Have the Bad Guys Outside Turned into Chunks of Metal Already?

John's attention was instantly captured by the colorful box that moved and made sounds.

He even forgot to drink the Coke in his hand, staring at the screen without blinking, not blinking once.

"Is this the outside world?"

John pointed at Starscream and Optimus Prime exchanging laser fire on the screen, a hint of wariness entering his voice. "Have the bad guys outside turned into chunks of metal already?"

Lynn was amused. He walked over and ruffled John's hair.

"No, this is called a cartoon. It's a story made out of drawings."

Lynn sat on the couch and patted the spot beside him. "Ordinary people outside make up these stories to teach children right from wrong. See that big red-and-blue guy? He's the hero of this story."

John obediently sat beside Lynn and watched Optimus Prime on the screen.

"Why doesn't he just shoot that bad guy called Megatron dead instead of talking so much nonsense?"

After watching for a while, John raised a question that cut straight to the heart of the matter.

In his logic, the most efficient way to deal with bad guys was to go up, twist their arms off, and stomp their legs in two.

"Because he needs to consider the civilians' safety. And he's a leader with principles."

Lynn patiently began his lesson in moral education. "John, do you remember how the big boss in the observation room looked at you after you broke that monster's leg at the testing ground that day?"

John thought back, then nodded. "He looked very happy."

"He certainly was, because you solved a problem for him. But if you were outside and twisted someone into a pretzel in that bloody way in front of a crowd of ordinary people, they wouldn't be happy. They'd just be afraid of you."

Lynn picked up the remote and pressed pause.

The picture froze on the imposing figure of Optimus Prime, seen from behind.

"A hero doesn't just need the power to punish bad guys. He also needs something called an image."

Lynn looked at John, his tone becoming very serious. "Your image is how ordinary people see you. If your methods are too brutal, even if you're fighting bad guys, ordinary people will think you're a monster. They'll run away screaming and refuse to let you protect them."

John frowned.

Ordinary people would be afraid of him?

That made him feel inexplicably irritated.

What he wanted was for ordinary people to obey and accept the order he established.

"Then what should I do?"

"Learn restraint, and show your gentle side."

Lynn pointed at the Autobot leader on the television. "When you fight bad guys, be as swift and decisive as the autumn wind sweeping away fallen leaves. But when you face ordinary people, you need to learn to smile and make them feel you're as warm as the sun. Only when they trust you can you carry out your justice more effectively."

John looked thoughtfully at the screen, then at Lynn.

Then he tugged hard at the corners of his mouth, producing a somewhat stiff, even slightly terrifying smile.

"Like this?"

A chill ran down Lynn's back at the sight of that smile.

It looked far too much like the smile of that psychopath Homelander in later years, a smile that never reached his eyes, practically etched into his DNA.

"No, no, no. Too fake."

Lynn hurriedly reached out and pinched John's baby-fat cheeks. "You have to smile from the heart. Think about eating a burger. Think about solving your Rubik's Cube."

John closed his eyes and thought back.

When he opened his eyes again, the corners of his mouth lifted naturally, and his azure eyes took on a childlike innocence. It was a flawless, sunny smile that could melt anyone's heart.

"Perfect."

Lynn snapped his fingers. "Remember that feeling. This is your weapon when you face the public from now on. Sometimes it'll be even more effective than your Heat Vision."

Above the apartment, in the Vice President's office on the hundredth floor.

Stan Edgar was studying an encrypted budget report in his hands.

Madelyn stood across the desk, reporting on the construction of the new living quarters in Area B.

"Lynn has already moved in with the test subject. All the amenities are of the highest standard. In addition, all the surveillance cameras in the medical room have been installed in concealed locations," Madelyn said.

"Has that young man named Lynn made any excessive demands?" Edgar asked without looking up.

"No. He only asked for a fresh pizza delivery every Friday, along with an unlimited supply of videotapes and all kinds of books."

Edgar closed the report and gave a very faint sneer.

"It seems our researcher really does intend to be a good father."

Edgar rose and walked to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a whiskey. "Let him. We need an emotional attachment with human feelings and desires. As long as that boy still cares about Lynn, we can control the boy through him."

Madelyn hesitated. "But Mr. Edgar, what if Lynn teaches the test subject to be too... weak? We don't need a moral exemplar who hesitates even to kill."

"Weak?"

Holding his glass, Edgar recalled the cold look in the little boy's eyes as he crushed the mutated gang leader's knee, as though he were stepping on an ant.

"Madelyn, you still don't understand the product we've created well enough. Absolute arrogance runs in his blood. The rules and morals Lynn is teaching him now are nothing more than a pretty layer of turf laid over an active volcano. Sooner or later, the volcano will erupt. I only hope that before that day comes, he'll learn how to elegantly control the flow of lava instead of burning himself and the entire company to ash."

Edgar sipped his liquor, his gaze deep as he looked out at New York's bustling nightscape.

"Give him another five years. Five years from now, we want him standing before everyone with the impeccable image of The Chosen One."

Down in the underground apartment, Lynn naturally knew nothing of what the capitalists upstairs were plotting.

He was facing an enormous challenge of his own.

"So you're going to put this whole piece of raw meat into that iron box that makes fire, and then it'll turn into steak?"

John stood by the kitchen counter, watching in wonder as Lynn tossed a marinated sirloin steak into a frying pan.

With a sizzle, the scent of butter mingled with the aroma of beef and burst into the air.

"Right. This is called cooking. It's also one of human civilization's greatest inventions."

Lynn fumbled with the tongs as he flipped the steak, shaking his hand after splattering oil burned him.

In an era when even food delivery was still underdeveloped, the only options for a decent meal were eating at the cafeteria or cooking it yourself.

To cultivate this little tyrant's picky palate, Lynn was racking his brains to recall his meager cooking skills.

Watching Lynn scramble, John's eyes suddenly shifted to the blue natural-gas flame beneath the pan.

"I can help, actually, Lynn."

The moment he finished speaking, two points of scarlet light appeared in John's eyes.

"Fuck! Don't!"

Scared out of his wits, Lynn dropped even the tongs and clapped a hand over John's eyes.

"For the love of God! One blast of your Heat Vision wouldn't leave even ashes of this fine steak, and it'd blow the gas pipes on our entire floor sky-high!"

The red light in John's eyes faded in aggrieved disappointment. He pouted. "I just wanted it to cook faster."

Lynn let out a long breath and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

"Listen, John. In our territory, the kitchen is an absolute no-magic zone. Whether you're cooking or cleaning, you can only use your hands. No superpowers. That's an ironclad rule. Understand?"

John looked at the steak in the pan, with its tantalizing aroma, swallowed, and nodded obediently.

Lynn sighed in relief and picked up the tongs again.

It seemed that raising this kid meant not only teaching him how to save the world, but also keeping him from blowing up the kitchen.

Life was looking more and more like a prison sentence.