Alien invasion? Luckily, I'm Superman.

Su Mo stared at the group photo of the seven people on the screen, and a layer of cold sweat slowly seeped out from his back.

Homelander, Queen Maeve, A-Train, The Deep, Lamplighter, Invisible Man, and Dark Man. Seven positions, seven abilities, and their correspondence with the Seven Greats of the Justice League is practically laid bare. This is blatant plagiarism.

But since this world has come into existence, it means it's not just a copy. There must be something different about it.

According to Butcher, the things these superheroes do in private—killing people and pretending nothing happened, fabricating bank robberies to cover up their mistakes—don't seem like heroes; they're more like villains in hero's clothing.

A thought popped into Su Mo's mind: Could this world be some kind of joke created by a DC villain? With a setting like "what if Superman were a bad guy?", the DC editorial department could come up with things like the Clown Dragon and the Batman Who Laughs, so it's not impossible that they're just rehashing old ideas.

He reached up and wiped his forehead; his fingertips were wet.

calm.

It shouldn't be. Let's see how things go. At least for now, there doesn't seem to be any major crisis; the world is still functioning normally. He took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and his heartbeat gradually calmed down.

We need to proceed with caution from now on. We're in unfamiliar territory, so we'll have to stick with that butcher. Following the typical protagonist's revenge against a powerful force, the butcher is most likely the main character. Sticking with the protagonist means at least we won't die at the very beginning.

Su Mo stood up, glanced at the computer screen one last time, and then began to clean up the traces and destroy the evidence. With the help of super vision, even the smallest traces had nowhere to hide and were all erased.

This way, if the villains are investigating, it will buy them some time. Unless the villains are from the magic side, then there's nothing you can do. Magic is irrational; a teleportation spell leaves no trace.

Su Mo walked out of the internet cafe and saw Butcher at the entrance.

He leaned against a Chevrolet, its dark gray body covered in a layer of dust, the license plate a fake. The butcher had his hands in his trench coat pockets, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and squinted.

"Oi, get in the car." The butcher saw him get out, gestured with his chin toward the car, and said, "We're going to find that unlucky guy whose girlfriend got hit and killed. We need him for something."

Su Mo didn't ask any further questions. She opened the car door, sat in the passenger seat, and slammed the door shut with a "bang."

The vehicle slowly started moving and merged into the traffic on the street.

There was little conversation in the car. The butcher drove very steadily. Su Mo looked at the street scenes flashing by outside the window, hesitated several times before finally speaking.

"Hey, Butcher, what are your plans? How's the team?"

The butcher frowned, his eyes still fixed on the road.

"Don't call me by my name, call me by my code name. The plan, of course, is to infiltrate the Vought Corporation headquarters, plant listening devices, gather evidence, get the National Security Agency to handle the superhuman problem, and eliminate the Vought Corporation."

He paused, then tapped his fingers twice on the steering wheel.

"Hey, Su Mo, you should choose a code name too. Your world must be Earth, right?" He glanced at Su Mo in the rearview mirror. "Back at the internet cafe, I saw your ID card. I actually thought you were a smuggled spy, but I didn't expect what I told you to be true."

Su Mo raised an eyebrow. The reason he was exposed was actually something he admitted himself. Sometimes, this super brain really doesn't work, just like Superman—it's not that he lacks ability, it's that the scriptwriters couldn't think of it.

"Hmm? So, how about 'that'?"

The butcher was silent for two seconds, then his lips twitched.

"Okay, so it seems you really are on Earth. How humorous."

He turned the car into a narrow street.

"Alright, we've arrived."

The car was parked in front of a convenience store. Two of the light bulbs on the sign were broken, and the store was dimly lit. Through the glass, you could see neatly arranged shelves and a young man standing behind the cashier.

Su Mo glanced at the convenience store, then at the butcher.

"What, are you here to buy lunch?"

The butcher ignored him, opened the door and got out of the car, the hem of his trench coat brushing against the edge of the door. He strode into the convenience store, Su Mo following behind, their footsteps barely audible on the tiled floor.

The young man behind the cashier was about twenty-three or twenty-four years old, tall and thin, wearing black-rimmed glasses and a convenience store work vest with "Hughie" written on his name tag. His eyes were a little swollen, as if he hadn't slept well or had been crying.

The butcher walked up to the cashier, placed his hands on the counter, and looked down at him.

"Oi, Hughie, do you want revenge for your girlfriend?"

Hughie nearly dropped the barcode scanner. He jerked his head up and looked around. There were no other customers in the store, only the security camera in the corner silently flashing its red light. He lowered his voice, his tone wary, as if someone had touched a raw nerve.

"Who are you? How do you know about my girlfriend's death?"

The butcher smiled. Su Mo had seen that smile once before; the corners of his mouth were stretched wide, but his eyes were empty.

He pulled a small black notebook from his inside jacket pocket, quickly flipped it open and closed it in front of Hughie. Su Mo's superhuman vision instantly revealed the contents: a printed FBI eagle emblem and a photo of the butcher.

"We are federal agents."

The butcher took the identification back, lowering his voice and adopting a businesslike tone.

"I can help you get revenge, all you need to do is cooperate with us a little."

Hughie's gaze lingered on the butcher's face for a few seconds before turning to Su Mo standing in the doorway. Su Mo stood there, hands in his pockets, making no attempt to express himself. Hughie glanced at him, his tense shoulders relaxing slightly.

Hughie looked at the intimidating butcher in front of him, then glanced at Su Mo's reliable figure at the door. For some reason, Hughie could feel a sense of security emanating from that person, so he looked at the butcher and nodded.

"Okay, I will."

Perhaps fueled by hatred for his girlfriend's killer and a surge of courage from who-knows-where, Hughie agreed to Butcher's request.

This surprised Butcher somewhat; he had thought Hughie would hesitate for a long time, which made him frown. Had his intelligence-gathering skills fallen out of favor? But his frown quickly relaxed. It was good that Hughie joined so quickly; it saved him trouble.

"Let's go."

The butcher turned and walked away, his steps quickening as he had come.

Hughie came out from behind the cashier, took off his work vest and draped it over the back of a chair, and followed Su Mo out the door.

The car was on the road again. Hughie sat in the back seat, his hands on his knees, his fingers unconsciously rubbing back and forth on his trousers. The Butcher held the steering wheel with one hand, and with the other, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from the glove compartment and put one in his mouth.

"Hughie, do you know?"

The butcher spoke, his voice calmer than before, as if stating an unpleasant fact.

"Your experience is not an exception. Every year, the superhumans at the Vought Corporation kill hundreds of victims like your girlfriend Robin. But without exception, their cases are covered up by the Vought Corporation's public relations department."

Hughie's fingers paused for a moment.

The butcher saw Hughie's expression in the rearview mirror: his eyes widened slightly, and his lips were slightly parted, as if he were digesting. For an ordinary person who had worked for the Vought Corporation for many years, such a reaction was perfectly normal.

The butcher continued speaking at a leisurely pace, as if peeling an onion, layer by layer revealing the perceptions piled up in Hughie's mind by PR articles.

"Because these superhumans bring a sense of security to society, people are unwilling to learn the truth."

Hughie didn't speak, but his hands gripped his trousers tightly at his knees.

"And my job,"

As the butcher spoke, he took the cigarette from his mouth and held it between his fingers.

"It is about giving these superhumans the punishment they deserve when they overstep their bounds."