Chapter 21: Group Photo
"No," the makeup artist said, packing up his tools. "I just don't like being watched."
He picked up his makeup kit and walked toward the door.
"By the way," he stopped. "The Deep isn't coming to the shoot today. He said he's feeling under the weather. But Translucent is here. Be careful—Translucent likes to stand behind people and watch them change."
The door closed.
The studio was already full of people. The photographer, lighting technicians, props master, script supervisor, Ashley, and her PR team. The lights were already set, and a virtual city nightscape was projected onto the backdrop—the outline of Vought Tower glowing in the distance, with the Manhattan skyline in the foreground.
Starlight stood in front of the backdrop, ready. She was wearing her white skirt uniform, her blonde hair curled into large waves, and her makeup was heavier than usual, with bright red lips.
Lu Ren walked over and stood beside her.
"You look very beautiful today," he said.
Starlight glanced at him, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly, but she didn't smile.
"Don't say things like that," she lowered her voice. "There are at least three people here who are Homelander's eyes and ears."
"Which three?"
"The one holding the reflector, the one standing behind the camera, and the one crouching in the corner drinking water."
Lu Ren didn't look back, just nodded.
Ashley walked over, holding a tablet, her high heels clicking sharply against the floor.
"Today's shoot theme is 'The Passing of the Torch'," she said. "Starlight, you're the senior, so you're in charge of leading. Lu Ren, you're the new guy, so you're in charge of—uh—looking good."
"Looking good?" Lu Ren repeated.
"Yes," Ashley said, her expression serious. "Just stand there and look good. Your face is your greatest weapon. Market research shows that seventy-two percent of female viewers felt a connection the first time they saw you. Thirty-one percent of male viewers did too."
"How was this data obtained?"
"Focus group interviews," Ashley flipped through her tablet. "We selected four hundred representatives nationwide and showed them your photo. The question was: 'Would you be willing to be saved by this person?' Eighty-nine percent of them answered yes."
"Not because of my powers?"
"Of course it's because of your powers," Ashley smiled, "but your face is also important. Homelander's face is the 'he can save me' type; your face is the 'I want to be saved' type. This is differentiated positioning."
Starlight coughed from the side.
"Alright, let's get started," Ashley clapped her hands. "Photographer, lighting, get ready. First set—Lu Ren solo, half-body, I need that 'I'm watching you' look."
The cameras began to roll.
Lu Ren stood in front of the backdrop, adjusting his pose according to the photographer's instructions. Chin up, chin down, profile, front-facing, smile, no smile, look at the lens, don't look at the lens. The shutter clicks rang out rapidly, like rain.
"Very good! Very good! Fantastic! Next set!" The photographer was a balding middle-aged man whose voice was so loud it sounded like he was yelling, but the content was all praise.
The second set was a group photo of Lu Ren and Starlight.
Starlight stood to his left, her right hand resting on his shoulder, her left hand on her hip. The photographer had them move closer, then closer still, until their shoulders touched.
Starlight's body was stiff. Lu Ren could feel her muscles tensed tight, like a rubber band stretched to its limit.
"Relax," he said in a low voice.
"I am relaxing," Starlight squeezed the words through her teeth.
"Your shoulder is like a rock."
"That's because you're treating my shoulder like a rock."
The photographer shouted "Good!", and Starlight immediately stepped away, as if burned.
"Last set!" the photographer said. "Lu Ren solo, dynamic shot—you jump down from up high, and when you land, unleash your lightning. We'll use a high-speed camera for slow motion."
Lu Ren climbed up to the second-floor platform of the studio, about five meters high.
"Jump!" the photographer shouted.
He jumped.
In mid-air, he released the lightning from within his body. Silver-white arcs of electricity exploded from the surface of his skin, like a flower suddenly blooming. The high-speed camera captured every detail—how the arcs were born from his fingertips, how they crawled along his arms, and how, the moment he landed, they poured onto the ground like a waterfall.
Bang!
He landed, and the floor beneath his feet cracked in several places.
The studio was silent for a second, then erupted into applause.
"That was fucking amazing!" The photographer put down his camera, his face flushed with excitement. "This is the best hero shot I've ever taken! Even Homelander has never produced an effect like this!"
Lu Ren stood up and brushed the dust off himself.
Starlight stood in the corner, arms crossed, watching him.
Her expression was complex.
After the shoot, Lu Ren returned to the makeup room to remove his makeup. The French makeup artist with pink hair appeared again, applied a layer of special oil-based makeup remover to his face, and then wiped it off bit by bit with a wet wipe.
"Are you free this afternoon?" the makeup artist suddenly asked.
"What's up?"
"I have a friend who wants to see you," the makeup artist lowered his voice. "He's not from Vought International. He's a... freelancer. He has some information that might be useful to you."
"What information?"
"About Translucent," the makeup artist wiped his hands. "He wants to know Translucent's daily route, schedule, where he goes, and who he meets."
Lu Ren looked at himself in the mirror. The makeup was gone, and his face had returned to that ordinary, unmade-up appearance.
"What's your friend's name?"
"Hughie," the makeup artist said. "Hughie Campbell."
Lu Ren's heart skipped a beat.
Hughie Campbell. The protagonist of The Boys, the ordinary guy who joined Butcher's team after being traumatized by his girlfriend's death in a car accident in the opening of the first season. The kind, naive Hughie who was always wearing a plaid shirt.
He was still alive. His girlfriend—
"What happened to his girlfriend?" Lu Ren asked.
The makeup artist's expression darkened.
"Last week, Translucent was chasing a robber on the street and didn't look ahead while phasing through a wall. When he passed through, Hughie's girlfriend just happened to be standing in that spot. Translucent passed right through her body." The makeup artist's voice was very soft. "She died on the spot."
"What did Translucent say?"
"He said he 'didn't see her'." The makeup artist's tone was filled with suppressed anger. "Vought International paid Hughie a sum of money and had him sign a non-disclosure agreement. But Hughie didn't accept it. He wants to make Translucent pay."
Lu Ren was silent for a few seconds.
"Where is he?"
"Four o'clock this afternoon, Midtown Manhattan, at the intersection of 53rd Street and 3rd Avenue, a burger joint called 'Bunz'." The makeup artist shoved a note into Lu Ren's hand. "Wear casual clothes, and don't tell anyone."
He picked up his makeup kit and walked out of the room.
3:00 PM, Queens.
The abandoned factory base.
Butcher stood at a long table with a huge map of the Soviet Union spread out in front of him. Several circles were drawn on the map with a red marker, marking different coordinates. MM sat at a computer, typing rapidly. Kimiko sat in the corner, cleaning what looked like an antique rifle. Dr. Vogelbaum was still tied to the iron chair, looking more haggard than yesterday, his eye sockets sunken and lips chapped, but his eyes were still bright—that sickly, fading brightness.
"He talked," Butcher said without pleasantries. "Soldier Boy is being held in an abandoned Soviet Union military base on the Kola Peninsula. The coordinates are 68 degrees north latitude, 33 degrees east longitude. That place is now under the jurisdiction of the Federal Security Service of Russia, and the base is codenamed 'Deep Freeze-6'."
"Deep Freeze-6?" Lu Ren walked up to the map. "Sounds like a brand of popsicle."
"It's not a popsicle," MM said without looking up. "It's the codename for a superhero research project established by the Soviet Union during the Cold War. Their goal was to create super soldiers capable of rivaling Homelander. Soldier Boy was their only successful subject."
"The Soviet Union spent decades studying Soldier Boy's cells, trying to replicate his powers," Dr. Vogelbauminterjected, his voice raspy but speaking quickly. "They didn't fully succeed, but they didn't fully fail either. They created some... semi-finished products. Their powers were unstable, their lifespans were very short, but they were very powerful. Most of those semi-finished products are already dead, but some might still be alive, locked up in the same base."
Butcher looked at Lu Ren.
"I need you to take a trip to Russia."
Lu Ren thought he had misheard.
"Me go to Russia?"
"Yes," Butcher picked up an envelope from the table and threw it to Lu Ren. "Passport, visa, plane ticket. Flight tomorrow afternoon, from Newark to Moscow, connecting to Murmansk. Once you arrive in Murmansk, someone will pick you up and drive you to the Kola Peninsula. You need to find Soldier Boy's cryo-chamber, confirm if he's still alive, and if he is—bring him back."
"By myself?"
"By yourself," Butcher said. "Your powers are best suited for this kind of thing. You're fast, destructive, and you can fly, so you don't need to rely on Russia's shitty roads."
"I don't speak Russian."
"There will be a translator when you get there," Butcherpulled a photo out of the envelope. "This guy's name is Mikhail, a former Soviet Union KGB agent, now working in private security. He will be waiting for you at Murmanskairport."
Lu Ren looked at the person in the photo—an old man in his sixties, with graying hair, a scar running from his forehead to his chin, and a fierce look in his eyes.
"Is this guy reliable?"
"He's not reliable," Butcher said. "But he's been paid. In Russia, money is more reliable than faith."
Lu Ren put the photo back into the envelope.
"When do I leave?"
"The flight is at 3:50 PM tomorrow," Butcher checked his watch. "You have twenty-four hours to prepare. Don't tell anyone where you're going. If anyone asks, just say you went back to your hometown to visit relatives."
"I don't have a hometown."
"Then say you went to see the Northern Lights," Butcherwaved his hand impatiently. "Make up an excuse. Aren't you pretty good at making things up?"
Lu Ren tucked the envelope into his inner jacket pocket.
"What about Dr. Vogelbaum?"
"He's not going anywhere," Butcher glanced at the old man tied to the chair. "He'll stay here until you get back. If the coordinates he gave are correct, I might consider not killing him. If the coordinates are wrong—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Dr. Vogelbaum closed his eyes and said nothing.
Lu Ren turned to leave.
"No," Kimiko suddenly spoke up.
Kimiko stood up from the corner and walked over to Lu Ren.
She signed, "I'm going."
Butcher frowned: "No."
Kimiko looked at Butcher, her hands moving quickly: "You said he needs help. Going alone is dangerous. I can speak Russian. My mother is Russian."
Butcher was silent for a few seconds.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
Kimiko signed, "I'm sure."
Butcher looked at MM, who shrugged. He looked at Lu Renagain.
"Take her with you," Butcher said, "but don't let her die."
Chapter 22: Searching for Soldier Boy
"I won't die," Kimiko signed.
"I'm talking to him, not you," Butcher pointed at Lu Ren. "If she loses a single hair, I'll shove your lightning up—"
"Got it," Lu Ren interrupted him.
He walked out of the factory gate, with Kimiko following behind.
The sunlight outside was blinding, and the air in Queenssmelled of burnt rubber.
Kimiko stood up from the corner, slung the antique rifle over her shoulder, and walked up to Lu Ren.
She signed: I'm going.
Butcher frowned: "No."
Kimiko looked at Butcher and quickly signed with both hands: You said he needs help. Going alone is dangerous. I speak Russian. My mom was Russian.
Lu Ren didn't press for more details.
"See you at Newark Airport at two tomorrow afternoon," he said.
"Okay."
Lu Ren turned into lightning and vanished into the sky over Queens.
Kimiko stood at the factory gate, looking up at the direction where the silver-white arc had disappeared, the corners of her mouth curling slightly.
4:00 PM, Midtown Manhattan.
Bunz Burgers was located on the ground floor of an old office building, with a tiny storefront sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a cannabis dispensary.
There weren't many customers in the shop, mostly delivery riders and nearby office workers.
The air was filled with the aroma of fried food and an indescribable cloying sweetness—likely chemical agents from the dry cleaner seeping through the ventilation ducts.
When Lu Ren pushed the door open, a young man wearing a green plaid shirt and black-rimmed glasses stood up from a booth in the farthest corner.
Hughie Campbell.
He looked younger than Lu Ren had expected, maybe twenty-five or twenty-six, thin, with narrow shoulders, like a boy who hadn't fully grown yet.
He had deep dark circles under his eyes, chapped lips, and messy hair, looking like he hadn't slept in days.
"You are—" Hughie's voice trembled slightly, "You're Silver Lightning?"
"Lu Ren," Lu Ren extended his hand. "Sit down and talk."
Hughie sat back in the booth, placing his hands on the table, his fingers constantly intertwining, separating, intertwining, separating.
"I know who you are," Hughie said. "I know you just joined The Seven, you're their rookie, you took photos standing with Homelander. But that makeup artist friend told me you were different. He said you... he said you might be willing to help me."
"Help you with what?"
Hughie took a deep breath, pulled a phone from his pocket, unlocked it, and pushed it toward Lu Ren.
On the screen was a surveillance video. The image quality was clear—it was footage from a street corner camera. The timestamp showed last Thursday at 2:13 PM.
The street was bustling with people. A young woman was standing in front of a crosswalk waiting for the red light, holding a cup of coffee in her hand with a canvas bag slung over her shoulder.
She turned her head, as if talking to someone behind her—likely Hughie, who was off-screen.
Then, Translucent appeared.
Not "appeared," but "manifested." He walked out of the wall of a building—or rather, in the process of walking out, his body gradually became visible from transparency, like a glass sculpture taking shape.
He wasn't looking where he was going. His gaze was directed elsewhere, as if chasing someone.
He passed through the young woman's body.
Not hit. Passed through. His body went through hers like an invisible knife slicing through butter.
The young woman's body stiffened for a moment, then went limp. The coffee cup dropped to the ground, splashing coffee everywhere. The canvas bag slid down to her arm. She collapsed to the ground, motionless.
Translucent stopped, glanced back, and then continued chasing after someone.
In the footage, Hughie rushed into the frame. He knelt beside the woman, cradled her head, his mouth wide open—he was screaming, but the surveillance video had no sound.
The video ended.
Hughie took the phone back from the table and placed it face down.
"Her name was Robin," he said, his voice raspy. "We'd been together for four years. We were planning to get married next year."
Lu Ren didn't know what to say. Any language was pale in the face of something like this.
"Translucent said he didn't see her." Hughie looked up, his eyes red but tearless. "Vought International said it was an 'unfortunate accident,' paid me off, and made me sign a non-disclosure agreement. But they didn't do anything. Translucent is still in The Seven, still shooting commercials, still on TV. He killed someone and just went on with his life, as if nothing happened."
"You want him to pay the price," Lu Ren said.
"I want him dead." Hughie's voice was calm, so calm that it didn't sound like he was talking about something extreme. "I want him to know he killed someone. I want him to feel what I feel every day."
Lu Ren was silent for a moment.
"Why did you come to me?"
"Because you're the only one who might help me," Hughiesaid. "I talked to Butcher. He said unless I could provide useful information, he didn't want to see me. I know a lot about Translucent—his habits, his routes, when he leaves every day, when he gets home. I staked out Vought Towerfor a week and wrote down all his patterns. Butcher said this information was useful, but he said he didn't trust me because I was 'too emotional.'"
Hughie looked into Lu Ren's eyes.
"I'm not emotional. I just want to do one thing."
Lu Ren pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time. 4:20 PM.
"You said you know Translucent's route," he said. "Write it down. Addresses, times, details. The more detailed, the better."
Hughie took a notebook out of his backpack, flipped to the middle pages, tore them out, and handed them to Lu Ren.
He had already written it down.
The handwriting was very neat, stroke by stroke like a primary school student practicing calligraphy.
Lu Ren scanned it—Translucent left Vought Tower every day at 10:00 AM, walked to a cafe three blocks away, sat for forty minutes, then returned the same way. He went to the gym on Wednesday afternoons, and to an underground poker game on Friday nights. He stayed in Vought Towerall day Sunday and didn't go out.
"How long did you stake it out?" Lu Ren asked.
"Eleven days," Hughie said. "Staked it out from 8:00 AM to 8:00 PM every day."
"Don't you have a job?"
"Laid off." Hughie gave a bitter smile. "Last month. The company said 'business restructuring,' but it was actually just cutting the whole department. I was planning to go on a trip with Robin to relax. Now—"
He didn't continue.
Lu Ren folded the notebook paper and put it in his pocket.
"I'll give this to Butcher," he said. "But I cannot guarantee anything."
"I know." Hughie nodded. "Thank you for listening."
Lu Ren stood up.
"Hughie."
"Yeah?"
"About Robin. It wasn't your fault."
Hughie lowered his head and didn't answer.
Lu Ren turned and walked out of the burger shop.
Standing on the street, he took a deep breath. The air in Manhattan always carried an indescribable, mixed scent—car exhaust, onions from hot dog stands, high-end perfume, the stench of sewers. All these scents mixed together, that was the smell of this city.
He remembered what Abigail said when she came out from underground: "The smell of the outside."
Smelling the outside air for the first time in forty years, she said it was "the smell of the outside."
Robin would never smell tomorrow's air again.
Lu Ren pushed the thought down and walked toward the nearest subway station.
He needed to go back to Vought Tower.
Needed to pack his luggage.
Needed to make up an excuse about going to see the aurora.
And, needed to tell Starlight.
Not because he had to, but because he didn't want her to hear it from someone else.
---
On the day of departure, New York had its first rain since the beginning of autumn.
Lu Ren stood at the entrance of the international departures hall at Newark Airport, watching the rain flow down from the eaves, gathering into a muddy little stream on the ground.
He didn't have an umbrella. The rain fell on him, deflected by the static field on his skin, forming a transparent, invisible barrier over his shoulders and head.
Nearby travelers looked at him strangely—a young man standing in the rain, without a single drop of water on him.
Kimiko got out of a taxi, carrying a black hiking backpack, wearing an army green windbreaker, her hair tucked into a beanie.
She walked up to Lu Ren and looked him up and down.
Chapter 23: Superhero
Lu Ren looked down at his clothes—a black hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. The standard attire for autumn in New York.
"What's wrong?"
"Murmansk is minus fifteen degrees," Kimiko signed. "You'll know when you get there."
They walked into the terminal. There was a long line at the check-in counter, mostly business travelers and Russians returning home. Kimiko spoke a few words to the agent in fluent Russian and got two window seats.
At security, Lu Ren's passport was scrutinized for a few extra seconds. The name on the passport was "Li Wei," and the photo was of a Chinese man who looked nothing like him. It was a fake document Butcher had procured, reportedly costing two thousand dollars, bought from a Vietnamese man in New Jersey who specialized in making fake passports for gangs.
"What are you going to Murmansk for?" the security officer asked. She was a young Black woman with a serious expression.
"To see the aurora," Lu Ren said.
The security officer glanced at him, then at the passport, and waved him through.
The boarding gate was at the far end of the terminal. They arrived an hour before boarding. Kimiko bought a bottle of water and a pack of crackers and sat on the waiting chair to eat. Lu Ren stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the tarmac outside. It was still raining, and the droplets on the aircraft fuselage were blown sideways by the wind.
His phone vibrated.
A message from Starlight: "Ashley said you took leave. Where are you going?"
Lu Ren typed back: "To see the aurora."
"You're fucking kidding me."
"For real. Back next week."
There was a silence for a few minutes. Then another message came: "Stay safe."
Lu Ren put his phone back in his pocket.
Beside him, Kimiko was chewing on a cracker, her eyes looking straight ahead. She signed: Girlfriend?
"No."
She signed: She likes you.
"Why are you just like Abigail?"
Kimiko tilted her head and signed: Who is Abigail?
Lu Ren did not answer.
It was time to board.
The plane was a Boeing 737 with narrow seats and broken screens on the back of the chairs. Lu Ren sat in the window seat, Kimiko sat in the middle, and a large Russian man sat in the aisle seat, reeking of vodka and old leather.
After the plane took off, Lu Ren pulled down the shade and closed his eyes.
There was too much clutter in his mind, so he couldn't fall asleep. He simply started counting—counting from one to a hundred, then back from a hundred to one. After three rounds, he finally drifted into a hazy sleep.
When he woke up, the plane was descending.
Outside the shade was a vast expanse of white. Not clouds, but snow. Endless snow covering the gray permafrost, like a huge, boundless cream cake.
"We're here," Kimiko signed.
The airport in Murmansk was small, so small that it only had one luggage carousel and two boarding gates. Standing in the arrival hall was a man holding a sign—the sign read "Li Wei."
Mikhail.
The scar on his face, running from his forehead to his chin, was even more shocking in person. The scar was dark red, like a dried-up river, extending from the tip of his left eyebrow to his right jawbone, slicing his face diagonally in half. His hair was whiter and thinner than in the photo, but his eyes were the same—fierce, like an aging wolf.
"Is this your friend?" Mikhail asked.
Kimiko signed: Translator. She pointed at Lu Ren and herself.
Mikhail glanced at her, nodded, and didn't ask any more questions.
They got into a gray UAZ off-road vehicle. The car's interior was crude, with wool cushions on the seats and tape on the dashboard. Mikhail started the engine, and the roar of the diesel engine sounded like a sick bear growling.
"How long does it take to drive from here to the Kola Peninsula?" Lu Ren asked.
"Five hours. If it doesn't snow," Mikhail glanced at the sky. "But it always snows here."
The car drove out of Murmansk, heading north along a narrow road. The scenery on both sides changed from city to forest, and from forest to tundra. The snow became thicker, and the sky lower, like a gray iron plate pressing down on their heads.
Mikhail drove fast; the off-road vehicle slipped on the icy road from time to time, but he was able to pull the car back from the edge of losing control every time.
"Were you in the KGB?" Lu Ren asked.
Mikhail glanced at him in the rearview mirror.
"That was a long time ago."
"What did you do in the KGB?"
"Many things." Mikhail lit a cigarette and rolled down the window a crack; the smoke was swept away by the cold wind. "I've been a spy, a killer, a bodyguard. After the Soviet Union collapsed, I did everything. Guarded doors for oligarchs, drove for gangs, worked as a tour guide for foreigners. Now, I'm just a driver who takes your money to take you where you want to go."
"Do you know what we are going there to do?"
Mikhail was silent for a while.
"I know that base," he said. "Deep Freeze-6. During the Cold War, it was one of the most secret military bases of the Soviet Union. I heard the name when I was in the KGB, but I never saw it. It is said that something is locked in that base—not a weapon, but something more terrifying than a weapon."
"What is it?"
"An American superhero." Mikhail exhaled a puff of smoke. "During the Cold War, the United States used him as a weapon. Later, they didn't want him anymore and sold him to the Soviet Union. The Soviets locked him underground on the Kola Peninsula and studied him for thirty years. Now—I don't know what he is now. Maybe he's still alive, maybe he's just a corpse that has been frozen for forty years."
Kimiko turned her head from the passenger seat and glanced at Lu Ren.
Lu Ren had no expression.
The car had been driving for three hours, and it was completely dark. There were no streetlights on the road, only the two headlights of the off-road vehicle cutting two beams of light through the darkness. The snow was falling harder, and visibility was less than twenty meters.
Mikhail suddenly slowed down.
"What's wrong?"
"There's a car ahead." Mikhail turned off the headlights and parked the car on the side of the road.
In the distance, about five hundred meters away, there were two faint lights—they were headlights, but they weren't moving. They were parked there, like two glowing eyes.
Mikhail reached under his seat, pulled out a pair of binoculars, looked through them, and then handed the binoculars to Lu Ren.
"Military vehicles. Two of them. Ural trucks. There are searchlights on the roof. About twelve people."
"Russian military?"
"Doesn't look like regular troops." Mikhail shook his head. "No military insignia, no license plates. They might be private."
"Who would have a private army in a place like this?"
Mikhail did not answer the question. He stubbed out his cigarette on the dashboard, started the engine, and made a U-turn.
"We're taking a detour."
They left the main road and drove onto an unpaved path. The snow was deeper, and the ruts were almost invisible. The off-road vehicle swayed in the snow like a boat, its chassis scraping against the permafrost underneath from time to time.
After driving for about forty minutes, Mikhail stopped the car again.
"We're here."
Lu Ren looked out the window, but he couldn't see anything. Only snow and deeper darkness.
"Where is the base?"
"Under your feet." Mikhail pointed to the ground. "The entrance is over there, about three hundred meters away. But I don't advise you to drive the car over there—there are landmines."
"Landmines?"
"Left by the Soviets. Or maybe not the Soviets, but people who came later. Anyway, when walking over there, step in my footprints. Don't step anywhere else."
The three of them got out of the car.
Cold.
It was colder than Lu Ren had imagined. The cold in New York was a damp cold, the kind that seeped into your bones. The cold here was dry and sharp, like a knife scraping against your face. His breath instantly condensed into white mist in the air, and in the next second, it turned into ice crystals that landed on his collar.
Kimiko pulled the hood of her jacket tight and took a pair of goggles out of her backpack to put on.
Mikhail walked in front, leaving deep footprints that reached almost to his calves. Lu Ren walked in his footprints, being very careful with every step. The snow made a crunching sound under his feet, as if he were crushing something.
It took twenty minutes to walk three hundred meters.
They stopped in front of a raised snowdrift. Mikhailsquatted down, brushed away the snow on the surface with his gloves, and revealed a rusty iron door. There was a huge lock on the iron door, and the keyhole was filled with ice.
"This is it." Mikhail stood up. "Behind the door is a staircase leading directly underground. I've never been down there, and I don't know what's inside."
Lu Ren placed his hand on the iron door. The metal was ice cold, so cold it felt like it would stick to his skin.
He pushed it gently.
Chapter 24: Containers
The iron door did not move. The lock was rusted shut, but even without the lock, the door wouldn't budge—something was propping it up from behind.
He exerted a little force.
The iron door let out a sharp screech, like the death cry of some animal. The door was pushed open a crack, and cold air poured out from the gap, carrying a damp, moldy stench.
Behind the door was a wall.
No, not a wall. It was a huge iron cabinet that had been deliberately pushed over to block the door.
Lu Ren squeezed through the crack, braced his shoulder against the iron cabinet, and pushed hard. The iron cabinet scraped against the floor with a harsh metallic sound, slowly shifting to create a gap wide enough for one person to pass through.
He looked back at Mikhail and Kimiko.
"I'll go in first. You two wait outside."
"No." Kimiko shook her head and gestured: I'm going in with you. You need a translator.
"There might still be landmines inside."
"Then I should go in with you even more." Kimiko took a flashlight from her backpack, switched it on, and the white beam shone into the dark stairwell. She continued signing: "I learned how to clear mines when I was in Japan."
Mikhail stood at the doorway, not moving.
"I'll wait here," he said. "Three hours. If you don't come out, I'm leaving."
"No need to wait," Lu Ren said. "We will come out."
He walked into the stairwell.
Kimiko followed behind.
The flashlight beam shone on the walls, revealing mottled water stains and peeling paint. The stairs were concrete, with cracks in the steps where black mold was growing. The air was cold, but not the dry cold from outside; it was a damp, sticky cold, like walking into a massive refrigerator.
They descended about five stories.
The stairs ended.
A metal door, very similar to the one on the tenth basement level of the North Wing—thick, heavy, and without a handle.
Lu Ren placed his hand on the door and used lightning to sense the space behind it.
Huge.
Not the size of a room, but the size of an entire base. His electromagnetic waves spread out behind the door like water, detecting a massive underground space—corridors, rooms, laboratories, and a hangar-like hall. There were also metal pipes, cables, and ventilation systems. And...
Life forms.
At least five.
"There are people inside," Lu Ren said in a low voice.
"Alive?"
"Alive."
He raised his right hand, and a small electric arc struck the lock. The lock cylinder melted, and the door let out a low groan as it slowly opened.
Behind the door was a corridor. The corridor was very long, stretching out of sight. On both sides were gray concrete walls, with emergency lights every few meters, emitting a dim, fading light.
Lu Ren walked in. Kimiko followed, the flashlight beam sweeping back and forth in the corridor.
The end of the corridor was a fork. The left side led to a larger space, and the right side led in another direction. Lu Ren sensed with his electromagnetic field—the space on the left was larger, and the signals of those life forms were also on the left.
"This way."
They walked to the left.
The space grew larger and the ceiling higher, until finally, they stood in the center of a massive underground hangar.
The hangar was as big as half a football field and at least twenty meters high. Several rusted military trucks were parked on the ground, and moldy flags hung on the walls—the flag of the Soviet Union, the hammer and sickle, the red having faded to a dark brown.
At the end of the hangar was a row of transparent cylindrical containers.
Each container was over two meters tall and about a meter in diameter, filled with a pale green liquid. There was something in the liquid—humanoid things.
Lu Ren approached the first container.
The humanoid in the liquid was complete—limbs, torso, head—but the proportions were wrong. The arms were too long, the legs too short, and the torso looked like it had been stretched. The skin was gray, like the color of cement. The eyes were closed, and the mouth was slightly open, revealing a row of jagged teeth.
"What are these?" Kimiko's voice trembled slightly.
"Half-finished products," Lu Ren said. "Super soldiers created by the Soviet Union using Soldier Boy's cells. The unsuccessful kind."
The second container, the third, the fourth. Each was different from the first—some had an extra arm, some had no head, and some had bodies that were twisted as if wrung out. One of them looked almost normal—normal height, normal proportions, normal features. But his eyes were open.
Lu Ren stopped.
That "almost normal" half-finished product had its eyes open.
Gray eyeballs, no pupils, staring straight ahead.
No, not staring ahead. Staring at Lu Ren.
"He's still alive," Lu Ren said.
Kimiko raised the flashlight, the light shining on the face of the half-finished product.
Gray skin, tightly closed lips, open eyes.
When the flashlight beam hit him, his eyeballs shifted.
It wasn't an unconscious twitch. It was active, purposeful eye movement. He was looking at them.
Lu Ren took a step back.
The liquid in the container began to bubble. Bubbles rose from the bottom, faster and faster, as if someone had lit a fire beneath the container. The pale green liquid began to churn and turned murky.
Then, a dull thud.
The door of the container popped open.
The pale green liquid poured out like a small stream, spreading across the floor. The gray half-finished product walked out of the container, his naked feet stepping in the liquid with a slapping sound.
He was tall—at least two point two meters. His body proportions were normal, but the muscle lines were wrong, as if someone had stuffed various shapes under his skin. His face was normal, even handsome—high nose bridge, deep eye sockets, sharp features. But if you looked closely, you would notice his eyes had no pupils, just a uniform gray.
He opened his mouth and made a series of sounds.
Not words, but syllables. Chaotic, meaningless sounds, like those a baby makes before learning to speak.
Then he walked toward Lu Ren.
One step, two steps, three steps.
At the fourth step, he accelerated.
The speed was unnaturally fast. Not supersonic like A-Train, but several times faster than a normal human, fast enough that Lu Ren only had time to dodge his first strike.
The half-finished product's fist smashed into the wall behind Lu Ren, sending concrete fragments flying and exposing the rebar inside.
"Fuck," Lu Ren cursed.
He raised his right hand and fired a bolt of lightning, striking the half-finished product squarely in the chest.
The half-finished product was knocked back three or four steps, a charred mark appearing on his chest, but he didn't fall. He looked down at his chest, then raised his head, his gray eyes looking at Lu Ren, his lips moving.
This time the sound he made was clearer.
"...Papa."
Lu Ren froze.
"What did he say?" he asked Kimiko.
"He said—Papa," Kimiko's voice was very soft. "The Russian word for 'Papa'."
The half-finished product took another step, reaching out toward Lu Ren.
"Papa."
Lu Ren looked at those pupil-less eyes, and a strange feeling suddenly welled up in his heart.
These half-finished products. Created using Soldier Boy's cells. Soldier Boy was their "father"—in the biological sense, an incomplete, forced "father."
They were living, breathing people. Imperfect, twisted, living people who had been locked in containers for decades.
Lu Ren did not continue attacking.
He dodged the half-finished product's second embrace—because it wasn't an attack, it really was an embrace—and then circled behind him.
"I'm sorry," he said.
A stronger bolt of lightning shot from his palm, striking the back of the half-finished product's head.
The half-finished product's body stiffened, and then, like a collapsing tower, he slowly, silently fell to the ground.
The gray eyes closed.
Lu Ren stood there, looking down at the humanoid on the ground, his breathing slightly rapid.
Chapter 25: Soldier Boy
"Is he still alive?" Kimiko asked.
"He's just unconscious," Lu Ren said. "I didn't kill him."
They bypassed the fallen half-finished product and continued toward the depths of the hangar.
Deeper darkness.
Colder temperatures.
Then, they saw it.
In the innermost part of the hangar, a huge metal chamber lay on the ground, about three meters long and two meters wide, its surface covered with a thick layer of frost. On the front of the chamber was a circular glass observation window, covered in frost patterns, making it impossible to see what was inside.
On the side of the chamber, a line of text was written in red paint—it was in Russian, but Lu Ren could understand the Arabic numerals.
"Deep Freeze-6. Experimental Subject No. 1. 1944—"
The date wasn't finished. Because the experiment hadn't ended.
Lu Ren walked to the observation window and pressed his palm against the frost; the heat from his lightning melted the ice crystals.
Behind the glass was a face.
An elderly man, with graying hair and wrinkles on his face, but the contours of his bones were still clear—a broad jaw, high brow bone, and sharp, firm lips. He kept his eyes closed, his expression calm, like a passenger asleep on a long-haul flight.
Soldier Boy.
Lu Ren stared at that face for a few seconds.
"Found him," he said.
Kimiko leaned in and looked at the person in the window.
"He looks... not like I imagined. I thought he would be bigger, scarier."
"He's old now," Lu Ren said. "From 1944 to now. He should be nearly eighty. But his body—those Soviets have been injecting him with a variant of compound v to maintain his vitality and abilities. He isn't sleeping; he's being preserved."
"Can you get him out?"
Lu Ren examined the structure of the chamber. Its shell was a heavy alloy, thicker than that door in the North Wingbasement. On the door was a valve, a pressure gauge, and a red button with Russian writing on it.
"Do you recognize these words?" he asked Kimiko.
Kimiko leaned in to look.
"Warning: Confirm internal pressure before depressurization. Open slowly to avoid... shock?" She translated uncertainly. "There is a line of small text below—'According to Soviet State Security Committee Order No. 4587, the opening of this device requires direct authorization from Moscow. Those who open it without authorization will be prosecuted for treason under Article 72 of the Criminal Code.'"
"Treason," Lu Ren repeated. "So we are committing treason."
"We aren't Soviet citizens anyway," Kimiko said.
Lu Ren placed his hand on the valve and twisted hard.
The valve didn't budge.
He applied more force.
Still nothing.
He concentrated lightning on his palm, using the high heat to warm the metal around the valve. The metal began to glow red and soften, and then Lu Ren twisted hard again.
The valve turned.
A hissing sound—like a pressure cooker releasing steam—came from inside the chamber. White steam sprayed from the gap in the valve, carrying a pungent chemical odor. The needle on the pressure gauge slowly dropped from the red zone to the green zone.
Lu Ren pressed the red button.
The chamber door emitted a dull click, then slowly rose.
Cold air surged from the chamber, like opening a freezer. White mist filled the air, blurring their vision.
Soldier Boy lay in the chamber, covered in a thin layer of frost. He was wearing an old-style military uniform—a U.S. Army uniform, but the epaulets and buttons had been removed, presumably so no one would recognize his identity.
His chest was rising and falling.
Faintly, but it was definitely rising and falling.
"He's breathing," Kimiko said. "He's still alive."
Lu Ren reached out to check Soldier Boy's carotid artery. There was a pulse, very slow, about forty beats per minute, but it was there.
"Soldier Boy," he said softly, in English. "Can you hear me?"
No response.
He said it again, this time a bit louder.
Soldier Boy's eyelids twitched. Not opening, but the kind of twitching that happens during rapid eye movement in sleep. He was dreaming.
"We need to get him out," Lu Ren said to Kimiko. "Help me lift him out of the chamber."
The two of them took one side each and lifted Soldier Boyout of the chamber. He was much heavier than he looked—his body density was abnormal, like he was filled with lead. Lu Ren had to use his super strength to barely lift him out of the chamber and place him on the ground.
Ice beads clung to Soldier Boy's eyelashes. His lips were purple, and his skin was a grayish-blue.
Lu Ren took off his hoodie and covered him with it.
Then, he heard a sound.
Not Kimiko's voice, not Soldier Boy's voice. It was coming from the corridor—rapid footsteps, the footsteps of many people, and the sound of metal clashing.
The military vehicles Mikhail had mentioned. Twelve people. They had come down.
"Someone's coming." Kimiko turned off her flashlight and pulled a folding knife from her backpack—she had ditched her gun when entering the country and only brought this knife.
Lu Ren stood up, facing the direction of the corridor.
Beams of flashlights shone from the end of the corridor, several of them, intertwining like a swarm of fireflies dancing in the dark.
The footsteps grew closer.
Then, a voice came from the darkness, speaking in heavily accented English:
"Drop the experimental subject. Put your hands on your head. Kneel. You have ten seconds."
Lu Ren did not kneel.
He raised his right hand, and a ball of silver-white lightning crackled at his fingertips.
The lightning illuminated the corridor.
Twelve people. Fully armed, in black tactical gear, wearing night vision goggles on their helmets. Their weapons were not ordinary rifles—there was a glowing green device under the barrel, exactly as MM had described. Kryptonite energy weapons.
"I am saying this one last time," the voice said. "Drop the experimental subject."
Lu Ren glanced at Soldier Boy on the ground, then at Kimiko.
"Can you take him and go?" he asked in a low voice.
"How?"
"Carry him. Run. Mikhail's car is outside."
"What about you?"
"I'll cover the rear."
Kimiko did not hesitate. She bit down on the folding knife, squatted, draped Soldier Boy's arm over her shoulder, and stood up with all her strength. Soldier Boy's weight made her stagger, but she steadied herself.
She started walking toward the other end of the hangar.
There was an emergency exit sign there—green, emitting a faint fluorescence in the dark.
"Stop!" the voice shouted. "Fire!"
Green beams shot from the barrels—not bullets, but some kind of energy beam, slower than bullets but more powerful. A beam hit the ground, blasting a pit the size of a washbasin.
Lu Ren rushed forward.
Silver-white lightning erupted from his body, forming a blinding wall of light in the corridor. The energy beams hit the wall of light and were swallowed by the lightning. He charged into the midst of the twelve people.
Not killing. Disarming.
He was so fast that the people couldn't react. The lightning struck the first gun, the barrel melted, and it fell to the ground. The second, the third, the fourth. In less than three seconds, all twelve guns had turned into scrap metal.
Those people began to retreat. One drew a pistol from his waist, but Lu Ren struck his hand with an electric arc, and the pistol flew away.
"I don't want to kill you," Lu Ren said, lightning crackling around him. "But don't force me."
Those people looked at each other. Without guns, they were nothing.
Lu Ren turned and ran toward the other end of the hangar.
Kimiko had already reached the emergency exit with Soldier Boy on her back. It was a small door, and behind the door was a narrow passage leading to stairs at the end.
"Go." Lu Ren took Soldier Boy from Kimiko's back and hoisted him onto his own shoulder. "I'll fly you up."
"Fly?"
Lu Ren didn't answer. Carrying Soldier Boy on one shoulder and grabbing Kimiko's arm with his other hand, his body turned into a bolt of lightning and shot up the stairwell.
The stairwell was too narrow; the lightning surged upward, almost scraping the walls. Sparks flew everywhere, and chunks of concrete peeled off the walls like a small avalanche.
Ten seconds later, they burst out of the ground.