Let Me Show You A True Hero!

Leave a comment if you want more!

Chapter 26

Meave walked down the busy hall of the base, her steps frantic.

While she visited most of his secret bases, this one was the first time she had ever been here.

But she knew this one was the most important to him, seeing as all his healers were here.

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, casting a sterile glow on the concrete walls, but the wind rushing through her ears drowned out the hum as she hurried onward.

Emergency, he had said, and that word painted vivid images in her head that caused her heart to shake.

Despite how unlikely someone like him could ever be in trouble.

Darting around corners, she felt the tension in the air, tangible and tight like a bowstring pulled back to its limit.

With each step, her pulse quickened, a relentless drumbeat urging her forward. The security doors slid open before her, revealing a stark corridor lined with heavy steel doors.

"Where is he?" she muttered under her breath, the words laced with urgency as she rounded a corner and skidded to a halt before the medical bay.

The door stood ajar, a thin sliver of pale light spilling out like a beacon, a welcoming yet haunting glow in the dimness of the facility. She could hear muffled voices inside, mingling with the soft beeps of machines.

Pushing the door wider, she stepped inside.

The scene that met her eyes was both perplexing and alarming.

A flurry of activity surrounded a medical bed at the center of the room where Noir lay motionless, his face covered by John's cape, while tubes and wires snaking from his body to machines humming softly, all monitoring his fragile state.

But he wasn't alone, a woman stood beside him, her expression caught in a fierce conflict between anxiety and anger.

The woman could have been anyone, a compassionate stranger or even Noir's secret friend, but the unyielding intensity of her gaze was unmistakable.

Meave's breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight, her heart raced, and for a moment, she was frozen, grappling with the unexpected tableau before her.

The woman beside Noir was strikingly beautiful, her features sharp and exotic. Her face was a look of fierce protectiveness, an unwavering commitment to the man who lay so vulnerable on the bed.

Maeve's sharp eyes scanned the room, searching for John, but he was nowhere to be seen. The steady beeping of the machines, the quiet murmurs of the doctors as they worked, and the sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air.

Her gaze flickered back to the woman standing protectively beside Noir's bed. The woman hadn't moved an inch since Maeve entered, her dark eyes locked onto Noir's unconscious form, her fingers twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to do something.

Maeve hesitated for a brief moment. Whoever this woman was, she clearly cared about Noir, and deeply. And given the possessive stance she had, she wasn't just some bystander.

With John missing and the doctors preoccupied, Maeve decided to take the direct approach.

Frowning, she turned her attention to the woman standing beside Noir. The woman's posture was rigid, and protective, her dark eyes locked onto him as if daring anyone to come near.

Maeve took a step closer.

"Hey, can you tell me where Homelander is?" she asked, her tone firm but not hostile. "But he prefers to be called John?"

The woman didn't react, simply turning to stare at her.

Maeve raised a brow, waiting for her to answer her. "Hello?"

Still, no response.

Maeve let out a slow breath, schooling her rising irritation.

"Look, I don't know who you are, but if you're standing here like this, you must know what's going on. So, I'll ask again, where the hell is John?"

The woman finally did something besides staring at her, she lifted her hand and tapped two fingers against her temple before making a slashing motion across her throat.

Maeve blinked.

Then, it clicked.

"You can't talk," she muttered, realization settling in.

The woman nodded.

Maeve exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face.

"Of course, because why would this be easy?" She muttered to herself. She glanced around, spotting a tray with pen and paper. "Can you write?"

The woman frowned slightly, then shook her head.

"Great," Maeve deadpanned. "So much for getting a straight answer."

She studied the woman for a moment, noting the tension in her stance, the way she hovered close to Noir, like a shield.

Whoever she was, she wasn't just some stranger who happened to be here.

Maeve sighed and crossed her arms. "Alright, look. I just need to know where John went. If you can't talk or write, we'll have to figure something else out."

The woman's dark eyes searched Maeve's face, assessing her. Then, slowly, she lifted a hand and pointed toward the door.

Maeve followed her gaze. "He left?"

A nod.

Maeve frowned. "Where?"

The woman hesitated, her mouth curling into a tight line as she weighed the urgency of Maeve's inquiry.

Then, she turned sharply, her eyes flickering to Noir before she pointed toward the exit again, this time with a more insistent gesture.

Maeve felt a swell of frustration rise within her. "Can you at least give me a hint? A direction? Just something!"

The woman stepped back slightly, lifting both hands and pulling them apart as if signaling distance.

Then, she made a quick motion with her fingers, mimicking a child running, little legs carrying it away in playful abandon, and followed it with an exaggerated look of concern on her face.

Maeve did not expect to play a game of charades when she arrived because of an emergency, but here she was.

"…He went to see the children?" Maeve asked slowly, piecing together the woman's gestures.

The realization sparked like electricity in the room.

There was a reason why America was now the safest place for children in the entire world.

John always had a soft spot for kids, especially those who were vulnerable or sick.

Children practically had him wrapped around their cute little fingers with how he was unable to say no to any of them.

…Which would explain why this base was so important to him other than healing.

Shaking her head, Meave focused back to the present, she could think about wholesome thoughts later.

The woman nodded vigorously, relief washing over her features as Maeve finally caught on.

"Right," Maeve replied, breathing out a sigh of relief. "Thank you for helping me, and sorry for the way I acted… I wasn't thinking straight."

The woman simply waved her off, turning back to focus on Noir.

She didn't have to ask for direction, all she had to do was follow the sounds of happy children.

Maeve turned on her heel, making her way out of the medical bay, her mind still reeling from the unexpected encounter. The silent woman's fierce protectiveness over Noir gnawed at her curiosity, but there were more pressing matters to deal with.

She needed to find John.

She strode down the hall, her steps more controlled now, following the faint echoes of laughter and excited chatter. As she moved through the facility, the atmosphere gradually shifted. The sterile, clinical stillness of the medical wing gave way to something softer, something warmer.

Then, she heard it.

"Hehe!

A child's giggle, then another, there was a whole crowd of them.

And a deep, familiar voice, softened by a gentleness a rare few people associated with him.

Maeve followed the sound, turning a corner that led her to a large, well-lit room. It was a stark contrast to the rest of the base, bright, lively, colorful art, and filled with children.

They were scattered across the space, some in hospital beds, most were seated on colorful mats, playing with toys or reading books.

And there, in the middle of it all and surrounded by them, was John.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by children who were all looking at him with bright innocent eyes, a new cape draped over his shoulders but not in its usual imposing manner.

One of the kids, a little girl with pigtails and a hospital bracelet around her wrist, was currently perched on his lap, playfully tugging at the ends of his blonde hair as she giggled.

Another child, a girl missing an arm, was nestled against his side, holding onto his sleeve as if afraid he'd disappear.

Maeve paused, watching the scene unfold.

Homelan-no John, the most powerful man in the world, was before these fragile little beings, his expression open, patient, happy.

He was listening intently as another boy excitedly told him about his day, his blue eyes filled with genuine amusement.

For a moment, Maeve just stood there, letting herself absorb the sight.

The little girl sitting on his lap giggled while he gently picked her up and gave her a playful glare.

"Jown, your har is so sot! It's like a golen cloud!"

"A cloud? You mean I look like a big fluffy puffball?" John, mock gasping, placing a hand on his chest in fake offense.

The other girl laughed at him, quickly taking the chance to sit on his lap. "Kinda! You need to grow it out more so we can braid it!"

John, laughing while putting the other girl on his shoulders, looked down at the one on his lap.

"Oh yeah? You think I'd look good with braids?"

"Yep! We can put little bows in it too!"

John, acting dead serious, nodded his head, "Bows, huh? You know, I think that would make me look very intimidating."

All the girls in the room quickly and excitedly agreed with him, some even taking out their own bows to give to him.

"No way! You'd look like a girly princess!" The boy who was telling his story objected.

All the other boys also agreed with him, not wanting their favorite hero to be wearing something so girly.

Still pretending to consider it and rubbing his chin to exaggerate even more.

"Hmmm… Homelander, the Pretty Princess. Sounds like a solid career shift."

The girl sitting on his lap was now giggling wildly. "You'd need a tiara to be a princess!"

John, grinning, nudged her gently. "And a sparkly dress! Gotta complete the look!"

"NOOOO STOPPPPP!!!" The boys cried out, not at all liking where this was going

The little girl sitting on his shoulders clapped her hands excitedly in glee.

"Oh! Oh! We make you one! Can we, Jown? Pweeeease?"

John, leaning back slightly, holding up his hands in surrender.

"Alright, alright, but only if you promise to make it extra sparkly. I have standards."

All the girls, giggling and cheering let out happy.

"YAY!"

The boys not so much.

"NOOOOOO!!!!"

All of the boys charged at him, intending to knock him down and stop him before he did something he'd regret.

Maeve couldn't help but smile, the warmth of the moment melting away her earlier anxieties.

She stepped further into the room, her heart swelling with an emotion she hadn't anticipated joy and admiration for the man who wielded such power yet wore it so lightly in this space.

She watched as he easily dodged the advancing boys by floating up, carrying the two girls with him who were giggling wildly.

Laughing heartily, he weaved in and out of their grasp.

The children, their faces flushed with excitement, were caught in a whirlwind of playful chaos, their shrieks echoing off the brightly painted walls.

"Too slow!" John laughed, lifting a small boy up before he could painfully face plant and spinning him around before setting him down gently. "You've got to be quick on your feet if you want to catch a princess!"

The girls erupted in laughter again, while the boys full of indignation, started to strategize.

Maeve could see their competitive spirits shining through, each determined to reclaim some modicum of dignity in the face of John's lighthearted mockery.

"Alright! Strategize all you want!" John called to them. "But remember, strategy has its limits against the power of a princess!"

"Yeah!"

"You boys stand no chance!"

The two girls were quick to back him up.

Maeve stepped forward, feeling her laugh bubble up at how effortlessly he commanded their attention and affection. She felt a bit like an intruder but knew she wouldn't trade this moment for anything.

Suddenly, one of the boys got an idea, he turned to his friends with a conspiratorial whisper before pointing directly at Maeve.

"Let's get HER!"

Before Maeve could react, a small group of children lunged toward her, laughter erupting as they closed the distance.

"Join us! You can help us take him down!" one little boy squealed, grabbing her hand and trying to pull her into the room.

Caught off guard but unable to resist their infectious energy, Maeve found herself swept into the fray.

She raised her hands defensively as the kids surrounded her like tiny tornadoes of giggles and encouragement.

"Okay! Okay!" She quickly agreed, unable to say no.

"With you on our side, we can take him down together!" another boy shouted, his eyes shining with mischief.

Maeve feigned worry, putting her hands on her hips. "You guys think we can beat him?"

"Yes!" came the chorus of voices, each child nodding furiously as if their excitement could collectively lift them off the ground.

John floated just above them, grinning mischievously, a playful glint in his eye.

"What's this? A rebellion brewing against me?" he taunted, twirling in the air, much to the two girl's joy.

The children nodded seriously, faces wide with determination as they huddled close around her, whispering their own ideas about how to outsmart John.

With a sudden surge of inspiration, Maeve crouched down and whispered to the kids.

"Alright, here's the plan. When I say 'go,' you all run towards him, and I'll create a distraction and pull him down!"

All of them had no objections.

"Ready..." she began, feeling a thrill of camaraderie surging through her. "Set... GO!"

The children exploded towards John like a swarm of excited bees, their shouts mingling with laughter as they rushed to tackle him.

In the chaos, Maeve shouted, "Mr. Bean isn't even that funny!"

And waved her arms dramatically, drawing John's attention to her as he glared at her for such false lies she so easily spewed.

Realizing what was happening, John couldn't help but break into laughter. "Oh no! A distraction!"

He spun around mid-air to face her just as the tidal wave of children reached him.

"Get him! Get him!" Maeve encouraged, moving in to help where she could by pulling him down.

Little hands grabbed at John's legs and waist, smiling he allowed himself to be tackled down.

The moment was electric, a joyful collision of laughter and squeals as the children latched onto him, struggling to pull him down.

John pretended to be surprised, feigning weakness beneath their relentless onslaught.

"Ah! The power of teamwork!" he declared dramatically, struggling against the waves of tiny bodies while grabbing the little girl on his shoulders. "How can I possibly withstand such strength?"

To Maeve's delight, he finally relented, pretending to lose his balance. With an exaggerated gasp, he fell backward into a soft pile of cushions arranged nearby, sending feathers and fluff flying into the air like confetti.

"Victory!" one of the boys shouted, thrusting his fist into the air as if they had just conquered a fierce dragon.

The room erupted in cheers, the atmosphere now thick with triumph. Maeve couldn't help but laugh along with them, feeling oddly buoyant amidst the chaos.

John poked his head up from the cushions, his hair tousled, and a carefree smile plastered on his face.

"Oh no! A rebellion! My own army has turned against me!" he gasped, feigning betrayal as the kids cheered.

After a few minutes of laughing and cheering it finally calmed down, almost all of them were on the floor tired and breathless.

Maeve and John looked at each other, one with a raised brow and the other with a smile.

Before they could say anything to each other however they were interrupted.

"Jown…" The little murmured, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. "Are you weally the swongest in the wrald?"

John paused, his expression softening. He crouched down, gently ruffling her hair.

"Well… yeah," he admitted, then added with a knowing smile, "but you know what's cooler than being strong?"

The little girl tilted her head. "What?"

John tapped her nose lightly, grinning. "Being kind."

A boy nearby, his eyes filled with admiration, piped up. "But you're both, right?"

John chuckled, leaning in conspiratorially. "Shhh, don't tell anyone. It'll ruin my scary superhero image."

The girl with one arm giggled, finding that hard to believe. "You're not scary at all! You're nice."

John let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. "Man, I must be losing my touch."

The girl, nestled against his side, grinned. "Don't worry, Jown. You can be scary and nice!"

John smiled softly, patting her head gently.

With a blur of speed, the room, which was once a mess and chaotic, was now neat and orderly with everything now back in its place.

Even the children were back on their beds, much to their disappointment mixed with delight at the sudden display of superpower.

Maeve watched as John stood up and brushed off the feathers that clung to him like badges of honor, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"Alright now, everyone," John said, his voice cutting through the buzz like a soft melody. "It about time for me to lea-"

"No! Don't leave!"

"I want to spend more time with you!"

John chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender as a chorus of protests erupted from the children.

Their little faces, a mix of determination and sadness, tugged at something deep inside him.

"Whoa, whoa, easy there," he said, crouching back down so he was at their level. "I gotta go handle some superhero stuff, you know? Keep the world safe and all that."

"But you're always doing that!" a boy with a missing tooth complained, crossing his arms. "Can't you stay just a little longer?"

"Yeah!" a girl with pigtails added, clinging to his sleeve. "You promised we could do story time!"

John sighed dramatically, acting to be torn. "You guys drive a hard bargain… but if I don't leave now, I'll get in trouble with Miss Maeve over there."

Maeve smirked, arms crossed. "Oh, don't put this on me. You're the one who keeps spoiling them rotten."

"Me? Spoiling them?" John placed a hand on his chest, feigning shock while taking out candy from his belt and handing it to the children. "I would never."

The kids giggled, seeing right through his act.

Maeve shook her head, but there was no real annoyance in her expression.

John turned his attention back to the children, his expression softening. "Alright, tell you what. I'll be back soon, and when I do, we'll do story time, and you can try braiding my hair, Deal?"

Excited murmurs spread among the kids, but some still looked hesitant.

"You promise?" the little girl with one arm asked, looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

John met her gaze completely serious. "Cross my heart."

That seemed to satisfy them.

The children slowly released their hold on him, some reluctantly, others bouncing excitedly at the thought of his return.

Maeve watched as he ruffled a few heads, offering final reassurances before standing to his full height.

"Well, guess it's time to go," he said, glancing at Maeve. "You came here for something important, right?"

Maeve nodded, her expression turning more serious. "Let's talk outside."

John gave the kids one last wave before following her out of the room, the sounds of their laughter and whispered plans for his return trailing behind them.

As soon as the door shut behind them, the warmth from earlier faded.

"…They really love you," Maeve said, breaking the silence as they stepped into the quieter hallway, her voice tinged with a mix of admiration and concern.

John leaned against the wall, his demeanor shifting.

"I love the little rascals too," he replied earnestly, running a hand through his hair. "But sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the right thing by spending so much time with them."

Maeve narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. "What do you mean?"

He sighed heavily, looking down at his hands as if they held the weight of the world. "I mean… they look up to me. They think I'm this bigger-than-life superhero who can fix everything, but what happens when I can't?"

"John," she said softly, stepping closer,

He met her gaze, seeing genuine concern reflected in her eyes.

"It's just... some days it feels more real than others, you know?"

She could tell something was bothering him, something big enough that warranted him to worry.

Maeve took a breath, trying to find the right words. "You're more than a superhero to them, John. You're… someone who makes their world brighter."

He let out a small laugh, though it lacked its usual buoyancy. "Brighter, huh? What if the light goes out? What if they wake up one day and realize I'm just a guy in a costume?"

"Then I'll remind you that even regular people have their off days," she replied, firm but gentle, placing her hand on his.

John shifted his weight, staring at the polished floor as if searching for answers in the grains of wood.

"But what if my 'off days' end up being my last day."

She stared at him, his words making her very soul shake.

The thought of him gone… was inconceivable.

"…What's wrong? Something is clearly bothering you for you to talk like this."

John exhaled sharply, running a hand through his golden hair as he reached into his suit. From a hidden compartment inside his belt, he pulled out a small, purple vial, the liquid within shimmering ominously under the fluorescent lights.

Maeve's eyes narrowed as she caught sight of it. Instinctively, she reached out, but John held it just out of her grasp, turning it slightly so the dim lighting reflected against its surface.

"What the hell is that?" she asked, her voice sharp with suspicion.

John's lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't respond immediately, just staring at the vial, the purple liquid swirling lazily inside as if it were alive.

His grip tightened.

"The doctors pumped it out of Noir while he was unconscious," he finally admitted, his tone quiet but heavy. "This… this is what they pumped him with."

Maeve's brows furrowed. "What do you mean? Who's 'they'?"

John turned the vial between his fingers, lost in thought.

"Vought, maybe, or someone else." He exhaled sharply. "I don't know the full details yet, but I do know one thing, Noir shouldn't be alive right now."

"What are you talking about?" Maeve's expression darkened.

Noir of all people? She found that hard to believe.

John lifted his gaze to hers, and for the first time since she arrived, there was something raw in his eyes, an unease she wasn't used to seeing in the man who had everything under control.

"Noir was dying when I found him," John said, voice low and steady. "I've seen supes take some nasty hits, but this…? This was causing the compound V in his blood to destabilize and destroy itself. His blood was killing him, Maeve. By all rights Noir shouldn't even be breathing right now much less alive and while still having his powers."

Maeve crossed her arms, processing his words carefully, if this could do that to Noir... oh fuck.

"But he's not."

John nodded slowly, letting his thoughts wander.

"I have a few theories… but I didn't call you here to talk about that."

"Then what did you call me here for?" Queen Maeve took a step back, absorbing the weight of his revelation.

But it was too heavy for her to process.

"I found another." He lifted another vial, this one red, his jaw tightening.

"Whatever the hell is in here, it's allowing people to get powers."

Maeve stared at the vial, a pit forming in her stomach. "Jesus… is this some kind of new Compound V?"

John exhaled through his nose.

"It's not just Compound V. It's different. More refined, more… powerful." He rolled the vial between his fingers again before muttering, "A better but more dangerous version of Vought's compound V."

Maeve's expression turned grim. "That kind of shit never comes without consequences."

John smirked, but it was humorless. "Yeah, no kidding."

A tense silence stretched between them. The weight of the revelation hung in the air like an unspoken threat.

"So, you're telling me someone is making a better version of compound V that even Vought doesn't know about? What's their endgame here?" Maeve rubbed her temples, already feeling a headache coming on.

"I don't know, but if they're able to make more of this without anyone stopping them…" He paused, his eyes darkening. "We'll have a lot more to worry about than just Vought."

Maeve's stomach twisted at the implication. "And how many people who actually take this do you think actually survived?"

Regular compound V was already too much of a risk for adults to take, with only one in a hundred even having the chance of surviving and actually gaining powers.

That was why Vought injected those potent drugs into their tiny bodies while they were still so young because it was a grim reality that only the youngest, most fragile among them stood a chance of surviving the brutal process.

…but if the people who made the new compound V didn't know about this process?

John didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

The thought was sickening.

Maeve exhaled harshly, running a hand through her blonde hair.

"Alright, so what's the plan? What do we do with that thing?" She nodded towards the vial.

John twirled it between his fingers, his expression unreadable. "I need to know exactly what this is. And for that, I need a lab."

Maeve arched a brow. "You have labs."

"Yeah," he agreed. "But not the kind I need for this."

Maeve hesitated, reading between the lines. "You want to take it to someone outside of Vought?"

John smirked, but there was no humor in it. "I need a second opinion. Someone who doesn't have their hands in corporate bullshit."

Maeve crossed her arms. "And do you have someone like that in mind?"

John tilted his head, considering. "…I might know a guy."

Maeve sighed. "Of course you do."

John's smirk widened just slightly before he pocketed the vial once more. "But first, I need to make sure Noir is actually stable."

Maeve frowned; her thoughts muddled with the bleak future ahead of her.

"You think there's a side effect?"

John didn't smile, too tired and too angry. "There's always a side effect."

He exhaled slowly, his mind already running through the next steps. He turned to Maeve, his expression shifting from casual exhaustion to something sharper, more focused.

"I need you to do a couple of things for me," he said, his voice low and steady. "First, I need you to go back to Vought. Keep an ear to the ground. See if anyone's talking about what happened to Noir, or if there are any rumors about a new version of Compound V floating around."

Maeve arched a brow. "And if I find something?"

"Let me know immediately," John said. "I don't want Vought catching on that we know more than we should. If they think we're onto them, they'll start covering their tracks, and I won't be able to trace where this shit is coming from."

Maeve nodded, that part was simple enough. "And the second thing?"

John's eyes narrowed. "Find out if Stan Edgar knows anything about this."

"You really think Edgar would let something like this slip through his fingers?"

John let out a humorless chuckle. "No, but that's exactly why I need to know if he's involved. If he is, then this is bigger than we thought. If he's not…"

His lips pressed into a thin line.

"Then someone out there is playing a dangerous game, and Vought's not the only threat we need to worry about."

Maeve considered what he said before nodding. "Alright, and if I find out Edgar's in on it?"

John met her gaze, unflinching. "Then we figure out how deep it goes. And if he isn't, we find out who's pulling the strings."

She let out a slow breath. "Fine, anything else?"

John hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I'm going to need you to keep an eye on Black Noir's absence. If anyone in The Seven starts asking questions about where he is, make sure they don't dig too deep. We need time."

Maeve smirked, elbowing him in the stomach while teasing.

"So, you want me to be your babysitter for Vought while you play detective?"

John rolled his eyes while giving her a smile. "Call it whatever you want, please just get it done."

She sighed. "Alright, I'll handle it. But you owe me for this."

John's lips quirked into a smirk. "Sure, how about a tiara and a sparkly dress?"

"You're never gonna let that go, are you?" Maeve scoffed, shaking her head.

John grinned. "Nope."

He was ready to go but stopped when he noticed Maeve staying in place.

She stood there, staring at him with an unreadable expression, an unfamiliar tension settled between them.

John frowned slightly turning back around and walked close to her, concerned. "What?"

Maeve exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. "Nothing."

But it wasn't nothing.

She took a step closer, her boots clicking against the polished floor. He noticed how her gaze flickered as if she was debating something, her fingers flexing at her sides.

John raised a brow. "Maggie, you good?"

"Yeah."

Then, before he could process what was happening, she grabbed him by the collar of his suit and yanked him down.

And kissed him.

John froze.

Her lips were warm, firm, and slightly chapped. There was no hesitation in the way she kissed him—confident, unapologetic, and… final.

His brain stuttered, the weight of the moment crashing into him.

Maeve.

Kissing.

Him.

His hands instinctively hovered near her waist, unsure whether to push her away or pull her closer. His heart, normally steady, pounded against his ribs like a drum.

John, the most powerful man on the planet, was utterly helpless.

Then, just as quickly as it happened, she pulled away.

John barely managed to register the loss of contact before Maeve smirked, her face infuriatingly unreadable.

"We been together for two years, John," she said, voice husky but casual as if she hadn't just turned his entire world upside down. "I think I deserve more than just rumors of us dating, don't you think?"

John blinked, his lips parted, but words failed him. He— what?

Maeve chuckled at his expression, stepping back. "Wow, didn't expect you to be this easy to fluster."

John finally snapped out of it. "I—wha?!"

Maeve shrugged, turning on her heel as she walked toward the exit. "When all of this is over, we are going on a date! A real date this time!."

John was still rooted to the spot, his mind desperately trying to keep up. He could literally feel the heat lingering on his lips.

"Maeve—" he started, but she waved a dismissive hand over her shoulder.

"Don't overthink it, Princess," she teased. "I'll see you when I get back."

And just like that, she was gone, leaving John standing there, utterly stunned, heart still hammering in his chest.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his golden hair.

"…What just happened?"

______

The dimly lit office was silent except for the faint hum of the high-resolution tablet resting on Stan Edgar's pristine mahogany desk.

His sharp eyes, devoid of emotion, studied the footage playing before him.

A bloodied, battered Black Noir fought like a demon incarnate, his every movement fueled by an unrelenting will to survive.

His enemy, a grotesque mutation of a foreign supe, raged against him in a battle of titanic force.

Stan watched impassively as Noir was crushed into a mountain, beaten beyond human limits. The shadows of his office flickered slightly from the bright crimson glow bursting from the tablet's screen.

Then Noir moved.

Not just moved, evolved.

Stan's brows lifted a fraction as he observed the shift.

Red eyes.

And then came the final, damning moment.

A beam, of pure destruction, fired straight from Noir's eyes, vaporizing his opponent with horrifying efficiency.

Stan sighed, tapping a single finger against his desk before turning off the video.

He already knew the answer before reviewing the footage, but confirmation never hurt.

It seemed Noir wasn't a failed product after all…

A quiet beep interrupted his thoughts.

A voice, cold and professional, chimed in over the intercom.

"Mr. Edgar, the shipment has arrived."

He adjusted his glasses and got up from his desk.

He was needed elsewhere.

A reinforced door slid open, revealing a dimly lit chamber bathed in sterile white light.

Inside, a massive steel container loomed like a silent behemoth, taking up most of the space. The sheer size of it would have seemed absurd if one didn't know what lay within.

Etched on its surface, bold and unmistakable, was a faded symbol, a shield with an eagle perched upon it.

An old relic of a bygone era.

Stan stepped forward, his polished shoes echoing in the near-empty chamber. His fingers lightly brushed the cold steel of the container, lingering for a moment.

He had no use for sentimentality.

This wasn't about nostalgia.

This was about control.

Power.

And more importantly… Vought's future.

With a silent command, the biometric scanner flashed green, and the heavy locks on the container hissed open.

Inside, resting under layers of security restraints and cryogenic stabilizers, was the body.

Stan peered inside, his expression unreadable.

"…A contingency plan," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

A final safeguard, in case all else failed.

A weapon older than Vought itself.

His gaze flicked to the nameplate bolted to the inner wall of the container.

SUBJECT: SOLDIERBOY.

STATUS: CLASSIFIED - REACTIVATION PENDING

Stan turned away, his mind already moving five steps ahead.

Black Noir's evolution was unexpected but manageable.

The real concern… was what came next.

Vought wasn't the only player in this game.

And soon, the world would remember that some weapons never truly stay buried.

Leave a comment if you want more! Sorry for taking so long to update! Work is a pain in the ass!

Next update?

Hmmmmmm…. Drum roll, please!

Dun dun!

Dun DUn!

It's Monkey See! Monkey do~

Enjoy!!!

____

Chapter 27

Annie sat alone in The Seven's meeting room, her hands folded neatly in her lap, trying not to bounce her knee from excitement.

The room was impossibly clean, sterile almost, with sleek black walls lined with screens and a long-polished table stretching toward the far end, every chair labeled with a gold emblem for each member.

She sat in the one labeled "Starlight."

Her name. Her chair.

She'd been in this room before, of course, for orientation, interviews, photo ops, but this was different.

This was the real thing. No cameras, no Vought handlers breathing down her neck.

Just her, waiting to be welcomed by Queen Maeve herself, to be shown the ropes like a proper member of The Seven.

The greatest team of heroes on Earth.

She barely held back a squeal of excitement that was threatening to overload her body.

Her stomach fluttered with nerves, but her chest was full of something bigger, something stronger.

Pride and purpose.

Annie January, Starlight, was no longer just a minor C-list hero.

She'd made it.

A few days had passed since that insane training session with John, and Annie still hadn't quite gotten over it.

She could still feel the way her powers had surged through her veins, the way her body had screamed in protest afterward, the way Maeve had given her that quiet nod of approval when she handed her sword back.

It meant everything.

And now, here she was, about to start her first real day as a fully inducted member of The Seven. Not just as a guest, or the "new girl," or some pretty face plucked from evangelical obscurity.

She was in.

And Maeve, The Queen Maeve, had agreed to mentor her.

Annie glanced at the clock.

Still a little early.

She shifted in her chair, looking around the room. At the wall of monitors flickering softly, the empty chairs belonging to the rest of the team.

One for A-Train, another for Ground Hawk, one for Blindspot, and the ever-intimidating seat reserved for Homelander — "John," as he insisted everyone call him.

Even Black Noir had his place, though his seat seemed oddly dusty.

She couldn't help but smile.

This was the dream, wasn't it?

A soft sound made her glance toward the door, faint clicks, like a boot heel against tile.

Annie straightened her posture instinctively, smoothing her suit.

Her heart kicked up with anticipation.

The doors slid open with a smooth hiss, and in stepped Queen Maeve.

The most popular Heroine in the world that all women of all ages looked up to.

The only woman who can stand shoulder to shoulder with someone like Homelander.

Annie's breath hitched.

Tall, poised, and utterly unbothered, Maeve strode into the room with the kind of quiet authority that didn't need to announce itself. Her armor gleamed under the soft ceiling lights, her braid rested neatly over one shoulder, and her eyes, sharp and calculating, tired but aware.

Swept the room until they landed on Annie.

Annie's fingers fumbled briefly against the edge of the table as she stood, heart thudding in her chest.

She was still a little star-struck despite everything.

And who could blame her?

"H-Hi," she managed, voice a little too high. "Um, h-hello."

Maeve's steps didn't slow, but her brow quirked in amusement.

"You don't have to be nervous, Starlight," she said, sliding into her seat with practiced ease. "I promise I don't bite~"

Annie let out a breathy laugh and immediately hated how awkward it sounded.

"I'm not nervous," she lied, her cheeks warming. "Just, you know! Excited for some heroing!"

That's definitely going to be something she's going to cringe at ten years from now.

Maeve giggled at her excitement, which she quickly followed along to not embarrass herself even more.

"Good," she said simply, then tilted her head. "You ready to start?"

Annie nodded, maybe a little too eagerly. "Yes! Absolutely! I've been looking forward to this all week."

"Alright, then." She smiled and, with fluid grace and gestured toward the door. "Come on, rookie. Let's see what kind of hero you actually are when the cameras aren't watching."

Annie didn't hesitate. She followed, nerves and excitement flaring all over again.

Maeve led Annie through a series of quiet, winding hallways deeper into the base. The deeper they went, the more the marble floors gave way to reinforced steel, the more polished hallways transitioned into something more… tactical.

Purposeful.

It felt less like a monument to celebrity and more like the headquarters of something real.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a thick security door that slid open with a soft hiss.

Annie stepped inside, blinking at the sudden low lighting and the glow of dozens of monitors lighting up a spacious control room.

People filled the room, dozens of operators, each sitting at individual stations, speaking into sleek headsets as their fingers moved quickly over keyboards. The sound was a soft but constant hum, clipped voices giving updates, typing, radio chatter, the occasional burst of static.

Annie's eyes widened.

"Whoa…" she breathed, stepping a little further in. "What is this place?"

Maeve didn't need to look at her to answer.

She was watching the room.

"Dispatch center," she said simply. "Each operator here is connected to our high-tier heroes across the country. They coordinate live crime reports, monitor emergencies, and direct heroes in real time."

Annie turned to her, still absorbing it. "Like… Like an air traffic control center?"

"Pretty much," Maeve said, glancing sideways with a half-smile. "Only, instead of planes, it's people who can punch through buildings."

One of the operators raised a hand and flagged someone down for backup in a different region, speaking calmly but urgently into her headset. "We've got an active hostage situation in Phoenix. Re-routing Apex. ETA three minutes, keep eyes on entry points."

Then two other operators quickly responded by ordering their heroes to arrive at that location for support.

"At exactly two miles northeast of where you are, a break-in is happening caused by two men dressed in all red."

A man spoke, pinpointing the exact location on his computer.

"Her name is Sarah Jones. She ran away from home and has been missing for almost a week now. I'll contact her parents that we found her."

Another operator dialed a number and waited for them to pick up.

"Nice job breaking that jackass's bones Ground Hawk! That's what he gets for trying to shoot up a bank while we're on our lunch break!" A woman of Indian descent laughed, wiping her lips with a napkin.

Starlight turned to her, eyes widening at hearing Ground Hawk being part of this as well!

She spotted a lanyard around her neck and saw what appeared to be her name.

Anika.

Her heart raced at the flurry of activity, adrenaline surging with every word. She couldn't believe she was standing there, witnessing the nerves and determination of a real-life hero operation unfolding before her eyes.

Maeve glanced at Annie's starry expression and couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Welcome to the chaos."

"Can we help?" Annie asked, her voice nearly cracking with eagerness.

"Not just yet," Maeve replied, crossing her arms. "You need to learn how this all works before you can join in on real missions. We don't want any accidental heroics that could jeopardize lives, or yours.

Annie nodded, watching everything unfold in amazement.

"This… this is incredible. I didn't even know this existed."

Maeve folded her arms loosely over her puffed-out chest, proud.

"Didn't use to and it's still just recently made. This whole setup? Wasn't part of Vought's plan. They wanted flashy appearances, social media, and brand deals. But actual coordinated emergency response? That wasn't a priority."

Annie blinked, confused. "So who—?"

"John," Maeve said, nodding toward the rows of bustling workstations. "This was his idea."

That surprised her.

"Homelander?"

Maeve nodded with a warm smile, as if remembering something.

"A few years ago, he started noticing how slow heroes were in responding to real-time crises. PR would decide who got sent where, based on optics, not need. He absolutely hated it. So, he set this up, independent of their chain. Found a people he trusted, heroes and operators, and built a system that actually works."

She looked down the rows, her gaze unreadable.

"…And funded all of it," Maeve added after a moment.

Annie took it all in, the quiet efficiency, the sheer organization of it.

No cameras and no interviews.

Just real people doing real work, saving and helping lives.

For the first time since joining The Seven, she felt like she was standing in the middle of something genuine.

"This is amazing," she whispered, awe in her voice.

Maeve's lips twitched, just slightly.

"Welcome to the part of the job that actually matters~ Now come on! I haven't even shown you everything yet!"

Annie excitedly followed her with a skip in her steps.

This was everything she ever dreamed of!!!

_____

Butcher stepped through the front door of his house, scowling as he shook the rain off his coat and hung it up with more force than necessary.

Another day wasted.

Every lead he'd chased down turned into jack shit! No word from the underground, no whispers about compound V, no signs of Vought making their next move. Just the same runaround from the same half-scared, half-useless bastards who talked big and knew nothing.

He grunted as he walked down the hall, already thinking about pouring himself a glass of something strong when he heard it.

Laughter.

Coming from the kitchen.

He stopped cold.

It wasn't the television.

It was her. Becca.

And she wasn't alone.

There was another voice, deep, amused, teasing.

Too comfortable. Too casual.

His heart jumped up into his throat before his anger could catch up.

He moved, slow and silent, down the hallway, his hand resting on his hidden gun, which he always kept on him at all times.

The closer he got, the clearer the voices became.

Then the man spoke, his voice familiar.

"You're seriously telling me you wouldn't have laughed if I showed up to a press event in full sparkly-princess gear? Glitter tiara and all?"

Becca laughed harder this time, holding her stomach in pain. "Oh, I would've laughed, but not before I took a hundred pictures."

"Don't you have enough blackmail on me already?"

"Oh please, I can never have enough~"

He stepped into the doorway, eyes narrowing, ready for a fig-

And stopped.

There he was.

Sitting at the kitchen table, sleeves rolled up, leaning comfortably on one elbow, his usual popular cape draped over the back of the chair like it meant nothing.

A mug in his hand, relaxed.

Becca sat across from him, smile still lingering, a plate of half-eaten pastries between them.

Butcher's heartbeat was still thunder in his ears, but his grip loosened on his gun.

It was just John.

Still, he didn't step inside, keeping watch just in case.

John looked over, as if sensing him before Butcher could even show himself, and raised his mug in greeting.

"Evening, Billy."

"…You wanna tell me why the world's greatest hero sittin' in my bloody kitchen like he lives here?" Butcher sighed to himself, wondering why he even bothered to stay hidden.

He stepped inside, going to the cabinet that held his strongest liquor.

Becca gave him a look, half exasperated, half fond. "John stopped by. Said he had something important he wanted to talk to you about."

Butcher's eyes flicked between them, John's expression was calm.

Calm but… tired.

Butcher poured himself a drink, not bothering with offering the other man one, knowing he didn't like alcohol, the werido.

"If this is about another PR stunt or you needing help finding Maggy a present again, save it! I'm not in the mood."

He was fed up with reading about all his wholesome and sugary exploits, he practically felt like he had a cavity in all his teeth!

And not a single bit of dirt even after going through every damn file!

Either Vought was desperately hiding something behind a thick wall, or John was too much of a Boy Scout to even so much as do bloody smoke! Which was most likely seeing the man was busy saving people twenty-four seven.

John leaned back in his chair, setting the mug down. "It's not anything like that, sadly. I need your help with… Hero work if you will."

…Well, that can't be good.

He turned to Becca with an apologetic smile, getting an amused huff from her.

"Alright, I'll leave you two boys to talk. But don't think we're done, mister! I wanna hear all the details about that kiss between you and Maggy!"

"W-Wha?! Whe-?! Who eve-?! Did she tell you?!"

She giggled at him, sputtering, words unable to form.

Butcher, who was holding back a laugh, got a quick kiss on the cheek before she left the kitchen.

Butcher watched Becca go, the weight of her teasing lingering in the air. Then he turned his attention back to John, who looked a bit sheepish beneath that wholesome exterior. The jovial aura faded, replaced by the sheer gravity of his presence.

"What's this hero work you need me for?" he asked, pouring more whiskey into his glass, grateful for the sharpness of the alcohol cutting through his annoyance.

John hesitated, looking out the window where rain slicked the streets like a protective layer over the grime.

He reached into a pouch on his suit and pulled out a small red vial.

Butcher's eyes narrowed.

"This," John said, placing them on the table with a deliberate clink, "is why I'm here."

Butcher stared at the vial, watching the crimson liquid swirl like it had a mind of its own. The way it shimmered under the kitchen light set something off in his gut, some primal instinct that knew trouble when it saw it.

He didn't touch it.

Just kept sipping his drink, eyeing John over the rim of the glass like he was waiting for the punchline.

"…And what the hell am I lookin' at?" Butcher finally muttered, voice low and flat.

John leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. The exhaustion was back in his eyes, the kind from lack of sleep and from carrying too much for too long.

"I found this on a Supe," John said. "They had no file and no registration."

Butcher's brow furrowed; he was clearly not telling him everything.

"Thought you said you wanted my help with hero work, seems to me it's more like someone didn't bother with coming to Vought to sign up."

"You and I both know Vought doesn't give a damn if they register or not, they can and will have them on file," John said, his tone sharpening.

He reached into the same pouch and placed a second vial beside the red one.

This one was purple.

Darker. Heavier.

And something about it made Butcher's skin crawl.

"Noir almost died because of this one," John said, quieter now. "Someone pumped it into him. It started breaking him down from the inside out. His blood was… reacting to it. Fighting it. Or maybe getting eaten by it. Either way, he should be dead."

Butcher's jaw twitched.

"Black Noir? That silent bastard?" he asked slowly, eyes flicking between John and the vials.

"Please don't call him that, but…" John nodded once. "Yeah. That one."

Billy raised a brow, not expecting him to defend Noir.

"And he's not dead?"

"No, he lived," John said. "Barely, but I don't think it was just because of luck."

Butcher's hand finally moved toward the vials, but he didn't touch them, just leaned closer, observing the way the red and purple liquids pulsed like they were alive.

"And lemme guess," Butcher said, voice tight. "You want me to figure out what they are."

"Only the red one, you know people who don't work for Vought. Scientists. Biochemists. People who might actually tell us what the hell we're looking at instead of burying it under a mountain of NDAs and lies."

What was he going to do with the purple one?

Butcher let out a long, heavy breath, leaning back in his chair. He downed the rest of his whiskey in one go and slammed the glass onto the counter.

"I can maybe find someone," he muttered, already mentally flipping through the Rolodex of morally questionable experts he'd leaned on over the years. "But if I do this, I want the full story. Everything. No lies, no 'trust me' bullshit."

John nodded without hesitation. "You'll get it."

Butcher narrowed his eyes. "And I want to know why you came to me of all people. Why not the government? The CIA? Why bring it to me?"

John looked him dead in the eye.

"Because, despite everything, there is a good person inside that hard shell of yours, Billy."

He wanted to scoff in disbelief at what the hero sai-

"And I trust you."

Butcher stilled.

The words landed like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of the room.

John didn't elaborate.

Didn't need to.

The silence that followed was thick. Uncomfortable.

But real.

Butcher looked away, running a hand through his damp hair. "Bloody hell…"

He let the silence sit for a second longer, then gestured lazily at the vial, which got a smile out of John.

The prick.

Butcher sighed again, grabbing the red vial with two fingers like it might bite him.

"Right then. Let's see what kinda fresh hell we're dealing with."

______



…

Beep…

…

Beep…

…

Beep…

…

Beep…

…

Beep…

…

Beep…

…

Beep…

…

Beep…

…

Beep…

…

Beep…

…

Beep…

…

Kimiko hated how helpless she felt as she hovered beside the still figure of Noir, her heart pounding within her ribcage like a trapped bird.

The room was stark and sterile, the fluorescent lights casting an unyielding glare over his motionless body.

Monitors flickered around them, displaying a kaleidoscope of data, his heart rates, oxygen levels, and neural activity, but none of it made sense to her in this moment.

All she could focus on was Noir.

The shadows of doubt crept into her mind as she watched him lying there, his usually emotionless mask now off, revealing the soft lines of fatigue etched across his pale face.

She hated him for doing everything on his own, hated how he got hurt for her, hated how he put his life at risk for her, despite knowing damn well she could fight for herself!

…But all that couldn't compare to how much she hates herself for being unable to do a single fucking thing to help him!

Crack!!!

The metal bar in her hands snapped in half, her emotions overtook her.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself down, she turned her attention away from her raging thoughts and back to Noir.

She brushed a strand of hair away from his eyes and leaned closer, a mix of frustration and sorrow bubbling just beneath her surface.

She knew he only took his mask off around her and only when they were somewhere absolutely private.

Which was why she broke all the cameras in the room, hidden or otherwise, and barricaded the windows and doors with everything that wasn't important.

Which was just about everything in the room.

Kimiko remembered their shared moments, the quiet laughter that broke through Noir's stoic demeanor during their little outings, the way he offered unspoken comfort without needing words when she had nightmares, the way he looked at her with so many emotions behind his eyes...

And the way he understood her like no one else.

She felt a pang deep within her chest at the thought that more of those moments would forever be taken away from her.

Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she blinked them away angrily.

Kimiko wiped at her eyes roughly, refusing to let the tears fall. She wouldn't cry, not while he still hadn-

A flicker of movement.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Noir's fingers twitched, barely noticeable to the normal human eye, but to her it was unmistakable.

She stood frozen, eyes locked on his hand, her heart slamming against her ribs.

Then, slowly, achingly slow, his eyelids fluttered.

Kimiko didn't dare move, didn't even blink.

She stood completely still, her hands clenched at her sides, too scared to hope and too desperate not to.

Noir's lashes lifted, just barely, revealing a dazed, unfocused gaze. His breathing hitched slightly, and his brows furrowed in faint confusion as the harsh overhead lights hit his eyes.

He blinked again, slower this time, the world gradually coming back into focus.

And the first thing he saw…

Was her.

Her bright, tear-filled eyes, but it wasn't her tears that caught his focus.

It was the beautiful, radiant smile breaking across her face like sunlight piercing through the dark storm that caught his eye.

Her whole body trembled with emotion, her hands hovering in the air like she was too afraid to touch him, as if he might vanish the second she did.

But she couldn't hold back any longer.

Launching forward with the force of everything she'd been holding in, Kimiko wrapped her arms around him in a tight, almost crushing hug, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Her breath hitched, and a few tears escaped despite her best efforts.

She didn't care anymore.

He was awake.

He was alive.

And in that moment.

That was all that mattered to her.

Noir, despite still being groggy and disoriented, didn't hesitate.

His arms moved slowly but surely, encircling her waist as he held her back, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting his lips as he closed his eyes again, this time in relief.

She was safe.

That was all that mattered to him.