"The Weirdos"
Upper East Side, Manhattan, penthouse apartment.
The blackout curtains were drawn so tightly that not a single ray of sunlight could get in.
Only a bedside lamp was on in the bedroom, its dim yellow light illuminating only a small area.
The Sage leaned against the headboard, an unlit cigarette between his fingers, his silk nightgown hanging down naturally.
She turned her head to look at the tall, thin man beside her.
The Emissary, shirtless, lay on his side, his fingertips tapping absently on the sheets.
What's your opinion on the situation in Nevada?
The Sage spoke first, his tone languid from just catching his breath, and handed over his phone, the screen displaying high-definition photos of the scene.
The Emissary took the phone and swiped it twice with his fingertips.
The charred corpses, the sand melted into hard lumps, and the half-collapsed ruins of the villa—the scene was simply breathtaking.
But his expression didn't change at all; he didn't even bother to twitch his eyebrows.
"How else can we look at it?"
He chuckled softly, his sexy voice deepening, completely unconcerned.
" The Soldier Boy had been holding back his anger for thirty-eight years; he needed an outlet, and those bastards just happened to walk right into the line of fire."
He casually tossed his phone back onto the bedside table and looked up at the Sage.
"I'm curious, given your personality, why didn't you take the opportunity to do something?"
The Sage scoffed dismissively.
"No need. If I wanted to mess with him, I could kill him a hundred times over."
As she spoke, she composed herself slightly and lowered her voice:
"Now the Homelander believe my story and are just waiting for the V1 original to appear... We're one step closer to our plan."
His mental state is deteriorating, and his emotions are becoming increasingly unstable.
The Emissary raised an eyebrow dismissively, his tone full of undisguised disdain.
"That's normal. He was a defective product created by Vought."
"What kind of person will a giant baby raised in a laboratory, without a sense of self or moral boundaries, living entirely on the admiration of others, become?"
"By the way, how's Marie Morrow doing?"
The Sage was somewhat curious, after all, this was a key participant in Godolkin's previous project.
Upon hearing the name, the Emissary frowned, his face showing obvious impatience.
"Don't even mention her, she's a complete waste of space."
"We've invested so many resources and conducted countless tests on her abilities, but she's still stuck in the same place, without making any progress whatsoever."
To be honest, if Homelander hadn't gone to Godolkin back then, I would never have even considered this idea.
" Marie was originally a key candidate in the plan, with much greater potential than Homelander... If she had been more ambitious, she might very well have become the next Homelander."
So you're planning to give up?
The Sage looked up at him.
"After all, we've put a lot of effort into it."
"Just leave it hanging there, it'll go wherever it takes, there's no harm in it."
The Emissary's tone was flat, showing no hint of regret.
"If this path doesn't work, we'll try another one, advancing on two fronts, to be on the safe side."
"Oh, by the way, Homelander agreed to let you join the Seven?"
He said yes, very soon.
The A-Train stared at its left leg in the mirror.
The cuffs of the sweatpants were rolled up above the knees, revealing clearly the atrophied muscle fiber texture beneath the skin.
Since being given a humanitarian education by John, his leg has never been able to return to its peak condition.
Although he has now joined John's side, he has not chosen to get injected with New Compound V because he is afraid of the risks.
Since becoming addicted to Compound V, he has never stopped injecting it, which has caused his heart to become abnormally enlarged.
If the workload is too heavy, he is highly likely to suffer a myocardial infarction.
He didn't want to die.
If he doesn't break the addiction, his heart won't return to its normal size, making it impossible for him to inject the inherently risky New Compound V.
He didn't dare to gamble, so after seeing the success of the injection of the New Compound V, and being envious of the changes in the Deep, he also made the same choice.
So he was counting down the days.
Today is the seventh day.
The first thing I do every morning when I wake up is touch my legs, running my fingertips down the muscle lines, hoping to feel back some of that familiar, firm elasticity.
"Thump, thump, thump."
Just as the A-Train was still lost in its own world, there was a knock on the door.
Who will come looking for him?
The A-Train paused for a moment.
He stopped answering Ashley's calls, and the Deep would occasionally send him a couple of pretentious messages, but he couldn't be bothered to reply.
Logically speaking, no one should have come.
Could it be John?
No, he's much more polite than the Homelander; he'll send a text message beforehand and won't suddenly stab you in the face.
Thinking of this, he limped over without saying a word and peered through the peephole.
He was stunned at first glance, as if someone had grabbed his throat and he couldn't utter a single word.
damn it.
Standing outside the door was Homelander, his hands behind his back and a broad smile on his face.
Wearing a Stars and Stripes uniform, with a cape hanging down her back, her blond hair was neatly combed and shone brightly in the sunlight.
The A-Train's heart sank to the bottom, and a chill ran up his spine.
How could it be him?
The knocking sounded three more times, with the same rhythm.
" The A-Train? I know you're inside."
The voice of the Homelander came through the door. It wasn't loud, but it was clear and distinct, with a casual smile, like a friendly older brother next door.
But only the A-Train knows that every time the Homelander act like this, someone is bound to suffer.
So, could I be the one having bad luck today?
The A-Train shuddered, its ankles went weak, and it almost twisted its ankle.
Now, there's no escaping it.
The A-Train calmed himself down, wiped his face, and tried to hide the panic on his face.
He tugged at his wrinkled T-shirt, trying to make himself look less disheveled, before reaching out to unlock the door.
"Sir, I'm currently on vacation."
The A-Train managed a weak smile.
"Why... did you come all this way in person?"
Homelander didn't answer, but simply tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping down from his face and landing on his slightly trembling left leg.
It paused for two seconds.
Those two seconds felt like two centuries.
Aren't you going to invite me in?
The Homelander smiled, his tone very friendly, as if he were catching up with an old friend.
"Of course, of course."
The A-Train quickly opened the door wide, stepped aside to let him in, his palms sweating profusely.
The Homelander strode in, his cloak sweeping across the doorway and stirring up a gentle breeze.
He first looked around the apartment, his gaze slowly sweeping over the dirty tracksuits piled on the sofa.
The coffee table was piled high with takeout boxes, and the TV screen showed a paused replay of a track and field competition.
You used to be a fast runner.
Suddenly, the Homelander spoke up.
"Soon."
He repeated it, then turned to look at the A-Train, his smile deepening.
"But not so fast now, right?"
The A-Train opened its mouth, but couldn't utter a word.
Before he could even utter a word, Homelander had already finished the sentence for him.
"It doesn't matter."
His tone was exceptionally friendly, and his eyes even welled up with tears.
"It's only right that you take some time to rest. Don't worry about the team. I'll take your place and find someone to fill in."
Upon hearing what the Homelander said, the A-Train suddenly froze.
Replacement?
Was he kicked out?
The Seven were everything to him; they were the source of his fame, his wealth, and all his pride.
Without his identity as the Seven, he is nothing.
Thinking of this, his knees buckled, and he knelt down on the ground with a thud.
"No, don't switch me."
"I can do it, Sir! My leg is almost healed! The doctor said I can get back on the race treadmill next week... no, tomorrow, tomorrow!"
I was constantly undergoing recovery training while I was helping the Deep transport goods; The Deep can attest to that..."
He spoke incoherently, giving every reason he could think of, as humbly as a dog wagging its tail and begging for mercy.
But the Homelander stood there, hands behind his back, listening patiently.
When the A-Train was panting and could no longer utter a word, he slowly raised his right hand and extended it from behind his back.
Gloves-clad fingers precisely pinched the chin of the A-Train.
The force was not great; in fact, it was quite light.
With the thumb and forefinger positioned to grip the jawbone on both sides, a slight pressure is enough to open the A-Train's mouth slightly.
Now, all the unfinished explanations from the A-Train were stuck in its throat, turning into chaotic sobs.
Then Homelander half-squatted down.
The A-Train could even see its own disheveled reflection in his blue pupils.
Then he saw that the edges of Homelander's iris were slowly turning dark red.
At this point, the A-Train no longer cared about the humiliation.
Tears welled up uncontrollably and slid down his wide-open eyes.
He dared not struggle, dared not beg for mercy, dared not even breathe.
"You used to be my first choice."
The Homelander suddenly spoke, his tone flat, revealing neither joy nor anger.
After saying that, he suddenly let go of his hand and casually withdrew his fingers.
He even glanced down at the tear stains on his gloves, frowned in disgust, and then resumed his standard smile.
If the A-Train were strong enough, he might take a second look.
But cowards... don't deserve it.
He didn't look at the A-Train again, turned around and walked out the door. With a "whoosh," he disappeared from the spot.
The wind blowing in from the corridor wasn't cold, but it made the entire Train tremble.
He knew that if the Homelander wanted to kill him, it would only take them the blink of an eye.
Useless person.
He's a complete and utter failure now.
He couldn't stay with the Seven anymore; the Homelander wouldn't tolerate him.
Given his current state, without Vought's protection, those he offended in the past could come knocking on his door at any time.
His mind was in complete chaos, with countless thoughts flashing through his mind and then disappearing one by one.
Because he tragically discovered that Vought had no one who could help him.
Apart from...
John.
It's still that classic abandoned subway station.
Unlike usual, a huge industrial water tank stood in the very center of the room.
The water tank's pipes and valves were haphazardly connected to the side, with rough and conspicuous welds, making it look very crude, yet it was quite sturdy.
The water tank was filled with a full tank of dark red liquid.
These blood-like liquids took the Deep an entire night to process.
The original liquid was extracted tube by tube from the two batches of New Compound V produced by Frenchie.
Then, using water control, they were all loaded into the tank.
In the box.
The surface of the liquid was as smooth as a mirror, without even a ripple.
Only occasionally do tiny bubbles burst from the bottom of the water tank, slowly rising to the surface before popping open with a "pop".
Yes, you guessed it, there's someone in the water tank.
John, submerged at the bottom of the tank, eyes closed and legs crossed, floated between the liquid surface and the bottom of the tank, achieving a delicate balance.
Dark red liquid spilled over his head, and his golden hair spread out in the liquid.
From a microscopic perspective...
You can see John's cells constantly expanding, tearing, and reorganizing in the medicine solution, in a continuous cycle.
If an ordinary person were to soak here, they might be overwhelmed by the energy contained in the undiluted liquid as soon as they entered.
But John had already been soaking for 12 hours.
In the darkness of his vision after he closed his eyes, a line of numbers floated there quietly, exceptionally clear.
[ World Distortion Level: 75%]
From the first day he stepped into this world, this number has been rising.
In order to make the numbers even higher, he kept interfering with the original timeline, changing the "plot" beyond recognition.
But Distortion Degree isn't just related to deviations in the timeline; what is its true core?
It's about weight.
John discovered that no matter what he tried to change it, the World Distortion Level remained firmly at 75, unable to improve.
This means that the World Weight represents the remaining 25%.
So what does this part represent?
John speculated that it might be another "self," and the entire Vought.
As the World Distortion Level increases, John's understanding of the world also deepens.
"Gurgle~"
John suddenly opened his eyes underwater.
Then, two beams of crimson-gold light shone from the depths of the dark red medicinal liquid.
They pierced through the thick liquid, casting two shimmering spots of light on the metal inner wall of the tank.
"Splash!"
Immediately afterwards, John pushed off slightly with his legs, and his body floated up from the bottom of the water tank.
The dark red liquid slid down his shoulder.
It flowed along the muscle lines across the chest, waist, abdomen, and thighs, rolling like a layer of flowing red glaze, conforming to the entire body.
John reached out and pressed his hand on the edge of the tank. With a slight effort, he stood up from the liquid and stepped out of the tank.
"Splash..."
John stepped barefoot onto the metal steps and then walked down them one by one.
The Deep beside him looked up at him.
If viewed from this angle, John looks like Ancient Greece statue emerging from a pool of lava.
The dark red liquid was still dripping down his body, leaving a sticky sheen on his skin.
The blocks are clearly defined, and the lines outline slightly curved abdominal lines.
With each gentle rise and fall of her breath, the firm cleavage casts deep shadows as she contracts her abdominal muscles.
The Deep instinctively held its breath.
John glanced at the dazed the Deep, then casually picked up a dry towel draped over the edge of the tank and put it on his shoulder.
"How much has the liquid level dropped?"
The Deep quickly snapped out of his daze and glanced down at the liquid level gauge beside him.
"Two centimeters."
In fact, John felt nothing.
Just now, due to the increase in the distortion rate, the World Weight bestowed upon him a new piece of information.
It told John that the World Weight has tiers from zero to peak, with a total of three tiers.
Level 1 can unleash the subject's potential and achieve a random boost.
Tier 2 allows you to use a certain anchor point in the World Weight as "feedback," retaining only the beneficial part of the anchor point for enhancement, and you only have one chance.
Tier 3: Those who have not reached their peak can only manipulate a portion of the Authority of the World; those who have reached their peak are omniscient and omnipotent, possessing complete authority over the world.
(Note: Once the third tier takes effect, all restrictions on the second tier will be lifted.)
(The main concern is that John might travel to an even more terrifying world without any safety net, so we've given him a safety net mechanism.)
John is currently in the second gear.
The water tank he just tested was one of the mediums he used to measure the conditions.
He was trying to see if he could exploit a bug.
Because the selection of "feedback" items needs to be manually selected.
So, if he comes into contact with it "accidentally," will the original boost still take effect?
So he tried immersing himself in the New Compound V Compound V Stock Solution to test whether it would still work for him.
It's important to know that his body contains a very diverse array of elements, including V1 and Compound V.
There's also a kind of inexplicable constitution that can be strengthened at the cellular level after being exposed to sunlight.
John once wondered if he was just a large, chlorophyll-free chloroplast.
As a result, the World Weight did not give him a chance to exploit the bug, New Compound V, which could theoretically benefit him, was completely ineffective.
Well, washing and dyeing your hair doesn't count.
Therefore, this also means that if John were to travel to other worlds in the future...
One can only choose one anchor point in the entire world as "feedback".
Therefore, if you're going to choose, you should choose the most valuable one.
However, if one could acquire the weight of the entire world, then the limitations of the second tier would be eliminated.
" Hughie and the others are back."
The Deep's whispered report pulled John from his thoughts.
"They just arrived at the entrance; they must have obtained the on-site information from Nevada."
John raised his eyes.
He suddenly had an idea.