How Could This Be?!

"Oh, it's that blond Barbie again." Wade scoffed. "Look at those teeth—so white it's like he just tested whitening products for a toothpaste company. I bet even his shit smells like vanilla."

"He's the hottest person on Earth right now." Weasel wiped a glass. "I heard the champion's prize is fifty million."

"How much?!"

Wade nearly fell off his chair.

"Fifty million. Dollars. After taxes," Weasel added. "And you get to join that whatever-it-is, The Seven. Room and board included, plus health insurance."

Wade stared at the screen, his eyes outside the mask wide as saucers.

Fifty million...

How many Mexican burritos could that buy? How many gold-plated Desert Eagles?

Could it get him a new face... one that looked less like Freddy had raped it?

No, his face was definitely beyond saving.

But money was a good thing.

And besides...

That crazy voice rang out in Wade's head again.

(Wade A: Hey, Wade! Think about it! This is a global broadcast! If we kill people live on air... oh no, I mean perform! How fun would that be?)

(Wade B: And Hydra! Those assholes are still looking for us! If we become huge stars and show up on TV every day, they'll be so mad they'll have a stroke!)

Wade said, "Shut up, both of you."

"Who are you talking to?" Weasel asked, already used to it.

"My financial advisors."

Wade sprang to his feet so violently that he knocked over his chair.

"Weasel! Let me borrow your computer! The one loaded with every race imaginable!"

"What do you need it for?"

"I'm signing up!" Wade leaped onto the bar and struck an outrageously seductive pose. "I'm going to be a superhero! I'm going to become Homelander's best bro! I'm going to make all of America fall in love with this sexy avocado!"

"You're insane." Weasel looked at him. "They want heroes, not perverted serial killers. And that face of yours... are you planning to wear that shitty mask forever?"

"It's called mystery! You wouldn't understand!" Wade pointed at Jessica Jones on the television. "Look at that 'Queen Jones.' She looks constipated, and she still got famous. If she can do it, so can I!"

"And besides..."

Wade's voice suddenly dropped, carrying a rare chill.

"I'm a victim of the system, Weasel."

He touched the uneven skin beneath his hoodie.

"I'm the Cold War's bastard child, the product of filthy deals between Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D."

"They turned me into this, like a lump of shit."

"And now Homelander says he's looking for 'freaks'?"

Wade grinned.

"Then I'll show them what a real freak looks like."

"I'm going to turn that reality show... upside down."

Vought International's New York headquarters, Advanced Physical Training Center.

This was Starr Group's premier training ground. Its walls were made from special alloy capable of withstanding tank fire, while the floor was covered in impact-absorbing material designed to soak up massive force.

The air reeked of ozone and sweat from intense exercise.

"Bang—!!!"

A deafening boom rang out.

A hydraulic impact-testing machine weighing ten tons was forcibly brought to a halt by a pale fist.

The numbers on the display jumped wildly before finally freezing at: 18.5 tons.

"Fuck..."

Jessica Jones panted heavily and withdrew her fist.

She was drenched in sweat. Her white "Queen" bodysuit was soaked through and clung tightly to her skin, outlining every curve and ripple of muscle.

Her black hair was plastered wetly against her cheeks, and her eyes held a wild, untamed defiance.

"This suit... is fucking tight." She tugged at the collar, trying to give her chest some room to breathe.

"Don't complain, Queen. This is to get you accustomed to fighting in uniform."

Wu Yanzu sat on a leather sofa nearby, holding a Vought energy drink over ice. He looked as relaxed as though he were watching a show.

He wore a black tactical training suit without a cape, its tight material perfectly displaying his broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted build.

"Eighteen tons." Wu Yanzu glanced at the data and shook his head, his tone carrying a trace of disappointed frustration. "Jessica, is that your limit?"

"Shut up, blondie." Jessica grabbed a bottle of water and chugged it. "That was a ten-ton hydraulic machine! I almost tore the thing apart!"

"Yeah. Brute force."

"Fuck," Jessica cursed. "Why don't you try it yourself?"

"Me?" Wu Yanzu smiled.

He did not move.

His eyes merely glowed faintly red.

"Sizzle—!!"

Two thin beams of Heat Vision shot out, precisely cutting through one of the hydraulic machine's pressure lines.

"Boom!!"

The machine instantly shut down after losing pressure.

"I have simpler ways of solving problems." Wu Yanzu shrugged.

"Cheating bastard."

Wu Yanzu rose from the sofa and set down his drink.

He slowly walked toward the center of the training ground.

"You're like a Ferrari with only an accelerator and no steering wheel. You have plenty of power, but... you're full of openings."

He stopped before Jessica and raised his left hand, showing her a metal ring around his wrist that blinked red.

"Do you know what this is?"

"Your dog collar?" Jessica shot back.

"This is a power limiter developed by Vought Technologies." Wu Yanzu smiled. "I set it to... three tons. One-sixth of your maximum strength."

"Once the force I use exceeds that amount, this wristband will sound an alarm and punish me with a high-voltage shock."

"What do you mean?" Jessica frowned.

"I mean," Wu Yanzu crooked a finger at her, wearing that supremely punchable, confident smile, "I'll fight you using only three tons of force."

"You're serious?" Jessica narrowed her eyes like a lioness spotting prey.

"Absolutely serious! If you can knock me down..." Wu Yanzu pointed at the liquor cabinet nearby. "That bottle of Macallan 64 I've been saving is yours."

Jessica's eyes lit up instantly.

"You brought this on yourself, blondie."

Jessica rolled her neck, producing a series of sharp cracks.

"Don't go crying to your mommy."

Boom—!

Before Wu Yanzu could react, Jessica shot forward like a cannonball!

She had never learned formal combat. Her fighting style was simply an upgraded version of street brawling—fast, vicious, and direct.

This punch carried the terrifying momentum of over ten tons and shot straight for Wu Yanzu's handsome face!

"Good."

Wu Yanzu's voice was soft.

He did not dodge.

At the instant Jessica's fist was about to touch him, he shifted slightly aside and gently placed his left hand on her wrist.

Then, following the momentum of her charge, he gave it a light pull.

"What the...?"

Jessica felt as though she had struck a ball of cotton. Then an enormous force rebounded along her own fist!

Her center of gravity instantly collapsed!

Wu Yanzu stepped forward with the motion and lightly drove his shoulder into her chest.

"Bang!"

There was nothing flashy about it.

Jessica felt as if she had been sideswiped by a speeding train!

"Ugh!"

She grunted, flying backward for seven or eight meters before rolling twice across the floor in a miserable heap.

"How could this be?!"