Adam Hammond's Misfortune
Living in Coast City for decades, Adam Hammond felt for the first time that autumn in the city was utterly detestable.
The autumn rain was continuous and endless, and the cold wind, carrying the chill of the Arctic Ocean, pierced his body like steel needles.
Adam Hammond couldn't bear standing by the door for two minutes. He tightened his coat and huddled by the fireplace, tasting the loneliness like an old man in the twilight of his life.
Ever since Hector's press conference, his government positions had been wiped out. State Senator, Congressman, Major General, high-ranking official in the Department of Defense, Democratic Party Senator, and so on—decades of effort dissolved into nothing in an instant.
All thanks to his "good son."
They say even a tiger won't eat its cub, but at this moment, Adam harbored endless resentment and poison towards his son.
He had spent the past few days wondering why he had ever been tempted by that stupid, weak Latina woman. Why didn't I just piss that damned piss on the wall? Why did I have to sire that bastard and let him ruin everyone's lives!
Since losing his post, his life had plummeted. He dared not leave his home, go onto the streets, or shop. He couldn't even go to a bar for a drink. He was confined to his dilapidated villa, living a lonely existence under the watch of a group of "special personnel."
He was sick of this life, but there was no way to change it. Coast City hadn't forgotten that Hector's father was Adam Hammond, and if he dared to go outside, the angry citizens would surely tear him limb from limb.
When will this cursed life end?
Adam sighed, looking out the window.
The autumn rain was pouring down harder, rattling the curtains. He had to get up and close the window tightly. Just then, a soft thud, thud sounded behind him.
Adam quickly turned around. A strange-looking figure stood by the fireplace. His skin was fiery red, like burning charcoal. His ears were pointed, his eyebrows thick, and his dark hair was neatly combed back. He stood rigidly, like a steel knife forged of cold iron.
A soldier?
Adam, being a military man, was familiar with that demeanor.
"Adam Hammond?"
A low voice echoed in his ears. Adam immediately snapped back to reality. He glanced at the guards lying on the ground outside the door and asked nervously,
"That's me. Who are you, and what do you want?"
"Is Hector Hammond your son?"
Adam was silent for a few seconds, then nodded grimly.
"Good. I like your honesty."
Sinestro turned, continuing, "Have you heard of an organization called A.R.G.U.S.?"
Adam unconsciously frowned, a hint of wariness flashing in his eyes.
Sinestro, who had been observing his expression, nodded knowingly. "It seems I haven't come to the wrong person. You're an insider."
"Some time ago, a flight pod crashed on the beach near Coast City's river bay. The person in that pod was my best friend, Abin Sur, a great and meritorious warrior. He died protecting the universe. His body was taken away by an organization called A.R.G.U.S."
"Tell me, where is A.R.G.U.S.?"
Adam: "..."
Floyd's Last Moments
If time could be reversed, Floyd Russell would never have agreed to become the head of A.R.G.U.S. Even if it meant offending Dick Cheney, it would be better than his current dreadful situation.
That damned Amanda Waller, that bastard, that shrew! Not only did she hollow out A.R.G.U.S., but she also used his name to contact the FBI and the Department of Justice to conduct numerous clandestine political activities. Rumor had it she had even struck a deal with President Joel Nash.
Because of this, he had been chewed out countless times by Vice President Dick Cheney and several high-ranking military generals.
The label of "incompetent" was firmly stuck to him, impossible to remove.
In this moment, Floyd finally understood Amanda's true meaning: You're just a scapegoat!
"A scapegoat? Screw the scapegoat!"
Floyd hissed in a low roar, his face contorted with fury. That damned dark-skinned bitch, just wait. One day, you'll fall into my hands.
A scrawny camel is still bigger than a horse. Although A.R.G.U.S. had been drained of its core personnel, its scientific facilities, research data, and most of its heavy equipment remained, along with the most important asset: the alien body.
Hector's power came from the alien corpse. If he could unlock the corpse's secret, he could mass-produce superhumans as powerful as Hector.
At that time, A.R.G.U.S., under his leadership, would soar to prominence, becoming the king of Earth, unrestrained by anyone.
Dreams are always inspiring. To achieve his goal quickly, Floyd poured all his energy into studying the corpse, even ignoring the protests of the scientists to conduct "slicing research."
He himself held a Master's degree in medicine, so the dissection work was perfectly within his capability. Soon, Abin Sur's body was divided into countless "small" pieces, being studied and scrutinized bit by bit, from the surface inward and back again.
Floyd was so engrossed that he practically lived on top of the corpse, oblivious even when the base was breached.
A human male in a white lab coat was hunched over Abin Sur's fragmented corpse, wielding a small knife, tweezers, and an analyzer. He occasionally wiped the sweat from his forehead and hiked up his loose pants.
This was the sight that greeted Sinestro when he walked in.
In the next instant, Floyd flew backward, his heart pierced by a burning fire-spear, pinning him to the wall like a nail. In his final moments, his face was contorted with shock and disbelief.
Why... why am I dead?
My dream?
My ideals?
Was I really... a scapegoat?
Intense, bitter unwillingness surged from the bottom of his heart. Floyd raised his hand slightly, then died.
The accompanying Green Lantern soldier seemed about to say something, but upon seeing Abin Sur's body cut into countless pieces and his Commander's body trembling irregularly with rage, he sighed softly and remained silent.
Abin Sur was Sinestro's best friend. The two shared a mutual respect—one was the greatest Green Lantern, the other the most powerful. They had been friends for decades, carried out many dangerous missions together, and were role models for the Green Lantern Corps.
Now, Abin Sur was dead, cut into fillets and laid out on an experimental table...
As a Council member of the Green Lantern Corps, what could he possibly say?
Sinestro walked forward step by step, staring at the scattered body parts on the experimental table. His cold, hard face, which hadn't changed for decades, began to twitch uncontrollably.
He ground his teeth, letting out a primal howl like a lone wolf. Powerful energy surged around him. The air seemed to writhe and distort with incredible explosive force. The surrounding researchers turned white with terror and ran out frantically.
Sinestro raised his hand, and a beam of green light pierced one of the researcher's heads, leaving a large splattering of red and yellow viscous matter.
A green-glowing coffin materialized out of thin air.
Sinestro gently lifted his friend's head and carefully placed it at the front edge of the coffin. Then, he picked up the pieces of the body from the experimental table, piecing them back together one by one according to his memory.
His companion tried to step forward to help, but Sinestro roared him away.
The atmosphere became incredibly tense and heavy, like a volcano about to erupt, the prelude to a coming storm.
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