Class 3-2
Inside the elevator.
The Soldier Boy, dressed in a classic palm-colored uniform, was resting with his eyes closed, clutching an eagle shield.
"Bite!"
The elevator suddenly let out a ghostly scream.
The Soldier Boy opened his eyes with a displeased expression and looked at the tightly closed metal door.
He doesn't know much about these "modern" things, and he usually avoids them altogether.
So it made a "ding" sound... and then what?
Why isn't the door open?
He stared intently at the closed metal door for half a minute, even trying to pry it open with his hands, but the door remained completely still.
"Fuck..."
Just then, the elevator's built-in voice assistant suddenly sounded.
"Hello, dear passenger, please tell me your desired floor."
"Who the hell got stuffed in there?"
The Soldier Boy suddenly frowned.
"I'm going to the 50th... what was it again? Right, the 50th floor."
"Okay, starting up for you."
As soon as the words were spoken, the elevator car slowly rose, and soon arrived at the fiftieth floor.
"Bite!"
The Soldier Boy stepped out of the elevator.
Before that, he had already put on his most manly expression, holding a shield in one hand and an unlit cigar between his lips in the other.
The awkward thing is that the Soldier Boy's perfect pose doesn't have a suitable audience.
To be precise, the Soldier Boy remembered the wrong floor, and the elevator took him to the area reserved for the female superheroes' changing room.
Therefore, at the very moment the Soldier Boy appeared, a row of female superheroines, their breasts exposed, stared at him wide-eyed.
Then...
The elevator doors slid open to both sides again.
The Soldier Boy looked around and only came out after confirming that everything was alright.
As she walked, she pulled off the black lace panties on her head and the stockings wrapped around her neck, then casually tossed them on the ground.
"Next time I take the elevator, I'm a piece of shit..."
At that moment, the smell of gunpowder mixed with the acrid smell wafted towards us.
The red emergency light spun on the ceiling, illuminating a scene of utter chaos.
Gravel, bullet casings, and some flesh-colored remains were scattered all over the ground.
Human bodies lay scattered haphazardly, a bloody mess piled together, with a few showing signs of movement.
"Wow... that's truly spectacular."
The Soldier Boy stepped over a broken pipe hanging from the ceiling, his gaze sweeping across the entire corridor.
Soon... it landed on one person.
The man stood tall at the end of the corridor, blond, blue-eyed, and dressed in a black leather jacket.
Most of those present were either barely clinging to life or were half-standing, howling in agony.
He stood out from the crowd, completely untouched by any sign of battle.
The Soldier Boy squinted.
He had only seen this dog's face in Vought's promotional videos and in framed posters in Edgar's office.
But strangely... this face was quite different from any he had seen before; he was clearly younger and more inexperienced.
Moreover, he lacked his signature cape and the clown-like street performer's costume.
Could it be that Vought has developed some new maintenance technology?
The Soldier Boy paused for half a second, a strange smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Thinking of this, he moved the shield to his side, exhaled a breath of foul air, and displayed an undisguised contempt.
Oh my God.
"You fucking call yourself Homelander? That greasy baby who's always posing in front of the camera, wiggling around with the Stars and Stripes wrapped around Dick?"
He took two steps forward and continued:
" Edgar has been preventing me from meeting you, saying her mother wants to keep you hidden to prevent you from making any extreme reactions..."
"I was thinking, Edgar must have been brainwashed with pig feed, what the hell is there to hide?"
"Now I've seen it all... So, all these people crawling on the ground like shit, it was all your doing, right?"
Not far away, John also turned his head.
He never expected to see "himself" and the Soldier Boy on the same day.
The most outrageous thing is that this Soldier Boy seems to have already identified him as Homelander.
John hadn't seen the Soldier Boy in a long time.
The Soldier Boy's final concession successfully ignited his twisted desire for control.
So in John's last memory, he was still stuffed back into the cryogenic chamber and frozen into an old popsicle again.
To be honest, if he hadn't met Martha and Old Joe, he might have still recognized this "biological father."
But things are different now.
" Soldier Boy, I am not the Homelander you think I am."
"Oh?"
The Soldier Boy stopped, tilted his head, and a more interesting expression appeared on his face.
"Actually, if Edgar hadn't asked me to do it, I really wouldn't have wanted to."
"You know what? In the first few years after World War II, my Vogelbaum arranged a private laboratory for me, for bullshit experiments on genes."
The entire floor reeked of disinfectant, and the nurses and doctors all walked on tiptoe, afraid of disturbing me.
The magazines on their table were of very good quality, and all the girls were styles I liked.
I couldn't resist and made myself a drink.
Until Edgar told me that they had conceived a child, born in the spring of 1981, a boy.
As he spoke, the Soldier Boy raised his shield slightly.
"To be honest, they didn't raise you very well. They copied my image and only produced a narcissistic clown in a costume."
"When we landed at Normandy, I was the first one to rush onto the Omaha beach, where foxholes were full of terrified recruits."
It was me, carrying a shield and braving German machine gun fire, who pushed forward and tore a gap in the defensive line.
Later they called that gap the Bradley Corridor.
The Soldier Boy tapped his chest with his thumb.
"That's named after me..."
Later, Vought's public relations department deliberately erased it, wanting to completely bury my achievements and honors.
"It's funny, they even accused me of treason."
"So, although I really don't want to do this, I've already made a promise..."
The Soldier Boy spoke while observing John's changing expression in the distance.
Was she enraged or overwhelmed by his bravery, obediently kneeling down to acknowledge him as her relative?
But none of these were present.
John even had a mocking smile on his face, his lips pursed into a straight line, clearly trying to suppress a laugh.
"What... you don't believe me?"
If it weren't for John's access to the world's storyline, he might have actually believed the Soldier Boy's nonsense.
That's fucking hilarious.
" Soldier Boy, your military service record is fake."
On the day of the Normandy landings, you reported to the recruiting office in New Jersey.
The recruitment office staff found that your physical indicators did not meet the requirements and rejected your application on the spot.
They didn't even process your enlistment paperwork.
Fortunately, your father was one of the earliest investors in Vought, and he paid to get your military service paperwork sorted out.
Moreover, they crammed you into Vought ' earliest Compound V1 project, skipping all the procedures...
In the end, you were the only one who survived the entire experimental group.
Therefore, Vought sealed all your original records and fabricated your military service history.
So... did you really go to war?
As John recounted his "resume" in great detail, the Soldier Boy's smile slowly froze.
You know nothing.
Enraged, the Soldier Boy gripped his shield tightly, his face darkening.
"I don't know where you got this fake news from, but you've successfully angered me."
"And what about Clara?"
At this point, John continued.
"As far as I know, she was the one who personally packaged your file and wrote the propaganda script for Normandy."
Then, I'll push you onto a pedestal.
Unfortunately, your many bad deeds led her to abandon you without hesitation.
Therefore, she conspired with Edgar to send you to the Soviet Union, where you endured decades of bullets and poison gas.
When the Soldier Boy heard the name " Clara," his expression twitched slightly.
He had always been reluctant to believe that the real mastermind was Clara, the woman he had loved for decades.
He would rather uncover the truth himself than hear others here wantonly throwing mud at Clara.
" Clara, I'll go ask her myself."
"But you... you're just a self-righteous idiot, you've disappointed me so much."
With that, the Soldier Boy raised his shield and charged forward, his speed increasing rapidly.
As the path between the two shortened, the Soldier Boy jumped up and punched John's raised left arm.
At the moment of impact, concrete exploded underfoot.
Spiderweb-like cracks spread wildly in all directions along the floor tiles, and before the pebbles could even fly into the air, the next punch was already close to John's face.
The fist, brimming with pent-up anger and humiliation, slammed solidly into John's outstretched forearm.
Thump!
With a muffled thud, John blocked the Soldier Boy's powerful blow with his forearm.
That's it?
John tilted his head.
" The Soviet Union scrubbed you with machine guns for forty years, and this is all the fucking effort they got?"
Soldier Boy was, after all, one of the first Superman to be injected with the Compound V1, so his strength was naturally beyond question.
It was enough to rival John.
Taking advantage of the slight lull in the Soldier Boy's punch, John did not hesitate and instantly raised his right fist and threw it.
This time, John smashed the Soldier Boy's cheekbone directly, causing the flesh to cave in with the force.
The next second, a large number of blood spots exploded out from inside.
"Or perhaps those Soviet Union nurses pampered you so much that your manhood is now limp and snotty?"
Although the Soldier Boy was hit hard by John and his skin was scraped, he only tilted his head back symbolically.
It's worth noting that for decades in the Soviet Union, he was subjected to machine gun fire and scorching heat as a test subject.
He had long since developed a certain tolerance for these physical attacks.
Therefore, John's attacks were like tickling him, only effective in breaking through his defenses.
"Your mouth..."
The Soldier Boy licked his front teeth, blood mixed with saliva, and spat it onto the ground.
"It's much harder than yours."
Immediately afterwards, the Soldier Boy raised his elbow and swept it towards John's jaw.
The force surged through John's jawbone and down to the back of his head, instantly causing a piercing ringing in his ears.
He sank down with the momentum, then struck out with his palm, hitting the Soldier Boy in the chest.
Seeing this, the Soldier Boy raised his shield to block the attack, then his right hand transformed into a chopstick, slashing hard at John's trapezius muscle at the junction of his shoulder and neck.
To the Soldier Boy's surprise, John's physique seemed even more exaggerated; hitting him felt like hitting a steel plate.
Neither of them could gain the upper hand.
But John's attacks were clearly more destructive; in comparison, John didn't have a single bruise, let alone any injuries.
In contrast, the Soldier Boy's face was covered with crisscrossing wounds inflicted by John.
"Old bastard, he's got a real backbone."
John kept complaining as he played.
In response, he was met with a shield that came hurtling towards him.
"Heh, you might consider licking my good brother's boots."
The Soldier Boy twisted to the side, the edge of his shield sweeping across and slamming solidly into John's shoulder.
And that's not enough.
The shield slammed down with tremendous force, each impact building upon the last, causing the metal shield's edges to gradually curl and peel.
"Whoosh--"
John dodged to the side, gripped the edge of the shield with his backhand, and with his other hand, delivered a swift upward hook to the Soldier Boy's chin.
The Soldier Boy staggered two steps, nearly dropping his shield.
He then gripped the shield strap tightly, slammed his heel into the ground, and managed to steady himself.
At that moment, the crimson-gold light in John's eyes suddenly blazed brightly.
Two scorching beams shot out from the depths of his pupils, striking the Soldier Boy directly in the chest.
"Sizzle!"
The intense heat from the Heat Vision instantly burned through the surface of the suit, then broke through layer by layer, finally reaching the innermost layer of skin.
The Soldier Boy stood there, gritting his teeth, a layer of skin burned off his chest, revealing the dark red flesh underneath.
"Die..."
The orange light on his chest coalesced once more.
The detached glimmer of light, as if drawn by a magnet, rapidly recoiled, collapsing into a dense, orange-yellow light core within five seconds.
The surrounding air became scorching hot, with a hissing sound emanating from it.
The faint orange light quickly transformed into a rich orange-yellow within just five seconds.
It's about to explode.
Although John was very proud of himself, he would never be foolish enough to take a direct hit from Chest Cannon.
The Soldier Boy's Chest Cannon not only possesses immense destructive power, but also has the ability to neutralize Superman abilities.
John dared not gamble.
After all, the memory of Kimiko's Chest Cannon from her past life was still vivid. She was Chest Cannon, which led to the loss of all her superpowers.
Just then, John suddenly recalled some netizens' comments about the Soldier Boy on "The Fourth Wall".
To make the Chest Cannon more powerful, you need to charge it up.
Anyone with a modicum of fighting spirit would choose to forcibly interrupt such a threatening buildup.
So here's the question.
Why doesn't anyone interrupt Soldier Boy's charging process when fighting him, instead letting him successfully complete the charge?
Is this some kind of masochistic turn-based game that only a masochist would allow?
The thought flashed through John's mind for less than a fraction of a second before he made his decision.
Buzz--
A transparent force field rippled outwards from John's body.
He transformed into a streak of black light, approaching the Soldier Boy at incredible speed, his fist whistling through the air as he slammed it straight into the center of the boy's chest.
"Whoosh--"
A solid punch landed squarely on the core of the power accumulation.
"Fuck! A bunch of idiots!"
John's pupils contracted sharply.
To his astonishment, the orange light had not diminished at all; in fact, it had become even brighter.
This generation of netizens are all just talkers.
The online debates were incredibly passionate, with phrases like "interrupting charging" and "crashing at point-blank range" being discussed as casually as drinking water.
In real combat, they're more of a hindrance than a help.
John now only wants to climb up the internet and find all those IDs that posted those messages, putting them in the Heat Vision.
What happened to the promised "easy interruption"?
Bullshit.
This old thing even has a built-in power reserve feature for its wind-up mechanism.
"I didn't believe your lies..."
The orange light had gathered to a certain degree and was leaking out from the gaps in the battle suit, flashing a dazzling luster in a cross-shaped line.
Just then, the eagle shield flew in, spinning.
The shield's edge was shrouded in an orange-red afterglow, obscuring the entire field of vision. John sidestepped.
In that very blink of an eye.
The Chest Cannon exploded.
The orange-red shockwave, like a high-speed beam of light, slammed into the Soldier Boy's chest.
Wherever the beam of light passed, the shrapnel and spent shell casings were instantly vaporized.
The concrete wall was blown apart in its entirety, and the rusty steel bars inside quickly turned red-hot under the extreme heat of the Chest Cannon.
The dust, coated in heat, rubbed against each other in the air once more, then exploded in a cycle that spread along the heat wall.
John had already pushed his reaction to the limit.
The moment the energy left the Soldier Boy's chest, he lunged sideways, skimming the ground as he charged forward.
The shockwave merely grazed his shoulder, instantly vaporizing the shoulder seam of his trench coat, leaving a smoking hole.
John escaped, but the prisoners behind him weren't so lucky.
Those lucky ones who were hit head-on were instantly charred, leaving not even ashes behind with the explosion.
Those who were grazed by the edge of the light flew out like rag dolls, crashing into the wall, and were already lifeless by the time they hit the ground.
As John dodged to the side, he kept a close eye on the Soldier Boy's condition.
At this moment, the Soldier Boy had just finished releasing a wave of energy, white smoke was still rising from his chest, and he was leaning against the wall, panting heavily.
Great opportunity!
John twisted his foot, leaving an afterimage in his place.
The next second, the person had already flashed in front of the Soldier Boy, then spread their five fingers, and suddenly closed them the moment they touched the nose.
Then it took on a claw-like shape and gripped the Soldier Boy's neck tightly.
But the Soldier Boy's reflexes were equally astonishing.
The instant John's neck was caught, he grabbed John's wrists with both hands and forcefully pulled them down several inches.
Hold on tighter.
John was about to pull his hand away when a tremendous pulling force came from his wrist.
The Soldier Boy grabbed him and pulled him forward sharply, his chest pressed against John's face.
"You think you can mess with me? You're still too green."
The Soldier Boy's mouth was clenched into a wide grin, blood mixed with saliva squeezing out from between his teeth, making him look particularly ferocious.
The Chest Cannon erupted once again.
But in that instant of letting go, John immediately grabbed the edge of the shield on the Soldier Boy's left arm and yanked it hard.
The shield slipped from his hand.
Immediately afterward, John raised his shield in front of him with lightning speed.
The impact of the Chest Cannon slammed into the shield, and orange light exploded outwards.
The entire shield began to tremble violently, and cracks started to spread across the metal, eventually covering the entire surface.
This shield can only hold out for one round.
We must find a way to fight back.
This time, John didn't give the Soldier Boy another chance to gather his strength, and swung his shield at the Soldier Boy's face.
The Chest Cannon had just been used up, and the Soldier Boy hadn't recovered his strength yet; he was still feeling weak.
At that moment, John swung his shield and smashed it down, causing the Soldier Boy to stagger and slam his knee heavily to the ground.
Blood trickled down his face from his brow bone. The Soldier Boy tilted his head, his eyes fixed on John.
Just then, the scene in front of the Soldier Boy suddenly flickered.
It felt like someone had kicked him in the back of the head.
Gravel, scorch marks, and broken walls of the corridor faded from the edge of vision, spreading out like ink blurred by water.
white.
The incandescent light bulbs on the ceiling were humming; he knew that sound all too well.
"Don't move, you'll get used to it (in Russian)."
Russian, it's a woman's cold voice.
The next second, the needle, like a cold snake, plunged its fangs deep into the carotid artery.
He bit down on his braces, and blood seeped into his mouth through the gaps in the braces.
In this godforsaken place.
He only remembered one thing.
Tolerate.
Then, the screen suddenly snapped back to normal.
John stood two meters away, staring intently at him.
He endured decades of living in Soviet Union basement, but now he still has to endure it.
Edgar, Storm... and even this damn Homelander in front of me.
So... why is he still enduring it?
Fuck it!