Early the next morning, Chen Mo was woken up by the alarm on his tablet.
He hadn’t slept well.
His dreams were filled with images of Homelander standing in the hallway holding a glass of milk, those blue eyes acting like scanners, turning him inside out.
When he woke up, the blanket on the sofa was crumpled into a ball, and his neck felt a bit stiff.
Chen Mo sat up and rubbed his eyes.
The first thing he did wasn’t to wash up, but to open his tablet to check his schedule.
Madelyn Stillwell’s assistant had sent a message: 10:00 AM today, The Seven conference room, the first full meeting after Starlight joined.
It was now 7:20 AM.
He had gone to bed too late last night, and the alarm had gone off several times before he woke up.
He had a gap of nearly three hours.
Chen Mo put down the tablet and walked into the bathroom to brush his teeth in front of the mirror.
In the mirror was the face of a white man, with golden eyelashes, light blue eyes, and a thin layer of stubble on his chin.
The Deep’s appearance wasn’t ugly; one could even say it was decent.
But that air of long-term inferiority mixed with arrogance dragged down his features, making him completely unattractive.
He spat out the foam.
The house hunting had to be done today.
But he couldn’t use The Deep’s identity.
Every consumption record, every travel request, and every location signal inside Vought Tower was under the company’s surveillance.
If he went to look at or buy a house in his own name, the news would likely reach Madelyn Stillwell’s ears before noon.
It wasn’t because she cared much about The Deep, but because things like “a member of The Seven purchasing property” were information that Vought’s PR department needed to be aware of in advance, just in case they were photographed by the media and needed to prepare a press release.
He needed an excuse.
A reasonable excuse that wouldn’t arouse anyone’s suspicion.
Chen Mo changed into casual clothes: a dark gray hoodie, black casual pants, and a pair of inconspicuous sneakers.
He stood in front of the mirror for a while, pulled the hood of his hoodie up over his head, then put it back down.
No.
A hoodie would actually draw attention.
In New York, a person appearing on the street with a hoodie pulled up was either a celebrity hiding from paparazzi or a criminal hiding from surveillance.
Although The Deep was a loser, he was a member of The Seven.
His face had some level of recognition, and the probability of being recognized wasn’t zero.
He needed a more thorough disguise.
A thought flashed through Chen Mo’s mind.
Sunglasses.
A baseball cap.
An ordinary dark jacket.
Dress himself as an “ordinary person who doesn’t like to show their face,” not as a “celebrity trying to disguise himself.” He rummaged through the closet and found a black baseball cap.
There was no Vought logo on the brim; it was one The Deep had bought himself.
He also dug out a pair of sunglasses—not the exaggerated celebrity style, but ordinary polarized sunglasses.
Chen Mo put on the hat and sunglasses and looked in the mirror again.
An ordinary white male.
In his early thirties, with a slightly sturdy build, but hidden by the loose hoodie.
No one would give him a second glance walking down the street.
As for his face, The Deep’s face wasn’t much different from an average white man’s—no scars, no tattoos, no aura of “I am a superhuman.” As long as he didn’t introduce himself, no one would connect the man in the hoodie before them with The Deep in the spandex suit on TV.
Fine.
How to solve the transportation issue?
Drive his own car?
No.
The Deep’s car might have a tracking device, and even if it didn’t, the cameras in parking lots and intersections would record his route.
Take a taxi?
Call an Uber with his phone?
Also no.
The phone Vought issued had all its data stored on the company’s servers.
He couldn’t use his phone to call a car, and he couldn’t book anything under The Deep’s name.
Chen Mo thought for a moment, then rummaged through the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out a stack of cash.
It was The Deep’s habit to keep some cash at home for emergencies—not much, about two thousand dollars.
That would be enough.
He needed to leave Vought Tower first.
When he walked out of the suite door, his consciousness habitually scanned the hallway.
No gray jelly-like figure, no buzzing sound of flowing jelly.
Translucent wasn’t here.
Chen Mo walked into the elevator and pressed the button for the first floor.
The elevator stopped at the fiftieth floor.
The doors opened, and someone was standing outside: Blonde, young, wearing Vought guest pajamas, holding a cup of coffee.
Starlight.
The two stared at each other for a second.
Chen Mo felt a bit awkward.
He wanted to say something, but there was surveillance in the elevator, so he couldn’t say too much.
“The life of a superhero is very different from what you imagined, right?” Starlight didn’t reply, just acted as if Chen Mo didn’t exist.
“You know, when I first came here, I thought I was a fraud, deceiving the people outside.” Chen Mo continued.
“But the good news is, everyone feels that way.” “So what?” Starlight turned to look at Chen Mo, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Ding.” The elevator reached the 1st floor.
The doors opened, and the sounds and lights of the lobby flooded in.
The front desk staff were answering phones, security guards were standing at the entrance, and several employees in Vought uniforms walked by hurriedly, holding coffee.
Starlight walked out first.
Chen Mo followed behind her, the two of them walking through the lobby one after the other.
Chen Mo didn’t continue talking in the elevator; the red light of the surveillance camera overhead was blinking, and that wasn’t the place to talk.
Walking out of the revolving doors of Vought Tower, the morning in New York hit him in the face.
The air was a mix of car exhaust and the greasy smell of hot dog stands.
The sky was a hazy blue, with a few low-hanging clouds pressing down on the city’s skyline.
Starlight walked in front, her pace fast, as if she were trying to escape something.
Chen Mo caught up with her.
He couldn’t say nothing.
Saying nothing was equivalent to admitting it.
Admitting that he was a pervert trying to sexually harass a newcomer.
Admitting that Starlight’s indifference toward him was correct, admitting that he was that Deep, that disgusting loser everyone knew.
He was no longer The Deep.
Or, he wasn’t just The Deep.
Chen Mo knew clearly that he couldn’t make Starlight like or pity him, but he had to at least leave an impression—an impression that Starlight could recall when the truth surfaced.
That impression would ideally be: The Deep is an asshole, but some of the things he said were true.
“Annie,” he called out behind Starlight.
Starlight stopped and turned to look at Chen Mo.
In those blue eyes, there was no longer the pure anger from yesterday.
“You’ve already seen it,” Chen Mo said.
It wasn’t a question, but a statement.
Starlight didn’t nod, but her silence was the answer.
“So you know,” Chen Mo’s voice was very low, low enough that only the two of them could hear.
“What happened yesterday wasn’t what you thought.” “Then what was it?” Starlight’s voice was tight, but her gaze didn’t waver.
Chen Mo took a deep breath.
Pedestrians came and went on the street; no one noticed them.
A man in a gray hoodie and a blonde girl stood on the roadside, as inconspicuous as countless strangers talking on the streets of New York.
“It was a test,” Chen Mo said.
“A test for you.
A test for the team.
To see if I could execute the company’s ‘traditional procedures’.” “Traditional procedures?” Starlight’s brows furrowed.
“Every newcomer,” Chen Mo’s lips barely moved, his voice squeezed out through his teeth, “has to go through a similar ‘welcome ceremony.’ The degree varies, the methods vary, but the essence is the same: to see how obedient you are, to see if you’re willing to shut up, to see if you’ll resist.” Starlight’s face turned pale.
“Did Maeve go through it too?” she asked.
“You should ask her.” Starlight’s lips trembled slightly.
She remembered Maeve in the restroom, that woman who smashed a tile with one punch, her eyes filled with disgust and exhaustion.
Maeve had helped her drive away Translucent, then told her “don’t let others see your ugly side.” She seemed to have gotten used to it.
“And you?” Starlight looked at Chen Mo.
“What role do you play in it?” Chen Mo was silent for a few seconds.
“An executor,” he said.
“An executor who is arranged, replaceable, and can be discarded at any time if something goes wrong.” CREATORS’ THOUGHTS Noct_Veyr Enjoying the story?