Chapter 16: Looking for Soldier Boy
"He's right," MM said. "St. Vincent's Hospital has his medical records. He was diagnosed three months ago."
Butcher stood up, turned around, and stared at the wall in silence for a few seconds.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he said, his voice very low.
"I'm not," Dr. Vogelbaum looked up. "Do you know, Butcher? The research on compound v was my life's work. I created thousands of Supes, including Homelander. I could have been the catalyst for human evolution. But they—Vought International—they treated me as a tool. Used me and threw me away. Stan Edgar locked me in that underground laboratory to keep researching, but forbade me from having any contact with the outside world. He was afraid I'd tell the truth."
"What truth?"
"compound v is extracted from an extraterrestrial substance," Dr. Vogelbaum's voice grew excited, like a teacher lecturing his students. "That substance is not from Earth. It comes from a destroyed planet. We discovered its fragments in the 1960s—a meteorite that landed in the Nevada Desert. The core of that meteorite is these green stones."
He looked at the green stones on the table.
"These stones and compound v share the same source. They are interconnected and influence each other. compound v grants superpowers, while these stones weaken them. Like two sides of the same coin."
Butcher slowly turned back around.
"Are you saying these stones are the antidote to compound v?"
"Not an antidote," Dr. Vogelbaum shook his head. "An inhibitor. It won't eliminate the V in your body, but it will temporarily suppress it. It's like turning a radio's volume down to the lowest setting—the sound is still there, but you can't hear it."
Lu Ren walked to the table and picked up the smallest stone. The green glow cast an eerie shadow across his palm. He could feel his power draining—not rapidly, but steadily, like sand in an hourglass.
"You've studied these stones for so long," Lu Ren said. "Have you ever thought about what to do with them?"
Dr. Vogelbaum glanced at him. That look reminded Lu Renof someone—an old engineer at his company in his previous life, who had the exact same look in his eyes as he stared at his own product blueprints before the project was canceled. Unwillingness to accept defeat.
"I wanted to build a prison," Dr. Vogelbaum said. "A prison specifically for Supes. With walls made of these stones, any Supe inside would turn into an ordinary person. No power, no privileges, no ability to harm others."
"A prison," Butcher repeated. "You wanted to lock Homelander in there."
"Homelander is just one of them," Dr. Vogelbaum's voice suddenly turned grave. "Do you think Homelander is the most dangerous? No. Homelander at least has human feelings—twisted and perverted, but feelings nonetheless. Some Supes have abilities far more terrifying than Homelander's, but they haven't realized how terrifying they are yet. If they ever do, this prison won't just be a 'want,' it will be a 'must'."
The warehouse fell silent for a moment.
In the distance, a train whistle blew, low and long.
"You said you're dying," Butcher squatted down, looking levelly into Dr. Vogelbaum's eyes again. "Then tell us everything you know. Formulas, locations, names, dates. Everything. You can use your remaining two months to redeem yourself."
Dr. Vogelbaum looked at Butcher, his lips trembling slightly.
"I'm not trying to redeem myself," he said. "I just don't want my entire life to have been a sin."
And so, he began.
For the next two hours, Dr. Vogelbaum told a long, chaotic story filled with technical jargon. About the origin of compound v, its manufacturing process, and its improved versions. About how Vought International secretly injected newborns all over the globe. About the birth of Homelander—a special experiment where a purified version of compound v was injected into a surrogate mother, whose child became Homelander.
And about Soldier Boy.
"Soldier Boy was the first generation," Dr. Vogelbaum's voice grew hoarse. "In 1944, we didn't have the complete compound v formula yet. We used a primitive version—unprocessed material extracted directly from the meteorite. Soldier Boy was injected with that version, gaining strength and durability, but his body also developed severe side effects. His cells continuously produced a unique radiation that would slowly kill those around him. It took us years to discover this issue."
"So he was sent away," Butcher said.
"He was 'disposed of'," Dr. Vogelbaum corrected. "Vought International sold him to the Soviets. The Soviets wanted to study his abilities and find a way to create super soldiers. They kept him frozen, treating him as an experimental subject."
"Is he still alive?"
"I don't know," Dr. Vogelbaum said. "After the dissolution of the Soviet Union, his cryogenic pod was moved to a location unknown to me. It might still be in Russia, or it might have been sold to someone else."
Butcher stood up, walked over to the map of Manhattan, and stared at the pins on it.
"If someone wanted to find Soldier Boy," he said slowly, "where should they start looking?"
Dr. Vogelbaum fell silent for a long time.
"There is a name," he finally said. "Julia Roberts."
"What?" Butcher frowned.
"Not the actress," Dr. Vogelbaum chuckled. "Julia Roberts—a Cold War CIA agent, codename 'Crimson Countess'. She was Soldier Boy's handler, and his... mistress, if you want to call it that. She was the last person to have long-term contact with him. If anyone in the world knows Soldier Boy's whereabouts, it's her."
"Where is she now?"
"Retired. Living in a small town in Maine with her granddaughter." Dr. Vogelbaum looked up. "I can give you her address. But you must promise me one thing."
"Speak."
"Don't kill her," Dr. Vogelbaum's voice suddenly became very serious. "She's a good person. Back then, she tried to stop Vought International from sending Soldier Boy away. They threatened to kill her family, which is why she compromised. She's not a bad person."
Butcher glanced at MM. MM was already searching for 'Julia Roberts Maine' on his tablet.
"The address," Butcher said.
Dr. Vogelbaum recited an address.
MM wrote it down.
Dawn was breaking.
Outside the window, the sky turned from black to deep blue, and then to gray. Butcher told Kimiko to watch Dr. Vogelbaum, and walked out of the warehouse.
Lu Ren followed him out.
Chapter 17: Training
It was cold outside. Early mornings in Queens were always colder than in Manhattan because the wind from the Hudson River met no obstacles here. Butcher lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and the smoke quickly dispersed in the cold air.
"Do you think what he said is believable?" Butcher asked, not looking at Lu Ren.
"The part about Soldier Boy is believable," Lu Ren said. "The part about him dying is also true—MM checked it."
"I don't mean the part about him dying, I mean those words of his," Butcher flicked his cigarette ash. "All that 'not for redemption' and 'not wanting his whole life to amount to nothing' crap. Bullshit. He just wants us to think he still has a bit of humanity left."
"Maybe he really does have a bit of humanity."
"You believe that?" Butcher finally turned to look at Lu Ren, his eyes bloodshot. "He created Homelander. Homelanderruined my life. I don't care if he has humanity or not. I only care if he can help us kill Homelander."
"And if he can't help?"
"Then kill him."
Butcher threw the cigarette butt onto the ground and crushed it with his boot.
"When you go back to Vought Tower today," he said, "be careful. Homelander is no fool. The North Wing alarm, Dr. Vogelbaum's disappearance, your relationship with Starlight... Put all that together, and he'll suspect you sooner or later."
"I know."
"And that mental patient you let out," Butcher lowered his voice. "Where is she?"
"A safe place."
"I told you, there is no safe place," Butcher took a step closer. "She either comes under my charge now, or you get rid of her. There is no third option."
Lu Ren looked into Butcher's eyes.
There was no malice in those eyes, at least not directed at him. But there was an absolute, unshakable paranoia.
"I won't get rid of her," Lu Ren said, "nor will I hand her over to you. She is my responsibility."
Butcher stared at him for three seconds, then laughed.
"You Supes," he shook his head, "always think you're God, that you can manage everything, be responsible for everything. You can't even manage yourself, yet you want to manage others?"
He turned and walked back into the warehouse.
Lu Ren stood where he was, watching the eastern sky slowly brighten.
His phone vibrated.
A message from Starlight: "You finally replied to my message. Training has been rescheduled to 2:00 PM. Homelander is coming too."
Lu Ren typed: "What is he coming for?"
"He said he wants to personally guide the rookie training. I think he wants to see just how capable you really are."
"I'll be there at 2:00 PM."
"Be careful. He's not in a good mood today. Ashley showed him yesterday's ratings report this morning, and your segment was higher than his."
Lu Ren put his phone back in his pocket.
His ratings were higher than Homelander's.
This was probably the thing Homelander could tolerate least—not betrayal, not deception, but someone being more popular than him.
He turned and went back into the warehouse.
Butcher was talking to MM, and Kimiko poured a cup of water for Dr. Vogelbaum. The old man held the cup with his bound hands, taking small sips.
"I have to go back," Lu Ren said. "I have training this afternoon."
"Go on," Butcher said without looking up. "Keep in touch."
Lu Ren walked to the warehouse door, stopped, and looked back.
"Butcher."
"Yeah?"
"About Translucent," Lu Ren said. "When do you plan to make your move?"
Butcher looked up, his expression changing.
"How did you know I was going after Translucent?"
"Because he is the weakest of The Seven, the easiest target. And he owes you a life—he killed your brother."
Butcher remained silent for a moment.
"Soon," he said.
Lu Ren nodded, turning into a bolt of lightning and disappearing into the Queens sky.
---
9:00 AM, Brooklyn.
The latch on the abandoned warehouse door was still intact, with no signs of tampering.
Lu Ren deactivated the lightning lock on the latch and pushed the door open.
Abigail was not in her chair.
She was standing in the center of the warehouse, her head tilted back, eyes closed, with her hands hanging by her sides. The morning sunlight streamed through the cracks in the dilapidated windows, casting bands of light across her face.
"What are you doing?" Lu Ren asked.
"I'm listening," Abigail said without opening her eyes. "I've been listening for forty years, but never like today—I can choose what to listen to and what not to listen to. So this is what quiet feels like."
"What do you hear?"
"A lot," Abigail opened her eyes, her gray pupils appearing almost Translucent in the sunlight. "A man in Queens is lying to his wife, saying he worked overtime last night. A child in the Bronx is eating breakfast and asking his mother why his father isn't home. A woman in Manhattan is crying in her office because she was just laid off. And—"
She looked at Lu Ren.
"Butcher is telling MM that he doesn't quite trust you."
"I don't need to listen to know that."
"He also said that if you ever become an obstacle, he'll be the first to make a move."
"I know that too."
Abigail walked over and stood in front of Lu Ren.
"Aren't you worried?"
"Is there any use in worrying?" Lu Ren took a bag of bread and a bottle of water from his backpack—he had bought them at a supermarket on the way. "Eat breakfast."
Abigail took the bread, tore open the packaging, and took a bite. She chewed very slowly, like someone tasting food for the first time in her life.
"It's delicious," she said.
Lu Ren leaned against the wall, watching her eat.
"I have to go back to Vought Tower this afternoon," he said. "Stay here today, don't go out. I'll be back tonight."
"You let me out of one cage, only to lock me in another," Abigail said without looking up. "What's the difference?"
"This cage has no lock."
Abigail raised her head and looked at him.
"You can go out," Lu Ren said, "anytime. But if you do, Vought International will find you. You might not fear them, but your body hasn't recovered yet. You need time."
"How long?"
"I don't know."
Abigail lowered her head and continued eating the bread.
"Lu Ren."
"Yeah."
"That girl named Starlight," she paused, "she likes you."
Lu Ren did not reply.
"Not that kind of like," Abigail looked up, a few bread crumbs on the corner of her mouth. "It's the kind where—she wants to believe in you. She needs to believe there are still good people in the world. If you ever disappoint her, she will hate you more than anyone."
"I know."
"Do you really?"
Lu Ren remained silent for a moment.
"Eat your bread," he said.
Abigail smiled slightly.
It was her first real smile in forty years. Not dry, not sorrowful, but a normal, slightly playful smile.
"You're a good person, Lu Ren," she said. "But you're also the strangest person I've ever met. There is a wall in your head—not an ordinary wall, but a real wall made of bricks. Every one of your thoughts is behind that wall, and I can't hear anything."
Chapter 18: The Note
"Maybe that's why I can come to you," Lu Ren said. "If I could be heard by you, I would probably be like everyone else, too afraid to get close to you."
Abigail lowered her head and continued eating her bread.
Lu Ren turned and walked out of the warehouse.
He didn't lock it.
Standing on the warehouse roof, Lu Ren watched the silver spire of the distant Vought Tower gleaming in the sunlight.
Training at 2:00 PM.
Homelander was going to "personally instruct" them.
Taking a deep breath, he transformed into a streak of silver-white lightning and flew off in the direction of Manhattan.
1:40 PM, the fifty-second floor of Vought Tower.
The Seven's training ground took up an entire floor. It was said to have been built to the standard of "simulating any combat environment"—capable of adjusting gravity, temperature, and humidity, and simulating wind, rain, thunder, and lightning. The floor and walls were made of a special alloy that could withstand impacts of a hundred tons. Vought International's annual budget for this training ground was eighty million dollars, higher than the defense budget of some small countries.
When Lu Ren arrived, The Deep was already there.
He was wearing a dark blue training suit with the Vought International logo printed on the chest, stretching in front of a mirror. Seeing Lu Ren enter, he immediately stopped, shoved his hands into his pants pockets, and struck a pose he thought looked cool.
"Hey, rookie, ever been here before?"
"First time."
"This place is great," The Deep said, looking around. "The gravity can be adjusted to twice Earth's, the walls can bounce back energy attacks, and there's a civilian simulation system—the kind where you hit them and they scream. It's used for practicing precision."
"The simulated civilians scream?"
"Yeah, incredibly realistic. The first time I used it, I thought it was real." The Deep lowered his voice and leaned in closer. "Let me tell you, don't use this feature in front of Homelander. Last time A-Train used it once, Homelanderasked, 'You like hearing people scream?' A-Train's face turned whiter than paper."
Lu Ren didn't reply. He walked to the center of the training ground and tapped his foot on the floor. It was made of alloy with a non-slip coating on the surface, feeling very hard underfoot.
"Where's Starlight?" he asked.
"Putting on makeup." The Deep rolled his eyes. "She said she needed to 'get ready,' which actually just means putting on makeup. Do you ever see her wear makeup during normal missions? Nope. She only puts it on in front of Homelander."
"But aren't you also in front of her right now?"
The Deep froze for a moment, then laughed, his smile carrying the awkwardness of being exposed.
"Me and her... we're teammates. It's different."
Lu Ren didn't ask further.
Two minutes later, Starlight arrived.
She wore a white and gold training suit that was more conservative than her hero costume—at least the neckline wasn't cut down to her chest. Her blonde hair was tied into a high ponytail, and she indeed wore makeup, but it was very light, barely noticeable unless one looked closely.
The Deep whistled as he watched her walk in.
Starlight ignored him. She walked straight up to Lu Renand looked him up and down.
"Didn't you sleep last night?"
"I did."
"You look like you didn't."
"How I look doesn't matter."
Starlight opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but ultimately remained silent. She simply nodded, walked to the other side of the training ground, and began to warm up.
The Deep's gaze darted back and forth between the two, his mouth twitching slightly.
"You two..." he began tentatively.
"What about us?" Starlight asked without looking up.
"Nothing." The Deep raised his hands and took two steps back.
The door to the training ground opened again.
Homelander walked in.
Instead of a training suit, he wore his full hero costume—the red and blue bodysuit, with his cape billowing behind him. This attire looked incredibly out of place in the training ground, like someone wearing a tuxedo to play basketball.
But no one dared to say a word.
"Everyone is here," Homelander said, standing at the door with his hands on his hips, his gaze sweeping over everyone present. "Very good. I like punctual people."
He walked in, taking slow steps, his boots making a dull thudding sound against the floor.
"Today's rookie training will be personally guided by me." He stopped at a spot that was exactly the center of the triangle formed by Lu Ren, Starlight, and The Deep. "Starlight, you're the senior, so you'll demonstrate the standard movements. The Deep, you'll be the sparring partner."
The Deep's expression changed.
"Sparring partner?"
"Any problem?" Homelander tilted his head to look at him.
"No," The Deep shook his head immediately. "No, not at all. Sparring partner is fine. I'd be happy to."
"Excellent." Homelander turned to Lu Ren. "Lu Ren, you're the rookie. Today's task is very simple—fight me."
The air in the training ground instantly froze.
Starlight stopped her stretching, stood up straight, and stared at Homelander.
The Deep instinctively took a step back.
Lu Ren stood his ground, his expression unchanged.
"Fight you?" he asked.
"Yes," Homelander smiled. "Not a real fight, just training. You attack me with your abilities, and I'll defend. No counterattacks. I want to see where your limit is."
"What if I accidentally hurt you?"
Homelander's smile widened slightly.
"You can try."
Starlight walked over and stood beside Lu Ren.
"Homelander," she said, her voice cautious. "He's a rookie and hasn't had formal training yet. Sparring directly with you, isn't that a bit too—"
"Starlight," Homelander interrupted her, his tone soft but carrying an unquestionable pressure. "You're a senior, not an instructor. I decide the training program."
Starlight bit her lip and stepped back.
Homelander walked to the center of the training ground and spread his arms, like a statue waiting for an embrace.
"Come on, rookie," he said. "Use your strongest attack. Don't hold back."
Lu Ren stood in place, unmoved.
He was thinking about one thing—Homelander's actions today, while ostensibly training, were actually a test. He wanted to know exactly how strong Lu Ren's abilities were, and whether they could pose a threat to him.
If Lu Ren appeared too weak, Homelander would look down on him and treat him as an insignificant nobody. This might not be a bad thing—being ignored by Homelandermeant safety. However, it would also mean losing his standing within The Seven and losing the chance to get close to core secrets.
If Lu Ren appeared too strong, Homelander would view him as a threat. Homelander only had one way of dealing with threats—striking first to gain the upper hand.
Therefore, the correct answer was to demonstrate enough strength to make Homelander feel he was "useful" rather than "dangerous."
Lu Ren raised his right hand.
Silver-white electric arcs condensed at his fingertips, neither too large nor too small, forming a sphere exactly the size of a fist.
"That's it?" Homelander raised an eyebrow.
Lu Ren threw the lightning ball.
The lightning ball traced an arc in the air, striking Homelander square in the chest.
Boom!
The lightning ball exploded, and silver-white electric arcs crackled across the surface of Homelander's body for a few seconds before dissipating. A palm-sized scorch mark was burned onto the chest of Homelander's suit, but there was nothing on his skin—it wasn't even red.
Homelander looked down at his chest, then raised his head.
"Not bad," he said, his tone carrying neither mockery nor praise, just a flat statement. "Not many people can leave a mark on my suit. Even A-Train can't do it."
At the edge of the training ground, The Deep's expression became very complex.
"Again," Homelander said. "Make it bigger this time."
Lu Ren raised both hands. This time, he condensed a much larger lightning ball, about thirty centimeters in diameter. Silver-white electric arcs crackled wildly across the sphere's surface, emitting a piercing hum. The lights in the training ground began to flicker—his electromagnetic field was interfering with the power system.
He pushed the lightning ball forward.
This time, the trajectory of the lightning ball wasn't a straight line, but a Z-shape. It curved twice in mid-air, bypassing Homelander's front to reach his side, and then suddenly accelerated, striking Homelander's flank.
Boom!
The lightning exploded, and all the lights in the entire training ground went out.
In the darkness, there was only the faint glow from Lu Ren's fingertips and the reflected lightning in Homelander's eyes.
The lights came back on.
Homelander stood in the same spot, his posture identical to before, but his suit at his waist was burned through, leaving a fist-sized hole that exposed the skin beneath. There was a faint red mark on his skin, like the scratch left after a mosquito bite.
Homelander looked down at the red mark, staring at it for a long time.
The training ground was so quiet that the hum of the air conditioning could be heard.
Then Homelander raised his head and looked at Lu Ren.
His expression had changed. It wasn't anger, nor was it surprise, but a look Lu Ren had never seen on anyone's face before—pure, naked excitement.
"Interesting," he said.
He slowly walked toward Lu Ren, taking slow steps, like a hunter approaching a wounded prey.
"Your ability isn't lightning," he said, stopping a meter away and looking down into Lu Ren's eyes. "Lightning is hot; it burns. Your ability isn't just lightning; it also has a kind of... kinetic force. I felt it just now. It wasn't pain, it was—like someone gave me a push. You're the first person who has been able to make me move."
"Did you move?" Lu Ren asked.
Homelander's mouth twitched.
"Almost," he said. "A little bigger, and I might have actually moved."
He stepped back and clapped his hands.
"Alright, training is over."
The Deep's mouth fell open. "It's over just like that?"
"That's enough." Homelander turned and walked toward the door. "Starlight, show the rookie around the training equipment. The Deep, you... you can leave."
The Deep opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but ultimately just nodded and slunk toward the door.
As he passed by Lu Ren, he whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear.
"You're finished."
The door closed.
Starlight quickly walked up to Lu Ren and grabbed his arm, her fingers squeezing so hard they almost dug into his flesh.
"Are you crazy?" she whispered. "Why did you strike so hard? Didn't you see his expression?"
"I saw it."
"He has his eyes on you," Starlight's lips trembled. "When Homelander sets his sights on someone, it never ends well. Look at Black Noir, look at Maeve, look at everyone he found 'interesting'—now they either don't speak, don't look at him, or live in fear every single day."
Lu Ren looked down at Starlight's hand gripping his arm.
"Your hand is shaking," he said.
Starlight froze for a moment, let go of his arm, and took a step back.
"I just..." She took a deep breath. "Forget it. Do whatever you want."
She turned and walked toward the training equipment area. After a few steps, she stopped again.
"His flank," she said without turning around. "The place you hit. He reacted, which means your ability can hurt him. Just a little. But it's a start."
"What are you trying to say?"
Starlight turned around and looked into his eyes.
"I'm saying that if you can really hurt him, you're in even greater danger. He will treat you as something that needs to be 'dealt with.'"
"I know."
"You don't know shit," Starlight's voice suddenly became sharp. "You don't know anything. How many days have you even been here? Do you know how many people in The Seven have thought about leaving? Do you know how many times Maeve has tried? Do you know why Black Noirdoesn't speak? You don't. You think you're so smart, you think you can handle everything. But you can't handle Homelander. No one can."
Her eyes turned red, but she didn't cry.
"I just..." Her voice softened. "I don't want to see you die again."
"'Again'?" Lu Ren caught the word.
Starlight's expression stiffened for a fraction of a second, then returned to calm.
"I misspoke," she said, turning back toward the training equipment. "Come on, I'll teach you how to use the gravity adjustment system."
Lu Ren watched her back and didn't press further.
In the corner of the training ground, a camera slowly rotated, its red indicator light flashing.
It was recording.
---
At 4:00 PM, training ended.
Starlight taught Lu Ren how to use the various equipment in the training ground, from the gravity adjustment to the civilian simulation system. The Deep did not return. Translucent appeared out of nowhere, walked a lap around the training ground, and vanished again. No one noticed him arrive, and no one noticed him leave.
Lu Ren returned to his apartment, only to find another note slipped under his door.
Chapter 19: Red Brick Bar
This time, it wasn't a warning, but an address.
Manhattan, East Village, between Third Avenue and Fourth Avenue, an underground bar called "Red Brick."
There was no signature on the note, but the handwriting was exactly the same as the last time, which said "Don't touch North Wing." M.
Lu Ren burned the note, took a shower, and changed into inconspicuous casual clothes—a black hoodie, jeans, and a baseball cap.
He didn't leave through the front door. Outside the window, dusk was falling over Manhattan, the sky transitioning from orange to purple.
He turned into a faint arc of electricity and slipped silently out of the north side of Vought Tower.
7:00 PM, East Village.
The Red Brick bar was hidden beneath an old record store. The entrance was an inconspicuous iron door with "PRIVATE" spray-painted in red. Behind the iron door was a narrow staircase with concrete steps that kicked up fine dust when stepped on.
At the end of the stairs was a wooden door. Behind the wooden door was a small space—it could hold about thirty people. The bar counter was built of red bricks, the shelves on the wall were filled with various whiskies, the lights were dim, and the air was filled with the smell of tobacco and alcohol.
A person was sitting in the corner.
Maeve.
She wasn't wearing her uniform, but a dark green sweater, her hair was loose, and she wasn't wearing makeup. There was a glass of whiskey in front of her, and the ice in the glass had mostly melted, indicating she had been there for a while.
Lu Ren walked over and sat down opposite her.
"What are you drinking?" Maeve didn't look at him.
"Water."
Maeve raised her hand and gestured to the bartender behind the bar. The bartender nodded, poured a glass of water, and brought it over to place in front of Lu Ren.
The two of them were silent for a while.
"Did you write the note?" Lu Ren asked.
"Yes."
"Why meet here?"
"Because there's no Vought International surveillance here." Maeve finally looked up at him. "The bartender is one of my people. The owner of this bar is a comrade of mine from the military. This is one of the few places in Manhattan that Homelander can't get into."
"He can't get in?"
"He won't come." Maeve took a sip of whiskey. "Homelander doesn't like places like this. Too dark, too dirty, the people are too ordinary. He likes spotlights, red carpets, and restaurants with white tablecloths."
Lu Ren took a sip of water.
"What do you want with me?"
Maeve put down her glass and folded her hands on the table.
"The alarm in the North Wing." She said, "You triggered it."
It wasn't a question, but a statement.
"Why are you so sure?"
"Because The Cleaner was injured." Maeve's expression didn't fluctuate at all. "There was a fist mark on his chest. The size of that fist mark is about the same as your hand. Vought International's security team measured it."
Lu Ren didn't speak.
"Who did you release?" Maeve asked. "I never knew exactly what was being kept on the tenth underground level of the North Wing. But I know it's one of Vought International's oldest secrets. You let it out."
"It's not a 'what'." Lu Ren said, "It's a 'who.' A woman. In 1982, she was injected with compound v, her powers went out of control, and Vought International announced she was dead, but they actually locked her in the North Wingunderground for forty years. Her name is Abigail Sharpe."
Maeve's expression finally changed.
It wasn't shock, it wasn't anger, but a kind of weary, deep sorrow. Like someone who had heard too much bad news and finally heard a piece of bad news they had expected.
"Another one." She said.
"What?"
"Another person ruined by Vought International." Maeve picked up her glass and downed the rest of the whiskey. "Do you know how many monsters this company has created? Not Supes—Supes themselves aren't monsters. It's this company that turned them into monsters. Is Homelander a monster? Was he born that way? Or did Edgar and Dr. Vogelbaum teach him to be that way?"
She put down the glass, and the bartender immediately poured her another.
"I don't care." Maeve said. "What you're doing at Vought International, what you released, who you're working with—I don't care. I only care about one thing."
"What thing?"
"If I need your help, will you help me?"
Lu Ren looked into Maeve's eyes. In those eyes were bloodshot streaks from alcohol, the exhaustion caused by years of repression, and a faint hope that had not yet been extinguished.
"That depends on what it is." He said.
Maeve took a photo out of her pocket, placed it on the table, and pushed it in front of Lu Ren.
In the photo was a little girl, about seven or eight years old, with brown hair, a bright smile, wearing a pink dress, holding an orange cat in her arms.
"My daughter." Maeve said.
Lu Ren's heart skipped a beat.
In the original work, Maeve has no daughter. At least, not in the show version.
"Vought International doesn't know." Maeve's voice became very low. "Her birth certificate lists my former assistant as her mother. No one knows she's related to me. I sneak off to see her twice a month. Every time I go, I have to cross half the city, change cars three times, wear a wig, wear sunglasses, like a secret agent."
"Why tell me?"
"Because on my way to see her last time, someone followed me." Maeve said. "I don't know who it was. It could be Vought International's, it could be Homelander's, it could be someone else. I need a backup plan—if something happens to me, you have to help me take care of her."
"Why don't you ask Starlight?"
"Starlight is a good kid, but she's too green." Maeve shook her head. "She can't even protect herself, how can she protect my daughter?"
"Why do you trust me?"
Maeve looked at him for a long time.
"Because Black Noir trusts you." She finally said.
"Black Noir?"
"He gave you a badge." Maeve said. "Black, X-shaped. There's a line of text engraved on the back. He never gives anyone anything."
Chapter 20 Makeup Artist
Lu Ren did not speak.
Maeve stood up and put on her coat.
"Keep the photo," she said. "The address and contact information are written on the back. If I die, or go missing, help me find her and ensure she is safe. You don't need to raise her; she has a trust fund sufficient to get her through college. You only need to confirm that she is still alive and safe."
"How do you know you are going to die soon?"
Maeve buttoned her coat.
"Because of the woman you released," she looked at Lu Ren, "Abigail Sharp. I have heard that name. When I was a child, my mother told me a story—that Vought International had a superhero who could make heads explode and was locked underground. I thought it was just a ghost story to scare children."
She picked up her bag and walked toward the stairs.
After a few steps, she stopped.
"Homelander's side," she said without turning back. "The place you hit. Did you do it on purpose?"
Lu Ren was silent for two seconds.
"No," he said.
"Whether it was or not," Maeve turned her head, her profile looking exhausted in the dim light, "that spot is where he has a scar from an appendectomy when he was a child. His skin is thinner there than anywhere else. If you really want to hit him, hit him there."
She walked up the stairs.
The wooden door closed.
Lu Ren sat in the empty bar, holding the photo in his hand.
The little girl was smiling happily, revealing two missing front teeth.
He flipped the photo over. On the back, an address was written in ballpoint pen—a street number in a normal residential area in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. And a name: Elena.
Not "Maeve's daughter." It was Elena.
A normal little girl who didn't belong to Vought International.
Lu Ren put the photo into his pocket and finished the remaining water in his glass.
The bartender behind the counter wiped a glass, not looking at him.
He stood up and walked toward the stairs.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
A message from Butcher: "Dr. Vogelbaum told us Soldier Boy's location. Russia, Siberia, a place called the 'Kola Peninsula.' Still asking for the specific coordinates. We'll meet tomorrow night to discuss the next step."
Lu Ren replied with one word: "Okay."
He walked out of the red-brick bar and returned to the night of Manhattan.
People were coming and going on the streets of the East Village; no one noticed a young man in a black hoodie stepping out from a door that didn't exist.
He wove through the crowd, walked into an alley, turned into a bolt of silver-white lightning, and vanished into the night sky.
Nine o'clock at night, Brooklyn.
The warehouse door was open.
Lu Ren walked in and saw Abigail sitting in a chair with an old television in front of her. The television screen was on, playing an old movie—black and white footage of a man and a woman kissing in the rain.
"Can you see?" Lu Ren asked. Abigail's eyes were closed.
"I don't need to see," Abigail said. "I use electromagnetic fields to sense the television signal and project it directly onto my visual cortex. It's clearer than using eyes."
"You are watching a movie?"
"I am learning." Abigail opened her eyes. "It's been forty years; the world has changed a lot. I need to relearn how to be a person."
Lu Ren sat down on another chair.
"You went out this afternoon," Abigail said. "Not back to Vought Tower, but somewhere else. The East Village. A bar."
"Are you eavesdropping on me?"
"No," Abigail shook her head. "I cannot hear your mind. But I can hear the static electricity on you—the places you pass through leave electromagnetic traces, like ripples on the surface of water. I can read those ripples."
Lu Ren was silent for a moment.
"Someone gave me a photo," he said. "A little girl. If something happens to that person, I need to take care of her."
"Will you?"
"I will."
Abigail looked at his face, her gray pupils appearing deep in the light of the television.
"Your answer was too fast," she said. "So fast it doesn't seem like you thought about it. Do you agree to other people's requests without thinking?"
"It's not just anyone's request," Lu Ren said. "It's Maeve's."
Abigail tilted her head.
"Maeve. Maeve of The Seven. She is the one in The Sevenwho is most like a human."
"Are there good people in Vought International too?" There was no sarcasm in Abigail's voice, only a sincere curiosity.
"Perhaps not good people," Lu Ren said, "but at least not bad ones."
The black-and-white movie on the TV ended, and the credits slowly rolled up. Abigail picked up the remote—she had learned how to use a remote today—and turned off the television.
"Lu Ren."
"Yeah."
"Do you want to hear me tell you something?"
"What is it?"
Abigail stood up and walked to the window. The window was boarded up with planks, but there were gaps between them, through which a small patch of the sky could be seen.
"I can hear Homelander's inner voice," she said. "In all of Manhattan, his voice is the loudest. Not the volume—it's the intensity of his brainwaves. His brain is like a nuclear power plant, always running, always generating energy. Most people's brains are streams; his is a flood."
"What does he think about every day?"
"He thinks about many things," Abigail said. "He wants to be liked. He wants to be feared. He wants to find his father. He wants to kill Stan Edgar. He wants—"
She paused.
"He wants to have a home with a woman. A real home. But he doesn't know who that woman is. He has never felt love, so he doesn't know what it feels like to love someone. He only knows possession and control."
Lu Ren did not speak.
"He is not a monster by nature," Abigail turned around. "Vought International turned him into a monster. Just like they turned me into a monster. But I was locked up for forty years; no one saw what I became. He performs in front of the whole world every day; no one sees his true face."
"Are you sympathizing with him?"
"No," Abigail's voice was calm. "I am understanding him. Sympathy and understanding are different. Understanding someone does not mean forgiving what they have done."
She walked back to the chair, sat down, and wrapped the blanket around herself.
"You hit him today," she said. "On his old scar. You did it on purpose."
Lu Ren did not deny it.
"You shouldn't have done that," Abigail said. "At least, not this early. You provoked him, and he doesn't know yet that it was you who provoked him. But he will find out. He will investigate bit by bit, like unraveling a ball of yarn. When he gets to the end, he will discover it was you."
"I know."
"Are you not afraid of him?"
Lu Ren walked to the window and, through the gaps between the planks, looked at the small patch of the sky outside.
"I am," he said. "But some people are more important than fear."
Abigail looked at him, the corners of her mouth curling up slightly.
"You are a fool," she said. "But I like fools."
Outside the window, an airplane flew across the night sky, the lights on its wings blinking like a moving star.
---
When Lu Ren returned to Vought Tower from Brooklyn, it was already past midnight.
He took the fire escape. The corridor on the forty-sixth floor was deserted; there was no light under the crack of Starlight's door, so she was probably asleep. Maeve's door was closed, and a courier package was sitting on the carpet by the door, addressed to "M. Williams." Black Noir's room was at the end of the corridor, and a faint red light shone from under the door crack—like the light of a TV on standby, or the indicator light of some monitoring equipment.
Lu Ren entered his room without turning on the lights. He sat by the window, took out the photo Maeve had given him from his pocket, and looked at it again by the light of Manhattan outside. The little girl's face appeared exceptionally bright in the fluorescent night light, and the two missing front teeth looked like two small white squares.
He tucked the photo into the hotel Bible on his nightstand—not out of religious respect, but because no one would ever flip through a hotel Bible.
He lay down and closed his eyes.
There were too many things spinning in his mind, and he couldn't think clearly about anything. It was like a pair of tangled headphones with a dead knot; the harder he pulled, the tighter it got.
When the alarm went off, he felt like he had just opened his eyes the moment he closed them.
Seven-thirty in the morning.
There were two messages on his phone.
One was from Butcher: "Dr. Vogelbaum confessed more details. Three o'clock in the afternoon, the usual spot."
One was from Starlight: "There is a media shoot this morning, ten o'clock, third-floor studio. Ashley wants you to arrive at the makeup room half an hour early."
Lu Ren replied to Starlight: "Received."
He did not reply to Butcher.
Nine-thirty in the morning, Vought Tower third-floor studio.
This was Lu Ren's first time entering a professional studio at Vought International. It was bigger than he had imagined, a space about the size of a basketball court, with a pure green screen as the background, tracks laid on the floor, and several huge cameras mounted in different positions. The lights were countless; some hung from above, some stood on the ground, illuminating the entire studio like a world without shadows.
The makeup room was next to the studio, twice as big as the one Lu Ren used last time. The makeup artist had changed—a young man who spoke with a French accent, his hair dyed pink, nails painted black, wearing a T-shirt that read "MAKEUP IS POWER."
"Sit down," the French makeup artist pointed to the chair. "Your skin is the most difficult I have ever encountered. The last makeup artist complained for an hour. I need to use a special base, otherwise, when the camera films, your face will look like it has a layer of wax on it."
Lu Ren sat down and closed his eyes.
The makeup artist began working on his face. Brushes, sponges, powder puffs—various tools took turns, like a minor surgery.
"Done," fifteen minutes later, the makeup artist stepped back. "Open your eyes."
Lu Ren opened his eyes.
He in the mirror looked like a magazine cover—skin delicate but not oily, features defined but not exaggerated, eyes deep but not fierce. A light layer of lip balm was applied to his lips, which smelled like mint.
"Perfect," the makeup artist clapped his hands. "You are the protagonist today. Starlight is just the supporting role."
"Don't say things like that," Lu Ren stood up. "It wouldn't be good if it reached Starlight's ears."
"It won't reach her," the makeup artist smiled. "There are no Vought International listening devices in this room. I have worked in this studio for eight years; I know the location of every listening device. I turned them all off while I was doing your makeup."
Lu Ren glanced at him.
"Are you also with The Boys?"