After Sparks had been carried into the infirmary, Lynn sat in his luxurious office, staring blankly at a cup of Gesha coffee that had already gone cold.
Things had developed somewhat beyond his expectations.
He had originally thought that all he needed to do was keep John within the bounds of a strict "heroic code of conduct" to make him a good person who followed the rules.
But today's combat test had shown him a terrifying fact.
John was like a supercomputer with extraordinary processing power.
Lynn had entered code called "justice" and "rules," and John had executed it perfectly, even accounting for edge cases like "don't hit their faces so they can appear on TV."
But he had no feelings.
He had held back not out of reverence for life, but simply to complete the "assignment" Lynn had given him.
If, one day in the future, this supercomputer decided that the code contained a logical flaw, or that it stood in the way of some ultimate goal he wanted to achieve, he would tear both the code and its author to pieces without hesitation.
"Empathy... how am I supposed to teach that?"
Lynn rubbed his faintly aching temples and muttered to himself in frustration.
In the world of ordinary people outside, teaching a child empathy generally meant getting a small animal or taking him to volunteer at an orphanage.
But in this sunless underground Vought facility, he could hardly catch a mutated test subject for John to keep as a pet, could he?
Wait, a pet?
Lynn's eyes lit up, and he abruptly pressed the intercom on his desk.
"Logistics? This is Lynn. Get me a dog. Yes, no military dogs, nothing mutated. Just the most ordinary, sweet, clueless golden retriever puppy you can find. And buy a full set of dog food, a dog bed, and toys. Have everything delivered to my office before the end of the workday."
After ending the call, Lynn let out a long breath.
For a little superpowered psychopath who lacked empathy, using a small, furry life to awaken the softer side of his humanity was the most classic-and most effective-"American therapy."
At six that evening, Lynn pushed open the underground apartment's alloy door, carrying a cardboard box bearing a pet shop's logo.
"John, come see what spoils I brought you."
Lynn set the box on the wool rug in the living room.
John immediately put down his comic book and came over curiously.
He had thought Lynn had brought him another interesting videotape or some tasty fast food.
But the moment Lynn opened the box, a chubby little bundle no bigger than two palms, covered in golden puppy fur, wobbled out.
The little golden retriever gave a babyish "woof," then plopped down on the rug and gazed at the two people before him with big, dark, utterly innocent eyes.
John froze.
He stared at the fluffy puppy for a full ten seconds, then turned his head, his blue eyes full of confusion.
"Lynn, is this a new flavor of emergency rations? It doesn't look like it has much meat."
Lynn slapped his forehead, nearly coughing up blood on the spot.
"It's not emergency rations! It's a dog! A pet, man's best friend!"
Lynn hurriedly scooped up the little golden retriever, who was blithely preparing to chew John's shoelaces. "His name is Buddy. Starting today, he's a new member of our family."
"A new member?"
John frowned, seemingly very unhappy about this weak creature invading his territory. "But he's so weak. He has no sharp claws, no Heat Vision. Even that fat guy Bob could stomp him to death. Can he help us fight bad guys?"
"He doesn't need to fight bad guys. His purpose is to teach you how to care for a life countless times weaker than you."
Lynn placed the little golden retriever in John's arms.
John instantly went rigid.
He felt the warm little thing in his arms wriggling restlessly, and the puppy's warm tongue even licked the back of his hand.
A hint of red instantly rose in John's eyes, his instinctive defensive reaction to an unfamiliar stimulus.
"No superpowers!"
Lynn shouted, "Put away your Heat Vision and super strength! He's like a fully ripe peach. If you put even a little pressure into your fingers, every bone in his body will shatter!"
At the words "every bone will shatter," John was so frightened that he quickly suppressed the red glow in his eyes. His hands held the puppy like a time bomb that could explode at any moment. He did not dare move, and even softened his breathing.
"Can you feel his heartbeat?"
Lynn gentled his voice, patiently guiding him. "He's fragile, so fragile that any little accident in this world could take his life. But he's also alive. Heroes don't just have to face powerful enemies. They also have to learn to bend down and embrace that fragility as gently as they can."
John lowered his head to look at the little golden retriever in his arms.
Buddy seemed to notice that the person holding him was a little stiff. He whined, gently nuzzled John's chest with his fluffy little head, then settled down comfortably, even letting out a contented snore.
He wasn't afraid of him.
Over the past six years, everyone who approached John except Lynn had carried fear they could not hide.
They feared his power and his unpredictable temper.
But this weak little "Buddy" did not.
He knew nothing about Compound V or the God of Earth. He only felt that this person's arms were warm.
A strange feeling spread through John's heart.
Tentatively, he extended a soft, pale finger and, extremely slowly and carefully, stroked Buddy's back along the lie of his fur.
Soft. Warm.
"He doesn't dislike me."
John looked up, his eyes shining with a light that had never been there before.
"Because you put away your sharp edges. When you choose to be gentle, the world will be gentle with you too."
Smiling, Lynn ruffled John's hair. "From today on, feeding him, cleaning up his poop, and bathing him are all your responsibility. If he loses a single hair or gets sick, all your burgers and Nintendo time for the week are canceled."
John nodded as though facing a formidable enemy. He carefully set Buddy on the rug and watched him without blinking, as if carrying out a security assignment more important than saving the planet.
Watching John clumsily chase the puppy around with a bottle to feed him milk, Lynn leaned against the bar in satisfaction and took a sip of goji berry tea.
That was the right move.
With this little creature to form an attachment to, the boy's capacity for empathy could finally be cultivated, little by little.
What Lynn did not know, however, was that late that night, when all was quiet and he lay breathing evenly in his bedroom, John opened his eyes in the living room.
John quietly climbed off the sofa.
He glanced at Buddy, who was sleeping sprawled out in his dog bed, tucked the blanket he had kicked off back over him, then walked toward the apartment door.
The door's retinal lock was an insurmountable obstacle to ordinary people, but it might as well not have existed for John.
The big boss, Edgar, had long since ordered that the boy be granted the highest level of access to everything except the company's core classified archive.
The door slid open without a sound.
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