Alien invasion? Luckily, I'm Superman.

The car came to a stop, Hughie unbuckled his seatbelt, and got out. Su Mo followed behind him, and the two walked towards the U.S. Supreme Court, one after the other.

Stepping onto the wide stone steps from the main entrance, Su Mo looked up at the inscription on the lintel: "Equal Justice Under Law."

These words, carved in stone and weathered by wind and sun, looked quite old. Hughie didn't look up; he was in a hurry to go inside, so Su Mo had to quicken her pace to keep up.

Pushing open the marble foyer, the air immediately became quiet. The sounds of traffic, people, and wind outside were all blocked out by the heavy stone walls and bronze doors.

The only sound in the foyer was footsteps, the leather shoes clicking crisply and restrainedly on the marble floor. Occasionally, a whisper would be heard, spoken in a low voice, as if afraid of disturbing something.

Walking further in, you pass through a long corridor. On both sides are white stone busts of past Supreme Court justices, lined up like a row of silent sentinels.

The ceiling above was intricately carved, its patterns gleaming under the lights. The floor was made of dark marble, polished so smooth it reflected one's image.

Hughie walked quickly, his shoes making a series of rapid tapping sounds that bounced back and forth several times in the empty corridor before dissipating.

Further ahead, passing through an archway, you arrive at the courtroom.

The red leather spectator chairs were neatly arranged, while the dark judge's bench stood high above, surrounded by sturdy marble columns. The walls were decorated with bas-reliefs depicting the profiles of historical figures. The entire hall was decorated in a dark color scheme of deep red, dark brown, and dark gold. Light streamed in from the high windows, falling on the back rows of the spectator section like a spotlight on a stage.

The entire event was almost completely quiet. Only security personnel quietly guided the audience members to their designated seats.

Su Mo walked behind Hughie, his gaze sweeping over the marble pillars and reliefs, his expression unchanged. He wasn't someone who hadn't seen the world; he himself was the vice chairman of the Earth Federation, and although he had only attended one meeting and hadn't even warmed his seat yet, the title was real.

Thinking of this, Su Mo's heart stirred; he was curious about how much time had passed over there. The bracelet had told him that time was generally synchronized across different worlds, so it should have been about a week? Or perhaps less. In any case, once things were settled here, he needed to go back and check.

Hughie quietly led Su Mo through the side door of the gallery and found two empty seats in the corner of the third row. The gallery was quite full, mostly reporters and onlookers, all intently watching the judge's bench.

A row of people sat in the dock, each a familiar face from the news. Former CEO Stan Edgar, the black man known as "Uncle Fried Chicken," sat upright in a suit, his expression as calm as if he were attending a board meeting.

Former Vice President of Management at Heroes, Madeline Steelwell, pursed her lips and stared blankly at the table in front of her. Current CEO Ashley Barrett looked considerably older than on television, her eyes red-rimmed and her fingers trembling. And then there was Dr. Vogbaum, the lab director, wearing glasses, head bowed, huddled in his chair like a quail caught in the rain.

These are all key figures in the Vought Organization. All of the Vought Organization's scandals—superhuman malfunctions, illegal human experimentation, cover-ups of murders, manipulation of public opinion, and bribery of officials—are essentially the work of these people. They are truly ruthless, heartless capitalists, or rather, ambitious schemers, pioneers of anti-humanity, who disregard the lives of ordinary people.

Because the evidence was overwhelming, the defense lawyer's statements were brief and weak, spending most of the time pleading for a lighter sentence. There was little room for rebuttal. As for delaying the proceedings, that was out of the question.

A group of criminals who have lost power and wealth—how could they possibly get the justice system to back down for them? The FBI raided their coffers, froze their overseas accounts, and severed all possible networks of connections. Now they're all alone, and they have to rely on legal aid to afford even a good lawyer.

The sentences were pronounced one by one. Ashley Barrett, XX years. Madeline Stillwell, XXX years. Dr. Vogbaum, XXXX years. With each fall of the gavel, there was a slight commotion in the gallery; some whispered, some breathed a sigh of relief.

When it was Stan Edgar's turn, the judge cleared his throat and opened the file in front of him.

"Defendant, Stan Edgar, please rise."

Uncle Fried Chicken stood up. He straightened the hem of his suit jacket, his movements unhurried. Once he was in place, his gaze was fixed straight ahead, his face expressionless. The people in the gallery unconsciously held their breath. This man was one of the founders of the Vought Corporation, the big boss who controlled everything behind the scenes. His sentencing would be the highlight of the entire trial.

Just as the judge was about to read the verdict, he suddenly frowned. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Then, in full view of everyone, two streams of blood gushed from his nostrils, flowing down his philtrum and dripping onto his white judge's robe, spreading into two deep red flowers.

The judge visibly felt dizzy for a moment, leaning back and only managing to stay upright by bracing himself on the armrests of his chair. A gasp rippled through the gallery, and some people stood up.

But that state only lasted a few seconds. The judge blinked, took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the blood from his nose, cleared his throat, and sat up straight. He looked down at the case file, then looked up at the gallery, his expression somewhat blank, as if something had just happened that he didn't understand.

Court adjourned.

The judge's voice was somewhat hoarse, and the gavel fell with a dull thud.

Hughie turned to Su Mo and complained, "Su Mo, why did this accident happen? Honestly, it made the Walter executives wait a whole day—"

He didn't finish his sentence. The space beside Hughie was empty; only his backpack remained on the red leather chair.

"Damn it," Hughie said again, "where did it go again?"

Meanwhile, what was our Superman Su Mo doing?

The moment the judge's nose started bleeding, Su Mo's pupils contracted slightly. His X-ray vision pierced through the judge's skull in an instant, revealing the disturbance inside the cranial cavity. Deep within the brain, countless tiny blood vessels were being compressed by an external force, the source of which was not within the judge's body, but somewhere in the gallery.

Superpowers. Someone is using superpowers.

Su Mo's body vanished from the chair. Super speed activated, and the entire world instantly became a nearly frozen scene.

The people in the gallery were frozen in place like wax figures, the judge's hand was suspended in mid-air, and even the lights seemed to stop flashing.

Su Mo stood up from her seat.

His gaze swept quickly across the still crowd. His superhuman vision, like a sophisticated scanner, meticulously examined every face, every body, and every possible hiding place of abnormality. He found it.

In the last row of the audience section, a woman sat in the corner, relaxed, with her legs crossed and her hands on her knees, looking like an ordinary audience member.

But instead of looking at the judge, she was rolling her eyes, her pupils slightly gleaming—a characteristic of superpowers activated.

Su Mo appeared behind her. He covered her mouth with one hand and wrapped the other around her waist, lifting her off the chair.

The woman's body stiffened in his arms, and her eyes widened suddenly. He led her out through a side door in the gallery, across the corridor, through the foyer, through the main gate, and onto the steps outside the courthouse.

From the moment the judge's nose started bleeding to the moment the woman was led away from the courthouse, the entire process took less than 0.1 seconds.

Su Mo put the woman down, but didn't let go. His right hand was still gripping the back of her neck, not with much force, but enough to make her know that resistance was pointless. The woman was panting, her face pale, her lips trembling, but her eyes were beginning to regain their composure.

"Tell me, why did you want to kill the judge?"

Su Mo's voice wasn't loud, but it was very cold, like ice shards popping out of his mouth.

He stared at the woman's face, unable to understand why she would do such a thing. The judge had only suffered a nosebleed; he wasn't dead. But what good would killing the judge do? The trial wouldn't end because of a judge's absence. A new judge would come, the case files would remain the same, the evidence would remain the same, and the verdict wouldn't change. Had she lost her mind?

The woman in Su Mo's hands, Victoria Newman, was definitely out of her mind.

She is one of the orphans adopted by "Gary Fried Chicken" Stan Edgar.

From a young age, she was trained, educated, and instilled with the idea that Stan Edgar was her father, her family. And that they truly had a good relationship. In that instant, when she saw her father sentenced to death, all rationality crumbled from her mind, leaving only one thought: this must not happen.

But now, with Su Mo choking her by the back of the neck and pressing her against the steps of the courthouse, the cold wind blowing on her face, her mind slowly began to clear. She took a few deep breaths and closed her eyes.

"I said," she said, her voice hoarse, carrying a calm that came from complete surrender.

Then she quickly confessed everything. From her identity as a congressional assistant and a hidden superhuman, to her motives—an impulsive act of wanting to save Uncle Fried Chicken—to other secret information about the Vought Corporation, she poured it all out like dumping a bag of garbage, wishing she could clear her mind as quickly as possible.

Su Mo listened, somewhat speechless. He had considered many possibilities: conspiracy theories, a mastermind behind it all, the Vought Group's final counterattack. The conclusion was simply that an adopted daughter, seeing her adoptive father sentenced to death, acted impulsively in a moment of anger. Human emotions, in any world, are the most difficult things to explain with logic.

He escorted Newman back to the courthouse. Hughie was still standing on the steps, looking around blankly. Su Mo descended from the sky, landing in front of him with a woman in her arms. Hughie's eyes widened, his mouth opened as if to ask something, but he swallowed his words.

"We'll talk about it when we get back," Su Mo said.

Together with Hughie, he escorted Newman to the special prison that Susan had set up for superhumans.

The prison is located in a heavily guarded military base outside the city. The cell walls are made of a special alloy that can withstand most superhuman attacks.

Su Mo personally escorted Newman to his cell and locked the door.

When Hughie came out of prison, his phone vibrated. He took it out and glanced at it; it was a message from Starlight. After reading it, his expression turned strange. He walked up to Su Mo and turned the phone screen towards him to show him.

Starlight says that the agents found the World War II superhuman hero, Soldier Boy, on a street, who should have been dead.

He stood in the middle of the road in his old uniform, looking as if he had traveled from 1945—confused, irritable, and clearly not quite lucid.

Passersby mistook him for a cosplayer and filmed him, posting the video online. It was only through facial recognition that the intelligence agency confirmed his identity.

Su Mo stared at the photo on the screen and remained silent for two seconds.

"Soldier Boy?" he repeated the name. "Wasn't he dead?"

Hughie shrugged. "Looks like the Vought Corporation even forges death certificates."