While these Skrulls were lost in a false miracle...
On the other side of this Planet...
Homelander, the mastermind behind it all, was completely immersed in a starkly different vibe.
San Francisco, California.
Feeling the Pacific breeze, carrying the scent of salt and sunshine, passing through the vermilion suspension cables of the Golden Gate Bridge and brushing over the winding Lombard Street.
Under a parasol at an open-air cafe, Homelander leaned back comfortably in a rattan chair, holding an iced Americano.
Watching the bustling tourists on the street, the buskers with guitars, and the children chasing pigeons, he let out a satisfied sigh.
During the days Homelander had disappeared from public view, Vought Group had been running smoothly under Jessica's management.
And popularity value continued to flow into the system from the massive daily outpouring of remembrance, prayers, and worship.
Looking at the steadily growing numbers, Homelander deeply understood the saying: distance creates beauty.
Sometimes, a tragic savior whose fate is unknown can harvest more emotional value from humanity than a superhero who flies around in the sky every day.
Since he didn't need to worry about the company and didn't need to deliberately manage his popularity, Homelander simply decided to give himself a long vacation.
He used the latest "Widow's Veil Mark II" nano-camouflage mask developed by Vought Group's tech department.
This thing was much more advanced than S.H.I.E.L.D.'s old relics; it could not only perfectly simulate facial bones and muscle movements but also change pupil color and vocal cord frequency.
At this moment, Homelander had shed his blonde hair, fair skin, and deep blue eyes.
Now he had a typical Eastern face, with black hair and black eyes, soft facial contours, yet very three-dimensional features, with a friendly demeanor that held an imperceptible edge.
It was exactly how Wu Yanzu looked before he transmigrated.
For an immersive experience, he also proactively used the system's [Basic Ability Auxiliary Regulator] to lock his strength at about 2 to 3 times that of an ordinary person.
"Ordinary tranquility is sometimes a kind of enjoyment." After finishing his last sip of coffee, Homelander stood up, left a stack of hundred-dollar bills on the table as a tip, and walked toward a silver-grey supercar parked by the roadside.
A Pagani Zonda, its streamlined carbon fiber body gleaming under the California sun.
As for the price, to the boss of Vought Group, it was worth nothing—just a toy.
But in the World of ordinary people, it was worth thirty million dollars.
Homelander pulled open the car door, and with the low, Beast-like roar of the V12 engine, he merged into the San Francisco traffic, continuing to enjoy his sunset drive.
However, in this World, while some enjoy heavenly comfort, others must experience hellish torment.
At an intersection less than three blocks away from Homelander.
A dilapidated 1972 Ford van was struggling to climb a steep San Francisco hill.
In the driver's seat sat a man who looked despondent, with a face full of stubble.
Scott Lang.
Master of Science in Electrical Engineering, and... a recently released ex-con who was unemployed.
If someone said life was a comedy movie, Scott felt his life was definitely a disaster film full of dark comedy.
And today was definitely the most fucked-up episode of his disaster movie.
Just a short while ago, he had been heartlessly kicked out by the manager of a Baskin-Robbins ice cream shop for hiding his criminal record.
"Baskin-Robbins always finds out, bro." That's what that damn manager had said at the time.
Yes, he had a criminal record.
In this society, once you carry the label of "criminal," even if you have a Master's in Electrical Engineering, even if you're smarter than all the technical supervisors in the company, you're only fit to scoop ice cream for people in an ice cream shop.
He couldn't even keep that humble job.
And even more heartbreaking than losing his job was what had just happened.
Today was his daughter's birthday, his beloved little Peanut.
He had gone to her birthday party full of joy, carrying that ugly-cute plush toy, hoping to spend an unforgettable day with her.
Cassie loved it; that was his only comfort.
But his ex-wife Maggie, and her current husband—that bastard police officer who always acted all high and mighty—had kicked him out without mercy.
"You can't even afford child support, Scott," Maggie's words pierced his heart like a sharp knife. "When you get a job, rent a place, and pay your alimony, then we'll talk about visitation rights, OK?"
"Now, please leave."
Scott wanted to argue, wanted to say loudly that he had a Master's in Electrical Engineering, that he was a smart man.
But when the words reached his lips, only bitterness remained.
Yes, he was a genius, but he was also a thief who had spent three years in San Quentin Prison.
A loser who couldn't find any decent job in this society and had to calculate every penny even to buy a donut.
"Dammit..."
Scott's eyes turned red, and his vision was blurred by tears.
That guy Luis had told him yesterday about a "big job," an opportunity to make a lot of money.
Scott had wanted to refuse; he had sworn to go straight for Cassie's sake.
But facing the cruel reality now, his heart began to waver.
"Am I destined to be a thief for the rest of my life?"
As he thought painfully, he absentmindedly stepped on the gas, turning through a busy intersection.
Just then, the traffic light ahead suddenly turned red.
In front of him, a sleek supercar with a luxurious luster stopped gracefully before the crosswalk.
When Scott snapped out of his sorrowful thoughts and saw the taillights of the supercar right in front of him, his mind went blank.
"Oh, shit! No, no, no! Stop! Stop for me!"
Scott slammed on the brake pedal of that old van.
With a screeching sound of friction, the old van's braking system was clearly not that effective, and it continued to slide forward.
"Bang—CRACK!!!"
A dull, loud noise.
The van's bumper kissed the rear of the expensive-looking supercar firmly.
Scott's body lurched forward due to inertia, and the seatbelt made his chest ache.
"Cough, cough... cough..."
Scott clutched his chest and coughed a few times, his head buzzing.
When he regained his senses and saw through the white smoke on the windshield what he had hit...
He felt like the sky had fallen.
The exaggerated carbon fiber wing, the quad exhaust pipes, and the "Pagani" logo on the rear, which was dented but still clearly visible.
As a former high-income individual, he naturally knew what the car in front of him meant.
A conservative estimate of twenty to thirty million dollars!!
And he had crashed into this mobile piece of art!!
"Jesus Christ... God, kill me, just strike me dead with a bolt of lightning right now...