The boy nodded with difficulty, only to be shoved aside by the man in the black coat as if he were trash.
He dared not linger any longer and quickly squeezed through the crowd to escape this fierce-looking madman.
This man's name was Billy Butcher.
Butcher hated superhumans. His lifelong wish was to destroy Vought and the Seven.
To be more precise, to kill Homelander.
As for the reason, it all traced back to his wife Becca. Ever since he'd learned that she'd spent more than three hours in a room with Homelander before she disappeared, he'd been obsessed with killing that superhuman bastard.
Unfortunately, that task was hellish in difficulty.
To deal with those damned superhumans, he'd accepted the CIA's invitation to join former Director Mallory's special operations team and participate in forming the Boys—a special unit dedicated to combating superhumans.
Along the way, Butcher had put down more than one superhuman bastard. But compared to Homelander, those guys were just worthless scum.
Even now, he was still doing everything he could for revenge.
After dismissing the boy who'd been brainwashed by superhero movies, Butcher spat rudely on the pavement.
This action confirmed to those around him that the black-coated, bearded man was indeed a complete thug. They immediately moved in the opposite direction.
To avoid being accidentally hit by his next spit.
"Oi, 'scuse me, I'm talkin' to you, make way, yeah? That's right, good lad."
With mock-gentlemanly movements and a polite smile, Butcher parted the crowd, clearing a path as he walked toward the innermost group of bystanders and taxi drivers.
"Nick. His name was Nick. I knew him. He was a good guy."
"Yeah, he also had a sister who runs a drive-in restaurant. Anyone who drove there in a taxi could get a free burger for lunch."
"My God, I still can't believe something this terrible happened to him."
Taxi drivers who knew the deceased recounted what they knew, and the atmosphere at the scene was one of deep sorrow.
"Oi, lads, tears won't solve anythin'. I think we gotta do somethin' for him!"
Seeing that the time was ripe, Butcher shouted loudly and used his strong arms to squeeze into the middle of the crowd, quickly reaching the taxi drivers at the innermost part.
The drivers who were pushed behind him were completely dumbfounded.
Who the hell is this guy?
Before the taxi drivers could question him, the hairy, muscular man spoke in a highly infectious manner.
"Oh my God! Please forgive my outburst, but this is practically murder!"
"I can't even imagine how heartbroken his family must be when they see this. What was his name again?"
The taxi driver being questioned by Butcher startled when he met Butcher's fierce gaze.
He immediately replied, trembling. "Nick Mosby, sir. That's his name."
"Nick! He was our brother, an ordinary man just like us. He worked as hard as any of us, but returned to the Lord's embrace in a disgraceful way in front of everyone."
"It shouldn't be like this. His ending shouldn't be like this!"
Butcher's deep and magnetic voice, coupled with his mature appearance and the scar near his eye, made his already inflammatory words even more likely to attract attention.
Yes! He's right.
"Our brother is dead, but he cannot just die in vain!"
"Find the murderer! We need justice!"
The African American community members, who had initially been observing, quickly began echoing the sentiment. At that moment, regardless of whether they knew the deceased, skin color became the strongest bond—enough to make those young people, who were passionate if not particularly thoughtful, stand up and speak out.
"Yes! Justice! You're right!"
Butcher pointed to one of the young men who responded, his eyes full of encouragement.
With the help of this group of free amplifiers, he gained absolute control of the narrative with almost no effort.
From then on, whatever he said was right. People wouldn't think about whether there was a problem with what he said. They would just blindly follow the crowd—exactly the result he wanted.
"Someone must be held accountable for this, no matter who that person is. Even a superhero cannot disregard the law and arbitrarily kill an innocent person!"
"It's obvious that the glass that killed him came from Vought Tower. We need to get an explanation!"
"I think a true superhero would never cover up a criminal, but we need an explanation!"
"He's right! We need an explanation!"
"Yes! The righteous Homelander will help us find the culprits. We need an explanation!"
"We need an explanation!"
"We need an explanation!" ×N
As Butcher raised his arm and shouted with great enthusiasm, his high spirits resonated with a large audience. The virus spread quickly from person to person.
At that moment, most of the people present and the taxi drivers became repeating machines, leading more people to loudly chant this catchy slogan.
Driven by their perceived sense of justice, they raised the banner of righteousness and marched toward the gates of nearby Vought Tower.
Only a small portion were hotheads incited by Butcher. The rest were either looking for trouble, wanted to get into Vought Tower for free, or were holding up phones to take pictures and post them on social media to gain traffic.
Regardless of their initial intentions, the crowd grew larger and larger, forming a mighty torrent. The sound of their footsteps gradually became deafening.
Butcher, who'd caused this scene, only took two symbolic steps before turning around without hesitation and disappearing into the crowd.
The sinister smile on his lips as he left was exactly like that of a schemer who'd successfully orchestrated chaos and slipped away unscathed.
Upon seeing this, Jordan couldn't help but shake his head and chuckle.
"This guy is really a talent."
After saying that, he activated his ability and disappeared from the spot.
The duty manager on the first floor of Vought Tower, who realized something was wrong, could no longer laugh.
The middle-aged, balding manager, sweating profusely, searched for his security captain, shouting. "Chris! Close the doors! Don't let those rioters break in!"
"Yes, sir! I'm working on it!"
Security Captain Chris, running like his life depended on it, responded loudly.
Driven by his job responsibilities, he'd sensed the danger of the situation even faster than the duty manager.
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