American comics: Damn it, I’m surrounded by those who worry about their fathers!.

Chapter 1139 Dad, are you afraid of monsters?
Peter: "."

He was rendered speechless.

This kid is really something else.

Looking into his youngest daughter's sincere (at least on the surface) eyes and hearing her say that she "wanted to experience what it's like to be a father," Peter didn't know what expression to make.

Is this considered pandering?
Or was it psychological manipulation against him?

After all, this brat is known for his manipulative tactics.

But surprisingly, he actually falls for it.

He coughed, and although he was touched, Peter said seriously, "You absolutely must not do this again, do you hear me? There are many ways to understand your father; you don't need to hurt yourself to prove it."

Machima nodded obediently, "I understand, Daddy."

The beehive is still under the eaves, and the wasps are still buzzing.

But at this moment, in the air beneath the barn, besides the smell of pesticides and the scent of autumn, something subtle was quietly spreading.

at the same time.

Lexcorp, President's Office.

Beyond the thick, bulletproof glass curtain wall, the metropolis's towering skyscrapers gleam coldly in the afternoon sun.

Inside the office, Lex Luthor sat in a large leather chair, his body sinking deep into it, his knuckles turning slightly white from the exertion.

He held an expensive silk handkerchief in one hand and gently pressed it against the area near his temple that was still throbbing faintly.

Although there were no obvious wounds, the dull pain from the heavy blow before he fell into a coma, and the mental shock of facing the hellish scene after waking up, left him with lingering aftereffects that have not yet dissipated.

He can't remember anything.

The last scene in his memory was the狰狞 face of Victor's gang leader in the factory, and the heavy punch coming straight at him.

Then he was plunged into darkness.

When I regained consciousness, what I saw were flashing police lights, piercing sirens, and corpses scattered everywhere, horribly shaped and reeking of blood.

Lex stood in the center of the body and became the prime suspect.

If it weren't for his use of his large legal team, media resources, and some unspoken political influence, he would probably still be in the police station's interrogation room right now, facing endless questioning.

"At the factory..."

Lex's voice was a little hoarse. He put down his handkerchief and turned a sharp look at his trusted assistant, who was standing at his desk with his hands at his sides. "Have you found out exactly what happened? I need to know every detail."

The assistant, a shrewd and capable middle-aged man named David Jones, immediately stepped forward and replied with a puzzled look on his face:
"Sir, the factory's internal monitoring system... has been completely destroyed. The technical department reports that the storage core has suffered a physical, inexplicable meltdown, and the data cannot be recovered temporarily."

Lex tapped his fingertips lightly on the smooth tabletop, making a rhythmic "tap, tap" sound.

The first piece of bad news he heard made his head ache even more.

"anything else?"

He pressed on with more questions.

David took a deep breath and continued his report: "The preliminary autopsy report from the forensic department is out, and the results... are very strange."

He paused, as if organizing his thoughts, "Several victims, the cause of death... cannot be explained by conventional weapons."

"Be specific."

"Yes, sir, the skull of one of the deceased... the forensic description is 'a non-mechanical, multi-centripetal comminuted fracture' with severe brain tissue compression... they said it didn't look like being hit by a heavy object, but more like... being crushed inwards from all directions at the same time."

Lex frowned upon hearing this.

"There was another victim with blast injuries to his entire upper body. Strangely, the explosion seemed to have started from inside his body, and no shrapnel or explosives were found embedded on his body surface. The forensic doctor speculated that it may have been an extremely high-pressure 'implosion'."

After David finished speaking, the office fell into a deathly silence.

Lex's expression turned serious, his brows furrowing tightly.

These things were completely beyond his comprehension.

This reminded him of certain records containing events involving supernatural forces or extreme superpowers.

"Has any abnormal energy radiation been detected? Or... signs of biological contamination?"

"Lex asked in a deep voice."

"No, sir, the environmental tests are all normal, except for... a large amount of blood and human tissue, no exogenous substances or energy residues were found."

This is even more weird.

"Any news about that kid Bart?"

"Not yet, sir."

Just as Lex was about to continue asking questions, his private encrypted communicator on the table suddenly vibrated rapidly.

Lex glanced down at the caller ID; it was another line responsible for intelligence gathering.

He pressed the answer button and held the phone to his ear.

"explain."

A hurried voice came from the other end of the phone: "Sir, the Blood Gang headquarters, almost all of their people have been wiped out!"

Lex was even more bewildered upon hearing this.

Blood Gang?
Is it Victor's gang?
The factory massacre had just ended, and now their stronghold had been taken down?

A strong sense of foreboding overwhelmed him instantly.

"Send me the address, I'll be right there."

After issuing a brief command, Lex abruptly stood up from his chair, the throbbing pain in his forehead intensified by the sudden news.

Half an hour later, Lex's limousine braked suddenly and came to a stop outside a building.

A long yellow cordon has been set up here, and more than a dozen police cars, forensic vehicles, and vans from the forensic department have completely blocked the entrance.

The air was filled with a strong smell of blood.

Lex crossed the security line under the protection of his subordinates.

The police officer in charge of on-site command recognized him. When he saw him coming, he looked surprised and a little embarrassed, but still came to greet him.

“Mr. Luther, what’s wrong…”

"I heard something big happened here."

Lex interrupted him, his gaze sweeping over the interior of the building, where figures were moving about, and forensic doctors and investigators in white protective suits were busy at work.

"It might be related to something that happened to me before. What's the situation inside?"

The officer, named Miller, was a seasoned veteran, and his face was somewhat pale at that moment.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and lowered his voice, saying, "Mr. Luther, inside... it's practically a slaughterhouse, worse than your previous factory. More than a dozen people have died, all core members of the Blood Gang."

Are there any survivors?

Lex asked, clinging to his last shred of hope.

"There are...a few."

Officer Miller said the call was made by several girls.

"In a way, they are like cargo imprisoned inside."

The officer told Lex, "They said they were locked up and all they heard was silence outside. Then the door suddenly opened by itself, and when they came out, they saw the horrific scene."

Did they see the killer?

Lex pressed on, his heart pounding faster than usual.

Officer Miller shook his head regretfully: "No, they said they only saw a white shadow flash by the door and then disappeared. They were terrified."

"However, we saw a strange figure on the nearby surveillance footage."

"A strange figure?"

Lex's breath hitched.

"Yes, we retrieved data from several old surveillance cameras in the vicinity that are still working."

Officer Miller gestured for Lex to follow him to a command vehicle equipped with a surveillance screen.

"Although the distance was far and the image was blurry, a figure dressed as a little girl was indeed captured, around the time of the incident, but... no victim matching this description was found at the scene."

The technicians pulled up a surveillance video on the computer screen that was full of static.

The footage came from a security camera at a store across the street; the angle was poor and the distance was far.

Lex held his breath, staring intently at the screen.

In the image, a figure wearing a light-colored dress appears in the shadows surrounding the building.

She walked steadily and without the slightest hesitation, heading straight for the building entrance.

Because the resolution was too low, the face was indistinct; only an outline and a head of striking red hair stood out even in the blurry image. Despite the blurry picture and lack of any clear facial features, Lake was utterly stunned.

This figure and red hair.
He will never admit his mistake!

It's Machima!

A bone-chilling cold instantly swept over Lex's entire body.

He felt his forehead throbbing again, more intensely than ever before.

All the clues, like scattered puzzle pieces, were clearly pieced together at this moment by the name Machima.

This girl...

She's not as simple as she seems on the surface.

What kind of monster is she?!
"Dad, are you afraid of monsters?"

Padrick Farm.

In the bedroom on the second floor, a warm bedside lamp was on, casting a soft glow on the wall.

Peter had just tucked Machima in, the soft down comforter pulled all the way up to her chin, revealing only her fair face and a pair of deep golden eyes that looked exceptionally profound in the dim light.

Goodnight, Machima.

Peter reached out and brushed a stray hair from Machima's forehead.

Just as his fingertips were about to touch her skin, Machima suddenly asked:
"Dad, are you afraid of monsters?"

Peter's hand froze in mid-air.

He paused for a moment, then looked down at his daughter.

Machima stared at him without blinking.

He was a little confused as to why this brat suddenly asked that question.

Peter coughed, withdrew his hand, slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, shook his head, and said firmly, "No, I'm not afraid."

This answer didn't seem to satisfy Machima; her curiosity only grew, and she pressed on, "Then what is Daddy afraid of?"

afraid of what?
This question caused Peter to fall into a brief silence.

The night outside the window was deep and dark, as if it held countless secrets.

After thinking for a moment, Peter said to his youngest daughter with mixed feelings:

"Adults' fears are different from children's."

Machima's eyes brightened slightly, and she reached her small hand out from under the covers and gently grasped Peter's large hand placed by the bedside, her fingertips slightly cool.

"What's different? Dad, tell me."

Machima’s tone carried a stubborn inquiry, as if this question was of paramount importance to her.

Peter felt the cool touch of his daughter's little hand, and wrapped it in his palm to warm it.

With a wry smile, Peter said with a sigh:
"What makes adults unique is that...they use laxatives, alcohol, and sleeping pills to drive away fear and enjoy their sleep."

Peter's tone carried a subtle hint of sarcasm, "Their fears are always so mundane, so ordinary: whether they'll keep their jobs; the numbers in their bank accounts; what the teachers and other parents will think if they can't buy Jenny a nice dress for a school event; whether their wife (or husband) still loves them; who among their friends is truly sincere, and who is just pretending..."

He paused, then concluded: "—It's really so boring. These fears are trivial and real, like a dull knife cutting flesh. They won't kill you immediately, but they wear you down day after day."

As Peter spoke, Machima fell into deep thought.

This seems to confirm a certain perception she already had—humans are indeed creatures bound by these mundane and fragile emotions.

"What about the child?"

She then asked, her golden eyes fixed on Peter, "Daddy, what are children's fears like?"

Peter did not answer immediately.

His gaze passed over Machima and landed on the boundless darkness outside the window, his expression becoming somewhat complicated.

Only the soft breathing of the two remained in the bedroom.

A few seconds later, Peter spoke again, his voice even lower than before:

"Children's fears?"

He repeated it, then said to his daughter, “Children’s fears… are the greatest fears, but adults never understand them and have long forgotten them.”

Machima held his hand, unconsciously tightening her grip a little.

"How can an adult's fear compare to the fear of a child lying alone in the dark after the lights are turned off, and having to sleep with them?"

Peter continued, “Some children have to deal with monsters alone every night, under the bed, in the cracks of the closet, or in the deep basement, monsters that are invisible, intangible, yet incredibly real, staring at them from places out of sight, leaping and threatening them.”

His description made Machima's golden eyes flicker slightly, as if countless silent wars were unfolding before her eyes in dark rooms.

Have you ever heard of any group therapy, psychiatrists, or social service workers who help these children deal with the monsters under their beds?

Peter stroked Machima's head and said, "No, this lonely war plays out every night, and the only cure is..."

He paused, his gaze returning to Machima's face, "...it is the ultimate exhaustion of imagination, which is growing up."

After Peter finished speaking, Machima did not say anything more.

She simply looked at Peter quietly, a subtle ripple in her eyes.

She was deeply moved.

Dad seems really different from other adults.

For the first time, Machima discovered that the human emotional world might not be as shallow and easily manipulated as she had previously thought.

There was something in her father Peter Patrick's heart that she could not fully understand.

She gently released Peter's hand, pulled back under the covers, leaving only her eyes visible as she gazed at him.

"Dad, do you want me to grow up to be an adult?"

"Of course, but Dad doesn't want you to grow up to be the kind of adult we hated when we were little."

Machima blinked. "I know, so that's what Dad is afraid of."

"Good night, Dad."

Machima tucked her head under the covers, and the sound came from inside.

Peter looked at her and reached out to turn off the bedside lamp.

The room was instantly plunged into darkness, with only the faint starlight outside the window outlining the blurry shapes of the furniture.

Goodnight, Machima.

Responding softly, Peter closed the door for her.

The moment the door closed, in complete darkness, Machima stared at the ceiling with eyes that could see clearly even in the night.

Am I one of those children fighting against darkness, or the monster under my bed?
While pondering this complex problem, Machima drifted off to sleep.

The next morning.

The following morning, the kitchen at Patrick's Farm was filled with the rich aroma of fried bacon, toast, and fresh coffee.

Azu sat at the dining table, casually unfolding a copy of the Kansas City Star, his eyes quickly scanning the news on the page.

Beside him, Artoria Pendragon was focused on her "morning lesson".

Although her posture remained as upright as a knight, the stack of small cakes on the plate in front of her created a charming contrast with her quick yet elegant eating speed.

While sipping her black tea, Artoria watched the morning news on the television hanging on the wall. Her gaze would occasionally become focused on financial reports or international affairs, but most of the time she was satisfied with the pleasure brought by the sweets.

“Tsk,” Azu suddenly made a sound, “Things have really been turbulent lately.”

Peter, who was standing by the stove helping Persephone flip the eggs in the pan, turned around when he heard this: "What's the news, John?"

"Another missing person case."

Azu turned the newspaper toward Peter and pointed to a rather inconspicuous report in the social section: "A small town in Kansas has reported more than a dozen missing persons cases in the past two weeks, with no trace of anyone, dead or alive."

Artoria also temporarily looked away from the television, glanced at the newspaper, frowned slightly, but quickly forked a piece of cake covered in cream and put it in her mouth.

Ah Zu complained, "I suspect it might be the work of some clueless alien."

As Peter listened to Azu's words, he remembered the call for help Chandler had made the day before yesterday.

A few days ago, several teenagers also went missing in the small town.

Is there some connection between them?

Peter turned off the stove, and the sizzling sound of the fried eggs in the pan stopped.

He wiped his hands, walked to the dining table with a serious expression, took the newspaper from Ah Zu, and began to read the report carefully.

(End of this chapter)