A blizzard turned Manhattan into a white forest.
However, for a behemoth like Vought Tower, a power outage in the urban area is not a trouble at all. The backup generator set on the ground floor of the building is enough to maintain the normal operation of the entire underground base.
Forty floors underground, the current temperature is set at the most comfortable 24 degrees.
Stan Edgar stood behind the one-way glass, holding a steaming cup of Black Tea in his hand.
He looked through the glass at the children in the rest area who were once as defensive as little beasts.
The current picture is so harmonious that it is impossible to find anything wrong with it.
The red-haired girl named Marge was sitting on the carpet, holding a colorful picture book in her hand, and seriously telling stories to several younger children next to her.
The boy who couldn't control his invisibility can now reveal his figure very stably, and is leaning on the sofa eating toast covered with jam.
The chief psychologist was wearing that gentle light-colored sweater, like a truly kind father, smiling and distributing to them the fresh fruits just delivered today.
When he handed a strawberry to Marge, Marge not only did not dodge, but instead shyly whispered thank you.
Edgar took a sip of Black Tea, and a look of satisfaction flashed in his eyes behind the lenses.
Facts have proved that he was very successful in copying homework.
Lynn's set of so-called family bonds, after stripping away those extra layers of warmth, is essentially the highest level of behavioral domestication.
Once these experimental subjects who have grown up in darkness and torture taste the sweetness of being cared for and treated as human beings, they will burst out with a loyalty that is more terrifying than fear.
Now, the forty floors underground are no longer a prison to imprison them, but a home that they must protect at all costs.
As long as Vought International firmly grasps the tender switch of charity, these children of New Vanguard Camp will become the sharpest and most obedient knives in the company.
It's even easier to use than the one used by Stormfront with an electric shock baton.
Edgar turned around, handed the half-drunk tea cup to the assistant next to him, and walked out of the monitoring room with steady steps.
Passing through a long corridor, at the end is the most heavily defended critical care area in the entire underground base.
Stormfront was lying quietly on a special alloy hospital bed.
Her legs were tightly fixed with heavy medical steel frames and plasters from the top of her thighs to her ankles.
Those comminuted fractures are slowly growing back thanks to Compound V's self-healing ability. This process is accompanied by a numbness and severe pain that goes deep into the bone marrow.
If ordinary people were to endure this level of pain, they would already need large doses of analgesics to maintain their sanity.
But Stormfront does not.
She opened her eyes wide and stared straight at the shadowless lamp on the ceiling without even frowning.
The door to the ward was pushed open, and several doctors in protective suits came in to check the data of the instruments. She didn't even move her eyes, like a body that had lost its soul.
It was not until the doctors finished taking notes that they quietly exited, and the deathly silence returned to the ward.
Stormfront's chest rose and fell slightly, and his chapped lips slowly moved upward.
She didn't feel angry because her legs were broken, nor did she feel humiliated because her century-old arrogance was trampled in the mud.
On the contrary, what was replayed over and over again in her mind was the moment Long Island Estate.
The blond boy wearing a pure white turtleneck appeared in front of her like a god descending.
There are no fancy moves and no superfluous emotions.
It was that kind of pure, overwhelming violence, those eyes that were as clear as the blue sky even when they were strangling her neck.
Stormfront's breathing began to become a little rapid.
It's so perfect.
She has lived for almost a hundred years and has seen countless defective products that gained strength after being injected with Compound V.
She has always felt that except for her and a few people in this world, everyone else is garbage that pollutes their bloodline.
It wasn't until the moment she actually faced John that she finally understood what the true miracle of creation was.
That kind of steel body that couldn't even be harmed by tens of thousands of volts of plasma lightning, that kind of terrifying power that could easily crush her bones.
John is not Superheroes at all. He is a god who has evolved to the pinnacle and is the most powerful existence in the world.
When he thought of himself being defeated by such a perfect god, Stormfront's body even trembled slightly with a kind of morbid fanaticism.
Gods should be like this, cold and aloof, with absolute power of life and death.
However, Stormfront's purple eyes suddenly flashed with a heavy haze.
Such a perfect god would actually bow his head and listen to the scolding of an ordinary person because of a glass of milk that was about to get cold.
Lynn.
This name rolled around on the tip of Stormfront's tongue, bringing out a deep sense of disgust and contempt.
A weak mortal who has no Superpower at all and only knows how to hide in Safe House, cook and talk.
He actually dared to put himself above the gods, and used those ridiculous family games to tame a beast that could devour the world into a dog that only wags its tail to look after the house.
This is simply the greatest blasphemy against strength and an unforgivable waste of natural resources.
Stormfront feels that Lynn is too self-righteous. How can a mortal with unqualified virtue be able to firmly control the highest military force in the world.
Gods don't need mortal feelings, they don't need to care about Lawn and glass doors, Gods only need to rule.
As long as Lynn is still there, John will always be a knife locked in a scabbard.
Stormfront stared at the ceiling, his pupils that were dilated due to severe pain slowly focused.
John is so dependent on Lynn that even if he just breaks Manor's door, John will not hesitate to crush her legs to vent Lynn's anger.
But what if we think about it from another angle.
What if that ordinary person named Lynn suddenly died due to some accident.
Stormfront's eyes suddenly lit up.
Once the rope holding the beast breaks, the false haven created for the gods will collapse.
Will a god who has lost his only emotional anchor still stay at Long Island sweeping snow and cooking as he is now?
Definitely not.
John who loses Lynn will definitely fall into madness.
He will tear apart all disguises, burn everything in front of him to ashes, and return to that perfect state of ruthlessness, with only absolute power remaining.
At that time, a completely out-of-control and invincible god will truly come to this world.
Stormfront on the hospital bed pulled at the corners of his dry mouth and laughed slowly and silently.
Even though the nerves in her legs were involved, which made her break into a cold sweat, the fanaticism in her eyes became brighter and brighter.
Manhattan The snow is still falling, with no intention of stopping.