Early the next morning, Chen Mo was woken up by the squawking of Fries.
He opened his eyes to see Fries squatting on his chest, its beady eyes wide open, tilting its head to look at him.
“Squawk.” Chen Mo blinked.
The fire in the fireplace had long since gone out, with only a faint, flickering red glow occasionally appearing in the ashes.
The sky outside the window was gray-blue.
The sun hadn’t risen yet, but light was already spilling up from below the horizon, dyeing the edges of the curtains a pale gold.
He glanced at the clock on the wall: 6:20.
“Why are you waking me up so early?” Chen Mo’s voice was raspy with morning grogginess.
“You don’t have to go to work.” Fries tilted its head.
It didn’t understand “work.” Since he was already awake, Chen Mo decided not to go back to sleep.
He sat up from the sofa, and Fries slid off his chest.
Chen Mo reached out a finger to poke its belly, and Fries let out a squawk.
“Squawk.” “I have things to do today,” Chen Mo said.
“You stay here and wait.” Fries tilted its head, not understanding.
“Watch the house.” “Squawk, squawk.” This time, it understood.
It jumped off Chen Mo’s lap, walked to the armrest of the sofa, and squatted there like a sentry.
Chen Mo glanced at it before turning to walk into the bathroom.
Cold water splashed on his face, driving the last trace of sleepiness out of his pores.
He looked into the mirror for a few seconds: The Deep’s face, light blue eyes, golden eyelashes, and a thin layer of stubble on his chin.
After washing up, Chen Mo prepared to leave.
When he reached the door, he paused and looked back.
Fries was squatting on the sofa armrest, its beady eyes watching him.
There was still fine sand left on the mantelpiece from yesterday, and footprints from when he walked barefoot remained on the wooden floor.
Yesterday’s traces were still there, while today’s hadn’t begun yet.
“I’m off,” he said.
Fries let out a squawk.
“Squawk.” Chen Mo pulled open the door, and the morning breeze rushed in, carrying the scent of a mixture of sea salt and earth.
After confirming that his Telekinesis was still blocking the tracker inside his body, he stepped out, closed the door, and jumped into the sea.
The contours of the riverbed unfolded in his consciousness like an auto-navigating map.
By the time Chen Mo reached the Bushwick neighborhood, it was almost eight o’clock.
He climbed ashore from an abandoned pier on the East River, his Telekinesis evaporating the moisture on his body the moment he emerged from the water.
Bushwick, in the northeastern part of Brooklyn, was a lower-middle-class neighborhood with a mixed-race population.
The streets were narrow, two lanes wide, with black trash bags piled on the sidewalks.
Some were torn, with garbage spilling out of the rips, trembling slightly in the morning breeze.
Most of the shops along the street hadn’t opened yet, their rolling shutters covered in graffiti.
A few early risers were already waiting for the bus at the stop.
Popclaw lived in this neighborhood.
She was considered one of the most down-and-out Superhumans because her superpower was merely growing two spikes from her arms.
Chen Mo stood in front of that apartment building.
It was a brick building with large patches of plaster peeling off the exterior walls, revealing the blackened bricks underneath.
The house number was covered by a piece of tape, with another number written on the tape in marker.
The hallway door was made of sheet metal and was rusted on the surface.
He pulled the door open and walked in.
The lights in the hallway were broken, and trash bags and discarded cardboard boxes were piled on the stairs.
The graffiti from the outside continued inside.
Some were gang tags, some were profanities, and some were just meaningless lines.
“Who are you looking for?” a white man holding a beer asked Chen Mo.
He was Popclaw’s landlord, in his fifties, bald, and liked to play cosplay.
Although Chen Mo had disguised himself, the man still recognized that the person before him was not a tenant of this building.
“Hello, Mr.
Landlord.
I heard that Popclaw lives here.
I’m a huge fan of hers; I wonder if you could tell me her room number?” As Chen Mo spoke, he pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his pocket, held it between two fingers, and handed it over.
The banknote shimmered with a pale green light in the dim hallway, attracting the landlord’s gaze like a magnet.
He raised his arm and took a sip of beer.
His throat moved as he swallowed.
“Two hundred.” What “huge fan”?
The last time Popclaw was in the newspaper was three years ago; the public had long forgotten her.
Perhaps he wanted to have something happen with a superhero.
Thinking of this, his heart couldn’t help but flutter.
He wondered if he might have a chance to get intimate with her and have some fun.
“Fine.” Thinking that this landlord probably wouldn’t live another three days, Chen Mo couldn’t be bothered to argue.
He pulled out another bill, stacked the two hundred-dollar bills together, and handed them over.
The landlord took them, smacked his lips, folded them, and stuffed them into his vest pocket.
He raised his beer can and pointed toward the stairs.
“Third floor, end of the hallway.” He then turned and went back into his room.
The horse racing announcer on the TV was still shouting, and the sound of the iron door closing shut separated the dim light of the hallway from the trash bags piled in the corner.
Chen Mo went up to the third floor and walked to the end of the hallway, where there was a sheet metal door with dents on its surface.
Not in a hurry to go in, he first used his Telekinesis to drape the “Rochester Cloak” over himself.
From now on, he was Translucent.
He then scanned the area with his Psychic Power.
Popclaw wasn’t there; she had probably gone out to buy breakfast.
A-Train wasn’t there either.
Today he had to go to the hospital on behalf of Translucent, as arranged by the company after Vought couldn’t reach Translucent.
A-Train would be arranged to go to the children’s hospital, smile for the cameras, take photos with the children in their hospital beds, and then post on Twitter: “Visited a brave little warrior today.
The Seven will always be with you.” Thinking this, Chen Mo used his Telekinesis to flick the lock, slipped inside, and closed the door.
There were a few art photos of Popclaw’s body posted in the living room.
He glanced at them, uninterested—an average figure.
He stood in the entryway and spread out his Psychic Power.
Living room.
Kitchen.
Master bedroom.
Second bedroom.
Bathroom.
The entire apartment was like a dark room without lights in his Psychic Power scan, but he didn’t find any Compound V.
That’s impossible.
Could it be that at this time, the Compound V isn’t with Popclaw yet?
Chen Mo stood at the doorway and scanned with his Psychic Power again.
Everything was normal; there was nothing that looked like a small vial.
Chen Mo withdrew his Psychic Power.
No need for that.
Search.
Even if he had to turn this place upside down today, he had to find the Compound V.
He started from the living room, searching through cabinets and drawers all the way through the kitchen, bathroom, and second bedroom until he reached the master bedroom.
Finally, in a pile of underwear in the corner of the master bedroom, he found an orange leather bag.
Chen Mo recognized it; it was exactly the bag that contained the Compound V.
He unzipped it and opened the silver-white alloy container.
Three vials of Compound V were clearly stored inside.
The pale blue liquid gently sloshed in the bottles, like diluted seawater, or like the sky on a clear, sunny day.
In that moment, Chen Mo couldn’t help but be mesmerized by it.