So, were they fighting bad guys too?

The pounding drums traveled through the black foam ear cushions and struck straight at John's still-developing worldview.

For the past six years, this stark white sterile room had been his entire world.

His only companions had been monotonous alarms, a cold mechanical female voice, and the Mozart and Beethoven that made him drowsy.

But now, through a thin headphone cord, that man named Freddie Mercury was screaming into his ears without restraint.

It was a feeling John had never experienced before.

It wasn't the trembling fear the laboratory researchers showed around him, nor Director Madelyn's cold, condescending scrutiny.

There was a reckless vitality in that voice, like a fire that would burn every rule around it to ashes.

The song lasted only a little over two minutes.

As the last guitar notes faded in the headphones, the machine gave a faint click, and the tape stopped turning.

John slowly took off the headphones and hung them around his neck.

A faint flush rose on his pale little face, and his chest rose and fell slightly.

"What... what kind of power is this?"

The little boy looked at Lynn, his blue eyes filled with awe. "They don't have heat vision or strength, but I feel like they could tear this wall down."

Lynn couldn't help laughing. He pulled out a tissue and wiped the hamburger crumbs from the corner of his mouth.

"It's called rock music, John. It's a way ordinary people express their feelings."

Lynn pushed the cup of cola over. "See, this is what I told you about. Ordinary people might not have extraordinary bodies, but they can create lots of interesting things. They pour all their discontent, anger, and love of life into these instruments and voices."

John took a big gulp of ice-cold cola. The chilly liquid flowed down his throat, barely suppressing the urge inside him to find something and smash it.

"So, are they fighting bad guys too?" John considered it seriously.

"You could think of it that way. They're fighting boredom, repression, and unfair rules."

Lynn shifted into a more comfortable position against the wall. "Not every battle in this world needs to draw blood. Sometimes a song, a painting, or an invention can change a lot of people."

John looked down at the silver-gray metal box in his hands, his fingers gently rubbing its chipped edges.

Suddenly, he felt that the world outside, full of ordinary people, might not be as fragile and useless as he had imagined.

Meanwhile, in the monitoring room at the end of the Section B corridor, the atmosphere was strangely quiet.

More than half the screens covering an entire wall had switched to feeds from the sterile room.

The technician in charge of surveillance was a recent college graduate. He was staring nervously at the screens, his forehead covered in cold sweat.

He turned and glanced at Madelyn, who stood behind him.

"Director, not only did Lynn bring in uninspected fast food from outside, he also let the test subject listen to... listen to rock music."

The technician swallowed, his voice trembling slightly. "Should we activate the emergency isolation protocol? Music with such a strong beat could agitate the test subject. If he loses control..."

Madelyn stood with her arms folded, watching the screen expressionlessly.

On the screen, the little boy the company regarded as its most dangerous nuclear weapon was obediently holding half a hamburger, a cheap pair of headphones around his neck, listening to the young researcher beside him spout nonsense.

Had she seen this a month ago, Madelyn would have hit the alarm without hesitation, then sent Lynn to the basement to become fertilizer.

But now, the words President Edgar had spoken that morning echoed in her mind.

Let him use whatever methods he wants.

"Leave him alone."

Madelyn unfolded her arms, her tone so calm that even she found it unbelievable. "Add that portable cassette player and the two tapes to the approved supplies list. List them as... new psychological counseling tools."

The technician froze, his hands hovering over the keyboard. "But Director, company regulations..."

"From today onward, Lynn has final authority over all daily contact with this test subject. As long as the subject doesn't go berserk and start smashing that bulletproof glass, you don't need to report to me even if Lynn brings a circus in."

With that, Madelyn couldn't be bothered to look at the technician's expression of utter disbelief. She turned and left the monitoring room.

The corridor was dimly lit.

Madelyn rubbed her slightly throbbing temples, her high heels clicking crisply against the metal floor.

Just as she reached the elevator, its heavy metal doors opened.

A tall, silent figure stepped out.

He was encased in black tactical armor, his head covered by a fully enclosed black hood that didn't even reveal his eyes.

A faint smell of blood mixed with gun smoke drifted through the air.

It was Black Noir.

Currently the most useful cleaner Vought International had, Black Noir had just returned from a covert mission in a small Texas town.

A Supe who had gone mad had taken control of the local police department. The public relations department couldn't suppress the news, so their only option had been to send Black Noir to physically eliminate everyone who knew about it, along with the Supe.

Seeing Madelyn, Black Noir stopped. Without speaking, he silently pulled a report stained with dark red blood from the tactical pouch at his waist and held it out.

Madelyn didn't take the report. She merely glanced at several deep gouges in his armor.

Those marks clearly couldn't have been left by ordinary weapons. The Supe or Outsider he had faced must have caused him considerable trouble too.

"Give the report to logistics for filing."

For once, Madelyn softened her tone. She reached out and patted his hard shoulder armor twice. "Go to the medical room and have Sarah treat your wounds, then get some proper rest for a few days. The company has stirred up enough trouble out there lately. You need to stay in peak condition."

Black Noir nodded slightly, put away the report, and silently headed toward the medical room like a ghost without feelings.

Madelyn stood there, watching Black Noir disappear around the corner, and sighed helplessly.

These older-generation heroes were loyal, but their potential was far too limited.

Faced with an increasingly complicated situation, the company could only keep shedding blood to maintain its outward glory.

She turned and glanced toward the sterile room in Section B.

Hopefully, that young man named Lynn really can raise that little monster into what the company wants.

Inside the sterile room, lunchtime was over.

Lynn deftly tossed the hamburger wrappers and empty cola cups into a trash bag, then picked up the tablet, ready to begin the afternoon's "common sense lesson."

John still had the headphones around his neck, clearly unable to part with his new toy.

"Lynn, that band called Queen, what do they usually do besides sing?"

John sat cross-legged, like a curious little child.

"They hold concerts all around the world, which means singing for thousands and thousands of people. That's their job."

Lynn swiped across the screen and brought up a photograph of a street in the eighties. "The grown-ups outside all have their own jobs. Some make hamburgers, some build cars, and some write stories."

John pointed at the photo on the tablet. "What about bad guys? What's their job?"

"Bad guys are people who don't follow the rules when they work and go around stealing the fruits of other people's labor."

Lynn steered the conversation back on track. "Take that fat guy Bob. He didn't grow the apples or pay for them. He just took someone else's apples. That's doing something bad."

John nodded earnestly in agreement.

"But John, there's one thing you need to remember."

Lynn looked into his eyes. "We can't label someone an irredeemable bad guy just because they make a mistake once in a while. The world outside is complicated. Sometimes the line between good guys and bad guys isn't all that clear."

He felt he needed to add a little gray buffer zone to this child's extreme, black-and-white sense of justice. Otherwise, if he went outside one day and blasted someone with heat vision for spitting on the ground, that would be a major problem too.

"Look at this Rubik's Cube."

Lynn pointed at the plastic toy beside them, which already had one red face solved. "When it's scrambled, every face has mixed colors. You can't call it a bad cube. It just needs someone to patiently put it back in order."

John picked up the cube and studied its complicated jumble of colors.

"I understand."

The little boy raised his head, an almost stubborn light shining in his clear eyes. "If they do something a little bad, I'll break their legs, then patiently teach them the rules like solving a Rubik's Cube and turn them back into good people."

Lynn opened his mouth, then swallowed the words that had reached his lips.

Never mind. One step at a time.

At least he had now learned to give people a chance to "turn over a new leaf," even if the price of that chance was spending the rest of their lives in a wheelchair.

Lynn picked up the cassette case and flipped the tape inside over.

"Let's end this afternoon's lesson here. Want to hear that song again? The song on the other side is good too. They sing that one as well."