Free Web NovelChapter 9: Chapter 9: The Death of Black Noir
Chapter 9: The Death of Black Noir
Homelander leaned against the wall of the stairwell, the hand holding the report dropping to his side.
The wall was freezing, the chill seeping through the fabric of his hoodie into his skin, but he didn’t feel it at all.
His gaze was fixed on a tiny crack on the opposite wall, yet his eyes weren’t focused; his X-ray vision pierced straight through the wall, through the hospital, and across all of New York.
He had a father.
But no one had ever told him. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com
Soldier Boy was his father.
The white-coated researchers in the lab hadn’t, Madelyn hadn’t, and neither had Barbara or Edgar.
In his worldview, the word "father" was something that belonged to other people, just like the perfect families in breakfast cereal commercials.
It was an illusion written into a script, a greeting image posted on Twitter by Vought’s PR department every Father’s Day.
Now, someone had suddenly told him that he was real.
A father who would beat him, and who would discipline him.
He flipped the report back to the first page and read it again.
Then he read it once more.
By the third time, his hands began to tremble.
Not from excitement.
It was from hate.
He hated Edgar.
He hated that goddamn bastard who sat behind the round table of the board of directors, always facing everyone with a mild smile.
He hated Vought, hated this lab cage that had contained him in an incubation tank for as long as he could remember.
He hated Black Noir, hated that silent shadow who never spoke.
He had patted that man’s shoulder countless times, called him "partner" countless times.
Yet that man had known about his father from the very beginning, and had even been one of the bastards who framed his father.
His hatred needed an outlet.
Homelander shoved the report into his hoodie pocket, pushed open the stairwell door, and walked out of the hospital.
The wound on his face throbbed faintly under the sunlight, the dried streak of blood still hanging on his left cheek, un-wiped.
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Evening, Vought Tower.
Homelander stepped out of the elevator, the paternity test report clutched in his hand, the paper already crumpled and wrinkled.
He walked along the corridor, constantly looking around, searching.
Finally, Homelander found him.
In the lounge at the end of the corridor, Black Noir was sitting on the sofa.
He wore his signature black suit, the mask concealing his entire face.
An untouched glass of water sat on the coffee table in front of him, and the screen of a nearby tablet was lit up, playing some black-and-white comedy from the silent film era.
Black Noir was watching intently, or rather, he appeared to be watching.
His posture was straight to the point of stiffness, his hands resting flat on his knees.
Homelander came to a halt at the lounge entrance.
He didn’t speak, but merely stood there, scrutinizing the silent figure on the sofa with a gaze he had never used before.
Black Noir noticed his presence and slowly turned his head, the eyeholes of his mask aligning with the doorway.
The two stared at each other.
"Noir," Homelander spoke, his voice abnormally calm. "Do you know my father?"
Black Noir’s head tilted slightly.
Then Black Noir shook his head.
Homelander walked into the lounge, his steps unhurried.
He unfurled the crumpled ball of paper in his hand and flung it hard into Black Noir’s face.
"My father, Soldier Boy. The probability of paternity is greater than 99.99%. Sample A is the biological father of Sample B. As a member of my father’s team, you didn’t know?"
Black Noir’s gaze fell upon the piece of paper.
He stared at it for a long time.
The only sound in the room was the exaggerated piano accompaniment from the silent film; a comedic actor stumbled on the screen, silently tumbling down a flight of stairs, glaringly ridiculous.
Then Black Noir nodded, and then shook his head.
He wanted to explain something, but he couldn’t speak.
"You knew the whole time."
Homelander’s voice suddenly became very soft, so quiet it was almost like he was talking to himself.
"Every single time you stood next to me, every single time I patted your shoulder and called you my partner, you knew."
"And you were one of the bastards who framed my father."
Black Noir didn’t move, like a silent black mirror.
He knew he was done for.
Homelander stopped speaking.
He extended his hand, the five fingers of his right hand pressed tightly together, aiming his fingertips right at Black Noir’s chest. The instant his fingertips made contact with the black suit, the fabric was pierced through like paper.
Then came the skin, then the muscle, as Homelander’s fingers pushed inward, inch by inch.
Black Noir’s body shuddered slightly. freēwēbηovel.c૦m
From beginning to end, his gaze never left Homelander’s face.
Black Noir was dead.
His hands slid off his knees, hanging down at his sides, his fingers curling slightly.
The silent film kept playing.
Various cartoon characters also began to appear in his eyes.
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Homelander pulled his hand back.
He glanced down at his hand, then turned and walked out of the lounge.
He didn’t leave so much as a spare glance for the shell gradually growing cold on the sofa.
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A/n: If you want to read ahead and find out what happens next right away, you can read up to 20 Chapters ahead on my p@tr~on: [email protected]/ForgottenDaoist (@ = a, link is in my profile).
