Chapter 92: Experiencing Holander in the True Sense
Whether before or after she got pregnant, he had tried to hit on her and stalk her multiple tis, only to be strictly rejected by the woman every single ti. With a deeply warped mind, Thomas, determined to have her, intentionally spent money to hire two scumbag buddies from his social circle to corner and harass her in the alley.
According to his original malicious plan, he was going to record the entire rape from upstairs with his cara. Once the footage was secured, he would play the savior, fake-generously stepping in to chase the thugs away and pull off a classic hero-saves-the-girl act. And even if the hero act failed, he could use the video as leverage to blackmail the woman long-term. What a perfect plan!
And yet... it was so close to succeeding, so close to capturing the most explosive footage! That goddamn Holander had to drop from the sky, completely shattering his good fortune! Not only did he save that bitch, but he blew his two buddies’ heads clean off!
"Goddammit, fuck!!!" Thomas watched the brutal footage of Holander’s terrifying Heat Vision executing them on his cara screen, his legs shaking with fear. Yet, a flash of maniacal greed flickered in his eyes.
"A superhero slaughtering innocent citizens on the street... that’s a straight-up extrajudicial lynching without a trial!"
"Holander, you dared to fuck up my plans and ruin my chances..." Thomas squeezed the cara tightly in his hands, his lips stretching into a savage grin. "I’m exposing this video! I’m selling it to the big dia networks! I’ll destroy you, you hypocritical superhero!!"
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Over the next few days, the New York Police Departnt and Vought International’s PR departnt were driven into a frenzy. They discovered that the high-and-mighty Holander had gone completely off the rails.
This "going off the rails" didn’t an he was on a mad killing spree. On the contrary, it was because he was relentlessly saving people.
Saving people without flashbulbs, dia reporters, or pre-written teleprompter scripts. Even with Vought now under Benjamin’s iron rule, whenever a superhero saved lives, the company would still capitalize on it to manufacture hype and draft speeches, a practice Benjamin hadn’t put a stop to. After all, if the Supes were genuinely saving people, doing this was rely icing on the cake—there was no reason to reject it.
These past few days, Holander acted like a wandering, solitary eagle. Draped in his star-spangled cape, he trawled through New York day and night, even flying across over half of Arica, searching for his own sense of "aning."
His father Benjamin’s words—"love is a two-way street"—were deeply scored into his heart. He desperately wanted to re-experience that pure, unadulterated gratitude that ca from delivering the weak from harm. That genuine love.
Because his father had told him that to be truly loved, you had to learn how to love others back. Holander didn’t need fanatical zealots who brutalized kids and bullied the weak.
Over these few days, various corners of Arica bore witness to a genuine "divine executioner."
Inside a Brooklyn high school, a gang of bullies who systematically tornted a classmate—even forcing the victim to drink toilet water—were gearing up to launch another assault. Suddenly, accompanied by a violent gale, Holander descended like a wrathful god, crashing clean through the roof of the abandoned warehouse.
He didn’t kill them; he rely glared dead at those little shits with his freezing, pale blue eyes. Under the oppressive weight of absolute terror, the bullies pissed their pants on the spot, before Holander snatched them up like a clutch of chickens and dumped them right on the doorstep of the local precinct.
On a remote farm in Texas, an alcoholic dostic abuser was violently thrashing his wife and child with a leather belt, on the verge of beating them to death. Holander kicked through the farm’s security door, entirely ignoring the shotgun in the man’s hands. He crushed the ard limb with one hand, turning the howling abuser over to the cruisers that arrived after hearing the commotion.
Every cop stepping out of those cruisers stared up at Holander with eyes full of profound respect.
Of course, if he crossed paths with ruthless cartel thugs executing massacres or trafficking humans—especially child trafficking—Holander didn’t mind letting them taste his Heat Vision. Those wicked souls were instantly vaporized to ash in the extre heat.
After every act of vigilantism, Holander witnessed the raw, post-survival gratitude in the victims’ eyes, and the adoration in the children’s gazes... looking up at him as if he were an absolute savior. There were no corporate publicity stunts. No manufactured cheers.
Yet Holander felt his soul fulfilled and at peace, far more than when he stood at Vought Square listening to the fanatical screams of tens of thousands.
However, in an era ruled by engagent and clout, this kind of unvetted, private vigilantism devoid of PR packaging was bound to trigger colossal trouble.
And that was exactly why most superhero rescues—even when they weren’t drills or staged corporate performances—absolutely required the coordination and push of the public relations departnt.
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A/N: Don’t forget to send Power Stones for more Chapters!!
Want to know what happens next? You can read up to 10 Chapters ahead on my p@tr~on:
/ForgottenDaoist (@ = a, link is in my profile).
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