What is the meaning of a person's existence in this world?
Night had already fallen. Joey in bed beside Clara, pondered that question.
"Where did you go all day today? I couldn't reach you no matter how hard I tried. You really worried me."
Stormfront toyed with the little curl of hair on Joey's forehead, asking casually:
"And why were you so direct today? You didn't even look at the materials anymore."
"I went to the North Pole to clear my head. Maybe there was no signal there. As for those materials—there's no need to trouble yourself finding them. I'm not interested anymore."
In truth, Joey had gone to the North Pole to look for something that belonged to him.
The Kryptonian craft that had carried him to Earth back then was less a spaceship and more an escape pod.
And in Joey's memories, there had been another Kryptonian ship that arrived on Earth along with Superman.
Superman had used that ship as the foundation to build a secret base of his own in the Arctic, filled with relics of Kryptonian history. He had named it the 'Fortress of Solitude'.
The real Superman wasn't as bright and sunny as he appeared. As an alien visitor, perhaps no one could ever truly understand him—otherwise, he wouldn't have named his sanctuary after solitude.
But relying on his unreliable super-vision, Joey had practically turned the entire Arctic ice sheet upside down and still found no trace of any Krypton spacecraft.
That made him feel that he might be even lonelier in this world than Clark Kent.
At least Clark still had his parents and Lois Lane, the relics of his homeland in the Arctic, and his companions in the Justice League. Joey, on the other hand, was now completely alone.
Joey suddenly realized that if he decided to destroy the entire Earth right now, there wouldn't even be anyone on this planet who could be used as leverage against him.
"What are you thinking about? You're not still upset about going to church today, are you?"
Stormfront gently patted Joey's back, like a mother soothing her child.
"Relax. I already told that bitch Madelyn—there won't be any more church-related crap bothering you."
Stormfront's expectations for Joey were limitless, especially after hearing that they couldn't implant anything beneath his skin. That alone was enough to convince her that Joey was just as indestructible as Homelander.
She breathed softly into Joey's ear, whispering like the serpent of Eden:
"You are the most perfect among us. You are the supreme good, the true god. They should worship you—not that imaginary god of theirs."
Seeing that Joey still remained silent, Stormfront could only sigh.
The future leader of pure humanity, the commander of the aryan superhuman army she envisioned, could not be someone so quiet, so calm, so lacking in fighting spirit.
This child still needed better guidance.
Her guidance.
Joey had never been a calm or silent person. Silent people didn't become reporters, and if he were truly calm, he wouldn't have chosen a job where he could get shot at any moment.
He had approached Vought and Stormfront in the first place simply because they had ready-made resources that could help him find the documents he needed. He had never intended to fulfill Clara's expectations.
Especially since those expectations felt deeply wrong. That day, when the word 'ubermensch' had slipped out of Clara's mouth, he had looked it up in several major European language dictionaries and discovered it was the German word for superman.
Was this really a legitimate company? Or was it some Hydra-like organization? And how much did the superheroes associated with it actually know?
Joey's long-dormant professional instincts suddenly stirred. He began to wonder whether he should investigate this more carefully.
Just then, Clara, who was holding him, tapped him on the head.
"What is going on in that head of yours? You haven't said a word all day!"
Joey lifted his head. A spark of resolve flickered in his eyes.
"I was just thinking… maybe I should do something beneficial to this world. Something right."
"Of course! You're Superman—you're always right! You can do anything you want for this world!"
Stormfront laughed softly. She turned around and straddled Joey as the bedsheet slipped away, leaving their bodies fully exposed.
"But it's already so late. Why don't we do something else first?"
Joey felt that sometimes, Stormfront did make a bit of sense. Investigating Vought could wait until another day.
---
If there was anything more troublesome than disposing of a body after killing someone, it was disposing of a body after killing a supe.
And what could be even worse?
The supe you were planning to dispose of wasn't even dead.
Hughie had been panicking, thinking he'd killed someone, but the moment he realized Translucent wasn't dead, he let out a huge sigh of relief. At least things weren't completely irreversible yet.
"Is something wrong with your brain, Hughie?"
Butcher's view was far more rational.
"We have to kill him now. He's seen our faces."
"But… we could talk to him…"
Hughie was still just an ordinary person. The mere thought of killing someone made him instinctively resist.
[Yeah, talk to him. Then let him go. He'll go back and tell the other supes—like A-Train—and then you'll end up torn to pieces just like Robin.]
Hearing Robin's name brought up again and again, reopening that wound, Hughie's anger finally exploded. He yelled at Butcher:
"Don't you dare talk about my girlfriend again! You FBI-impersonating asshole!"
Butcher turned back with a cigarette in his mouth, looking innocent, as if the pressure had driven Hughie to hallucinations.
"I didn't say a word just now, Hughie."
He was already thinking about who could help him deal with the bastard in his trunk.
Ah—there actually was one.
A weapons expert, a chemistry specialist, his former teammate: Frenchie.
With that thought, Butcher slammed the accelerator and sped toward Frenchie's place.
"I'm not your buddy and get the fuck off my turf!"
Frenchie had been just about to get intimate with his live-in lover when Butcher showed up. His plans ruined and greeted by that familiar face, it was hard to be in a good mood.
"Come on. Get over here."
Butcher waved him over with a "let me show you something good" expression, leading him to the trunk.
Frenchie thought Butcher had finally grown a conscience and was here to repay a large debt he owed. He jogged over eagerly—then saw a semi-transparent figure inside the trunk.
And it was talking.
"You dumb fucks—I've memorized your faces. When Homelander finds me, I'll kill all of you. Your families. Your friends—AAAAAH!"
A chill shot from Frenchie's heels straight up to his scalp.
That was Translucent—one of the Seven.
"Butcher, I swear to god—!"
Butcher had just used a stun baton to knock Translucent out again. He then looked smugly at the furious Frenchie.
"Welcome aboard, my friend. It's time to do something right."
---
Starlight had always had a dream since childhood—to become an idol… no, wait—to become a hero.
Her path to heroism had already stepped onto the shining avenue of stardom, just one step away from her childhood dream—only to be overtaken by someone with connections.
That spot in the world's strongest superhero team, the Seven, her ultimate dream since childhood, had been ripped from her hands just like that.
"Sometimes, being a hero doesn't require standing under the spotlight."
Stan Edgar, the most powerful man in Vought, met with Starlight under Black Noir's escort. He offered her a deal she couldn't refuse.
"I'm sorry you lost your place in the Seven, but I promise you this is only temporary. When the time is right, I'll put you back where all eyes are on you. But…"
Here it comes.
Starlight wasn't as naive as she appeared. Her desire to become a hero and help others was genuine, but that didn't mean she didn't understand the world.
As long as she wanted that spot in the Seven, she had no choice but to accept whatever conditions the man in front of her proposed.
The only question was—what price was she willing to pay?
"What's the matter?"
Stan Edgar, an old fox, naturally understood the faint displeasure on the young girl's face.
He merely raised a hand. Black Noir brought over a stack of documents, which Edgar handed to her.
"Just like I said—standing in the spotlight doesn't define a hero."
Starlight flipped through a few pages. They were unsolved cases—mostly missing children. She looked up, confused.
"This is…?"
"An opportunity to help others. I can provide funding, technology, and intelligence support. A secret base. Supercomputers. Identity cover—everything."
"You'll unravel mysteries thread by thread, like Tek Knight."
Stan Edgar's voice remained steady, devoid of emotion, yet irresistibly persuasive.
"Consider this a test. If you really manage to solve these cold cases, you'll be a hero to all of America."
"That's far beyond the honor of a beauty pageant. No one will be able to stop you from joining the Seven. But I'll warn you in advance—these cases are extremely difficult."
No matter how difficult, it couldn't be worse than slinking back to her hometown in Iowa with her tail between her legs. Having her qualification revoked had already sent her mother into a rage.
Giving up now was something she could never explain to the woman who had poured her heart and soul into her.
At the very least, this was a sliver of hope.
And thank goodness—the thing she would be doing was, undeniably, the right thing.