Vought Tower, press conference hall.
The cameras and microphones of hundreds of journalists were not only aimed at the stage, but also at the anxieties of all humanity.
There was no lengthy warm-up music typical of press conferences.
Without any warning, Victoria Hand walked onto the stage.
The deputy in the Strategic Operations Department was dressed in a gray business suit, with a grim expression, and held a thin document in his hand.
"Snap."
The document was slammed onto the podium.
The entire room fell silent.
"I am Victoria Hand."
Her voice resonated throughout the venue through the sound system, without a single unnecessary word of small talk.
"At this moment, I think we don't need those insincere 'good afternoons' anymore, because everyone in the world is having nightmares during this time."
She pressed the remote control next to her.
The giant screen behind them lit up.
On the left is a yellowed black and white photograph:
On the battlefield of World War II, the young and handsome Bucky Barnes, dressed in military uniform, stood beside Captain America with a bright smile and a resolute gaze.
On the right is a high-resolution screenshot of the Geneva Massacre:
The monster known as " Shocker Rider No. 1 " is coldly crushing an agent's throat.
The striking visual impact caused many reporters in the audience to gasp in surprise.
James Buchanan Barnes.
Victoria read the name aloud, her voice filled with sorrow and anger.
"Members of the Howling Commandos, legends of World War II, heroes who shed blood and took bullets for this country."
Seventy years.
Victoria scanned the reporters below.
"Our government tells us he sacrificed himself, our textbooks tell us he fell into the canyon and died for freedom."
"But now, can anyone tell me why he's in Geneva? Why has he become like that?!"
Her voice suddenly rose in pitch.
"He fought for ' Shocker '! He was transformed into a killing machine! Where was he in these seventy years? What did he go through? Did our intelligence agencies, our security departments that are paid billions or tens of billions of taxpayer dollars, never once discover a trace of him?!"
The sound of camera shutters clicking filled the air, Flash threatened to turn the stage into daylight.
This is a very serious question.
If it wasn't discovered, that's incompetence.
If someone is found but not rescued, that is dereliction of duty.
If it was intentional concealment... then that's complicity.
No matter how an organization responds, the mudslinging has already been done.
But that's not the worst part.
Victoria Hand adjusted his glasses and pressed the button for the next slide.
A close-up appeared on the screen—the golden eagle emblem on Bucky's chest, and below it, the clear number: No.1.
"Number One."
Victoria Hand held up one finger, his tone chilling.
"If he is ' Rider No. 1,' then everyone... who is Number Two? And who is Number Three?"
The reporters came up with some really creative ideas.
"Are there other missing heroes?"
"Good heavens, could the missing Captain America also be...?"
"Was Kennedy assassinated by them too?!"
Fear is a virus that can reproduce itself.
All Victoria Hand needs to do is provide it with a petri dish.
"We have reason to suspect that this is a massive, monstrous legion of altered civilizations lurking in the Shadow of our civilization. Those heroes we thought were sacrificed, those powerful figures who mysteriously disappeared, might right now be lying on Shocker's operating table, waiting to be numbered and rebooted."
Victoria Hand placed his hands on the podium and leaned forward.
"We demand accountability. We demand the truth. We not only want to confront Shocker, but we also want to question those who hold these positions without doing their jobs—are you blind? Or is this all part of a tacitly approved deal?!"
radical.
crazy.
This is practically insulting the government.
The bottom of the live TV broadcast was filled with supportive, real-time comments:
"Well said! Vought has spoken our minds!"
"The FBI is disbanded! What else can they do besides posing?"
Victoria took a deep breath to calm her "excited" emotions.
"Due to the severe absence of official forces and the complete loss of control of the situation, Vought International has decided to activate the highest level of defense response."
"We don't trust bureaucrats; we only believe in power."
"Now, please allow me to invite..."
Victoria Hand turned to the side, made a respectful gesture, and his eyes revealed an almost fanatical worship.
"The most powerful Guardian, humanity's only hope, our Homelander!"
The lights suddenly dimmed.
There was no fancy dry ice, no rousing symphony.
Only the sound of footsteps could be heard.
Homelander walked out from backstage.
He didn't fly; instead, he walked step by step to the front of the stage.
This time, he didn't flash his signature "sunny boy" toothy smile.
He had a stern face.
There was no smile in those blue eyes.
The Stars and Stripes cape behind him fluttered even without wind.
When Homelander walked up to the Mike, he remained silent for a full ten seconds.
He surveyed the entire room.
Reporters who were being watched by him, even the most acerbic paparazzi, instinctively held their breath and dared not look him in the eye.
"I am angry."
The Homelander spoke, his voice low and filled with suppressed anger.
"I watched the news. I watched innocent people bleed in the streets. I watched children lose their parents. I watched our city turn into ruins."
He reached out and gripped the edge of the podium tightly with his fingers.
"Click."
The solid wood lectern was scratched with five finger marks.
"I do not understand."
Why do people hurt the weak? Is it fun? Does bullying those who can't fight back prove you're strong?
He looked up and stared directly into the camera lens.
That was a gaze that broke the fourth wall.
Every viewer watching the live stream felt that their Homelander was watching them and protecting them.
" Shocker."
When the Homelander uttered this name, a red light flashed in his eyes.
"I'll give you a number too. It's the number for ' Deadman '."
"Listen, I don't care whether you want to rule the world or destroy civilizations. I have no interest in your pointless political demands."
"But you've crossed the line."
"You have harmed my people. You have run rampant on my territory."
The Homelander suddenly smiled.
It was a cold laugh that was extremely arrogant and contemptuous, yet also gave people an overwhelming sense of security.
"If you've got the guts, come at me."
This message was transmitted through the cell tower to every corner of the globe.
"I am the best, I am the strongest."
The Homelander pointed to his chest, his tone carrying an air of self-righteous arrogance.
"Don't bother with those ordinary people; they're not worthy to be your opponents. If you truly are so-called 'evolved beings,' then come find me."
I'm in New York.
"I'm in heaven."
"I'm waiting to tear those ridiculous modified limbs of yours off, one by one."
After saying that, the Homelander jumped into the air without even waiting for the reporter to ask a question.
The passageway that had been prepared in the ceiling opened, and he vanished like a shooting star amidst the Center of Attention.
Only that domineering declaration still echoed in the hall.
There was a three-second silence.
Then came a deafening roar of screams and applause.
Even the usually composed reporters couldn't help but burst into tears and applaud wildly.
So handsome.
It's too hard.
In this weak era, people crave that tough, "fight if you disagree" mentality.