Clark Looking at the tears on her mother's face, it felt like there was a stone stuck in her chest.
He took a deep breath, his eyes slightly red:
"Mom, if I pretend nothing happened today and hide at home, I will really regret it for the rest of my life."
The boy lowered his head and said, "Please forgive my selfishness."
Mother said nothing.
She looked at her son who seemed to have grown up overnight, and her tears flowed even more fiercely.
She stepped forward and hugged Clark hard, tightening her arms tightly.
"Go ahead."
The mother's voice was filled with tears, "Your father and I will be proud of you."
Clark nodded heavily, turned around and followed Frenchie out of the narrow apartment.
The van drove onto the street of Brooklyn.
In the back of the car, the three bullies whose mouths were sealed with tape were huddled in the corner and shivering.
Frenchie held the steering wheel tightly with both hands and honked the horn fiercely.
Useless.
Crowds holding protest signs were everywhere on the road, and traffic was completely paralyzed.
The van moved forward little by little like a snail falling into the mud.
On the big screens on both sides of the street, the news of the entire network's boycott of Vought was still scrolling, and the situation was visibly deteriorating.
Frenchie bit her lip irritably, Clark sat in the passenger seat, holding the seat belt with both hands.
Just then, the screen on the corner building suddenly flickered.
All channels were forcibly cut off at the same time, and the picture turned into a shaky high-definition shot.
In the center of the screen, several large blood-red characters suddenly popped up - "Homelander, defeated!"
The picture freezes.
The man wearing the Stars and Stripes uniform fell covered in blood among the rubble and ruins, not knowing whether he was alive or dead.
"Grass!"
Frenchie punched the steering wheel hard.
What he was most worried about happened.
Even Homelander has fallen. Now even if they rush to the press conference, they will probably be left with nothing but chicken feathers, and they won't even be able to find a microphone to speak.
Frenchie's mind is spinning very fast.
"We are not going to Vought Tower."
He suddenly turned the steering wheel, forced the front of the car out of the main road, and turned to a side road.
"Go to the National Television Station building! I need the broadcast equipment there. I want to cut your face and the faces of the three bastards behind you directly into thousands of households!"
However, there are too many people.
There were angry parades in all directions, with roadblocks and trash cans everywhere. Even if they took a detour, the speed of the cars was still hopelessly slow.
"Frenchie..."
In the passenger seat, Clark suddenly exclaimed.
The boy's whole body was pressed against the car window, his eyes wide open.
"What's wrong?"
Frenchie stepped on the brakes and looked in the direction of Clark's finger.
The next second, he opened his mouth slightly.
A group of people appeared in the square two blocks ahead.
There were only about a hundred people.
In front of the tens of thousands of angry protesters around them, these number 100 people were like a lonely boat on the black sea, pitifully few.
But their appearance brought a brief lull in all the abuse around them.
Because this group of people are all wearing red and blue clothes with Stars and Stripes colors.
They also held signs and banners in their hands, with large characters written roughly in black marker.
"Homelander is a hero!"
"He was wronged!"
At this juncture when the whole world is reviling Homelander as a murderer, and in this desperate situation where the situation is completely one-sided, this group of ordinary people dare to stand up against the anger of tens of thousands of people.
What courage this is.
After a brief silence, the marchers became completely furious.
"Kill these Vought lackeys!"
"Traitors! Kill them!"
The protesters within a few kilometers were like wolves that smelled the smell of blood, cursing, waving sticks and Bricks in their hands, and the black mass rushed toward the more than a hundred people crazily.
Faced with this nerve-wracking battle, the more than a hundred people did not flinch.
At the front of the crowd, a girl who looked like she was in her early teens was holding a worn-out loudspeaker with both hands.
She faced the mob that came like a tsunami, her legs were shaking, but her voice was heartbreaking.
"Twelve years ago! He saved me from a drug dealer! He is not a monster!"
The girl shouted loudly.
Next to him, a fat man with a beer belly turned red in the face, tightly guarding the sign in his hand, and roared loudly:
"Many years ago! I was still selling hot dogs! He dug me out of the monster's mouth! He saved my life!"
An Asian young man stood up.
He stood in front of the girl, facing the mineral water bottle that was thrown at her, and yelled with his neck strangled:
"My grandfather has been selling steamed buns at Chinatown all his life! Back then, gangsters took protection money and smashed the store, but it was Homelander who helped us settle the matter! He didn't kill the wrong person!"
"He saved my son!"
"He helped me find my missing sister!"
One after another, ordinary people stood up.
They have no Superpower, no wealth, not even a decent piece of clothing.
They are just the most insignificant people at the bottom of this huge country.
But at this moment, they are believers who speak out for the slandered hero.
The angry crowd was stimulated even more crazy by these sounds, and countless mobs roared and rushed towards them like a black wave.
Demonstrators from all directions were attracted by this group of supporters and swarmed forward.
And that's why.
The originally blocked street miraculously opened up a wide passage.
Frenchie looked at this scene in the distance, his eyes were faintly red.
He didn't hesitate and stepped on the accelerator to the bottom.
The van made a beast-like roar and rushed toward the TV station building along the passage that had been bought with the courage of hundreds of ordinary people.
A few minutes later.
The van came to a sudden stop.
National Television Station Building.
Frenchie looked through the windshield at the row of heavily armed security personnel at the door.
With the burden of three broken legs in the trunk, plus an ordinary high school student, you want to discuss with these security guards about renting a live broadcast room?
It's simply an idiot's dream.
Frenchie didn't even roll down the window.
He took a deep breath, pulled out the Pistol from the back of his jacket, and loaded the bullet.
"Sit tight."
Frenchie turned his head and threw three words to Clark, the co-pilot.
Before the boy could react, Frenchie stepped on the accelerator to the bottom.
The engine roared violently.
Like an out-of-control bison, the van rushed straight up the steps, avoiding a few unlucky guys smoking at the door, and headed straight for the glass door of the lobby, crashing through it.
Wow!
Broken glass exploded like a waterfall, flying everywhere.
The tires left two black marks on the marble floor.
The van, with its body covered with broken glass, rushed into the spacious lobby on the first floor of the TV station, and finally came to a halt.
The hall instantly became chaotic.
Screams were heard everywhere, staff members were running around, and documents and coffee were scattered on the floor.
The response from building security was not slow.
More than a dozen security personnel wearing bulletproof vests immediately drew their guns and surrounded him from all directions, aiming their black muzzles at the van.
"Stop the engine! Put your head in your hands and get out of the car!"
The security captain hid behind the load-bearing pillar and shouted loudly.
In the car, Frenchie held the steering wheel and glanced at the battle outside.
It's definitely not possible to fight hard, he will be beaten into a sieve, and Clark will also die.
Frenchie turned his head and happened to meet Clark's eyes.
One is old and the other is young, one is a drug addict and the other is a high school student.
The two of them didn't even say a word, they just exchanged glances in this flash of light.
Clark's chest rose and fell, and then he nodded slightly.
Frenchie understands it.
He kicked open the car door suddenly, grabbed Clark by the collar, and roughly pulled the boy out of the passenger seat.
"Stay back, everyone!"
Frenchie strangled Clark's neck, raised Pistol with his right hand, and pressed the muzzle directly against the boy's temple.