Chapter 13

The next day, the Wat Group mobilized all its resources to search for that bastard.

But the results were minimal; every video’s IP address was inconsistent, clearly the other party had anticipated their reaction, and analyzing the videos yielded no results.

[3

Almost twenty-four hours were up, and the Patriot grew increasingly furious, storming into the Information Department.

“Don’t tell me you still have no leads at all?”

The Patriot’s oppressive presence was overwhelming, especially now that his emotions were so unstable—leaving the entire Information Department in dead silence.

Finally, under the crushing weight of oppression, someone shattered the suffocating killing intent that filled the office.

“W-we found it!”

Elsa from Information, terrified beyond words, stammered: “I-I’s the Invisible Man’s signal—seventy kilometers south, in an abandoned factory.”

“Good. This matter is not to be mentioned to anyone.”

The Patriot glanced at Elsa, raised a hand to stroke her head, then swept his gaze across the entire Information Department, his voice icy: “Or else, you’ll learn what the consequences are.”

“Y-yes... yes, I—I won’t tell anyone.”

Elsa frantically swore again and again that she would tell no one.

All other employees in the Information Department, under the Patriot’s suffocating gaze, nodded in silent agreement to this madman’s demand.

Then the Patriot strode out of the Information Department, his eyes dark as he stared toward the CEO’s office: “No one controls me. No one... not even you, Medlin!”

Without informing anyone, the Patriot shot straight into the sky, dragging behind him a deafening sonic boom, vanishing into the clouds.

Seventy kilometers meant nothing to the Patriot—he could reach it in moments.

Gazing down from high above at the abandoned complex, the Patriot transformed into a falling star, his body crashing through the ceiling.

BOOM!

The shockwave from the impact shattered the entire factory.

Amid swirling dust, the Patriot—like a god descending—stepped over the ruins toward the depths: “You wanted to see me? I’m here. Where are you? Come out now.”

He tried using his X-ray vision, but many areas of the factory were lined with zinc alloy, blocking his sight.

Suddenly, a puppet riding a bicycle lurched into view from the corner.

“Hello, John. I want to play a game with you.”

The familiar line sent the Patriot into a rage—his eyes flared with terrifying red light.

“Oh, calm down, John.”

The puppet’s lower lip moved back and forth, emitting a mechanical voice: “I wouldn’t recommend burning it with your heat vision. Otherwise, I can’t guarantee what’ll be in the next video.”

The terrifying red glow in the Patriot’s eyes slowly faded—he forcibly suppressed his fury: “Who are you?”

“I’m a merchant, John.”

The puppet rode his bicycle right up to him: “I happen to know some secrets—about you, John, and about Waterson Corporation and Compound Five.”

Those blood-red eyes locked onto the Patriot, making him feel exposed—as if every secret had been laid bare.

“Sometimes, knowing too much isn’t a good thing.”

The Patriot shed all pretense, his gaze cruel and vicious: “If you dare speak, I swear... I’ll find you, tear off your limbs, and make you scream in agony until you die.”

“So scary. I’m just a puppet.”

The puppet shook its head as if genuinely frightened, then added: “What if the public learned you’re not a born hero, not blessed by God—but a monster created by Waterson using Compound Five? What would they do?”

“How dare you!”

The Patriot’s eyes flared red again, veins bulging across his face as he snarled.

If this got out, his approval ratings... he couldn’t even imagine it. Just thinking about it made the world feel like it was collapsing.

He needed recognition. He thrived on adoration. Lose that, and he’d lose everything.

So he couldn’t lose it.

“Wow, so scary—it’s the Patriot’s signature move, heat vision!”

The puppet pedaled backward a few steps, tilting its head: “How about a deal, John? One that benefits both of us?”

“What deal?” The Patriot’s red glow faded; his tone turned icy.

He was impulsive, but not stupid—he instantly realized this was the real goal.

“Simple. I need a permanent supply of Compound Five.”

The puppet spoke bluntly: “In exchange, I’ll give you a secret you’ll find interesting.”

“So your target is Compound Five.” The Patriot sneered, arrogant: “What secret could possibly interest me?”

“Don’t you want to know where your son is?”

The puppet spoke casually: “Of course, you could search for him yourself—but will Waterson Corporation even tell you?”

What is “killing two birds with one stone”?

This is it.

Thank you, Rebecca. As a tool, you’ve never even met me—but you’re incredibly useful!

Alvin understood the Patriot’s psychological flaws: a son tied by blood was enough to make him care.

Of course, even if the Patriot went to Waterson Corporation for answers, Alvin had a backup plan.

As expected.

The information Alvin dropped left the Patriot stunned: “My... son?”

When had he ever had a son?

Had Waterson secretly cloned him using his own genes?

“Unrelated to Waterson. Your son was born naturally, inherited your genes, and was born with the same abilities as you.” The puppet dropped another bombshell.

This time, the Patriot was completely stunned.

He stared wide-eyed, expression dazed, fixed on the puppet: “I... I have a son? And... he inherited my genes?”

“Correct. His name is ‘Ryan.’”

Sensing the moment was right, the puppet delivered another bomb: “As a bonus, I’ll give you another piece of information: Waterson’s contingency plan to kill you the moment you go out of control.”

Before he could recover from the shock of having a son, the Patriot was reeling from this new blow.

“No, impossible!” The Patriot growled, furious: “I’m invincible. I do as I please. Waterson can’t kill me!”

But the only response from the puppet was eerie silence.

The puppet’s eyes regarded him like a clown, emitting a chilling, mocking laugh.

No explanation. Silence was the sharpest blade—easily slicing through the Patriot’s confidence, his expression darkening slowly.

“A weapon of immense power always has a way to control it.”

The puppet didn’t care about the Patriot’s mood, speaking calmly: “Nuclear bombs do. So do you. Why would you think Waterson has no way to control you?”

“I accept your deal. It’s settled.”

The Patriot’s brow twitched, a vein bulging across his face: “Compound Five, right? How do I contact you?”

“No need. I’ll contact you.”

The puppet rode his bicycle into the shadows.

“Wait—where’s the Invisible Man?”

The Patriot suddenly remembered why he’d come, blurting out the question.

“Ah, almost forgot~”

The puppet stopped, letting out a strange laugh: “Sorry. That guy was too noisy. He’s been blown to pieces.”