Empire State of Mind
Virginia, 35 meters underground.
Top Secret Naval Archives Department.
"Buzz--"
In the shadows, an industrial elevator was slowly descending, emitting a piercing electrical hum.
Inside the elevator car stood two Vought agents.
Standing in front of them was an elderly administrator with a full head of white hair.
The administrator was holding a bunch of old-fashioned brass keys, swinging them around with the inertia of his hand.
"I've been here for forty years, you know that?"
I always felt you would come someday, and I never thought I would actually see you...
"Ahem, this place is all mechanical locks, no electricity, so we can only open the doors using the most primitive method."
The administrator, with a slightly hunched back, was old but still had an insatiable desire to share, constantly talking to the two silent agents behind him.
But after talking for a while, he found that no one was saying anything, so he had no choice but to fall silent again in disappointment.
Just then, the elevator doors opened.
A sudden blast of cold air, carrying the smell of old paper and rust-preventive oil, hit us.
The corridor was narrow, with steel cabinets lined up neatly on both sides, their labels long since faded.
The administrator, holding the key, walked shakily to the cabinet at the end of the room.
His memory wasn't what it used to be, and he checked the number three times before he could successfully insert the key into the lock.
"Clatter."
The lock is open.
Inside the cabinet, a sealed metal cylinder lay quietly, with the words "Torpedo" painted in small black ink on its side.
Status: Frozen and sealed.
Unsealing authority: Secretary of Department of Defense /CEO of Vought International.
"Actually, this place didn't originally belong to the Navy."
The administrator locked the cabinet door and put the key back in his pocket.
"We've just been holding his documents for Vought for decades... but are you sure you want to restart this program?"
"He was the only case that could be resurrected through Compound V back then. Once it's activated, there will be no more samples to study."
"This is a matter for Vought, and it's not convenient for us to disclose it."
The agent gave only a cold, curt reply, sparing with words.
"Alright, but I must remind you, he will experience complete retrograde amnesia after being thawed, so you'd better prepare everything in advance."
"This has no impact on us."
It doesn't matter; both of Vought's Mesmer have been released from Red River Prison.
Having no memory is the best weapon.
After the first Kun hour.
The seventeenth basement level of the Vought International.
In the main control room at the end of the corridor.
A dozen researchers in sterile gowns held their breath, their eyes fixed on the one-way mirror in front of them.
Behind the glass, a three-meter-long cryogenic chamber was slowly depressurizing.
The pale blue antifreeze circulated along the pipe walls, supporting the body that had been dormant for forty years inside the cabin.
Torpedo.
who is he?
The core combat force of the Original Seven, renowned for their ability to dive at extreme speeds in the ocean and ram at high speeds.
Forty years ago, the Torpedo "died" during a mission.
Vought publicly announced that his body had been cremated, but in reality, he secretly transported his intact body back home.
It is sealed in an ultra-low temperature environment of minus 120 degrees Celsius.
Then, he used the residual sequence of the Original Compound V to repair his damaged internal organs and bones.
Simultaneously, memory erasure and neural training programs are carried out, which is exactly the same approach used by the Soviet Union to reform soldiers during the Cold War.
"The cabin temperature has risen to minus twenty degrees Celsius, and the antifreeze circulation rate is normal."
"The memory erasure module is operating stably; the residual memory in the hippocampus is less than 8%; the neural anchor point connection was successful."
At that moment, the research director's eyes were glued to the fluctuating curves on the screen.
My palms were already damp with cold sweat, and the back of my shirt was practically soaked.
He was under a lot of pressure.
This was because it was an extremely rare instance of Edgar personally issuing a mandatory black order, bypassing all levels of government and board filings, leaving no room for maneuver.
Success is naturally a cause for celebration, but failure...
After all, they had all experienced the CEO's ruthless and efficient methods of liquidation firsthand, and they dared not gamble.
What sent chills down everyone's spine was...
Edgar wasn't in his top-floor office at the moment; he was standing quietly behind everyone, observing the experiment.
At this moment, the chaotic peaks representing self-awareness on the screen are collapsing at a visible speed, quickly being compressed into an almost straight baseline.
Instead, there is a undulating curve that is so regular as to be almost rigid, perfectly replicating the arc of a sine function.
Cold, uniform, and extremely uniform
(It's actually a graph of sinx)
"Start the wake-up process and load basic instructions."
Just then, Edgar's voice came from behind.
The sound wasn't loud, but it was very clear.
He walked slowly to the glass and gently tapped the cold surface with his fingertips.
His bespoke suit was perfectly pressed without a single wrinkle, and his gaze was fixed on the body inside the cabin, devoid of any emotion.
"Yes!"
Upon receiving the command, the robotic arms on both sides of the cryogenic chamber started operating simultaneously.
The hydraulic rod emitted a faint hum, and a dozen silver electrode needles, gleaming with a cold light, precisely extended.
"Pfft!"
They were inserted into the Fengchi acupoint at the back of the neck, the intervertebral space of the spine, and the nerve nodes at the temples on both sides, respectively.
The next second, the faintly fluorescent pale blue liquid was injected at a steady pace, slowly seeping into the subcutaneous tissue through the syringe.
Almost at the same instant the drug reached the central nervous system.
The body inside the cabin, which had been lying motionless for so long with its eyelashes still, suddenly trembled.
Then, his eyes suddenly opened.
The thin frost that had condensed inside the cabin was stirred up into a cloud of white mist by the sudden breath.
Those eyes held no trace of the confusion of newly awakened beings, only a blank emptiness, like a machine that had been restarted, staring blankly outwards.
Meanwhile, in Brooklyn, an abandoned subway station.
Maeve's Queen's Sword was firmly stuck on John's fingertips, refusing to budge.
She tried to exert force, but apart from a tremor between her fingers, the sword barely moved.
Even the smallest bit.
Left with no other choice, Maeve could only stare intently at the man before her.
The man has facial features almost identical to those of Homelander.
But unlike the stubbornness and violence ingrained in the bones of the Homelander, his eyes were exceptionally calm, like a deep pool of water, undisturbed.
"You're impersonating Homelander... Who are you really?"
Maeve gritted her teeth and strained her wrist again, trying to pull the sword back.
But the blade remained motionless, as if it were welded to the opponent's finger.
Seeing this, John's lips curled up, and he tightened his fingertips slightly.
With a crisp "crack," he managed to crush a deep finger mark into the blade, which was made of high-strength alloy, before releasing it.
If you look closely, you can even see the fingerprints etched onto the sword.
While in a stalemate, Maeve had suddenly broken free, was pushed back by the sword and staggered back several steps before regaining her balance.
"You... it's impossible, who are you?"
Maeve had many things she wanted to say but couldn't.
The person in front of her looked so much like him that she felt momentarily disoriented.
However, there can never be another Homelander in this world; one is already chaotic enough.
Why did it have to appear now, of all times?
Therefore, Maeve did not believe that such a coincidence could exist.
"With such capabilities, impersonating Homelander will lead nowhere."
However, John completely ignored what Maeve said and continued talking to himself.
" Maeve, do you remember the hijacking incident a while ago? Flight 247, with three military senators and 121 ordinary passengers on board."
Upon hearing this, Maeve's face turned deathly pale.
"The plane crashed in the Atlantic Ocean with no survivors. The official cause of death was mechanical failure."
John took a step forward, his gaze falling on her suddenly constricted pupils.
"Was it done by the Homelander?"
"And you... you were powerless to stop it, but because of that, you became part of the accomplice."
"No, you... how did you know?"
Maeve looked at John in utter shock, her eyes filled with disbelief.
Because only she, Homelander, and Vought's top brass knew about this.
Vought's top brass will not expose any incriminating evidence that could pose a threat to Vought.
If this matter were to be exposed, it would directly affect the reputation of the Homelander, and could even completely ruin his reputation.
Therefore, it's even less likely that the Homelander would tell anyone.
So, how did he know?
And on what basis do you say that?
"No, he did it all..."
"Stop deceiving yourself, Maeve."
Maeve's throat tightened, and she was about to open her mouth to defend herself when John ruthlessly interrupted her before she could finish speaking.
John didn't even bother to turn around and look at her.
He simply placed his arm around her, standing in the shadows with his back to her.
Although he did all of those things.
A passenger plane tilting at 10,000 meters altitude, a little girl with her hand pressed against the window, the towering flames and scattered debris from the explosion...
He was both a participant and a detached observer.
So many years have passed, and he feels no guilt whatsoever, not even the slightest burden.
After all, he was never a kind person.
Martha, the life philosophy that Old Joe taught him, he would only apply these moral standards to the people he loved.
What do other people have to do with me?
Therefore, if it can be used to achieve a certain psychological or intimidating effect, he can say it without changing his expression.
Because it's advantageous to him.
Just like now.
"So this matter has been weighing on your mind for years, it's been a thorn in your side, right?"
" Vought has no secrets in my eyes."
John continued calmly.
"Also, there are probably six hidden cameras and three GPS trackers installed in your girlfriend Elena's studio and apartment."
There were even listening devices in the paint boxes in her studio.
You don't care about your own reputation, but Edgar cares about the reputation of his products.
If you ever dare to disobey him, he can make sure she gets into an 'accident' at any time.
Upon hearing this, Maeve's breathing quickened instantly.
Normally, she carefully kept her distance from Elena and deliberately maintained a single persona in public.
She thought that this would protect her.
But to his surprise, Edgar's hand had already reached inside.
The thought that her girlfriend's every move was being watched by others sent chills down Maeve's spine.
Upon hearing John's words, a surge of anger mixed with a profound sense of powerlessness welled up within him.
"Are you still living in your own world? Think about it, if you ever lose control, can you leave Vought unscathed and protect yourself?"
"At this point, what will happen to your reputation and your girlfriend?"
Yes... what should we do?
Maeve staggered back two steps, her back slamming heavily against the collapsed wall.
Then he slowly slid down the wall, his fingertips hanging limply at his sides.
John is right; she's just deceiving herself.
She always believed that as long as she cooperated enough and worked hard enough, she could maintain the current peace and protect Elena.
Silence is for atonement, compromise is for protection.
That's too naive.
Everything is a unified process of development.
She was trapped in the cage Edgar had woven from beginning to end; she seemed free, but in reality, every step she took was on a line he had deliberately drawn.
To put it bluntly, she was just a convenient tool.
For a fleeting moment, she felt as if she were standing at an altitude of 12,000 meters again, with an out-of-control commercial airliner in front of her.
The fuselage tilted and plummeted downwards, the windows crowded with panicked faces, and cries and screams echoed through the thick bulkhead.
She saw the little girl.
Golden curly hair, clutching a rabbit doll with only one ear missing, her small hands pressed tightly against the cold porthole.
She didn't cry; she just stared at Maeve through the window with her wet blue eyes.
Those innocent eyes held a child's purest and most innocent trust and plea.
"No survivors."
In short, everything was lost.
For so many years, she has never wanted to recall the scene from that day.
Therefore, she numbed herself with endless tasks, drowned her sobriety in alcohol late at night, and even hired male models to keep herself occupied.
(There is indeed a subtle scene in the original work; you can go back and take a look.)
She thought that as long as she didn't look at it or think about it, those sins would gradually fade away with time.
But John has now torn them all out and laid them out in front of her.
"So... what exactly is your purpose in telling me all this?"
Maeve abruptly raised her head, forcibly suppressing her surging emotions.
She didn't understand John, but she understood her Homelander.
They also understand human nature.
If one side throws out a chip, then the other side must place a bet.
"Purpose?"
"It's very simple."
John raised an eyebrow.
"We're adversaries of Vought, and in some ways, you are too."
"If you want to save yourself and your poor little girlfriend, then show your sincerity."
"You don't have much time to think. Once Edgar makes his move, you'll be next."
After saying that, John turned around and walked away without looking back, following the departing the Boys Squad.
Now, Maeve was all alone in the huge abandoned factory.
She slowly curled her fingers and gripped the cold hilt of the sword.
If she stays in Vought, she will eventually become nothing more than a tool for Edgar to make money.
Edgar might even use this as leverage to blackmail her into doing more things.
It's important to understand that Elena is no longer a secret to Edgar.
If she ever loses her usefulness, Edgar will not hesitate to get rid of her.
Including Elena.
But what if we cooperate with John in front of us?
If they're both caught in a compromising situation, how much better can things be?
Thinking of this, Maeve closed her eyes, a bitter taste rising in her throat.
She herself harbored extreme hatred for Homelander.
Now, a person who looked like Homelander appeared out of nowhere in front of her and told her all this.
She also has something on her hands.
Teaming up with him is like asking a tiger for its skin; one day, he might devour you whole, leaving not even bones behind.
What should she do?
(The big battle is about to begin. Let's switch to the Callback route now. We're running out of credits for the Boys arc. Guys, want to top up your accounts? Hahaha)
(Next post will be a collection of crossover worlds: One-Punch Man, The Amazing X-Men. Any other ideas, or more abstract worlds are also welcome.)