Marvel: A Lazy-Ass Superman

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In Russia, anyone who earned the title of oligarch inevitably had ties to the underworld and influence on both sides of the law.

Otherwise, how could they monopolize an industry within a region and enjoy its profits alone?

Regardless of whether powerful patrons behind the scenes shared in those benefits, any newcomer attempting to enter such a business would inevitably face comprehensive suppression from the oligarchs.

Legal pressure.

Administrative obstacles.

Private intimidation.

Even direct threats to personal safety.

As a result, these people were protected by private armed forces, not merely ordinary hired thugs.

Some came from military backgrounds.

Others were former KGB personnel and similar agencies.

The estate guarded by these armed bodyguards looked nothing like those protected by their American counterparts.

The atmosphere was so heavily charged with menace that Henry briefly felt as though he had wandered into the territory of a South American drug lord.

Nearly every guard patrolling outside carried both sidearms and long guns.

Even key locations inside the mansion were staffed by bodyguards armed with pistols.

And that wasn’t all.

Hidden surveillance systems were certainly present.

Using feedback from his auditory mapping, Henry also detected several unusual devices.

After closer analysis, he concluded they were equipment and warning systems specifically designed to detect and counter mutants.

If a mutant approached recklessly, those devices would immediately trigger alarms. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

As for what happened afterward, Henry felt no need to investigate further.

Whatever it was, it certainly didn’t involve inviting mutants in for a warm meal and comfortable accommodations.

None of these precautions could stop a Kryptonian, however.

Even without plotting the perfect infiltration route, super speed ensured Henry would remain completely undetected.

Naturally, he also avoided every surveillance camera.

If infiltrating a place like this couldn’t be done flawlessly, it would practically be an insult to the processing power of a super brain.

Identifying the target proved easier than expected.

Certainly much easier than locating Mikhail Kuzmin within the BSF.

There simply weren’t many women inside the estate.

And from their behavior, it wasn’t difficult to determine their status.

The women hurrying nervously from task to task, speaking cautiously and walking on eggshells, clearly were not the mistress of the household.

Henry knew perfectly well that the person he sought was an oligarch’s wife—a woman capable of helping build her husband’s career.

She certainly wasn’t some submissive doormat.

Thus, the list of suspects narrowed quickly.

Using binoculars, Henry soon confirmed the target.

He had no intention of casually turning the place into a massacre and becoming the sort of person he himself despised.

So he patiently waited for an opportunity when the target was alone—or at least surrounded by relatively few people.

A long-range assassination would have been possible.

But Henry still wanted to meet Alexandra Rusanova—

Or rather, Alexandra Fadeyeva now—

Face to face.

If Mikhail Kuzmin had been the primary perpetrator of torture during those final three years, then Alexandra Rusanova had been the principal medical attendant responsible for Henry’s physical examinations throughout the preceding twenty years.

Including treatment for the injuries inflicted during those final years.

One might assume such a person would have been like a mother figure.

Someone who offered him a shred of warmth and humanity.

The reality was exactly the opposite.

During those twenty years, Henry couldn’t even manage basic conversation.

That alone revealed the researchers’ attitude toward him.

When there wasn’t even elementary communication, why should a woman automatically display maternal kindness?

Every examination and medical procedure made Henry feel like a slab of dead pork being inspected by health officials.

If he failed inspection, he imagined they would simply stamp him defective and toss him into an incinerator.

Back then, Henry didn’t even know he was Kryptonian.

He didn’t know yellow sunlight represented his chance at freedom.

All he knew was that he was a malnourished alien trapped in Russian hands, lacking even the strength to resist.

Without hope of any kind, becoming the subject of a group of Russian researchers felt no different from being a death-row prisoner.

At any moment, they might drag him away and shoot him.

Or dissect him, cut him apart, and throw the remains into a furnace.

Living in constant fear was hardly an exaggeration.

The woman closest to him throughout that period was always cold and expressionless.

She never smiled.

Her eyes looked at him as though he were already dead.

That didn’t inspire attachment.

It deepened the fear.

And Henry had never truly been an ignorant alien infant.

Inside was the soul of a transmigrator.

Now that he finally had the opportunity to confront her again, he couldn’t help wanting to ask what she had truly thought back then.

Nobody was completely indifferent to the opinions of others.

Even knowing criticism would hurt, curiosity remained irresistible.

Perhaps he might hear something positive.

Until the answer arrived, that false hope continued deceiving people and giving them reason to wait.

Compared to an entire day spent listening outside the BSF building, the nighttime wait proved much shorter.

For a middle-aged couple, nightlife was no longer what it had been in youth.

The days of losing themselves among fine liquor and beautiful companions were long past.

Their child was already old enough to sleep separately.

So the bedroom contained only the powerful oligarch and his aging wife.

"Who are you?!"

The man had only recently climbed into bed and switched off the bedside lamp when, by the dim glow of a nightlight, he vaguely noticed another figure standing at the foot of the bed.

Both husband and wife sat upright immediately.

Their hands simultaneously reached beneath their pillows.

Even without X-ray vision, Henry could easily guess what was hidden there.

Guns.

In an instant, both of them lost sight of him.

Using super speed, Henry moved beside the husband and pressed against the carotid artery in his neck.

The Russian oligarch immediately lost consciousness.

If he hadn’t, Henry would simply have killed him.

Fortunately, his years as a repairman hadn’t been wasted. He remained highly confident in manipulating ordinary human physiology.

At the same time, the compact PSM pistol appeared in his hand and pointed directly at the woman before she could draw her weapon.

Alexandra Fadeyeva was not a field operative.

Nor was she some battle-hardened female soldier accustomed to firearms.

Her reactions were much slower.

The dim bedroom lighting further disadvantaged an ordinary person like her.

By the time she identified where the intruder had reappeared, a gun was already aimed at her head.

"I suggest you slowly remove your hands and let me see them."

Having spent years living comfortably as a wealthy lady, she chose not to challenge the armed man.

As she slowly withdrew her hands, she asked:

"What do you want?"

"Ms. Rusanova," Henry said deliberately using her maiden name, "do you remember Alien Number One?"

"Why would you know about that thing?"

Alexandra Fadeyeva frowned.

Henry froze at her wording.

"Thing? You considered him a thing?"

"It was clearly an alien creature, yet it looked human and grew up like a human. Don’t you find that disgusting?"

Then something seemed to occur to her.

A rumor.

A possibility.

Her expression shifted.

"Could it be that—"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Same as before.

One shot to the head.

Two shots to the heart.

Making absolutely certain she was dead.

The gunshots naturally alerted the estate’s security personnel.

To Henry’s ears, their chaotic footsteps sounded as loud as drums.

He did not immediately flee in panic.

Instead, he lightly tapped his forehead with the pistol grip and mocked himself.

"What exactly were you thinking? What kind of answer did you expect to hear?"

Before leaving, Henry glanced one final time at the woman lying in a pool of blood.

Partly to confirm she had completely lost all signs of life.

Partly because he suddenly laughed.

"Hah. A disgusting alien."

"Actually, you’re not entirely wrong, you know."

"If I saw something that looked human in every respect, and someone told me it was an alien without any context..."

"I’d probably find it disgusting too."

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