Wednesday evening.
The Manhattan sky hung very low.
Heavy cloud layers pressed down between the skyscrapers, and the glass curtain walls reflected a grayish-white light, resembling warm-less crystal coffins.
In the main lobby of Vought Headquarters, the electronic screens were looping a promotional short film for Starlight.
The blonde girl stood under the spotlight, her smile pristine and her eyes bright, as the subtitles behind her constantly shifted.
“New Generation.” “Faith.” “Hope.” “The Seven Officially Welcomes Its Newest Member.” Tourists in the lobby paused to take photos.
A few children gathered around Starlight’s new poster, discussing her uniform, while their parents queued up at the souvenir shop entrance to buy limited-edition keychains.
When Lynn Zhou emerged from the employee exit, he happened to see people from Marketing pushing a cart filled with merchandise packaging boxes printed with Starlight’s logo.
The cardboard boxes were stacked high.
The top box wasn’t sealed properly, exposing a corner of a gold-and-white miniature cape.
Lynn cast a glance over.
Before the new hero had even truly begun saving the world, merchandise inventory was already prepared to save the quarterly revenue.
Vought’s efficiency had always been like this.
Saving people wasn’t necessarily fast.
Selling goods was never slow.
He lowered his head and unlocked his phone memo.
On it was a simple entry he had created today.
[Vought Internal Observation — Day 3] Below it were a few sub-items.
1.
Starlight promotional campaign entering an intensive phase.
2.
Frequent coordination between Marketing, Hero Management, and PR.
3.
Archive Department receiving increased tasks regarding public sentiment cleanup for past accidents.
4.
Kevin attempted to offload tasks again today; failed.
5.
Martha is sensitive to protocol paper trails; usable, but handle with care.
Lynn stared at the fifth item for a few seconds before adding a sentence: “Supervisor-level figures are not the enemy; they are usually just amplifiers of the system.
They won’t actively harm people, but they will pass pressure down layer by layer until someone at the absolute bottom deforms.” Having finished writing, he locked his phone screen and shoved it into his pocket.
An archivist’s habits weren’t bad.
Especially in a place like Vought.
Others used diaries to record emotions.
He used archives to record threats.
Stepping out of the headquarters, a cold wind blew straight into his face.
A few media vans were parked along the curb, their bodies stickered with logos of Vought-partnered channels.
A female reporter stood before the camera, broadcasting the news of Starlight joining The Seven in a standard news anchor tone.
Outside the camera frame, staff members were yawning.
Inside the frame, everyone looked as though they had just been illuminated by hope.
Lynn passed right by them without pausing.
At the entrance to the subway station, a street musician was playing the violin.
The music was sliced into disjointed fragments by the flow of traffic and crowds.
Pasted on the wall behind him was a Homelander public service poster.
In the poster, Homelander reached out to hold up a national flag, his smile firm and his gaze gentle—as if in the very next second, he would personally help you handle your mortgage, health insurance, and parking tickets.
Lynn looked at that face, his footsteps never faltering.
He was beginning to adapt to the sense of irony in this world now.
The biggest monster was always printed the largest.
The most fragile people always hurried along beneath the posters.
The subway rode east the entire way.
The train car was crowded and humid.
A man was watching a video compilation of interviews with The Seven on his phone; the speaker wasn’t turned up loud, but it was just enough for everyone around to hear Homelander’s gentle yet powerful words.
“Being a hero means responsibility.” Lynn closed his eyes, gripping the handrail.
The train car jolted.
That word “responsibility” jolted right into his ears along with it.
He was suddenly reminded of the text message sent by Daniel Reed.
“Adults have to take responsibility for their own choices.” The scumbags of this world all seemed to love talking about responsibility.
Especially when that responsibility needed to be borne by someone else.
Half an hour later, Lynn returned to Queens.
The rain had started falling again.
It wasn’t a downpour, just a fine, dense layer that fell beneath the streetlights like a transparent net.
He didn’t head straight home, turning instead into a small supermarket a few streets down from his apartment.
The freezer hummed loudly.
The aisles were narrow.
The air was mixed with the smell of cleaning agents, frozen food, and cheap coffee beans.
Lynn pushed the shopping basket, expertly selecting discounted items.
Bread.
Eggs.
Canned soup.
Microwave rice.
A bag of lettuce that was close to expiring but could still be salvaged.
Standing before the freezer section, he stared at two types of frozen pizza for ten full seconds.
One was cheap.
The other was even cheaper.
The difference was that the former looked like food, while the latter looked like a legal substitute for food.
In the end, he chose the latter.
Because adults had to take responsibility for their own bank account balance.
At checkout, the cashier was a young girl chewing gum, wearing heavy eyeliner and black nail polish.
She glanced at his shopping basket.
“Rough week?” Lynn handed over his debit card.
“Standard rough.” The girl offered a small smile.
“That’s not so bad then.
At least you haven’t bought cat food yet.” Lynn paused for a second.
“Is cat food cheap?” The girl looked up at him.
The two exchange a glance for a moment.
She handed him the receipt.
“Sir, I suggest you hang in there a little longer.” Lynn accepted the shopping bag and nodded seriously.
“Thank you for the financial advice.” As he pushed the door open to leave, the bell above the door jingled softly.
The rain was slightly heavier than before.
He opened his umbrella.
Just two steps out, he heard someone call his name.
“Lynn?” The voice came from the street corner.
Brisk.
Familiar.
Carrying an overly natural warmth.
Lynn’s footsteps came to a halt.
Rain pattered against the surface of the umbrella.
He turned his head to look.
A dark gray car was parked at the corner.
A man stood by the car.
Around thirty years old, brown hair, a light-colored trench coat, and brightly polished leather shoes.
The watch on his wrist flashed under the streetlight—not overly flashy, but enough to show that his life hadn’t been pressed into the mud by debt.
Daniel Reed.
A good brother in the memory of the original body.
A manufacturer of debt in reality.
He held a cup of coffee in his hand, a look of perfectly timed pleasant surprise resting on his face as if bumping into an old friend.
If Lynn didn’t have all those bills, contracts, and text messages in his head, this scene could have easily been filmed as a commercial for an old friends’ reunion.
Daniel walked over quickly.
“It really is you!
I thought I misrecognized you.” He opened his arms, looking as though he wanted to give Lynn a hug.
Lynn didn’t move.
The rim of his umbrella tilted down slightly, obscuring half his face and eyes.
Daniel’s movement halted in midair for half a second before he smoothly pivoted into patting Lynn’s shoulder instead.
Very natural.
So natural it felt rehearsed.
“How’ve you been lately?
I sent you messages, but your replies were so cold.” Lynn looked at him.
“I’ve been quite busy lately.” “At Vought, right, I get it.” Daniel chuckled, his tone carrying a hint of envy mixed with a deliberate touch of sourness.
“A superhero company—sounds totally different.
Do you get to see Homelander every single day now?” Lynn said calmly: “I’m in the archive department, not front desk in heaven.” Daniel froze for a moment, then burst into laughter.
“You’ve still got that dry sense of humor.” Lynn didn’t smile.
His gaze swept over Daniel.
The trench coat was a new model.
The leather shoes were clean.
The coffee came from a boutique shop that wasn’t cheap.
The car wasn’t a top-tier luxury vehicle, but it was definitely not something an “out-of-touch, failed entrepreneur” should be able to casually afford.
Not far behind Daniel, two other men stood by the car smoking.
One was tall and lean, with a tattoo on his neck.
The other was stockily built, wearing a baseball cap, his eyes scanning the street from time to time.
They didn’t come closer.
Yet their eyes remained fixed on this direction.
In his mind, Lynn added two more entries to Daniel’s file.
[Current Economic Status: Inconsistent with bankruptcy or evasion of debt.] [Social Environment: Suspected connections to grey-market individuals.] Daniel didn’t seem to notice his observation.
Or perhaps he noticed and simply didn’t care.
In Daniel’s perception, Lynn was still that easygoing, reasonable, propriety-minded person from the past.
This was the exact kind of person best suited for bullying.
Because even when angry, they would first consider politeness.
“The debt collection company reached out to you, right?” Daniel lowered his voice, his tone suddenly growing intimate.
Like discussing a small hassle they were sharing together.
“I know you’re under a lot of pressure, but you have to understand me too.
My cash flow over here isn’t great either.” Lynn glanced at the coffee in his hand.
“I can tell.” Daniel looked down at the coffee; his smile faded for a split second before recovering just as fast.
“Don’t be like that, bro.
There’s no need for us to talk like this.” Rain dripped along the umbrella ribs.
It fell onto the ground between the two of them.
Lynn didn’t take the bait with the word “bro.” He merely asked: “Didn’t you fall off the grid?” Daniel shrugged.
“To those collectors, of course I have to disappear.
Their job is to make people anxious.
You can’t take everything seriously.” “So the debt is fake?” “The debt is real.” Daniel answered very quickly and very candidly.
“But things can be negotiated.” Lynn looked at him.
Daniel took a step closer, dropping his voice even lower.
“I have a new opportunity recently.
Seriously, this time it’s solid.
A few friends are doing private equity bridge financing—the return rate is pretty good.
As long as I hold out a little longer, I can fill the previous hole.”