John hovers under the sky.
The street below has completely turned into a giant meat grinder.
Viewed from a high altitude, these tens of thousands of people are like squirming sardines in a can.
The source of the disaster was the collision of two completely opposite groups of people.
On the inner side of the street were ordinary people and students who had just experienced a massacre and were completely frightened by the military's warning shots.
Listening to the sound of gunfire and looking at the dark muzzles of the guns in the hands of the soldiers, they thought that the army was about to start a massacre, so they just ran out like crazy.
And outside the street, there is a thick wall of people.
It was a group of demonstrators holding banners and shouting slogans of resistance.
This group of people didn't care what tragedy happened inside, nor why the people inside were crying.
They were filled with excitement and fanaticism, holding long red banners and holding hands, squeezing in like a moving wall.
"Down with Vought! Supe get off the earth!"
Deafening slogans came from the loudspeakers, drowning out the desperate screams of the crowd inside.
In the gap between these two forces, there are also a large number of media reporters carrying long guns and short cannons flying like flies.
This group of media people who risked their lives for traffic not only did not evacuate, but instead, like wild dogs that smelled the smell of blood, they desperately dug into the densest and most chaotic places.
John The temperature under his eyes dropped to freezing point.
He saw a mother with her face covered in blood holding her three or four-year-old child, who was pushed to the ground by the surging crowd.
Before the mother could get up, a protester holding a wooden placard impatiently kicked her on the shoulder.
The protesters stepped on the mother's back to use her strength to climb up, while holding up a loudspeaker and continuing to shout slogans at the top of their lungs.
Next to the protesters, a reporter with a work badge hanging around his neck stepped on the back of the crying child's hand.
The reporter didn't even look at what he stepped on. He just excitedly held up the heavy Video Camera, pointed the camera at the mother's desperate face covered in mud and blood, and pressed the shutter frantically.
Dazzling flashlights lit up one after another, recording the so-called "big news."
They don't care about human life, they are just enjoying the carnival.
Scarlet light instantly gathered at the bottom of John's blue eyes.
He doesn't need to reason or give a speech.
Faced with this herd of beasts that have completely lost their humanity, there is only one language that can calm them down.
Tsk--!
Two dazzling dark red beams tore through the air.
The beam of light fell from the sky and struck the reporter who was stepping on the back of the child's hand.
He didn't even have time to scream.
The high temperature of thousands of degrees instantly cut open the heavy Video Camera lens and split the reporter's head into two halves.
The tofu brain splashed into the faces of the protesters nearby.
But this was only the beginning of a bloody killing.
John's sight moved slightly laterally.
Heat Vision is like a giant scythe wielded by the god of death, sweeping past the street.
The voice of the man who stepped on her mother's back and shouted slogans was instantly stuck in his throat.
His upper body slid down smoothly along his waist, and the incisions were boiling and bubbling.
Tsk!
Tsk!
Tsk!
Dark red beams of light interweave back and forth on the crowded streets.
John didn't hold anything back.
Those leaders who held up banners and pushed hard, and those media people who carried Video Camera and trampled on others, met with disaster in just a few seconds.
The hot blood was like a sudden red rain, pouring down on the dense crowd.
"If you want to live, be quiet."
John's voice spread throughout the streets and alleys.
The streets that were noisy just now have been unplugged.
Everyone was shocked by this hell-like bloody massacre.
The movement of pushing forward desperately was stuck in mid-air, and the hands and feet that were pushing crazily due to the stampede also froze.
A pair of extremely frightened eyes raised their heads and looked at the blond man hovering in mid-air.
John The red light in his eyes gradually converged and he looked down.
Silence enveloped the entire neighborhood.
No one dared to shout a slogan anymore, no reporter dared to click the shutter anymore, and no one even dared to gasp loudly.
The mob and the media, who had been talking about justice and truth just now, were so scared that their crotches were wet when they looked at their companions who were cut into pieces at their feet.
Fear completely defeated fanaticism.
The mother who had been trampled on her feet finally got some breathing space. She hugged the crying child tightly in her arms, trembling all over.
The protesters beside her moved back stiffly, fearing that making any noise would attract the fatal red light.
John killed this disaster with the lives of hundreds of scum.
He didn't want to care whether these people looked at him with fear or resentment.
Anyway, there is someone who will definitely not blame him.
John's arms naturally hung by his side, and his body slowly descended in the fishy wind, leaving only a silhouette of his back.
If Marcus could read minds at this time and could hear the words in John's heart, "There is someone who will definitely not blame me anyway," he would definitely follow up with the following sentence: Sir, I won't blame you either.
But Marcus cannot read minds.
He just stood at the edge of the cordon, dozens of meters away, looking at the back of the man wearing the Stars and Stripes suit.
At this moment.
Tens of thousands of people were crowded together without even a single cough.
Marcus was also silent.
He looked at John's cloak that was stained with blood, and there was a look in his eyes that shouldn't appear on the face of an old man like him.
It's sad and emotional.
Marcus's gaze swept across the crowd in front.
These people did not show any gratitude for being saved. The eyes that looked at John were full of fear and defensiveness.
No one thought it was Homelander who stopped the stampede.
No one thought it was this blond young man who saved them.
Marcus looked at the few media reporters hiding in the corner. Although they were shaking with fear, their eyes were filled with excitement.
He could guess with his toes that as long as these people left this street alive, the news on the Internet would definitely get worse. He
They will describe the blood all over the ground with exaggeration, but they will never mention the tens of thousands of survivors who stopped trampling on each other because of this killing.
He obviously saved countless people, but in the end he was hated by countless people.
Why is this?
Marcus touched his beer belly and sighed inwardly.
He is just a small leader Disaster Control Bureau. He receives a high salary every month and usually just wants stability.
He couldn't answer this fucking philosophical question, but he felt that he should do something now.
At least, he must be worthy of the job that Homelander helped him save.
Marcus took a deep breath, pressed the communicator next to his ear and roared.
"What the hell are you doing standing still! Didn't you see that the crowd wasn't crowded?"
Marcus pulled out the baton from his waist and roared at the agents behind him who were also dumbfounded,
"Enter the scene immediately! Evacuate people! Maintain order!"
Dozens of agents woke up from a dream, quickly raised their riot shields, and inserted themselves through the gaps in the crowd who were shocked by John.
Marcus took the lead and strode into the place where the media reporters gathered.
"Stand back! Stop looking! Leave quickly!"
He waved his baton roughly, cursed and pushed the people in front of him.
A reporter who was desperately pressing the shutter just now was pushed hard by him and staggered.
Marcus took advantage of the situation and took a big step forward, stepping hard on his leather boots seemingly unintentionally.
Click.
The SLR camera that fell to the ground and the memory card inside were trampled to pieces.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't pay attention to my steps."
Marcus grinned insincerely, then turned around and bumped into it, and kicked it again, kicking another Video Camera that had fallen on the side and flew away. It hit the concrete pillar hard and broke into parts.
"What are you looking at! As long as I don't arrest you for interfering with official duties, get out of here!"
Marcus roared viciously while quietly crushing the scattered electronic equipment in the chaos.