Leaving the CEO’s office, Chen Mo found Ashley.
She was sitting at her workstation, deleting and editing Starlight’s lines on the computer screen.
“Homelander, why are you looking for him?” As soon as she heard that name, Ashley’s face visibly paled a few shades.
If there was anyone she feared most in Vought International, it was undoubtedly that living ancestor wrapped in the national flag.
“Just going over to report on the progress.
After all, he is our captain, isn’t he?” Chen Mo shrugged, his tone relaxed.
“Alright, he’s in the conference room.
Oh, right, this is the script for tonight.” Ashley picked up the script for the evening from the table, handed it to Chen Mo, and looked at him with that “good luck” kind of expression.
“Thanks, girl.” Chen Mo took the script, rolled it into a tube, tapped it lightly on Ashley’s shoulder, and turned to walk toward the elevator.
…
Walking into the conference room, in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, a tall silhouette stood with his hands behind his back.
Homelander overlooked the mediocre masses below like ants, as if inspecting his own divine kingdom.
“There’s no meeting, why are you here?” Homelander didn’t turn his head, his voice calm, yet carrying a hint of aloof indifference.
“Captain, I’m here to report to you.
The Mayor of Baltimore’s plane has been found, right in the Hudson Canyon.” Chen Mo walked to the center of the conference room and stopped a few meters behind him.
He casually placed the rolled-up script on the conference table; the roll loosened a bit, revealing a section of blank page.
Only then did Homelander turn around.
The fluorescent light hit his meticulously groomed blonde hair, and those iconic blue eyes narrowed slightly, revealing a chilling scrutiny.
The corners of his mouth curved upward with practiced ease, pulling into the most familiar, emotionless, perfect smile to the American people.
“Engine failure?” “Yes, engine failure…
the official conclusion.” “Very good, The Deep.” Homelander took a step, his leather boots making a dull thud on the carpet.
He closed in on Chen Mo step by step, suddenly changing the subject, his voice dropping low: “You came down from the 80th floor.” “Yes, Captain.
I just came out of Ms.
Madelyn’s office and was preparing to report the situation to you immediately.” Homelander didn’t speak, just looked at Chen Mo from close range, which was terrifying.
Chen Mo wasn’t afraid, but in Homelander’s blind spot, he was using Telekinesis to precisely stimulate his own heart, causing his heart rate to soar instantly, while his body naturally shrank back half a step.
“When I got there, Ms.
Madelyn asked me directly if you were the one who did it, and if there were any traces of Laser Eyes or humanoid impact dents on the engine.” Chen Mo lied effortlessly.
Anyway, given the state of the relationship between this mother and son, there was no possibility of being exposed; Madelyn Stillwell was also afraid of Homelander.
“Oh?
And what did you say?” Homelander suddenly reached out, pressing both hands on Chen Mo’s shoulders.
A terrifying, immense force struck, pinning him firmly onto the chair that originally belonged to A-Train.
“I could only ‘tell the truth’, Captain.” Chen Mo mimicked The Deep’s signature panic and weakness, speaking extremely fast, even carrying a hint of breathlessness from surviving a disaster.
“You know, Ms.
Madelyn came to interrogate me with the standard answers already in mind; I couldn’t hide it at all.
But I promised her that all substantive traces at the scene had been completely erased by me using ocean currents!” Honestly, with Homelander standing behind him, the pressure was still there.
His Psychic Power was highly tense, staring dead at what was behind him.
Homelander didn’t speak.
He just looked at Chen Mo from close range, his gaze fixed on the back of Chen Mo’s head, making him shudder.
The air seemed to freeze.
He was reading Chen Mo’s physiological signals.
Did his pupils dilate?
Did his heart rate change?
Did his breathing speed up?
Did sweating increase?
All these signals added up to evidence of whether a person was lying.
But soon he gave up, because this coward The Deep’s heart rate would accelerate every time he faced him alone.
He also didn’t think The Deep would dare to lie in front of him, Homelander.
This feeling wasn’t based on evidence, but on contempt—a loser who spent his days with fish.
“The Deep, can I trust you?” Homelander leaned down, his cold breath brushing against Chen Mo’s ear.
The subtext of this sentence was obvious: Your dog tag needs to be re-branded.
Those who submit will prosper; those who resist will perish.
Homelander’s trust was not bidirectional; he didn’t need to be trusted by you, he only needed you to be trusted by him.
If you were trusted by him, you were his person.
If you weren’t his person, you were his enemy.
At least that was the case before being beaten up by The Boys.
“Of course, of course I can, Captain.
Loyalty to you and loyalty to Vought is my consistent standard.
I have always regarded you as my beacon.
Without your wise leadership, the rest of us would just be a pile of loose sand.” When saying these words, Chen Mo silently gagged in his mind.
It wasn’t disgust for Homelander, but disgust for himself.
He was currently using the classic big-bullshit tactic that Butcher used to deal with Hughie, using the most sincere eyes to say the most hypocritical words, using a trembling voice to express the firmest stance.
The effect was outstanding.
Homelander was finally satisfied.
He slowly straightened up, and the heart-stopping temperature in his palm finally withdrew from the uniform fabric.
He didn’t care about loyalty.
As long as The Deep was still afraid of him, he wouldn’t dare to lie to him.
However, recalling the superficial “people-management techniques” trained by the PR department, he felt he should give The Deep some sweetness.
“And you, my friend.” Homelander pointed at Chen Mo, a perfect arc hanging on the corner of his mouth, his index finger hovering less than five centimeters in front of the Vought logo on Chen Mo’s chest.
“You are the true hero.” “Under your leadership, sir.” The sycophant The Deep was back online.
This had nothing to do with Chen Mo, he swore.
Not until those red-and-blue boots completely moved out of sight and the rustling of clothing came from in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows did he know that this hurdle was over.
“Alright, back off, The Deep.” Homelander’s voice returned to its usual casual arrogance, waving his hand with his back to him, as if just shooing away a fly that had landed on his shoulder.
“Understood, Captain.” “Call me Homelander.” “Yes, Captain.” Chen Mo scrambled to his feet, even deliberately letting his knee bump against the conference table, making a dull “thud” sound.
He had acted out the image of a terrified coward to the bone, grabbed the roll of script on the table, and ran out of the conference room almost in a panic.
“Homelander…
is indeed a lunatic, but as long as you figure out his giant-baby logic, he’s actually easier to fool than Madelyn Stillwell.” Chen Mo rubbed his slightly sore facial muscles and looked down at the somewhat deformed script in his hand.
Next is to face the media.
What a busy day.