"Una Mattina (Piano Arrangement)"
This is the fifth hour since the Deep fell into a coma.
Inside the makeshift base, a few incandescent bulbs cast a pale, stark white light, while the ballasts hummed incessantly.
As the lights shone, the "operating table" lying beneath the Deep was revealed.
Rather than an "operating table," it was actually just three plastic folding tables randomly put together.
It was only by using the table legs to prop up broken bricks that Frenchie managed to stabilize the table.
On the table, the Deep was face down, his turquoise battle suit cut open by Frenchie with scissors.
Looking through the cut, a large, shocking purplish-black bruise stretched from the left shoulder blade all the way down to the waist and abdomen.
The broken bones inside even protruded, their sharp edges protruding beneath the skin.
"Snap!"
Frenchie squatted by the table, his fingertips gripping the repositioning forceps, a bead of cold sweat dripping from his forehead.
The Deep has never woken up since he was carried back by the A-Train.
Only when the repositioning forceps clamps a nerve will the person subconsciously tense up and unconsciously emit a painful groan.
"Phew... Damn it, all my bones are broken, I'm exhausted."
Frenchie gave the splint one last check, then wrapped the blood-soaked gauze in a ball and threw it into the trash can at his feet.
By this time, the bucket was already stuffed with blackened gauze, blood-stained cotton balls, and needles.
"Three ribs are broken, the ulna in the left arm is fractured, and there is slight bleeding inside the skull."
"His life has been saved, but at the normal recovery rate... he'll be lying in bed like a rotten fish for at least a week, and whether he can even get out of bed is another matter."
Just then, the leather curtain at the entrance was lifted.
The wind blew in through the cracks, and John was carrying a large roll of rubber hose.
He walked in and casually tossed the hose at Frenchie's feet.
"You need to stay in bed for a week?"
"That's still an underestimate."
Frenchie wiped his mouth.
"Even if he's Superman, bone healing still follows the laws of cell division; this is Smash."
John pursed his lips.
"... The metabolic mechanisms of the Deep are actually related to water."
Hearing this, the A-Train leaning against the wall also crossed its arms and spoke up:
"That's true. Back in the Vought Tower, every time this guy came back from a mission half-dead, he would find a deep pool and soak in it."
Despite suffering serious injuries, he emerged from the water after a few days and was back to his usual energetic self, continuing to churn out his favorite awful environmental ads.
"You mean... soaking in water can activate his body's self-healing? How much faster can his recovery be?"
Who knows?
The A-Train shrugged and turned away.
"I need to go help Butcher move his things first; his plans can't wait."
"So fast... Okay then."
Frenchie cursed under his breath as he watched the A-Train depart, then turned to look into the depths of the warehouse:
"Damn, let's try anything, no matter what! Hughie, stop showing off your love and come lend a hand!"
In the innermost corner of the factory, there was a roughly half-person-high, two-meter-long industrial water tank.
That was originally used for John's New Compound V immersion test.
Seeing that it had no effect on John, Frenchie abandoned it there, never expecting to need it again.
Hughie, blushing and looking somewhat embarrassed, ran over from Starlight.
The two men grabbed the metal handle at the bottom of the water tank, one in front of the other, and began to exert force with gritted teeth.
They dragged this heavy iron machine, weighing several hundred kilograms, to the central area.
Frenchie then grabbed the rubber hose from the ground, attached one end tightly to the large-diameter faucet, and threw the other end into the water tank.
Then, the valve was turned on, and a stream of clear water suddenly cascaded down, hitting the stainless steel base plate and splashing up a large spray.
"Damn, it's freezing! Quick, turn the water temperature up!"
Frenchie reached out and tested the water temperature.
"Around 37 degrees Celsius, not too cold, as this will stimulate blood vessels and worsen internal bleeding."
"No, Frenchie, the Deep creatures swim in cold water, are you trying to grill them?"
Despite his complaints, Hughie obediently reached out and pressed the old-fashioned temperature control switch next to the valve.
Next, it was time to lift the dead pig from the Deep.
The two of them worked together to lift the Deep off the folding table; The Deep was now as heavy as a puddle of mud.
His head drooped limply, as if he were about to collapse at any moment.
"Three, two, one, let's go!"
"Boom!"
The Deep was thrown directly into the water by Frenchie and Hughie.
And it was at that very moment that the water flowed over the wound.
The muscles in the Deep, which had been tense and spasming, relaxed instantly at a speed visible to the naked eye.
His furrowed brows slowly relaxed.
After absorbing moisture, the dry, cracked skin gradually returned to its original color, and even the bleeding from the torn corner of the mouth quickly stopped.
Frenchie leaned over for a couple of glances, breathed a sigh of relief, wiped the water droplets from his face, and turned to look at John by the door:
"This... how much time will it save?"
John leaned against the doorframe, his gaze fixed on the undulating surface of the water in the tank.
His Microscopic Vision told him that cells in the Deep heal very quickly.
About a day and a half.
"A day and a half?! That's three broken bones!"
"You underestimated him. Given enough time, theoretically, he could be completely cured."
John said calmly.
"As long as there is water as the absorption medium, his body will automatically recover. Once he recovers, he can even help you masturbate."
"Then I must make him give me a good beating to make up for it, my little darling."
With that, Frenchie threw the heating rod that came with the cup aside and plopped down in the rocking chair.
"Damn... I'm so tired. I can only wait for him to wake up."
In the corner, Starlight was counting the dosage of the New Compound V, while Cate sat on a wooden crate, marking the route with a marker.
Kimiko had just returned from the hospital and was leaning against the wall, watching TV with her legs tucked in.
And it was at this moment.
"Buzz--!"
Accompanied by a piercing electromagnetic sound, the television screen began to shake violently.
The talk show host's laughter was instantly drowned out by static, and then the signal was abruptly cut off, switching directly to another channel.
What's going on?
Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the screen.
The television screen was immediately switched to Vought News' emergency live broadcast.
In the White House press briefing room, Victoria Neuman, dressed in a well-tailored dark blue suit, stood in front of the podium.
Her eyes were slightly red, carrying a just-right touch of sadness that resonated with everyone.
"Ladies and gentlemen, and our fellow America."
"I stand here tonight to inform the entire nation of a national decision from which there is no turning back."
She placed her hands neatly folded on the podium and leaned slightly forward.
"Over the past period, a group of extremist militants calling themselves the ' The Boys ' have all been listed on the wanted list."
Under the guidance of the test subjects, they caused a great deal of bloodshed and chaos in our city.
They trampled on the law, disregarded public safety, forcibly broke into the Vought Tower, and Carnage a large number of Superman citizens.
It's important to understand that the America government once attempted to seek justice within the framework of the Constitution...
But as it turns out, when faced with a group of desperados who have completely torn up the social contract, the restraint of the law is only seen as a weakness that can be exploited.
At that moment, the director's camera gave her a close-up of her face.
"Just half an hour ago, our president signed the Executive Emergency Manhunt Act."
"From this moment forward, all restrictions on law enforcement procedures against the individuals shown in the image are lifted."
Their citizenship has been forcibly revoked, and they no longer enjoy any legal protection under the United States of America.
At the same time, several red titles appeared in the bottom bar of the screen.
"I know that tonight, law enforcement officers and veterans across the United States..."
Even tens of millions of ordinary families with legally armed forces were watching this live broadcast.
Neuman's gaze swept over all the audience members below the stage.
"This is an official authorization issued by the White House to the entire United States, in response to the discovery of these dangerous individuals."
Every citizen has the right to take all necessary armed measures.
Protect your homes, defend your community!
The federal government will provide full legal immunity and state endorsement for all your actions.
At this moment, the screen seamlessly transitions to a detailed file:
The Deep A-Train, Hughie, Cate's college entrance photos, Starlight's old photos, Kimiko's silhouette, Butcher's sinister grin...
The image finally freezes on John's blurry profile.
Below the photo, a line of cold, administrative labeling is clearly visible:
(Target Category: Unrestricted Clearance)
Neuman's voice descends in the background, delivering the final verdict:
" Vought International and the Ministry of Finance have jointly established a special fund to completely eliminate the threat--"
"Whoosh!"
In the bottom right corner of the screen, a giant gold number box instantly covered half of the image:
$10,000,000,000 / PER HEAD
(Bounty offered to each person: 10 billion US dollars)
(Whether dead or alive)
"Bring them back."
Neuman looked at the camera and calmly added the last few words.
"Or leave their bodies behind."
Ten zeros, that's a whopping 10 billion.
Frenchie slammed the wrench in his hand onto the toolbox with a loud clang.
He opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a word for a long time. Finally, he only murmured:
"Ten billion... those bastards actually pinned half the state's budget on us."
"They're really ruthless when it comes to dealing with us!"
Starlight's brows furrowed tightly.
She knew Vought was ruthless, but she never expected him to be this ruthless.
The $10 billion bounty means that from now on, wherever they go, they will be seen as a "mobile gold mine" by all United States citizens.
Let alone official forces, even a beggar on the street might pounce on him and take a bite for this money.
This is truly... a public enemy!
But this is just the beginning.
On the screen, Neuman turned a page of his speech, looked up at the camera, and a cold smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
"At this point, many citizens may wonder... how can we get such a vicious and elusive group of people to walk into our trap?"
"Based on the latest leads, we have identified seventeen accomplices of this terrorist organization throughout the United States."
Their actions of providing funding, shelter, and counter-surveillance support to terrorists are egregious and they should be punished as equals.
Then, the screen switched again, with a dozen photos neatly arranged in an array, filling the entire screen.
The first picture is of Henry Campbell.
The middle-aged man in the photo is wearing a blue shirt, making a peace sign, and smiling with a down-to-earth and honest look.
That was Hughie's father.
"No, Dad...!"
Hughie's voice suddenly choked, and his shoulders began to heave violently.
Starlight, standing beside him, grabbed his wrist tightly, her gaze quickly sweeping across the screen.
The first picture in the second row is actually a family photo of her parents and younger brother.
Further down the list are Butcher's former superior Mallory, several of Frenchie's friends, and the A-Train's family.
"The aforementioned accomplices were apprehended by the Vought Security Forces Joint Law Enforcement Bureau half an hour ago."
"So, fellow citizens of America..."
"The bill is effective immediately."
The temporary base was eerily quiet.
Only the sound of water flowing in the tank and the long, deep breaths of the Deep remain, striking the heart again and again.
After an unknown amount of time, Frenchie walked to the blackboard, picked up a piece of white chalk, and slammed down two large characters.
--White House.
"Damn it! Let's go kill them now!"
At this moment, John, who had remained silent all along, finally turned around.
His gaze slowly swept across the entire room.
"Everyone, this is clearly a trap."
"We're just waiting for you bunch of idiots blinded by rage to run into them and die."
"So what?!"
Frenchie took a sudden step forward, veins bulging on his forehead, his eyes bloodshot:
"Are we just going to cower in this wretched place and watch those beasts wipe out Hughie's dad and Mallory?"
Are we even human?!
"I didn't say we wouldn't rescue them, but have you considered that just the manpower aspect alone is a huge problem?"
John met his gaze, his eyes completely unmoved.
"What do you mean?"
Frenchie suddenly looked up, panting heavily.
"Are we going to wait for the Deep to wake up? And then wait another day and a half?! By then, the people will be as cold as mush!"
"Calm!"
"Look at you all, your brains are completely mush, do you have any sense left?"
"If you storm into the White House with this shattered, lifeless mentality, you wouldn't even be able to kill the dogs on the White House steps."
With that, John took a step forward.
"What we're facing are thousands upon thousands of predatory jackals, and an army of Superman enhanced by V2."
"Tell me, with your fucking rotten state, you'll all be fucking killed before you even see the hostages when you get to the White House."
What's this called?
"That's what he deserved!"
At this moment, the air fell into a deathly silence.
Frenchie stared intently at John, his eyes blazing with fury, his molars clenched so tightly they were practically spitting fire.
He was like a mad dog with its neck tightly chained, letting out a low growl from his throat.
After a long while, Frenchie spat angrily on the ground, turned around abruptly, and kicked the metal bucket next to him away.
But he didn't refute it.
Because he knew that everything John said was fucking right.
But this kind of waiting, this kind of torment, is more painful than death itself.
"Let's wait for news from Butcher."
John didn't look at them again, but turned and walked out of the factory.
A great war is about to begin.
Just to be on the safe side, he needed to confirm one thing first.
(Please urge me to update and leave comments!)