Marvel: A Lazy-Ass Superman

Chapter 580 580: No Time Like the Present

For the moment, Henry filed away the information regarding OCP.

His primary concern remained the group of former Russian scientists now working at Cybertek.

What about provoking a corporate war and letting someone else do the killing?

The idea was quickly discarded.

In a normal business conflict, companies poached talent or stole technology. They did not usually escalate straight to murder.

Only when an individual was exceptionally important and the stakes involved were enormous—so enormous that poaching was impossible—might a rival company resort to such measures.

But a group of Russians who had joined Cybertek less than a month ago?

How was he supposed to convince OCP that these scientists threatened the corporation's survival and absolutely had to be eliminated?

That path clearly wasn't viable.

So what method should he use to deal with the remaining entries on his to-do list?

Back in Russia, Henry had handled four of them personally.

He simply appeared in front of the targets and assassinated them.

That approach, however, was best avoided in North America.

Even neighboring Canada carried risks.

This was his own sphere of activity. Any clues left behind could attract the attention of law enforcement agencies or intelligence services.

Henry wanted revenge for old grudges, certainly.

But he had no intention of abandoning his normal life to spend his days playing hide-and-seek with police investigators.

He needed another solution.

This wasn't the age when a quick Google search could reveal someone's entire life story.

Combined with the limited capabilities of the trackers he had deployed, Henry could only infer a target's habits from movement patterns.

Among these recent arrivals in North America, some lived cautiously and diligently.

Others indulged themselves shamelessly.

Several, for example, visited strip clubs every single day.

In short, given the limited intelligence available, Henry had few options.

Beyond simply appearing before a target and punching them to death with superhuman strength, any cleaner solution would require gathering more information.

Since he had nothing better to do and wanted to kill some time, Henry selected one target and traveled to the roof of the apartment building the man rented in Toronto after nightfall.

The target was the oldest person among the remaining names.

An elderly man living entirely alone.

Unlike some of the other single men who had come to America, he didn't spend whatever spare money he had on strip clubs, nightclubs, or other pleasures.

He rarely even ate out.

Once work ended, he would occasionally stop by a supermarket to buy groceries and then spend the rest of the evening inside his apartment.

By the time Henry arrived on the rooftop, the man had already returned home.

Dinner was prepared.

He sat alone at the dining table, eating quietly.

Using acoustic mapping, Henry observed the apartment's interior.

The place was plain and devoid of decoration.

The essentials were present—kitchen, refrigerator, washing machine, and other necessities.

One detail stood out, however.

Whenever he ate, he deliberately set out an extra empty plate.

Beside it stood a framed photograph.

Without access to his x-ray vision, Henry couldn't see what picture it contained.

A family member, perhaps.

A wife.

Whether she had died or simply failed to escape with him, Henry couldn't tell.

After dinner came washing dishes.

Then television.

Then drinking.

Everything about the evening resembled the dull routine of an ordinary bachelor.

No excitement.

No passion.

Just drifting through life.

The only thing distinguishing him from the average American was his choice of alcohol.

Vodka instead of beer or whiskey.

At least that marked him as unmistakably Russian.

Then, drunk as a skunk, the man filled his bathtub and climbed in for a soak.

A bath.

While intoxicated.

Henry had no interest whatsoever in watching a naked old man bathe and was preparing to return to Los Angeles.

Then something caught his attention.

A hair dryer.

Still plugged into a wall outlet inside the bathroom.

Just as the man submerged his entire head beneath the water and held his breath, Henry used molecular phasing and stepped directly into the bathroom.

He stood beside the tub and watched.

The man attempted to open his eyes underwater.

Suddenly seeing another person standing beside the bathtub would have startled anyone.

He choked on water and bolted upright, wiping his face while cursing in Russian.

"You damn—"

The words stopped halfway.

Because he recognized the intruder.

"Ennyuno Odin...?"

The old man stared in horror.

"How are you here?"

Henry smiled strangely.

"No time like the present.

"If I missed this opportunity, who knows how long I'd have to wait for another one."

Then, using a gloved hand, he tossed the plugged-in hair dryer directly into the bathtub.

The old man panicked and tried to climb out.

Instead, he slipped and crashed back down.

As the saying went:

One shock, and not another word.

Unable to escape in time, he received a full electrotherapy session with no off switch.

Straight to heaven.

When it was over, his head and one arm hung limply over the edge of the tub.

The submerged hair dryer short-circuited, tripping the apartment's breaker and plunging the entire unit into darkness.

Henry watched impassively as the man's heart stopped.

His feelings were exactly the same as when he had dealt with the previous four names.

No satisfaction.

No emotional upheaval.

Just the dull sensation of checking another item off a list.

Afterward, he entered the apartment proper.

Throughout the entire process, he floated above the floor without leaving footprints.

Although the building was an apartment complex, a single unit losing power attracted little attention.

There were no unusual noises, either.

Nothing likely to make the neighbors suspicious.

The old man was destined to die alone.

Eventually someone would remember him and come looking.

At least before the smell became strong enough for neighbors to call the authorities.

Returning to the rooftop, Henry stood beneath the moonlight and let the wind blow across him.

The evening breeze in Los Angeles lacked Siberia's biting cold, but autumn still carried a noticeable chill.

He had only intended to conduct surveillance tonight.

Instead, he had casually eliminated another target.

More importantly, the incident had given him an idea.

Viewed from a police officer's perspective, the case looked straightforward.

An empty vodka bottle sat in the trash.

The plugged-in hair dryer.

The signs of slipping in the bathroom.

All evidence pointed toward an accidental death.

There were no indications of homicide whatsoever.

Just a drunken old man who lost his balance in a bathtub and somehow knocked an active hair dryer into the water.

Case closed.

Murder was illegal.

As a law-abiding citizen, Henry naturally shouldn't make a habit of it.

But with the capabilities of a superhuman brain, arranging uncertain accidents didn't seem particularly difficult.

And he couldn't personally handle everything forever.

There needed to be room for airtight alibis.

As his thoughts gradually crystallized, Henry began forming a concrete plan for future operations.

Operating under restraints would undoubtedly be troublesome.

Still, if it protected his comfortable life, enduring a little inconvenience was acceptable.

He couldn't stop people from becoming suspicious.

What he could do was avoid leaving evidence.

In any case—

The number of remaining items on the to-do list was now twenty-three.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For 40 advanced chapters, visit my Patreon:

Patreon - Twilight_scribe1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~