Butcher's actions were so blatant that Jordan couldn't help but laugh.
That bastard was just too real. One second all smiles, calling you boss. The next second ready to turn around and blow your head off.
This was Billy Butcher, the Butcher.
"Without further ado."
Jordan raised his hand. A purple fantasy card constructed itself from bottom to top amid continuously stacking particle effects, floating in his palm and rotating slowly.
As a non-Stand user, Butcher couldn't see anything. But he vaguely sensed his boss holding something in those empty hands.
Don't ask. It's superpowers.
"I'll lend you my power. You do my bidding." Jordan watched the wary man before him, voice casual. "The choice is yours. But I can guarantee you'll get a shot at Homelander after this."
Having entered this world, Homelander was destined for elimination. As for who got the killing blow? Jordan genuinely didn't care.
As a kind Stand user, he only collected soul fragments from evil heroes. The state of their corpses held no interest.
The deep-seated hatred in Butcher's heart awakened at those words. The man known as the Butcher clenched his fists, knuckles turning white.
His cold, scrutinizing gaze fixed on Jordan's still-outstretched right hand. It indeed held nothing visible.
But his intuition screamed that Jordan had no reason to lie.
Perhaps there really was a power in that hand capable of transforming him.
"...Deal."
"However, this job's too big. I'll need more help."
"That's your problem. Figure it out yourself."
As Jordan spoke, F-boy stepped out of his body. The Stand casually plucked the spinning SR card from the air and drove it into Butcher's chest with a single, brutal punch.
WHAM.
The bearded butcher's thick frame lifted off the ground. He flew backward, sharp pain exploding in his chest.
After a second's suspension, he clutched his sternum and staggered, gasping. Indescribable force radiated from his chest outward through every limb.
His already-strong leg muscles swelled, nearly bursting through his pants. When they returned to normal size, every muscle fiber had been transformed into a completely new structure.
It felt like boundless power, enough to support running from New York's East Coast all the way to Los Angeles on the West Coast without stopping.
A strong gust of wind swept through the apartment. Documents and papers scattered across the floor.
In the blink of an eye, Butcher's form blurred. When he reappeared, he'd circled the room hundreds of times.
He stared at his powerful hands, voice filled with wonder. "Is this that bastard's superpower?"
Jordan offered praise without hesitation. "Congratulations. Now you ARE that bastard."
"...Thanks, boss."
I feel like you're insulting me. And I have evidence. But I still have to thank you.
"Is it just my imagination? I feel starving right now."
Butcher touched his stomach in confusion. The food he'd eaten earlier felt completely consumed with every breath.
Indescribable hunger stimulated his taste buds. He swallowed reflexively. Even if locked in a freshly-used toilet, he could eat a hot meal right now.
"A-Train needed to consume 3,000 calories per hour to maintain peak performance."
Jordan acted as narrator, explaining the reason for Butcher's hunger.
"So that's not an illusion. You really should go eat something."
"Three thousand calories per hour? How many burgers and sodas is that..."
Butcher's eye twitched. He swallowed hard. Suddenly, superpowers didn't seem so appealing after all.
"Here." Jordan pulled a black and gold bank card from his pocket and flicked it out like a throwing card. "One million on there. Food, drinks, entertainment, working capital—use it however you want. I only care about results. Clear?"
Butcher's figure flickered. When he reappeared, the bank card that hadn't even been flying in his direction rested in his hand.
"Of course! No problem, boss!"
Having suddenly gained both superpowers and financial power, his eyes filled with confidence and murderous intent.
"Just wait and see the good show."
When Jordan Evans, dressed in black, entered Vought Tower, the security guards on duty snapped to attention.
"Mr. Flash, which floor are you headed to?"
Chris, the security captain on duty, escorted Jordan all the way to the elevator. His expression displayed undisguised obsequiousness.
In his view, anyone who made it into the Seven would inevitably become extremely wealthy. Getting hired as private security after retirement would be an excellent career move.
While superhumans themselves didn't need protection, their estates, assets, and celebrity children always required guards.
Chris was a visionary security captain. Given the opportunity to get close to these future billionaires, he naturally tried currying favor with as many as possible.
Jordan glanced at him. "I want to check past hero records and activity information. Which department handles that?"
Chris immediately replied, "Criminal Analysis Department. They've got practically the complete historical files."
"Their floor's the fortieth. Let me press the button for you... There we go!"
A warm smile spread across his face as he pressed the elevator button.
Jordan glanced at him and pulled down his cap brim.
"Have a nice shift."
With Chris's enthusiastic assistance as an unwitting mole, Jordan quickly arrived at the Criminal Analysis Department floor.
Seven member access cards weren't authorized for this area. Partly because they weren't needed, partly because this place stored confidential information known only to certain employees and senior management.
As Jordan walked, lights overhead turned on one by one. Locked glass doors opened in sequence.
At the entrance, an employee sensing the sudden change in ambient lighting instinctively turned around. He met a pair of scarlet eyes.
Black tomoe spun. The employee paused mid-motion, then turned back around, sat down, and opened study materials on his D drive, entering a focused state of concentration.
Simultaneously, the building's monitoring server began flickering as if experiencing a power outage.
Starting with surveillance footage of Chris providing attentive service, subsequent video files deleted themselves frame by frame. Corresponding storage units burned into bad sectors via rampaging magnetic fields.
The same phenomenon that occurred before the Deep incident happened again: servers Vought Corporation had paid substantial money to maintain failed once more.
Apart from a few employees on night duty, no one knew what exactly happened that night.
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