Alvin remotely severed the data connection controlling the puppet, then destroyed all the evidence.
He left not a single clue behind. Once he was sure his identity wouldn't be exposed, he drove away from the abandoned farm.
Seated in the driver's seat, Alvin thought about what he needed to do next.
But halfway through the drive, he suddenly felt dizzy and lightheaded, as if he'd pulled an all-nighter with a terrible hangover and then run a marathon—completely drained.
Alvin immediately slammed on the brakes. The tires scraped hard against the road, a brief, piercing squeal cutting through the quiet.
Soon, the inexplicable dizziness and fatigue faded.
But in their place came intense dehydration, as if every last bit of energy had been wrung out of him.
Alvin was soaked in sweat from head to toe, as if he'd just been fished out of a lake. His usually bright eyes were filled with deep exhaustion.
He tried to use his "psychic" power, but nothing happened.
It had been almost exactly twenty-four hours since he'd injected the temporary Compound V yesterday afternoon and awakened his "psychic" powers.
It felt like a beautiful dream. Only now, he'd woken up.
"No, that's not right. The psychic power is still there."
Alvin suddenly furrowed his brow. He could still clearly sense a power hidden deep within his soul.
The difference was that after injecting the "temporary Compound V," it had become incredibly difficult to draw on that power. It was like trying to move a hundred-meter-tall mountain with nothing but human strength—almost impossible.
"As expected, this body already had psychic power. The temporary Compound V acted as a fulcrum, infinitely amplifying my own mental strength. That's what let me leverage the power."
Alvin quickly understood the key, and smiled with relief. "If I was an A-class psyker after injecting Compound V, able to use psychic power freely, then this body's original psychic power was probably Omicron-class."
Under the Imperium's system of twenty-four levels, only those at A-class or above counted as true psykers. Omicron-class meant having a little psychic power, but not much.
Except for the few who unconsciously unleashed their psychic power when their lives were in danger, most people couldn't consciously control it at any point in their lives.
That was probably why his predecessor had survived the attack by the "Cult Psychic."
"Good thing I knew better than to put all my eggs in one basket."
Alvin gently massaged his temples, determination returning to his eyes. "So what if I'm only Omicron-class? Once I inject the permanent Compound V, I'll be a true A-class psyker. Then I'll be able to protect myself, even in the Underhive!"
He knew all too well that psychic power was a double-edged sword. The more he lost himself in its power, the deeper he would fall into the abyss of the Warp!
But in the Warhammer Universe, danger lurked everywhere, and the Underhive was crawling with cultists. Even knowing the road ahead led into a pit of fire, he had no choice but to jump in.
If he could delay his death by even a second, it would be worth it!
Gripping the steering wheel and keeping his eyes on the road, Alvin pressed down on the accelerator. His handsome face was set with resolve. "Even if the road ahead is covered in thorns, I'll carve a path through them. I don't want to die—especially not in the Underhive, forgotten like some piece of trash until I rot and stink!"
"I'm going to survive!!!"
On the deserted road, Alvin's roar rang through the endless night.
At last, his pent-up emotions broke free. He laughed out loud and drove toward the heart of the night.
The next day, Butcher, hiding at a secret safehouse, received a call from Alvin.
The moment Alvin spoke, Butcher nearly had a heart attack!
"Butcher, do you want to kill Homelander?"
Butcher's pupils contracted. He fought to keep his face from twisting with shock, then lowered his voice and asked, "Are you insane? Do you have any idea what you're doing? That's Homelander!"
"I know exactly what I want to do. You're the one who still doesn't know what you want, Butcher."
Alvin's voice on the phone was light and unhurried, as if he hadn't just proposed killing Homelander.
Glancing at his companions in the safehouse, Butcher slipped off to a deserted spot, covered the phone's mouthpiece, and growled, "What the hell do you mean, Alvin?"
"Don't you think there are too many superhumans in this world?"
Alvin's casual words struck Butcher's heart like a sledgehammer, stopping it for a second before it began pumping faster than ever.
"Butcher, have you ever wondered what this world would be like without superhumans?"
"Gods belong in stories, not the real world. Especially when a madman becomes a god in the eyes of the public—it can only lead this country to ruin, don't you think?"
Blood rushed to Butcher's head, battering his reason and thoughts. He gritted his teeth. "So this is what you really think? Kill every superhuman? Alvin, you're out of your mind!"
"If a madman had his finger on a button that could destroy the world, would you really put your faith in his kindness?"
Alvin spoke at a measured pace, like the devil Mephisto tempting Faust, stirring the demons deep inside Butcher. "So now, who do you think the madman is?"
"Don't forget, Homelander raped your wife, and you were powerless to stop him."
"You worked with the CIA, secretly taking care of plenty of problems. That's why you know better than anyone what those superhumans are really like."
Those words added another massive weight to the already tilted scales in Butcher's heart.
His eyes were bloodshot, his face twisted with fury. He looked like a beast that had lost its mind, panting heavily like a bull.
"Butcher, this world is sick."
Alvin's low, hoarse voice seemed to hold pity and compassion, as if he were truly mourning the whole world. "Those with superpowers are the root of its sickness. We have to cut out that root before the world can return to normal."
Only Butcher's heavy breathing remained on the other end of the call.
After a long while, Butcher seemed to wrestle with a difficult choice. In the end, guided by what he truly wanted, he leaned toward one side of the scales. "What's the plan?"
"The day after tomorrow, I'll make sure Homelander shows up somewhere alone."
Alvin didn't reveal his whole plan, deliberately keeping part of it to himself. "I'll give you three doses of temporary Compound V. When the time comes, wait for my signal, and we'll take Homelander down together."
"You're sure he'll be alone?"
Butcher frowned, doubtful. "What if one of the other 'big shots' shows up? What then?"
"Relax. No other 'big shots' will show up."
Alvin gave him a reassuring answer. "I guarantee that Homelander will be the only one there that day. And I have a drug that can temporarily strip him of his superpowers."
"Fine. I'll take your word for it this once!"
Butcher seemed to have gone a little mad himself. His eyes were filled with murderous intent. "Even if we can't kill Homelander, we can at least cripple him!"
He hung up.
Alvin toyed with the temporary Compound V, the corners of his lips lifting slightly. "Excellent. Everything's in place now. All that's left is the final moment."
Butcher had fallen into his trap from the very beginning.
Because at his core, the plan to exterminate superhumans was Butcher's truest desire—and the very thing he would eventually act on.
Alvin had merely used Butcher's anger to bring that moment forward a little, unleashing the demon inside him.
Homelander, are you ready?
Next up was a "fan meetup."
Of course, the fans might be a little "enthusiastic," but Alvin was sure Homelander would love this carefully prepared gift!
I'm Trump. Just send me one monthly pass and I'll set you up on a date with Ivanka—and make me your vice president!
Before you continue