Lose Control (Explicit)
White House.
Victoria Neuman stood gracefully in the White House press briefing room, in front of the huge America flag.
She wore a sharply tailored, deep black haute couture suit, and her long, jet-black hair was meticulously combed.
Her eyes were slightly red, her lips were tightly pressed together, and she exuded an aura of "compassion and heartache".
Above her podium, the simultaneous subtitles from all major American television networks flashed in the largest possible red font:
[Completely eradicate " The Boys " extreme antisocial elements]
"... My fellow Americans, my dearest brothers and sisters."
Neuman slowly raised his hands and placed them flat on the lacquered wooden lectern.
The deep gaze, through the lens of a miniature camera, stared intently at the millions of households watching television, penetrating the ears of every United States:
"At this moment, I stand here with a heavy yet incredibly proud heart."
Over the past few days, hundreds of thousands of brave citizens, veterans, community police officers, and spontaneously organized Superman across the United States have...
You responded to the nationwide arrest warrant jointly issued by Congress and Vought International.
Braving a hail of bullets, they fought a desperate battle against those inhuman terrorists in dark alleys and ruins!
"At the same time, we also sacrificed many heroic soldiers who rushed to the front lines."
At this point, Neuman's eyes suddenly became extremely sorrowful. She leaned slightly forward and held up one finger towards the camera:
"I know there are some malicious media rumors circulating outside that claim this is a human hunt about greed for 'ten billion US dollars'."
No! This is utter slander and defamation!
Neuman's voice suddenly rose in pitch, its passionate echo reverberating across the stage and among the audience:
"All those who are currently armed, stepping into the dark alleys, and bleeding and sacrificing themselves to save this country—"
You are America's greatest humanitarian warriors!
You are the insurmountable cornerstone of safeguarding freedom and order in this new era!
Having said that, she slammed her hand heavily on the podium, making a crisp, resounding sound.
"On behalf of Congress and the highest board of directors of Vought International, I solemnly pledge to all the America people:"
All humanitarian fighters who were wounded or even tragically sacrificed their lives in this great operation.
Vought will provide the highest level of state funeral honors!
And for their families, a one-time tax-free compensation payment of up to tens of millions of US dollars will be made!
Their descendants will be fully supported by the Vought Charity Foundation until adulthood, as a sign of profound respect!
"Boom--!!"
On television, tens of thousands of enthusiastic people gathered outside the White House Plaza erupted in a roar and cheer that soared into the sky.
"Humanitarianism... I love you, Neuman, I love you, Vought!"
"Kill the Boys!"
"Avenge the martyrs!"
The roar of the enthusiastic shouts nearly overturned the entire venue and even shattered the CPU of the audio acquisition device.
Neuman pondered for a moment.
When the emotions across the United States are stirred to a certain extent by this exorbitant compensation payment and the illusory "moral halo,"
Her expression changed from excitement and elation to grief and indignation.
"However... we must recognize just what kind of demon we are facing."
Neuman lowered his voice:
"Everyone must still remember the horrific Superman Carnage that happened at the ' Herogasm ' not long ago!"
At the time, all the shameless fake news media were telling you that it was a tragic accident caused by some Superman under Vought International suffering from PTSD!
The camera remained fixed on Neuman's taut face.
"But today, after 72 hours of cross-referencing by the Vought Security Department, the Federal Bureau of Investigation's independent investigation team, and the military forensic team!"
We have confirmed:
That wasn't a case of Vought's Superman going out of control! It was a horrific Carnage planned and carried out by the out-of-control experimental subjects and their teams!
That's slander, a cover-up of justice and the truth!
At that moment, viewers across the United States held their breath.
They need the truth.
"It's an experimental subject!"
Neuman pointed at the camera, his emotions erupting, his voice tinged with hysterical grief and anger:
"They brutally murdered dozens of superheroes who once risked their lives to protect you!"
However, those shameless media outlets pinned all the blame and accusations on Vought International!
At this point, Neuman suddenly raised his arm, his voice filled with a highly inflammatory solemnity and fervor:
Today, Vought International proves itself!
"They have always taken it upon themselves to protect the people."
They are willing to invest a great deal of time and money in order to maintain social stability, all to create a perfect and safe America!
"Therefore, through continuous efforts, we have found our former Guardians."
He was the first soldier to charge onto the defensive line on the Normandy beaches.
He was also United States's most powerful Superman hero during the Cold War.
His name was once inextricably linked to every inch of this country.
She paused, deliberately raising her voice by half an octave, her expression exceptionally solemn:
"With the strong support of Storm and Mr. Homelander, and with special authorization from the higher-ups, we hereby officially announce—"
Led by the legendary WWII the Legend, ' Soldier Boy '.
And the White House Special Guard was formed by a new generation of Superman who had undergone extreme modifications using the ' Compound V2 '.
Effective immediately, we are officially taking over absolute security for the capital and its core areas!
"Bang!"
The moment the side door of the press conference room was pushed open, all the camera lenses turned to that spot simultaneously.
Thump, thump, thump.
The Soldier Boy, dressed in a repainted palm-colored uniform, carrying an eagle shield, and wearing military boots, marched forward.
He quickly walked over to Neuman, Neuman stepped aside and kindly gave him half of the podium.
He turned his head and glanced at the large screen next to him, which was displaying a black-and-white portrait of himself taken in the military camp.
Then he turned back, a slight smile playing on his lips, and changed the direction of the cigar he was holding.
"Guys, with me here, not even a fly can get in."
At this moment, the camera angles shift and overlap, making the view blurry and slightly hazy.
"Call--"
A thick cloud of gray smoke, with a pungent, cheap tobacco smell, was exhaled heavily onto the television screen.
Butcher, shirtless and with a half-smoked cigar dangling from his lips, stood next to Hughie, staring at the screen with disdain.
"That bitch Neuman..."
Butcher spat out the tobacco residue in his mouth, a smirk playing on his lips.
"They just flip the coattails of the Puxi government and call black white, America these brain-dead Americans like dogs, don't you think? Hughie."
But Hughie is in no mood to pay attention to Butcher's verbal attacks.
He was pacing anxiously in the hall, his hands clasped together, his eyes fixed worriedly on the direction of the restroom a few meters away.
Behind the frosted glass door, the ear-piercing sound of rushing water had continued for over forty minutes.
A faint scent of shower gel, shampoo, and rosin disinfectant wafted from inside.
It's exceptionally rich.
Hughie's little heart was pounding uncontrollably.
The humiliating scene kept flashing through his mind.
The " Private Angel," exuding lust, was on Starlight's bloodied and mangled body.
He recklessly urinated a huge stream of foul urine.
For Starlight, this was the most extreme setback and humiliation she had experienced in more than twenty years.
"Squeak--"
The bathroom door was finally slowly pushed open.
A large amount of white steam, carrying with it a rich, cloying aroma, surged out.
Starlight was wearing an oversized old work shirt, and water was constantly dripping from the ends of her hair.
Upon closer inspection, her skin was covered in large patches of congested red bruises, clearly marks left from vigorous scrubbing.
She walked out with her head down, staring blankly at the floor, and went straight past Hughie, who was standing by the door.
" Annie..."
Hughie hurriedly reached out to pull her back.
But she ignored it, not even lifting an eyelid.
Instead, he bypassed Hughie and walked to a worn-out single sofa at the far end of the hall, where he slowly sat down.
Then, she bent her legs, hugged her knees with her arms, and buried her face in her knees.
"Give her some time, Hughie."
Butcher turned his head and glanced at Hughie with a helpless expression.
At this moment, on the other side of the hall, the door to the master bedroom was half open.
On the two makeshift "hospital beds," Kimiko slept soundly in the left-hand bed, covered with a tattered blanket.
On the right-hand bed, Cate, dressed in Becca's pajamas, lay quietly.
Her porcelain-like face was devoid of color; her breathing was weak, and her chest rose and fell only once every few minutes.
Kimiko had already cleaned up the blood that had seeped from her eyes, nostrils, and lips.
However, the bluish-purple bruising caused by the ruptured internal blood vessels continued to spread along the neck.
Beside the hospital bed, John stood in the shadows with his hands behind his back, quietly watching Cate.
His dark trench coat was splattered with large patches of dried, dark red, thick blood.
Those deep blue eyes were now filled with extreme brutality and coldness.
At this moment, John tilted his head slightly, his gaze slowly falling on Frenchie, who was sitting by the hospital bed, rubbing his hands in a daze.
How is she?
Frenchie felt a chill run down his spine. He coughed violently, raised his weary eyes, and muttered a curse under his breath:
"Putain de bordel de merde (This is fucking rotten!)..."
Frenchie wiped the dust off his face with his fingers and shook his head:
"That's terrible, John."
He then pointed to Cate's tightly closed eyelids:
"Her mental energy was forcibly drained three times in a short period of time, and the extreme exhaustion and overload caused brain damage..."
She can't even get out of bed to get a glass of water now, and may remain in this deep coma for a long time.
Frenchie took a deep breath, his voice tinged with helplessness:
"She can only rely on the tiny amount of Superman healing factor within her to slowly endure it..."
Frenchie paused for a moment at this point.
He looked up, his gaze complex as he looked at John's blood-stained face, and said with a hint of pity:
" John... to be honest, it's really something for a young female college student who's only a freshman."
"Isn't it a bit too cruel to have us do these dirty jobs that involve crawling out of piles of Deadman?"
John did not speak.
One hour ago.
John had just finished bombing an air force base with his Heat Vision when he received a call from Frenchie.
And just as they learned that the Boys Squad had been ambushed by thousands of mobs.
John's suppressed rage and Coldblood finally burst forth.
In terms of feelings, after a long period of interaction, John inevitably developed some ties with his partner.
Moreover, if the Boys Squad is completely wiped out, his chances of winning against Vought at the White House will be reduced to zero.
At that point, rescuing Old Joe would become a pipe dream.
This was something he found even more unacceptable.
With that thought in mind, following the rolling red waves created by the explosion at the air force base, John pushed his flight speed to its maximum for the first time.
In less than a hundredth of a second, John transformed into a barely visible gray afterimage, a streak of black light rushing towards the abandoned subway station.
Within 5 seconds.
John's eyes glowed with an intense red light as he crashed straight into the dome above the abandoned subway station.
With arms crossed, it broke through the ground with terrifying acceleration and overwhelming force, arriving directly above F3.
And inside the warehouse and track hall.
Thousands of thugs and Superman, wielding heavy guns and roaring madness, didn't even have time to raise their heads after hearing the earth-shattering explosion overhead—
A scorching, ferocious crimson Heat Vision, like two divine scythes cleaving through Hell, descended from the sky!
"Sizzle----!!"
John hovered in mid-air, his eyes blazing with a gloomy red light, then suddenly swung his neck horizontally.
The next second, two crimson beams of light, each half a meter in diameter and carrying temperatures of tens of thousands of degrees, tore open the entire underground hall as easily as cutting tofu.
Screams and cries for help couldn't be uttered at all.
Under absolute suppression and numerical control.
All firearms, flesh and blood, and even those with special physical constitutions were forcibly blasted apart or split in two the moment they came into John's Heat Vision.
The mob, which had gathered into a sea of people, were all cut in half along the path swept by the crimson death line!
Hundreds of redneck rioters at the forefront, along with the heavy trucks behind them, were blown to pieces and molten iron.
Splash...
Severed limbs rained down, bone fragments flew everywhere.
The severed internal organs emitted a chilling, sizzling sound under extreme heat, and the thick blood flowed into a glaring Red River.
Following the stone tracks of the ruins, it branched into several thin lines, spreading outwards like a spider web.
This marked the end of the unilateral Carnage.
"Creak!"
John, expressionless, slowly landed amidst the sea of blood and mountains of corpses, crushing two stacked skulls with a single step.
Then, together with Queen Maeve, he brought Cate, who had already fainted, and the Deep, who was exhausted and collapsed, back here from the depths of the broken corner.
Mallory built a safe house in Brooklyn.
Outside the lobby.
Hughie, watching Starlight sitting on the sofa in a daze, finally couldn't hold back any longer.
He slowed his pace, then walked slowly behind her, opened his arms, and tried to gently hug her thin, trembling shoulders from behind.
However, Hughie's fingers had barely touched the fabric of his work shirt...
"Don't touch me!!"
As if electrocuted, Starlight's delicate body trembled violently, and she leaned forward abruptly, avoiding Hughie's embrace.
Hughie's hand hung frozen in mid-air, completely stunned.
Busy, he hurriedly went around to the front of the sofa, squatted down, and eagerly looked up at Starlight's face:
" Annie... I'm sorry, I... I just wanted to..."
Hughie's words caught in his throat.
In the dim light, Starlight's once bright and clear eyes were now bloodshot.
Two lines of clear tears silently slid down her flushed cheeks, dripping onto her bare ankles.
Hughie, being a very straight man, panicked instantly.
what to do?
what to do!
He scratched his head, completely at a loss, and began to utter a few incoherent words:
" Annie... you, you mustn't cry! I know that bitch is disgusting! But it's not your fault, really!"
It's my fault! My superpowers are so useless. If I could just teleport you to a much farther place, you wouldn't have to suffer like this!
Don't do that... or how about you punch me a couple of times? You can even insult me a couple of times!
Hughie was sweating profusely as he frantically rummaged through his pockets for dirty tissues.
Looking at the man in front of me, who was scratching his head in a panic, his face full of fear and clumsiness.
Starlight was not comforted by his nonsensical and foolish words.
But for some reason, it warmed her cold heart a little.
In the past, she was burdened by a false moral shackle.
They believed that as long as they were noble and self-disciplined enough, they could save the people.
But reality dealt her the cruelest slap in the face...
For the sake of the bounty, the common people were humiliated by that disgusting Superman bitch with her vile excrement.
Are we... just going to admit defeat like this?
When did my ideals and dreams become something constructed from the perspectives and expectations of others?
Does she... really need it?
An idealist who rises from rotten flesh and filth is not frightening.
What's frightening is that even when mired in the mud, with dust clinging to their skin, their hearts remain crystal clear.
You, Annie, have been trapped by dogma all this time!
Thinking of this, Starlight raised her gaze again and saw Hughie, whose nose and tears were a mess, making him look strangely ugly.
Then she stopped crying and started laughing.
" Hughie... you're a fucking idiot."
Starlight's voice was a little hoarse.
Suddenly, she reached out her cold arm, grabbed Hughie's neck, and pressed her body against his.
" Annie?"
Hughie stood frozen in place, letting the Starlight bury its face deep in his shoulder.
Starlight leaned close to Hughie's ear and whispered, word by word:
"Don't worry, Hughie... I'm just feeling a little down."
A faint yet extremely pure spark of electricity flickered deep within Annie's eyes:
"But that doesn't mean... I'll be completely defeated by that bitch who just pees everywhere."
The next time I see her... I'll sew her rotten mouth back onto her Pusi and let her drink her fill!
The closeness of the Starlight made Hughie's heart begin to pound.
Looking at the baby face of Starlight in my arms, stained with tears yet radiating a renewed brilliance.
Hughie sniffed, and almost involuntarily lowered his head, closed his eyes slightly, and kissed her warm, glossy lips...
"Cough cough."
Just then, a sudden cough rang out from the side.
Queen Maeve, dressed in her uniform, leaned against a pillar against the wall of the hall, one hand on her hip.
Holding a freshly opened bottle of whiskey, she glanced sideways at the two putting on their sentimental act and said teasingly:
"Gentlemen, there are a bunch of half-dead people lying here. Could you please be a little more considerate of the patients' feelings?"
"Your stench is almost permeating this house."
"Whoosh--"
Hughie and Starlight were like a pair of student lovers caught cheating, suddenly separated.
Hughie's face turned bright red, and he awkwardly scratched the back of his head.
On the open-air balcony by the window.
The Deep is completely submerged in a bathtub filled with large blocks of ice and coarse salt, with a wet towel on his head, and is sipping ice-cold cola through a straw.
He still had several bruises on his face and scabs on the corners of his mouth, but he was in much better spirits than he had a few hours earlier.
Hearing Maeve's words, the Deep couldn't help but turn his head and roll his eyes in an extremely irritating way:
"Come on, Maeve, you old maid who's never had sex... What business is it of yours if a young couple kisses?"
Let me tell you, if you're willing to lower your standards and find a surfer on Miami Beach...
The Deep hadn't even finished speaking halfway through.
"Whoosh--!!"
Half of the sword blade grazed the Deep's temple as it flew past, the tip embedding itself firmly in the wall behind him.
"Buzz---!!"
The immense recoil caused the entire greatsword to sink into the concrete wall above the Deep.
A few strands of broken hair slowly drifted from the Deep's ear and landed on the water's surface.
"Damn, Maeve... you really hold a grudge!"
The Deep's eyes widened, it shivered, and then silently burrowed its head into the pile of ice, becoming a turtle.
(Actually, Maeve hired male models, and in the original series, she even had a relationship with Butcher.)
At that moment, Butcher stubbed out his cigar and slowly turned around.
His smirking gaze swept across the hall and then locked onto John, who was slowly walking out of the ward.
"So..."
Butcher's lips curled into a lewd and wicked smile, his voice low and menacing:
"So next... are we going to pull off something big, guys?"
John stopped in his tracks.
He stood in the center of the hall, lost in thought for a long time.
Then, he turned around and slowly walked towards a row of black explosion-proof metal boxes stacked next to the ward.
These are the first batch of finished Supe Virus products delivered by the A-Train, a total of thirty doses.
Click.
John pried open one of the locks on the box, and the lid popped open.
Then, extending his finger, he gently pinched out a long glass syringe from the innermost groove.
John held the syringe to his fingertip and swirled it slowly; the dark liquid refracted a chilling sheen under the light.
John then turned his head and pointed directly at the A-Train, which was leaning against a dark corner and staring intently at its phone screen.
The A-Train sat there somewhat forlornly, clutching his phone tightly in both hands; the screen displayed a photo of him and his brother.
As one of the seventeen hostages secretly held by Neuman and Storm, his brother was the one with the most ordinary identity.
It can be said that the A-Train's own growth and mental journey are closely related to this older brother.
Therefore, he had a compelling reason to save them.
The A-Train slowly raised its head and turned off the phone screen.
His dark, shiny face was expressionless, except for a strange, glint of anger in his eyes.
John watched the A-Train stand up, and a slow smile crept onto his lips.
He suddenly remembered that when he was awakening the information flow "outside the world".
I saw a ranking video titled " The Boys Concept God: From Popularity to Depression".
After so much groundwork laid, the Superman serum is now completely finished.
Hughie, A-Train, the Deep all experienced varying degrees of growth and enhancement under his deliberate leniency.
Everything is ready, except for the east wind.
So...
Could those creative tricks and gimmicks I learned from the "fourth wall" actually come in handy?
" A-Train, Hughie..."
"There are others..."
"Gentlemen, do you want to know how to fight this battle?"
(Are there really so few people reading books?! We're doomed.)