Alien invasion? Luckily, I'm Superman.

While Sumo was fighting Homelander, Butcher and Hughie quickly escaped with the locomotive.

Inside the trunk, the locomotive swayed gently with the vehicle's bumps.

They were going to the FBI's Operations Division to hand over the evidence to Deputy Director Susan and get the government involved. The recordings and videos on the phone were enough to give the Vought Organization a run for its money.

It wasn't that he didn't want to expose the Vought Group's numerous crimes step by step, and then personally kill all the criminals.

He had considered it, but it was impossible. Randomly killing people, even with a just cause, would only make them enemies of the entire United States. The FBI, the military, Congress—the Vought Group's network of relationships over the years was denser than a spider's web; touching one corner would bring the whole thing crashing down.

Perhaps he didn't care. He'd long since given up on his life. But what about Hughie? After all, he was the one who dragged him into this mess. And Su Mo too. Oh, well, that's just a pity.

Just as he was lost in thought, the roar of a helicopter came from afar. Butcher glanced in his rearview mirror and saw a black helicopter approaching from the side and rear, its fuselage bearing the logo of the Vought Corporation.

"Butcher!"

Hughie saw it too, and his voice tightened.

The helicopter descended and hovered diagonally in front of the Chevrolet. The cabin door opened, and a woman leaned out, holding a microphone.

Madeline, a high-ranking executive at the Water Corporation, and one of Gus Fryer's right-hand women. (Note 1)

"Hey, Butcher!"

She shouted, her voice descending from the helicopter, carrying the metallic quality of a megaphone, "Is there anything we can't talk about? Is this the only way to be satisfied?"

Butcher didn't slow down. He had one hand on the steering wheel and the other out the window, giving the helicopter the middle finger.

"Ha, I have nothing to talk about with the Vought Group." His voice drifted out of the car window. "I only want revenge."

He floored the accelerator, and the old Chevrolet roared as the tachometer needle jumped into the redline. The car shuddered, but this venerable secondhand vehicle could still keep going.

Madeline watched the Chevrolet speed away and took a deep breath.

She held the microphone to her mouth, and her voice suddenly changed, becoming a lower, slower, whispering tone.

"What if I told you that Becca is still alive?"

Butcher lifted his right foot off the accelerator. Not by choice, but by his own accord.

Becca. The name was like a hand reaching out from the grave eight years ago, grabbing his heart.

She's still alive? Eight years! I always thought she was dead, eliminated by Homelander... by the Vought Group.

He checked, searched through every record he could find, and contacted everyone he could reach, but in the end, he came to only one conclusion: Becca Butcher was dead.

Surprisingly, she was still alive.

The car slowed down. From eighty to sixty, from sixty to forty, the engine's roar turned into a low groan, and Butcher's fingers on the steering wheel trembled.

"Hey, Butcher!" Hughie yelled from the back seat, leaning forward between the front seats. "Are you really going to give up like this? Don't believe anything the Vought Group says!"

Butcher didn't speak. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead, which was swaying as if through a layer of water.

"But..." his voice was low, as if he were talking to himself, "But if she's really still alive..."

Hughie interrupted him.

"And then what? Just give up like that? If you give up, will they let you go? Will they let you meet again?" Hughie's voice was urgent and harsh, like he was yelling. "So what if you meet, and then... you both commit suicide together?"

Butcher rested the back of his head on the headrest, closed his eyes briefly, and then slowly opened them again.

"Yes," he said, his voice strained and weak, "You're right, Hughie."

He pressed his foot on the accelerator again. The Chevrolet roared, the tachometer needle jerked up, and the car shot forward as if it had been kicked.

"They're speeding up again!" Deep Sea, peering down from the edge of the helicopter door, shouted back to Madeline. His green uniform clung to his body in the wind, and his short hair flew wildly across his head.

Madeline's face darkened. She stared at the Chevrolet below, at its ever-shrinking taillights, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Ha." She forced out a single word, then her voice suddenly rose, "You can't reason with those damned devils! Let them die!"

She grabbed the walkie-talkie and pressed the call button hard with her thumb.

"Xuanse, go! Take them all down!"

There was a moment of silence on the walkie-talkie.

"clear."

Two words: clean and efficient. (Played from a recording, patch)

Butcher's Chevrolet was driving down a narrow, bumpy street. Hughie had just gotten up from the back seat and was barely settled when a black armored vehicle suddenly sped out from a side alley, its front end pointed at them, blocking the middle of the road.

At the same time, several gun barrels protruded from the windows on both sides.

"Lower your head!"

Butcher shouted.

Hughie ducked his head back. Gunshots exploded in that instant, bang bang bang bang, like someone setting off firecrackers inside a tin bucket.

Bullets struck the Chevrolet with a clanging sound, shattering the rear window and shards that splashed onto Hughie's neck. Butcher gritted his teeth, jerking the steering wheel sharply to the left, turning the car sideways, the tires screeching and leaving a burnt smell on the road.

He turned right again, straightened the car, and aimed it at a pile of abandoned building materials and a slope by the roadside. The slope was made of broken bricks and clods of earth; it wasn't long, but it was enough. (This was something the author had secretly placed there.)

floor the accelerator.

The Chevrolet hurtled up the slope, its front end lifting off the ground, all four wheels simultaneously leaving the ground. Hughie's body was thrown against the back of the seat.

The car spun once in the air before crashing down.

The rear wheels touched down first, then the front. The suspension made a teeth-grinding creak, the car wobbled twice, but then stabilized. Butcher jerked the steering wheel, and the Chevrolet drove past the armored vehicle and continued forward.

Deep Sea was lying on the helicopter cabin door, its mouth open.

"Holy crap!" Hughie scrambled up from the back seat, touching the shards of glass on his neck, his voice trembling. "Butcher, you're fucking amazing! You never told me you knew this move!"

Butcher's eyes were fixed ahead, his hands gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

"Hmph, there's a lot you don't know."

Just as Hughie was about to retort, he saw a dense line of vehicles forming a wall ahead of him on the street.

"Fuck, damn Walter," Hughie's voice trailed off, "Can you do that again?"

Butcher glanced in the rearview mirror, then looked ahead. Cars were everywhere—in front, behind, to the sides—even the sidewalk was blocked.

"No," he said anxiously. "If we do it again, this car will definitely fall apart."

"What should we do then?"

"Charge through," he said.

Then he stepped on the gas.

The Chevrolet roared and crashed into the row of cars in front of it.

Bang—bang—bang!

The Chevrolet slammed its way through the road. Hughie looked up, saw the empty road ahead, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Then he saw an armored vehicle backing out of a side alley and blocking their path. It was the black car from before; he had taken a shortcut.

"Damn it!" Butcher cursed, slamming on the brakes. The Chevrolet stopped less than ten meters from the armored vehicle.

Butcher opened the car door and got out. He pulled out his pistol and held it with one hand.

Xuan Se stepped out of the car. He was fully armored in black, his face hidden, and he remained silent. His steps were steady, like a hunter approaching his prey.

His right hand hung at his side, two darts between his fingertips, the metal surface gleaming coldly under the car headlights.

Butcher pulled the trigger.

Bang bang bang, three shots were fired in quick succession.

The bullet struck Xuanse in the chest, a spark flew, the bullet dented, and fell to the ground. Only three faint white spots remained on his armor. Xuanse did not stop.

He raised his hand. The darts flew from his fingers, spinning toward Butcher. They weren't fast, but they were accurate; one hit Butcher's throat, and the other hit Hughie, who had just poked half his body out of the car.

A crisp sound.

The dart bounced off.

A familiar figure landed in front of Butcher and Hughie from the air.

Su Mo turned around, his back to Xuan Se, facing Bu Che. Sunlight streamed down from the sky behind him, casting a pale golden glow on his features. A slight smile played at the corners of his lips.

"How's it going? I'm not late, am I?"