The taxi was stuck in traffic for forty minutes on the way back to Queens.
Ian leaned back in the rear seat, watching the flowing neon lights outside the window.
His phone vibrated.
It was a message from Jordan: “Party at Building D tonight.
Heard some seniors are coming.
You in?”
Ian didn’t reply.
He gazed at the distant spire of the Vought Tower, which in the sunset looked like a knife plunged into the heart of the city.
Hughie would contact him soon.
The implanted false memory was like a ticking time bomb, waiting for Butcher’s British accent to set it off.
And Starlight—the girl from Iowa who still believed in justice—would face Deep’s “welcoming ceremony” tonight or tomorrow night in The Seven’s conference room.
He had given her an image and a warning.
A cryptic, out-of-nowhere warning from a stranger.
Would she listen?
Would she understand?
Ian didn’t know.
But he did know that he still needed to get into Vought Tower, preferably The Seven, and meddle with The Boys—a two-pronged approach.
He remembered waking up in this neighborhood on his eighteenth birthday, the system embedding itself into his brain like a blade.
Now, that blade was beginning to carve into bigger prey.
Ian lay on the hotel bed, staring at the ceiling.
At the edge of his vision, the system panel hovered quietly, displaying his current status:
[Super Physique LV3]
[Mind Control LV3]
[Shockwave LV2]
[Super Senses LV1]
Hughie sat on the floor of his apartment, leaning against the leg of the sofa.
On the coffee table was a photo of Robin, the girl in the picture smiling.
His phone screen was lit, showing a contact in his address book labeled “Ally 1—Queens.” He remembered this person also harbored hatred toward Vought and superheroes.
This person should be reliable.
He pressed the voice message button: “I know you’re also going after Vought.
Some British guy found me today, said he was FBI.
He showed me a video.
A-Train.
That bastard was in a bar, holding a drink, laughing and saying Robin died like a watermelon exploding.
He actually had the nerve to say Robin’s blood and flesh splattered all over him, staining his clothes.
I’ve made up my mind.
I’m going to Vought Tower tomorrow to sign a settlement agreement with them.
I’ll plant a bug while I’m there.”
He released his finger, sending the voice message.
Then he stared at the screen, waiting.
After two minutes, his phone vibrated.
Ian replied with a text: “I admire your courage, bro.
I’ll keep an eye out and show up to help when the time is right.
Good luck.”
Hughie took a deep breath and replied: “Okay.”
He stuffed his phone into his pocket and looked up at Robin’s photo.
“I’ll make them pay, sweetheart.”
The next afternoon, Ian rented a beat-up Honda and parked it diagonally across from the electronics store where Hughie worked.
He didn’t go inside, just sat in the driver’s seat with the window rolled down a hand’s width, his arm resting on the frame.
He watched Hughie shuffling behind the counter, occasionally glancing toward the door.
Ian knew he was waiting for Butcher to show up and take him to the Vought building—to begin his revenge.
At three in the afternoon, Hughie closed the shop.
He stepped out, locked the door, glanced around, then hurried toward Butcher’s car parked not far away.
Ian got out of the car, bought a hot dog with pickles and onions from a street corner vendor, and ate it sitting in the car.
Then he reclined the seat, half-lying down, and checked his phone.
Time passed quickly.
The sun shifted westward, casting a yellowish glow on the buildings across the street.
He ran through the plan in his mind.
Translucent wasn’t a fool, but he was arrogant.
The fact that he hadn’t told anyone after discovering Hughie’s bug and dared to track him down alone was the best proof—it gave Ian time.
At eight in the evening, Hughie returned.
He hurried back to the store, opened the door, went inside, calming the adrenaline from braving Vought Tower and the sting of Butcher’s betrayal.
Just as he had staked his life, thinking he could start his adventure like in the movies, secretly opposing Vought and taking down A-Train, Butcher had used him and then abandoned him.
He was told to go back to work, return to his life, and stop getting involved.
Ian sat up straight.
He stared at the store door, tapped his fingers on the steering wheel twice, and prepared himself.
Suddenly, a loud noise came from inside the store.
It was the sound of something heavy hitting flesh, followed by the crash of a shelf being knocked over, and Hughie’s cry.
Ian quickly crossed the street and walked to the store entrance.
“I’ll ask one more time,” Translucent’s voice came from the air.
“Who gave you the guts?
Who told you to bring that thing into Vought Tower?
Did you think I wouldn’t notice a little rat like you?”
Hughie’s mouth was pressed against the floor, blood trickling from the corner of his lips.
He mumbled, “I don’t know… what you’re talking about…”
“You don’t know?” Translucent laughed.
“I’ll give you a chance.
A wimp like you couldn’t possibly have the guts to do this on your own.
Tell me who sent you.
Otherwise, I’ll take you apart piece by piece.
You’ll watch your own parts scatter on the floor like Lego bricks.”
Just then, the store door was pushed open.
Translucent jerked his head up.
Hughie also struggled to turn his face toward the entrance.
Ian stood there, holding a metal pipe.
Translucent released Hughie’s hair and stood up.
“Who are you?” Translucent asked.
“His boyfriend?
Or another small fry looking to die?”
Ian walked into the store, the door closing behind him.
He stepped over the overturned shelves on the floor, crushing a piece of glass with a crisp sound.
He stopped about three meters away from Translucent, turning the metal pipe in his palm and gripping it tightly.
“I’ll give you a chance too.”
Translucent paused for a moment, then burst into laughter.
“A chance?
What are you going to do?
Scratch me with that mop handle?”
Ian didn’t laugh.
He looked at Translucent, at those arrogant eyes hidden behind the Carbon Skin.
“Something like that,” he said.
“I want to see how much that skin of yours is really worth.”
Translucent tilted his head, looking at Ian as if he were a mouse trying to challenge a lion.
“You’re pretty interesting.
The last guy who talked to me like that was a bank robber.
I threw him off the twentieth floor—he was still screaming when he hit the ground.
Want to give it a try?”
Ian didn’t respond.
He knew Translucent’s weakness.
The Carbon Skin was impervious to blades and bullets, but beneath that shell, the muscles, bones, and organs were just those of an ordinary person.
Translucent moved.
His form vanished completely, and the store fell silent, save for Hughie’s heavy breathing.
Ian’s eyes darted rapidly.
Left front shelf, right back counter, overhead—
Thud.
A fist slammed into his temple from the side.
The impact sent him staggering two steps to the right, his shoulder crashing into a shelf.
Several boxes of routers tumbled down, smashing onto the floor.
Ian shook his head.
“Hey, pretty tough,” Translucent’s voice came from the left, tinged with surprise but more so with mockery.
“Let’s see how many hits you can take.”