“I heard everything just now.”
Starlight’s clear voice carried an edge of caution.
“Are you actually trying to help them, or are you just tearing them apart?”
The question lingered in the office, heavy with undisguised scrutiny.
Lynn lifted his gaze from the computer monitor, looking calmly at the young woman in the doorway.
She was wearing the revealing redesign of the Starlight uniform that the PR department had forced upon her, her face marked by a stubborn bewilderment that clashed sharply with the exploitative outfit.
Lynn did not answer right away.
Instead, he tapped his fingers lightly against the edge of the desk, then glanced up toward the miniature surveillance camera nestled in the corner of the ceiling.
“Miss Starlight,” Lynn said softly, his voice low yet perfectly distinct.
“If you genuinely wish to discuss matters of that nature, I suggest we relocate to a room devoid of cameras and microphones.”
Starlight froze.
Following his gaze upward, she finally noticed the discreet piece of surveillance equipment seamlessly integrated into the molding.
A chill crept up her spine.
She had assumed this was merely an ordinary therapist’s office, never realizing that her every gesture and word were already being recorded.
Yet the man before her seemed to have known from the very beginning.
He was no oblivious Vought employee.
He was entirely aware of the cage surrounding him.
Lynn stood, straightened his suit jacket, and walked directly toward the door.
“Follow me.”
Starlight hesitated for a fraction of a second before falling into step behind him.
Lynn did not lead her anywhere conspicuous.
Instead, he guided her down the corridor to an old, largely forgotten conference room.
A fine layer of dust coated the surfaces, and the chairs sat scattered at random angles.
The room had clearly been abandoned for months.
“This place is relatively secure,” Lynn said, closing the door behind them.
“Now, ask what you came to ask.”
Starlight took a deep breath, forcing herself to steady her nerves.
“What you said to The Deep… why did you do that?” she demanded.
“That didn’t look like psychological counseling. It felt like… an execution.”
“Is that so?” Lynn’s tone remained flat, devoid of emotion.
“From Vought’s perspective, so long as Mr. Deep ceases humiliating himself before the media, the counseling is deemed an unqualified success.”
“So you’re just carrying out Vought’s orders?” Disappointment seeped into her tone.
“Hardly,” Lynn said with a shake of his head.
“Vought has no interest in their mental health. What they require are marketable commodities that can look good on camera, drive ticket sales, and secure brand endorsements. My assignment is simply to ensure that these ‘commodities’ do not spontaneously combust from their own psychological rot before their expiration dates.”
The metaphor was ruthless and devastatingly accurate, leaving Starlight momentarily speechless.
“I have reviewed every single psychological profile in your unit,” Lynn continued.
“This so-called Seven is no team of heroes; it is a powder keg. And I am merely the technician dispatched to inspect the fuse.”
Starlight stared at him, the hostility in her gaze waning slightly, replaced by an even deeper confusion.
To her, Lynn was an enigma.
He was nominally an operative within Vought’s machine, yet he operated completely detached from it, observing the entire enterprise with the clinical detachment of a spectator.
“Put The Deep out of your mind,” Lynn said, shifting the subject abruptly.
“He is a trivial nuisance. I am far more curious about you.”
“Me?” Starlight stiffened, her defenses rising.
“Yes, you.” Lynn met her gaze head-on.
“Annie January. Joining The Seven was your lifelong dream. Tell me, now that you’ve achieved it, what was the precise moment that shattered that dream the most?”
The question struck like a key slipping without warning into the lock of Starlight’s soul.
Her breath hitched.
What flashed through her mind was not a single isolated incident, but an avalanche of degradation, disillusionment, and despair.
The sickening proposition The Deep had forced upon her the very first day she stepped into the Seven Tower.
The PR manager’s cold, non-negotiable ultimatum when forcing her into this degrading costume.
The paralyzing agony of watching Homelander treat human lives like disposable trash while she stood by, powerless to intervene.
The sacred sanctuary she had envisioned was nothing more than a gilded cesspool.
A long silence passed before Starlight found her voice, her eyes darting away from Lynn’s steady gaze.
“I used to… I used to believe it was all real.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with a fragile vulnerability.
“You’re mistaken,” Lynn said quietly, piercing straight through her melancholy.
Starlight snapped her head up, staring at him in bewilderment.
Lynn enunciated every syllable with lethal precision: “What truly broke you was not discovering that heroes are a lie. It was discovering that your most sincere, untainted faith—the ideal you nurtured since childhood—was slapped with a barcode, set upon a corporate shelf, and sold as merchandise.”
The words struck like a bolt of lightning, tearing through the suffocating fog in Starlight’s mind.
All the torment and agonizing struggles she had endured, all the humiliations she could never voice to another living soul, were captured in that single sentence.
It wasn’t merely deception.
It was desecration.
[Mild emotional fluctuation detected from target ‘Starlight’!]
[Defense-Break Points +15!]
[Reward: Light Energy Affinity Fragment × 1.] Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
A subtle sensation stirred within Lynn’s body.
He could suddenly perceive the artificial lighting in the room with unprecedented clarity, feeling the faint, humming energy carried within the illumination.
He maintained his composed exterior, but inwardly, he noted the confirmation.
Starlight was another prime source of rewards.
After a long stretch of silence, Starlight looked at him again, reevaluating the man before her.
She realized she could not read him at all.
“Who… who are you, really?” she could not help but ask.
“Lynn. Temporary psychological consultant for Vought International.” He delivered the official line without hesitation.
Starlight knew she would get nothing more from him.
As she reached the doorway to leave, she paused.
Steeling her resolve, she turned back and asked in a low whisper:
“If… if one day, I decide to tell the world the whole truth about Vought, would you try to stop me?”
Lynn looked into her eyes, which were filled with both terror and an unyielding ember of hope.
He gave no simple yes or no.
“Before I ever tried to stop you, I would ask you a single question,” Lynn replied, his tone chillingly calm.
“Have you figured out how you intend to stay alive once the words leave your mouth?”
Starlight’s heart contracted violently.
The question carried far more weight than any direct threat ever could.
Without another word, she pulled the door open and hurried away down the hall.
Lynn remained in the empty, dusty conference room.
Closing his eyes, he savored the faint current of power circulating within him.
The board was growing increasingly complicated.
Not only did he have to manage Homelander—a walking nuclear warhead ready to detonate at any moment—while evading Vought’s omnipresent surveillance, but he had now also entangled himself with a pivotal future asset of The Boys.
Just as he prepared to leave, the phone in his pocket buzzed.
Lynn retrieved the device.
It was a text from an unregistered number.
No greeting.
No signature.
Just a single, chilling line of text.
“Stay away from that girl.”
“You have no idea what Vought does to traitors.”