The paper cup at the police station was flimsy.
Lynn held it, the rim caving inward under his grip.
The water was lukewarm and tasted flat.
His left arm was wrapped in gauze, and his shoulder throbbed.
The blow his back took against the wall was starting to make itself felt; sitting for too long left his entire spine stiff.
Traces of fire extinguisher powder still lingered on his face; when he wiped his cheek, his fingertips turned white.
The detective asked his question for the third time.
“Did you know Victor prior to this?” “No.” “Are you sure?” “Positive.” “Why did he come looking for you?” Lynn set the cup down.
“Daniel Pierce’s debt issues.” The detective looked up.
“You owe money?” “I’m the guarantor.
Daniel is the primary debtor.” The detective jotted a few notes on his pad.
“Do you have an ongoing dispute with Daniel?” “Yes.” “Did you initiate contact with Victor?” “No.” “Did you invite him inside?” “No.” “Did you strike first?” Lynn paused.
It wasn’t the first time they had asked that question.
He knew they were cross-checking statements, and he knew it was standard procedure.
Knowing didn’t make it any less irritating.
He took a quiet breath.
“I struck his hand with the fire extinguisher first.
Because he reached his hand through the cracked door to unlatch the safety chain.
After that, he forced the door open and came at me with a knife.” The detective watched him closely.
“You didn’t lay it out that clearly earlier.” “I’m clarifying now.” “Why didn’t you mention it then?” Lynn looked him in the eye.
“I was a bit shaken up earlier.” That part was true.
The detective didn’t push further on that point.
He pivoted instead.
“You mentioned you have recordings?” “The 911 call log, a voice recording on my phone, and the old phone set up inside the apartment might have captured the entryway.” “You intentionally set up a recording beforehand?” Lynn’s fingers brushed the side of the paper cup.
“Someone threatened me a few days ago.
I was scared.” The detective’s pen stopped moving.
“Who threatened you?” “Daniel.
And another man named Bruce.” “Full name?” “Possibly Bruce Hall.
I’m not certain.” The detective gave him a long look.
“You prepared quite thoroughly.” Lynn didn’t bite on the word *thoroughly*.
He unlocked his phone and pulled up a cloud drive folder.
“Text messages, emails, audio files—I can provide copies of everything.” Before the detective reached for the phone, a younger officer nearby reminded him, “Let him operate it himself.” Lynn nodded, sharing the files one by one to the designated department email.
Halfway through, his fingers suddenly froze.
Not because of a file.
It was footsteps outside the interrogation room door.
Two people walked past.
One of them paused for a fraction of a second.
Extremely faint.
A sudden wave of numbness brushed the back of Lynn’s neck.
He couldn’t say why—it was as if his body had sensed it before his brain could register it.
He looked up toward the doorway.
Beyond the frosted glass, there were only blurry silhouettes, which quickly moved on.
The detective asked, “What is it?” Lynn lowered his head and resumed uploading.
“Nothing.” Even as he said it, he felt off.
That instant had passed too fast, like an illusion.
Ever since Victor had gone down last night, moments like that had popped up sporadically.
Not sound, not visuals—just a trace of coldness slipping along the back of his neck.
He didn’t like it.
And he had no intention of talking about it.
Once the files were sent, the detective handed him a preliminary statement confirmation to sign.
Lynn read through it very slowly.
The detective grew slightly impatient.
“You can add supplementary details later.” “I’ll read it now.” “Are all of you Vought people this cautious?” Lynn looked up.
“I’m just in the Archives.” The detective remained silent, but the younger officer nearby cast a curious glance.
“Vought Archives?” “Yeah.” “Do you know Homelander?” The tip of Lynn’s pen paused.
“No.” The younger officer looked disappointed.
“Oh.” Lynn finished signing and returned the pen.
*** Daylight had broken by the time he stepped out of the precinct.
The skin on his scrapes had already formed a thin layer of scab.
It wasn’t normal, but it wasn’t grotesquely supernatural either—more as if his body’s natural recovery rate had been given a subtle nudge forward.
Not a superhero, but more like an ordinary man who had just gotten a ridiculously expensive, restorative night’s sleep.
[Basic Physical Conditioning Enhancement Complete.] The system’s voice suddenly echoed in his mind.
Lynn froze in his tracks.
By now, he was back in his empty apartment bedroom.
“Morning,” he murmured internally.
[Social module unavailable.] “I can tell.” He got out of bed and walked into the bathroom.
The man in the mirror looked mostly intact, though distinct red marks lined his neck, his lip was split, and dark circles shadowed his eyes.
If he went to work today and anyone asked, the most logical explanation would be: he got into a fight with life last night, and life hadn’t won easily either.
As he washed up, another system panel popped up in his vision.
[Current Status] [Host: Lynn Zhou] [Physical Fitness: Slightly above average adult male] [Mental Stability: Fluctuating] [Low-Tier Threat Perception: Elementary] [Kill Value: 3] [Store: Locked] [Special Quest: None] Very minimalist.
No strength, agility, intelligence, or charisma stats like a video game UI.
And no “Ding!
Congratulations Host on receiving a beginner gift pack to dominate the world!” Lynn found that somewhat comforting.
A system that looked too much like a game would tempt a person to treat the real world like one too.
And this world was definitely not a game.
The blood on his hallway floor last night wasn’t a pre-rendered texture, and Victor’s grunts of pain weren’t sound effects.
He splashed cold water onto his face.
“What is Low-Tier Threat Perception?” [Provides vague early warnings for close-range malice, attack intent, and hazardous environmental shifts.] “Can it spot Homelander?” [Current level insufficient.] Lynn looked at his reflection.
“At least you’re honest.” The system did not reply.
He changed his clothes, putting on a high-necked base layer that covered most of the marks on his throat, topped with a button-down shirt and a jacket.
Ordinary.
Low-profile.
He didn’t look like a guy who had just unlocked a system.
He looked like a typical New York corporate drone stubbornly persisting in going to work.
That in itself was deeply American: as long as you weren’t dead, you clocked in.
Before heading out, he checked his phone.
There were three categories of notifications.
First, Daniel.
Seventeen messages.
They ranged from threats to explanations, from fury to begging, with the last one sent at three in the morning: *Are you really taking things this far?* Second, an unknown number.
Two messages: *We need to know who Daniel actually owes money to.* and *Stop playing dead.* Third, Marcus.
One email: *Send the files.
Keep emotions out of it.
P.S.
If police are involved, the success rate of the debt dispute application increases.* Lynn replied to Marcus first: *Sending them this morning.* Then he sent a concise follow-up to the contact number provided by the female officer: *Daniel contacted and threatened me multiple times last night.
I will compile the relevant screenshots shortly.* Finally, he ignored both Daniel and the unknown number.
Silence was his best weapon.
Not to play mysterious, but because it wasn’t his turn to speak.
The more Daniel blabbered, the faster he would dig his own grave.
*** Downstairs in the convenience store, the girl with black-painted nails was changing the filter on the coffee machine.
She looked up as Lynn walked in, her eyes immediately landing on his neck.
“You look like you got jumped by an angry refrigerator.” Lynn picked up a bottle of water.
“Pretty much.” “Did the guy who got carted off to the hospital die?” “No.” “Pity.” Lynn looked at her.
The girl shrugged.
“I just don’t have much sympathy for creepers staking out people’s front doors.” After scanning the bottle, she added under her breath, “Police came by last night to review the security footage.
I told them that brown-haired guy came around asking about you the day before, too.” Lynn’s movement paused.
That single piece of information was worth far more than a bottle of water.
“Thanks.” “Don’t thank me,” she said, handing him the receipt.
“I just hate guys who smile like insurance salesmen.” “Daniel actually used to sell stuff like that.” “Then my instincts were sharp.” Lynn carried his water out the door.
His first subtle victory had arrived quietly.
It wasn’t a dramatic slap to the face or an epic counterkill; it was simply a convenience store clerk’s testimony, which completely dismantled Daniel’s claim of “just passing by.” Often, a turning point didn’t happen because the main character punched through a wall.
It happened because an ordinary person was willing to speak the truth.
*** When the subway reached Manhattan, the train car was even more packed than usual.
Today was the launch event for A-Train’s new brand campaign.
Station ad screens, subway posters, and street-level billboards were all blasting the same commercial package: A-Train collaborating with a major sports drink brand.
*Speed is an attitude.* Lynn stared at the slogan, a single thought passing through his mind: *Speed is also sometimes the primary cause of an accident.* The main lobby of Vought Headquarters was noticeably busier today.
Starlight’s debut week campaign was still underway, while A-Train’s promotional event devoured media resources.
Staff from Public Relations and Hero Management darted back and forth between the lobby and the elevators like ants set on fire.
Lynn swiped his keycard through the employee turnstile.
The moment he stepped into the Archives Department, Kevin looked up at him.
“Woah.” Lynn hung up his jacket.
“Morning.” Kevin pointed at his own neck.
“What happened to you?” Amy peeked over from her desk nearby.