up at Lu Ren's fingertips, serving as a light source.
He walked about fifteen steps and stopped at the door of Room 4209.
There was light under the door crack.
It wasn't the pale, sickly light of fluorescent lamps, but a warm yellow, slightly flickering light, as if someone had lit a candle inside.
The doorknob was cold. When he grasped it, a thin layer of mist condensed on the metal surface.
He turned it.
There were no candles in the room.
The floor lamp was on, and its warm yellow light illuminated a person's back. The person was sitting in a chair by the window, facing the glass, with the night view of Manhattan outside. Judging by the figure, it was a woman with short hair, wearing dark clothes.
"White Noise?" Lu Ren asked.
The woman didn't turn around.
Lu Ren walked into the room, and the door closed automatically behind him. He glanced at the doorknob—it wasn't locked, but the door just wouldn't open. He tried with a bit of force, but the door didn't budge, as if it had been welded shut.
"Aren't you here to find me?" the woman finally spoke.
The voice was the same as on the TV last night—it didn't come from her mouth, but appeared directly in his mind. It was like someone tapping twice on the inside of his skull with their fingers, then beginning to speak.
"You found my death report," the woman said. "But did you see the last line? 'Not Dead'."
"Who are you?"
The woman turned around slowly.
Her face looked to be in her thirties, with regular features but nothing stunning—the kind of face that no one would give a second glance to on the street. Her short hair was graying, as if it hadn't been dyed in a long time. Her eyes were light gray, reflecting the lights outside the window in her pupils, but they held no expression.
She was wearing an early Vought International uniform—a blue jumpsuit with an old, now-obsolete logo on the chest: a shield shape with a "V" in the middle.
"My name is Abigail, others call me White Noise," she said. "Abigail Sharp. In 1982, Vought International found me and told me I had a 'unique brain.' They asked if I was willing to become a hero. I said yes."
Her tone was very flat, as if she were reading a menu.
"They injected me with compound v. My ability—to use your modern term—is 'Electromagnetic Field Manipulation.' I can perceive everything around me through electric and magnetic fields, and I can also interfere with electronic devices and human brains through electromagnetic waves. Sounds impressive, right?"
"Indeed." Lu Ren leaned against the wall, remaining vigilant.
"But in reality, I can't control anything," Abigail said. "I can hear everyone's brainwaves—everyone's. The whole building, the whole block, the whole of Manhattan. Millions of people talking in my head at the same time, and I can't tell what's real and what's fake. I started going crazy. I injured three researchers and turned a security guard's brain into mush. Vought International thought I was too dangerous, so they 'processed' me."
"Processed?"
"An overdose of sedatives, causing brain death," Abigailtilted her head. "But that only made me 'look' dead. My body stopped functioning, but my brain didn't. It kept working, kept receiving signals. I lay in Vought International's underground morgue, cold all over, unable to move, unable to speak, but I could hear everything."
Lu Ren's stomach tightened.
"I lay there for three years," Abigail continued. "For three years, I listened to the inner thoughts of everyone in the building—their secrets, their fears, their lies. Later, they discovered that my brain was still active, so they transferred me to another place."
"Where?"
Abigail didn't answer directly. She stood up, walked to the window, and pointed in a direction in the distance. Lu Renfollowed her finger—it was the North Wing of Vought Tower, that taller annex building.
"Ten floors underground in that building," she said. "They built a Faraday cage specifically to lock me up. The walls are made of lead and copper, which can block most of my signals. But I can still find gaps. For forty years, I've been looking."
Lu Ren looked at her graying short hair and remembered the date on that death report—1986. It had been nearly forty years until now.
"Why did you find me?" he asked.
"Because you are the first person who can hear me," Abigail turned around. "Not 'hear' me speak—but someone who can withstand me speaking. Your brain structure is different from anyone else's. Other people's brainwaves get scrambled when they hit my signals; they either go crazy or die outright. But not you. Your brain seems to have a protective film; I can send words in, and you won't be damaged."
"So you appeared on my TV last night."
"I didn't appear on your TV," Abigail shook her head. "I just tuned your TV to the channel you believed I would appear on. You saw what you wanted to see. My ability allows me to project the images from your mind onto any screen you can perceive."
Lu Ren thought for a few seconds.
"What do you want?"
"I want to get out," Abigail said, her voice finally showing a trace of fluctuation. "I've been locked in that cage for forty years. No sunlight, no wind, no one to talk to. Only voices—the voices of millions of people, ringing in my head day and night without stopping. I want to go out and get some air, even if it's just for five minutes."
"What can I do?"
"Tear down that wall," Abigail said. "Ten floors underground in the North Wing, the load-bearing wall on the west side. Behind the wall isn't dirt, it's empty space. I've already marked that wall in my own way, and your lightning can split it open. But I need you to act at the right time."
"The right time?"
"Tomorrow night at eight," Abigail said. "Homelander is going to Philadelphia for a fundraising gala, and Maeve will accompany him. The Deep and A-Train have a commercial shoot. Translucent went to Miami. Black Noir..."
"Black Noir will be there." Lu Ren finished her sentence.
"Black Noir will be there," Abigail repeated. "He is at Vought Tower every day. He doesn't go anywhere. But he won't stop you."
"How do you know?"
"Because I have heard his inner thoughts," Abigail's expression became somewhat complex. "That person—if he can even be considered a person—has only one thing on his mind. Fear. He fears Homelander, fears him to his bones. But he also hates Homelander, hates him to the point of wanting to kill him. He won't help you, but he won't stand in your way either."
Lu Ren was silent for a moment.
"If I help you get out," he said, "what will happen? Vought International will discover you've escaped, and they will hunt you down. Homelander will come for you. You've been locked underground for forty years; has your ability degraded? Can you protect yourself?"
Abigail smiled. This was the first time she had smiled tonight, and there was no warmth in it, only a dry, geological-strata-like sorrow.
"My ability has not degraded," she said. "The only thing I've been able to do for these forty years is practice. I can now hear the dreams of a baby in Brooklyn, turn off the power switch of any building in New Jersey, and make most of the thoughts in your head become what I want you to think."
She looked into Lu Ren's eyes, her gray pupils reflecting the electric arcs at his fingertips.
"But I won't do those things to you," she said, "because you are the only person I've met in forty years who was willing to listen to me finish."
The room was quiet for a long time.
The Manhattan lights outside the window flickered, and a police car sounded its siren in the distance, the sound turning into a blurred murmur by the time it reached here.
"Tomorrow night at eight." Lu Ren said.
"Eight o'clock sharp." Abigail nodded.
Her body began to become transparent, like a mist gradually dispersing. The indentation on the chair slowly rebounded, and the floor lamp's light returned to ordinary white fluorescent light.
"Thank you, Lu Ren."
The voice disappeared from his mind.
She was gone.
Lu Ren walked to the window and glanced at the direction of the North Wing. A row of orange lights shone at the base of that annex building, marking the entrance and exit of the underground garage. Ten floors beneath that, a woman had been lying in a cage made of lead and copper for forty years.
He turned and opened the door.
The lights in the hallway were all on, and the elevator had returned to normal. Everything was very ordinary, very Vought—shiny, clean, and without a trace of abnormality.
He walked into the elevator and pressed for the 46th floor.
This time, the elevator didn't stop.
After returning to his apartment, Lu Ren found a note stuffed under the crack of the door.
He bent down to pick it up.
There was only one line of text on it, handwritten and scribbled:
"Don't touch the North Wing." —M
M? Maeve? Or someone else?
He flipped the note over; there was nothing on the back. The paper was Vought International's proprietary memo paper, available in every office, so the source couldn't be traced.
Lu Ren placed the note on the table, stared at it for a few seconds, then folded it up and put it in his pocket.
He turned on the TV and tuned to a late-night news channel.
The screen was playing clips from today's press conference. The image of him standing next to Homelandersmiling was frozen into a still, accompanied by the caption: "Silver Lightning—new member of The Seven, or Vought International's next problem?"
The host was connecting to a commentator, and the two were arguing back and forth over the topic of "Should the forced kiss on Starlight be forgiven?" Lu Ren turned off the TV.
His phone vibrated.
A message from Butcher, an address in Staten Island. No text, no explanation.
Lu Ren checked the time. 1:00 AM.
He changed into black clothes and opened the window. Outside was the night wind of Manhattan, carrying the moisture of the Hudson River and the sound of jazz drifting from somewhere in the distance.
He didn't turn into lightning. It was too conspicuous.
He jumped straight out.
The physical abilities granted by the Superman Serumallowed him to trace a gentle parabola in the air, landing silently on the roof of an apartment building three streets away. Then another jump, and another. From Vought Tower to Staten Island, it took him less than four minutes.
The address Butcher gave was an abandoned ferry terminal.
The main structure of the terminal had been half-demolished, and the remaining part was enclosed by metal fencing. Lu Ren landed on top of a metal shipping container and saw a black SUV parked below.
Butcher was leaning against the car door of the SUV, not holding a beer, but a cup of steaming coffee.
MM was standing next to him, holding a tablet computer. Kimiko was crouching on the edge of the pier, facing the water, not knowing what she was looking at.
"Come down." Butcher beckoned to Lu Ren.
Lu Ren jumped down and landed in front of Butcher.
"In the middle of the night, what is it?"
Butcher nodded at MM. MM handed the tablet to Lu Ren.
On the screen was a surveillance video. The image quality was poor, but the content was clear—an underground parking lot, dimly lit. In the center of the frame was a black van, and a person got out of the car and walked off-screen.
The person was wearing a gray suit, with gray hair, and a slight hunch when walking.
"Recognize him?" Butcher asked.
Lu Ren recognized him.
Dr. Vogelbaum.
"This is surveillance from 4:00 PM yesterday," MM said. "The location is the ground-level entrance to that underground laboratory in Hells Kitchen. We checked the license plate of that van; it was rented, and the person who rented it used a fake name. But the fingerprints inside the car—"
Chapter 10: Starlight's Night
"Dr. Vogelbaum's," Butcher picked up, "He really isn't dead. And he's still working for Vought International."
"Does Stan Edgar know?" Lu Ren asked.
"Edgar?" Butcher sneered. "Edgar knows everything. Dr. Vogelbaum is the one he hid away. Back then, Vought International announced that Dr. Vogelbaum died of a heart attack, but in reality, they sent him underground to continue researching compound v. How do you think those new heroes came to be? Starlight, A-Train, The Deep—their compound v was all concocted by Dr. Vogelbaum in the lab."
Lu Ren handed the tablet back to MM.
"What do you want me to do?"
"It's simple," Butcher said. "Find an excuse to leave Vought Tower tomorrow night, and we'll meet at that lab. You're responsible for using your electricity to blast the door open, and I'm responsible for dragging Dr. Vogelbaum out of his rat hole."
Tomorrow night at eight.
Lu Ren fell silent.
He had promised Abigail that he would go to the tenth floor of the North Wing tomorrow night at eight and break down that wall.
At the same time.
"Tomorrow doesn't work," Lu Ren said.
Butcher's eyebrows raised. "Why?"
"I have other things to do tomorrow."
"More important than this?" Butcher's voice dropped.
Lu Ren looked at him without explaining.
He wouldn't tell Butcher about Abigail—at least not yet. Butcher's attitude toward Supes was "those not of my kind must have a different heart." If he knew Lu Ren was going to release a Supe, he would either stop him or find a way to exploit it.
"The day after tomorrow," Lu Ren said. "The day after tomorrow at eight in the evening, I'll come find you."
Butcher stared at him for a few seconds, then took a sip of his coffee.
"The day after tomorrow it is." He threw the coffee cup into the trash can nearby and pulled open the SUV door. "But if you stand us up, Lightning Boy—I'll make you know what regret feels like."
The SUV started up and drove off the pier.
Kimiko stood up from the edge of the pier, brushed the dust off her pants, and stopped for a moment when she passed by Lu Ren.
She gestured: Paper ball. Door crack. High heels.
"What paper ball?"
She gestured again: Door crack, note, woman wearing high heels.
She left with the SUV.
Lu Ren stood by the pier, watching the SUV's taillights disappear into the night.
Someone wearing high heels.
Not Maeve—Maeve rarely wore high heels. She wore them for events, but usually, she wore flat boots.
Ashley? Victoria Neuman? Starlight?
Or some woman in Vought International he hadn't noticed?
He jumped onto the top of a shipping container, leaped through the night sky a few more times, and returned to Manhattan.
At two in the morning, he stood on the outer wall of Vought Tower.
Not downstairs, but on the outer wall. His fingers were embedded like nails into the gaps of the glass curtain wall, his whole body pressed against the outside of the forty-sixth-floor window, like a gecko.
The curtains were drawn. But he heard someone inside.
Heartbeat. Very light, very rhythmic, belonging to a female. The breathing frequency was a bit fast, as if she had just exercised, or—had just cried.
He waited a few seconds, then gently tapped on the glass.
The person inside didn't react.
He tapped again, a bit harder this time.
The curtain was pulled open a crack.
Starlight's face appeared behind the glass, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, as if she had been startled.
She pulled back the curtain, unlocked the window, and pushed it open a crack.
"What are you doing? Outside—did anyone see you?"
"No," Lu Ren said. "Can I come in?"
Starlight hesitated for two seconds, then pushed the window open completely.
Lu Ren climbed in.
Starlight's apartment was a bit larger than his and felt more lived-in. A blanket was thrown on the sofa, a cup of tea that had already gone cold sat on the coffee table, and several framed photos were displayed on the TV cabinet—her mother, her hometown, and one of her participating in a beauty pageant as a child, wearing a tiny crown.
She hadn't changed out of her uniform, still wearing that white skirt from the day, but she was barefoot, with light pink nail polish on her toes.
"You climbed to my window in the middle of the night just to borrow some sugar?" Starlight crossed her arms, trying to keep her tone light, but her voice was still a bit hoarse.
"You've been crying," Lu Ren said.
Starlight's expression stiffened, then she turned her face away.
"No."
"Your eyes are still red."
"I'm allergic."
"Allergic to what?"
"To you." Starlight turned her head back, her eyes glistening with tears, but her tone was sharp. "Are you happy now? I'm allergic to you. I want to cry every time you appear. Are you satisfied?"
Lu Ren didn't respond. He walked over to the sofa, picked up the blanket, and handed it to her.
Starlight didn't take it.
"My mom called today," she said suddenly, her voice dropping. "She watched the press conference. She said she was proud of me. But she doesn't know... She doesn't know anything. She thinks I spend my days saving people, appearing on TV, and working with Homelander. She doesn't know that I have to wear this outfit every day that can't even cover my ass, doesn't know how The Deep looks at me in the locker room, doesn't know that the first time I met Homelander, he—"
She didn't continue.
Lu Ren draped the blanket over her shoulders.
Starlight gripped the edge of the blanket, her knuckles turning white.
"I want to go home," she said. "I want to go back to Wisconsin, back to that place where everyone is an idiot. There, the biggest news is whose cow gave birth to twins. No one cares who Starlight is."
"Then why don't you go back?"
"Because I signed the contract," Starlight said with a bitter smile. "My mom signed it. On my eighteenth birthday, she brought a stack of papers and said,'Sign this, and you can become a big star.' I thought it was a contract for a beauty pageant. It turned out to be a lifetime contract with Vought International."
"Lifetime?"
"Strictly speaking, it's fifteen years, but the renewal clause is decided unilaterally by Vought International. If they want you to renew, you have to renew. If you don't, the penalty fee is—"
"How much?"
"Nine figures."
Lu Ren whistled.
"So," Starlight looked up at him, "everything you said yesterday—helping me leave, helping me expose them—it was all empty talk. I can't leave. No one can get away from Vought International. Look at Maeve; she wants to leave too, but can she?"
Lu Ren didn't speak.
He walked to the window and looked at the night view outside. The lights of Vought Tower illuminated the surrounding blocks as if it were daytime.
"If I told you," he said slowly, "that there is someone who has been locked underground by Vought International for forty years, do you think she could get away?"
Starlight froze.
"What did you say?"