The Mass
(It would taste even better with this little tune!)
Washington, D.C.., codenamed " Black Prison ".
Special detention area.
The air here is very murky, a pungent musty smell mixed with the ammonia odor of sweat, making one feel nauseous.
Push the camera forward.
Under the White Lantern, the Mesmer codenamed " The Reader," dressed in a black tailcoat, sat at a long table that reflected a cold, luminous surface.
Seventeen photos were lined up on the desktop.
"What a pity, my useless colleague..."
The Reader closed their eyes, their slender fingertips hovering motionless above the photograph.
Soon, a very slight twitch appeared in the air beneath his fingertips, and invisible spiritual energy continued to entwine with the ink on the paper.
"Gurgle... gurgle..."
Twenty meters away, through a semi-transparent bulletproof glass, a faint murmur could be heard coming from a specially made aluminum alloy cell.
Henry Campbell huddled in the cold, steel-plated corner, clutching the black collar welded to his neck, tears and snot streaming down his face.
"... I'm just a convenience store owner! I pay every penny of the soda tax, why are you arresting me?!"
"And Hughie... Hughie could never do that, he was misled!"
Next to him, Mallory sat cross-legged on an iron bed, two heavy iron shackles pressing firmly against his ankles.
Starlight's mother collapsed to the floor, sobbing violently. Mallory glanced at her sideways and finally couldn't hold back anymore.
This woman has been crying for four hours straight, and every now and then she's making those useless prayers to that damn God.
If she believed in God that much... she wouldn't have pushed her daughter into the fire pit of Compound V in the first place.
"Shut up, Mrs. January! Your tears serve no purpose other than to excite these Vought bastards to Boqi."
"But... but they said they'd try us for treason on national television, which is a death sentence!"
Starlight's mother cried until her eyelids were swollen shut.
" Annie... I just hope she comes to save us soon, or we'll die!"
"Can't you fucking have some self-respect?!"
Mallory, his eyes bloodshot, relentlessly berated:
"While I was shooting Taliban heads in Afghanistan, that filthy bitch Neuman was still peeing everywhere in his open-crotch pants!"
"If you truly love your daughter, then don't pray for her to come!"
"And another thing, don't fucking snot and tears on the floor. If you're going to cry, get out of here!"
The Reader's fingertips trembled slightly at the table.
"Henry Campbell..."
"Fragile blood ties, subservience... easily manipulated trash."
Immediately afterwards, her fingertips silently slid towards the second card.
" Donna January... a selfish, foolish woman, but a good card to be used."
Finally, the Reader's fingertips slowly landed on Mallory's photograph in his worn military uniform.
Mallory... the most deserving old bitch.
A cruel smile curved the Reader's lips.
"That old bitch doesn't believe in God, she just clings to her ridiculous, self-righteous sense of justice... Just ignore it."
Immediately afterwards, the Reader elegantly folded the seventeen photos into a neat stack with two fingers, then pressed them under his palm.
He then opened his eyes, his green pupils swirling, and beckoned to the fully armed black-armored guard beside him:
"Activate all frequencies of the locking collar simultaneously."
As he spoke, a sinister, demonic phantom suddenly appeared on the Reader's face.
"As long as those sluts dare to step even half a step into the White House square."
Let those seventeen heads burst open like watermelons in front of 300 million viewers across America at any moment.
at the same time.
(The time is late at night)
In the woods, John stood deep in the damp, rotting mud, his hands casually in his pockets.
He bent down and, under his Microscopic Vision, saw a swarm of worker ants carrying food on the dry, old tree bark, densely packed together, forming an extremely long chain of ants.
John watched this scene with great interest, then gently exhaled a breath of cold air.
"Call..."
The next second, a whole strip of old tree bark rapidly condensed from grayish-brown to a crystalline blue, and was then covered by a thick layer of white frost.
The entire ant trail transformed into a shimmering blue ornament, frozen in time on the entire piece of tree bark.
After making these arrangements, his gaze suddenly fell from amusement, and he looked up at the cloud-covered sky.
The moonlight was rather dim tonight, huddled up under thick, dark clouds, too afraid to show itself.
John squinted, took his hand out of his pocket, and then stomped one foot on the ground...
"Thump!!"
The damp ground within a radius of ten feet instantly collapsed into a giant crater, and several large trees were blasted apart by the violent shockwave, then exploded into wood chips that flew everywhere!
Gravity disintegrated him, John's figure transformed into a blur, like a streak of black light shooting against the sky, tearing through the night and rising from the ground.
In an instant, the extreme speed forcibly compressed the surrounding air into solid form.
"Crack--!!"
A ring of white gas clouds, resembling a mountain, suddenly burst apart in mid-air, smashing a nearly vacuum-like circular hole into the dark area within several meters in diameter.
Just as John flew into the stratosphere, a thought flashed through his mind, and he condensed a Bioelectric Field that firmly enveloped his body in transparency.
Moreover, John has also applied a special resonance treatment to this force field, preventing sound waves that come into contact with the surface from achieving wave reflection.
Old Joe once said something to young John, who didn't want to go to school:
Master math, physics, and chemistry, and you'll be able to go anywhere in the world without fear.
Although John was dismissive of this, as a "good boy," he still taught himself the basics of physics.
Therefore, we naturally understand how sound waves are transmitted.
He must remain completely concealed during this trip to avoid alerting the enemy.
This was to probe the specific layout of the White House's arrangements.
And this was after Vought's formal declaration of war.
All special administrative regions have begun to implement stricter security measures, including those for railways, waterways, and even airspace.
Therefore, in order to avoid dense military radar, John modified the Bioelectric Field to a mode that could absorb certain wavelengths.
Radar locks onto objects by emitting electromagnetic waves and capturing the "echoes" reflected from them.
Since it's a reflection of a wave, John can achieve a perfect invisibility effect directly.
"Thump--"
In less than three seconds, John was flying from the outskirts of New York to over Washington.
One moment he was speeding at breakneck speed, but the next second...
John's figure came to an extremely strange stop in the clouds a kilometer above the White House, arms crossed.
It hovered there with an arrogant air, its eyes looking down on everything, its feet resting on the myriad lights of Washington, D. C.
Soon after, a faint light appeared in John's eyes, his gaze tearing through the clouds and instantly stripping away all the pretense of the White House.
A macroscopic super vision, combined with X-ray vision, bursts forth.
Under the heavy darkness of night, John had a clear view of every detail of the White House's structure and defenses.
Three layers of heavy armored vehicles surrounding the South Lawn, concealed crossfire positions.
Behind the window, high-energy armor-piercing guns were faintly visible; the blood inside hundreds of bodies glowed fluorescent green, transforming them into Superman in plainclothes.
"So these must be Superman who have used V2."
Outside the White House, a Legion civilians, armed with guns, surrounded the entire White House, creating a scene reminiscent of a zombie apocalypse.
(Guess which emoji I'm going to recreate?)
"They look like a bunch of brainwashed rabble..."
John surveyed the scene, a mocking smile playing on his lips.
Those pathetic scoundrels who call themselves righteous... are nothing but a bunch of lowly cannon fodder ants trying to pick up scraps.
The truly threatening threats go far beyond what is outwardly apparent...
With that thought, John's gaze continued to penetrate beneath the White House, piercing through the granite, through the three-meter-thick layer of concrete, until it reached the lowest level...
black?
John couldn't understand it.
It was a metal composite wall about half a meter thick. His X-Ray Vision was swallowed up the moment it touched the wall, leaving behind a dead, pure black blind spot.
"Fuck... that's either lead or zinc."
John reluctantly looked away.
Although he couldn't see what was inside, he had a vague guess about what was behind the wall.
"To guard against Homelander... or against me? Looks like there are problems inside too..."
Logically speaking, would Homelander deliberately trip himself up?
If it were him, he definitely wouldn't.
"That's interesting..."
Thinking it over, John slowly raised his hand and casually straightened his collar.
Then, without even turning his body, he flew backwards towards the night sky with his hands behind his back.
"Thump--!!"
A series of sonic booms echoed over Washington, D. C.
The dark shadow tore through the clouds, slicing through the moonlight like a scratch-off lottery ticket, and hurtled off towards the southeast.
On the outskirts of Brooklyn, on the top floor of a dilapidated old office building.
Butcher sat casually on a half-broken wooden table, a cigarette butt dangling from his mouth.
He was carrying a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey, and at his feet was a whole row of metal insulated boxes.
Just then, a dark shadow flashed past the window, and John landed silently on the broken floor.
This startled Butcher.
"Damn it, when you fly you're like a giant Deadman penguin with Rocket stuffed in its ass."
Butcher angrily spat out his cigarette butt and kicked the insulated box next to his feet with the tip of his boot.
"Look at this, you bitch, you finally got something good out of there."
John looked down at the insulated box.
"Blocker?"
"To be precise, it is an implantable immune blocker specifically designed for Superman."
That is, the Supe Virus that Shetty, that bitch who only knows how to wet her pants, has been researching.
Butcher grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth, and laughed like a hyena.
"You know what? I spent three whole days cutting off the chief pharmacist's fingers one by one in the lab."
Oh, that bastard howled like he'd been shoved into a soap bar by a black man, vomiting two pounds of bile before finally handing over the formula.
Butcher opened the insulated box.
Inside lay three sturdy glass syringes, their pale amber liquid swaying gently with inertia.
"The most beautiful ice in Superman, buddy, once it's in your veins..."
Butcher clapped his hands, his expression particularly smug.
"Within ten minutes, it can kill Compound V's entire bloodstream, just like the most vicious snake venom."
"Whether you can breathe fire or fly, one injection will turn you into a spineless coward who can't even control his poop. Want to try it?"
"It works for everyone?"
John rolled his eyes and ignored him.
"Theoretically yes."
Butcher picked his nose and flicked the snack aside.
"Unless the enemy's genes mutate, once they get a direct hit, even Homelander wouldn't be able to do anything."
John stared at Butcher expressionlessly.
Only three?
"Don't worry, our old friend is still mass-producing. He has A-Train, so he's delivering things incredibly fast these days."
"I can stay in Brooklyn and still enjoy hot braised pork intestines from Washington's Chinatown."
"By the way, have you ever eaten braised pork intestines?"
John didn't have the peculiar habit of eating feces, and simply ignored Butcher's words, given his extreme taste.
Butcher grinned slyly as he pushed the insulated box to John's feet.
"It will be here soon. The new batch will have about eighty boxes, which is more than two hundred sticks."
I replaced the glass tube with the cheapest plastic syringe; as long as it doesn't leak.
John bent down and picked up the insulated box, while also noting the distribution of troops and the number of Superman on the White House grounds.
He then recounted in detail to Butcher the "blind spot" underground that could not be seen through.
"Blind spot..."
Butcher cursed under his breath.
"I reckon that Neuman, who only knows how to fawn over Dick, has kept all seventeen hostages locked up there."
"I'll take these three vials with me."
John was carrying the suitcase.
"But before I go back, I need to go to Virginia first. Have the A-Train move the stuff back; we don't have much time left."
Butcher lit a cigarette, his face contorted in the smoke.
"Whatever, I'm going to find Becca and Ryan after I finish this job."
John simply nodded, picked up the insulated box, and transformed into a streak of black light, disappearing completely at the edge of the horizon.
Our focus returns to the base.
Inside the more than two-meter-long industrial stainless steel water tank, clear water flows slowly under the action of a circulation pump.
The Deep is like a fat pig that has rotted to death at the bottom of the water, its body exposed, its broken bones repairing themselves.
But he still hasn't woken up.
"Damn... it's been a whole day already, and he doesn't seem to have any wounds left?"
Hughie squatted down by the water tank and wiped the water off his face.
"But Frenchie... are you sure he'll be able to handle it once he wakes up? He's only just recovered, hasn't he?"
"Shut up, Hughie!"
Frenchie, sweating profusely, was assembling an aluminum cylinder on the workbench with a huge electric screwdriver.
John hasn't returned yet, we need to prepare in advance!
Just then, a burst of violent bubbles suddenly appeared in the water tank.
"Gurgle... Aisha, Little Bull..."
The Deep suddenly convulsed violently in the water, then sat up abruptly.
The splash created a large spray of water, soaking Hughie, who was standing closest to the splash, completely drenching him.
"Damn! He's awake. Frenchie, you're in charge here, I need to take a shower!"
Hughie wiped the water off his face in disgust.
That surface is probably full of the Deep fluids.
vomit...
"How did I get back to the base... Wait, f***! Why am I not wearing any clothes? What did you two bastards do to my body?"
"Get lost! Who the hell likes grass carp?"
Frenchie smashed a wrench against the edge of the water tank.
"There's no fish here for you to eat. Look what you've done."
The Deep paused for a few seconds, then looked down at his healed left arm.
He glanced at the $10 billion arrest warrant hanging on Frenchie's tablet, and his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets:
"Ten billion?! That's fucking ridiculous! I've been at Vought for decades, and my salary isn't even a fraction of that!"
Forget about your damn salary, the situation is tough right now.
" Hughie's dad, Starlight's mom, and Mallory..."
All seventeen hostages are being held at the White House, shouting that if we don't come, they'll set their heads on firecrackers.
"Oh, and your rumored girlfriend from the Church of the Collective, she was also arrested."
"Fuck!"
It's the middle of the night.
The Deep continued to bathe like Mermaid in the tank, while Frenchie dozed off in a rocking chair.
Hughie and Starlight huddled hand in hand on the old sofa, while Cate, her blanket draped over her, slept soundly on the wooden crate.
And it was at this moment.
Kimiko, who had been leaning against the wall with her eyes closed, suddenly opened them wide.
Then, as if sensing something, Kimiko quickly rushed to the wooden box.
Cate, who was fast asleep on her side on the wooden crate, suddenly frowned and gasped without warning.
Her entire temple felt like it had been plunged into by a red-hot iron; the intense pain caused her legs to instantly lose their support.
With a "thud," he slumped weakly onto the hard floor.
"Ugh..."
Cate's face was pale, her long fingers pressed tightly against her temples, and cold sweat beaded on her forehead.
Kimiko reacted quickly, grabbing Cate's shoulder and using her strong arms to help her up from the ground, then protectively standing behind her.
" Kimiko... they're here!"
Cate took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the sharp, needle-like pain in her temples.
Two kilometers away.
Thousands of high beams illuminated the pitch-black night sky as bright as day.
Hundreds of modified pickup trucks, heavy trucks, and military off-road vehicles, carrying a dense mass of people, roared through the abandoned forest road!
"Ten billion! That's a fucking ten billion US dollars!!"
On the hood of a modified Ford F-350 pickup truck, a middle-aged man with a full beard and exposed chest hair, sporting a red neck, was shouting wildly at the top of his lungs.
"I've worked as a car mechanic my whole life, and I still owe 300,000 yuan in mortgage debt!"
If I can get a head tonight, I can spend the rest of my life on Miami beaches, drinking champagne while stepping on the butts of ten young models!
Charge! Blast that damn subway station in front of us to smithereens!
On either side of his vehicle, dozens of pickup trucks, fully loaded with passengers, were honking their horns wildly.
Above were businessmen wearing tattered suits, holding pistols, trembling but with greedy eyes.
There were mobs with grenades strapped to their waists and wearing cowboy hats, as well as groups of redneck militiamen carrying AR-15 rifles.
Ahead of these crazed civilians stood the "Hounds," a gang recruited by Vought with a hefty sum.
It includes a large number of Superman mercenaries and bounty hunters recruited from the general public.
Hey! Dude!
A gigantic Superman, standing two and a half meters tall, with sharp bone spurs protruding from his entire body.
While gnawing on a juicy beef leg, he grinned broadly at his companion, revealing a mouthful of sharp, yellow teeth.
"You mean that John's experiment is in there? If that thing is really in there, all of us thousands of people wouldn't even be enough to fill his teeth."
"Screw the experimental subjects!"
Another Superman, his body surging with intense heat and his skin like flowing iron, arrogantly spat out a cloud of black smoke:
"I don't care if he's here or not! That so-called John is just a sleazy turtle."
Tonight, tens of thousands of people across America will take action; if each of them spits on him, they could drown him!
I'm going to skin that bitch Starlight's cunt, soak it in alcohol, and drink it!
" Hound Corps, all personnel, listen up! Heavy artillery ready!"
The mercenary commander stood on the turret of a heavy armored vehicle, holding up a vehicle-mounted megaphone, his voice echoing across the entire wilderness:
"For this 10 billion! Kill! Kill! Kill! Open fire!!"
Almost simultaneously, thousands of mobs pulled the triggers, and Superman horde of hundreds of people recklessly crushed everything in their path.
"Ten billion!"
Amidst the throngs of vehicles and people, there was a fierce barrage of artillery fire.
A vast, dark pressure surged forth, pouring and erupting directly towards the abandoned subway station ahead.
(I eagerly await comments from my fellow fans every morning, wondering when this will finally go viral!)