Alien invasion? Luckily, I'm Superman.

After Becca agreed, Su Mo walked up to her, bent down and gently picked up Becca and the boy.

With one hand supporting Becca's back and the other around the boy's waist, the movements were very gentle. A bio-force field spread out from his body, and the transparent force field, like an invisible cocoon, enveloped the two of them.

The force field can block the airflow and acceleration during high-speed flight, ensuring that they are not subjected to any impact in the air.

"Close your eyes," Su Mo said to the boy.

The boy blinked, but instead of closing his eyes, he opened them even wider.

Su Mo didn't wait any longer. He bent his knees slightly and took off into the air. The ground beneath his feet shrank rapidly, the town's streets became a chessboard, and the houses became matchboxes.

Becca's body stiffened slightly in the force field, her arms wrapped around the boy, her knuckles turning white. The boy, on the other hand, seemed unaffected, tilting his head to look down, his mouth agape in an "O" shape.

Su Mo accelerated, flying towards the city. In the small town behind him, the actors hired by the Water Group stood on the streets and in the windows, looking up at the sky, exchanging bewildered glances.

Meanwhile, Butcher and Hughie weren't idle. After Su Mo dealt with Xuan Se, the two quickly sprang into action.

A short while later, the Chevrolet stopped in the underground parking lot of the FBI Operations Department, white smoke billowing from the hood and bullet holes riddled with bullet holes.

Butcher turned off the engine, removed the key, and got out of the car with a slight limp, probably from the collision he sustained during the breakout.

He opened the trunk, and the locomotive was curled up inside, its blue uniform covered in dust from the trunk mat, its legs bent at an abnormal angle.

Butcher pulled out a large suitcase he'd picked up along the way from the back seat, opened it, and stuffed the locomotive inside.

The locomotive was folded into a twisted position and stuffed into a box, the zipper pulled from one end to the other. Butcher tested the weight; one person could drag it.

Hughie watched from the side, his lips twitching slightly, but he didn't say anything.

The two dragged their suitcases into the elevator, went upstairs, walked through the corridor, and stood in front of the door at the end of the corridor.

The metal plaque on the door read "Deputy Director Susan Rayner". Butcher didn't knock, but pushed the door open and went in.

Susan was sitting behind her desk, looking at some documents. She looked up and saw Butcher, her brows immediately furrowing. That bastard never knocks again.

Butcher pulled out the chair opposite her, sat down, propped his suitcase up on the table, and patted it twice.

"Susan, I have fulfilled your request."

His voice wasn't loud, but his tone was firm, as if he were informing her.

Here, the evidence you requested.

He tilted his head toward Hughie.

Hughie pulled several items from his pocket: a test tube containing compound number five from the hospital, photos and recordings stored on his phone, and a digital camera.

He arranged these items one by one on Susan's desk, very neatly.

Susan glanced at the things on the table, then at Butcher, and snorted coldly. Her brows were furrowed, her lips were pursed, and the corners of her mouth were turned down, an expression that looked both angry and helpless.

"Butcher, if you come back without finding anything, you can expect to be wanted!" Her voice was barbed. "It's your personality that got you fired, humph!"

Butcher didn't reply. He knew Susan was just saying it. She used to be his partner, and it was common for partners to argue; those harsh words were actually expressions of trust. If she truly didn't trust him, she wouldn't have let him take this job.

Susan picked up the test tube and looked at it.

The liquid inside was deep blue, shimmering faintly under the fluorescent light. She put down the test tube, picked up Hughie's phone, swiped the screen a few times, and scrolled through some photos. Her expression changed from annoyance to seriousness as she looked at the photos.

She put down her phone, stood up, walked around the desk, and came to her suitcase.

Susan looked down at the suitcase, a bad feeling creeping into her heart. She crouched down, grabbed the zipper, and pulled hard.

The box was opened.

The locomotive's face was directly facing her. Its eyes were closed, there was dried blood at the corner of its mouth, and its uniform was covered in dust.

His legs were bent at an unnatural angle, not only fractured but also dislocated, with the tops of both thighs twisted, and the fabric of his trousers stretched into a strange bulge.

"F**k!" Susan jumped to her feet, took a step back, pointed at the locomotive in the box, and her voice rose eight octaves. "Butterch! How did you bring Walter's locomotive? And his leg is broken? What have you done?"

She cursed several times in one breath, her face flushed and her breathing rapid. She wasn't unfamiliar with dead people or injured people, but she never expected Butcher to stuff a member of the seven-person team into a suitcase and drag him to her office like a piece of luggage.

Butcher waved his hand, his posture relaxed, even a little nonchalant.

"oi~oi~oi~, Susan, calm down. It's just the locomotive." He paused, then added, "He'll be our witness, and the locomotive struck first."

Susan took a deep breath, suppressing the rising anger. She put her hands on her hips, paced back and forth in front of her desk a couple of times, stopped, and turned to stare at Butcher.

"Do you know what this means?" Her voice lowered, but she spoke rapidly, like a machine gun, "What if the Vought Group investigates, or what if it's a fight to the death? What if Homelander intervenes..."

Susan's tone was tinged with obvious anxiety. She wasn't afraid of the Vought Organization; she was afraid of those superhumans.

The Seven aren't just for show, and neither is Homelander. If Vought International really goes to desperate measures and sends Homelander on a killing spree in the city center, nobody can stop him.

Butcher leaned back in his chair, crossed his hands over his stomach, and spoke in a flat tone.

"What to do? What can we do? Just kill Homelander, won't that solve the problem?"

The corners of his mouth curled up slightly; it wasn't a smug smile, but rather a release of a long-suppressed sense of pleasure.

"Just recently, Homelander was defeated by my teammates. Killing him won't be difficult."

Susan's brow remained furrowed. She stared into Butcher's eyes for two seconds; there was none of the flickering light one would expect when lying. Fine, she believed him, and that was all she could do, wasn't it?

"Alright." She sighed, the sharpness in her voice fading into a weary compromise. "Then I'll contact my superiors right away."

She turned around, picked up the communicator on the table, pressed the call button, walked to the window, turned her back to Butcher and Hughie, and began to report in a low voice.

The voice was very soft and intermittent; Butcher couldn't make out the details, nor did he need to. He knew Susan would handle it.

The FBI's Operations Division reacted quickly.

Almost at the same time Susan hung up the call, the dispatch center issued the instructions.

More than a dozen police cars set off simultaneously from different directions of the city, sirens blaring, creating a series of sharp roars on the streets. They merged into the main road, forming a column, and drove in a grand procession towards the headquarters of the Wot Corporation.

Police cars filled the entire plaza in front of the Water Group headquarters building. The blue and red police lights flashed repeatedly on the glass curtain wall, making the whole building look like a giant disco ball.

Police officers got out of their vehicles, set up yellow police tape, and blocked all entrances and exits. Employees inside the building were kept inside the revolving doors, watching the scene outside through the glass; some were taking pictures with their phones, some were making phone calls, and some had expressions of fear on their faces.

The pursuit of the escapees has not yet begun.

It's not that they don't want to arrest them, it's that they dare not. The evidence Butcher provided shows that the Vought Organization holds countless superhumans in its hands. Although most of the Seven have been crippled, if the remaining ones are pushed to the limit, they could launch a superpowered terrorist attack in the city, and the consequences would be unimaginable.

The FBI's decision was to first seal off the scene and wait for the arrival of more well-equipped special forces before taking further action to detain them. By then, the situation would be settled, and even if they couldn't find the escapees, they would be forced to remain hidden forever.

For Butcher, the matter is temporarily settled.

The revenge was complete. The word swirled in Butcher's mind, and he chewed on it.

These were his motivations for living: to find incriminating evidence against Homelander, to bring down Vought, and to make those scum pay the price. Now that these things are being implemented one by one, he feels a little empty.

Madeline's words began to replay in his mind.

"Becca is still alive."

Those words were like a needle stuck in his head, impossible to remove. Eight years—he searched for eight years. He sifted through every record he could find, and contacted everyone he could reach.

If she's still alive, why doesn't she come looking for him? Is she being held captive?

Butcher sat in the chair, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the seam of his trousers until the fabric was frayed. His expression was relatively calm, but Hughie could tell that his eyes were wandering and his attention was completely elsewhere.

Just as Butcher was panicking and lost in thought, a black dot appeared in the sky outside the window. The dot rapidly grew larger, closer and clearer.

"Bang bang bang".

Su Mo paused outside the window, tapping the glass with his knuckles. He held Becca in his arms, Becca embraced Ryan, and the three of them hovered outside the window of the FBI Operations Building, the setting sun casting an orange-red glow behind them.

In the office, Butcher was sitting in his chair, lost in thought. Hearing a knock on the glass, he turned his head sharply and saw Su Mo's face pressed against the window, a smile on her lips. Then he saw Becca in Su Mo's arms.

Butcher sprang from his chair as if electrocuted, rushed to the window, gripped the frame, and pushed it open. The window swung open, and the evening breeze, carrying the noise of the city, rushed in.

Su Mo floated gently into the office, landing almost silently.

He bent down and gently placed Becca and Ryan on the floor. Becca's feet wobbled as she touched the floor, and she grabbed the edge of the table for support. Ryan was still clinging to her leg, his eyes darting around as he looked around the unfamiliar office.

Butcher stood two steps away, his hand still on the window frame.

Butcher walked up to Becca and stopped.

The two stood facing each other, less than a meter apart, but Butcher felt that distance was longer than eight years.

Becca's face was not quite the same as he remembered; there were fine lines around her eyes, her cheekbones were more prominent, and she wasn't wearing lipstick.

But his eyes haven't changed; they're still light brown, and the way he looks at me is exactly the same as it was eight years ago.

"My God, Becca," Butcher's voice choked with emotion, "you're still alive."

He reached out his hand, and Becca, without hesitation, stepped forward and hugged him.

Butcher tightened his arms, pressing her head against his shoulder, his chin resting on the top of her head. His eyes were red, but he didn't cry. His breathing was heavy, his chest heaving, but his voice was so low that only Becca could hear it.

"Do you know, I've been looking for you all these years."

Becca didn't speak. Her hands gripped the fabric of Butcher's shirt tightly.

Then Butcher let go of her, looked down, and saw the boy.

The boy stood beside Becca, one hand gripping Becca's trouser leg, looking up at him.

Golden hair, blue eyes, and facial features that looked remarkably like someone else's. Butcher's mind went blank for a moment; the name caught in his throat, unspoken.

"Wait," his voice trembled, "What is this?"

Becca looked down at Ryan, then looked up at Butcher. Her lips moved a few times, as if searching for the right words, but in the end she just said it directly.

"This is my son."

Butcher did not speak.

He looked at the boy, and the boy looked at him too.

There was no fear in the boy's eyes, only curiosity. Butcher's gaze moved from the boy's face to Becca's face, and then back again.

But he didn't yell or shout.

"Never mind," Butcher said in a low voice, as if trying to convince himself, "It's good that you're alive."

Becca's tears fell. Butcher reached out and put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her back. Becca turned to the side, took Ryan's hand with one hand, and gently pushed him forward.

Ryan glanced at Becca, then at Butcher, hesitated for a moment, and did not dodge Butcher's outstretched hand.

Butcher's hand landed lightly on Ryan's shoulder. The three of them stood there.

Su Mo walked over from the side and patted Butcher's shoulder hard, making a dull sound. Butcher's body swayed slightly from the pat, but he didn't turn around.

Hughie and Susan stood in the corner, giving Butcher and Becca some private space.

Hughie's eyes were a little red. He turned his head away, while Susan crossed her arms and smiled.