Everyone's eyes fell on the three bloody men slumped on the floor tiles.
They spit out blood foam from their mouths, their incomplete gums trembled up and down, and they shouted out two names almost in unison.
"Neuman, Mesmer."
These five words followed the microphone and were clearly transmitted into everyone's ears.
The footage was simultaneously transmitted to Godolkin University's underground laboratory.
Neuman:"???"
Mesmer:"!!!"
Neuman's face froze, and she turned her head sharply, staring at the fat man next to her with question marks.
Mesmer was also confused.
The potato chips fell onto his trouser legs with a clatter.
"This is impossible..."
Mesmer stared straight at the screen, his eyes full of panic, "I personally washed their brains. I wiped out all the memories of us in their minds. They can't even remember whether I am fat or thin. How can they know my name!"
Neuman didn't say anything, just looked at him with a dead look.
Vought Tower 1st floor.
As these two names were announced, the sound of shutters in the entire venue turned into a dense rainstorm.
John stood in the center of the flash, with no surprise on his face.
He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
The huge screen behind him lit up instantly.
Two older archival photos appeared in the center of the screen.
On the left is a young girl with gloomy eyes, and on the right is a slightly fat boy who looks harmless.
"Victoria·Neuman, Mesmer."
John turned around, looked at the photos on the screen, and introduced it to the audience in a steady voice.
"These two people were once members of New Vanguard Camp, which was formed by former president Stan·Edgar. They are dissatisfied with Vought's current reforms and have been lurking in the dark, trying to subvert the current order with such despicable means."
John turned around, pressed his hands on the edge of the podium, glanced at everyone in the audience, and his tone suddenly turned cold.
"I now officially announce that Vought will use all resources and spare no effort to hunt down these two people around the world. They must pay the price for this farce and the innocent injured people."
Click click click.
The flash is so bright that it's hard to keep your eyes open.
At this point, the matter seems to have been settled.
The real culprit has surfaced, the motive is reasonable, and there are both witnesses and material evidence.
John only needs to read the grand lines of Diadem on the teleprompter step by step, and throw all the dirty water on these two traitors, and this crisis that almost triggered a world war will end perfectly.
Ashley took a long breath and leaned against the wall as if exhausted, but Legend still frowned.
On the street outside Vought Tower.
In the command car in the distance, Marcus stared at the broadcast screen on the screen and exhaled a long breath.
It looks like the crisis is over.
As long as today can end successfully, it doesn't matter if the government loses some face.
At the very least, he didn't have to negotiate face-to-face with that angry blond bastard with that damn agreement.
Marcus can even imagine that the person White House who is far away is relieved and will give him a promotion and a salary increase later.
However, in this world, there are some forces that are far more terrifying than netizens.
Neuman and Godolkin are not the only ones who have long been eyeing the fat piece of Vought.
Those giants that compete with Vought on a global scale, and those forces that have cooperated with Vought in human trafficking, have already arranged their own mouthpieces.
How could they watch Vought get away with it so easily?
Just as the atmosphere in the hall was about to relax, a reporter with silver hair and a smart suit stood up in the third row.
He is a senior foreign correspondent from "Brazil Global Times".
He didn't yell like the black-rimmed glasses man before, and his movements showed a calmness that had been battle-tested.
"Mr. Homelander, your story is wonderful."
The silver-haired reporter pushed up the gold-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose. His voice was not loud, but it pointed to the point.
"But I just checked your public information. The masterminds you mentioned, Neuman and Mesmer, are the team trained by the former president of Vought, and the Ms. Becca next to you is also an old employee of Vought."
The commotion in the venue that had just subsided was beginning to rise again.
The silver-haired reporter didn't pause and continued to take a step forward.
"Don't you think it's a coincidence? The perpetrator is from Vought, the victim is from Vought, and now even the mastermind hiding behind the scenes is also from Vought."
At the same time, at the edge of the corridor on the other side, a female reporter suddenly squatted next to the disguised killer who had been headshot by John with Heat Vision while the security personnel were not paying attention.
She is the ace investigative reporter of "Tokyo Daily News".
Just as the security personnel were about to step forward to stop him, the female reporter quickly opened the collar of the corpse with the recording pen in her hand.
Under the collar of the deceased, there was no normal human skin, but patches of scales.
The female reporter stood up and looked directly at John on the stage.
"Even the gunman who sneaked into the venue and tried to kill people was also Supe who had been injected with Compound V."
The female reporter's voice echoed in the hall.
The silver-haired reporter took over the conversation and stared at John sharply.
"Every witness and physical evidence present, even a corpse, is inseparable from Vought International. Gentlemen, you are tantamount to catching Vought's employees in Vought's canteen, and then telling the world that this is a shocking conspiracy against Vought."
He sneered and asked the question that made the whole audience suffocate.
"Is this the so-called truth, or is it another bad show directed and acted by you Vought to cover up a bigger scandal?"
The sound of shutters in the hall became continuous again.
Dazzling flashlights kept hitting John's face.
He just stood quietly in front of the microphone.
The silver-haired reporter and the short-haired woman still stood in their original positions with their backs straightened.
The colleagues around me seemed to have found their backbone again, and once again passed their cameras and recorders forward.
"That's right, this is Vought's consistent style!"
"My senior disappeared ten years ago because of the exposure of this problem!"
"Please Mr. Homelander stop being silent and face our problems squarely!"
"Please explain to the global public!"
The flames that had been suppressed at first had the tendency to start a prairie fire again in the blink of an eye.
Directed and acted by myself.
These four words are like a piece of dog-skin plaster that cannot be shaken off.
John put his hands on the edge of the podium, looked at the questioning eyes under the stage, and chewed silently in his heart.
In fact, while sitting in the office last night, he went through the possible situations he might encounter today in his mind.
Vought has done too many dirty things in the past, and his reputation has long been ruined.
Under this general premise, no matter how ironclad evidence or impeccable logic he presents on stage today, as long as these people still carry the label Vought, the public will instinctively suspect that this is a script written in advance.
If you want to forcefully break this deadlock, no one inside Vought can do it.
Including himself, including Black Noir, and even Becca who escaped from death.
There must be a variable.
A person who is nothing like Vought, has a clean background, and can make the angry ordinary people outside feel sympathy and trust at a glance, stand up.
Only when this kind of person opens his mouth can the scapegoat placed on his head be completely smashed.
John raised his chin slightly, looked past the dark lenses in the front row, and looked at the two closed glass doors at the end of the hall.
He is waiting for someone.
Frenchie.
Of course, John has no intention of letting Frenchie directly hold the microphone and speak to the world.
No matter how much that guy swears, as long as he stands in front of the stage with the look of a drug addict with sunken eyes and trembling when he walks, tomorrow's headlines will immediately become "Vought is at the end of his rope, paying a lot of money to bribe street drug addicts to give perjury."
Those reporters could definitely skin Vought alive with their pens.
Frenchie's mission is to lead people.
Bring back the witness who will actually shut the room up.
But time passed by minute by second, and there was still no movement on the glass door at the back of the hall.
The commotion in the audience became louder and louder.
Seeing John's delay in responding, several brave reporters exchanged glances with each other and began to urge loudly.
"Mr. Homelander, why don't you speak?"
"Are you speechless at this coincidence? Or Vought's Public Relations Department hasn't written the next line for you yet?"
The mocking voice was mixed with the shutter sound, making it particularly harsh.
John ignored the noise in the audience.
He didn't respond to those pressing questions.
Until the person you are waiting for appears, whatever you say now will be regarded as a pale cover-up.
The tone was said to be a pale cover-up, it would be better to let them see the red light.
John withdrew his gaze and placed his hands on the podium again.
What he has to do now is to stand in the noise and wait.