Frenchie rushed out of Frank's home almost rolling and crawling on the ground.
The cold wind blew on his face, making him shiver violently.
The withdrawal reaction caused by drug addiction is wreaking havoc on this skinny body.
According to his past habits, even if he went to rob or dig through the trash can at this time, he must immediately find something to inhale into his lungs to suppress the pain that was worse than death.
But he didn't go to the street corner to find the dealers hiding in the shadows, nor did he turn back to the safety of Newman's basement.
He wants New York back.
Frenchie dragged his heavy steps to the intersection and stopped a taxi parked on the roadside.
The driver was a stout middle-aged man. Seeing Frenchie's trembling appearance as a drug addict, his brows immediately furrowed. He didn't even want to roll down the window and simply waved his hand to refuse the ride.
Frenchie No nonsense.
He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and took out a roll of cash. There were lots of money in it, all of which were banknotes he had saved for some unknown purpose.
He threw the whole roll of money directly through the crack of the half-open window onto the passenger seat.
The driver was stunned. He glanced at the stack of banknotes containing at least several thousand dollars, then at Frenchie, and finally pressed the door lock under the temptation of money.
"Go to New York, the sooner the better."
Frenchie dove into the back seat and curled up into a ball.
A long drive.
Along the way, Frenchie was struggling with withdrawal reactions. He bit the back of his hand until blood dripped from his bite.
The driver in front held the steering wheel tightly with both hands and glanced at the movement in the back row through the rearview mirror from time to time. He felt that it was hard to make money with money.
The poisonous man was trembling and bumping against the car door all the way. He was afraid that the other party would suddenly violently injure someone or die directly in his car.
As soon as the car got off the highway, Frenchie opened the door and walked out.
New York has gone completely crazy.
The broad street has been completely blocked by the huge crowd.
Hundreds, thousands, even tens of thousands of people took to the streets.
They held banners painted with red paint in their hands, and the slogans from the loudspeakers became louder and louder.
"Homelander kills to pay for life!"
"Overthrow Vought! Hang Butcher!"
"We want the truth! We want justice!"
The crowd was like a huge, irrational beast, rampaging through the streets.
Frenchie put the collar of his jacket up, put his hands in his pockets, lowered his head and walked forward close to the edge of the building.
When passing an intersection, a commotion suddenly broke out in the queue in front.
Dozens of people were pushing and pushing to break through the police cordon, and a serious stampede was about to occur.
A Supe wearing Vought uniform rushed out from the security team next to him.
This Supe is young and has a pair of furry animal ears on the top of his head.
"Everyone, stay back! Don't crowd! Be careful of stepping on people!" The young man with animal ears shouted loudly.
But his uniform was the most dazzling target at this moment.
I don't know who threw a piece of Bricks as big as half a palm from the crowd, and it hit the young man on the forehead.
Blood flowed down instantly, blinding his eyes.
This piece of Bricks is like turning on a terrifying switch.
Angry people rushed forward.
More than a dozen hands grabbed the young man's uniform and dragged him forcefully into the crowd.
There was the dull sound of leather shoes being kicked, the sound of bones breaking, and excited yelling.
"Kill this Vought lackey!"
"You monsters are worthy of taking care of us!"
Just under two minutes.
When the crowd dispersed a little, the young Supe with animal ears was already lying motionless in a pool of blood.
His chest was deeply sunken, and his ears were trampled into a puddle of rotten flesh.
Not far away, several Vought Supe responsible for peripheral security stood behind the police car.
Looking at their companions who died tragically, their faces were pale and their legs were weak. No one dared to step forward to rescue them.
At this juncture, whoever dares to attack civilians will only end up worse than the man who set himself on fire.
A man in the crowd with a loudspeaker jumped on the roof of the car, pointed at the trembling Supe and laughed loudly.
"Look! This is the hypocrisy of Vought! They are usually aloof, but now they don't even dare to fart even if their companions are beaten to death! These monsters who bully the weak and fear the strong should have gotten out of our world long ago!"
A thunderous cheer erupted from below.
Frenchie looked at the corpse on the ground coldly, without stopping, and continued to walk forward.
He turned into a remote alley.
Along the way, all stores with Vought logos and Homelander posters suffered.
The glass windows were smashed to pieces, the goods inside were looted, and the walls were spray-painted with vicious graffiti.
Next to the trash can deep in the alley, Frenchie saw three young people wearing Homelander fan support uniforms.
They held homemade placards in their hands that read "Trust Him" and "He Saved Me."
The girl taking the lead even brought a megaphone.
These young people originally wanted to stand up and speak out for the heroes in their hearts in this Stormfront.
But the overwhelming cries of defiance outside and the tragic scene of Supe being kicked to death in the street completely frightened them.
They hid in the dark alley, looking at the slogans in their hands, their bodies trembling uncontrollably.
Frenchie walked quietly past the trash can.
He didn't think these people were cowardly. Not everyone had the courage to be shattered in front of the torrent.
The sky gradually darkened.
Frenchie Following the guidance in his mind, he finally stopped in front of a red brick apartment building.
He turned his eyes and looked at the steps in front of the apartment door.
Three children were huddled in the corner of the steps.
A boy about ten years old held a seven or eight-year-old sister and a younger brother tightly in his arms.
The three children were gray-haired, wearing washed-out clothes, and their cheeks were covered with criss-crossed tear stains.
The big boy himself was obviously trembling with fear, but he was still patting his little sister on the back with his little hand covered with dirt.
"Don't cry, don't be afraid. Dad will definitely come back. He promised to take us to Japan to play." The boy held on with a hint of strength.
At this moment, the little girl who had her head buried in her brother's arms raised her face with tears in her eyes.
The first thing she saw was Frenchie standing under the streetlight.
"Dad!"
Hearing this title, the other two children also raised their heads suddenly.
The three children hugged Frenchie's waist and legs tightly and cried heartbrokenly.
Frenchie stood stiffly on the spot.
He looked down at the three little guys clinging to him.
His mind was still empty. He couldn't remember their names at all, couldn't remember how he, a hopeless drug addict, became their father, let alone what kind of daily life they spent here.
But he felt the warmth on their bodies.
He felt something heavy that penetrated directly into his heart that had long been numb and rotten.
Frenchie slowly squatted down and hugged the three children hard, he was thinking.
Who is he?
He is Frenchie.
An all-around genius who is proficient in assassination, gun modification, fighting, chemistry and hacking techniques.
People like him who rely on their brains and skills to make a living in the underground world will never forget the most important piece of the puzzle in their lives for no reason.
Even if he ate those white powders as food every day, there would never be such a memory gap.
Someone had manipulated his mind.
He recalled the information he saw when he hacked into the Vought intranet a few days ago.
It was a file from ten years ago, a list of all Supe files on Vought International and their ability evaluations.
Among a bunch of fancy abilities, one person caught his attention.
That is a New Vanguard Camp child named Mesmer.
There is a chubby photo on the profile.
The ability evaluation column of this Mesmer clearly states: read memories through physical contact, as well as modify and erase memories.
The fat face in the photo overlaps with the fat follower who has been following Neuman these past few days.
The loop is closed.
Frenchie took a deep breath and released his embrace.
He looked at the girl holding on to his clothes, gently wiped the mud and tears from her face with the back of his hand, and asked in a gentle tone:
"Tell dad, what kind of person do you think Homelander is?"
The little girl sniffed her red nose, and there was no trace of fear in her clear eyes.
She looked at Frenchie and answered matter-of-factly in a childish voice:
"Dad, haven't you always told us that Homelander is a just and good man?"
Frenchie was quiet for a few seconds after listening.
Then he laughed.
He reached out and rubbed the little girl's messy hair.
"Yeah."
Frenchie stood up, his eyes darker than the night, "Now, daddy is going to uphold justice."