When the sun completely sank into the horizon, leaving only a dark purple glow on the horizon, the special training on Lawn finally came to an end.
The few little monsters looked like wild dogs that had just been fished out of the mire, covered in sweat and grass clippings.
Reggie didn't even have the strength to run to the bathroom, so he lay sprawled on the wooden floor in the corridor, gasping for air while looking at the wall lamp lighting up above his head.
Tommy is not much better than him. Today he held the twenty red bricks in the air for two and a half hours.
The moment Lynn said the end, Bricks crashed to the ground. Tommy felt as if his brain had been thrown into a washing machine and stirred for a long time, buzzing loudly.
"The supper is hot in the pot. You can serve it yourself after taking a bath. No one is allowed to grab it today. A portion has been distributed to each person."
Lynn walked out of the kitchen with the freshly brewed Black Tea, explained casually, then walked to the large sofa in the living room, sat down, and turned on the TV.
After hearing that the food had been distributed, the children slowly got up and helped each other move to the bathroom.
In the corner of the living room, Black Noir did not take a shower.
He was sitting in front of the drawing board, with the bright floor lamp next to him, and the brush in his hand was putting the final touches on it.
His movements were very slow, not as sharp and crisp as when he knocked down John on Lawn.
Half an hour later, the children were washed clean, put on soft cotton home clothes, gathered around the dining table and started devouring the food.
Annie ate the fastest. She swallowed the last mouthful of mashed potatoes, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and then quietly slipped behind Black Noir.
The paint on the canvas is almost dry.
On the canvas is an oil painting with very bright colors.
Sunshine, green grass, Big Golden Retriever sticking out its tongue, and several vague but running figures of children.
In the center of the picture is a large wicker chair. Although there is no face on the wicker chair, anyone can recognize it as Lynn with its familiar outline and posture.
On the edge of this painting, in the shadow of a tree, there is a small black stick figure, half of his head sticking out to look at everything warm.
Annie looked at the painting, his eyes sparkling.
Black Noir put down the brush, turned around, and saw Annie standing behind him.
He hesitated for a moment, then carefully took the canvas off the easel with both hands and handed it to the little girl.
Annie took the painting somewhat flattered.
She knew that Black Noir couldn't speak, but she could feel the gentleness of this uncle in black.
"Thank you, coach! This is the most beautiful painting I have ever received. I want to hang it above my bed!"
Annie held the painting in his hands, his cheeks flushed with excitement.
Black Noir's eyes were bent under the mask, and he reached out and patted Annie's head twice.
For him, being able to sit in a room filled with the aroma of food and paint such a warm painting is a kind of salvation in itself.
On the sofa not far away, Lynn was watching the evening news on TV and drinking tea with a casual smile on his lips.
Reggie and John, who were full and full of food and drink, occupied the carpet in front of the TV. They were holding the controllers and playing crazy moves in the Arcade Machine game.
The characters on the screen were fighting inseparably, but in reality the two little guys bumped each other's shoulders from time to time, trying to interfere with each other.
Everything seemed so normal and relaxing.
But just when John was operating the game character and preparing to release a big move, Buddy, who was dozing at the feet of Lynn, suddenly stood up suddenly.
The long golden hair on Big Golden Retriever's body suddenly stood up, and its tail stretched straight. It did not run towards the door, but stared at the dark Lawn outside the floor-to-ceiling window, and let out a very low, warning roar from its throat.
This kind of roar is completely different from when it encounters strangers or stray dogs.
This is an instinctive reaction that occurs when faced with unknown dangers that are beyond the scope of biological cognition.
The atmosphere in the living room changed instantly.
The first person to react was not Lynn, but Black Noir sitting in front of the easel.
In the eyes of this silent killer, the warmth of one second and the killing of the next can be seamlessly switched.
He stood up suddenly, flipped his wrist, and already held a special Ninja Sword with a cold light in his hand.
He didn't make any sound, and his whole body took half a step back, perfectly blending into the shadows at the edge of the living room, like a poisonous snake lurking in the darkness.
On the carpet, John threw away the game controller in his hand.
The smile on his face disappeared without a trace, followed by a look of indifference.
He stood up, and Azure's eyes began to glow with a faint but dangerous red light, and his vision directly penetrated the bulletproof glass and the night outside.
Reggie and Tommy also quickly entered a fighting state. Even Kevin, who is usually the most timid, silently grabbed the kettle in his hand.
They are not only children, but also monsters trained by Lynn.
"Don't be nervous, put away the red light and continue playing your game."
Lynn put the tea cup in his hand on the coffee table, making a crisp collision sound.
He stood up from the sofa, patted Buddy's hairy head, and comforted the nervous big dog.
"It's not a mutant rat out there, nor is it a person from Vought International."
Lynn's voice is very flat, without a trace of ripples.
In fact, he had already noticed something was wrong outside.
He used the power of Bracelet to set up a weak perception barrier around the Manor. He would know immediately about any physical intrusion.
But just now, there was a very strange energy fluctuation that quietly penetrated into the barrier.
It feels like a drop of ink falling into clear water.
Lynn straightened his collar, walked to the entrance, and opened the door.
The early autumn night wind blew a bit of coolness on my face.
You can usually see many stars at night at Long Island, but tonight, in the area within a few tens of meters outside the door of the Manor, a layer of white mist that was so thick that it could not be dissolved had appeared at some point.
Several street lamps on the roadside flickered in the fog, making a sizzling sound of electricity.
Lynn did not go out of the yard, but stood on the steps, with his hands casually in his trouser pockets, and his eyes calmly looking at the thick fog outside the wrought iron gate.
The fog rolled a few times.
Soon, a slight sound of footsteps came from the fog, accompanied by an intermittent cough.
Two blurry figures slowly walked outside the Manor and Iron Gate, and stopped in the faint halo of the street lamp.
Standing on the left is a woman wearing an old-fashioned brown trench coat.
She looks to be around forty years old, with short, sleek hair, very sharp eyes, and a sense of oppression from someone who has been in a high position giving orders all year round.
Her hand was always in the pocket of her windbreaker, and it looked like she was holding a Pistol.
Grace Mallory.
CIA CIA's senior agent is also the ruthless character who has been secretly investigating Vought International in the original work and single-handedly founded the original The Boys.
But Lynn's eyes did not linger on Mallory, but looked at the man standing next to her.
The man wore a tattered black robe and looked like a homeless man.
He was holding an unlit low-quality cigar in his mouth, and in his hand was a small wooden stick about twelve inches long that looked like an irregular branch.
The strange energy that made the street lights flicker and caused the white mist to gather was emanating from the top of that small wooden stick.
"It seems that there are still a lot of good things hidden in Vought International's database."
Mallory looked at Lynn standing on the steps across Iron Gate, with a hint of ridicule and vigilance in his tone, "A Director that has no file record at all, a Manor that cannot be found on the map. If it weren't for the help of my friend with special abilities, I wouldn't even be able to find this road."
The man holding the stick shrugged and took the cigar out of his mouth.
"I've said it before, this kind of secret fortress built by capitalists must have anti-Muggle Repelling Charm outside. Although the method is very crude and not even like orthodox magic, it does have some tricks."
The man spoke with a strong United Kingdom accent, and he casually drew a circle in the air with the wooden stick.
There was a heartbreaking sound of metal twisting inside the lock of the originally locked wrought iron door.
Click.
The sturdy mechanical lock cylinder automatically pops open without any external force damage.