Fifth Avenue, Manhattan.
Kara Zo-El stood in the middle of the sidewalk, wearing a slightly oversized gray hoodie, which Tifa had temporarily found as casual wear.
Her dazzling blonde hair was tucked under her hood, and her hands were in her pockets.
"Heartbeats, 8,432."
Kara speaks extremely fast.
"There's an argument on the 30th floor of the building to the left, rats are gnawing on cables in the underground pipes to the right. The sulfur dioxide levels in the air are dangerously high, and the man crossing the street is carrying a 9mm Glock, unloaded. Is this a battlefield?"
Passersby hurried past, some giving the girl talking to herself a strange look, but quickly lost in the fast pace of life.
"This is life."
Tifa was wearing black sunglasses and carrying two paper bags, looking like a fashionable older sister taking her younger sister out shopping.
She reached out and patted Kara on the back.
"Relax your back muscles. Your posture is too noticeable right now."
Kara's body trembled slightly as she tried to execute the "relax" command.
But as soon as he relaxed, the floor tiles under his feet made a crisp "crack" sound, revealing a spiderweb-like network of cracks.
"Power output controlled at 0.001%."
Tifa sighed, then stepped forward, took Kara's arm, and led her away from that unfortunate paving stone.
"It seems Adrien only taught you how to destroy, not how to coexist."
"Destruction is the most efficient solution."
Kara answered mechanically.
"Due to the excessive number of obstacles, it is recommended to clear them in order to proceed in a straight line."
"Turn down."
Tifa interrupted her, pointing to the window of a high-end clothing store ahead.
"Your task now is to buy clothes. Your taste is still stuck in that old man Adrien's style. That tight-fitting combat suit might be practical on the battlefield, but in Manhattan, it'll just make you look like a freak who just ran out of a comic convention."
The two pushed open the door and entered the store.
A blast of cool air hit me, accompanied by soft jazz music.
A sales assistant greeted them with a professional smile, her gaze sweeping over Tifa's designer clothes before her smile widened, "Welcome! What would you two ladies like?"
Kara locked her gaze on the sales assistant, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Tifa squeezed Kara's wrist, signaling her to be quiet.
"Pick out a few dresses for my sister that are in season, in simple colors, nothing too flashy."
"Okay, this way please."
Five minutes later, in the fitting room.
Kara held a light blue dress in her hand, her face showing a look of confusion.
She carefully tugged at the fabric of her skirt.
Defense: Zero. Material: Polyester fiber and cotton. This armor cannot withstand bullets of any caliber, nor can it even insulate against high temperatures. What is the tactical point of wearing it?
"Its significance lies in its aesthetic appeal."
Tifa leaned against the doorframe of the fitting room, her arms crossed over her chest.
"Besides, who said you need clothes for defense? Put them on."
Kara hesitated for a moment, then awkwardly took off her hoodie.
Her perfectly modified body, now exposed to the air, was exposed as she picked up a dress and tried to put it on.
"Sizzle--"
A sharp, tearing sound rang out.
The zipper on the skirt burst open, tearing half of the fabric on the back in two.
Kara clutched the tattered fabric, looked up at Tifa, her eyes innocent and vacant. "It... is too fragile."
"You were too rough."
Tifa sighed and walked over to take another item from the shelf.
"Treat these things like you would treat... bubbles. Imagine you're holding a bubble that could burst at any moment. Try again."
Kara became extremely cautious this time.
Pinch the zipper pull with your fingers and pull it up little by little.
A fine layer of sweat even appeared on her forehead—this was even more tiring for her than tearing apart the mecha with her bare hands.
Finally, the zipper was closed.
Kara turned around and looked in the mirror.
The girl in the mirror was wearing a light blue dress, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders.
That sharp, murderous aura was concealed by the soft fabric.
"This is... a disguise?"
Kara stretched out her hand and touched the mirror, looking at herself reflected in it.
No, this is you too.
Tifa walked behind her and straightened her collar.
" Kara Zo-El isn't just codename 001; she's also a girl who wears skirts and goes shopping. Remember that feeling."
When Kara left the clothing store, she had a cup of milk tea with double the sugar in her hand.
She bit the straw, feeling the liquid slide down her esophagus into her stomach; the release of dopamine eased her tense nerves slightly.
"Is it good?"
"High energy density, excessive sugar content," Kara commented, but her mouth didn't stop, "It's alright."
Just then, a man in a leather jacket rushed in from the side and slammed his shoulder into Kara.
According to the laws of physics, such an impact would be enough to knock down an ordinary girl.
Kara remained unmoved, while the man was thrown back a few steps by the recoil, clutching his shoulder and grimacing.
Kara's expression changed.
The milk tea cup in her hand was crushed. In her calculations, it would only take 0.03 seconds for her to snap the man's neck and throw him into the Hudson River, two kilometers away.
A hand rested on her shoulder.
"Stop."
Kara stopped abruptly, turning back to face him, her blue eyes burning with Flame: "He attacked me. According to Rule 7 of the Logic Lock, hostile actions should be met with immediate retaliation."
That's not an attack, that's rudeness.
Tifa took the deformed milk tea cup from Kara and threw it into the nearby trash can.
"There are thousands of these reckless idiots in this society every day. If you killed them all, New York's population would be wiped out in three days."
"Then what should we do?"
Ignore him.
Tifa took Kara's hand and continued walking forward.
"A lion won't stomp on an ant just because it bumped into it. That would be a waste of its strength and a degradation to its status."
Kara fell silent.
She glanced back at the retreating figure, the red light in her eyes gradually fading.
"Lions... and ants."
She repeated the metaphor in a low voice.
The two walked to Times Square.
A promotional video for the Vought International is playing on the electronic screen.
In the scene, Homelander, draped in a Stars and Stripes Cloak, descends from the sky with a perfect smile, rescuing a little girl from a fire.
The crowd cheered, flowers flew, and the caption read, " Homelander —The Only Savior."
Kara stopped and looked up at the blond man on the screen.
She could sense the same aura emanating from the man on the screen—an arrogant, powerful, yet extremely unstable energy fluctuation.
"Who is he?"
Kara pointed at the screen.
That's your colleague.
Tifa stood beside her, also looking at the screen, her tone meaningful.
That's also the reason you exist.
He looks...
Kara tilted her head, searching for the right words.
"It's so fake."
"Because he's performing."
Tifa patted Kara on the shoulder.
"Let's go, it's time to head back. The boss wants to see you tonight; it's your very first real interview."