On the basketball court.
The young man with dreadlocks was still frothing at the mouth and boasting.
Suddenly, the light above the head dimmed.
It was like a heavy dark cloud pressing down on the basketball court without warning.
The laughter stopped abruptly.
The young man with dreadlocks raised his head subconsciously, and the beer can in his hand fell to the cement floor with a clatter, and the light yellow liquid dripped all over the floor.
John folded his arms in front of his chest, like a leaf, slowly falling from the sky.
The basketball court, which was noisy just now, suddenly became quiet.
Several young people were like ducks whose necks were pinched tightly, with their mouths open but unable to make a single sound.
The young man with dreadlocks who was so arrogant just now was as pale as a sheet of paper, his calves were shaking like chaff, his feet gave way, and he collapsed directly on the ground.
That layer of bravery disguised for vanity was shattered into pieces when faced with the true coming of the gods.
John didn't get angry, and there wasn't even any anger on his face.
He looked down at the young man who was slumped on the ground. His voice was very low, but it reached everyone's ears clearly.
"You are very noisy."
John put down his arms and stepped closer, "Repeat what you just said in front of me."
No one dared to speak out.
The young man with dreadlocks shook his head desperately, tears and snot flowing down uncontrollably.
However, in this suffocating sense of oppression.
At the very back of the crowd, a fat young man wearing a baseball cap swallowed his saliva.
With trembling hands, he took out a mobile phone from his pocket, quickly opened the screen with his thumb, and pointed the black camera at Homelander, who was walking over.
He was scared to death, but he still pressed the record button.
Look at the action of holding up the phone.
John stopped.
He remembered what Legend had said while chewing his cigar in the conference room just now.
"It doesn't matter what the truth is."
"What they enjoy most is pulling the gods off the altar with their own hands."
In this damn information age, mobile phone lenses are the strongest shield and the most unscrupulous weapon in the hands of these people.
They were sure that he didn't dare kill anyone in front of the camera, and that he had to maintain that ridiculous heroic image.
John looked at the trembling boy hiding behind the phone screen, and looked at the dark camera.
He suddenly laughed.
People really laugh when they are speechless.
The red light flashed away and the phone melted.
This time, everyone was silent.
Chicago, a place Basement.
Mesmer leaned on the sofa and touched Frenchie with a wine bottle. He couldn't suppress the smile on his face.
They did have reason to celebrate, this victory came so quickly.
"This is just the beginning."
Frenchie took a sip of beer and wiped the corners of his mouth.
"Just watch, even if we sleep here later, there will definitely be a bunch of bastards who are crazy about gaining traffic and will pounce on us. These people will be like sharks that smell blood, and they will make the situation even worse for us."
Neuman sat aside, convinced of Frenchie's words.
Their previous acquaintance made her know how reliable the man in front of her who looked like he was about to lose his life was.
But in the corner of the room, the atmosphere was completely different.
Butcher was completely trapped in the shadows. He was biting his cigarette butt and his brows were tightly knitted together.
That's right, it wasn't him who set himself on fire, it was Neuman who found someone to do it based on his body shape and appearance.
Based on the current progress, he should be jumping up and popping the champagne by now.
The blood feud between his comrades and the harm done to his girlfriend are finally hoped to be completely settled.
You can easily imagine how miserable Homelander and Vought International are now.
However, he just couldn't be happy.
It felt like there was a stone stuck in my chest, which was so tight that I felt nervous.
Is it because I feel from the bottom of my heart that the current methods of public opinion warfare and borrowing money to kill people are too villainous?
"Bah!"
Butcher spit out the tobacco in his mouth on the concrete floor.
As long as you can pull down those bastards like Vought from the altar, there is no such thing as a villain.
If you care about fairness and justice, then don't even think about revenge in this life.
Butcher picked up the cup, swallowed the remaining liquor in one gulp, swallowed the inexplicable irritability in his heart, and tried to convince himself to accept it all.
On the other side, Marge leaned against the cold wall and looked at the happy people in front of her. She couldn't laugh no matter what.
Let alone laughing from the bottom of her heart, she didn't even have the energy to put on a smile now.
The more lively the surroundings were, the chillier she felt.
A hand suddenly patted her shoulder.
Neuman came over with half a bottle of beer. "Sister Marge, today is our big day. It's rare that everyone is so happy. Why are you still pretending to be cold?"
Marge frowned and subconsciously raised his hand to push Neuman away.
This force was so strong that it pushed Neuman back two steps.
According to common sense, if you humiliate someone like this in public, even if the other person doesn't get angry, they should be a little embarrassed or unhappy.
However, Neuman just stood firm, smiled nonchalantly at Marge, turned around and walked away, not asking for trouble at all.
Marge stared deeply at Neuman's back, feeling a chill down his spine for no reason.
Neuman had just taken two steps away when Frenchie rubbed his nose and came closer.
His hands were trembling a little, and he lowered his voice and said, "Give me some."
Neuman spread out his hands and patted his empty pockets. "It's really gone. I don't have any left on me. I said, why did your addiction suddenly become so big?"
"Yeah..."
Frenchie paused, stared at the ground with distracted eyes, scratched his hair irritably and muttered, "Why is it so big all of a sudden..."
Seeing Frenchie frowning as if she was remembering something, Neuman's eyes instantly darkened, and she realized that she had said the wrong thing.
"Okay!"
Neuman suddenly turned up the volume, grabbed Frenchie's shoulders, and interrupted his thoughts.
"Come out of Basement and get some fresh air. We are in Chicago South Side now, not New York. The streets outside are full of the things you want. You can buy them at any intersection when you go out. Go out and buy them."
Frenchie was half-pushed and half-brought to the stairs by Neuman.
His mind was still a little hazy, so he instinctively walked up the wooden stairs and opened the door of Basement.
The sun hit his face, and Frenchie rubbed his eyes. As soon as he walked onto the dilapidated street, he bumped into someone head-on.
A strong smell of urine mixed with alcohol hit my nose.
The man who was hit was wearing a denim jacket, holding a bottle of beer in his hand, with stubble on his face and his hair as messy as a bird's nest.
Instead of being angry, he opened his mouth and showed his yellow teeth, staring at Frenchie with bright eyes.
"Hey, man!"
The man burped, "My name is Frank. Looking at you looking so hungry, do you want to have some fun?"
[Frank Gallagher, one of the protagonists in the American TV series "Shameless", makes a guest appearance.]