With his pale face, sunken eye sockets, and blood stains all over his body, he looked like a desperate thug.
"Whoever dares to shoot, I will smash this kid's head to pieces immediately!"
Frenchie roared hoarsely.
Clark, who was strangled in his arms, was very cooperative.
The boy's legs became weak, and tears burst out instantly:
"Don't shoot! Please don't shoot! Help!"
This shrill cry echoed in the empty hall.
The surrounding security personnel immediately froze.
The other party has a hostage in their hands, a high school student who seems to have no ability to resist.
In this National Television Station hall where surveillance cameras are everywhere, whoever dares to fire the first shot and cause the death of a hostage will definitely be thrown into jail.
The security captain swallowed and raised his hand to signal his men not to act rashly.
"Calm down, friend, we can talk about whatever you want, but don't hurt that child."
The captain tried to calm Frenchie's emotions.
Frenchie didn't answer the conversation at all.
He dragged Clark back two steps, the muzzle of the gun still pressed against the boy's head, and his free left hand pointed at the security guards standing at the front.
"You, you, and you!"
Frenchie ordered the three strongest security guards, "Go and open the back door of the van! Drag the three pieces of garbage out for me!"
The security guards who were named looked at each other, but under the pressure of Frenchie's gun that could go off at any time, they could only grit their teeth and walk towards the van.
Pull open the car door.
The scene in the carriage made the three security guards take a breath.
The three young boys had their mouths sealed with tape and were thrown on the floor of the car like sacks.
What is even more shocking is that the legs of these three people were completely missing from the knees down, and the wounds were wrapped with rough gauze that oozed blood.
"What are you doing standing still! Lift them up!"
Frenchie roared angrily and put his finger on the trigger to press it.
The security guards were startled and hurriedly dragged the three gangsters with broken legs out of the car.
"Now, lead the way."
Frenchie pushed Clark forward, staring fiercely at the security captain.
"Take us to the studio."
The elevator door dinged and slid open to both sides.
The security captain was sweating profusely and walked at the front, holding his hands in the air, leading Frenchie and Clark through the corridor.
When the staff on both sides of the corridor saw the black Pistol, they screamed and hid in the office.
They stopped in front of the studio door.
Frenchie didn't talk nonsense, he raised his foot and kicked open the soundproof door.
In the studio, the director was holding a cup of coffee and staring at the ruins of Godolkin University on the screen.
Hearing the loud noise, his hand shook and all the coffee spilled on the console.
"Cut off the current signal, point the camera here, and switch to the main channel."
Frenchie pressed the gun on the back of Clark's head and shouted at the broadcasting station, "Now!"
The director was so frightened that his legs weakened, and he rolled and crawled towards the console, typing rapidly on the keyboard with trembling fingers.
Several cameramen froze in place, not daring to make a sound. They could only turn the rocker Video Camera obediently and aim it at the center of the field.
Above the machine, a red indicator light came on.
The signal is connected and the whole network live broadcast is started.
The moment the red light turned on, Frenchie made an action that dumbfounded all the security personnel present.
He loosened his grip on Clark's neck, turned off the Pistol safety, and threw the gun into the corner.
"My work is done, now I leave it to you."
Frenchie patted Clark on the shoulder, turned and walked towards the three bullies with broken legs who were thrown to the ground by the security guards.
He roughly tore off the tape on their mouths and kicked the three bullies, who were gasping in pain, right in front of the camera.
Clark stands under the fill light.
The boy looked at the dark lens and swallowed.
The palms of his hands were covered with sweat and his legs were shaking slightly.
But his mind flashed to the more than a hundred ordinary people two blocks away who had not flinched in the face of the anger of tens of thousands of people... people just like him.
Clark took a deep breath and looked directly at the camera.
"My name is Clark and I live in Brooklyn."
The boy's voice was instantly transmitted through the microphone to countless All-America screens.
"The video online of three high school students accusing Homelander of breaking their legs is a complete lie."
The studio was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.
"A few days ago, in that dead end, three of them cornered me and beat me. They robbed me of my money and burned me with cigarette butts. If Homelander hadn't descended from the sky to save me that day, I might have died there."
Clark pointed at the three pale bullies on the ground, his voice getting louder and more steady,
"They are not innocent passers-by at all, they are perpetrators!"
Frenchie stood at the edge of the camera, raised his foot and stepped on the edge of the broken leg wound of one of the bullies, applying a little force.
"Tell everyone, who asked you to record the video and sell it badly?"
Frenchie asked coldly.
The severe pain caused the bully to collapse instantly, his face covered with tears and runny nose, and he cried out to the camera:
"It's a woman! She gave us a lot of money, threatened us with our families, and made us read the lines we had written! What we didn't want was that we were greedy for money and we lied!"
The other two also broke down and cried, nodding and confessing.
At this moment, All-America is on the streets everywhere.
In front of the huge screen of Times Square, the crowd that had just been reveling in the defeat of Homelander suddenly seemed to have their necks stuck.
People raised their heads and stared blankly at the tear-stained high school student on the screen, listening to the tearful confessions of the three bullies.
Clark took a deep breath, tears finally couldn't be held back and fell down his red eyes.
He raised his sleeve and wiped his face carelessly.
"I swear, every word I just said is absolutely true."
The boy's voice was obviously crying, but he spoke with extra force.
"If there is a lie, I am willing to bear all legal responsibilities. I can go to jail or pay them with my life!"
There was silence in the studio.
Frenchie took half a step back, leaving the entire stage to this brave high school student.
"Homelander is a true hero."
"Everyone has misunderstood him. He is not a monster, he is my idol. In the past ten years, he has saved countless ordinary people like me!"
The boy's chest heaved violently.
He looked at the camera as if he were looking at the tens of millions of people outside who were cursing crazily.
"How about you all wake up! Don't be fooled by those hiding behind the scenes anymore!"
Clark turned up the volume,
"Are you all blind? Don't you all know what United States's security has become in the past ten years? Those drug dealers who were burned to death, those gangsters who were sent to prison by him, and those days when we no longer have to be afraid on the streets, are these all fake!"
This question hit All-America in front of countless screens.
Under the big screen of Times Square, the crowd that was still cheering for the fall of Homelander was completely silent at this time.
Clark looked at the camera, and his eyes suddenly blurred.
He thought of the paint-off Homelander figure on his desk at home, and thought of his deceased father.
"I remember when I was very young, many people scolded him on the Internet."
Clark's smile looks sad,
"They said that Homelander smiled fakely, that he was just a product launched by Vought International, that everything he did was for show, and that he was a hypocrite controlled by capital."
The boy paused and looked through the camera, as if he saw his father touching his head again.
"I ran to ask my dad if what they said was true? Is Homelander really just pretending?"
Clark's eyes were full of determination.
"My dad looked at me and said something to me."
The boy straightened up and read the sentence word for word to the All-America audience.
"Everyone says he is a hypocrite, but what if he has been a hypocrite all his life?"
After saying this, the entire studio fell into silence.
The security personnel who had drawn their guns and had a tense confrontation with Frenchie seemed to have relaxed a little more tightly on Pistol's hands.
On the streets, in bars, and in living rooms, everyone looked at the screen and lost their voices.
Yes, if a person flies in the sky for ten years for a show, saves people in the sea of fire for ten years, points his guns at criminals for ten years, and protects the city for ten years.
Is this still called hypocrisy?
So what if it's really self-directed and self-acted?