Marvel: A Lazy-Ass Superman

Chapter 558: Unbearable Memories Awaken

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At first glance, when Henry saw this group of pale-faced, disheveled Russians—each looking like a washed-up middle-aged man on the verge of alcoholism—he actually didn’t recognize them.

After all, Henry was wearing glasses now. At slightly longer distances, many details became blurry, making it difficult to match them with the people in his memories.

But the pheromonal scents reaching his nose stimulated memories he had deliberately buried.

Then, in a certain instant, Henry matched the people before him with the white lab coats, guards, and staff from his past memories.

Even though he didn’t know their names, their actions remained crystal clear within the recollections of his super brain.

A surge of malicious impulse rose from his chest before he forcibly suppressed it.

Compared to Henry, who had recognized them, these Russians who had been brought here clearly had no idea why they had been summoned.

And because Henry now had the beard he’d unwillingly grown, combined with his polished appearance that bore no resemblance to the malnourished figure from back then, no one recognized who this man escorted in by the black suits actually was.

John Garrett seemed dissatisfied that the long-awaited reunion he had arranged was turning out so flat.

He patted Henry on the shoulder and said to the Russians in Russian:

"Aren’t you at all excited to see the child you took care of for over twenty years?"

"What do you mean, Agent Garrett?" one of the former researchers—apparently part of the old management staff—asked.

"You still haven’t recognized him? He’s the subject you people raised in the research facility for twenty years. And now he’s grown up healthy and accomplished quite remarkable things."

In a normal parent-child relationship, hearing someone praise the child you raised would naturally fill you with pride.

But after John Garrett revealed the truth, every one of them showed expressions of horror and stumbled several steps backward.

The women among them even covered their mouths, their expressions mixing disgust with pity. It was hard to tell which emotion outweighed the other.

At this point, even someone as dull as John Garrett realized something was wrong between the two sides.

Turning toward Henry, he asked:

"Mr. Brown, weren’t you raised under their care?"

Henry was so exasperated by HYDRA-S.H.I.E.L.D.’s train of thought that he laughed.

"Mr. Garrett, if you were capable of digging these people up, didn’t it ever occur to you to think about what kind of environment I was raised in? Hmm? A bunch of scientists plus an alien."

Putting himself in Henry’s shoes, John Garrett could naturally imagine what kind of things had happened.

At least under his own management style, there was no way a test subject would have been allowed to grow up peacefully—let alone escape.

But during the final years of the Red Empire, chaos had spread from top to bottom. Strange and absurd things happened constantly.

So somehow, an alien who should have been treated as an important asset had escaped to America and even flourished there.

Not even Hollywood screenwriters and directors would dare make a movie like that.

Originally, Garrett had hoped that arranging this meeting would allow him to use mutual gratitude to control both these surviving Red Empire researchers and this man trusted deeply by Tony Stark.

Instead, the entire plan collapsed.

Forget gratitude—this was outright hatred.

Dark thoughts immediately arose in John Garrett’s mind.

Furious, he turned toward the Russians he had spent enormous resources rescuing from that chaotic nation and shouted in Russian:

"Why the hell did none of you mention you abused your test subject?!"

Most of them didn’t dare speak.

Only one person timidly muttered:

"We... we only wanted to leave that place."

"Damn you Russians! Your country’s gone, and now your souls are gone too? Where’s that arrogant pride you used to have?!"

John Garrett cursed furiously.

The previously silent Henry suddenly took a step forward.

It should have been an insignificant movement, yet that single step sounded like a drumbeat stomping directly into everyone’s hearts, echoing heavily in their chests.

These people, who had become miserable wrecks after the birth of the new nation, were so frightened by that single step that the fact they hadn’t wet themselves already counted as exceptional composure.

Even though they themselves didn’t know exactly what they were afraid of.

Perhaps it was guilt from deceiving American agents in order to escape one hell only to enter another.

Or perhaps it was despair that the sins of their past had once again resurfaced, threatening to shatter the better life they had hoped for.

In any case, they had never truly believed the crimes they committed were unforgivable.

After all, they had merely followed orders mechanically, acting as tools in the hands of their superiors.

Those sins, in their minds, shouldn’t be theirs to bear.

But Henry’s single step still placed immense psychological pressure upon them.

Finally, one of them broke down.

Mixing clumsy English with Russian, he shouted:

"Ennuno Odin! The one who directed the project back then, Dr. Pyotr Roslov, already died during the KGB purges!

"We were only following his instructions! Whatever was done to you had nothing to do with us! Besides, I treated you well back then, remember? Every Sunday, I gave you an extra piece of candy."

Henry walked directly toward the speaker.

The man was a bloated, balding Russian.

Back during the laboratory days, he had been extremely strong and handled most of the heavy work—including restraining Henry whenever he resisted.

Since the man had spoken, Henry didn’t stop. He simply continued walking until he stood directly before him.

The current "Alien Number One" (Ennuno Odin) was now a man standing over six feet tall and weighing around two hundred pounds—not the malnourished and frail child he had once been.

By foreign standards, he still wasn’t considered especially huge, but the oppressive aura he emitted was undeniable.

The Russian hurriedly added:

"The people who hated you the most and treated you the worst all fled during the collapse. I heard many of them died overseas.

"You have to understand—we haven’t lived well either. Everyone’s suffered terribly. Whatever mistakes we made in the past, we already paid the price and endured hardship for it."

As a Kryptonian human lie detector, even without the aid of his vision, and despite the man’s nervous state, Henry could still tell those words were merely convenient excuses.

Rather than interrogating him further on the spot, Henry simply patted the man generously on the upper arm.

Leaning close to his ear, he softly said a single sentence.

To the professionally trained agents present, lip-reading clearly showed Henry Brown saying in Russian:

"I forgive you."

But Henry had played a small trick.

His lip movements matched exactly what they saw.

Yet the actual sound reaching the man’s ears—spoken using ventriloquism techniques in Russian—was:

"Enjoy what little remains of your life."

After saying that, Henry turned and walked away.

But as he attempted to leave the small conference room, John Garrett’s men blocked his path.

Henry could only turn back and say:

"I don’t intend to pursue what happened in the past. But Mr. Garrett, do you really think I could sit down with them and casually reminisce about all the ways they abused me? You want to make a scene here?"

Right next door was Stark Industries’ semiannual conference.

True, there weren’t any members of America’s top old-money families attending—but there were certainly enough retired generals.

Those men might no longer hold military rank, but their influence over military and political circles still remained. It would be foolish to think they possessed no power at all.

Given America’s enormous veteran population, along with the countless private military consulting firms—essentially mercenary contractors—those retired generals merely lacked uniforms now.

Even S.H.I.E.L.D. would only end up embarrassing itself if trouble broke out in a place like this.

Not to mention that HYDRA-S.H.I.E.L.D. was still operating in secret and had no desire to become the center of attention.

Thus, John Garrett could only wave his hand and allow his men to stand aside, swallowing the bitter consequences of his incomplete intelligence.

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