Bathed in the warm sun, a black figure plunged down from the clouds between the mountains of Adirondack Park like an arrow piercing the sky.
Wade locked his gaze on the mountaintop where the laboratory was located and pressed his palm into the air, silently activating his ability: "Gravity Rock Bind."
The rock and soil in front of him were pushed aside by an invisible force, plowing a winding "S"-shaped tunnel into the mountain.
Pfft, pfft—crash!
Amidst the flying rock and soil, he flew out of the tunnel and re-entered the cave laboratory.
Wade habitually cast his gaze toward the stone platform.
Stains of nutrient solution were splattered all over the floor, with broken IV tubes and wooden frames scattered about; the platform was long since empty.
Test Subject 7-01 was gone!!
"Impossible!" An icy blue light suddenly flared in Wade's eyes. He activated his dual perception of gases and blood, and the world inside the cave instantly transformed into a canvas interwoven with white and red.
Large patches of dried blackish-red stains remained near the experimental table, and a broken, fresher crimson trail wound its way toward the cave entrance.
Wade caught a whiff of a hot, stuffy, carbon dioxide-rich airflow pouring in through the gaps in the sealed cave entrance.
A chill intensified in his heart as he flew toward the entrance, following the trail: "I should have finished it off completely last time."
Beneath the stone wall, which still had air holes, he saw the curled-up figure: Test Subject 7-01.
This prisoner, with his atrophied limbs, was repeatedly slamming his head against the rock. Once the sealed rubble loosened, he would frantically gnaw at the dislodged sand and stones with his teeth.
He had actually used this method—who knows for how long—to dig a hole the size of a human head!
As the sunlight and air from the outside world seeped in, he twitched his nose greedily, a silent whimper escaping his throat, though he couldn't even shed a single tear of joy.
"Mmm... pfft..." With the temptation of freedom so close at hand, he bit and spat out the sand and stones even more desperately.
Clap! Clap! Clap—
A crisp, abrupt sound of applause echoed through the cave.
"Urgh—mm!" Test Subject 7-01 shuddered violently, as if struck by an electric current, losing all courage to turn around.
"Not bad at all! I still underestimated your will to survive." Wade hovered silently behind him and whispered, "How about I give you some 'deep treatment' on your teeth, eyes, and ears this time? What do you think?"
Test Subject 7-01's body trembled violently a few times before going completely still.
"Scared unconscious already?" Wade raised his hand, and an invisible current of air swept up the ruined body.
The small hole, upon which endless hope had been poured, was blocked shut again by the sand and stones he casually manipulated.
On the stone platform, Wade took a portable liquid nitrogen tank out of his backpack and began the final cleanup and harvest.
He spent an hour carefully cleaning the dust and bloodstains from Translucent's back, performing a one-time operation.
After extracting most of Test Subject 7-01's spinal cord, the precious genetic samples were all sealed into the liquid nitrogen tank, which was emitting a chilling white mist.
Wade glanced at the test subject's rapidly weakening vital signs: "The value has been squeezed dry. Give it a quick end? Too wasteful... It just so happens that there are people who hate these scum wearing the guise of heroes to the bone."
"This broken body can still have some residual value. It can clean up the loose ends, and give those audacious vigilantes a 'carrot and stick' package."
...
A few hours later, 75th Street, Upper East Side, Manhattan.
A handsome, blonde Western youth was leaning boredly against a massive black suitcase, causing pedestrians to detour around him.
He took out his phone and repeatedly compared the street signs with the location information he had bought at a high price on the dark web, complaining in a low voice: "How on earth do those intelligence organizations do it? Pinpointing a location in a vast sea of people—that really is a science."
Wade had been staking out this spot for an hour and a half; his targets were Butcher and his group, who were about to arrive to investigate "Popclaw."
"Waiting for the rabbit—what a clumsy method." He sighed, "If only I could lock onto their positions directly."
It wasn't that he hadn't tried other methods. He had previously visited Hughie's home under the guise of a friend, only to learn from his father, "Hugh," that Hughie had been missing for three days; he then headed to the juvenile detention center where "Mother's Milk" worked, only to be told that the other party had long since taken leave and left.
With no other choice, he chose to stake out the area near Popclaw's residence, as this was a key clue that Butcher's team could not bypass in their investigation of "A-Train."
Traffic flowed ceaselessly on the street, and pedestrians hurried by.
Wade's nose twitched slightly, and his gaze locked onto a white van that had just pulled over to the side of the road.
"This feeling... it's the scent of the temporary compound I made." He sniffed the wisps of airflow leaking from the gaps in the van, which were mixed with four distinct, strong scents of male hormones. "Finally here!"
A mischievous smirk crept onto his lips. He put on his hood, dragged the heavy suitcase, and walked straight toward the van.
Meanwhile, inside the van, insults and arguments were erupting one after another.
The tall, burly Black man, "Mother's Milk (MM)," was grappling with the lean "Frenchie," the vehicle rocking violently with their movements.
"Don't stop me! Let me beat this bastard to death!" MM's eyes widened in anger, his fists clenched tight as he roared, "It was you... who caused Ms. Mallory's family to be destroyed! Go to hell!"
Butcher struggled to block the space between them, attempting to calm the predictable argument: "Enough! That's all ancient history. Can you stop bringing it up?"
The accused Frenchie instinctively pulled out a gleaming short blade and retorted: "I didn't want that to happen either... Who knew something like that would occur!"
Thump! Thump! Thump!
A heavy knocking sound suddenly came from outside the van, and a deep voice interrupted the argument: "Open up! What are you doing in there? Having a car-bang? Open the door or I'm calling the cops!"
The fighting and arguing inside the van ceased abruptly.
Hughie felt the voice was unusually familiar and hurriedly made a shushing gesture to the others: "Shh—it's my dad! Don't make a sound, I'll handle this!"
He took a deep breath, opened the van door, and plastered a strained, fake smile on his face: "Dad! How... how did you find me here?"
Outside the van door stood a middle-aged man with brown hair and a short beard, his features bearing a slight resemblance to Hughie's, his face etched with exhaustion and anger. He was dragging a large, black suitcase that looked quite heavy.
"How did I find you?" Hugh paused, his voice suddenly rising, "You haven't been home for three days, and your phone doesn't go through—I've already called the damn police!"
"Are these the so-called 'friends' you've been running around with these past few days? Aren't you going to introduce me?"
As he spoke, ignoring Hughie's attempts to stop him, he hoisted the heavy suitcase into the van and nimbly squeezed inside himself.
The space inside the van suddenly felt even more crowded and cramped.
Butcher, MM, and Frenchie stood awkwardly at the other end of the van, blocking the surveillance equipment, and each forced a smile to greet him.
"Hi..."
"Uh, hello..."
"Bonjour..."
Hughie was sweating in his anxiety, grabbing his arm: "Dad! You go back first, I really have important things to do here. As soon as I'm done, I'll come home and explain everything to you."
Hugh slapped his hand away with a backhand motion, a meaningful smile appearing on his face: "Good son, don't rush."
He turned his gaze toward Butcher, whose expression had suddenly turned vigilant, and kicked the suitcase over: "Nice to meet you, didn't bring anything good... this, let's call it a welcome gift."
Butcher reacted immediately, pulling the bewildered Hughie over, and said in a low voice: "Back off. That's not your dad; it's that shapeshifting freak who gave us the compound at the audio store!"
The atmosphere inside the van became tense instantly. MM's muscles tensed, and Frenchie's fingers quietly moved toward the back of his waist.
Wade's facial contours began to flow and restructure like a melting wax figure, and within seconds, he reverted to that strange face with features casually pieced together: "Not slow to react, are you, Butcher."
"What do you want this time? Giving us a whole crate of compound?" Butcher crouched down calmly, pressing his hand on the suitcase, just about to unzip it.
"Who said it was free? We'll talk about that later." Wade stepped on the suitcase lid with one foot and pointed at the street scene on the surveillance monitor: "Popclaw is back. Finish what you're doing first."
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