“The time has dragged on too long.” Ian looked out the window as the factory building grew smaller in the rearview mirror.
“Translucent has been missing for over twenty-four hours.
Vought’s tracking might not be precise, but their crime analysis department will definitely narrow down the search area.
We need to leave this area within ten minutes.”
Butcher gripped the steering wheel and glanced at Ian through the rearview mirror.
“You seem quite familiar with their procedures.”
“Taught in college,” Ian said.
“Crisis management class.
If an active hero goes missing for over 24 hours, the tracking chip enters emergency mode.
Over 48 hours, it gets reported directly to management.”
Hughie, sitting in the passenger seat, looked horrified.
“Then is it still too late for us to leave now?”
“Maybe not,” Ian replied.
“As long as he doesn’t see us directly.”
Butcher jerked the steering wheel, and the car swerved into a narrow alley.
Ian looked up through the window at the sky.
The clouds were thick, but beneath them, a shadow was moving.
It circled within a ten-block radius centered on the last known location of Translucent’s tracker, like a vulture searching for carrion.
Ian narrowed his eyes.
His LV3 Super Physique enhanced his vision—though not to the level of Super Vision, his ability to track movement at night was far superior to an ordinary person’s.
He could make out the silhouette of the shadow.
A red cape, a blue uniform, the star on its chest occasionally glinting under the moonlight.
“He’s here,” Ian said.
Butcher slammed on the brakes.
The car skidded half a meter in the alley, stopping behind a pile of discarded tires.
“Who?” Hughie asked.
“Homelander,” Ian answered.
“He’s at least twenty minutes faster than we expected.”
Butcher turned off the engine, rolled down the window, and listened carefully.
Faint police sirens echoed in the distance, still several blocks away.
He looked up at the sky but saw nothing.
“How do you know?” Butcher asked.
“Look up,” Ian pointed at the clouds.
“He’s circling.
He has Super Hearing.
Maybe he heard the explosion.”
Frenchie’s expression changed.
He glanced toward the factory building, then back at Ian.
“The C4 was so quiet, through the walls—”
“Not quiet enough for him,” Ian cut him off.
“His hearing can pick up sounds from three miles away.”
The car fell silent.
Hughie’s breathing grew shallow, as if afraid to disturb something.
Frenchie turned from the passenger seat.
“What do we do now?” Frenchie asked.
“There are still body fragments in the factory.
The foil can block the signal, but he can see through walls.”
Butcher pulled a shotgun from under the seat and checked the chamber.
“I’ll go back.
Deal with the body.
You all drive away.”
“Too late,” Ian said.
“It’ll take three minutes to get back to the factory, five minutes to clean up.
He can fly here in thirty seconds.”
“Then what the hell do we do?” Butcher’s voice rose.
“Sit in the car and wait?
Wait for him to find the pile of minced meat and trace it back to us?” The source of this chapter is g.com.
Ian watched the shadow in the sky.
It descended, hovering above the block where the factory was located.
Moonlight shone on him, his red cape fluttering slightly.
Ian tapped his fingers twice on his knee.
He spoke: “Frenchie, how much explosive do you have left?”
“That’s all the C4 we had, gone,” Frenchie said.
“The rest is with my girlfriend.
I’ll contact her now, should be able to get it sorted within five minutes.”
“Five minutes is too long,” Butcher said.
“So someone needs to stall him,” Ian said.
Butcher turned his head, looking directly at Ian.
“Stall Homelander?” Butcher repeated, as if confirming he hadn’t misheard.
“You?
With what?
Your fists?”
“With this,” Ian pointed to his mouth.
“And my brain.”
Butcher stared at Ian for five seconds.
Then he laughed.
“Now I’m starting to like you, kid,” Butcher said.
“Though I think you’re walking to your death.”
“I won’t die,” Ian pushed the car door open.
“But I need you to hurry.
Frenchie, go prepare your explosives.
Find a distant spot to set them off, draw his attention.”
“What about you?” Hughie asked.
“I’m going to have a friendly meet-and-greet with him,” Ian said.
“Hughie, looks like you’ll have to come with me to deal with the body, unless you want to see your Supe bodyguard on Vought’s news tomorrow,” Butcher called out to Hughie.
Ian got out of the car, closed the door, and patted his pockets—only a phone and a folding knife bought from a convenience store.
The knife was useless against Homelander, but the phone could be useful.
Ian turned and walked toward Homelander’s direction.
The car turned around in the alley and sped back toward the factory.
He reached the end of the block where the factory was, stopping under a still-lit streetlight.
He pulled out his phone from his pocket, turned on the front camera, and checked his face.
There was a bruise on his temple, left from his earlier fight with Translucent.
Good.
It made him look like a victim, or a witness.
He took a deep breath and looked up.
Homelander hovered fifty meters in the air, his red cape fluttering in the night wind.
He looked down at the ground, his ears twitching slightly, as if capturing every faint sound.
Ian quickly ran nearby, raised his right hand, and waved at him.
“Hey!
Superhero up there!
Sir!
Need some help!”
Homelander’s head turned.
His gaze fell on Ian, and Ian felt an invisible pressure descend from above as Homelander slowly descended, hands clasped behind his back.
“Who are you?”
“Oh my god, Homelander, please forgive me for not recognizing you earlier.
You know, you were flying too high for me to see clearly,” Ian panted, as if he had just finished running.
“Sir, I was out for a night jog around here when I heard a muffled sound over there,” he pointed toward the factory.
“Like an explosion, or something collapsing.
I was about to go check it out when a few people rushed out, driving a gray Honda, and almost ran me over.
They…
they also snatched my backpack.” Get faster updates on g.com.
Homelander’s eyes narrowed.
His Super Hearing was active, scanning Ian’s heartbeat, breathing, blood pressure.
“How many people?” Homelander asked.
“Three, or four,” Ian’s voice trembled with lingering fear.
“It was too dark, I couldn’t see clearly.
One was very tall, and another was a thin Black guy, carrying something like a toolbox.”
Homelander didn’t respond immediately.
He turned his head toward the factory, his ears twitching again.
He was listening.
Listening to the sounds inside the factory, the water flowing in the sewers, the footsteps of rats scurrying across the floor.
Ian’s heart rate remained at 130 beats per minute.
For a night runner who had just been robbed, this was a normal heart rate.
The second skill he had learned at the orphanage:
When lying, first deceive yourself.
“Which way did they go?” Homelander asked, turning his head back.
“Seems like they headed toward the nearby docks,” Ian said.
“I saw them turn onto Route 278, heading west.
Sir, are they terrorists?
My student ID and wallet are still in my bag.”
“Why did you call me?” Homelander interrupted him, his voice carrying a hint of scrutiny.
“You should have called the police.
Or the Vought hotline.”
“I did!” Ian pulled out his phone, swiped open the screen, and showed the dialing interface, which indeed displayed several unanswered emergency calls.
“The hotline was busy, and 911 kept putting me on hold.
Then I saw you flying in the sky…
I thought a superhero could help me.
When I realized it was Homelander, I was so excited—after all, you’re America’s pride, the strongest superhero.”
Homelander stared at him for two seconds.
Ian’s gaze didn’t waver, shining with the mix of fear and anticipation a young person might have upon seeing a savior.
Homelander nodded.
The nod was slight, as if acknowledging Ian’s cooperation.
“Stay put,” Homelander said.
“If I find out you’re lying…”
“I won’t leave!” Ian hurriedly said.
“I can wait for you to come back, help me file a report or something.
I…
I just want my bag back.”
The corners of Homelander’s mouth lifted slightly, revealing eight teeth, perfect as if from a toothpaste commercial.
“Good,” Homelander said.
“Thank you for providing the information, citizen.
Vought will—”
Homelander’s smile suddenly vanished.
Before the nod was fully complete, his mouth tightened, his pupils contracted, and the whites of his eyes began to redden.
“Your heart rate is too steady,” Homelander said.
His voice dropped in temperature, as if plunging from room temperature straight into an ice cellar.
He moved half a meter forward, now less than a meter away from Ian.
The oppressive force felt like a tangible wall pushing Ian back.
“A night runner who was just robbed would indeed have a fast heart rate, but not consistently this fast,” Homelander said, the red in his eyes growing brighter.
“You’re controlling it.
You’re training yourself.
You’re no ordinary student.”
“Sir, I don’t understand—”
“You don’t need to understand,” Homelander interrupted him.
His eyes had completely turned crimson red.
“When I sever your limbs and take you back to Vought Tower for interrogation, everything will become clear.”