Lying from You
( Linkin Park's hard rock)
The corridors of Red River Prison are permeated with a lingering smell of disinfectant, mixed with rust and sweat.
It smelled pungent and disgusting, making one want to stay there at all.
Tap, tap, tap.
Edgar, wearing a gas mask, walked at the front with his hands behind his back.
He was followed by three senior executives from Vought and a research director in a white lab coat.
On both sides of the corridor are reinforced bulletproof glass cubicles, each numbered.
Each of these numbers corresponds to a Superman that Vought deemed "lacking commercial value" or "posing a serious risk of spiraling out of control."
Not long after, Edgar stopped in front of a prison cell.
Through the bulletproof glass, you could see a young man with yellow skin huddled in a corner, his hands wrapped around his knees, his chin buried between them.
His hair was disheveled and stuck to his forehead, and the collar of his prison uniform was torn open, revealing a burn scar on his collarbone.
The file states:
Kenji Miyashiro, a mind manipulator, poses an extremely high threat.
"This will be considered the first batch sent to the testing ground."
Edgar's voice came through the mask.
The doctor in the white coat immediately bent down to take notes, his fingertips tapping on the screen.
Two cells further ahead, the glass in these cells is more than three times thicker than the previous ones.
Looking inside, one could see a giant, nearly two meters tall, wearing a mask, pinned to the wall by four alloy chains; his upper arm was thicker than a person's waist.
Hearing footsteps, the giant slowly raised his head, his scarlet eyes fixed on Edgar through the gap in his mask.
"Combat type, extremely strong defensive capabilities, this one should also be placed in the testing range."
Edgar paused for only two seconds before continuing to walk forward.
At that moment, a hint of hesitation appeared on the face of the person in the white coat:
"Uh... Mr. Edgar, the cognitive correction team has been working overtime for three days in a row."
Several Mesmer showed signs of fatigue; accelerating the process might reduce the effectiveness of the brainwashing.
At this moment, Edgar had reached the blast door at the end of the corridor.
Behind this door lies the heart of the Red River Prison.
Experimental field.
This experimental site is the original production site where the Vought International developed Compound V after conducting numerous in vivo experiments.
Now, Edgar has converted this place into a temporary "control room," where all the group's Mind Stone controllers are gathered.
Using mental suggestion or memory overwriting, uncontrollable Superman are transformed into weapons of absolute obedience.
"First, do a search to find out who are registered Mind Stone Superman in the US. Send job offers to all those who meet the criteria, and double their salaries."
Edgar turned his head to the side, his eyes calm.
"Tell the Ministry of Manpower that I need to see a list on my desk 24 hours in advance, and within two weeks I need at least twenty ready-to-go personnel."
He raised his hand and pressed it on the detector on the blast door, a glint of shrewdness flashing in his eyes.
"Other departments, get on it immediately. Also, call Storm over, and Neuman too, I need to discuss something."
In an old farmhouse in eastern Pennsylvania.
Frank sat at the old wooden table in the kitchen, a torn letter between his fingers.
Vought's exclusive logo is printed at the beginning, and the wording is polite.
The letter invited him to join a defense-level research program, citing his early contributions to a compound project.
The compensation is listed as the highest tier, and it comes with the highest level of security.
The signature is Stan Edgar.
Frank slowly folded the letter back into the envelope and then pushed it to the other side.
In the shadows of the opposite door, a blond man was leaning against the doorframe.
The lighter twirls between my fingers, the metal wheel rubbing together and sending up tiny sparks.
He is the Lamplighter.
After giving Cate the core experimental data, he received the latest news from John.
John told him that an old man had once been involved in the development of Compound V.
Moreover, and most importantly, he was also involved in the backup plan for the Compound V1 back then.
"They can't sit still anymore; they want to restart the research on the first-generation compounds."
Frank took off his reading glasses, rubbed his temples with his knuckles, and said he had a headache.
I can't understand Edgar's thoughts either.
The current version of Compound V is actually a benign product that has been diluted multiple times by the original solution.
The quality of the products they produced was far inferior to the original; the only thing they could boast about was their high survival rate.
"But it's still unstable; it can only be considered barely passing."
"I've always wanted to recreate the original chemical formula and make a completely stable product."
As Frank spoke, he picked up a dark red test tube that was on the table.
"But I really didn't expect that you guys could actually create a more stable Compound V using the inverse equation."
"So, Frank, how about joining us to reconstruct the equations for the original compounds?"
"Join you? At this stage, only the remaining original stock solution can be reduced through the dialysis equation, but right now, the backup stock solution isn't with me."
"When V1 was destroyed back then, I only gave the backup to four people. I don't know who among them has it now."
Moreover, the first-generation test subjects before the Payback Squad was established were injected with undiluted original stock solution.
Bombsight, Torpedo, Angel Private, and the Soldier Boy you just told me about.
"Therefore, Vought wants to replicate the strength, relying solely on the archive data is useless."
The first-generation compounds would permanently fuse with the host cells and could not be extracted separately.
"Unless we find these four people and deduce the molecular structure from living cells."
The Lamplighter fell silent, stopping the lighter he had been fiddling with.
"So, you're planning to cooperate with Vought?"
"To be honest, I don't want to."
Frank stood up and looked out the window.
"But the person Vought is looking for will be found no matter where you hide; trying to disobey... that's obviously impossible."
"However, if you want to help, I don't mind sharing the data with you."
Meanwhile, at the Vought Tower.
A thick stack of documents was pushed onto the conference table of the Vought Strategic Resources Department.
The title printed on the document cover is "Feasibility Assessment of Replication and Mass Production of First-Generation Compound Formulations".
At the other end of the conference table sat the head of Vought Pharmaceuticals and two experts in the field of compound research.
Homelander sat in the head seat, his hands crossed on the table, wearing his signature fake smile.
Sitting next to him, the Sage, dressed in a dingy green uniform, opened the first page of the document.
Above is a simplified molecular structure diagram of the Original Compound V, surrounded by dense annotations personally made by the Sage, highlighting every difference from the modern mass-produced version.
"The essential difference between the first-generation compound and the modern Compound V lies in purity and regeneration efficiency."
The Sage shook his head and continued.
"The modern version has undergone multiple dilutions and additive improvements, which have reduced the lethality but also significantly reduced the maximum potential for ability boosts."
While the initial compound had a mortality rate as high as 70%, almost all of the surviving subjects reached the Odyssey -level performance.
Bombsight, Torpedo, Angel Private.
The destructive power these three displayed in the tests back then was no less than that of the current the Seven.
At this point, the Sage glanced at Homelander beside him and noticed that his fake smile concealed obvious dissatisfaction.
There was even a hint of resentment at not being mentioned.
Therefore, the Sage decisively steered the conversation back to the Homelander.
"Of course, Homelander's perfect rating as Odyssey is a one-in-a-million exception."
Having satisfied the whims of his Homelander, the Sage turned to the second page.
The above is a partial reconstruction of the original compound formula.
"For the past five years, Vought Pharmaceuticals has been trying to replicate the original formula, but has been unable to overcome the final step of molecular chain recombination."
The reason is simple: the original formula undergoes a one-time fusion reaction with the host's living cells after injection, and the molecular structure changes after the reaction is complete.
All we have is the pre-reaction formulation data, but there are no records of the crucial molecular bridging steps during the reaction.
"And Bombsight was the only one back then who still possessed a complete copy of the original compound."
"And he's still alive."
The Sage closed the file.
"Let the Bombsight hand over the first-generation compound; he can name his terms..."
A pension, a pardon, and an official honorary position, provided he cooperates.
Homelander squinted and then placed his hand on the table.
What if he doesn't pay?
The Sage put the documents into a file folder and pushed it in front of the group of responsible persons.
"His girlfriend, Little Headliner, hasn't received the V1 injection yet, and Bombsight has always wanted to turn her into an immortal Superman as well."
However, since we couldn't find a compound with high enough purity, we had to settle for Compound V.
We can make him a promise: hand over the original solution, Vought will create a custom first-generation compound just for his girlfriend.
"That depends on the research efforts of your department."
"Then there are the other original Superman. Mr. Edgar has already ordered a team to make contact with them first."
As they spoke, the Sage and the Homelander exchanged a glance, and she easily saw the anxiety in the Homelander's eyes.
He couldn't wait any longer.
"Time is of the essence; we cannot afford to delay."
Pennsylvania State Psychiatric Hospital.
A woman with wavy blonde hair and a voluptuous figure was standing in the reception room, fixing her hair in front of the window.
Outside the window was an activity area enclosed by barbed wire, where several patients in hospital gowns were walking in circles around a dead oak tree.
She tucked a stray hair behind her ear with her fingers, her fingertips slowly sliding down her jawline.
It glides over the neck, over the collarbone, and finally stops at the first unbuttoned button on the collar.
"It still doesn't feel like enough~"
As she spoke, she pulled a bright red lipstick from the pocket near her full neckline and carefully applied it while looking at the reflection in the glass.
After applying the cream, she deliberately pursed her lips twice.
Then, she gently bit her lower lip, turned her face left and right, and winked playfully at her reflection in the glass.
"It still looks good."
Just then, the door to the ward was pulled open from the outside.
Two field agents in Vought uniforms walked in, followed by a Vought clothing department employee.
In his hand, he was carrying a neatly folded new white uniform.
The woman turned around, her gaze sweeping over the three men's faces one by one, finally settling on a young male detective.
She looked at him for about three seconds, from his eyes to his mouth, then to his Adam's apple, and finally down to the bottom of his belt buckle.
Then, reluctantly, she withdrew her gaze, licked her freshly applied lower lip with the tip of her red tongue, and scraped the remaining lipstick down her tongue to the corner of her mouth.
"Finally, someone came to see me!"
"I've been waiting here for many years, and all I can do every day is chat with the head nurse."
The head nurse was 62 years old, a very nice person, but she didn't believe I was Superman.
She said it was all just wishful thinking... I've been to war, and I told her I'd slept with three presidents. She arrogantly replied that she'd slept with four of them.
As she spoke, she spread her fingers, looking at her exceptionally neatly trimmed nails.
"But I didn't argue with her. After all, she's that fat; it's probably true that she could sleep with four presidents... given the size of the room, it would be very comfortable for a president to lie down there."
Upon hearing the woman's words, the female employee's eye twitched, and the young detective beside her lowered his head, pretending to look at the tablet in his hand.
The woman noticed his reaction, and the corners of her mouth gradually turned up half an inch.
"Oh dear, you're shy."
She took a step forward, the hem of her hospital trousers dragging on the ground, the waistband slipping down to reveal a strip of lace trim.
She stopped in front of the young detective with interest; she was almost half a head shorter than him and had to look up at him.
"Don't be shy. When I was in the army, all the new recruits were shy on their first day..."
But the day after I adjusted their behavior, they weren't shy anymore, and I would often visit their dorm.
The woman emphasized the words "visiting someone's home" very softly. After speaking, she took a step back, then turned and walked towards the female employee, taking the uniform from her hand.
"It's rose gold... and my favorite white!"
She unfolded her uniform and held it up to the window. Sunlight filtered through the fabric and fell on her face, tinting her pupils with a very faint warm color.
Who made the choice?
She held the uniform tightly against her full chest, compared it to the glass, and then turned to look at the female employee.
"Is she the head of the clothing department? How old? Is she single?"
When I was in the army, all the female soldiers in charge of logistics ended up marrying the men I didn't choose.
As she spoke, she folded her uniform and placed it on the table, then turned to face the two field agents.
She slowly walked up to the young detective, reached out, and tapped his chest with her index finger, her nail lightly tracing the contours of his pectoral muscles through the fabric of his shirt.
Are you married?
The young detective instinctively shook his head, his Adam's apple bobbing involuntarily.
The woman smiled as she watched his Adam's apple bob, then withdrew her finger and put the tip of her finger to her lips.
"Don't be nervous, I don't do this to everyone, it's just been too long... fifty years, do you know what it feels like to not have touched a man for fifty years?"
"Look at my nails, I can only cut them very straight."
"Oh, after all this talk, I still don't know what you want from me... Is there something exciting you want me to do?"
" Private Angel, this is Vought's Mind Stone, he can help you recover your memories."
"Angel, Private?"
The woman looked at the female employee with a puzzled expression, then a painful memory flashed in her eyes.
He then covered his head with one hand and looked at the person next to the young detective who had remained silent.
"I?"
The scene changes, and a sentence appears almost identically indoors.
"So... you're talking about that son of a bitch Soldier Boy?"
The man in the orange leather jacket, who had been hesitant, suddenly stood up when he heard the familiar name.
Then he stared intently at Vought's field agents.
"If that's the case, meet my conditions, and I'll give you the potion."