The nights in Los Angeles are so bright they're blinding.
This city doesn't need sleep; it maintains a morbid euphoria through money, drugs, and lies.
The billboard displayed Homelander's signature eight-tooth smile, accompanied by the slogan. " Vought, protecting your every night."
A lookout point in the Hollywood Hills.
Yasuo leaned against the railing, holding a bottle of whiskey he had just bought from a 7-Eleven on the roadside.
"Is this the City of Angels?"
Yasuo tilted his head back and took a swig; the alcohol burned down his throat, making him squint comfortably.
"It looks like a mass grave; every lamp is like a newly erected tombstone."
Hector stood behind him.
He changed his clothes; they were something Yasuo had casually tossed to him at an unknown discount store by the roadside.
A dark gray hoodie and loose-fitting cargo pants.
His outfit made him look less like a soldier and more like a drug addict who had just taken drugs and was about to rob a convenience store.
"This is the backyard of the Magia."
"That glowing pyramid-shaped building, that's the ' Eden ' Club, Count Nefaria's private property, and the biggest money pit on the West Coast. It's said that their champagne is laced with a trace of a special drug that can make people as excited as rutting Wild Dogs for three days and three nights."
Yasuo looked in the direction he was pointing.
It was an extremely luxurious building, its golden exterior gleaming under the spotlights, and the entrance was filled with limited-edition sports cars.
Countless well-dressed men and women walked in and out of that carved bronze door.
" Eden? That's a good name."
Yasuo placed the empty bottle on the railing and flicked it lightly with his thumb.
The glass bottle plunged into the bottomless darkness, and a few seconds later a very faint cracking sound was heard.
"Since it's an amusement park, it should be lively. Music and champagne alone are too boring; we need to add some screams to make it feel real."
"Security there is extremely tight. In addition to the visible security guards, there are at least two sniper teams lurking in the shadows, and..."
Before Hector could finish speaking, he saw Yasuo already walking down the mountain, his steps unsteady, like a drunken vagrant.
The Ronin's back looked loose and slouching.
"Hey! What's our plan?"
Hector gave chase.
"Plan?"
Yasuo didn't even turn his head, his voice nonchalant.
"Draw your sword, chop someone down, then find a place to drink. If your tiger brain can't remember such a complicated process, I can write it down on the back of your hand for you."
The gate to the " Eden " Club.
This is the entrance to the world of fame and fortune, and also the dividing line between social classes.
Two security guards, each over two meters tall and dressed in black suits, blocked the way like two walls.
They wore sunglasses, and the bulging shapes at their waists made no attempt to conceal that they carried large-caliber pistols.
"Private gathering, members-only."
The security guard on the left lowered his head, looking at the two guys who seemed completely out of place.
A homeless man dressed in tattered samurai attire with a sake bottle hanging from his waist; a drug addict wearing a cheap hoodie and exuding a gloomy aura.
This combination is an insult to the " Eden " brand.
Ironically, on an LED screen not far above their heads, an advertisement featuring Yasuo as the spokesperson for Chanel men's fragrance was playing on a loop.
The Yasuo in the picture looks weathered and melancholic; every glance from him could make countless girls scream.
But in real life, Yasuo is unshaven, disheveled, and reeks of alcohol.
The saying "the darkest place is under the lamp" is exactly like this.
"Get lost, there's no leftover food for you here. If you want to beg, try rummaging through the trash cans in the next block."
The security guard's voice was loud, filled with undisguised malice.
Several socialites waiting to enter covered their noses and took a few steps back, as if avoiding some source of infectious disease.
"Good heavens, the standards here are getting lower and lower." A woman in a backless evening gown waved her hand dismissively. "Any Tom, Dick, or Harry can wander around this neighborhood. What are the security guards doing? Hurry up and chase them away, or they'll get my dress dirty."
"That guy with the knife looks familiar..." A male companion next to him frowned, staring at Yasuo's face, "Like... that guy who endorses shampoo?"
"Come on, look at his shoes, they must have been picked up from a garbage dump!" the woman scoffed. "Why would a big star like him come to a place like this to beg?"
Yasuo ignored him.
He raised his head, his somewhat cloudy eyes fixed on the security guard.
"I've heard the wine here is good," Yasuo hiccuped. "Besides, I'm here to see someone."
Looking for someone? Are you looking for your mom who washes dishes in the kitchen?
The security guard lost his patience; he'd seen plenty of these reckless drunks. He reached out to push Yasuo's shoulder.
"I'll let you..."
The hand hadn't even touched Yasuo's clothes yet.
"Call--"
A gust of wind blew by.
It wasn't very strong; it was like a cool breeze blowing from the beach on a summer night, even a little gentle.
But the security guard's outstretched hand suddenly broke off at the elbow.
Blood gushed out from the cut like a high-pressure fountain, splattering directly onto the face of the socialite next to her who was complaining about the dirt on her dress.
"Ah!!!"
The piercing screams shattered the previously ambiguous atmosphere.
The socialites who had been mocking her screamed and scattered in all directions, leaving their high heels scattered on the ground.
Just as another security guard was about to draw his gun, Hector had already moved.
Driven by his Beast instincts, he grabbed the security guard by the throat with one hand and slammed it down.
"Bang!"
The security guard's head was shoved into the concrete, and he passed out without even uttering a sound.
"Was your tiger raised in a circus? At that distance, you should have snapped his neck before he even considered drawing his gun."
Hector stood up, panting heavily.
Just now, the murderous intent in his mind almost got out of control; he originally wanted to crush the security guard's head.
"Control it."
Yasuo's voice rang in my ears, cold and stern.
"It's your knife, not your master. If you struggle so much to kill a dog, you should go back to your auto repair shop and tighten screws."
After saying that, Yasuo kicked open the carved bronze door.
"Boom--!"
Inside the hall, the revelry of the guests suddenly fell silent, their eyes all focused on the two figures at the door.
Yasuo stepped through the bronze door and entered.
On the second-floor railing, a man in a white suit with a small mustache held a wine glass, watching the scene below with a sinister look.
" Superman?"
The man coldly gave the order into the headset.
"No matter who they are, even if they are bastards of the Homelander, if they dare to run wild on Count Nefaria's territory, skin them alive and hang their skin on the flagpole."
As the order was given, the hidden doors around the hall opened simultaneously.
Dozens of fully armed elite soldiers, wielding energy weapons, poured into the hall.
The red laser sights were densely packed onto Yasuo and Hector.
Yasuo looked down at the red dots on his chest and whistled.
"Looks like the party's just getting started tonight."