Roar
A velvet sofa sits beside the floor-to-ceiling window, and a half-empty bottle of whiskey sits on the coffee table in the middle, the rim of the glass stained with lipstick.
Several blue pills were scattered around.
The man in the gold pajamas slumped on the sofa, the silk fabric clinging to his body in wrinkles, his obese belly bulging with each breath.
Cheers~
The fat man raised his glass and clinked it against the person next to him, causing the wine to spill and fall to the ground.
"... Back in the day, when I was on a mission in South America, I was fucking awesome."
The fat man let out a burp, his tongue slurred, and he couldn't speak clearly.
" Vought's interviews were lined up, and there were more posters for him on the streets than billboards do now... Unlike now, damn it, we don't even have proper health insurance."
A middle-aged woman in a black miniskirt lay beside him, her high heels hanging on the coffee table, a cigarette between her fingers.
Hearing her husband's words, she scoffed speechlessly and pinched his arm.
"Let's not talk about the past... If things were really that glorious, we wouldn't be stuck in this godforsaken place, huddling together for warmth with a bunch of old fogies that Vought threw out."
"Bullshit, this is the biggest all -Herogasm! Superheroes from all over America are scrambling to get in and have a go."
The fat man chugged down another glass of wine and, swaying his head drunkenly, retorted.
"Come on, if that were really the case, we wouldn't be so poor that we need to throw parties to make a living."
Heroes have an expiration date.
Once he gets old, his abilities decline, and he loses his commercial value, Vought can throw him away without hesitation.
Later on, no company signed contracts with them, no Superman insurance company dared to take their cases, and they even got scammed when they went to the hospital for treatment.
After all, Superman healing abilities are extraordinary, so medical expenses will always be several times higher.
The annual party, though called a celebration, is more like a way to keep the wallet alive.
Everyone got together, reminiscing about their past glories and cursing Vought's dogs.
Countless times, it has been mentioned that they were once the renowned TNT Twins in the Payback.
Oh, no, we should call them the TNT Couple now.
After sending the Soldier Boy to Soviet Union popsicle factory and receiving a hefty hush money, everyone returned from Nicaragua.
They decided to get married and had twin sons, raising them with many ups and downs until they were over thirty.
After paying for college and helping with the down payment, the little bit of hush money I had was long gone.
If it weren't for this remaining bit of fame, which allows me to take on some commercial performances and put on a show for the birthday parties of the wealthy, I wouldn't even be able to save this old villa.
"Take another sip. Those young guys over there are yours now."
The fat man wanted to say something more, and just as he raised his glass to his lips, he suddenly realized that the music in the outer hall had stopped.
Without any warning.
What's going on? Keep the music playing, keep dancing!
The fat man was just about to get up, wanting to go to the outer hall to take a look.
But just as he reached the door, his steps abruptly halted, as if nailed to the ground.
An obnoxious figure appeared from the front doorway and stood there, blocking his way out.
"Damn it, you... don't leave it there, get out of here!"
The fat man swayed unsteadily, frowned, and, still drunk, looked impatiently toward the door.
Then he froze.
A bone-chilling coldness shot up his spine, instantly freezing all the blood in his body.
The effects of the alcohol wore off instantly.
Because there was someone standing at the door.
He was very tall and strong, wearing a palm-colored uniform and carrying a shield.
The fingertips of his leather gloves protruded as he stood there, his gaze sweeping indifferently across the inner hall.
"No, this is impossible..."
The fat man's hands began to tremble.
"Book..."
The fat man spoke instinctively, his hands frantically groping on the sofa armrest, his fingertips slipping and knocking over an empty wine glass.
That monster, which should have been humanely eradicated by the Russia, has actually... actually returned.
Soldier Boy.
The greatest nightmare in the hearts of all members of the Payback.
"I think your dog mouth really wants to slap me, why don't you continue?"
"You piece of trash who licks pig brains."
As he spoke, the Soldier Boy swayed as he stepped inside, his heavy military boots pounding on the carpet covered in gold sequins, creating an increasingly oppressive atmosphere.
"Go on to talk about the scenery in South America when you were with me back then. Do you miss it? I don't think so."
The Soldier Boy walked to the center of the inner hall, stopped, and looked at the man and woman.
"I'm listening."
A deathly silence fell over the inner hall.
The fat man's Adam's apple bobbed up and down, his facial muscles twitched twice, and he forced a smile.
His smile was like a chrysanthemum, even uglier than his mother's cry.
"Oh... hey, my buddy."
The fat man spoke, but tried his best to look surprised, as if he had bumped into an old friend he hadn't seen for many years.
"Long time no see. You know, something unexpected happened in Nicaragua..."
"It was the Russia who instigated it, not us."
"Oh? You want to portray things as as black as your own shit, is that it?"
The Soldier Boy's lips curled upwards, and his eyes turned cold.
"You took the hush money Vought gave you, bought this villa, and have a party every year."
"You're all happy that I'm dead, after playing like this for so many years."
Right?
At this moment, the woman in the black miniskirt, who had been observing the scene, seemed to realize something and slowly put her feet down from the coffee table.
Then, his peripheral vision quickly scanned his surroundings.
The windows were all welded-on stained glass, incredibly thick, making jumping out of the window absolutely impossible.
The back door is behind the bar; you can walk around it to get there. But the Soldier Boy is blocking the only passage between the front and back halls.
Trying to escape? There's no way you can escape.
Thinking of this, the middle-aged woman felt a sudden sinking feeling in her heart and began to panic.
"Ben, what happened back then wasn't what you think."
She stood up straight, trying to strike a seductive pose.
"We have our reasons."
"Difficulties?"
The Soldier Boy looked at the woman in front of him with disgust, repeated himself, and his face looked ashen.
"What's the reason? Did Vought slip money into your second sister's pocket, or did he gild your intestines?"
"It's that bastard Edgar!"
"He used the legal department to pressure us, saying that if we didn't sign the confidentiality agreement, all of the team's contracts would be terminated, and we wouldn't be able to get a single penny from Vought in the future."
We had just had twins then, they were only three years old... What would happen to the children if we collapsed?"
As she spoke, she took a breath, her voice gradually lowering:
"We had no choice, Ben."
"No other choice?"
The Soldier Boy gave a cold laugh.
Do you know where I was when you were making your choices?
"I'm in that damn Russia slum, locked in an iron cage."
"Every day, people shoot Gatling guns at my face and blast my cage with mustard gas."
"It lasted for a full thirty-eight years."
He took a step forward, his military boots crunching on the broken glass as he gripped it tightly.
"No, no, no..."
Driven by an overwhelming will to survive, the fat man staggered forward, his knees buckled, and he abruptly knelt down.
Her large knees slammed onto the carpet, and her golden silk pajamas crumpled into a ball.
Wrapped around his severely overweight body, it looked particularly comical.
"Ben, I don't ask for your forgiveness."
He looked up, his temples already graying.
He's much older than the Soldier Boy.
Although the Soldier Boy was frozen in Siberia ice cellars and iron cages for thirty-eight years, he didn't develop a single wrinkle on his face.
The time scale had almost no effect on him.
But the fat man's skin eventually sagged, his eyes drooped, and a ring of loose skin covered his neck.
Kneeling there, he looked like an old man who had been dragged out of a nursing home and forced into a ridiculous set of pajamas.
"I know we've wronged you, but give me a chance. I'll help you find Edgar, and we'll join forces!"
The Soldier Boy just looked down at him without saying a word.
After a while, he suddenly leaned forward, reached out, and pinched the fat man's chin.
The Soldier Boy was incredibly strong, squeezing the fat man's jaw until it ached, forcing him to tilt his head back.
"You're right, you guys have a tough life."
The Soldier Boy released his grip and took a step back.
Immediately afterwards, a point of orange-red light appeared in the center of his breastplate.
At first, it was just a faint, hazy warm light, slowly seeping outwards from the sternum.
It then grew brighter and brighter, turning from orange-red to orange-yellow.
"I only have one question for you now. I'll ask, and you'll answer. Otherwise, I'll let you experience what it means to wish you were dead."
"Tell me, who decided the route for that operation in Nicaragua?"
"It was... it was an order from Vought headquarters. We were just executors. Edgar signed it, and all the team members were present..."
"Besides him?"
The Soldier Boy has already made a pact with Edgar, and being very committed to his word, he has chosen to ignore the name for now.
Thinking of this, he leaned forward, his gaze fixed on her face like a nail:
"No one provided intelligence, no one covered for me. Edgar didn't have the guts to lead me into the Russia ' trap. Tell me, who's pulling the strings behind the scenes?"
She bit her lip and remained silent, wearing a black miniskirt.
The Soldier Boy wasn't in a hurry.
He withdrew his gaze and landed on the fat man's hand, then suddenly grabbed the drooping wrist.
"What are you doing?!"
The woman panicked instantly and screamed.
The fat man's expression changed, and he was about to struggle when the Soldier Boy's hand suddenly twisted.
"Click--"
Amidst heart-wrenching screams, the fat man's arm was twisted half a turn in the opposite direction, the broken bone piercing through the flesh, revealing a bloody, raw wound.
The fat man convulsed in pain, his eyes rolled back, and he almost fainted.
" Gary!"
The girl in the black miniskirt cried out his name and tried to rush to him, but the Soldier Boy kicked her in the shoulder, sending her crashing back onto the sofa.
"I'll ask you one more time."
The Soldier Boy stepped on the fat man's severed hand, slowly grinding it under his foot, the sound eerily calm.
Who exactly is it?
At this point, the fat man was in so much pain that he was almost delirious, and he was still panting heavily, but he stubbornly refused to let go.
They dared not speak.
They had witnessed firsthand how powerful the Liberty were; they could even sell off Soldier Boy without hesitation.
For small fry like them, if they dare to divulge even half a word, their lives will be ruined for the rest of their lives.
The Soldier Boy, seeing his expression, was both amused and exasperated.
So his intimidating power is less than that of a useless coward who cowers in the shadows like a tortoise?
"Wow, that's a tough bone."
The Soldier Boy nodded, but then pressed harder on his feet. He looked up at the black miniskirt, his gaze growing increasingly indifferent.
"It's okay if your man won't tell me, I have plenty of ways to make him beg me to say it."
"Believe it or not, I can make him enjoy himself for three days and three nights straight, he won't even be able to die if he wants to."
The black miniskirt's psychological defenses were crumbling little by little.
It's important to understand that they did indeed betray the Soldier Boy back then.
But at that time, there was both Vought's coercion and enticement, and the Liberty's threats.
They initially thought it was just a routine task handover and assumed the Soldier Boy was simply being sidelined.
But he never imagined he would be sent to Russia.
They knew the Soldier Boy's character; he was a man of principle, but also extremely ruthless.
You should know that Black Noir was beaten so badly that his brains splattered and he lost his voice.
"I'll tell you... I'll tell you everything..."
The Soldier Boy turned his head and looked at her.
"She's Liberty."
When the woman in the black miniskirt uttered those three words, she exhausted all her strength and collapsed onto the sand, utterly dejected.
"It was all the Liberty's doing... She was the one who approached Edgar, and she was the one who gave your ability data to the Russia."
It was also her deliberate plan to lure you to the ambush point, and then...
She said Superman only need a flawless leader, and she convinced the board.
We're just nobody, Ben, we really didn't have a choice..."
The Soldier Boy could no longer hear what was said after that.
What does it mean that the mastermind behind it all is Liberty?
These three words were like a red-hot dagger, stabbing deeply into his heart and then twisting it violently.
His world suddenly became eerily quiet, and memories began to flash uncontrollably before his eyes.
In 1944 London, amidst the ruins of an air raid, she crawled out of the rubble, covered in dust and dirt.
She saw him, but still smiled and handed him half a compressed biscuit.
She said her name was " Liberty," that she came from Germany, and that she wanted to fight the Nazis with him.
At the victory celebration, she wore a military-style skirt suit and sandals, holding his hand and twirling around on the dance floor.
She admired him, admired his indomitable spirit, and admired the faith in his heart.
She said they were a match made in heaven, and she only wanted to support him to become a true leader of Superman.
The Soldier Boy believed him.
But... it was all fake all along.
Thirty-eight years of purgatory were pushed down by the very woman he once trusted and loved most.
At that moment, his chest began to burn.
The orange-red light beneath the breastplate surged out uncontrollably, growing brighter and hotter little by little.
The rubble at my feet began to melt under the high temperature, its surface gleaming like glass.
"Ben... Ben, calm down..."
The woman in the black miniskirt sensed something was wrong, turned pale with fright, and kept moving backward.
"We were wrong... we really know we were wrong..."
But the Soldier Boy could no longer hear.
His ears were ringing, sometimes with her gentle whispers from years ago, sometimes with the sound of Gatling gunfire from the iron cage, and sometimes with the stinging pain of needles piercing his flesh.
All the emotions were tangled up, raging wildly in my chest, my mind filled with nothing but chaos and intense, resentful anger.
Thirty-eight years in total.
That's equivalent to more than ten thousand days and nights of torment for his mother.
"Ughhhhhh--!"
A deep roar erupted from the Soldier Boy's throat.
The next second, the orange-red light on his chest suddenly surged into a blinding, intense incandescent light, illuminating the entire interior room.
At the end of the corridor.
It was the sound of high heels clicking on the marble floor.
Tap, tap, tap.
Hughie was lying at the front, seemed to realize something and was the first to raise his head. Frenchie open his heavy eyelids.
The Mother's Milk, supported by the glass wall, slowly straightened up.
A familiar figure appeared around the corner and then arrived at the perimeter of the smart prison.
Today she was wearing a white faux leather suit with gold-stamped star patterns on the chest. The skirt was so short it barely covered her thighs, and the neckline was extremely low.
As my gaze swept across, I could see the collarbone and the abyss rising and falling gently with each breath.
The moment the access card was affixed to the front desk, the sensor beeped, and the glass doors slid open to both sides.
The guard on duty immediately stood up.
"Miss Starlight, who are these people—"
"Mr. Edgar's orders: Move to the high-level interrogation room."
Starlight didn't look at him; her gaze remained fixed on the wall behind the guard, and her voice was unusually calm.
The guard glanced at the Starlight and hesitated for two seconds.
His gaze first swept over the brightly lit the Seven badge on her chest, then over the several people with bruised and swollen faces inside the glass room.
In the end, I sat back down.
As a low-ranking guard, he wasn't qualified to ask too many questions about the affairs of the Seven.
After receiving permission, Starlight walked into the cell without hesitation, her gaze quickly settling on Hughie's face.
Hughie opened his mouth.
" Annie-- "
"Hurry up."
She immediately turned around, not letting him finish speaking.
Frenchie, supporting Mother's Milk, followed behind Hughie, while Hughie helped Kimiko along.
The doors of the freight elevator opened.
After everyone else had gone inside, Starlight stepped in sideways and pressed the button for the first floor.
The elevator began to descend.
Inside the elevator, no one spoke.
Frenchie bent down to pick up the broken piece of the safety pin from the ground and stuffed it into his coat pocket, while Mother's Milk leaned against the wall with her eyes closed.
Hughie stood next to Starlight, their shoulders less than ten centimeters apart, but they remained silent and awkward.
The overhead lights fell straight down.
The Starlight neckline had very little fabric, and when the elevator was running, the wind would seep in through the gaps.
She subconsciously pulled her shoulders back and gripped the hem of her skirt.
Just then, a piece of cloth, still warm from body heat, fell down.
It was Hughie's grey-blue work shirt, still carrying the faint scent of laundry detergent.
Hughie undressed very quietly, almost without making a sound.
He quietly moved half a step closer to her, unfolded his clothes, and gently draped them over her shoulder.
Then she pulled it down a little further, just enough to cover her exposed shoulders, neck, and most of her thighs.
Starlight suddenly turned her head to look at him.
Hughie pretended not to see it, his eyes fixed on the fluctuating numbers on the elevator, his ears slightly red.
"Uh... it's windy, you should wear this for now."
Starlight opened her mouth, wanting to say no, but swallowed the words back.
She pinched the hem of her shirt between her fingertips.
This fabric is soft and warm, at least a thousand times more comfortable than this stiff artificial leather.
She gently pulled her clothes closer to her chest and whispered:
"... Thanks."
The elevator dinged and stopped on the ground floor.
"By the way... Annie, you're helping us like this, won't you be in trouble?"
"I'll handle it."
(Why are the A-Train and the Deep not in the story? Because one of them was sent by Homelander to do hard labor, and the other was called by John to help.)
(Secondly, the Boys World can end after surviving two more epic-scale battles. The next world is currently undecided; I'll focus on the DC main storyline first.)