Leon stood in front of the heavy one-way bulletproof glass, holding a cup of instant coffee that had cooled to just slightly cold, his face blank.
On the other side of the glass was a pure white sterile room.
In the center of the room lay a soft mat, where a six- or seven-year-old boy with beautiful blond hair, as delicate as a porcelain doll, was idly playing with the colored plastic building blocks in his hands.
The boy’s eyes were a pure deep blue, looking innocent and guileless.
But the fingers holding Leon’s coffee were trembling slightly, beyond his control.
It had been almost three months since he transmigrated into this world.
In those three months, Leon had tried every day to wake up the system, the wise old man in his head, or whatever cheat power might exist in his brain that could turn things around for him.
Unfortunately, there was nothing.
He was a thoroughly ordinary person, and his only identity was that of a low-level researcher in Vought’s secret underground lab.
And that cute little boy stacking blocks inside the glass went by the code name John.
Other people might not know what that name meant, but Leon knew all too well.
This was the future Homelander, a super-powered man-child who, around the clock and from any angle, would slice a person clean in half with his heat vision the moment something put him in a bad mood, the most terrifying walking nuclear weapon in human history.
Following the original trajectory, this seemingly harmless little blond, once he grew up, would come to see everyone in the lab as bugs limiting his freedom, and then, on a fine sunny afternoon, would slaughter every researcher here, including the people in charge, leaving not a single survivor.
Leon glanced down at the ID badge on his chest.
Great.
He was one of those “bugs” destined for slaughter too.
Running was out of the question.
Vought’s security was so airtight that not even a fly could get out, let alone a frail, weak wage worker like him without the strength to truss a chicken.
Fighting back was even more impossible.
Even if he gave it everything he had, he probably couldn’t snap a single hair on John’s head.
So, after getting through the initial panic phase, Leon, relying on his superior intelligence and an intense will to survive, came up with a plan that was simple and crude.
If he couldn’t beat them and couldn’t run, then he would join them.
The reason the future Homelander became a psychopathic killer was entirely because this pack of cold-blooded researchers raised him like a lab rat, with no love and no proper guidance on values.
Leon decided to become a breath of fresh air in this frigid lab.
He would be John’s father, mother, and life mentor, and raise him into an upstanding young man with good character who respected his elders and cared for the young.
And worst case scenario, even if the kid still turned irredeemably bad someday, surely, out of gratitude for all the careful teaching back in the day, he’d spare Leon’s sorry hide?
“Leon, have you finished your observation notes?
What are you spacing out for over there!”
A stern female voice cut through Leon’s thoughts.
It was his immediate superior, the senior researcher Madelyn.
She always wore a stiff expression, looking at everyone as if they were a pile of experimental data.
“Already done, ma’am.”
Leon immediately put on a gentle, thoroughly professional smile and handed over the folder tucked under his arm.
“John’s mood was very stable today.
The logic of his block-stacking improved by fifteen percent over yesterday, with no signs of agitation.”
Madelyn flipped through the notes quickly and gave a cold snort.
“Don’t look at the test subject with that disgusting expression, Leon.
I’ve warned you many times, don’t develop any unnecessary emotional projection onto him.
He is company property, he is a weapon, not your little nephew.”
“I understand, ma’am.
I was only making an objective assessment.”
Leon agreed readily, but he was sneering inside.
*Raising a child with the power of a god as if he’s an emotionless weapon, you people won’t even know how you died someday.*
“Go take him his lunch.
Remember, put the tray down and come out, don’t talk to him more than necessary.”
Madelyn waved her hand impatiently.
“All right.”
Leon turned and walked to the meal prep room, picked up the bland, flavorless special lunch made entirely of nutrient paste and high-protein gruel, took a deep breath, and swiped open the heavy metal door.
As the airlock let out a dull hiss of releasing air, Leon stepped into the pure white room.
Hearing the noise, Little John stopped what he was doing and looked up at Leon.
There was no anger in those deep blue eyes, only the numbness of someone kept caged for years and a faint, barely perceptible trace of anticipation.
In the entire lab, Leon was the only one who didn’t come in wearing that terrifying full hazmat suit, and the only one who would smile at him.
“Hey, John, how are you feeling today?”
Ignoring Madelyn’s warning, Leon plopped straight down onto the mat and pushed the tray in front of the little boy.
“It tastes bad.”
John glanced at the green gruel on the tray and frowned.
“I hate this taste.”
“I know it tastes bad.”
Leon sighed and, like a magic trick, produced a beautifully wrapped strawberry hard candy from the pocket of his lab coat, waving it in front of him.
“But look, as long as you finish all this stuff that’s good for you, there’ll be a bonus reward.
This is a secret deal just between us.”
John’s eyes lit up.
He snatched the candy and clutched it tight in his palm, then, as if completing a mission, picked up the spoon and started shoveling the bad-tasting nutrient paste into his mouth in big mouthfuls.
Watching him wolf it down, Leon nodded to himself.
Good.
Step one, establishing trust and dependence, was preliminarily accomplished.
Next came the shaping of values.
“John, do you know why we have you eat these things, why we have you do all those boring tests?”
Leon lowered his voice, his tone turning mysterious.
John swallowed a mouthful of gruel and shook his head.
“Because you’re different from ordinary people out there.
You were born with great power.”
Leon looked seriously into his eyes.
“And people with great power are destined to become heroes.”
“Heroes?” The word was unfamiliar to John.
“Yes, heroes.
In this world, there are very, very many bad people.
They’re selfish, greedy, they bully the weak, they break the rules.”
Leon launched into his grand campaign of persuasion.
“And a hero’s duty is to wipe out these bad people and uphold justice.”
John blinked, half understanding.
“Like in the cartoons?
Beating the bad guys?”
“Much more serious than that.”
Leon held up one finger, his tone turning especially grave.
“John, you have to remember, justice is absolute.
Black is black, white is white, there’s no middle ground at all.
Bad people are bad because they did bad things.
When facing bad people, you don’t need any sympathy or mercy.”
Leon had only meant to teach him not to kill the innocent and to tell good from bad.
But he figured a kid probably couldn’t grasp overly complicated moral dilemmas, so he just went ahead and instilled it in the most extreme, most black-and-white way possible.
“If you find someone doing something bad, like stealing, hitting people, breaking the rules, what should you do?” Leon tossed out the question.
John tilted his head and thought about it.
“Tell the supervisor?”
“Wrong!” Leon slapped his thigh.
“The supervisor might forgive them, might make excuses for them.
But justice doesn’t take excuses!
When facing evil, what you do is use your power to punish them without mercy!
Root out the evil completely, so they never get the chance to do bad things again.
That’s what a true hero does!”
John froze.
In those pure blue eyes, something seemed to be taking root and sprouting.
He looked at his own soft little hands and repeated Leon’s words thoughtfully.
“Absolute…
justice.
Punish them…
without mercy.”