Having escaped that hellish place, Chen Mo could finally start planning his future.
From the moment he was dazed and confused, transmigrating into the world of The Boys, only a few short hours had passed, yet so much had already happened.
He needed to plan carefully.
He returned to his lounge, which was actually a private suite in Vought Tower assigned to members of The Seven.
He closed the door and locked it.
Chen Mo flopped onto the sofa, stared up at the ceiling, and let out a long sigh.
Alright.
Time to think.
First, he needed to clearly understand what cards he held.
He was The Deep.
The most despised loser in The Seven.
No say, no allies, and no one cared whether he lived or died.
Madelyn Stillwell kept him around only because it looked better to have seven members in “The Seven,” and Homelander couldn’t even be bothered to kill him because he wasn’t worth the effort.
But this disadvantage could also be turned into an advantage.
No one would guard against him.
Who would guard against a loser?
He could hide behind the shell of this idiot, “The Deep,” observing in secret, gathering information, and quietly laying his plans.
As long as he didn’t act too out of character, no one would notice him.
To avoid leaving any traces—like suddenly talking to himself where someone might hear, or being caught on camera gesturing at thin air—he could only think carefully in his mind.
First, there was The Deep’s ability: telepathy and control over marine life.
This meant his combat potential didn’t depend on himself, but on what kind of marine life he could access.
Ordinary fish were useless, but blue whales, giant squids, orcas, sperm whales…
if these big guys were mobilized properly, their destructive power could not be underestimated.
And there were the things in the deeper parts—deep-sea behemoths that humans hadn’t discovered, creatures that had survived since the dinosaur era.
If they existed, and if he could truly find and control them…
Chen Mo couldn’t help but let his imagination run wild.
Furthermore, The Deep could swim in the Mariana Trench, resisting extreme cold and high pressure.
He could live underwater indefinitely.
That was actually pretty good.
After all, 70% of the Earth was ocean, and that was all his territory.
If he couldn’t make it on land, the ocean would be his sanctuary.
No matter how strong Homelander was, he wouldn’t dive 10,000 meters to the bottom of the ocean in his cape to hunt him down.
Even if he wanted to, finding one person in the boundless ocean was nearly impossible.
This was his fallback plan.
But it was only a fallback.
He couldn’t spend his whole life hiding in the deep sea eating sashimi.
Whether it was the original version of The Deep or Chen Mo now, he still operated primarily based on human cognition and lifestyle habits.
After all, he was a human supremacist.
It was a deeply ingrained arrogance belonging to land-dwelling mammals.
He could breathe with gills, but he was still used to using lungs.
He could swim in the deep sea, but he still liked standing on solid ground.
He could eat raw fish, but he still missed cooked food and a cup of hot coffee.
This was his anchor.
And also his weakness.
Chen Mo unzipped his suit and looked down at the two slits on his waist—his gills.
The deep red gill filaments were neatly arranged, thin as razor blades, moving slightly with his breath.
He reached out and touched them.
Cold.
Moist.
The sensation felt like touching an organ that didn’t belong to him, yet it was his.
Truly fucking absurd.
He zipped up his suit and continued thinking.
The Deep’s physiological modifications weren’t just as simple as having extra gills.
What did it mean to be able to swim in the Mariana Trench?
It meant he could withstand pressure approaching 1,100 atmospheres.
This was his advantage.
An advantage very few people knew about, one that even The Deep himself might not have realized the true value of.
Besides pressure and cold resistance, he should also have night vision; there was no light source in the deep sea, so he wouldn’t survive without evolving night vision.
And magnetic field sensing?
Bio-electric perception?
He hadn’t tested these yet, but theoretically, they should exist.
He needed to find an opportunity to get into the water.
Not the aquarium in Vought Tower, but the real ocean.
Having figured out his fallback plan, Chen Mo let out a long sigh of relief.
He was just an average person; his first priority was thinking about how to survive, and only then thinking about how to secure the greatest benefits in the future.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, he definitely had to find a seaside villa to use as his base of operations.
Not those luxurious celebrity mansions that made the news, but the kind that was remote, low-key, and a half-hour drive from the nearest town.
Preferably with a private dock.
It would be best if it were close to the deep sea—not the geographic “Deep Sea,” but water that was deep enough to dock a boat and convenient for entering the water at any time.
Money wasn’t an issue.
Although The Deep was a loser, the title of “The Seven” itself meant astronomical endorsement fees and appearance fees.
There should be enough money in his account; he probably hadn’t even spent much of it, as The Deep didn’t really have a social life.
Chen Mo searched The Deep’s financial status in his mind.
He didn’t know until he checked, and he was shocked when he did.
This idiot had actually spent all his money on a pile of useless things: custom wetsuits (he had seven sets), all sorts of flashy ocean-themed decorations, and a lifetime membership to a seaside resort he had never even visited.
But there was still plenty left.
More than enough to buy a seaside villa.
He didn’t even need to go through Vought International; he could find a real estate agent, pay in cash, and use that obscure private account under The Deep’s name.
Chen Mo picked up the tablet issued by Vought, hesitated for a moment, and put it back down.
He wanted to take advantage of the late night when no one was paying attention to look up listings online right now.
But he remembered this was Vought’s equipment.
Every one of his searches and every browsing record could be monitored.
Don’t doubt Vought’s integrity—it was something that simply didn’t exist.
He couldn’t check on this.
When he went to look at houses tomorrow, he would buy a new phone with cash, not connect it to Vought’s network, and not link it to any of The Deep’s identity information.
Chen Mo leaned back into the sofa and closed his eyes.
A picture emerged in his mind.
A white house built on a cliff.
Below was the deep blue sea, waves crashing against the rocks.
In the yard was a crooked tree, and under its shade sat a lounge chair.
He was sitting on the lounge chair, holding a glass of iced cola, watching the sun slowly sink into the sea.
No Homelander.
No Madelyn Stillwell.
No Translucent crouching in the corner, * * *.
Only the sea.
And his fish.
Chen Mo opened his eyes.
Alright.
That was settled.
Find a house first.
Survive.
Then think about the future.
Thinking of this, Chen Mo had no desire to sleep.
He simply stood up, ready to walk around Vought Tower and get a good look at this 82-story building.