In the office on the top floor of Vought Tower, the footage on the screen played for the seventh time.
An abandoned warehouse, a broken security camera, and a screen full of static.
A man stood in the center of the frame, his chest shot through, but the wound healed within seconds. Then black flesh poured from his arm and wrapped around several gang members like a living thing.
The footage froze again at that point.
The head of technology stood in front of the desk, sweat covering his forehead. Even his breathing had grown quieter.
Edgar said nothing.
He watched the screen, fingers tapping lightly on the desk, his expression as calm as if he were reviewing a quarterly report.
"How many people have seen this recording?"
The head of technology immediately lowered his head. "Just me and two members of the restoration team so far, sir. The restoration records have been deleted from the system."
"Good."
Edgar picked up his coffee and took a sip.
When the man on the screen looked up, his face was blurry, but his features appeared Asian. A-Train had gone through the motions of investigating the matter, only to be attacked by a monster at the club. Then he had even dared to provoke Homelander.
Replaced?
Or controlled?
Edgar set down his coffee cup, his gaze fixed on the footage.
"Until we've confirmed it, don't alert him."
The head of technology paused. "Sir, do you mean A-Train?"
Edgar looked up at him.
The head of technology promptly shut his mouth.
"Isn't there a batch of merchandise due to be transferred from the Sage Grove Center soon?"
"Yes, sir." The head of technology checked the tablet in his hand. "Three high-risk superhuman patients. Two have been out of control for an extended period, and one has severe aggressive tendencies. The original plan was to use the medical department's closed transfer route."
"Bypass the official process and put the information in the internal intelligence he can access."
It took the head of technology a couple of seconds to understand. He lowered his voice further. "Make it look like a leak?"
"Make him think he stumbled across it himself."
Edgar's voice was steady. "If he's A-Train, he'll ignore it. If he isn't, he'll be interested."
The head of technology swallowed.
"Should we notify security, then?"
"No."
Edgar looked back at the screen, his eyes betraying no change.
"If too many people stand around the bait, the fish won't bite."
Meanwhile, the news had adopted a different story.
A female anchor sat in the studio, her tone grave. The screen behind her showed a photograph of Flight 37, alongside a blurry image of biological hazard protection.
"According to an anonymous military source, a dangerous biological weapon may have been aboard Flight 37. What Homelander faced was not an ordinary hijacking, but a disaster that could have spread across all of New York."
The footage cut to an expert wearing glasses.
The expert's face was solemn. "Under extreme fear, people's memories can become severely distorted. Just because the survivors believe they were threatened doesn't mean that's what happened."
The next second, comments began flooding social media.
[Homelander would never abandon civilians. He must have had his reasons.]
[Were those survivors bought off?]
[Blood Angel sounds creepy as hell. What normal person has wings like that?]
[I'll always support Homelander. Don't let a hero lose heart.]
Chen Mo stood by the elevators, watching the news on the lobby screen.
Leave it to the paid trolls to whitewash this. They've had plenty of practice.
They actually painted the crash survivors as confused and turned Homelander into a savior who endured humiliation for the greater good.
With skin that thick, they could build an aircraft carrier without bothering to waterproof it.
Several Vought employees hurried past with their heads down, none of them daring to look at him. Word of what happened in the conference room that afternoon had spread. Now, whenever anyone saw A-Train, they looked as if they'd spotted a walking bomb.
Chen Mo was quite pleased.
A-Train's persona was holding up nicely.
Brainless. Foul-mouthed. Always courting death.
Perfect for taking the blame.
The elevator doors opened, and he stepped inside. He had just pressed the button for the first floor when his phone vibrated.
An internal alert appeared on the screen.
[Medical Safety Department temporary dispatch: Sage Grove Center, ten tonight, level-one lockdown transfer.]
There was another line in small print below it.
[Transfer subjects: high-risk superhuman patients. Unauthorized personnel prohibited from approaching.]
Chen Mo raised an eyebrow.
The message had appeared quite naturally.
So naturally it's like someone shoved a fishhook into the fish's mouth and thoughtfully asked whether it wanted to bite.
Sage Grove Center.
Psychiatric hospital.
High-risk superhuman patients.
Level-one lockdown transfer.
Put those terms together, and something smelled wrong.
Chen Mo leaned against the elevator wall and tapped the screen lightly a few times. He neither replied nor deleted the message.
Did Edgar suspect me?
No, he probably hasn't confirmed it yet.
If he had, that old fox wouldn't have given him the information. He would have set up a cage first and had something like Black Noir waiting in the shadows.
So this was a test.
Chen Mo smiled.
But this test was undeniably tempting.
A group of out-of-control superhumans, and psychiatric patients Vought had kept locked up for a long time at that.
To anyone else, they were hazardous.
To the Blacklight Virus, they were a buffet.
And he wouldn't even have to wait in line.
The elevator reached the first floor.
Chen Mo put away his phone and strode out of the lobby. It had already grown dark outside. Reporters crowded the entrance to Vought Tower, while security held up a barrier tape and a group of people with cameras continued asking about Flight 37.
He put on sunglasses and left through a side door.
He had just reached the parking area when another news notification popped up.
[Flight 37 incident continues to unfold; credibility of survivor testimony questioned.]
Chen Mo glanced at it and closed it.
He had no interest in a war of words.
He could leave Vought and the survivors to argue it out.
There was only one thing he cared about now.
Will tonight's meal be enough?
In a run-down apartment in Brooklyn.
Billy Butcher sat on the couch, beer cans piled at his feet. The television was also playing the Vought news.
Mother's Milk stood beside him, his face grim.
"They can really say that? Those people nearly died on that plane."
Butcher sneered and flicked his cigarette ash into an empty can.
"Of course they can. With enough money, they could even make dead people sound emotionally unstable."
On television, the expert was still analyzing possible errors in the survivors' traumatic memories.
Butcher stared at the screen, his gaze growing colder by the moment.
The more urgently Vought tried to whitewash it, the more holes they left.
Biological weapons, an anonymous military source, confused memories.
Those words sounded frightening, but as long as they found the real passengers and assembled their testimony into a complete chain, Homelander would be nailed to the wall.
"Go check the list of survivors."
Mother's Milk paused. "Now?"
"Now."
Butcher got to his feet and picked up the coat on the table, a dangerous smile tugging at his lips.
"They want to bury this, so we'll help them pry the coffin lid off."
Mother's Milk looked at him, suddenly a little uneasy.
"What are you planning to do?"
Butcher patted him on the shoulder, his tone unusually gentle.
"Relax. We're just going to have a chat with the victims."
Mother's Milk was silent for a moment.
Coming from Butcher, that didn't sound like an ordinary chat.
Nine twenty that night.
Chen Mo walked into the underground parking garage, casually pulled off the jacket of A-Train's suit, and tossed it into the back seat of the car.
His face was reflected in the car window.
It was still A-Train's face.
Arrogant and punchable, with a touch of weariness from having just passed through a PR disaster.
Chen Mo looked at it for two seconds. The muscles in his face rippled slightly, then quickly returned to normal.
He wasn't in a hurry to change identities.
Since Edgar had offered him bait, he ought to let the man see the fishing line move.
As for whether there was a net behind the hook.
He'd only find out when he got there.
His phone screen suddenly lit up.
An internal location alert appeared.
[Sage Grove Center, ten tonight, level-one lockdown transfer.]
Chen Mo looked at the line, the corners of his mouth slowly rising.
"All right."
He pulled open the car door, got in, and started the engine.
"Hope your ingredients are fresh."