Let Me Show You A True Hero!

[shirouM]

First time posting on QQ and I'm bringing this over from my other account of FF.net

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Chapter 1

What does it mean to be a Hero?

Is it to be powerful? To be able to defeat every enemy they face? Or is it their incredible powers that no human can ever hope to match? Maybe it's the fame they gain for beating the villians and for having such amazing powers? Most would say that a hero is a hero because they beat the bad guys, others would say it's because they have super powers which makes them heroes.

The answer…

Is none of the above! It's not their powers! Their fame! Or how many bad guys they beat!

No…

A Hero is a Hero because of their ability to overcome hardship. To be able to rise above the suffering and misfortune, and be able to help better themselves and others around them. To inspire them to be better!

A Hero is who the people can look towards when they need help. Or when they need someone to simply be there for them, to be a shoulder to cry on. That… that is what it means to be a Hero.

So why!?

Why is it that I! Of all people! Became the murder happy psychopath! Known as Homelander!?

---

"AAAHHHH!"

"WOOOHHHHH!"

"HOMELANDER!"

His heart was pounding against his chest rapidly. One moment he was saving a child from getting hit by a truck the next he appeared on a stage with thousands of people screaming at him.

Frantically looking around to try and make sense of what was happening, he found a blond-haired woman glaring at him piercingly, making him flinch and whip his head away to look at anything but her.

"Where am I! How am I here!? What on earth is happening!? And why is that woman glaring at me!?"

While he was busy panicking an announcer got on stage and stood next to him before bringing the mike in his hand up to their face and began talking.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Introducing America's Greatest Hero! The Homelander!"

"…what?"

He was frozen in fear as his body shook from all the eyes on him, the overwhelming feeling of having thousands of eyes having their attention on him was terrifying. He was about to make a run for it, before hearing a voice in his left ear.

"What are you doing!? Don't just stand there and look pretty! Stick to the script we gave you Homelander!" It was a feminine and condescending voice that made his already frazzled nerves go into a nervous shock.

"Script? What script!? I don't even know what's going on!

Looking at all the people who were looking at him expectantly, with admiration and smiles on their faces he couldn't help but let out a nervous laugh while a shaky smile appeared on his own face and gave an awkward wave to the crowd.

"H-Hello everyone, I-I'm Homelander?" He said hesitantly, unsure of what he was doing. He felt a hot wave of embarrassment wash over him, his entire body felt like it was on fire, did he really just say he was Homelander? The embarrassment was killing him.

He expected a deafening silence but was instead met with deafening cheers as the crowd went wild, causing him to almost jerk back in surprise. The stadium full of people were in a frenzy, full of shouts and cheers for their newest hero.

"…I died and went to hell." He thought sadly to himself. What else can you call this? It was an introvert's worst nightmare made real, all the loud noises, the flashing of lights, and far! Far! Too many people for him to handle! Worst of all he was the center of attention!

Speaking of loud noises, why was everything getting louder? And why is everyone suddenly naked!? He looked away from the crowd and looked down at his feet instead, only to see hundreds of wires and bugs crawling around below, almost causing him to flinch. He felt himself getting a splitting headache as more and more of his senses reached a level that he had no experience with.

"W-Wha, What is happening to me!?" The man struggled to take control of himself. "I-I n-need to calm down, y-yeah, calm."

He took a deep breath and just like that everything became as it was before, instinct seemed to take over as his body suddenly relaxed on its own. "This is all probably a dream and I will wake up at any moment now, in the hospital, with friends and family surrendering me."

Unfortunately, that never happened.

"Homelander has been in training for quite some time! And now he is ready to stand for peace and justice! For the American dream!" The spoke person shouted out, "What do you have to say to that Homelander?

"…F*!"

---

Two Years Later

"Life is meaningless, everything we do is meaningless." A young girl at the young age of eighteen thought to herself, "We were born into this world not by our choice but by that of others, and our lives continue to be shaped by others, as free will is nothing but a lie made by others."

She stood at the edge of a twenty-story building looking down at the busy street below her. Blonde hair blew past her face, as she clutched onto her necklace wrapped around her neck. The girl wore a beaten-up coat that looked like it would fall apart at any moment, with pants that match looking equally as worn out. Her entire body was shivering from how cold it was. She tried desperately to gather some warmth but due to the poor conditioning of her clothes, it was of no help.

If she jumped would anybody care?

No, because she has no one, no friends or family.

If she jumped would all her problems and worries be taken away?

Yes.

If she jumped would it affect anything?

No, she would simply become another statistic on the board about how many people had died that year.

If she jumped would she finally be free from the prison that they call society?

Yes.

…If she jumped…

She tried finding a reason, any reason! For why she shouldn't jump, but nothing came to her. There was no reason as to why she shouldn't. Tears began forming as she prepared herself for what was to come, clutching her necklace all the while.

As she did so, memories of her life flashed before her eyes, of how it all started so well. How she was so naive to think that she had a bright future ahead of her when she graduated high school at the top of her school, when in reality there was nothing but misfortune awaiting her.

She looked at the necklace, the last gift her mother gave her before she died, and was now the last thing she owned. The girl had nothing left. She had no money! No home to stay! No friends or family to rely on! Nothing!

Her stomach rumbled due to not having eaten in days, and the last thing she ate was thrown out half eaten pizza. The girl hadn't had a good meal for months now.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her tense body relaxed as she made one final step forward, ready to end her meaningless life, to make all the pain and suffering go away.

"Jumping is a coward's way out, you know." A deep, masculine voice rang out beside her, causing her to flinch back away from the edge and trip on her own feet making her fall backward. "Whoa! Careful now! Don't want you to get hurt!"

Warm, comforting arms grabbed hold of her before she could hit the ground. She looked at the person who helped her and saw brilliant blue eyes looking at her and a warm smile greeted her. She knows who he is, hell everyone on earth knows who he is! He was Earth's greatest hero!

"H-Homelander." She murmured out in disbelief. The warm smile seemed to still for a micro of a second before he let out a booming laugh.

"Haha! The one and only! Though you can call me John." The girl's lips formed a small smile at his jovial mood, but it fell short.

The hero in front of her seemed to notice, and his smile also fell, and for a moment, just a moment…she could see how tired he was. But just as fast as it appeared, it dispersed as the warm smile came back.

"Look kid, I know I don't know anything about you and your situation, and that I can never know how you feel, and all that, but can we just skip all that? Please? And skip to the part where I help you?" John asked while he took off his cape and draped it over her, the warmth it emitted encased her, and the world's greatest hero gave her a kind smile. "Everything's going to be alright now, know why?"

She looked at him stunned and unsure as to how to respond to what he was saying.

"W-Why?"

He looked at her and somehow with an even bigger and brighter smile, he gave her a simple reply.

"Because I am here. And I will make sure you get the help you need, you have my word."

She looked at him in disbelief, did he really mean that? Was he really going to help her? Someone he doesn't even know? She held onto the cape, which was bigger than her by quite a few feet, and began to shake. Hot tears streamed down her eyes and she couldn't seem to hold it back no matter how hard she tried.

"Come on, let's get you something warm to eat, you look like you haven't eaten in da-oof!" Before he could finish talking, he felt a body collide with his and a skinny pair of arms wrapped around him.

"T-Thank y-you, th-thank you so much."

The next thing he knew, the girl that he was talking to was crying against his chest, and his suit became a lot wetter than when it was before. He looked down at the girl hugging him with everything she had, and couldn't help but smile. His arms hesitantly raised and paused for a moment, until he finally hugged her back. John felt her flinch but relaxed when she realized he meant her no harm, and much to his surprise, fell asleep in his arms.

"T-Thank y-you, th-thank you." She pitifully murmured out.

"This is why I do this, this is why I'm here. I am the Hero that the people need, and I will make sure psychopaths like Homelander never exist."

A hot fire burned inside him as he looked at the girl. This world was twisted, cruel, and rotten to the core, but moments like these make it worth it.

Ten minutes later

"You can't keep saving every stray cat you see, John." A beautiful woman with flowing sun-kissed hair said while standing next to the world's greatest hero. She had a small smile on her face, but couldn't help but shake her head in resignation when he finished setting up the girl in one of his many help centers. John looked at her in false confusion, wondering what she meant by that. Cat? What cat?

"I don't know what you're talking about, I'm simply doing my job." The hero said before taking off into the sky, the woman followed after him, also taking flight.

"You know exactly what I mean! You are always busy! It's either taking care of bad guys on Monday, saving people on Tuesday and Wednesday, going to charity on Thursday, or helping someone get their pet cat down a tree on Friday! And on the days WE are supposed to take a break, YOU go and help or save people again!" She listed off while bringing up a finger for each day listed.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing?" He raised an eyebrow in confusion at what she just said. It was quite literally his job, he got paid good money to be a hero, and while he would always spend almost all of his money on charity, the leftover amount was still more than enough for him to be happy with.

"I'm not saying that it's a bad thing, John. All I'm saying is that you need to take a break, a vacation! You may be the world's greatest hero, but that doesn't mean you're not human." She said, now flying directly next to him, bumping into his shoulder in order to get her point across.

They were close together now, as they flew across the sky, sometimes waving down at the people below them or waving airplanes flying overhead or other heroes. The hero pondered, deep in thought, after a few minutes passed by he let out a tired sigh as his body saged mid-flight.

"…You're right, I do need a break," the hero mumbled begrudgingly. The heroine looked at him with a smile of victory blooming on her face, she opened her mouth to speak but before she could say anything she was interrupted.

"But only for one day, I don't want anything bad to happen just because I took a day off."

While not the outcome she was hoping for, the blond-haired woman decided not to look a gifted horse in the mouth. She had been trying to convince him to take a break for years now, and even if it was only for a day, she called this progress!

A beautiful warm smile appeared on her face as her eyes met his, causing him to look away from her due to just how beautiful she was. She let out a giggle, she still couldn't believe a man like him existed in this type of world.

The woman's eyes gained a faraway look as she began to reminisce. Their first meeting was different from what the public was told. It was not in fact on an island full of only women, nor was it love at first sight when they met. (Well, Maybe not for him at least) In fact their first time teaming up could've very well ended up catastrophic.

"That's Great!" She cried out in happiness, she grabbed him by the hand and flew up into the sky at high speeds. "I know just the place! It's a small homey shop on the coast of Hawaii! I've been there many times! You'll love it!"

John could only let out a small sigh as he allowed himself to be pulled along by her. This would be his first-ever break for the first time in two years. One day was all he could afford to spend, anything longer than that and the hero community would go insane for his inactivity. He still couldn't believe two years had passed since he became Homelander.

 

[shirouM]

A man sat on a park seat, enjoying the pleasant bright day, holding a comic book in his hands. The cool breeze flowed through his dark-silky hair, while the warm sunlight kissed his tanned skin. He had a little smile on his face from reading something he considered especially amusing.

He suddenly felt someone sit down next to him but paid it no mind, or at least tried to before said person suddenly struck up a conversation.

"Do you ever get tired of it?" A stranger inquired, forcing him to look away from the comic he was reading to look at them, and for some reason, their faces were difficult to make out despite their near proximity.

"Get sick of what?" He questioned back, not understanding what they meant by that.

"Those superhero comics, don't you ever get sick of it?"

Looking at the comic in his hands, he realized what the stranger was asking. He took only a moment to think, before quickly coming to an answer. He idly flipped through the pages and skimmed through the pictures before he replied.

"Nope."

Not satisfied with his simple reply, the stranger pushed on wanting him to say more.

"Why not? Every story in that genre is the same, becoming more and more repetitious with each new one made." The stranger protested, with what the man could only think was a grimace on their face. "The hero triumphs, the villain perishes, and the damsel in distress is saved. It's the same song and dance over and over, like a never-ending merry-go-round. It makes me sick!"

The man waited for the stranger to finish their tirade. The stranger made valid points that he could not dismiss, but there was more to superhero comics than just that.

"Is that what you think they're all about?" He asked, closing the comic book to fully pay attention towards the stranger.

"Yes! The superhero genre is overused and I don't understand how people can still enjoy them!" The stranger finished, crossing their arms like an upset child.

The man smiled at the stranger before gazing down at the comic in his hands and tossed it at them.

"Here, read this" The man said before getting up from the park bench and began walking away from the stranger. "You can keep it if you want."

Looking down at the comic book now beside them, the stranger grabbed it and examined the front cover. A bunch of individuals, made up of mostly men with only one female, were on it, and all of them wore black coats. At the very top of the comic, written in big bolted letters, was the title.

"The boys?" The stranger read aloud while turning the front page of the comic book, utterly unprepared for the content within it.

---

Chapter 2

Queen Maeve, one of the world's greatest heroes, smiled as she watched John awkwardly wave at the screaming crowd of his adoring fans surrounding him. They were enjoying a nice time together in the restaurant she mentioned, when a crowd of crazy fans suddenly surrounded him. She was having a difficult time holding back the urge to giggle as his eyes darted towards her in a plea for help.

One of history's greatest heroes, Queen Maeve, grinned as she saw John awkwardly wave at the enthusiastic crowd that had gathered around him. A group of crazed fans suddenly surrounded him while they were having a good time together in the restaurant she told him. She saw his eyes dart to her in a cry for aid, and she struggled to resist the desire to laugh.

"Homelander! I'm your biggest fan!" A young man said while trying to give him a pen and paper to sign.

"OH MY GOD! I can't believe I'm meeting THE Homelander!" A random woman shouted out from the crowd in a craze.

"Homelander! Homelander! Homelander!" Someone started chanting wildly.

Maeve, who was struggling to remain composed, smothered a chuckle by covering her lips with her palm. Maeve knew how much he detested being the center of attention from the two years that she had known him. John realized Maeve was not going to assist him, so he made the decision to escape on his own.

"What is this? Do you hear that? The pleas for assistance are coming all the way from China, according to my enhanced senses! I apologize to everyone, but I must be elsewhere! Up, up, and away!" He launched himself into the air with a powerful leap and began to fly in an arbitrary direction at supersonic speeds.

The crowd of fans were outraged that their favorite hero flew away.

Not being able to hold herself back anymore, she doubled over and held on to her stomach, crackling madly with laughter. Up, up, and away? When did he come up with that?! Hahahahaha! The PR department was going to have a field day with this!

She herself started flying as well and followed after him, laughing all the while. She was so going to hold that over his head! She took a few deep breaths, giggles still coming out, and called out to him.

"John~Hahaha! Wait for me!"

Maeve quickly caught up to him, seeing as he slowed down enough for her to catch up, and could see his face was a brilliant red.

"I can't believe you just stood there and laughed!" The number one hero of the world grumbled as he flew through the air with Maeve flying alongside him; she was still giggling, much to his embarrassment. "You didn't even try to help!"

"I'm sorry! It's not everyday that I get to see you deal with your fans! Watching you interact with them is like watching a nervous child trying to make friends with new people!" Maeve giggled out while flying over him, a wide smile on her face as her arms wrapped around his neck and let herself rest on his back. The hero blushed at the feeling of her breasts pressing against his back.

"And don't even think for a second that I would forget about what you just said! Up, up, and away? That's going to be your catch phrase from now on!"

"Maggie!"

"That's not a no I'm hearing!"

John could only hang his head down in defeat, she was not going to let this go was she? He could practically feel her smile on the back of his head.

"Where did the girl, who could barely look me in the eyes, go?" He questioned, trying to remember how different she was two years ago when they first met.

"She got to know you and discovered that you are not only the world's number one hero, but also the world's number one goofball!" Maeve responded, having heard him over the wind. Her face lit up with nostalgia as she remembered how it all started.

---

Two years before

"Reporting on Global News!" Homelander has done it once more! Saving thousands of lives by defeating a giant rampaging monster the size of a skyscraper that even twenty other heroes couldn't stop! The best part? There were no casualties as a result of this incident! Fortunately, we had a cameraman on hand at the time of the incident to record everything that happened!" A pretty news reporter exclaimed, proudly wearing a Homelander merchandise t-shirt to show off her fandom.

A lovely blonde-haired woman was seen watching the news with a keen interest on her face. She was in a rather small living room, curled up on a worn out couch, with nothing on her mind but the news on the television in front of her. The woman was dressed casually in short pants and a shirt that was a couple of sizes too big for her, ready for a long day of lounging.

"Are you watching the news, Maggie?" Her mother inquired, entering the living room with a plate of tea and crackers and a glance at the television. "It appears you've grown quite fond of this Homelander fellow; is this a crush I sense forming?"

She was just as beautiful as her daughter, with her blonde hair that had streaks of white from old age, and a mature look of a woman who was still in the prime of her life.

"It's not like that mama! I was just wondering what was on the news and it just so happened to be about him!" The now named Maggie explained to her mother with a blush on her cheeks.

"That's the exact same thing you said the other fifty times I caught you watching him." The older woman smirked while bringing up a cup of tea to her face and taking a sip.

Her daughter had no answer to that and remained silent, but that was all the answer she needed.

The screen switched away from the obviously crazed fan of Homelander, and a recording was soon pulled up, showing a man going toe to toe with a monstrous creature.

His red and white cape was blowing majestically through the air as he floated in front of the monster's face, his eyes glowing red. His dark blue superhero suit was in tatters, but there were no injuries on his body.

Chaos could be seen all happening all across the street as random citizens ran for their lives. Fire and rubble from destroyed buildings could be seen all around the area, all of which was caused by the hideous creature that was once human.

For a split second, the camera moved away from the chaos to show the injured and battered bodies of the other heroes lying on top of one another in a garbage bin, but it quickly returned to the hideous monster.

"Oh my! He defeated that monster?" Her mother was taken aback when she saw the size of the monster. Maeve remained silent, her gaze fixed, not wanting to miss a single second.

"I gave you a chance! Over and over! But it appears you're too much of a prick to take it! Why in the world did you destroy that hospital?! It wasn't in your way! Yet you still decided to destroy it!" As he glared at the monster, the camera picked up on his rage. "Do you know how many people would have died if I hadn't been there to save them?!"

"You're a stupid cocksucker if you think I'll listen to you! So what if a few shit ants die? I am a fucking GOD! I can do whatever the fucking hell I want! If I want to demolish a fucking hospital, I'll demolish a fucking hospital! Nobody can fucking stop me! No one!" The monster growled, sneering at him, turning the man's glare into a scowl as his red eyes began to burn even brighter. "What exactly are you supposed to be? Wait, Let me take a guess! You're one of Vought's new bitc-vrrzzzz!"

Before the monster could finish his sentence, a red beam of death detached the villain's head from his body, killing him instantly.

The hero's burning red eyes dimmed and returned to normal, but his scowl remained as he gazed down at the now-dead villain.

Maeve and her mother gasped, unable to comprehend how he had instantly killed the villain. That villain was famous for being invincible, able to withstand attacks from other supers and high-powered military weapons. Yet the way he did it so easily, as though it were no more difficult than killing a mere bug, made Maeve shiver in a strange way.

The hero flew closer to the corpse, faster than the human eye could track, grabbed both the body and the decapitated head, and did so with impressive strength. TOSSED! after flying hundreds of feet above the city! A powerful throw propels the impossibly large and heavy body into space.

The two women watching this all unfold stared at each other, astounded by what they were witnessing. Superheroes were strong, but not that strong! Heroes grew stronger and more powerful with each new generation, and what Homelander was demonstrating was far beyond what the current heroes, new and old, were capable of.

The camera zoomed in on the rapidly shrinking body as it got further away. It switched back to the hero filming him stare at the direction he threw the body.

By using his supervision, he ensured that it did not collide with anything that might get in its way. After a few moments of observation, the hero returned to the destroyed area of the city.

Homelander's scowl soon softened when a crowd of children in hospital gowns, along with their nurses and doctors, emerged from the nearby hiding area he had left them in.

Like an angel coming down from the heavens, the children were in awe of him. Using his x-ray vision to check for any injuries he may have missed, his rage seemed to fade as he warmly smiled at the children with a worried expression.

"Is everyone okay? Nobody feels like they're going to die, right? If you're hurt, don't be afraid to speak up! My top priority is your safety!" Homelander addressed the children who surrounded him with wide eyes, and several of them began to cry, much to the hero's distress.

The screen went black, the camera dying due to a low battery, and it returned to the news anchor, who was disappointed with how short the video was.

"It appears that's all we have for you today, folks; after these commercials, we'll move on to the weather forecast." She expressed her disappointment that it wasn't about her favorite hero.

The mother and daughter pair quickly stopped paying attention, and the younger woman began searching for anything else interesting.

Finishing her cup of tea with one last sip, the older woman turned towards her daughter and began making conversation with her about the hero that was rapidly rising in popularity.

"What do you think?"

"About what?"

Maeve did not turn away from surfing the Channels, but did glance at her mother at the corner of her eyes.

"About that fellow Homelander, of course."

Her face was intensely focused now that she was sitting up on the couch. What was her opinion of him? America's newest hero, reputed to be the greatest hero ever born?

"…he's ok." Was her reply after a moment of deep thinking.

"Just ok?" The mother questioned, knowing for a fact that there was more to it than just an 'ok'.

"Yup." Popping the P at the end.

"Hmm…" Staring suspiciously at her, a plan quickly formulated in her head that was sure to show her daughter's true colors.

"That's interesting because I was just thinking abou-OH MY GOD! Is that Homelander flying outside our window!?"

"WHAT!?" Maeve jumped over the couch to hide, panicking at how she was dressed, which was far from presentable. "No way, no, no! He can't see me this way!"

"Pfft! Hahahaha!"

When she heard her mother laughing uncontrollably, she quieted down. She jumped up from behind the couch, realizing she had been duped by her own mother, and glared at her like a kick puppy.

"MAMA!" She shouted out in embarrassment.

"Hahaha! I'm sorry dear! But in my defense, I didn't expect you to jump behind the couch like a frightened cat!" After getting a good laugh at her daughter's expense, she calmed down enough to ask Maggie the same question again.

"But in all seriousness, what do you really think about him? You're going to be working with him, along with other heroes, in the future after all."

Maeve and her mother were overjoyed when Vaught contacted them about joining a hero squad with well-known heroes. Especially since she hadn't hadn't even become a hero yet! Her abilities had only just recently manifested.

It got even better when they realized she'd be the team's lone female hero, which meant she'd constantly be the center of attention! Obtaining all of the fame and popularity she yearned for.

But to work with someone like Homelander? Someone who could easily defeat a monster with a single glance?

Maggie, after a minute of thinking, made to answer her mothers question when a knock was suddenly heard at their front door.

Knock!

Knock!

Knock!

The mother and daughter looked at each other, not expecting any visitors. Getting up from the couch, the small-time super heroine went to get the door to see who it was. When she opened the door, a woman in a formal suit could be seen standing in front of the doorway, a phone in one hand and a file in the other.

"Maggie Princeton or should I say Queen Maeve?" When she had the response she wanted, the woman pulled a page from the file and offered Maggie a business smile. "I am from Vaught America, and I'm here to tell you that It's time for your big debut."

---

A few moments later

"Alright! you got this! All you have to do is get out there! And stop the bad guys! You got powers now! You can do anything!" Queen Maeve thought to herself as she hopped up and down in place getting ready for her big debut.

She was currently peering down at the city below her, ready to intervene if any crime occurred. There was also a camera team nearby, most likely dispatched by Vought, ready to begin filming her in action, which she found strange but rationalized as it being her debut, so she didn't think much of it.

She was dressed in a rather revealing outfit, emphasizing all of her curves and showing a little more skin than she would have liked, but she was willing to put up with it because today everything was going to change, she was going to become something more than a simple girl who no one thought would ever achieve anything in life!

She was on her way to becoming a superhero! The one thing everyone wished to be more than anything else in the world! Wealth and stardom would soon be hers!

She could see it now: being surrounded by adoring fans, having more wealth than she could ever wish for, and living in an expansive house with more space than she'll ever need. There will be no more living paycheck to paycheck! There will be no more begging! There will be no more filthy, rat-infested apartments!

Crash!

"AAAAHHHH!"

A piercing cry caused her to look towards the direction of the sound, only to see mayhem and ruin spread. A massive figure could be seen rushing down the street, shaking the entire neighborhood with each stride.

Huge veins protruded from every area of the man's physique, indicating that he was more muscle than anything else. Because of how horrible and malformed his face was, it would make grown men scream and children cry.

He was on a warpath, and everything in his path was either forced aside or crushed beneath his feet. Maeve stood there, stunned and unsure what to do beyond stare at the creature underneath her.

Could she take him on? She now has powers, but will they be enough to defeat him?

Doubts began to muddle her mind as she continued to look down at the destruction taking place below her. The happy ideas of being a hero are beginning to die a horrible death.

Was she truly cut out for this? Was it too late to go back? Fear began to consume her as she began to move away from the edge of the building.

"This is insane! There's no way I can take that thing on, that's suicide!" Fear filled thoughts ran through her head, until a sudden realization came to her. "Wait, isn't this Lamplighters territory? He can deal with this Bullshit! It's not my problem!"

She prepared herself to fly off to another area, leaving someone else to deal with the villain and find easier crime to deal with. But a sudden scream of help made her pause and look back down to the chaos happening below her.

A tiny girl of seven remained transfixed in horror in the path of the rushing monster. Her mother yelled at her to move out of the way as she was prevented from rushing forward and killing herself by other people.

"Move out of the way, Merry!" She pleaded to the child, but it had no effect; she was trying with all her power to break free of their grip and run to save her daughter, even if it meant certain death. "Let go of me god dammit!"

But Merry remained motionless, and the stampeding creature did not come to a halt. She'd be crushed beneath his feet soon, leaving only a gory mess of organs and broken bones.

Queen Maeve stayed planted safely on top of the building she was on. The heroine, if she can be called that, felt as if her entire body was held down by an ocean's worth of pressure. Too scared to go down and save the girl, and too fearful to be the hero they desperately need. She stood there like a coward, watching the villain bring his massive foot down and crush the poor, innocent girl.

"MERRY!" Her mother screamed out to her with a voice full of anguish as she watched the monster about to kill her daughter.

…

…

…

In an idealized world, this would be the moment in which the hero appears at the last second to save the girl, stop the evil, and save the day once more. Beautiful rainbows and sunlight everywhere, and everyone went about their day, happy and safe.

…

…

…

Unfortunately, that part would never arrive because there was no hero in the immediate area brave enough to risk their lives to save the girl; they were more concerned with themselves than with some random idiotic girl who got herself killed.

Why should they be concerned? They were, after all, heroes! They had more important things to do than stop a minor crime that would bring them no fame or notoriety!

It wasn't their problem.

When things go out of hand, the heroes utilize the same excuse. If things became even slightly difficult, they would step down immediately and transfer responsibility to someone else.

…

…

…

Crack!

Unable to turn away from what could only be a horrible scene, everyone watching saw red and heard the sound of cement crumbling. They expected to see a horrific sight of the child's mangled and crushed body.

…

…

Or would've if a red and white caped crusader hadn't swooped in at the last second, pulling the girl into his chest and blocking the deadly blow with his body! The giant's foot, which could easily crush steel, couldn't bend the man's back even an inch as he held the terrified girl in his arms protectively.

"It's alright, everything is going to be ok now, I promise." His voice, which was in a calming whisper, rang out for everyone to hear. He had a kind smile on his face that made the girl feel as though no harm would come to her.

Queen Maeve, and the rest of those present, could only watch with astonished eyes as the man stood up with ease despite the villain's colossal foot crushing down on him. Their eyes widened even further when they realized who it was that saved the girl; Maeve exclaimed the name of the hero, whom everyone in the vicinity recognized.

"H-Homelander."

 

[igfry]

Tbh, what was fun about Homelander was that he wasn't Superman. Just my opinion.

 

[shirouM]

Tbh, what was fun about Homelander was that he wasn't Superman. Just my opinion.

Click to shrink...

Nice opinion, now here's mine.

I liked how he is in the show but not enough to not write this story.

 

[shirouM]

Leave a comment if you want more!

Chapter 3

"H-Homelander."

As the villain's enormous leg tried to crush the hero's back, the crowd watched in stunned silence as the hero stood up effortlessly while holding the small girl in his arms.

The villain, not expecting anything or anyone to be able to out-power him, staggered back and fell on his ass causing the concrete road to crack.

Homelander paid the monster no mind as he walked towards the girl's mother, whose face was a mess of tears, and handed her daughter back.

Still being restrained by the individuals who prevented her from rushing towards her daughter, the woman's hands ripped free of their grip to take hold of her daughter and tightly hugged her into her chest. More and more tears began to fall down her eyes as she thanked Homelander hysterically over and over again for saving her precious daughter.

Maeve watched with disbelief as he turned around after making sure the girl was safe with her mother and started walking towards the villain without a single hesitation in his steps.

As the hero approached the villain who was slowly getting up from the ground, he tried to reason with him, "Stand down! I don't want to hurt you any more than I have to."

However, the villain was too far gone in his rage to listen. With a loud roar the giant behemoth charged at Homelander with full force, more than capable of destroying almost everyone in his path. Going at a speed that was that should be impossible for a man his size, the villain was now foot away form Homelander after a split second.

"Oh come on!"

The Homelander seeing this, acted fast to protect the innocent bystanders behind him. Homelander's fist clenched with a furious intensity, his knuckles turning white as he drew it back with a sharp inhalation. All the muscles in his arm tightened and bulged, like cords of steel ready to unleash a devastating blow upon his enemy.

"I didn't want to do this! But you brought this on yourself!"

With a deafening roar, Homelander launched his fist forward with incredible speed, his strength and focus propelling it like a missile towards the villain's gut. The impact was like a thunderbolt, the force of the punch sending shockwaves through the air that reverberated in every direction.

The sound of bones cracking echoed through the streets as the villain was lifted off his feet and thrown backwards like a ragdoll. His body collided with the pavement with a sickening thud, sending debris flying in all directions as the ground beneath him cracked and split apart under the sheer force of the blow, completely and utterly knocked out.

Homelander's arm trembled with the effort of the punch, his muscles still taut with the immense strength he had summoned.

He stood there for a moment, catching his breath and surveying the aftermath of his attack, before turning to check on the safety of the bystanders.

Homelander's eyes scanned the crowd of people, searching for any signs of danger or distress. His gaze swept over the faces of the bystanders, taking in their expressions of shock and awe as they gazed upon him with a mixture of fear and adoration.

However, his attention was quickly drawn back to the small girl and her mother, who stood frozen in fear on the edge of the crowd. Homelander's eyes locked onto theirs, his expression softening as he took in their terror.

With a few quick strides, he closed the distance between them, his massive frame imposing yet somehow comforting. He knelt down in front of the little girl, his voice gentle as he spoke to her.

Homelander knelt down on one knee, as his towering figure was now at the same level as the little girl and her mother. His eyes, a piercing blue, scanned their faces with a mix of concern and relief upon seeing that they were unharmed. The deafening cheers and applause of the crowd that surrounded them seemed to fade away as he focused his attention solely on the two of them.

He spoke in a soft and gentle voice, laced with sincerity, "Are you two okay?" His tone soothing, as if he was trying to calm them down from the traumatic experience they just went through. His eyes remained fixed on theirs, trying to gauge their emotional state.

The little girl, her face stained with tears, opened her mouth to speak, but her voice came out as a mere whisper "I-I was s-so scared."

Homelander, sensing her fear, hesitated for a moment before he slowly reached out and placed his large hand on her head, patting it gently with a reassuring smile. His action seemed to instantly calm her down, as she leaned into his touch, her tears slowly drying up.

The moment seemed frozen in time, as the superhero, the little girl remained in their own little bubble. But eventually, Homelander stood up, his attention back to the rest of the crowd, but not before giving the little girl and her mother one last look, his eyes filled with kindness and compassion.

"It's okay, you're safe now," he said, reassuringly. "You and your mom are going to be just fine."

The mother, still visibly shaken, spoke up, her voice trembling. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you for saving her."

Homelander smiled at her, his eyes warm and kind. "You don't have to thank me, It's my job to protect people."

The little girl tugged on Homelander's cape, her eyes filled with wonder. "Are you a real superhero?" she asked, her voice filled with awe.

Homelander laughed softly, finding her to be too cute for words to describe. "Yes, I am," he said. "And I promise that I'll always be here to protect you."

The little girl beamed up at him, her fear replaced with a sense of wonder and admiration, making him bashfully rub the back of his head with his hand.

As the man conversed with the young girl and her mother, the heroine, who had been closely observing the situation, descended from the top of the building.

Upon landing on the ground, the heroine felt uncertain about what to do next. She realized that she had done next to nothing to save the child who had narrowly avoided a tragic accident, and instead had only observed from afar as the events unfolded. The weight of her inaction weighed heavily on her conscience.

She watched as the mother and daughter embraced each other, and a pang of guilt and regret tightened in her chest as she realized that she had failed to take action to prevent the accident. The sound of her own breaths seemed to amplify in her ears, as she struggled to find the words to express her remorse.

The heroine's gaze was fixed on the hero, who had heroically intervened and saved the young girl from a traumatic fate. He was currently engrossed in comforting the girl, making her laugh and easing her fears, seemingly oblivious to the surrounding crowd of people who had gathered to witness the incident.

Despite the hero's admirable efforts, the heroine couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment in herself for not having taken action when she had the chance.

As Maeve grappled with her inner conflicts and moral dilemmas, she was suddenly approached by frenzied news reporters from Vought. Leading them was the woman who visited Maeve earlier that day.

Maeve noticed their arrival and was about to ask the reason for their rush towards her, but before she could speak, the woman addressed her first.

"Queen Maeve, there's been a change of plans."

Maeve looked at the woman with confusion, "What do you mean? What change of plans?"

The woman took a deep breath before she started explaining her plan to the heroine.

"Homelander has saved the day again and has been getting all the credit for it. The public is going crazy over him and from the numbers he's racking up his popularity is not going to die out any time soon. And with him around it's going to be next to impossible to get you into the spotlight. We need to do something to get the spotlight on you, Maeve."

The blonde haired woman's eyebrow raised, "And how do you propose we do that?"

The woman smiled deceptively, "We take credit for Homelander's work. We make it look like you were the one who saved the day."

Maeve's eyes widened in disbelief and shock, unable to believe what she just heard, "That sounds like a terrible idea! How could I possibly take credit for Homelander's work?! Everyone knows he's the one who is really saving people!"

The woman leaned in closer, her voice low and persuasive, "It's simple. We just need to spin the narrative in our favor. We make something up and say you helped, and all that shit and the public will eat it up! They'll love the idea of a strong, capable woman taking charge and saving the day."

Maeve considered the woman's words. She knew that fame and popularity were important in her line of work, but she wasn't comfortable with taking credit for something she didn't do.

"I-I d-don't know about this…" Maeve said with her head tilted down towards the ground.

Observing Maeve's hesitation, the woman stepped forward and gently placed her hand under Maeve's chin, tilting her head upwards. Maeve's eyes met the woman's.

"You signed the contract I gave you, and if you don't want to lose this opportunity that every single pathetic worm on this planet can only dream of getting, then you will do as I say. Got it?" The woman's tone turned harsh and cold.

Maeve's heart pounded against her chest as she forced out a nod, her eyes darting away from the woman's intense gaze. She felt like a pawn in someone else's game, and the realization made her sick to her stomach.

"Good, now go over there and act like a good little hero that did something besides sitting on her ass! I took a risk choosing you and I refuse to be fucked over because a small time heroine bitch decided she's too much of a fucking goody two shoes!"

Maeve flinched at the woman's harsh words, feeling a wave of anger mixed with shame wash over her. She knew she wasn't a "small time heroine bitch", but the woman's words stung nonetheless.

She could hear the sound of cameras clicking and reporters shouting questions, signaling the news media had finally arrived. Maeve took a deep breath and forced a smile, trying to push aside her doubts and insecurities.

But as she looked out at the cheering crowd surrounding Homelander, she couldn't help but feel like a fraud. Maeve knew she didn't deserve the credit for Homelander's work, and the thought of taking part in something she had no part in made her feel sick to her stomach.

But for the sake of her career, she pushed those thoughts aside and played the role she had been assigned.

As she walked away, her mind raced with conflicting thoughts. On one hand, she knew that her fame and success were crucial to her career. But on the other hand, she couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that she had compromised her principles.

Every step felt heavy as she made her way down the hallway, her thoughts consumed by doubts and fears. Her reputation had always been important to her, but at what cost?

Maeve approached Homelander with a hesitant gait, her eyes flickering nervously between him and the unconscious villain lying on the ground. She swallowed hard and placed a hand on his shoulder.

As a hand landed on his shoulder, the man with blonde hair swiveled around to face the person behind him. At first, he appeared surprised by the identity of the person, but his expression quickly shifted upon realizing that a Vought camera was pointed directly at him.

The sudden appearance of the camera made his heart skip a beat, and he felt a wave of anxiety wash over him. He knew all too well the power of Vought and the lengths they would go to get what they wanted.

Despite his apprehension, the man tried to maintain a calm exterior, hiding any sign of discomfort.

Homelander's expression changed in an instant, his eyes hardening as he caught sight of the camera. His previously warm and friendly demeanor vanished, replaced by a sickeningly fake smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Hello fellow hero!" he exclaimed, his voice overly bright and cheerful. "I'm afraid you're late to the party! For I have already taken the villain down!"

"It hurts acting like this, it makes me want to gag."

Maeve's voice shook slightly as she improvised her response, her mind racing to come up with a plausible explanation. Despite her nerves, she managed to muster up a confident tone as she addressed Homelander.

"But it seems you misunderstand," she began, meeting his gaze head-on. "I was already in pursuit of this villainous bastard when he managed to slip away from me. You just happened to take him down after I had exhausted him, that's all."

Maeve could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she spoke, but she refused to let her nerves show. She knew that her reputation was on the line, and she would do whatever it took to protect it.

"If he hadn't managed to escape from my sights, that villain would have been beaten to a pulp before he could even lay a hand on this beautiful city," she added, hoping that her words would be enough to convince Homelander and the public of her heroism.

For a moment, he looked taken aback, but he quickly regained his composure and nodded in agreement with her version of events.

"I see! No wonder he went down with only one punch! You must've done quite a number on him for me to take him down so easily!" He said with a happy demeanor, while dying from the inside from how fake he was acting.

The energy of the crowd was electric, their cheers and applause filling the air with a deafening roar. Homelander and Maeve stood side by side, their arms raised in triumph, basking in the adoration of their fans.

As the Vought news reporter captured every moment of the heroes' interaction, their camera zoomed in on the subtlest of expressions and movements. Every twitch of a muscle, every flicker of an eye was captured in minute detail, ensuring that no nuance was lost.

The cheers of the crowd formed a deafening backdrop as Homelander and Maeve played their roles to perfection. Their words were carefully chosen, each gesture calculated to maintain their public image.

Despite their outward show of unity, both Homelander and Maeve were struggling with their own demons. Homelander felt trapped by his need to maintain his fake persona, while Maeve was consumed by guilt at taking credit for another hero's work.

Maeve's unease was apparent, however, and she kept glancing nervously towards the Vought reporter filming them. Homelander, seeing her discomfort, placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry about it," he said, his voice calm. "Just stand with me and we'll get through this."

Maeve nodded, still feeling uneasy but willing to play along for the sake of their image as heroes. Homelander's hand remained on her shoulder, a silent show of support that helped to ease her nerves.

As the crowd continued to cheer and applaud, Maeve couldn't help but wonder just how far they would have to go to maintain their image as heroes. The pressure to be perfect, to be infallible, was immense, and the thought of constantly living up to those expectations left her feeling exhausted.

But for now, she pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. Standing there, side by side with Homelander, she felt a sense of solidarity and strength that helped to ease her worries.

 

[shirouM]

Chapter 4

"In an electrifying turn of events, a mesmerizing new figure has emerged, captivating the hearts and minds of people across the globe. Allow me to introduce Queen Maeve! The Amazonian Empress of the Other World, whose entrance onto the scene was nothing short of breathtaking! With an aura of mystery surrounding her, this enigmatic heroine has swiftly risen to become a beloved favorite among the adoring masses, leaving an indelible mark on the world!" A news woman excitedly said while various images of a beautiful blond Amazonian flashed across the screen of the TV.

Various images of the heroine saving the day and helping people in trouble appeared one after another. Some were of her carrying civilians to safety, while others were of her stopping low level thugs from robbing, but many of them were just her standing next to another rapidly rising hero, Homeland-

Click!

"Mind explaining what the fuck this is?" A woman asks while roughly shutting off the tv, having seen more than enough of what she considers shit news.

"A TV that has just been turned off?" A calm baritone voice innocently answered, much to the woman's annoyance.

The two of them were in the woman's office and were currently in a meeting to discuss important matters… or what is deemed important matters to the woman.

"Why am I even talking to her? It's my bloody lunch time for crying out loud!" The hero whined to himself as he munched on a sandwich, enjoying the delicious flavors that touched his tongue. "Wow! This is one hell of a sandwich! I definitely need to go there more often! Grandma Rose makes a mean sandwich!"

He received the sandwich as a heartfelt thank-you gift for his heroic actions of preventing a restaurant fire and rescuing the owner from a dangerous situation. Despite not seeking any rewards for his heroic deeds, Grandma Rose, the kind-hearted owner of the restaurant, stubbornly insisted on expressing her gratitude by offering him a free meal. So to pacify her, he graciously accepted her offer and got a nice warm sandwich! And he gotta say, he does not regret accepting it!

"I'll help her repair her restaurant after I'm done with this 'meeting' if I can even call it that." He thought to himself, almost half way through his sandwich. He was currently sitting down on a comfy chair barely paying attention to what his 'manager' was saying, too focused on his meal to care.

"Not that you idiot! What I'm asking you is why the fucking hell are you working with this two bint broad!" The blonde haired woman screamed out, throwing the remote that was in her hand with all her might at the hero.

Homelander merely caught the remote with one hand without so much as looking up from his sandwich.

Madelyn Stillwell was a woman of great ambition and would go to extreme lengths to achieve her goals. That's why she was working with the world renowned Vought that dealt with the insane business of superheroes. Any other job would be beneath her skills and talent, and that was why she took on the challenge of handling what she was told to be their greatest creation. And said creation was proving to be more and more of a nuisance with each passing day.

She has an extensive experience in dealing with so-called "heroes," Madelyn knew firsthand that these fuckers were far from the virtuous saviors that Vought portrayed them to be in the public eye. Behind the facade of superheroes lay a darker reality, one in which their actions often mirrored those of monsters rather than saints.

Madelyn had ample experience dealing with them and knew precisely how to manipulate them to her advantage. They were driven by greed, were often petty, and a pain in the ass to deal with, but ultimately, they were easily controlled. Instead of acting like the responsible heroes they were portrayed to be, they were nothing but spoiled children, easily swayed by money, fame, and sex.

She had managed many heroes throughout her years of being a hero manager and was one of the very few that knew the truth behind the supposed heroes. The messes they made and the expensive cost of sweeping all the dirt under the rug.

The murders, rapes, and mass group genocides. All of it swept under the rug just to keep the image of heroes as clean as a whistle, after all… it wasn't profitable if their merchandise was put in a bad light was it?

"But this bastard just has to be different from everyone else." Stillwell glared hatefully at the man in front of her who was mindlessly munching on that stupid sandwich without a care in the world. "With his Boy Scout attitude and good boy personality, makes me fucking puke."

"That wasn't very nice of you, Miss Stillwell." Homelander said as he calmly put the remote down on the desk in front of him. "That could've hurt somebody."

"Oh fuck off! If military grade bullets can't hurt you then a remote won't do shit to you." Madelyn growled out, she was currently pacing back and forth trying to calm herself down.

"No, but it did hurt my feelings~" John smiled as he lightly teased his manager, knowing full well that she absolutely hated it when he did it.

The scowl on her face was truly a sight to behold.

Putting his half eaten sandwich down, the blonde haired man stood up from where he was sitting and turned to exit the room.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?! We are not done with our meeting until I say we're done!" Rushing to block the door, the woman's piercing eyes glared at the man before her and stood between him and the exit. "You still haven't explained why you're helping that bitch! She's our competition, you idiot! At the rate things are going, that slut is going to steal the spotlight, and your popularity is going to drop because of her!"

Homelander merely raised an eyebrow, not at all understanding why she was bringing this up.

"Since when is being a hero a competition? As far as I'm aware, being a hero is about helping people and besides, you should know how little I care about those kinds of things." He said, crossing his muscular arms and narrowing his eyes down at the much shorter woman.

If it were any other superhero, Madelyn would've cut her losses and gone on to deal with another more easily manipulated hero. But unfortunately for her, he wasn't just any other hero. He was America's golden boy and, more than likely, the future number one hero of the world! If she stopped being his manager, then some other bitch trying to make it big would take over her spot and reap all the benefits that come with being the manager of the number one hero!

A tense silence came between the two, neither one willing to back down. Piercing brown eyes met calming blue, one filled with annoyance and the other with steely resolve.

As the seconds ticked by, John couldn't help but raise an eyebrow when he noticed something odd. Seeing his frazzled expression, Stillwell crossed her arms, wondering what caused him to make that face.

"The fuck are you thinking about now?" She asked with a slight growl.

John, who was now staring at her in confusion, shook his head and responded to her question.

"I'm just confused as to why your heart beat is so calm."

"My heart beat?" Now it was her turn to be confused, what the hell did he mean by heart beat?

Taking time to organize his thoughts, the hero further elaborated on what he meant.

"Because of my powers, I am somewhat of a human lie detector." Homelander explained, pointing at his ears and eyes to further his point. "I can see their heart and hear it beat, heck I can even see the tiniest twitches of their body. While I'm not exactly perfect at it, I am accurate enough to know what a person is feeling even when they don't outwardly show it."

Hearing his answer she nodded her head in acknowledgment, but was still confused as to why it would cause him to be confused when looking at her. After all, she was informed about his powers in great detail by Stan Edgar, she knew full well what he was capable of.

"And what does that have to do with my heartbeat? I already know all of this."

Pausing for a moment to think of a proper way to explain, John tried his best to answer.

"...I've noticed how you interact with other supes, and it's clear that you hold yourself in higher regard, considering them inferior in every aspect. However, despite your show of superiority, you still unconsciously fear them." These words left the strong-willed woman momentarily speechless. "I can detect your accelerated heartbeat and observe the subtle flinches whenever they come near you, and this pattern repeats with every single super I have seen you interact with. But weirdly enough…"

The hero took a moment pause and stared at her with a look that made the woman's knees buckle.

"…none of that happens when you're with me. Your heart rate remains steady, and you don't even flinch… Why is that?" John questioned, wanting to know why the woman that should fear him, was so relaxed around him compared to other supes.

No words came out of Madelyn Stillwell's mouth, too stunned from hearing what he just said to make a proper reply. The two stared at each other for what seemed like hours in an awkward silence, much to Homelander dismay as he didn't mean for it to turn out like this.

"…you can leave, but don't blame me when your paycheck is missing more than a few zeros, because of you losing popularity because of her." With that said she moved out of his way and went back to her desk more than a little upset.

Free to leave, John quickly made his way out, wanting to get out of there as fast as he could.

"I'm going to have to avoid her for a while, that was awkward as hell!" John thought to himself as he zoomed down the hallway while being mindful about the people around him.

 

[shirouM]

Chapter 5

"…I got it?" A young blonde haired woman asked out loud in disbelief as she looked at her mom with wide eyes. Her mother looked at her in equal disbelief, despite the fact she would always tell her she would get in. No longer being able to hold back her excitement she screamed out in excitement along with her mother. "I got it!"

They quickly calmed down and tried their best to play it off as an error of the device. Despite that, however, a face splitting smile was on her face at the fact that she got into The Seven! The world's greatest team of heroes of all time!

Curiosity began to gnaw at her as she pondered how she was accepted so quickly into the team of renowned heroes, considering she had only sent her interview video a week ago.

"Do you know why I got accepted so fast? There were probably millions of people trying to apply for a position in The Seven. It should've taken at least a month or two."

Her mother waved her hands and mouthed to her to not look a gifted horse in the mouth, but was ignored. Annie focused her attention on the phone, she had to know. The person on the other side of the phone took a long pause before they answered her question.

"…it was actually Homelander himself that pushed for your position into the team." The voice coming from the voice said, much to the young woman's shock.

Her mother looked at her with raised eyebrows, wondering what got her daughter even more surprised than getting accepted into The Seven.

"H-Homelander was the one who-" Annie stuttered out, causing her mother's eyes to widen.

"Got you into the team, yes." They interrupted, trying to quicken the call so they could hang up and move on to another call. "He saw your video and must've liked what he saw, now if you may excuse me I have other calls to attend to." With that said they hung up the phone.

The two of them stood in stunned silence, barely able to comprehend what just happened. Ten minutes passed before they bang screaming and freaking out that Annie January got into The Seven with Homelander of all people supporting her!

"AAAAHHHHHHH!"

The deafening scream of two women could be heard throughout the neighborhood. Annie couldn't wait to tell her team, The Young Americans, of her accomplishment!

---

The Seven's Tower​

She was at The Seven's Tower! The Seven's tower! A place she could only ever dream of being in! Annie looked around with eyes filled with excitement and awe, unable to believe that she was soon going to be part of The Seven!

She was at the entrance where she came in from and felt the blast of wind blow past her hair. The tower, or more like a flying giant airship, was thousands of miles in the sky. The only way for anyone to get up there was either a jet or a hero with the ability to fly.

She was waiting for the person that was going to give her a little tour of the station. Who it was she didn't know, apparently it was going to be a surprise, whatever that meant.

She continued to look around and observed everything that caught her attention, ranging from the flying jets, the people busily working, to the pictures of heroes that decorated the walls.

"I must say, the entrance might have caught your attention, but wait until you see the interior," a deep, masculine voice stated from behind her. Startled, she turned around and found herself face to face with the world's greatest hero in all his glory. "So... are you ready for the tour?"

Her words stumbled as she tried to comprehend the situation. Meeting the number one hero in the world left her flustered and overwhelmed, drowning in embarrassment. "H-Hi? You... uh, what..."

A warm smile from the hero eased her anxiety, if only slightly. "Hello. I apologize for being late. I had to handle a runaway vehicle filled with enough money to buy a small country. I hope it didn't cause any inconvenience?"

"N-No! Not at all," Annie stuttered, struggling to form a coherent sentence. It felt surreal to meet the man she had only seen on TV, standing right in front of her. "I-I'm sorry. I never expected to meet you in person! You're Homelander, Earth's greatest hero!"

"Call me John. Hearing 'Homelander' all the time can get annoying, I can assure you," John replied with a chuckle, gesturing for Annie to follow him. With a beaming smile, she eagerly trailed behind him, her excitement palpable.

They walked down a massive hallway, spacious enough to fit ten She Hemonths end to end. Annie continued to marvel at the tower's grandeur, a few steps behind the hero leading her.

Pausing for a moment, Annie's eyes fixated on a captivating photo of Queen Maeve and Homelander, surrounded by children dressed in tattered rags at a charity event. The photo captured Homelander completely engrossed with the children, hardly acknowledging the camera. Maeve was smiling, it was truly beautiful as she watched John being surrounded by children looking up to him with amazement and wonder.

Noticing that she stopped following him, John turned around to see why she stopped. Seeing her looking at one of the pictures that were hanging on the walls, he couldn't help but sigh. He knew he should've taken them down when he had the chance.

"Did you find something interesting?" Homelander questioned as he walked up to her to see which picture she was looking at, praying to whatever higher power was out there that it wasn't one of him. His tense expression soon softened however when he noticed it was one of the ones he was actually fine with and was one that Maeve personally hung up.

Annie nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard him behind her, but soon relaxed when she realized it was just him.

"Y-Yeah, this picture caught my attention and I couldn't help but stop and look." She said, hoping that he wasn't angry at her even though she knew it takes way more than that to get him of all people angry.

"It's fine, I would stop and look around too if I was in your shoes." He said smiling as he looked at the picture, remembering the happy memories back to that time. His smile became even wider when his eyes landed on a little girl tightly holding onto his cape.

"I know this may sound…weird, but I wanted to ask which charity this event was." The young blonde-haired woman mumbled out, hoping that it wasn't too personal of a question. "I kinda kept track of all the charity's that you took part of, but I can't seem to recognize the one in the picture."

"…you kept track of my charitys?" John questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Noticing her mistake she quickly tried to correct herself, fortunately John waved off her trying to explain herself.

"It's fine, I get what you mean." The hero hummed, taking a moment before answering. "You wouldn't recognize it because this one was not made public, infact ninety percent of my charity's are not."

Annie looked at him stunned, her jaw dropped and her eyes bugged out.

"Y-You mean to say that the ones that were shown were just the tip of the iceberg!?" She gasped out, knowing full well just how much money went into the charities that Homelander took part of. "Why did you keep it a secret? I can count on one hand how many heroes would want to keep their charity's a secret!

"Just felt like it." John merely shrugged his shoulders and smiled before he began walking again knowing that she would follow.

"Do you have any other questions you want me to answer?"

"Uh, y-yeah! I have a lot of them actually!"

"Don't be shy and ask away then."

"O-Ok, u-um, who is your favorite heroine?"

He paused at the questions and turned around to look at her with an expression of disbelief of what he just heard.

"M-My friends dared me to ask you that!"

 

[shirouM]

Chapter 6

"Bloody hell."

A man with a strong English accent mumbled to himself as he watched two supes go at it with one another in the air, causing destruction and chaos to the area around them. It was only due to pure fucking luck that no one was killed so far in their little squabble over what was probably fucking nothing.

But unfortunately, not everyone was unharmed as plenty of people were hurt and injured because they were unlucky enough to get caught up in it. And the hero 'trying' to stop the villain, could hardly care less.

The hero and villain fighting each other were either new or unpopular D-list supes that rarely made it into the limelight. In the sky, the vengeful eyes of the villain glowed a ghastly green, while his adversary's cheeks were flushed with arrogant self-righteousness.

It was a fierce battle, for D-ranks that is. Both of them are determined to win, more for their own pride than anything else. The man watched with mild interest as they hurled insults and punches at one another, their powers clashing in a spectacle of noise and color.

Their destructive scrap would probably be forgotten in the next hour when everything cooled down. The man shook his head and looked around at the destruction caused by their fight; he noted how civilians were sticking around taking videos with their phones as if they couldn't die at any second by a stray attack.

"What a fucking mess," he grumbled, adjusting the heavy duffle bag on his shoulder. Debris from nearby buildings fell like rain, showering the streets with dust and chunks of concrete. "When the bloody hell is he going to show up?"

Just as the Englishman finished his grumbling, there was an intense burst of sound followed by a powerful gust of wind. A man appeared in the sky in an instant, Homelander, was floating in the air his eyes scanning the chaos below, he was less than happy when he spotted the injured civilians being hauled into an ambulance.

" Fucking finally," the Englishman muttered to himself, a sardonic grin playing on his lips. He could already see the relief and excitement wash over the crowd as they spotted their hero. Phones were redirected towards Homelander now, recording him instead of the supes fighting.

As Homelander finished taking a quick survey of the area, he turned his attention to the D-list superhumans causing all this mayhem. With a swift move that made him blur in mid-air, he instantly got between the two idiots, causing them to freak the fuck out at the unexpected sight of the strongest hero in the world. His hands blurred as he separated the brawling supes by holding each by their collar. The fighting ceased immediately and Homelander's stern gaze was enough to silence whatever protests they were about to spew out.

The crowd erupted into applause, cheering their hero on as he chided the two supes like errant children before flying off to presumably drop them off at whatever super-prison they belonged in.

Shaking his head in amusement, the Englishman began to walk again, blending effortlessly into the dispersing crowd. After all, nobody paid attention to a man with a strong accent carrying a duffle bag when Earth's greatest hero was in sight.

Ring! Ring!

The sound of a phone ringing could be heard coming from the man's pockets pulling out a battered old mobile from his coat pocket, he glanced at the screen. The caller ID read "Wife". With a smile, he answered the call.

"Love! You won't believe the shit show I just saw over here," he said cheerfully, moving further into the crowd to avoid the residual chaos.

"Another supe fight?" His wife's voice came through crystal clear, sounding half-amused and half-concerned. "You're not near it, are you?"

"Nah, love. Kept a safe distance, didn't I?" He reassured her with a chuckle. "But get this, another supe broke up the fight between the two gits."

"You don't say!" His wife exclaimed on the other end of the line; her tone drenched with surprise.

"Two guesses on who it is" He flashed a smirk as he deftly navigated his way through the crowd.

The line fell quiet for a moment before his wife chuckled softly. "Homelander?"

"Homelander." The confirmation sent a peal of laughter over the line from his wife.

His wife's laughter echoed from the other end of the line, her voice dropping a few octaves as she attempted to imitate Homelander's heroic baritone.

"Fear not, good civilians! I, Homelander, have put an end to this senseless fight!"

He snorted at the impersonation, tipping his hat down over his eyes as he stepped out of the crowd and into a quieter side street.

"You've got it down to a T, love."

"Who knows, maybe I've missed my calling," his wife joked, her voice taking on a warm, fond tone that made his heart flutter.

"But damn, I'm going to have a field day with this! John never tells me these things and even when I ask, he always says nothing interesting happens! And what happens next? I found out he stopped a runaway train, saved a school from getting shot up, and got a kitten down from a tree in span of an hour! I'm his social media manager god damn it! I need to know these things"

"All in a day's work for our Homelander, isn't it?" He drawled, leaning against the cool brick wall of a building. "Pretty sure John doesn't want you to be overwhelmed, love."

"Overwhelmed?" His wife huffed incredulously on the other end of the line, "I'll show him overwhelmed when I post that embarrassing picture of him from last Christmas on his official page."

A hearty laugh escaped his lips at the thought of John's reaction. The picture she was talking about was one where he was wearing that horrendous Christmas jumper with a red-nosed reindeer looking particularly goofy and was caught off-guard, mouth full of mince pie. She had secretly taken in without him noticing before it was too late at Vaught's Christmas party.

"Go easy on him, love. Can't have you destroying his heroic image now, can we? He'd probably die from embarrassment if you actually did release it."

His wife's amused snort echoed through the phone. "Oh, he'll survive. Our golden boy tends to bounce back from anything."

"True that." He agreed with a chuckle before the conversation took a quieter turn.

"By the way…" His wife asked after a moment's pause. "Did you finish with the meeting?"

He glanced at the duffle bag next to him, its contents hidden from prying eyes. "No, not yet. Still getting to the meeting place, in fact, got delayed because of the supes."

"...Are you going to tell me what your 'super secret meeting' is about?"

He paused, glancing around the deserted street before responding.

"You know I can't love," he said gently. "Classified and all that."

There was a sigh on the other end of the line, followed by a resigned, "I know, I know. Just... be safe, Billy. Please."

The sincerity in her voice made his heart clench, and he resisted the urge to check his surroundings once more.

"Aren't I always?" He reassured her, trying to keep his tone light despite the underlying tension.

"Since when is 'always' a thing for you?" she retorted playfully as he could hear the faint sounds of her typing away in the background. She was already drafting the next big headline Homelander would make.

He couldn't help but chuckle at her words, finding them amusing.

"Fair point, love," he conceded, "But I promise to be safe."

"You'd better," she warned him, her tone light but firm, getting another laugh out of Billy.

"...All right," she conceded with a sigh. "Just call me once it's done, okay?"

"Will do," Billy assured her, "Love you."

"Love you too."

He smiled before hanging up. He pocketed the phone, then picked up his duffle bag and began walking down the deserted street.

The meeting place was just a few blocks away, a nondescript building that could be easily overlooked. The perfect place for clandestine activities. Billy quickened his pace, despite knowing he was early; he hated being late.

Reaching the building, he paused out front to scan the area. No sign of any unwanted visitors or shadows tailing him. After satisfying himself that the coast was clear, he pushed through the aged, wooden door and stepped into the dimly lit interior.

The room was filled with an uncomfortable silence, a slow steady rhythm from a leaky faucet the only notable sound. The air smelt like a combination of aged wood and dust. Amidst the shadowy corners, there was a single table at the center of the room, illuminated by a solitary overhead lamp that cast long, wavy shadows on the worn-out cement floor.

Walking over to the table, Billy dropped his duffle bag onto it with an audible thud. The room was empty except for him, but not for long. He made himself comfortable on one of the rickety old chairs while he waited.

Minutes felt like hours in this eerie quietness. Just as Billy was about to reach into his pocket for his phone, the sound of footsteps echoed through the silence. A woman emerged from the darkness into the scant light.

"Kept me waiting," she said with a frown on her face. The voice was rough and low, clearly a woman's voice masking her irritation poorly.

"Traffic's a bitch," Billy shrugged nonchalantly, motioning towards the duffle bag on the table. "Got what you asked for."

The newcomer walked over and stood opposite him at the table, unzipping the bag and peering inside without another word.

After a tense few seconds, she straightened and zipped the bag back up, her icy blue eyes met his.

"Good job, Butcher," she finally said, rewarding him with a curt nod of approval. "You've proven reliable, as always."

"Just doing my part," he responded in a dismissive tone.

She seemed to study him for a moment before she pulled out an envelope from her coat pocket and tossed it onto the table. The envelope skidded across the aged wood to stop just short of his fingers.

"Your payment," she said succinctly.

Billy picked it up and weighed it in his hand, his gaze unwavering from her face. "You know everything inside that bag didn't come cheap right? I risked me wife's job and my life just getting the fucking thing."

Her lips twitched into a mirthless smile, her eyes holding a glint of amusement. "And yet here you are, Butcher. Still alive and kicking, with your wife none the wiser."

A grumble formed in his throat that he swallowed down, one stern look from her enough to remind him of the situation. Billy threw the envelope into his pocket without opening it.

"All I'm saying is, what's the reason for someone like you to want information like that?"

The woman leaned in, her hands flat on the table and her blue eyes piercing into his.

"Does it matter?" she countered, her words dripping with condescension. "You've been paid for your services, Butcher. What I do with what you've given me is none of your business."

Billy held back a frown, narrowing his brown eyes at her.

"Well," he began, leaning back in his chair, "I think it does matter. You see, whatever shitstorm this information is going to stir up, it's likely to affect me and mine."

She regarded him for a moment before pulling out another envelope from her coat pocket and sliding it across the table to him. He opened the envelope to find cash, much more than what he usually got for his services.

"Unless you agree to the offer I gave you, you'll find that getting information out of me will be near impossible."

"And like I said, I'm not going to get Becca caught up in your shit, Mallory."

"Despite the fact you know what 99% of the population will never know?"

"Despite that fact, yes," Billy answered firmly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "She doesn't know, and I won't let her be dragged into this."

The woman studied him in silence, her eyes flicking over Billy's set features before she finally sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Just as stubborn as ever, Butcher…"

"Very well," she said after a moment, breaking eye contact. She stood and picked up the duffle bag, her demeanor suddenly cold and distant. "If you change your mind, you know how to reach me."

"I don't think that'll be necessary," Billy responded, stubbornly holding his ground despite feeling a pang of regret as he watched her turn to leave.

"The world needs people like you, Billy Butcher," she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the darkness outside. "People who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty for the greater good."

Billy sat in silence for a long time after she'd left, contemplating the ominous words. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the envelope containing his payment. The information inside his duffle bag replayed through his mind.

Compound V, the source of all superpowers.

And the many, many crimes that the people who have powers committed that were swept under the rug. The dirty secrets of those parading as heroes, the corruption that lived beneath their capes and masks. His stomach churned as he thought about it.

Billy traced the edge of the envelope with his finger, in deep thought. He could see the appeal for someone like Mallory to desire that kind of information. But what good would it do for him? To know that the so-called heroes of the world were nothing more than frauds and criminals? The thought ignited anger within him, but he knew he had to keep level-headed.

Suddenly, his phone vibrated in his pocket, interrupting his thoughts. He pulled it out to see a message from his wife

Becca: "Are you coming home soon? I'm waiting for you with a very special gift~"

The words stung sharply, reminding him of what was at stake.

"No need to get involved," he muttered to himself, pocketing the phone again without replying. He began to stuff the money into the pocket of his coat before standing up and walking towards the door.

As he stepped outside, the night air felt colder against his skin, prompting him to bury his hands deeper into his pockets. He looked around one last time before making his way home.

The walk back seemed to take longer than usual—the quiet deserted streets and flickering lamp posts casting long shadows that reminded him of the conversation he just had.

He paused momentarily outside a store whose television displayed news about a recent heroic act by Homelander. The TV showed a video of him saving a girl from a burning building, the scene bathed in harsh, flashing lights as fire trucks tried to extinguish the flames.

The girl, no older than 12, clung onto him, her face buried in his chest while reporters swarmed them like vultures over a carcass. The little girl in the video was crying, thanking Homelander between sobs. The hero's comforting words seemed hollow to Billy as he watched from outside the store.

Watching it now, knowing what he did about Compound V and the atrocities hidden beneath these heroic facades, made his skin crawl. A bitter taste filled his mouth as the crowd on screen cheered for Homelander. An innocent act of heroism or an orchestrated spectacle for cameras?

But surely Homelander was different.

…Surely the hero that he and his wife loved wasn't like the rest of those fuckers…

 

[shirouM]

Chapter 7

"SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP!"

"SHE'S NOT GOING TO MAKE IT! CAN'T YOU FUCKING DRIVE FASTER?!"

"CALL FOR BACKUP RIGHT NOW! IT'S A FUCKING SUPE!"

"NO! PLEASE! LET ME GO!"

"HOLD STILL BITCH! I HATE IT WHEN SLUTS LIKE YOU STRUGGLE!"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Voices.

So. Many. Voices.

Their collective screams pierce the air, a cacophony of desperate pleas for salvation. The sound echoes through his head, each cry is filled with raw fear. Begging for someone, anyone, to come and save them.

His eyes opened, revealing sky-blue irises that reflected the city below. The wind caught the edges of his flowing cape and sent it billowing behind him like a flag in a storm. With a slight turn of his head, he checked the time on the phone he pulled from his back pocket, the sleek device glinting in the sunlight.

6:49 AM

"Huh, a new record. 10 full minutes of sleep…" With that said, he put the phone away and let out a tired sigh and in the next blink of an eye, he disappeared with a sonic boom.

A man was dangling from a skyscraper holding on for dear life, his fingers barely clinging to the ornate ledge. Below him, a crowd of horrified faces stared up in stunned silence punctuated by ragged gasps as the man's strength waned with every passing second.

He got him down on the ground safely in a mere moment.

An ambulance was stuck in traffic, its wailing siren muted by the thick sea of vehicles clogging the city's arteries. Flashing lights reflected off glassy building faces as it vainly struggled to break free. A girl was inside, her face a mask of pain, her life hanging by a thread.

He picked up the 7-ton vehicle with ease, flying it to the nearest hospital.

A villain was robbing a bank and was holding civilian hostages. His eyes glowed with a vile, otherworldly light and his hands crackled with the untamed energy of the superpower he wielded. Innocent faces, creased in fear, watched from behind teller counters and beneath desks, their whispers of prayer swallowed by the villain's boisterous laughter. Police useless to do anything.

He came into the building by crashing through one of the windows of the bank. The villains never saw what hit him as he knocked him out with a single held-back punch. Bringing a quick end to the hostage situation.

In the next second, he arrived in a dark alley where a piece of trash was about to rape a poor innocent woman.

A brutish figure of a man had the woman pinned against the graffiti-covered wall, a cocky twisting his grotesque face. The woman's eyes were wide with terror, her screams echoing off the brick walls of the alleyway. Both her hands were behind her back in a tight hold of the man's grip, the bastard using his other hand to pull his pants down but struggling to do so.

He descended like a comet, the shock wave of his arrival blowing debris away and catching the offender off-guard. His cape danced violently, swept up in the turbulence of his landing as he grabbed the bastard by the neck.

"You should've thought twice, trash," he muttered in a gravel-coated voice that echoed off the wet walls of the alleyway, his eyes red. The thug's eyes widened, horror etching lines into his once-cocky expression as his gaze locked onto the figure standing between him and his victim.

The woman scrambled back towards the wall; her pained sobs reduced to a whimper. The hero's gaze softened momentarily as he glanced at her, but hardened once more as he turned back to face the threat before him.

His grip tightened around the thug's throat, cutting off his screams. The walls of the alleyway reverberated with a crushing silence as he lifted the man effortlessly into the air. His blue eyes beginning to burn red.

"People like you make me sick," he growled, blasting the man into the far wall with a swift, precise toss. The assailant crumpled to the ground unconscious, his body making a twisted shape against the graffiti-ridden bricks. More than a few bones were broken with that light toss.

Without wasting a second, he turned towards the woman, her figure huddled against the damp wall.

Approaching her slowly, he said in a softer tone, "You're safe now."

She clung desperately to her torn clothing, nodding through sobs. Shaking, she looked up at him with gratitude glistening in her eyes, but no words were able to escape her mouth.

In the woman's silence, she reached a trembling hand out to him. The hero took her small hand in his, his large palm engulfing hers. With a gentle squeeze meant to reassure, he helped her to her feet. Her sobs began to subside, replaced with shaky breaths as she clutched tighter onto her clothes.

With the woman now standing, he could see the damage that had been done. Her dress was torn and dirtied, makeup smeared across her face from tears and struggle. Her eyes were wide and fearful.

"It's going to be okay," he said, his voice as steady as the rising sun.

He took off his cape and draped it around her, offering something close to warmth and protection.

"Here," he said, handing her the piece of fabric. "This might help."

She accepted it silently, wrapping the fabric tighter around herself. He looked at her, his eyes filled with exhausted empathy. Wrapping it around herself like a makeshift cloak. It was warm and comforting like an embrace - reassuring in its own way.

"Can you tell me your name?" he asked. His voice was gentle, a stark contrast to the harshness of what she almost went through.

She hesitated, then whispered, "A...Anna."

"All right, Anna," he said, standing up. He glanced back at the unconscious figure slumped against the wall; face twisted in pain. "I'm going to call an ambulance and I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to leave soon."

She nodded again and clutched the edges of his cape tighter as he pulled out his phone and dialed 911.

The conversation was brief; he reported the incident with a detached tone before hanging up.

"I've done what I can," he told her softly. "Help will be here soon."

"Thank you," she managed to whisper through trembling lips.

Looking at her trembling form made him hesitate to leave her. But the incessant cries of the city reminded him that there were others who needed his help…

"…Do you want me to stay?"

"No, I'll... I'll be okay, y-your probably needed elsewhere" she stammered, her voice barely audible against the backdrop of the city's sounds. "T-Thank you."

With that, he looked at her one more time before shooting off into the sky leaving a sonic boom in his wake. Anna watched him go until he was nothing more than a speck in the sky. The screech of an ambulance could be heard in the distance as she sank down onto the cold ground.

He was a blur of speed as he flew around the city, the voices never once quieted down.

A burning building on one side of town, an overturned bus on another. Somewhere, someone attempted a jewel heist and on the other end of the city, would-be muggers stalked unsuspecting victims, a child's cat stuck in a tree.

The city was his responsibility - its people relied on him as their protector, their hero.

After what seemed like hours of stopping crime and heroic deeds, he finally took a moment of respite to look at the time.

6:55 AM

…6 minutes passed.

After all that, only a mere 6 minutes passed.

As he stood atop a towering skyscraper, watching over the city as dawn began to break, he couldn't help but feel a pang of exhaustion. But it wasn't a physical tiredness; no, his body was built for far more demanding tasks. It was an emotional weariness settling deep within him.

The sweat-slicked face of a child he'd pulled from the burning building, the dimming eyes of the elderly woman he'd freed from beneath the overturned bus, the relief in Anna's eyes when she realized she was safe – they were all etched into his memory. As were the desperate eyes of the jewel thief and the malicious glimmer in the mugger's eyes. Each moment was just another addition to his litany of responsibilities.

"How much sleep did you get this time, John?" a voice cut him off from his thoughts.

John turned around to see his fellow hero, Queen Maeve. She was dressed in Amazonian armor, her cape blowing with the wind along with his. Her arms were crossed as she floated in the air, looking at John with an expression of concern and annoyance.

"Enough," John replied, his eyes returning to the cityscape below, watching for any signs of trouble.

"You look like hell," Queen Maeve retorted pointedly, her gaze unyielding as she studied John's face.

He shrugged; the tired lines etched deeply into his face softened by the morning light. "I'll live."

She scoffed, shaking her head. "Having a bed at Seven's Tower is not just for show."

"I'll sleep when the city sleeps," he said, his voice a mixture of calm and resignation. His gaze never left the city below them, never wavering in his watchful stance.

"You can't keep doing this, John," she warned, her voice firm as she flew closer to him. "Your mind needs rest."

"And who will save them if I rest?" he asked, gesturing to the city below. "Who will protect them? You know as well as I do, the other so-called heroes are as effective as fish on land."

"John..." Maeve began, but he cut her off.

"No," he said firmly. "I made a promise to myself to be there for them, each and every one. And I won't break it."

"John," she started again, now standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him. "You can't save everyone. It's just not humanly – or in our case, superhumanly – possible."

"I know," he answered flatly. The words felt like a weight on his chest, a painful truth he couldn't ignore.

His eyes scanned the city below as if looking for trouble or someone in need. He was always ready to swoop down and intervene, to play hero once more despite his exhaustion.

"But you're still going to try, aren't you?" She watched as his gaze hardened; the usual spark replaced by an unsettling void.

"Until it breaks me," he said simply, yet resolute.

Though Queen Maeve sighed at his answer, she had expected as much. "You're stubborn, you know that?"

"Wouldn't be where I am today if I wasn't." He smirked, a glimmer of humor breaking through the shell of his weariness. His gaze softened as it rested on her. He was grateful for the concern she showed him, but she couldn't understand.

None of them could.

They weren't him and he wasn't them. Every decision he made; every action he took was borne by him alone - as was the weight of the world he'd chosen to bear on his shoulders.

Because of the words he once read in a comic that left a lasting impact on him. From a hero that he considered to be one of the best heroes in all of history.

With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility.

His gaze returned to the increasingly chaotic city below.

"I'll rest when the city rests," he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper but firm, each word heavy with resolve.

Queen Maeve saw the determination in his eyes and sighed. She knew him better than anyone else; his stubbornness, his relentless pursuit of justice, and the overwhelming sense of responsibility that fueled him. She feared that his unwavering commitment might destroy him one day.

But she also admired him for it. He was more than a colleague to her - he was a beacon of hope, a living testament to what true heroism meant. She didn't know if she'd ever have that level of self-sacrifice within her.

BOOOOMMMMMM!

An explosion echoed in the distance, interrupting their conversation. Both turned their heads towards it.

"John-" Maeve tried to stop him, but he left before she even finished what she was about to say.

With a flash of his crimson cape, he was gone, hurtling through the air towards the source of the explosion. Queen Maeve watched him go; her hand outstretched where he had stood just a moment ago. She sighed, her expression caught between admiration and worry.

 

[shirouM]

Chapter 8

Stan Edgar observed the people in the conference room, all of them waiting for him to speak.

A room full of expectant gazes was a common scene to the man who had climbed up the corporate ladder through blood and cold calculations. He scanned the room once again, his eyes like piercing lasers, cutting across the ambient tension. His face was without emotion, unreadable. It was almost amusing to see them hang onto his every word.

"Thank you all for being here today," Stan began, his voice gruff yet smooth, like whiskey on rocks. His eyes fell on Rebecca, the head of the digital marketing department. She was a bright young woman with an edge of fierceness that he admired… and apparently a close friend of Homelander.

"Rebecca," he nodded towards her, "Your team's proposal for next quarter's advertising initiative is impressive. I particularly enjoyed the innovative approach to media engagement."

The sighs of relief and murmurs of appreciation were audible around the room as Rebecca gave a small nod in acknowledgment. Stan Edgar wasn't known for doling out praises just for the sake of it.

"Speaking of which, how is our number one hero doing? You are in charge of all his social media, correct?"

Rebecca, a little startled by the sudden attention, cleared her throat before responding. "Yes, Mr. Edgar. His social media engagement has seen a significant increase in the past month. Fans are really responding well to our newest initiatives."

Stan's smirk deepened at her response, and he leaned back in his chair, intertwining his fingers on his stomach.

"Good, good," he murmured, letting the word roll off in the room.

The air was thick as everyone waited for Stan to speak again. He didn't keep them waiting long.

"But that's not what I was asking about Mrs. Butcher," Stan continued his tone suddenly sober, "I was not referring to his popularity or the public's reaction. What I want to know is how he is doing personally, and his mental state. The 'man' behind the hero."

A hush fell over the crowded room. The faces turned towards Rebecca once again, this time with a new element of suspense that had been missing before. She swallowed visibly, taken aback by the unexpected direction of Stan's questioning. She looked down momentarily at her notes as if they could offer some support.

"Mr. Edgar," she began slowly, choosing her words carefully, "I-I don't know what you-"

Before she could finish her sentence, Stan raised his hand up stopping her mid-sentence.

"No need to get defensive, Mrs. Butcher," Stan's voice was quiet, yet it echoed in the chilling silence of the room. His gaze still locked on Rebecca, he continued, "I know you're not a therapist or his personal confidante. I'm merely asking for observations."

Stan wasn't a man to ask questions without an underlying motive. And this sudden interest in Homelander's mental well-being was far from casual curiosity.

Rebecca took a deep breath, her hand trembling slightly as she picked up a glass of water. Taking a sip, she cleared her throat once again,

"He seems fine, Mr. Edgar." Her voice had an undertone of uneasiness. "He is functioning perfectly despite his lack of sleep, no unusual behavior."

"However…" she paused, "He has been saying that the voices are getting louder."

"Louder?" Stan repeated the word as if tasting it for the first time. He studied Rebecca for a moment before his eyes swept across the room again, landing on a blonde-haired woman who refused to meet his eyes.

"That's quite interesting," Stan noted, he turned to his assistant sitting by his side.

"Make a note of that." Then he addressed the room at large again, "Is there anything else that has caught anyone's attention?"

There was a drawn-out silence, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioning system. Stan Edgar's question hung in the air, the gravitas of his words seeping into every individual present in the room. Every head in the room turned this way and that as people silently exchanged glances, unsure of what to say.

"How about you, Ms. Stillwell?" He turned his focus on her, "You should know more than anyone else, you are his manager after all."

Madelyn Stillwell, the blonde-haired woman, stiffened visibly under Edgar's gaze. She was a woman who remained unfazed in the most stressful situations, but today, something about Edgar's tone made her falter.

"U-Unfortunately, h-he has been too busy for me to observe anything substantial, Mr. Edgar," Madelyn stuttered, she cleared her throat before continuing, "I do, however, have his stats prepared and we are at a record-breaking high of 98% since last year."

"I see," Stan nodded, his gaze remaining on Madelyn for a moment longer before he turned away.

"Impressive numbers indeed, Ms. Stillwell." His tone was devoid of any particular emotion, and it was impossible to say whether he was pleased or indifferent to the information.

A heavy silence filled the room again as Stan returned to his contemplative pose, fingers steepled on his stomach. He seemed to be pondering over something as he stared into the distance. Meanwhile, the other people in the room hardly dared to breathe, let alone speak.

Finally, Stan broke the silence. "Everyone please leave the room. I wish to speak with Ms. Stillwell alone. We will reconvene in thirty minutes."

Everyone stiffened at his abrupt command, but they didn't question him. Chairs scraped against the marble flooring as people hastily stood up, avoiding eye contact with Stan and Madelyn. The tension in the room was thick enough to be cut with a knife as one by one, they filed out of the door.

Some, like Rebecca, couldn't help but glance back at Madelyn, sympathy written clearly on their faces.

Once the room was cleared, Stan swiveled his chair to face Madelyn directly. His gaze was stony, Madelyn kept her eyes trained on her hands clutched in her lap, waiting for the doors to close behind the last person leaving.

"Ms. Stillwell," he began, his voice dropping several octaves lower than before, "You've always been an asset to our company."

It wasn't a compliment; it was a fact stated as plainly as black and white.

"Thank you," she responded automatically, attempting to smile but her lips twitched with nervousness.

"Mr. Edgar..." Madelyn began but stopped when she noticed his cold gaze locked onto her. She felt like a deer caught in headlights. The older man exuded an energy that made everyone around him feel small and insignificant.

"I think it's time we had a candid discussion about Homelander, Madelyn," Stan said, his voice ever so calm yet carrying an edge of danger that sent a shiver down her spine.

Music suddenly blared from a speaker hidden somewhere behind the grand bookshelves that lined the walls of the room, a haunting melody that seemed to echo the tension in the room. Mozart's Requiem reverberated around them, giving an eerie backdrop to their impending conversation.

"M-Mr. Edgar, I assure you that everything is under control," Madelyn rushed in, trying to ease the tension she could feel radiating from him.

"Is it?" The cold-blooded man asked rhetorically. "Because it doesn't seem that way, Ms. Stillwell. You said you haven't observed anything substantial. But isn't that part of your job?"

He leveled a steady gaze at her, his eyes boring into hers, making her fumble with words, "I... I mean to say... The statistics —"

"Are impressive," Stan cut her off, leaning back into his chair, "But I'm not particularly interested in those right now."

He paused for a moment and sighed heavily before continuing, "You see, Ms. Stillwell, impressive statistics are good for business. But they are not enough when the future of our corporation is at stake."

"I don't follow..." Madelyn's voice meekly trailed off, her brows knitted together in confusion.

Stan, however, did not elaborate on that remark. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk, and snaped his fingers. His assistant who was beside him acted accordingly and handed Madelyn a yellow envelope.

"What is this?" She asked as she grabbed hold of the unlabeled document, her eyes darting between Stan and the envelope.

"Open it, Ms. Stillwell," Stan prompted, watching her with a gaze as sharp as a hawk's. Madelyn nodded slowly, pulling out several sheets of paper stapled together at the corner. As she scanned the contents of the papers, her brows furrowed deeper, and her eyes widened in shock.

Her face drained of color, her hands clutching the papers so tightly that they crinkled under her grip. The documents were a detailed report of Homelander's crime statistics over the past few months, reports that had been kept from her intentionally. Each page is filled with crimes stopped by the superhero, some gruesome in detail.

"This...this can't be right," Madelyn stuttered, her brows furrowed as she flipped through the pages, her eyes skimming over the pages quickly as if trying to find an error.

She looked up to meet Stan's unfaltering gaze and swallowed hard.

"I assure you it is," Stan said calmly, leaning back in his chair again. His voice was devoid of any emotion, but his eyes held an unnerving intensity. "Homelander has taken out more than 45% of our assets, hero and villains alike, some of the top class product."

"He...he killed them?" Madelyn choked out, the words sticking in her throat as if they tasted bitter. Her eyes were wide with disbelief and fear.

"No." Stan's response was immediate and unflinching. "Merely taken out of commission, some of them likely to be hospitalized for more than a few months."

"And why wasn't I informed about this sooner?" Madelyn asked, her voice beginning to fill with agitation.

Stan remained impassive, looking at Madelyn with an almost bored expression. "Well, you said it yourself, Madelyn. You haven't observed anything substantial."

He watched as she tried to come up with a retort, but he cut her off before she could. "After all, you've been so busy managing Homelander's impressive statistics."

Madelyn's face reddened at his thinly veiled sarcasm, and she shut her mouth abruptly, gripping the papers tightly. She felt anger bubbling inside her but knew better than to let it show. Stan Edgar was not a man to be crossed.

"Mr. Edgar," she began again, trying to keep her voice steady and professional, "I assure you, had I known of these... incidents, I would have reported them immediately."

Stan gave a noncommittal shrug.

"Perhaps," he allowed, "but the fact remains that you didn't know. and that reflects badly on your management."

A silence fell over the room then as Madelyn grappled with the reality of what Stan was suggesting. He was questioning her competence as a manager.

"I- I can fix this," she stammered after a while, her eyes darting up to meet Stan's unblinking gaze.

"Oh?" His voice was as cold as ice and just as unyielding. "That is kind of you to say, but I'm afraid the damage has already been done, there is no fixing this."

"But why?" Madelyn asked, her gaze never leaving the documents – the proof devastating. "Why would he do this?"

Stan sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair.

"That's the million-dollar question, isn't it, Ms. Stillwell?" he mused. He looked at her for a moment before continuing, "Maybe he's acting out, maybe he's developing a god complex…"

Stan's voice trailed off, his eyes fixed on a spot somewhere beyond Madelyn as if seeing an image only he could visualize.

"…is what I would like to say, but as we can all see that is highly unlikely."

Stillwell sat in silence, waiting for him to continue.

Stan seemed lost in thought for a moment as he drummed his fingers on the sleek mahogany desk, each tap echoing ominously in the quiet room. He looked up after a long minute and regarded Stillwell with a peculiar glint in his eyes.

"Flip to page 10."

Madelyn obeyed, her fingers trembling as they turned the pages. On reaching page 10, she was met with a full-page picture of Homelander. It had been taken on one of his mandatory medical checkups.

"Notice anything unusual?" Stan asked, cocking his head slightly to the side.

Madelyn squinted at the image, her heart pounding in her chest. Her eyes darted over the information, scrutinizing every detail. She knew she was meant to see something, something significant, but all she could find was...

"He's gotten stronger?"

"Indeed," Stan replied cryptically, his eyes never leaving her face. From the way he was studying her, it was as if he was trying to decipher her thoughts through her expressions. "His powers have increased exponentially over the past few months."

"But... how is that possible? I mean... he's already..."

"The most powerful person on this planet," Stan finished for her, an inscrutable expression on his face. "Yes, that's what we've all been led to believe."

His voice was barely above a whisper now, intimate and cold in the deathly silence of the room. He placed both of his hands flat on the desk before leaning forward.

"But you see, Ms. Stillwell," he continued, his gaze piercing into hers, "Homelander is not like us. He does not have limitations like we do. What we consider to be his peak strength may just be the beginning for him."

Madelyn stared at Stan in mute disbelief for a moment before she swallowed audibly and tried to compose herself. While she did this, Stan's assistant handed her a tablet with a video ready for her to watch.

"On this tablet," Stan gestured toward the device, "You'll find footage extracted from surveillance cameras that managed to catch him in action. It... sheds light on just how much Homelander has improved."

The video was barely a minute long but in those fifty-eight seconds, Madelyn watched in stunned silence as Homelander displayed feats of power beyond what she—or anyone else at Vought—had ever imagined.

"They say his speed has increased by a large margin compared to last month, his strength nearly doubling, and his laser vision becoming more potent, and what's more," Stan paused for a moment, seemingly to let the gravity of his words sink in, "he's started displaying new capabilities altogether. Swipe to the next video."

She looked at the next video and saw Homelander standing in the midst of a raging fire, completely unscathed. He took a deep breath before exhaling forcefully, a gust of chilling wind coming forth from his lips, the flames around him extinguishing instantly.

The fire was gone in seconds, leaving only an icy chill that seemed to seep through the screen directly into Madelyn.

"As you can see," he said, breaking the silence, "He's developed cryokinetic abilities - at least that's what our team of metahuman experts are calling it. He now has what our marketing department is calling super-breath, as lazy as that is."

"But...how?" She stuttered out, still shocked by what she was witnessing.

Stan shrugged again as if he were discussing something as mundane as the weather. "The experts say it's from all the stress he has been putting himself through saving people every day without so much as a single wink of sleep. Others say it's simply him growing to the full extent of his powers. Either way, we have a situation on our hands."

Unable to find words, Madelyn simply stared at the tablet, replaying the video over and over again.

"But," Stan continued, his gaze turning hard, "that's not the worst part."

Madelyn looked up from the tablet, her eyes wide. "What could possibly be worse than this?"

Without answering her, Stan motioned for his assistant once more. The man handed him a small remote control, which Stan accepted with a nod. He then pointed it at the large monitor on the wall across from them and clicked a button.

The monitor buzzed to life, the screen illuminating in a pulsing green hue, displaying footage from one of their hidden facilities. Through the grainy night vision and slowed-down footage, a figure could be seen moving within the shadows of the compound V production room and destroying everything in sight.

"This," Stan said grimly, gesturing at the screen. "This is what we need to worry about."

Stan paused the video on a frame where the figure looked directly into the camera, his entire face covered in a black mask. After unpausing the video, the image on the screen soon blurred as the camera was destroyed.

"Now I would say it could be anybody behind that mask, but we both know who it is. It was smart of him to wear a mask as it made this completely unusable if we were to show it to the public, no one would believe their beloved hero would do such a thing."

Madelyn's heart pounded in her chest like a trapped bird against a cage, her eyes widened as the implications of what Stan was saying sank in. She took a gasping breath, looking from the screen back to Stan. "You don't mean..."

Stan simply nodded; his face impassive. "I do. It appears that Homelander has turned against us."

The silence in the room was deafening as Madelyn tried to absorb this new and terrifying reality. Her hands clutched tightly on the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening under the strain. She felt her stomach churn with a sense of dread that she had never experienced before.

"But...why?" she stammered out finally. "Why would he do that? If he turned against us why not just destroy the entire building instead of one room?"

"That, Ms. Stillwell," Stan replied, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers, "is a simple question to answer, Homelander deliberately spared the rest of the building simply because it was still of use to him, not to mention there were still people in the building."

"But that doesn't make sense," Madelyn protested, her brows furrowing in confusion and apprehension. "Why would our facilities be useful to him? He has everything he needs. He's... he's Homelander."

Stan chuckled, a bitter, hollow sound that did nothing to alleviate the tension within the room.

"Indeed, Ms. Stillwell. Homelander is Homelander. That is precisely why our facilities remain invaluable to him," he replied cryptically.

Feeling increasingly frustrated, Madelyn decided to push for a more enlightening explanation. "Could you be more specific, Stan?"

Stan looked at her through narrowed eyes before sighing deeply.

"Right now, Homelander sees us as the lesser evil," Stan continued, his eyes never wavering from Madelyn's. "Even though he might despise the things we do, he understands that at this point in time, we are a necessity."

"He knows that his strength alone cannot solve all the problems of the world. That being said, he also realizes that our facilities, our resources, money, and our personnel are irreplaceable tools that can help him achieve his goals. After all, he is a hero through and through, always putting the needs of the people he protects above his own, which is the only reason why Vaught still stands."

Madelyn was silent for a while, her mind racing to comprehend what Stan was implying. Then realization dawned upon her like a bucket of ice-cold water. Her eyes flickered back to the screen where the footage of the masked Homelander wreaking havoc was frozen.

"You're suggesting...," she began slowly, her voice barely above a whisper, "Homelander... is planning to take over Vought?"

Stan nodded solemnly, his fingers rapping against the polished mahogany of the desk in an uneven rhythm—a clear sign of unease from a man who rarely showed any form of discomfort or distress.

"We believe so," Stan confirmed, a grim look in his eyes. "He's started making calculated moves—destroying what he dislikes, leaving untouched what he finds useful."

"Is there anything we can do?" She asked, knowing that if John took over it would mean a huge loss of profit knowing how he felt about money. "Can we negotiate with him? Convince him that we can work together?"

"We would have to give up too much control, too much power, and far too much money. No, the key to dealing with Homelander is not through negotiation," Stan continued, his gaze fixed on the still image of Homelander on the screen, "but through exploitation."

"Exploitation? Of Homelander?" Madelyn questioned, her voice incredulous. She had always viewed Homelander as an unstoppable force - invulnerable and beyond manipulation. In response, Stan merely nodded.

"In a way," he affirmed, his voice growing quiet. "Homelander may be physically invincible, but the man John possesses...vulnerabilities. It is fortunate really, that our godlike being has a glass heart."

"He has a conscience that gets the best of him," Stan said, leaning forward and placing his palms flat on the desk. "He values innocent life more than anything else in this world. That is his humanity and therein lies his true Achilles' heel. His desire to save people is part of who he is, and we can use that against him. "

Madelyn shook her head in disbelief. "And how do you propose to do that? He's not going to let us manipulate him so easily."

Stan responded without missing a beat, "We have to show him the cost of rebellion, Madelyn. The cost in human lives. Every time he steps out of line, every time he defies us, that defiance needs to have a lethal price tag. Not for him, but for the people he is trying so desperately to protect. That is why we planted bombs all around the city, after all, a hero like him would never risk the lives of innocents."

A wave of nausea passed through Madelyn as she registered Stan's words. His plan was ruthless, cold-hearted, and frankly terrifying.

The music filled the silence

 

[shirouM]

Chapter 9

Butcher looked over the files that he gathered for Mallory, managing to keep a few copies before handing them off to her.

His stomach twisting at the information that lay on the table before him. The various photographs, reports, and scrawled notes painted a picture so grim that it might as well have been taken from the palette of hell itself.

As each file passed through his hands, the façade of heroism began to crumble. The glossy images and heroic stories were replaced by harsh realities and questionable actions. His disillusionment grew with each page turned until all that remained was a shattered image.

Rape, murder, torture, racism, and corruption are all perpetrated by men and women the world admired as embodiments of justice and all that is good.

The acts were all the more appalling due to the cloak of secrecy surrounding them. There was no public accountability or courtroom trials for these deeds, just concealed records buried and left to be forgotten. And all of it was made happen by the very company that his wife worked for.

Butcher couldn't quite fathom the depth of his repulsion. The room grew silent and still as the revelations sank deeply into Butcher's consciousness. He felt the frigid chill run down his spine.

"Fucking hell."

One file in particular stood out: a photo of an innocent young girl barely older than nine, her eyes filled with fear scant moments before her life was snuffed out. Her head brutally ripped off her body by a supe known as the Stacker during one of his drug-induced highs. The image would leave those with a weak stomach vomiting their guts out.

The girl's once vibrant life had been extinguished instantly by a man with more power than responsibility.

The Stacker, rather than being brought to justice, was being sheltered by the same agency that supposedly stood for righteousness and law enforcement.

Butcher clenched his fists until his knuckles were white and the veins on his forearms pulsed with strained control. The taste of bile rose in his throat, an acidic reminder of the raw anger simmering within him. Each breath was jet fuel to the flame of his rage.

Butcher snapped the file shut, the echo of its closure reverberating throughout the room, a grim knell in the silence. His hands trembled as he flung the damning document onto the table. His mind was in turmoil, a nest of hornets that had just been poked with a burning stick. The truth was far worse than he'd ever imagined.

He found himself staring at his reflection in the window, his features contorted by the dark revelation. An unfamiliar man stared back, shadowed, haunted; a man on the edge of a precipice whose leap into the abyss seemed imminent.

"All this time..." he muttered; each word laced with venom. "All this fucking time!"

His wife's involvement gnawed at him like a rat devouring its own tail. The woman he loved was entangled in this vile web and he feared she may be too deep to be saved.

He looked back at the files, rage growing.

Before him, spread across the cold desk were more files: Spaceman, Crimson Comet, Siren - all Supes who had once been symbols of hope. But every file was now a gravestone marking the death of another illusion. Every supe was a monster hiding behind a mask of heroism and every act they committed was swept under the rug by Vought.

Collateral damage. That's what they called it. As if such words could excuse what they did.

His mind made up and decision made, Butcher grabbed his phone and made a call. The phone rang three times before someone answered.

"Mallory," he gritted out, his voice raspy and harsh like gravel under a boot.

"Butcher," came her reply, equally stern and just as hard. There was no surprise in her voice, no shock at the hour of his call.

"Before I accept your offer, I want you to answer a question of mine," he began, his voice as chill as the frost creeping up the windowpane.

"Ask away," Mallory retorted, her voice unflinching. Despite being hundreds of miles away, he could imagine the hardened look on her face.

"Is my wife...is Becca part of this? Does she know?" His words were barely more than a whisper, the question clawing its way out of him like a wounded animal.

He heard Mallory take a long breath on the other end, her sigh an echo of his dread. The silence that followed felt like an eternity.

"…No, she doesn't know anything about what is going on behind the scenes of that fucked up company."

A deep breath of relief escaped Butcher's lips, tinged with the bitter aftertaste of dread.

His heart clenched at the thought of his wife being manipulated by the company she worked tirelessly for. It made his blood boil, his anger flaring like a fire that threatened to consume him.

"Good," Butcher growled into the phone, his voice low and dangerous. "I want it to remain that way you hear. I don't want her mixed up in this fucked up shit."

With that, he ended the call not waiting for her response. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of hearing any hesitation in his voice. Butcher knew that from this moment onwards, there would be no turning back. His course was set; a collision course with Vought and every monster they harbored.

"So, these are the crazy bastards that joined you huh?" Butcher asked observing the motley crew that Mallory had assembled.

"Yes," came Mallory's austere voice through the speakers, "They've all got scores to settle. Motivated, same as you."

"Quite the assortment," Butcher muttered under his breath as he met each pair of eyes.

"All willing to take on Vought," Mallory said, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against her desk. Her gaze was steady, her faith in these people unwavering.

"And you think this ragtag group can bring down an empire?" Butcher questioned, a skeptical brow raised.

Mallory merely shrugged lightly. "Stranger things have happened."

Butcher snorted at her response, the incredulous lilt to his voice not escaping the ragtag team around him.

"I want it clear," he started, locking eyes with each individual before him. "I'm only doing this for Becca. Once Vought is brought down and all these Supes are dealt with... I'm out."

A murmur spread through the group, but no one voiced any objections. They all had their reasons for being here; Butcher's was as valid as any of theirs.

"And we will respect that," replied a burly man named Frenchie, his thick accent underlining his every word. A silent nod of agreement passed through the group.

"Good," Butcher said and turned his focus back to Mallory. "Now, let's talk strategy."

Mallory nodded, shuffling some papers on her desk before looking back up at the motley group in front of her. "Strategy is simple. We hit them where it hurts."

Butcher's eyes narrowed and a muscle twitched in his jaw, signaling his impatience. He didn't need, nor did he have time for vague cliches.

"And where might that be?" His voice was sharp, showcasing his driven intent.

"Their public image," Mallory responded simply, her gaze not wavering from his challenging stare. "Vought's power isn't just in its superhumans. It's in the way they have convinced the world to love and trust them."

"So, what? We expose them?"

"Precisely," Mallory retorted, allowing a brief smile to flit across her lips before returning to business. She took out a photo, one that Butcher was all too familiar with, it was a picture of compound V.

"This," she said, holding up the photo and letting everyone have a good look at it. "This is their dirty little secret. Compound V."

"Compound V," Butcher muttered under his breath, the words leaving a distasteful tang in his mouth. He glared at the photo as if it were a venomous snake ready to strike. "The bloody drug that turns humans into Supes."

Mallory nodded, placing the picture back down on her desk. "That's right, Butcher. But the world doesn't know that. The world thinks these Supes are born with their powers. They're seen as God's gift to mankind."

"We expose this," Mallory continued, pointing at the picture. "We show the world what their heroes truly are: man-made monsters, born not from god or nature, but from a test tube in a lab."

"You think people will believe us?" Butcher asked, his mind racing with potential scenarios.

Mallory shrugged nonchalantly; her gaze unwavering on Butcher's tense form. "They will if we provide enough evidence,"

She lowered her arm and gestured towards the towering stack of manila folders, each one filled to the brim with damning evidence and incriminating photos.

"And I believe you have someone who can help us."

"Becca won't be involved..." he spat out, his protective instincts flaring.

"I'm not asking her to be," Mallory reassured him, her eyes softening for a brief moment. "We have another asset in mind."

She slid another photo across the table towards him. Taking a look, Butcher recognized the face immediately; it was Hughie, Becca's timid assistant who always had a knack for finding himself in the right place at the wrong time. Not to mention the fact Homelander was the one who personally hired him.

"Hughie?" Butcher balked, his hand tightening around the picture. "The kid can't even swat a fly without breaking into a cold sweat."

"He doesn't need to fight," Mallory responded calmly, "He just needs to access and leak information. He's our best bet."

Butcher grumbled under his breath, rolling the picture between his fingers. Hughie, despite his flaws, was a good kid. He didn't deserve to get caught up in all this chaos. But then again, neither did Becca...

"Alright fine," Butcher grunted, tossing the photo back onto the table. "But if anything happens to the kid..."

"We'll handle it," Mallory cut him off smoothly, her face betrayed no emotion.

"…Alright," Butcher conceded after a long pause. "But only because we don't have any other options."

Mallory gave him a nod, her face still devoid of any emotion. She was as stoic as ever, a quality that Butcher was starting to appreciate more and more.

Butcher swallowed back his protests and instead nodded in grim acceptance. "What's our first move?"

Mallory leaned forward on her desk, interlacing her fingers as she spoke. "First, we need to gather as much evidence as possible about Compound V without raising suspicio-"

"But we'll need him on our side first," Frenchie pointed out, interrupting the two of them before they could get ahead of themselves.

"Right," Mallory said, turning her focus to the Frenchman. "That would be the best course of action. We need to convince Hughie to join us and then use his insider access to gather the evidence we need."

Butcher glanced at the photo of Hughie again, taking in the innocent look on the kid's face. Convincing the kid to betray Vought and the heroes he'd once admired would prove a tricky task.

"I'll talk to him," Butcher said, his voice rough.

"Good," Mallory nodded her approval. "But remember Butcher, no strong-arming. We need Hughie to come aboard of his own accord."

"I know how to handle it," Butcher grumbled in return, not appreciating the suggestion he might rough up the kid. Especially since his wife took a liking to him.

"Alright," Mallory conceded, picking up a stack of paperwork and flipping through it as if the conversation was already closed. "Keep me updated. The sooner we get this operation started, the better."

Butcher nodded and got up to leave, but then paused at the doorway, looking back over his shoulder with a hint of trepidation in his hardened eyes.

"Homelander."

Mallory raised an eyebrow at the unexpected mention of the leader of the Seven.

"What about him?" she asked, her tone neutral.

Butcher glared at her as if she had purposely ignored the elephant in the room.

"I never found a file on him in the Vought database," Butcher replied, wanting to know if she had any information on him.

Mallory's eyebrow arched a touch higher at his revelation. "That's...interesting. Are you sure?"

"I've scoured the whole damn thing, not a single trace of Homelander." Butcher insisted, hia expression strained. "It just doesn't add up."

Mallory folded her hands, leaning back in her chair and regarding Butcher with a calculating stare. "That's not surprising. Homelander is their golden boy, their poster child. Vought wouldn't risk having any damaging information on him that could be easily found."

Butcher frowned, clenching his fists at his sides. He knew Mallory was right, but it didn't make the situation any less frustrating.

"So, what do we do?" Butcher finally asked, his voice laced with impatience.

"We stay focused on our goal," Mallory replied evenly. "We expose Vought and the rest of the heroes for what they truly are, using Compound V as evidence. Once we shake their foundations, it won't matter if there's a file on Homelander or not. The world will see them for the frauds they are."

"But what if he's different?" Butcher couldn't help but raise the question that had been gnawing at him for quite some time now. "What if he's not like the rest of them?"

Mallory held his gaze for a moment.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there."

 

[shirouM]

Leave a comment if you want more!

---

Chapter 10

Vaught's medical room

"FUUUUCCCKKKKK!"

"MY LEG! MY LEG!"

"ARRRGGHhhhhh!"

The room was alive with a chorus of pained groans, mingled together in a symphony of pain and suffering. The room was filled with heroes and villains alike, some lay still in their hospital beds, while others paced back and forth, their injuries ranging from minor cuts and bruises to life-threatening wounds. The air was heavy with the scent of antiseptic and the constant beeping of monitors created an eerie symphony.

"Man! Shut the fuck up!"

A grizzled voice erupted from the corner of the room, immediately silencing the cacophony of moans. It came from a figure wrapped in bandages, his one visible eye glinting dangerously in the harsh fluorescent lights. He was Chuck "Rattlesnake" Monty, a notorious hero known for his unforgiving demeanor and brutal methods.

"Can't you see we're all hurtin' here? No need to broadcast your misery to the entire damn place," he growled, his voice echoing off the sterile white walls.

The other occupants quickly retreated into their own silence. The earlier symphony was reduced to a low hum, punctuated only by the occasional groan or grimace. Nurses flitted in and out, embodying an odd mixture of compassion and indifference as they attended to their patients.

Each of them had their own reasons for being there, but they all shared one common person who had sent them to this place of torment.

"So, Homelander got you guys too?" A C-tier villain asked the entire room.

The room fell silent, the low hum of agony now replaced with an unsettling stillness. Each pair of eyes hovered on the villain, his question hanging in the air like a guillotine blade. Pain-filled faces turned pale with remembrance, each recalling their own encounters with Homelander.

A small whimper came from a figure half-hidden in shadows. "Eagle Eye" Edd, they called him, once possessing a psychic vision that allowed him to see through walls and move objects with his mind. Now, he was blind, his eyes burnt out by Homelander's ruthless laser vision. Also, he no longer had a dick. Why? Well…

He got caught jerking off while staring at a school.

"Yeah…" intoned a hulking brute from one of the beds. His skin, normally a vibrant shade of green, had faded to an unhealthy pallor.

He was Grock, The Unstoppable, one of the more popular heroes. A titan in the underworld or at least that was his back story. Now, here he lay, broken and battered, his unstoppable momentum halted by Homelander.

"Bastard broke my spine and the rest of my fucking body just because I was about to have some 'fun' with a few girls. So, what if they didn't fucking consent? They should be fucking grateful a hero like me even considered fucking them!"

Grock would soon find out in the next couple of days that Homelander was not done with him.

Next to him lay the infamous Duke of Dynamite, languishing in a bed too small for his imposing figure. His face was hidden beneath layers of bandages; those who had seen him before knew he had been handsome once. Underneath the bandages was now a grotesque and disfigured face from a brutal beatdown by Homelander's fists.

"H-He took my f-face…" The Duke's voice was a raspy whisper. His burned and blistered hands clenched into fists on his blanket. Every word was a careful effort as if talking about Homelander could bring the hero down on them at any moment.

He attacked a family of minorities with the excuse of them having a dangerous weapon, but everyone in the room knew the real reason why.

The bastard was a major racist.

"Fuck that guy," spat out Speed Shifter, a former A-tier speedster. He no longer had legs, with it being lasered off and all. The once cocky hero was now a shell of his former self. He had been one of Homelander's first victims when he tried to take down the superhero out of jealousy for stealing his limelight.

"…Damn." The one who asked the question at the start murmured, looking at his injury which was just a broken arm.

"Yeah, that's right, damn indeed," said Rattlesnake from the corner, his voice as cold as the blue light coming from the ceiling. "Think you've got it bad? At least you can piss standing up."

The villain gave a small chuckle, finding some amusement in his predicament.

"I suppose you're right," he admitted, glancing down at his intact limbs. He was Lucky Lenny, a low-grade thief who had the misfortune of crossing paths with Homelander while he was robbing a convenience store.

His arm was broken in three places; he got lucky.

Lenny's gaze moved to a bed near the corner where lay a body covered entirely in bandages. It was hard to tell if there was still a person inside that cocoon of gauze and painkillers. His name was Ray, the human shield, formerly known for his impenetrable skin. Now, only scorched and ripped flesh remained under those dressings.

For what he did, he was lucky to still be alive.

Just then, an icy silence filled the room again as they all heard a blast outside. Blink and you'll miss it, a red blur moved past the windows, and everyone exchanged terrified looks. They knew what that signified – Homelander got another victim who would soon be joining them.

A weak whimper escaped from Eagle Eye Edd's lips - even blind and broken he could sense Homelander's presence. Others tried to sink deeper into their beds as if trying to disappear into their mattresses.

Suddenly, a man walked into the room with a heavy air of authority, getting everyone's attention.

Stan Edgar looked at everyone in the room with a stone-cold face, not a hint of emotions could be seen as he observed the injured heroes and villains.

"Quite the collection we have here," he muttered, his voice echoing coldly around the room. "Homelander's has kept himself busy, I see."

With a sigh, he addressed everyone in the room.

"Good evening gentlemen, it seems I've come at an interesting time. It appears Homelander's been on a bit of a... rampage, hasn't he?" He allowed himself a small, grim smile, devoid of humor, as his gaze swept over their injured forms.

He paced around the room, his sharp eyes taking in each face and every gruesome injury. His gaze met no one directly, but each person felt a shiver of unease as he passed them by. The Head of Vought International had a name that inspired dread amongst "supes", for he was a man who could end their careers and lives with a snap of his fingers.

His gaze finally stopped on Grock, whose bloodshot eyes glared at him with an intensity that might have made another man flinch. Edgar however, simply nodded to himself, as though confirming something.

"Mr. Grock," he said quietly, "you have been warned several times by your manager to tone down your habits, but seeing the condition you're in, you obviously didn't listen. For this reason, Vaught will no longer be supporting you, nor will we be providing you with any form of compensation. You are hereby stripped of all your endorsements and privileges as a hero."

With that said, he turned away from the giant to address another hero, leaving a shocked and pissed-off Grock in his wake.

Grock roared at Edgar in anger, trying to move his injured body but failing miserably, "You can't do this to me! I am Grock the Unstoppable! The Unbeatable! I'm one of your top heroes! Everyone fucking loves me!"

"Not anymore it seems," Edgar responded icily, not even bothering to look back at Grock. "If you checked the news, you would know the exact reason why."

As Edgar's cold words hung in the air, Grock fell silent, his wide eyes flickering with a mixture of disbelief and rage. His large hands balled into fists, as if he was imagining strangling Edgar right then and there. But he was powerless, reduced to a heap of broken bones and bruised pride on the hospital bed.

Edgar moved on to address Duke of Dynamite. He looked down at the once handsome face, now hidden beneath layers of bandages.

"Mr. Duke," he began, his voice devoid of any hint of sympathy, "Your actions were as deplorable as they were predictable. Racism is not an attitude Vought can or will endorse, just because we covered the many cases of you exhibiting such behavior in the past, doesn't mean we will continue to do so. We have a reputation to uphold."

His hands were clasped behind his back, an icy calmness settling over him.

"Consider your contract terminated."

The Duke couldn't reply - his jaw was still wired shut from the beatings - but the clenched fists on his blanket spoke volumes about his feelings towards Edgar's words.

"Vought has managed to keep your activities hidden thus far, but no longer. You will be handed over to the authorities within the next 24 hours."

A shock rippled through the room at this pronouncement. It was unheard of: Vought sacrificing one of their own to law enforcement? The shock quickly turned into quiet whispers as the heroes and villains began to speculate about what this could mean for them.

As Edgar continued his rounds, meeting each person's gaze with an iron stare, he finally stopped at a particular bed of Speed Shifter.

As Edgar approached him with measured steps. The once proud speedster looked up at him with a bitter smile on his face, but Edgar maintained his impassive demeanor.

"Mr. Speed Shifter," he said simply, "You are perhaps the most idiotic and egotistical person in the world for challenging someone like Homelander. Did you honestly think you could kill him just because you are faster than most heroes? Sure, you may have got a few good hits in but look where that has left you."

He pointed at the now legless man.

"I'm afraid your days of running are over and so is your career I'm afraid."

The former A-tier hero shot back a glare filled with pure hatred but didn't say anything in response.

As he finished talking to everyone, he addressed the entire room once again to deliver his final decree, the tone of authority in his voice enhancing the pervasive silence.

"Gentlemen…" Edgar began, casting his gaze over the room one last time, "...you have all made your choices, and these are the consequences of your actions. Vought will no longer support those who cannot control their behavior, or their powers, for that matter. Homelander has made sure of this, as you all personally experienced."

A sense of dread clung to the air as Edgar's words echoed in the minds of the fallen heroes and villains.

"From now on," he continued, "everything you do will have repercussions. No more second chances, no more covering up your messes. Welcome to your new reality."

A ripple of screaming and yelling echoed through the room but were quickly silenced by Edgar's cold stare.

"You are not gods," he announced emphatically. "You are merely tools in Vought's hands, and tools can be replaced. From this point on, you're on your own. Heal if you can and show us that you are still of use."

He paused for a moment, his icy gaze challenging anyone to refute his words. As silence fell heavily upon the room, he concluded his speech with a simple threat. "Homelander may have left you here broken but I will make sure to finish what he started; do I make myself clear?"

The silence that followed was deafening. Edgar's gaze held them in place, like deer caught in headlights, as they considered the gravity of his words.

"…I have a question." Someone in the room said in a whisper, but it seemed to echo in the silence of the room.

Stan turned back to look at the person who spoke. "Yes?"

"What...what about Homelander then?" They spat out between gasps of pain. "Why isn't he facing the consequences of his actions? He took out your 'tools' and yet you do nothing but suck his fucking dick!"

The room plunged into a tense silence once more, broken only by the soft beeping of life-support machines. Even the bravest among them held their breath, waiting for Edgar's response to this blatant accusation.

Edgar looked at him for a long moment before answering. "Homelander will face his own consequences in due time; rest assured."

His statement hung ominously in the air, casting a long cold shadow over the rumors of Homelander's invincibility. The atmosphere was fraught with tension as everyone in the room waited for any further elaboration, but Edgar remained silent. All they could do was imagine what 'plans' he had for Homelander.

Edgar's icy calm never wavered as he gave one last look at each person in the room. They were once powerful. Now, they were reduced to helpless bodies on hospital beds, left to deal with their injuries and the pieces of their shattered egos.

"Trust me when I say if he continues on this path recklessness and continues to act outside of Vaught's interest, he will be dealt with accordingly."

With that final statement, Edgar left without another word or backward glance, leaving behind a room filled with dread and uncertainty. As the heavy hospital doors closed behind him, an uneasy silence descended.

None of them noticed a certain English man passing by the door with a phone in his hands.

 

[shirouM]

Chapter 11

"Homelander has done it again! Stopping the Villian known as th-"

His fingers moved without a moment of hesitation.

"I am here at the sight where Homelander stopped a-"

He typed a hundred words in a matter of seconds, creating a campaign.

"It was crazy man! One moment there was fire everywhere and then bam! Homela-"

He came up with a new idea to promot-

"You done combining your face to your laptop yet, Hughie?" A feminine voice asked out of nowhere.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" He screamed out in surprise, jumping a little in his seat, the laptop almost flying off the table. His racing heart thundered in his ears as he tried to recover from the shock.

"Mrs. Butcher!" he snapped, irritated and embarrassed, turning towards her. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

Becca tried to give him an unimpressed look but the smile on her face made it impossible.

"Wow, you are one easy-to-scare little baby, aren't you?" she teased, a small smile tugging at her lips as she leaned against the doorframe.

Hughie let out an exasperated sigh, his heart rate slowly returning to normal. He turned his attention back to the numerous news feeds playing on his phone. His eyebrows knitted together in concentration as he scrolled through them, paying no mind to the chuckling woman next to him.

"Anything interesting?" Becca asked, peering over Hughie's shoulder, her voice cutting through the various overlapping news feeds.

"Not really," Hughie answered without looking up, his fingers scrolling through the various news threads on his phone. "Just the usual stuff about Homelander being a hero and saving everyone, the usual."

Becca shook her head in expiration at him, the young man truly took his job seriously. Well, it's not like she could blame him considering the fact Homelander himself hired him to be her assistant in managing all of his media. His relentless work ethic and dedication showed just how much he wanted to prove his sincerity and gratitude towards Homelander for giving him this opportunity.

"Like it or not, working yourself down to the bone isn't going to do much good for you or anyone, Hughie," Becca stated, crossing her arms like a disappointed mom.

Hughie merely grunted in response; his eyes still focused on his phone screen.

"Look, I know you want to show John that he made the right choice in picking you, but Hughie… this isn't it." She gently grabbed his phone and pulled it away from him.

Hughie paused then, his eyes finally shifting away from his phone to meet Becca's. There was a softness in her gaze that he hadn't seen before, a kind of maternal warmth that made him feel strangely comforted.

"I...I just don't want to let him down, Mrs. Butcher," Hughie admitted, his voice coming out as more of a whisper. He looked away, suddenly feeling exposed under her gaze. "I owe him too much…"

"Firstly, it's Becca and secondly it's not about letting him down," she said gently as she took a step closer. "It's about doing what you can while still taking care of yourself, you and I both know he would be scolding you if he knew about you overworking yourself."

Hughie didn't reply. His silence hung in the air between them, punctuated only by the dim hum of technology around them.

"Look," she began again after a long pause, "You were given this role because you're smart, capable, and human. You're not like most people here, and that's exactly what John wanted."

Hughie felt a surge of emotions welling up inside him: confusion, doubt - but most prominently - hope.

"Really?" He asked skeptically.

"Really," she replied with a nod. A smile played on her lips - one of those rare genuine ones. "Now take a break."

Hughie let out a huff, his eyebrows furrowed in contemplation. A break was a foreign concept to him these days. But for the first time in a long time, he found himself considering it. Becca's words had given him something to think about.

"I suppose...I could indulge in a bit of downtime," Hughie eventually conceded, covering his uncertainty with false bravado.

Becca's smile widened.

"That's more like it," she said approvingly, clapping him on the back. "But just remember Hughie. No sneaking off to do more work behind my back."

Hughie mustered up a small smile in response to her wisecracks.

"I promise," he replied honestly.

With that, Becca gave his phone back and excused herself from the room, leaving Hughie alone with his thoughts. He stared at the screens around him, still buzzing with news about Homelander's latest feat. It felt strange to think that he wouldn't be monitoring them closely for the rest of the day.

Instead, Hughie stood up and found himself wandering throughout the facility aimlessly until he found himself in front of the break room.

The door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a room filled with the hum of chatter and the aroma of coffee. A few people paused their conversations to nod hello as Hughie entered, then went back to their discussions. He found an empty table in a quiet corner and sank down onto a cushioned chair.

His muscles gratefully relaxed into the plush comfort of the seat, reminding him of how long he'd spent hunched over his work desk. He sat there for a moment, just soaking in the room's peaceful ambiance - the soft jazz music piped in through hidden speakers, the subtle clink of cutlery against ceramic dishes, the low murmur of friendly banter.

Then, he noticed a set of vending machines tucked away at one end of the room. Several people were gathered around them, while others were busy preparing food in the small kitchen area adjacent. His stomach gave out a low growl, making him realize he had skipped lunch out of sheer dedication to his job.

With a sigh, he got up and made his way toward the vending machines. He scanned over the neatly stacked rows of candy, chips, canned drinks, and other snacks before settling on some neatly wrapped sandwiches.

As he waited for his selection to drop from its slot, he felt someone tap his shoulder. Startled at the unexpected contact, he turned around to see who it was. As he turned, he was met with a bearded, smug face of Billy Butcher.

"Working hard or hardly working eh, Hughie?"

Hughie jumped, mumbling a sheepish, "Just taking a break, Sir."

Billy Butcher's booming laugh echoed through the room.

"A break, is it? Well, I never thought I'd see the day." He clapped Hughie on the back, the impact of which sent a jolt through his thinly built frame. "And don't call me sir, makes me feel like a right cunt."

The sandwich finally dropped from its slot and Hughie picked it up. With a sense of relief washing over him, he turned to Butcher.

"It was Becca's idea actually. She said I need to take better care of myself."

"Good on her! It's about bloody time you did," he said gruffly but there was a softness in his voice that wasn't usually present.

Butcher leaned against the vending machine, crossing his arms over his chest. He was a formidable figure, the type of man you wouldn't think twice about following into battle. Yet here he was, discussing self-care in a break room.

"Becca's got a way of seeing things clearly," he added, his eyes softening at the mention of her name.

Chuckling, he patted Hughie on the back before pushing away from the vending machine and retrieving his own sandwich and a can of soda from the machine, he ambled over to Hughie's table, motioning for the younger man to follow.

As they settled into the soft seats, a moment of comfortable silence fell between them. The room was full of people coming in and out of the break room, but no one came near their table.

"Y'know," Butcher began, popping the tab on his soda with a satisfying hiss. His gaze was far off, fixed on something only he could see. "Becca would always remind me to eat something proper. Used t' get so caught up in work that I'd forget."

A small smile appeared on his lips, a rare occurrence that only happened when the man spoke of his beloved wife.

"She'd pack these bloody awful sandwiches," he continued, taking a sizable bite out of his meal. His tone was warm. "Didn't have the heart to tell her I hated them."

Hughie smiled at this small insight into Butcher's personal life; it made him seem less like a man who could beat his teeth in and more like an ordinary man with an unwavering loyalty to someone he loved dearly.

As they made small talk and enjoyed their meal, Butcher began to masterfully steer the conversation to the one reason why he was actually there talking to Hughie.

"Y'know, Hughie," he began, his eyes now focused on the younger man. "Things are not always as they seem in this bloody world."

He paused to take another swig of his soda, watching Hughie's reaction.

Hughie's eyebrows furrowed, not expecting something like a conspiracy to come out of Butcher of all people.

"What do you mean?"

"Vought." The word rolled off Butcher's tongue like a curse, his gaze steely and calculating. "They're hiding things, Hughie. Dark things that people like you are oblivious to."

"…Vought?" Becca's assistant said out loud in disbelief. "Are we talking about the same Vought here? The company that makes superheroes, that Vought? You're joking, right?"

His initial reaction was to laugh, thinking that Butcher was just joking around. However, his laughter died a terrible death in his throat as he saw the unamused grim expression on Butcher's face.

The corners of his mouth were turned down in a stern frown and his eyes held a hard glint, showing that he was not in the mood for jokes. The once-light atmosphere suddenly felt tense and heavy, making the man regret ever finding humor in the situation.

Hughie swallowed hard. He had a sinking feeling that this was no ordinary break room chat anymore.

"You're not joking…" his voice barely audible.

"No, Hughie," Butcher responded, his voice laden with gravity. "I'm as serious as a heart fucking attack."

"But...but they make heroes," his mind reeling. "And they save people."

"More like monsters than heroes," Butcher laughed bitterly then. "And yeah, they do. On camera, that is. But what about the things that happen off-camera, Hughie? The things Vought conveniently sweeps under the rug?"

"Things that'll keep you awake at night." He said solemnly. "And all of them done by the very people we call heroes."

"I-I don't believe you."

"Well, I can't say I expected you to, lad," Butcher said, a hint of regret lacing his gruff voice. He leaned back into his chair, crumpling the sandwich wrapper in his hand. "It's easier not to believe. To live in denial."

"…Why are you telling me this?" Hughie asked, his voice trembling, the color draining from his face.

"I need your help, Hughie," Butcher said finally, staring at him directly. His gaze bore so deeply into Hughie's soul that it felt like he was reading all his innermost secrets. "I want you to leak information for me."

"Leak information? Are you insane?" Hughie spluttered, choking on the last of his soda. The thought of betraying his employer was unthinkable.

Butcher discarded the wrapper with a casual flick of his wrist, letting it flutter to the ground. From his pocket, he retrieved a bright yellow folder with crisp edges and slid it toward Hughie on the smooth surface of the table. Hughie tried to keep his expression neutral, though a prickle of unease ran through him.

Butcher leaned forward, planting sturdy arms on the table as he spoke.

"The world," he began, voice serious. "They see these heroes as infallible gods and Vought as their benevolent creator. But that's an image they've carefully constructed, lad. A fabrication."

Hughie glanced down at the folder before looking back up at Butcher. His heart pounded in his chest as he looked at the folder again, his hand almost trembling as he reached out for it.

"They like us to believe we're all just cogs in their machine, dispensable and replaceable." He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair traces of frustration lining his face. "Willing to accept everything they feed us without question."

Hughie watched him silently, absorbing everything he said.

"They've got secrets," Butcher continued, focusing on Hughie. "Dirty ones. And they'll do anything to keep 'em buried."

"…Like what?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

Butcher leaned in closer and tapped on the file Hughie held in his hands. "Start with that, lad. It ain't a light read, but you asked for the evidence. Open it up and you'll see just how deep the rabbit hole goes."

He stood up from his chair and began to walk away, his broad shoulders a dark silhouette against the light. Halfway to the door, he turned back, looking at Hughie with a marked intensity.

"But be warned, Hughie," he said, his voice low and gravely as he stared down at the younger man. "Once you start digging into this, there's no going back. It's a one-way ticket mate."

Hughie could only nod. His mind was spinning, thoughts crashing against one another like angry waves against a rocky shore.

"And make sure not to tell anyone about this, ay? Or I might have to bash your fucking head in, and I don't want to do that, you get me?" Butcher grabbed his shoulders with a death-like grip.

"Y-Yeah," Hughie replied, his voice choked with fear. "N-Not a word, I-I promise."

Butcher nodded, seemingly satisfied with Hughie's response.

"Contact me when you made your choice after reading through the file," Butcher stated, releasing Hughie from his grip. "You have my number."

With a final nod towards Hughie, Butcher left the room, leaving Hughie alone with his thoughts and the daunting file that lay before him.

 

[shirouM]

Chapter 12

The two teenagers strolled down the bustling street of New York City; their backpacks slung over their shoulders as their school day finally came to an end.

The honking of car horns and chatter of passing pedestrians filled the air, creating a chaotic song that was the soundtrack to their journey home. Towering skyscrapers lined the busy road, creating a colorful backdrop for the two friends to navigate through as they chatted about their day.

Despite the chaos around them, they walked with a sense of ease and familiarity, knowing every turn and shortcut along their route. As they neared their destination, the smell of hot pretzels and pizza wafted toward them, tempting them to make a pit stop before continuing on.

"I'm just saying man, if Homelander made just one movie it would probably be the most popular movie of all fucking time! And would probably make billions of dollars! They are saying no to free money by not making one!"

"Yeah, but it's Homelander," his friend replied, rolling his eyes. "If you haven't noticed, he's too busy saving lives, you stupid idiot."

"I know that fool! But you can't lie and say you don't want a Homelander movie!"

Their argument continued to bounce back and forth, each point more fervent and impassioned than the last. Their voices echoed through the crowded streets, blending in against the cacophony of city noise.

"Who you are calling fool, you saltine cracker!"

"I'm calling you a fool! You monkey!"

"Why yo-!"

BAng!

Just as one was about to launch into a surefire rebuttal, there was a sudden, deafening roar. Rubber chewed ruthlessly against asphalt as a car veered uncontrollably down the street. The world seemed to slow at that moment—the pedestrians' chatter went silent, and the symphony of city noises lulled into a hushed whisper.

Sirens could be heard coming from a distance, their wailing crescendo piercing the sudden silence. The car was careening towards them, its driver uncaring about their surrounding as they tried to lose the police on their tail.

"SHIT/SHIT!" They both screamed out as their eyes widened in fear as they tried to desperately move out of the way of the speeding tank.

Unfortunately for them, they would not be making it in time.

Time seemed to slow even further as they found themselves frozen in fear, caught in the headlights of the rapidly approaching vehicle. The world spun around them, a whirl of colors and sounds melting into a blur. Their hearts pounded like drums in their chests, each beat echoing loudly in their ears.

Crash!

Then, like a bolt of lightning cutting through the chaos, a figure appeared before them - so fast that they barely registered his arrival.

With an almighty crash, sparks flew high into the air as metal met superhuman strength. The world held its breath as the hero used his body as a shield to stop the car in its tracks; his boots making deep impressions on the road under him.

He swooped down like an avenging angel, with his eyes glaring at the man in the vehicle. With incredible strength beyond human comprehension, he halted the runaway vehicle in its tracks just inches from them, breaking the front end of the vehicle with his iron grip.

The car shuddered and groaned under his grip before coming to a jarring halt. A shocked silence filled the air as Homelander stood between them and what would have definitely been their demise.

Exhaling breaths they didn't realize they'd been holding, they watched as Homelander straightened up from his heroic feat. His cape caught in the wind dramatically while he surveyed the damage done with narrow eyes before focusing on the man tumbling out of the tank of a car.

They groaned in pain and clutched their broken arm from the unexpected car crash.

Homelander's towering frame radiated an intense aura of authority that even the career criminals were forced to acknowledge. He pulled the man up from the ground with ease and suspended him in the air with one hand, his gaze never leaving the man's terrified eyes.

"H-Homelander..." he stammered, squirming futilely against Homelander's grip.

"Yes. Me," John responded calmly, his voice carrying an unmistakable hint of menace that left no question about who was in control of this situation.

"I-I apologize?" The car thief questioned, his voice trembling with fear as he glanced down at his dangling feet. "P-Please don't hurt me."

Homelander simply narrowed his eyes further, the blue in them flashing ominously red. "You should apologize to the two kids you almost killed, asshole."

A crowd had started to gather around them, murmurs of disbelief still rippling through the bystanders.

"I-I'm... I'm sorry," the man gasped out, tears falling down his eyes from the fear and pain.

The sirens grew louder as multiple police cars skidded to a halt around them, their red and blue lights flashing wildly and illuminating the scene with an eerie glow.

He tossed the man easily toward the oncoming police cars as if he were nothing more than a rag doll.

The two teens could only stare, wide-eyed and open-mouthed from the pavement where they'd collapsed. They watched as Homelander turned towards them, the wind ruffling his blonde hair as he approached. An eerie silence settled over the scene; every eye fixated on the superhero who had just saved their lives.

The crowd that had formed at a safe distance erupted into cheers and applause for their hero. The hero turned his back on the cheers, his attention focused solely on making sure the two teenagers were alright.

"Are you both okay?" Homelander asked, finally letting his gaze fall onto them.

They looked up at him - dazed and awestruck - and managed a small nod, too stunned to put their relief into words. He examined them with a critical eye before nodding once, satisfied they were indeed unharmed.

"Stay out of trouble," he advised before turning away, preparing to take off into the skyline once more.

The cop cars formed a tight circle around the wrecked car and the thief while Homelander lifted off the ground, disappearing into the sky with hardly a sound. The crowd erupted into thunderous applause yet again, but it fell on deaf ears as far as the two teenagers were concerned.

"…Fuck that was awesome." One of the of the boys muttered out in pure awe.

Up in the sky, overlooking the city below him was John - or as the world knew him, Homelander. His golden hair shimmered under the sunlight blue eyes reflecting the city's lights like a mirror. His broad shoulders, clad in his iconic suit, rose and fell with each breath he took in - a testament to the arduous path he had chosen.

The commanding view of the city before him was a sight he never got tired of seeing. From up here, it looked almost peaceful, but John knew better than anyone else that appearances could be deceiving.

He crossed his arms over his chest and began to scan the city for signs of trouble. It was a constant task, an unending responsibility that he carried on his shoulders. His laser-sharp eyesight caught glimpses of daily life - couples walking hand-in-hand, teenagers hanging out at an open-air diner, elderly people returning home after their evening stroll.

BRRRRR! BRRRR!

He stopped his scanning of the city for trouble and reached for his phone that was ringing in his pocket. Looking at who exactly was calling him, he smiled when he saw it was Maggie who was calling him.

"Maggie," he answered, and even though the wind whipped across his face, his voice was clear and steady.

"John," Maggie's voice came through the phone, her mood clearly happy. "I'm surprised you actually picked up considering your oh-so-busy schedule, don't you have a cat to save from a tree or a villain to punch?"

John chuckled lightly at her dry humor. Despite the serious nature of their line of work, she always managed to keep things lively.

"I have time for you, Maggie," he murmured, his tone warm. Her laughter rang out through the speaker of his phone, its melody causing a smile to tug at his lips.

"Careful there, Homelander. Some might say you're going soft," she teased. He could practically hear the smirk on her face and he couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"And risk tarnishing my tough guy reputation? Never," he replied, his voice laced with light amusement. The wind blew stronger around him, ruffling his hair and the edges of his cape. But he remained unfazed, effortlessly maintaining his balance in mid-air as he held onto the phone.

"Just checking up on you, big guy," she said after a moment, her voice growing softer. "Things have been...tense lately."

He sighed quietly, understanding exactly what she was referring to.

"I know, Maggie. I'm doing my best, just trust me alright?"

"I know you are John," Her voice held nothing but conviction and trust which only spurred him forward. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting her belief in him resonate within him before opening them again to continue scanning the city. "but I feel like we're getting into something bigger than we can handle. Something...dangerous."

John remained silent at her words that was filled with concern and worry. He knew he was asking a lot out of her to trust him when he explained next to nothing about what he was planning to do. But he needed her to remain in the dark for a little bit longer before he explained everything.

"I know," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper against the rush of the wind. He glanced down at the bustling city below him. "But we've faced danger before, haven't we?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Yes... but, John-"

"I can handle it, Maggie," John cut her off gently, knowing that the conversation would only spiral into an argument if he let her continue. He didn't want that - didn't want to add to her worries. "And I won't let anything happen to you or any of our teammates. You have my word."

Silence hung between them for a moment before Maggie finally spoke up again.

"Alright, John." Her voice held resignation but also unyielding trust. "I trust you."

With those words, a sense of relief washed over him. He knew convincing Maggie wouldn't be easy; she was stubborn and fiercely protective of their team - their family. But it was her trust in him that made him believe they could overcome any challenge in their path.

"Thank you, Maggie," he said sincerely.

She responded with a soft chuckle. "You owe me one hell of an explanation when all of this is over, John."

"Deal." The light-hearted banter brought a small smile to his face.

"By the way, I know you don't want to come to the meeting but we're gathering at base in ten minutes. And before you argue," she added swiftly, as if sensing the protest, he was about to offer, "this is non-negotiable, you need to be there."

John sighed deeply, letting the wind carry away his frustration. This was the one thing he disliked about his job - the bureaucratic requirements. He'd rather be out there, among the people, doing what he did best. Instead of going to some meeting which they knew would be both tedious and unnecessary.

"Alright, alright," he conceded, running a hand through his hair in resignation. "I'll be there."

"Thank you, John," Maggie's voice softens from her previous stern tone. "See you soon."

"See you soon, Mags," he replied before hanging up the call and entering the Sevens base in the next second. Some would think he teleported from his previous location, but it was simply the speed at which he moved.

"Matt." He greeted the pilot who would fly nonflying supes and civilians to the station.

"John," Matt replied, offering a quick but friendly nod.

As he moved down the hallway of the station everyone would either greet him with a friendly hi or looks of awe and respect, sometimes both.

John responded to each greeting with a nod and flashed them a quick smile not wanting to be rude. There was a reason everyone respected him so much; not only was he the most powerful among them, but he also carried himself with a sense of responsibility and sincerity that were hard to find in the world they lived in.

As he finally reached the meeting room, he took a deep breath before entering, preparing himself for what was to come. He swung open the door and stepped into the meeting room of the seven. He didn't bother looking around the room to see who was all there and why would he? He already saw who was inside using his X-ray vision.

"Mr. Edger… what a surprise to see you here," John remarked, acting surprised to see the man leading Vaught in the room.

"John," Stan greeted back, his voice cool and firm, not betraying any hint of emotion. "Been a while, hasn't it?"

"Since you first introduced me to the entire world as its greatest hero in history?" John retorted, playing along. "Sure, I would say it's been a while."

Sitting inconspicuously in the corner was Black Noir. He was as still as a stone statue, only the slow rising and falling of his chest hinting at the life beneath the solid black suit that cloaked him entirely.

"Black Noir," John nodded at the man getting no response back.

Ignoring the other superhuman in the room for a moment, John chose to focus on Stan.

"Where's everyone else?" he asked, he already knew the answer but asked anyway.

"Running late I suppose," Stan replied, a glint of humor in his eyes. "You've set the bar high, John. Not everyone can zip across the city in a matter of seconds."

"Right," he responded, leaning against the conference table and crossing his arms over his chest.

Stan's gaze remained steady on him, his eyes hard and cold despite the smile playing on his lips.

"Regardless," he continued, "we'll start without them. We have personal matters to discuss."

Stan's face remained impassive as he reached into his jacket pocket and slipped out a thin manila folder. The cover was unmarked but John had been around long enough to know these were never good news.

"I need you to read this," Stan said tersely, holding out the packet to John.

Taking the folder from Stan's hand, John carefully opened it and took a glance at the first page. His eyes widened marginally at what he saw: photographs. But not just any photographs. These were images of him brutally taking down villains and heroes alike who belonged to Vaught.

Each one was captured from different angles, showing various degrees of destruction and brutality as he made sure to make them regret the choices they made.

"So, this is what you wanted to discuss?" John asked in a low voice as he continued flipping through the pages.

Stan nodded mutely.

"There are concerns within our organization, John," he said quietly. "It seems our greatest hero has taken a liking to destroying its company's products."

John remained silent, meeting Stan's gaze. His lips pursed as he clasped the folder shut. He tossed it casually onto the table.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Edger," John retorted, narrowing his eyes at the man. "I've done nothing but uphold the integrity of this organization since I agreed to put on this damn uniform."

"Yes, I've noted how... passionately you carry out your duties," Stan conceded, dipping his head in a curt nod of acknowledgment and respect. "And the number of heroes and villains has started to fall since your appearance."

Without waiting for a response from John, Stan continued. "However, despite your heroics, John, there are those within the organization who believe your actions are undermining our company."

Stan paused briefly as he met John's gaze again.

"These photos have made their rounds within our ranks," he said accusingly. "And they don't exactly paint you in the best light. especially since you are costing the company millions with each hero and villain taken out of commission."

John's jaw clenched, the muscles ticking in annoyance under his skin and white knuckles were invisible underneath his gloves.

"I will do what's necessary to protect this city and its people." John's voice rang through the chamber with a domineering presence echoing around them. His statement was clear—he was not here for Vaught's reputation; he was here for justice. "And if that means taking down those who wear the same cape as I do, then so be it."

A flash of something— irritation? —flickered across Stan's face before it was quickly masked.

"It is not your duty to decide who is a threat or isn't," he said firmly. "That's our job, and your job is to follow orders."

John chuckled mirthlessly at that as he turned to look at the one who did exactly that.

Black Noir who was leaning against the wall in the corner of the room watched the meeting in silence without making a single sound. Clad in his signature black attire, he remained still, silent as a statue.

His face was hidden behind an impenetrable mask that revealed nothing of the man beneath it. Seeing him standing there—so compliant, so obedient—it was impossible to shake off the impression that he was nothing more than a dog, following Vaught's orders without question.

John's gaze traced over Black Noir's form, taking in the cold- unmoving demeanor of the hero. He could almost see the invisible leash tied around Noir's neck, pulling him back whenever he strayed too far from his orders. It made John wonder if Noir ever thought about his actions or if he blindly accepted whatever was thrown his way.

A surge of contempt welled up within John as he looked at Black Noir— a living example of what Stan wanted him to be. Just another obedient puppet who never questioned his orders or looked beyond what was presented to him; a hero shackled by policies and corporate interests.

But there was another thing about Noir that bothered John and left him feeling disturbed… he couldn't see through the mask.

He peered at Black Noir, his gaze hard and calculating. He tried to probe with his X-ray vision, to see the face beneath the mask. But he could not, despite the fact his X-ray had improved by leaps and bounds. His powers were unable to penetrate that piece of costume.

His gaze shifted back to Stan. The corporate figure may have held sway over Vaught and its superheroes, but John wasn't going to let him dictate how he was going to save people.

"I know what my job is, thank you very much," John said tersely, shooting a heated glare at Stan.

His words hung heavy in the room, creating a tension that was almost palpable. Stan's eyes narrowed as he mulled over John's statement.

"Very well, John," Stan murmured, his tone icy and measured. He studied John for a moment, seeming to calculate his next move. "Your dedication is commendable, truly, but be careful. After all, you're playing with fire."

His gaze was defiant as he met Stan's eyes head-on.

"If playing with fire means standing up to people like you, then consider me a fucking pyromaniac."

The two stared each other down, each man's gaze unwavering.

"Is that a threat, John?" Stan asked, his voice low and dangerous. His hands were clasped tightly together on the table, his knuckles white from the pressure.

John raised an eyebrow at him.

"I don't make threats, Mr. Edger," he said flatly. "I only give promises."

The silence in the room was deafening as Stan digested John's words. He seemed to take a moment to regain his composure, his cold eyes never leaving John's face. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, he smiled.

"I see," he said softly, his tone had an edge of sharpness to it that would make most people nervous. "Well then... consider your warning duly noted."

Suddenly, the conference room door swung open and there stood four figures - the missing members of the Seven. A-Train rushed in first, out of breath and apologizing profusely for being late while Blindspot followed after him.

Ground Hawk soon came in along with Queen Maeve next to him, both of them exchanging glances with John before taking her seat. Last came Starlight, the newest member of the team, her face pale and nervous as she followed in.

Stan welcomed them with a forced smile before turning his attention back to John.

"Let's continue this later," he said evenly.

 

[shirouM]

Chapter 13

"A-As all of you can see, sales have dropped by one point since last quarter. While that might not sound a lot, that one point is millions of dollars we are losing! W-We need to step it u-up people!"

Starlight's gaze landed on the man who stood at the other end of the table, his voice rising in a frantic rant about the figures laid out before them. She couldn't believe what she was witnessing - it was as if he truly believed the fate of the world rested on these numbers and charts.

With a shake of her head, Starlight turned to glance at her fellow heroes, curious to see how they were taking this spectacle. Some looked bored, others somewhat interested, but the most interesting reaction of all was Homelander's.

She watched him practically shake in impatience while glaring at the person complaining about the sales numbers. She could see the man visibly shrink under his gaze, stuttering as they tried their best to ignore eyes that could laser them in half if they wanted to.

"And how the hell we can step it up, huh? Besides A-Train here, everyone is too busy being a hero to be making movies and doing interviews!" Ground Hawk growled as he crossed his arms, his hammer hands clinking together as he did so.

"W-Well we cou-"

"What the fuck do you mean by that?! I do my fair share of being a hero as well asshole!" A-Train defended himself angrily, feeling attacked by the hammer hero for calling him out.

"Oh please! Out of everyone in this room, you have the lowest fucking rescue scores! And don't act like we didn't see that new ad that's been airing in the town square the past week!"

As the volume rose, the tension in the room was palpable, a heat haze settling over them. The two argue back and forth with Ground Hawk accusing A-Train of lazing around and A-Train just throwing insults while defending himself.

As they argued with one another, the rest of the heroes acted like it was an everyday occurrence. Blindspot shook his head at them, while Meave sighed tirelessly to herself, and Black Noir did a good imitation of a statue as he held his hot cup of tea in his hand.

Worried that they were about to start coming to blows, Annie looked towards the leader of the team hoping that he would stop them before things became violent. She breathed out a sigh of relief when she saw him open his mouth to order them to stop the argument, but surprisingly it wasn't him that stopped the fight.

"Ground Hawk! A-Train! We have a new member of our team with us today and you will not be fighting like little children in front of her! AM I CLEAR?!" Queen Maeve's commanding voice silenced the two in seconds.

Gloor Hawk and A-Train both spun around at Queen Maeve's words, looking like two guilty schoolboys caught in the act. The room was filled with a stunned silence for a moment before both of them muttered subdued 'yes ma'am's under their breaths. In

"Good," Queen Maeve fixed her steely gaze on both of them for a moment longer before turning her attention to Starlight, her stern expression softening. "I apologize for that unprofessional display, Starlight."

"N-No it's fine! Really! I know tensions can run high in this line of work," Starlight replied, clearly surprised by the unexpected intervention from Maeve.

Queen Maeve regarded her with a smile, and just like that, the tension seemed to seep out of the room. The rest of the heroes began to relax into their chairs once more, their attention shifting away from the day's drama.

A-Train and Ground Hawk glared at each other from the corners of their eyes but remained quiet. The new member's presence was clearly creating a different atmosphere within the group. A stern silence followed as everyone turned their gaze back to the one leading the meeting, who had meanwhile collected himself enough to continue with his presentation.

"W-We have a new ad campaign planned for next month, featuring our newest member, Starlight. We are confident that with a new member of The Seven will help boost our numbers," said the man at the other end of the table, gesturing towards a series of storyboards. "We also have some potential partnerships lined up that should generate additional revenue."

Everyone's eyes flicked towards Starlight once again. It was her turn to shrink under their collective gaze, but she straightened her back and held her head high. If she was going to be a part of this team, she wouldn't let herself be intimidated.

"But i-in my opinion, if we c-could make just one movie about you H-Homelander s-sir, w-we-"

"No."

With one word, billions of dollars were lost to Vaught that day.

The meeting continued for some time after that, passing through various topics. There were mentions of upcoming events and interview schedules, charity events they would attend, and many other things that had nothing to do with being a hero. It was only after what seemed like hours that the meeting officially ended.

The newest member of The Seven could feel her head spin at all the talks of scores, points lost and gained, and merchandise sales. She was even beginning to think she was perhaps at the wrong meeting.

She was knocked out of her thoughts when the loud groaning of Ground Hawk could be heard. She turned her head to look at the hero and found him with his head down against the table with a scowl on his face.

"It gets longer and longer with every freaking time!" The hammer-handed hero grumbled as he looked over at John who was also trying his best to not do the same thing. "I'm surprised to see you here, Johny! You almost never join us in these boring ass meetings! Not to mention staying for the entire thing!"

John smiled as he cracked his neck before responding back. "I did not stay for the entire thing, Reggie. I actually left a couple of times to do some saving, didn't you notice?"

Ground Hawk's eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, what? You can't be serious! When?"

John couldn't help but chuckle at Ground Hawk's disbelief. "While they were arguing about merchandising, I was pulling a couple of kids out of a burning building, and during the discussion about ad campaigns, I stopped a robbery."

A slight smile played on his lips as he listed his accomplishments in brief intervals.

"Don't tell me nobody noticed my absence." He said in disbelief, looking around the room at all the surprised faces.

"Was too busy trying to keep my eyes open to even notice," Ground Hawk said with a grunt.

Blindspot simply pointed at his eyes.

Homelander laughed at that and so did some of the others.

"Can't be a hero if you're sleeping on the job, Reggie," Homelander relayed, his hearty laugh echoing throughout the room.

Ground Hawk grumbled but didn't argue back, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. He was too tired to continue the banter.

Starlight looked around at her new teammates, trying to reconcile what she had seen in this meeting with what she had imagined The Seven to be. They were Earth's greatest protectors, the shining beacon of hope and strength for humankind. Yet, they were also everyday individuals, bickering among themselves and bored by mundane meetings.

"Now that the boring meeting is over, I think it's time for you to finally introduce the newest member of our team, John!" Maeve turned to look at her with a wide smile on her face, much to her nervousness.

John turned his eyes away from the grumbling Reggie and looked to Annie who was sitting next to him.

"Absolutely," John agreed, rising from his chair. The room fell silent as all eyes turned towards him and the young woman next to him. Annie, or Starlight as she was now known, swallowed nervously but remained composed under their collective gaze.

"Everyone," John began, his authoritative voice filling the quiet room. "I'm sure most of you have seen her already on various media outlets...or in person just now."

He paused, glancing at Ground Hawk and A-Train with a pointed look that caused them both to squirm uncomfortably in their seats.

"But I'd like to officially introduce you to Starlight. She's the newest member of The Seven and a very promising young hero that I have personally recruited."

He turned towards Starlight then, offering her an encouraging smile.

"Why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself?" He suggested, gesturing for her to stand.

Nodding her head, and taking a deep breath, Annie rose from her seat. She was no stranger to public speaking - her mother had made sure of that - but addressing The Seven was a different matter entirely.

"I'm...I'm so very honored to be here," she began hesitantly, then cleared her throat and forced herself to speak with more conviction. "My name is Annie January, but most people know me as Starlight. I grew up in Des Moines, Iowa where I started my career as a hero."

She didn't elaborate on the terror and confusion that had initially come with those 'abilities', or how her mother had pushed her relentlessly into the public eye. Instead, she focused on the good that had come since then – the lives saved, the people inspired.

She waited in silence, waiting for their judgment to be passed, her heart pounding in her chest. The room was silent as they scrutinized her. Then Maeve broke the silence with a warm laugh, bringing a warm atmosphere to the room.

"Well then, Annie," she said, "I think it's safe to say we all look forward to working with you! It'll be nice having another girl on the team."

Annie's eyes widened for a moment, then she broke into a relieved smile. The tension in her shoulders ebbed away and she allowed herself to nod, gratefully accepting Maeve's words.

"Thank you," she replied, finally remembering to breathe as she took a bow. "Your majesty."

Annie's words hung in the air, and an awkward air blanketed the room. Her face flushed a deep red as she realized that she had addressed Maeve as 'your majesty' out of sheer nervousness. She looked up from her curtsy to see John with a face-splitting smile while Maeve looked at her stunned. Everyone else was simply frozen in place, unable to comprehend what she just did.

"Pffff! Hahaha!"

John was the first to break the silence, his laughter echoing around the room like a contagious disease, followed by Ground Hawk who snorted so forcefully that he choked on his own spit, causing his eyes to water as he joined in the mirth.

A-Train sat there stone-faced, fighting for his life to not join in on the laughter knowing he was already on thin ice with Maeve. Blindspot hid his smile by turning away from everyone else and covering his mouth to stop the laughter from coming out.

Noir took a sip of his tea.

Maeve's complexion turned a shade shared by ripe tomatoes. Her carefully composed face crumbled as her brows furrowed in annoyance at her teammate's laughter. This was not the first time anyone had addressed her with such overblown grandeur, but it was the first that it happened in front of her entire team.

"Shut it!" Maeve ordered them but it only made them laugh harder. Maeve's eyes were narrowed at John who was laughing softly, his hand clutching his stomach. "Why are you laughing so hard?! It's not even that funny!"

"O-Of course your majesty, tis not funny at all!" John's voice was filled with poorly hidden mirth as he made an over-dramatic bow, "P-Please forgives this unworthy peasant for the c-crime of laughing at her grand m-majesty.

He managed the sentence between fits of chuckling, maintaining an exaggerated expression of respect, his right hand placed dramatically over his heart. His bright eyes twinkled with mischief as he dropped to one knee in a grandiose bow before Maeve.

Maeve groaned in annoyance, quickly crossing her arms over her chest as she glared at the man before her. Her blonde locks fell in casual disarray around her face, the fiery light of irritation reflected in her crystal blue eyes. "I swear if you start—"

"My queen!" John interrupted, not taking a hint from Maeve's growing irritation. He reached for Maeve's hand elegantly as if he was about to kiss it, playing along with the jest more than necessary. "Say thy words and this unworthy peasant will obey your every grand order!"

The room erupted with laughter once more, much to Maeve's embarrassment.

Annie watched on helplessly as Maeve rolled her eyes dramatically, but a small smile tugged on the corners of Maeve's lips. It was unclear whether she was fighting the urge to laugh it off or knock John flat on his back—Annie couldn't decide which.

"Enough! Stop it already," Maeve commanded half-heartedly, trying to suppress a smile that threatened to break out.

She snatched her hand away from John and threw a crumbled ball of paper at his head, causing him to fall over dramatically. "I swear if anyone else calls me 'your majesty' agai—"

"Hahahah! But what about 'Your Grand Highness'? Does that coun- oof!" Ground Hawk was about to ask before he was hit by something that Maeve threw at him… which was John.

Noir, who somehow saw that coming, picked up his teacup and moved out of the way at the last second.

John, the once fearless leader of The Seven, was now sprawled on top of Ground Hawk in a terribly undignified heap. Their combined weight toppled Ground Hawk's chair, and they went crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs. John couldn't even attempt to untangle himself from Ground Hawk, as he was still laughing too hard to do anything else.

"A-And what about, 'Her Supreme Excellency'?" John added from his place on the floor, grinning up at Maeve who was now red in the face and trying - but failing - to hide her amusement.

"I'm warning you," Maeve clenched her teeth, pointing an accusatory finger at John.

Blindspot quickly rose from his comfortable seat to help his teammates up, but not before chuckling at their predicament. "Man, you guys need to stop clowning around."

John managed to push himself off Ground Hawk and got back onto his feet. He steadied himself and, with a quick glance at Maeve's glowering visage, let out an apologetic cough.

"Okay, okay," he conceded amidst fits of laughter as he helped Reggie up from the ground alongside Blindspot. "We're done. No more teasing the 'queen.'"

Despite his words, John couldn't keep the dumb grin off his face.

Maeve gave him one last withering look before crossing her arms again and huffing dramatically. But then a small smile began to curve her lips upward – it was clear she was fighting back her own laughter too.

Annie gave a timid giggle at the playful scene unfolding before her. She felt a sense of relief wash over her. Maybe this wouldn't be as hard as she had initially thought.

Hearing her laugh, John looked over at her and smiled.

"Welcome to your new family, Starlight," he said between chuckles. "You're one of us now."

Annie felt a rush of warmth, her heart fluttering in her chest as she looked around at the laughing faces of The Seven. They were all so different from each other - each with their own unique powers and personalities… but it was good.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she replied with a small smile. Her blush had faded, and she looked at Maeve and made a quick second decision. "I look forward to working with you the most, my Supreme Excellency."

The room fell silent once again, each member of The Seven looking at Annie with surprise and once again, disbelief. Before they then they howled with laughter once more, their boisterous voices echoing throughout the room and into the halls.

Maeve lowered her head in defeat before she too joined in on their laughter.

 

[shirouM]

Chapter 14

Maeve took a deep breath while she warmed herself up for a grueling day ahead of her.

She stretched her arms above her head, feeling each muscle awaken and prepare for the weekly training exercise with her team. With a determined glint in her eye, she opened them again and mentally prepared herself for the challenge ahead.

Clang! Clang!

The sound of hammers clashing together could be heard coming beside her, the cause of the noise being Ground Hawk. He was hopping up and down on his feet getting himself pumped up for the fight ahead, a wide smile on his face. She could tell he was excited to hit something without holding back.

"Do you have to do that every damn time?!"

An annoyed A-Train asked from behind them, doing his own stretches that mainly focused on his legs.

"Oh, fuck off, A-Train!" Hawk retorted with a smirk, his hammer strikes becoming even louder and more rhythmic in response. "We're fighting John here! The world's strongest hero! How can I not be excited to have a go at him again? It's been ages since our last training session with him!"

In contrast to Ground Hawk's exuberance, A-Train merely grunted, rolling his eyes as he shifted into a lunge stretch. He could already see that the hammer-handed hero would be the first one to get his shit rocked.

"You say that as if you can actually land a hit on him with your slow ass." The insult left his mouth faster than a bullet, and so was the dodge from a hammer that was about to cave in his head.

"Slow, am I?" Hawk's eyes glinted as he rolled his shoulder, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. "We'll just see about that."

"Enough, you two," Maeve interjected, her voice rising above their bickering, clear and decisive. Her gaze was steady as she glared at the two heroes.

But it was impossible to put an end to their childlike rivalry. Ignoring her, A-Train whispered a retort back.

"Just don't cry when you end up on your ass."

Hawk simply chuckled in response to that jibe. He liked the challenge; he thrived on it. With a final clash of his hammers, he settled into ready stance.

"Um, what exactly are we doing here?"

Maeve heard Starlight ask Blindspot, unsure of what was going on.

Blindspot, who had been calmly listening to the squabble from a corner, raised an amused eyebrow at Starlight's question.

"We're preparing for a fight against the strongest hero in the world," he replied, his voice laced with dry sarcasm. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the wall, nonchalant as ever.

Starlight blinked at him, her confusion only deepening.

"But...why would we be fighting John?" she asked hesitantly. As a rookie on the team, she was still trying to understand the dynamics among them. "Won't he destroy us in a matter of seconds?"

Blindspot smiled, pushing himself off the wall.

"It's not about fighting him," he explained patiently.

He gestured towards the rest of the team: Hawk was grinning widely while swinging his hammers around with excitement; A-Train was shaking his head with a smirk as he warmed up his legs; even Maeve, who usually wore a calm expression, had an eager gleam in her eyes.

"It's about training harder and pushing our limits," Blindspot continued. "And John expects us to be the best that we can be."

His lips curled into a light smile as he added, "Besides, it's fun."

"If being tossed around by him is what considered 'fun' then sure. It's a heaping load of fun!" Maeve quipped, a wry grin pulling at the corner of her mouth. Her comment earned a chorus of laughter from the team.

Blindspot shrugged, a grin appearing on his face.

"Everyone has their own definition of fun," he conceded, his tone teasing. "I suppose some of us are masochists."

"Makes for good training," Maeve chimed, her stretches completed.

"Especially when we're fighting John," Hawk added grinningly. "Every time I fight him, I feel myself improve like crazy!"

Black noir, ever silent, simply nodded his head agreeing with him.

Clssshhhh!

Just as Hawk finished his sentence, they heard the slow clap of boots against the floor as the doors leading to the training room opened. The conversation and laughter within the room died down as all eyes landed on the towering figure who had just entered, his chiseled features set in a calm expression.

"Oh good, everyone is here."

"John," Maeve greeted, a wide smile on her face. "I'm surprised you actually made it on time."

"Same here," John gave her an amused look while shaking his head. "Yet here I am, right on time. Anyways, you guys ready?"

Ground Hawk was the first to respond, his enthusiasm undying. "Hell yeah! We're ready to get our asses kicked!"

His words filled the room with massive amounts of energy. Some laughed while others rolled their eyes at his excitement.

A-Train shrugged as he stood up from his stretching. "Speak for yourself, bird brain."

He cracked his knuckles and shot John a confident smirk.

Ignoring A-Train's jab, Hawk continued to eagerly hop on his feet like an overexcited puppy. Even though everyone else was still speaking, he turned to face John directly.

"What's it going to be today, John? One on one? One vs three? Or are you going to go full-on beast mode and face all of us at once?"

John looked over at the excitedly bouncing Ground Hawk, his gaze cool and steady. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, a sight that sent a shiver down everyone in the room.

"How about this? Since Starlight is new on the team…" he said, his voice soft yet commanding, "I'll take you all on together."

With those words, an electrifying thrill filled the room. A collective gasp echoed around them as they processed his proposal. Facing John one-on-one was daunting enough; facing him with the combined strength of the team was a different ball game altogether.

"Looks like it's going to be an interesting day," Maeve commented, excitement shining in her eyes. "Just remember John, we're not going easy on you just because we're your teammates."

John chuckled at her statement, looking at each of them in turn.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from all of you," he responded confidently.

A-Train and Ground Hawk shared a quick glance before smirking at each other.

As they settled into their positions, Blindspot moved to Starlight's side who seemed to be nervously wringing her hands. His voice broke through her cloud of anxiety, "Don't worry about it too much, Starlight. He won't hurt us too badly."

Starlight glanced over at him and nodded her head hesitantly, momentarily forgetting that he was blind. Her attention soon turned towards the imposing figure of John, whose mere presence was enough to intimidate even the most seasoned heroes.

"Remember, it's just training," Blindspot reminded once more before they all spread out, their eyes never leaving John. There was a nervous excitement that hung in the air as they prepared themselves for the trial that was about to begin.

"All right then," John started, his voice resonating in the silence of the room. "For today's training your objective is to work together as a team! And your goal is to take this book away from me before I finish reading to the halfway point."

He took a book out from seemingly nowhere and held it up, the title glinting ominously under the fluorescent lights.

"War and Peace by Tolstoy. Excellent book, by the way," he added with a smile, flicking it open to the first page. "Attempt to take it from me and... well, let's just call it extreme keep away."

Murmurs filled the room, a mix of anticipation and dread mingling in the air.

Blindspot cleared his throat and interjected, "Not that we're complaining, but won't reading distract you?"

John simply smiled knowingly at him.

"Well, that's part of the challenge, isn't it?" He adjusted his fake glasses that he got from somewhere and raised an eyebrow at them. "Okay then…"

"let's get started."

He sat down on a chair that was placed in the center of the room beforehand, crossing one leg over the other and looking dangerously relaxed as he buried his nose into Tolstoy's world. The team exchanged glances around him, unsure of how to make their first move.

"Oi! A-Train! Twenty bucks if you go first!" Ground Hawk goaded the speedster, hoping he would take the bait and go first.

"Fuck no! You think I'm as stupid as you?! You go first since you were so damn excited and shit to do this!" A-Train snapped back, keeping an eye on John while doing so.

Starlight looked to Queen Maeve nervously, seeing as she was second in command.

"I'll go first to test out the water, depending on how it goes the rest of you will join me in taking that book from him. We'll think of a plan later."

The Amazonian gave her a comforting smile before she darted forward, her hand taking out a sword from its sheath. Starlight eyes could barely keep up with her before she was instantly next to John.

John's focus didn't move from the book but just when Maeve came within inches of him, he calmly tilted his body to avoid her sword with a supernatural precision. Maggie stopped in shock as she felt herself go past and land on the floor behind him, her sword hitting nothing.

"How the hell?" Maeve murmured to himself, unable to believe he dodged without looking at her.

"Page 13…" he said quietly, evoking disbelief from those watching from afar.

"My turn!"

Next was Ground Hawk, sprinting with all his strength towards John but just as he was about to reach him, John nonchalantly reached out his hand and grabbed the hammer that was about to hit him. Reggie growled as he tried to desperately break free of his hold but found it to be impossible.

With a light flick of his wrist, John threw him at Maeve. He tumbled forward ungracefully in the air, narrowly avoiding a crash with Maeve but not the cold hard ground.

"Ow!"

"Page 50…" John read on, unfazed, his eyes still glued to the book. The team watched wide-eyed at their comrades who failed to land a blow.

This spurred A-Train into action. He was next to John in a split second, his super-speed creating a gust of wind that ruffled the pages of War and Peace slightly. However, before he could snatch the book away, John had already moved out of his path and extended his leg, causing A-Train to skid along the floor and come to a crashing halt against the far wall.

"Ha!" Ground Hawk laughed, pointing his hammer hand at the speedster, still on the ground.

"Page 74…" John called out without missing a beat while casually moving out of the way of a blade swing at the same time.

Starlight nervously bit her lip as she looked on at her fallen teammates and Maeve who was trying with all her might to land a hit. She felt Blindspot's hand on her shoulder and turned to look at him; despite knowing he couldn't see her reaction.

"Your power is to absorb electricity and blast out beams of light, correct?" Blindspot asked her, and she nodded in response. "I need you to focus your energy on creating a distraction, a flash-bang perhaps. Then I'll move in."

"You sure?" Starlight asked, unsure whether that plan would work.

Blindspot squeezed her shoulder reassuringly before moving out. "You've got this!"

She watched him go before returning her attention to Homelander who was toying with the three heroes like little children.

John was turning to page 107, still sitting on his chair while dodging a hammer strike from Ground Hawk, a desperate swipe at his book from A-Train, and the insults from Maeve.

With a deep breath, Starlight channeled her powers, making the lights flicker in the room as she absorbed their energy and turned it into a brilliant beam of blinding light that filled the room. The sudden flash gave John pause as he squinted behind his glasses, and it was at that moment Blindspot moved.

"Ahh! My eyes!" The hammer-handed hero cried out, instinctively bringing his hands up to his face to cover his eyes only to hit himself with his hammers causing him to fall back on the ground. Wham! "…Ow."

"Fuck!" Reggie number two cursed before slamming into a reinforced wall with mass times accelerations equal force.

Maeve's Scottish roots started to slowly surface as her Scottish accent began to take over her cursing.

"SORRY! I didn't think that through!" Annie desperately apologized, hoping they weren't hurt too badly.

John used his heightened senses to navigate through the momentary blindness caused by the flash of light. Even though he couldn't see, he could sense the presence of others, their heartbeats drumming a steady rhythm in his ears.

John heard the slight shift in air pressure as Blindspot approached him from behind, but he didn't expect the quick jab at his side. Swiftly retaliating and maintaining his grip on War and Peace, John twisted away from Blindspot's attack while throwing a swift elbow to his side simultaneously.

Blindspot grunted as he felt the impact but didn't relent. He swung back around with an uppercut that John managed to dodge by leaning back dangerously on the chair while still keeping his book open.

"Page 250," John said as he flipped another page, his sight rapidly clearing as he balanced the chair that was tipping over. His hand was a fast blur as he stopped Blindspot's attack by grabbing his leg that was about to axe-kick him in the face.

"Um…mercy?"

John looked up from his book, eyeing Blindspot with an amused look in his eyes. He releases Blindspot's leg and pushes him lightly, sending him flying backward into A-Train who had just managed to get up and was trying to shake off the effects of the flashbang.

"Oof! What the hell man?! Watch where your-" Reggie number two stopped when he realized who it was that used him as a cushion. "Never mind."

"Arrrhhh, y-yup my bad." Anthony groaned as he rolled off of A-Train.

Just when John righted himself to sit straight once more, Starlight launched another blinding beacon from her palms aimed directly at him. This time it wasn't just a bright light it also packed raw power behind it that would leave most supes knocked out.

John, still with his eyes on the book, flicked his wrist, creating a small but forceful gust of wind that dispersed Starlight's beam just before it reached him. He casually turned another page. "Page 389..."

"Unbelievable," Starlight muttered, her confidence starting to wane as she realized just how outmatched they were. She saw her teammates regrouping, all of them looking battered but not broken.

Maeve, determination etched on her face, took charge. "Alright, listen up! We need to coordinate better. Blindspot, A-Train, you two provide a distraction! Starlight, can you disorient him again?"

Annie hesitantly nodded, completely unsure if that would even work again. "I'll try."

"And Ground Hawk," Maeve continued, "you're our heavy hitter. When the time is right, hit him with everything you've got, I want to see those stupid glasses shattered! You got that?!"

Everyone nodded, steeling themselves for another round.

"Where the hell is…" Maeve's voice cut off as she shook her head and focused on what mattered for now.

As they moved into position, John glanced up briefly, a smirk playing on his lips. "Interesting~ Let's see what you've got."

Hawk charged first, swinging his hammers with skill, the loud clangs echoing through the training room. A-Train zipped around John at blinding speed, creating a whirlwind that kicked up speed and made it harder for John to focus. Blindspot used this distraction to his advantage, maneuvering silently to get close enough to attempt another surprise attack.

Maeve and Starlight hung back, waiting for the right moment. Maeve's eyes were fixed on John, analyzing his every move, while Starlight's hands glowed with concentrated energy, ready to release it at Maeve's call.

John effortlessly dodged and parried Hawk's hammer strikes, his movements precise and fluid. He countered A-Train's speed with well-timed strikes of his laser vision that forced the speedster to retreat momentarily. Despite the chaos, he still managed to keep reading, unfazed by the pandemonium around him.

"Page 343..." He flipped the page, looking away from them momentarily.

Maeve saw an opening. "Now, Starlight!"

Starlight unleashed a powerful burst of light energy aimed directly at John. The beam was more concentrated and intense than her previous attempts, and it surged toward John with incredible speed.

This time, John didn't have a chance to divert the attack completely. He raised a hand to block it, the energy crackling against his palm. The sheer force pushed him back slightly, causing him to almost drop War and Peace.

A-Train and Hawk took advantage of the momentary lapse. A-Train sprinted forward, aiming to grab the book, while Hawk swung his hammers in a wide arc to finally land a blow on him

John, however, recovered quickly. He snatched the book back tightly into his hold with lightning speed and parried Hawk's hammers with one hand while using the other to block A-Train's approach. Despite the intensity of the situation, a calm smile remained on his face.

"Page 400," John said, his tone almost mocking as he continued to hold off his teammates.

Maeve, seeing no other option, charged in with her sword, aiming for a strike that would force John to defend and let go of the book. Her sword met John's forearm with a resounding clash, but she didn't relent, pressing her attack with a flurry of strikes.

John blocked and parried, his movements a blur. The other heroes regrouped and joined the fray, attacking from all sides in a coordinated effort. Blindspot, exploiting his stealth, aimed a precise kick at John's back but found himself used as a human weapon as he was used to hit Maeve like a bat.

"What the hell?!" Maeve shouted out as she ducked out of the way of Blindspot.

"Ha! He used the good old technique of hitting a mother fucker with another mother fucker!" Reggie number one laughed before he was hit by said mother fucker. "Oh, come on!"

"S-Sorry!"

The combined assault was relentless, each hero giving their all to take the book from John. Despite their best efforts, John remained unyielding, his movements powerful and controlled. The room was filled with the sounds of clashing weapons, energy blasts, pained groans, and the occasional laugh from John.

All this while he was still sitting on the same damn fucking chair!

Unfazed by the intensity of the battle, John remained seated, flipping through War and Peace with an almost serene demeanor. The team's frustration grew with each failed attempt, but they pushed on, determined to prove their worth.

"Page 476," John announced, barely glancing up as Maeve's sword clanged against his forearm once more.

He twisted slightly, using A-Train as a shield against another of Ground Hawk's hammer strikes. A-Train groaned as the impact jarred his senses, but he quickly regained his footing and continued his assault.

Starlight, gathering every ounce of her strength, unleashed another blinding flash. The room was bathed in a searing light, causing everyone to squint and shield their eyes. In the chaos, Maeve took advantage of the momentary disorientation to close in on John, her sword aimed for his hand that held the book.

John, however, seemed to anticipate her move. He rolled to the side, gracefully avoiding her strike, and in the same fluid motion, used his free hand to send A-Train's high-speed kick flying back.

A-Train's uncontrollable momentum sent him crashing into Ground Hawk, and both heroes tumbled to the ground in a heap.

"Get the fuck off of me!"

"Stop hitting me with your stupid hammers then!"

"Page 500," John said, casually, as he settled back into his seat, never breaking his reading stride.

Maeve's patience was wearing thin as she glared at the stupid book still in his hand.

"We need to rethink our strategy," she muttered, frustration evident in her voice.

She glanced at Starlight, who was panting from the exertion of her energy blasts, and at Blindspot, who was nursing a bruised side. A-Train and Ground Hawk were also looking worse for wear, their earlier confidence and energy now replaced with the exact opposite of those words.

Maeve took a deep breath, her mind racing. They needed to change their approach, to find a way to outthink John rather than outfight him. She turned to Starlight, an idea forming in her mind. "Starlight, can you create a sustained light field? Something that would make it hard for him to see us clearly without blinding us?"

Starlight nodded, though she looked unsure. "I've never done that before, but I can try. It'll take a lot of energy, and I don't know how long I can maintain it."

"Do your best," Maeve encouraged. She turned to the rest of the team. "When Starlight activates the field, we'll move in together. Blindspot, use your stealth to get as close as you can in case I fail. Ground Hawk and A-Train, create a diversion. I'll go for the book."

The team nodded; determination renewed along with their morale.

As Starlight began to concentrate, the room started to flicker as soft, glowing light began emitting from her hands. An energy field began emitting around the room, focusing mainly on her team members. It wasn't blinding, but it shimmered and flickered, creating an ever-changing environment that made it hard to focus on any single point.

John, sensing the shift, glanced up from his book.

"Not a bad tactic," he mused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he adjusted to the light unable to distinguish between where everyone was.

"Go!" Maeve commanded.

Blindspot moved first, his steps silent as he navigated the shimmering field. Ground Hawk and A-Train launched their attack from opposite sides, their movements erratic and unpredictable to keep John off balance.

Maeve followed closely; her eyes locked on the book in John's hand as she circled around him, her sword gleaming in the shifting light. John attempted to keep track of all their movements, but the shimmering light and noise confused his senses. He blocked A-Train's punches and ducked under Ground Hawk's swinging hammers but failed to notice Maeve until she was almost upon him.

"Page 575," he said, attempting to keep his calm demeanor but failing to keep the edge out of his voice. He leaned back on the first swing, parried the second, and threw Reggie one and Reggie two on the third.

Blindspot, taking advantage of his invisibility amidst the swirling light, managed to get within striking distance. He lunged forward, aiming for John's wrist that held War and Peace.

Caught off guard by Blindspot's sudden attack, John barely managed to deflect the strike. But in so doing, his grip on War and Peace loosened, and Maeve seized her chance. She swung her sword down in an arc, desperately hoping to knock the book out of his hands.

She swung her sword down in an arc, hoping to knock the book out of his hands.

John, sensing the imminent loss of his book, took a deep breath and released a wave of powerful hurricanes of wind that forced everyone back. The force of the blast caused Maeve's sword to fly from her grasp and Ground Hawk to spin out of control. Starlight's light field flickered and died out as she was thrown back against the wall, her energy completely drained.

With an almost imperceptible sigh, John adjusted his glasses and looked around at his team. They were battered, bruised, and exhausted, but still more than ready to get up and do it again. Each one of them had given their all, pushed beyond their limits, and still managed to stand, ready to keep fighting if needed.

"Page 845," John said, his voice carrying a note of finality. He closed the book with a decisive snap and set it gently on the ground.

Maeve, breathing heavily, wiped the sweat from her brow and gave John a hard look. "You done reading, then?"

John smiled, genuine warmth in his eyes as he looked at each member of his team. "For now. You've all done well today. Better than I expected."

Ground Hawk groaned as he got up, rubbing his shoulder. "That was intense. I thought we had you there for a second."

A-Train, still catching his breath, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, me too, I really thought you were gonna drop that book."

John chuckled softly. "You all made me work for it, that's for sure. And that's exactly what I wanted to see. Your teamwork, your resilience—those are the qualities that make a great team."

Starlight, still feeling the effects of her energy exertion, managed a small smile. "We still couldn't take the book from you, though."

John shook his head, his expression kind. "It's not about the book. It's about pushing your limits, learning from each other, and becoming stronger as a team. Today wasn't a failure; it was a valuable lesson."

Blindspot, still nursing his bruises, nodded thoughtfully. "He's right, we fought hard, and we learned a lot about each other."

"I still don't like you." Said Reggie one.

"Same here, bitch." Responded Reggie two.

Maeve looked at her teammates, pride evident in her eyes. "We did well today. We'll get better, and next time, we'll make sure to take that book from him and brake those damn glasses.

"Next time, I might choose a longer book," he said with a wink, eliciting a few tired laughs from the team.

"Yes," Maeve replied glaring at him, her eyes filled with resolve. "And we'll be ready."

The room fell into a comfortable silence, filled only by the heavy breaths of the team as they recovered from their exertion. The remains of their battle scattered around - the broken floor, the cracked walls. The toll on their bodies would heal in time, but the memories of their struggle and the lessons learned would last forever.

"Alright," John finally broke the silence, his voice much softer now. "Let's clean this up and get some rest."

"Is training always like this?" Starlight asked Maeve, her legs wobbly as she slowly got up from the ground.

Maeve gave her a knowing smile, "Only on the good days. But don't worry, you'll get used to it."

Ground Hawk chuckled as he picked up his hammer. "Give it a few weeks, Starlight. Soon you'll be able to do this in your sleep."

Blindspot pulled Ground Hawk to his feet with a firm grip. "And remember, we always have each other's backs, no matter what."

John looked on, nodding to himself as he picked up War and Peace, tracing his fingers over its worn cover.

Reggie one and Reggie two stood side by side, sweeping up broken fragments of wood from the floor with their brooms occasionally clashing against each other.

Sparks flew around them but neither seemed to pay any mind.

Maeve reached down to pick up her sword and recoiled when Starlight rushed forward to hand it to her.

Their eyes met and Maeve gave Starlight an appreciative nod.

"Thank you," she said, her appreciation clear.

"You're welcome," replied Annie with a small smile before she turned back to help John move a large piece of ruptured wall.

Black Noir watched as the recording he took of today's training session came to an end and silently waited for his superior, Stan Edgar, to respond.

"…I see," Stan Edgar finally responded, his expression unreadable as he leaned back in his chair. "They're stronger than I thought."

Black Noir said nothing, sliding the recording device back into the pocket of his suit.

Edgar turned to look at Black Noir, his piercing gaze was calculating and cold. "I trust you have been keeping an eye on them?"

Black Noir met Edgar's gaze evenly.

Stan Edgar nodded slowly, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the arm of the chair. His eyes were drawn back to the still frame of the recording - displaying John and his team amidst the wreckage of their training room.

Their resilience, their resolve, all on display.

"I am particularly interested in this 'Starlight'," said Edgar finally, turning back to Black Noir. "She shows promise."

Black Noir simply nodded in response. Edgar sighed deeply, turning to gaze out of the window at the city below. There was a contemplative silence before he spoke again.

"She may prove useful," he mused aloud, fingers drumming a steady rhythm against the arm of his chair.

he then turned back towards Black Noir with a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

"Continue monitoring them closely," he ordered curtly. "I want to know what John is up to, every step of the way."

"…We'll put the plan into action soon." He said as he glared at the screen of John and Meave walking out of the room together.

Black Noir nodded once again and promptly left the room, leaving Stan Edgar alone with his thoughts and plans for the future.

 

[shirouM]

Chapter 15

"This is channel 7 and welcome back to your daily hero news~!" A woman dressed in a vibrant red blazer and a crisp white blouse, her hair pulled back in a stylish bun, says brightly into the camera. "Ladies and Gentlemen, today we have a very special guest on our show for today's daily hero interview~"

"Tonight," she said, her electrifyingly green eyes twinkling, "we are astoundingly privileged to have with us someone who needs no introduction but deserves one, nonetheless. She is a beacon of justice, a paragon of virtue, and an embodiment of undeniable courage!"

The studio lights shone brighter as they threw the spotlight onto the grand entrance.

The red curtains began to part, creating an anticipation that could be cut with a knife. A gust of wind followed by a bright light made its way into the studio. Suddenly, standing tall in the midst of the magnificent spectacle, as if materializing from thin air, was Queen Maeve. Her majestic figure was clad in a shimmering armored suit that bore the colors of her kingdom: royal blue and valor gold.

Her eyes, a bright shade of sky blue, sparkled brighter than the finest jewels under the studio lights. Her long golden hair flowed down her shoulders like a waterfall of liquid sunlight, bouncing with her every step.

Queen Maeve raised her hand in greeting, offering the audience her ever-charming smile – one that had been imprinted in their hearts since her first appearance became known to the world. She strode across the stage with a confidence that resonated through every corner of the room.

The crowd erupted into cheers, their claps echoing through the studio like thunder.

"AHHHHHHH! MAEVE, WE LOVE YOU!"

"QUEEN MAEVE! QUEEN MAEVE! QUEEN MAEVE!"

"WE LOVE YOU MAEVE!"

"Welcome Queen Maeve!" The host exclaimed as she scrambled to regain control over her excitement, matching the energy vibrating throughout the audience. "It's an absolute honor having you with us today."

Queen Maeve took her place on the plush ruby-red couch set up for her and nodded at the host graciously; her simple action caused another outbreak of applause from the ecstatic crowd of adoring fans.

She waited patiently for the applause to subside, her smile never wavering. The host, now seated across from her, took a moment to compose herself before diving into the interview.

"Queen Maeve," she began, her voice filled with admiration, "you've been a symbol of hope and strength for so many, especially to all the women in the world. Could you share with us what motivates you to continue fighting for justice and what drives you to be the inspiring heroine you are today?"

"Wow, we're getting right into it, huh? Queen Maeve leaned slightly forward, her expression thoughtful.

"My motivation…" she paused, her gaze lingering on the countless faces in the crowd, each one reflecting an expression of admiration and worship. "Shouldn't be much of a surprise."

She paused to create a moment of suspense before she gave her answer.

"John is my motivation, my inspiration to be a hero. Or as the world commonly knows him, Homelander."

A murmur of surprise and intrigue rippled through the audience at the mention of the revered hero.

"Really? Well, that's news for me! The host replied, her eyes widening in surprise. "Could you kindly explain how Homelander inspires you?"

Maeve nodded her head, all too willing to explain.

"Despite being the strongest hero in the world, probably being more than able to lift a small island if he wanted to," continued Maeve, "he never loses sight of who he is. And is constantly striving to be the best person he can be, not just for himself or for us heroes but for every single person out there. His tireless dedication to saving lives, his unwavering commitment to doing what's right, has always inspired me ever since I met him."

The audience sat in rapt attention as she spoke these heartfelt words.

"And it's not just in the big things, but also in the small everyday actions." Her voice echoed through the silent room, each word causing a ripple of emotions amongst the audience. "John never fails to show kindness to those around him, no matter their status or situation."

At this, she allowed herself a tender smile, one that seemed both nostalgic and slightly sad.

"Just like how he...he tries his best to comfort a crying little girl despite holding up a collapsing building on top of him," Queen Maeve chuckled lightly. "Or how he refuses to leave until he makes sure everyone is ok."

The audience laughed along with her, some even shedding tears at the gentle sentimentality of it all.

"And it's that humble human side of John that keeps me grounded. Reminds me why I'm doing what I'm doing." She ended her answer with a firm nod and a smile that seemed brighter than the studio lights.

A chorus of applause reverberated throughout the studio, intensifying with every passing second. Even the usually composed host was clapping fiercely, her eyes gleaming with pure admiration.

"That's really inspiring Queen Maeve," she finally managed to say once the thunderous applause died down. "It must be an amazing experience to work side by side with someone like Homelander."

Queen Maeve responded with a gracious smile as she nodded. "Yes, it really is."

"Seeing him out there," she went on, her eyes glowing with admiration and respect. "Watching him put everything on the line time after time without ever asking for anything in return..."

She rested back in her seat, taking a moment to collect her thoughts before adding, "We may wear different colors and go by different names, but at the end of the day, we're all fighting for the same cause – to create a better world for everyone."

Her powerful words reverberated through the hushed studio, hanging in the air before being devoured by a deafening roar of applause. The sound was like a tsunami crashing against the shore, overwhelming and all-encompassing. The audience's enthusiasm filled every corner of the room, their hands clapping together in unison like a synchronized heartbeat. It was a moment of pure electricity, charged with emotion and energy.

The host paused, looking at Maeve thoughtfully, allowing the applause to gradually die down before she posed her next question.

"But speaking of Homelander," she began, her voice warm and inviting yet laced with a hint of curiosity. "There's something your fans have been dying to know about your relationship with Homelander. The two of you certainly seem to be more than just teammates on and off camera! The fans are all aflutter about you and Homelander! Could you shed some light on that?"

Maeve's eyes widened slightly at the question, but she didn't lose her composure. A noticeable blush crept onto her cheeks.

"Of fucking course…" Maggie tirelessly thought to herself, a fake smile now plastered on her face.

Seven's Base

Black Noir walked down the crowded hall of the Seven's base, his silent presence a striking contrast to the lively chatter that filled the air. His sleek, pitch-black costume blended effortlessly with the shadows that cast long, dark lines across the concrete floor.

His mask concealed his face entirely, leaving no hint of emotion or thought — just an intimidating void of blackness. The blank slate of his mask reflected back at observers their own fears and unease.

The mere sight of him was enough to draw a hush over the crowd, making the atmosphere tense and charged like a storm ready to burst.

As he strode down the corridor, people naturally parted before him, creating a path that cut through the bustling hallway like a blade. The scene was eerily reminiscent of the biblical miracle where Moses parted the Red Sea, only this time it was not water that was dividing but people.

The thrum of conversation quieted as he passed, the usual buzz of activity in the hall fading into a hushed silence. It was as if Black Noir's mere presence brought with it a vacuum of quiet, a sphere of solitude that traveled with him wherever he went.

Despite having worked alongside him for years, even those within The Seven couldn't help but feel a wave of trepidation washing over them whenever they crossed paths with Black Noir.

Just as quickly as the silence had descended upon them, sounds of chatter and movement resumed once he moved past, an audible sigh of relief rippling through the crowd. His presence was unnerving, even by those who were deemed heroes by Vaught.

Without uttering a word nor changing pace, Black Noir turned sharply to his left and made his way toward the single door that lined the hall. He did not knock before entering the room and closed the door behind him, leaving it unlocked.

The room was devoid of any natural light, as it lacked windows and relied solely on artificial lighting. The plain white walls were unadorned, giving the impression of a sterile and lifeless space. The emptiness echoed through the empty room, creating an eerie atmosphere. Not even a speck of dust dared to linger in the air, adding to the coldness that permeated the room.

Nothing else was in the room… except a single piano.

Black Noir approached the piano with purposeful steps, his boots barely making a sound on the polished white floor. As he reached the instrument, he gently lifted the lid, revealing the pristine keys beneath. Black Noir paused for a moment as he took a seat, his fingers hovering just above the ivory.

Then, with a grace and skill that belied his imposing presence, he began to play Nocturne. The notes flowed effortlessly from his fingertips, filling the room with a hauntingly beautiful melody. Each note resonated with a depth of emotion that seemed impossible for the silent, enigmatic figure.

The melody continued, rising and falling with a melancholic grace as if Black Noir was pouring his very soul into the keys. The room, once empty and silent, was now alive with the rich, complex sounds of his performance, echoing through the soundproofed room.

As Black Noir played, he was lost in the music, his fingers dancing over the keys with ease. The tension and intensity that he usually carried seemed to melt away, replaced by a calm serenity that was as surprising as it was rare.

The somber music danced around the room, touching each corner with an aching tenderness. It flowed like a gentle river, winding its way softly as it carried away all thoughts and worries. Black Noir played with a passion that was almost palpable, his fingers dancing over the keys as if they had a life of their own.

The notes of the nocturne followed one another in a steady yet mournful rhythm, each tender stroke of the keys echoing hauntingly throughout the room. In their wake, they left behind a silence so profound it was as if time itself had stopped and bowed its head in respect.

As the melancholic melody reached its peak, Black Noir's fingers paused over the instrument. He stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, his entire being absorbed in this rare moment of vulnerability. Then, as quickly as it had come, the music ceased, leaving behind an echoing silence that filled the room with its quiet emptiness.

Slowly, Black Noir lifted his hands from the piano keys and placed them on his lap. He sat there for a long moment, motionless and silent, as if he were listening to some silent melody only, he could hear. His masked face revealed nothing of what was going on behind it. The echo of the nocturne still hung in the air around him.

"That was beautiful Noir." A voice suddenly said from beside him seemingly out of nowhere.

Most would be surprised or freak out at the sudden intrusion, but Black Noir didn't so much as twitch. He simply turned his head toward the source of the voice, his unblinking mask the only response he gave.

Tilting his head slightly as if to acknowledge the person who spoke.

Sitting beside him was John, his leader and the number one hero of the world, Vaught's greatest creation.

"Was that Chopin?" John asked, patiently waiting for Noir to answer.

The masked figure didn't speak - he never did. But he gave a slow nod, the only confirmation John would receive.

"It really was beautiful," Homelander repeated softly, as he looked at the man beside him. He gestured towards the piano keys which were still vibrating slightly from their recent use. "I didn't know you could play."

Black Noir didn't respond verbally but simply nodded once, his silent demeanor unchanging.

"I used to play the piano as well," John began, his gaze fixed on the piano. "When I was very young... my mother taught me."

A fleeting smile crossed his chiseled features at the memory. He looked back to Noir, his gaze thoughtful as he took a deep breath, readying himself to share something he hadn't shared for a long time. Something that he thought he would never tell anyone.

"I used to wake up in the morning and listen to her playing downstairs," John continued, his voice low and filled with nostalgia. "The music would drift up through the floorboards, the sound so pure and beautiful that it made even the darkest days seem bright."

John's eyes seemed to glaze over; clearly lost in his memories. The room fell into silence again, this time it was a heavy silence, filled with emotions and unspoken words.

"It filled our house," he said finally, breaking the silence with his quiet words. He turned to look at Black Noir again. "It filled my life."

"I'd sit for hours practicing scales and arpeggios with her, my small fingers pressing down on each key with as much focus as a young child could muster. I remember how my fingers used to hurt after hours of playing, but I wouldn't let myself stop until I had it perfect like her…"

"But then... everything changed," John's voice trailed off and he looked away, his gaze focused on some distant point outside the soundproof room they were confined in. His jaw clenched as he grappled with memories he had long pushed into the recesses of his mind.

"I stopped playing after she passed away," John confessed quietly, barely audible against the now stark silence that had settled between them. His words hung heavily in the air like an unshed tear.

John's gaze dropped to his hands as he drew in a shuddering breath.

"There was one song, though," he said after a moment, his voice slightly stronger than before. "One song that we used to often play together, one that I don't think I could ever forget…"

"The Can Can," he revealed with a soft chuckle — a sound so foreign, yet it filled the room with warmth.

His fingers started gliding over the keys, playing a few notes of the peppy tune. The abrupt change from Chopin's Nocturne was startling but somehow fitting.

"She and I would compete against each other to see who could play it faster and with as few mistakes as possible."

A shadow of a smile graced his face as he continued to step through the lively tempo with an ease that spoke of well-remembered muscle memory.

"She would always let me win."

His fingers fell away from the keys, leaving the echoes of the lively tune lingering in the air. The moment stretched and filled with a silence deep enough to hold all the words and memories that had been unearthed.

Homelander turned towards Black Noir once more. "How about it? You up for the challenge?"

…

…

…

After a pause that felt like forever, Black Noir shifted in his seat. His gloved fingers gently took their place on the keys. With his head bowed slightly, he began to echo the lively tune of 'Can Can' that John had just played.

His movements were tentative at first, like the hesitant flutter of a butterfly's wing. Each note resounded with a cautious quaver - a stark contrast to John's confident rendition.

But as the last echo of the opening drifted away, Noir's confidence began to bloom. His posture straightened and his fingers began to dance over the keys, picking up speed at every note played.

Noir stopped, he turned to John and slammed his hands down on the keys as if accepting his challenge.

He got a smile in return.

"Alright! Let's see if you can keep up with me!"

When John's fingers joined his on the keyboard again, it felt like two pieces of a puzzle clicking together. They played in sync, sometimes falling behind only to catch up moments later, like two brothers engaged in a playful competition.

Noir played primo.

While John played secondo.

Noir's gloved hands mirrored John's bare ones on the keys, their rhythm perfectly synchronized beneath the vibrant notes of the melody they shared. A soft chuckle slipped past John's lips - it was happy and genuine, one that filled the room with an air of joy and contentment. It reflected off of Noir who surprised himself by answering back in kind with a sound that had never left his lips before.

"You're messing up quite a bit there, Noir! Don't tell me you want to lose to me that badly!"

Noir simply responded by flipping him off with one hand while playing perfectly with the other.

The melody they created was flawless; each note blended seamlessly into the next creating a harmonious web of sound that reverberated throughout the room. The once somber space had transformed into a concert hall filled with life, light, and laughter - their laughter.

And so they continued, their playful banter building on the backdrop of the lively music. Their fingers raced effortlessly across the keys in near-perfect harmony, their eyes locked onto each other's. It was as if the rest of the world had faded away, leaving only the two of them and their shared melody.

John couldn't help but get lost in it all. The rhythm of his fingers dancing across the piano keys; it was like a piece of his past, he never thought he'd relive.

For a brief moment in time, they were not top-grossing assets of Vaught, not the world's greatest hero, or an obedient lapdog.

They were simply two people enjoying life and music.

But soon, even the most beautiful songs had to come to an end.

The musical duel culminated with a flurry of keys, both musicians fighting to keep up with the fast-paced tune. John was the first to falter, hitting a wrong note which caused him to pause momentarily. It was all the opening Noir needed to surge ahead, his fingers dancing deftly over the keys as he brought the song to a triumphant finish.

Noir slowly turned towards John, an unspoken question held in his eyes. For a moment, John didn't respond, his gaze still fixated on the keys beneath his fingers, as if they held all the answers he ever sought.

Then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of ages, John looked up. His eyes met Noir's, reflecting the same raw vulnerability that was etched onto Noir's face. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he extended his hand toward Noir.

"Well done," he said with a wide smile. "You won."

Black Noir stared at him for a moment before he took John's offered hand and shook it.

For a brief moment, Noir stared at John, his masked face unreadable. Then without a word, he stood up from the piano bench and moved towards the exit, his silent presence leaving behind a weight that filled up the air.

John watched as Noir left. He stayed seated at the piano for a few more minutes, replaying their duet in his head and letting himself get lost in memories of his mother. The only sound interrupting his thoughts were gentle vibrations from the piano strings slowly coming to rest.

 

[shirouM]

The Seven's Base

Black Noir stared blankly into a wall as a busy meeting buzzed around him, his fingers moving unconsciously without him knowing. He sat by himself, lost in his own world, paying little attention to what was happening around him.

The people in the room were unsettled by his mere presence, with them giving him a wide berth and avoiding being near him at all costs. No one wanted to be anywhere near him, all of them leaving his side of the table completely deserted with only Noir sitting there all by himself.

He was like a living statue with how still he was, the only indication that he wasn't a statue was the movement of his fingers, a silent specter in an otherwise busy room. Yet, even in the midst of animated conversation, he commanded a certain palpable presence.

As the meeting progressed, the CEO, Stan Edgar, droned on about new strategies for increasing revenue. The others listened attentively, nodding occasionally to show their agreement or simply to keep up with the rhythmic cadence of his voice.

Black Noir was indifferent to it all as he continued his aimless stare at the wall, his fingers still moving of their own accord to music only he could hear.

Minutes passed and his hand was still moving…

Suddenly, he rose from his chair and made for the exit door in long strides. It was as if an invisible force guided him as he seemed almost oblivious to his surroundings. The room fell silent as everyone watched this peculiar spectacle unfold.

"Where exactly do you think you're going?" The commanding voice of Stan Edgar cut through the silence, halting Black Noir in his tracks. The room collectively held its breath, all eyes fixed on the enigmatic figure.

Noir paused, his hand resting on the door handle. He turned slightly, the eyes of his helmet briefly scanning the room before settling on Edgar. For a moment, there was a tense standoff, the air thick with anticipation.

Without a word, Noir resumed his exit, pushing the door open and stepping into the corridor beyond. The tension in the room remained palpable, the meeting attendees exchanging nervous glances.

Stan Edgar's eyes narrowed, his authoritative presence filling the space Noir had just vacated.

"…Let's continue," he said, his voice measured but with an edge that suggested this incident would not be forgotten.

The meeting resumed, albeit with a renewed undercurrent of unease. Noir's departure cast a lingering shadow over the proceedings, a reminder of the unpredictable and often unnerving presence he embodied. Edgar continued outlining strategies, but the distraction was evident.

Noir's silent, inexplicable actions had left a mark on everyone present.

Meanwhile, Noir moved through the hallways with the same mechanical precision, each step deliberate yet detached. He navigated the corridors of Vought Tower, his destination known only to him.

Back in the boardroom, Edgar finished his presentation, his gaze occasionally drifting to the door through which Noir had exited.

"Any questions?" he asked, his tone implying that he expected none. Everyone remained silent, the previous tension not fully dissipated. "Good."

The meeting adjourned, attendees filing out with hushed murmurs. As Edgar gathered his papers, he glanced again at the door, a cold expression on his face. Noir's behavior was puzzling, even by the standards of Vought's often enigmatic lapdog.

Noir entered the correct sequence of numbers into the security keypad, and the heavy metal door in front of him unlocked, moving automatically to the side. He entered the room that was rather plain and empty with nothing really inside besides a bed, a desk along with a chair.

The walls were empty, devoid of any pictures or posters. No signs suggesting the personality of its owner, and no evidence of any past experiences or future plans.

The silent member of the seven closed the door behind him, the sound resonating in the emptiness. The room felt as hollow as Noir himself, each object within standing like a lost sentinel under the sharp glare of fluorescent lighting.

Noir moved towards the bed with his usual mechanicalness that would make a robot jealous.

He sat down on the bed, his muscular frame making the thin mattress dip significantly under his weight. His helmeted head tilted down, eyes invisible behind the dark visor giving off nothing to interpret. He remained still for a moment, lost in his own thoughts.

Time seemed to slow down in this isolated space. The minutes ticking by became hours, each second echoing loudly in the stark silence of him sitting there. His gloved hand idly traced an invisible pattern in the air, an unconscious habit.

His gaze fell onto the desk nearby; it was as bare as the rest of his surroundings, housing nothing but a few scattered papers and a digital clock relentlessly counting down time.

The room reflected Noir's existence, detached and devoid of warmth or belonging.

Noir's shoulders heaved slightly with a breath, the sound muffled by his suit. He reached out, picking up one of the scattered papers on the desk. It was a mission report, detailing one of his many covert operations. He skimmed it briefly before setting it back down, the words meaningless to him.

He leaned back against the bed, his helmeted head resting against the cold pillow. For a moment, he allowed himself to relax, a rare concession to the fatigue that occasionally penetrated even his disciplined mind.

Noir's empty thoughts drifted to memories of the past.

His hands moved up to his chest, feeling the bump of a hidden pocket within his suit. He unzipped it slowly and pulled out a thin stack of paper bound by a rubber band.

Photos.

Each one was full of color and life, the edges of each of them worn and creased from frequent handling. He removed the band and began looking at them one after the other. Not even Stan knew about the photos he has…

The first photo showed him and his team in the middle of what seemed like a chaotic food fight.

John had him in a headlock, his smile as radiant as the sun as he smashed a pie into his helmet. Queen Maeve was laughing from behind a flipped-over table, her warrior features softened into genuine laughter as she threw a whole turkey at John. In the background of the photo, Ground Hawk had jumped onto A-Train's back pouring gravy onto him, both of them covered in smash potatoes as Blindspot desperately tried to get out of the way.

All of them, even John, were covered in a mess of food.

Noir remembered it was John who started the whole debacle when he fired the first shot of peas.

The next photo depicted a quieter moment, a stark contrast to the chaotic fun of the food fight.

It showed him standing apart from the group which consisted of nothing but men, his helmeted head tilted as if he was looking at something out of frame and was about to walk away from the group. John, who seemed to notice this, reached out his hand to stop him from leaving.

The rest of them were engaged in animated conversation. A-Train leaning casually against a wall with Blindspot, both of them laughing at Ground Hawk who somehow got his upper body stuck in a vending machine with his head sticking out.

He remembered that day as Ground Hawk calling it a boy's night out.

He moved on to the next photo and paused, looking at it intently. In the picture, he and John stood side by side in front of a camera, with two children sandwiched between them. One was a young boy dressed in a Homelander costume, while the other was a little girl surprisingly in his instead of the usual Queen Maeve costume favored by most girls.

Noir gazed at the photos for what felt like an eternity, each one eliciting emotions that were foreign to him. Emotions that tugged at his lips and threatened to form a smile.

As he was about to continue looking through more phot-

BBBBRRZZZZZZ!

A sudden sound made him jolt back to reality. It was the alert from his phone, signaling an incoming communication from Edgar. With practiced ease, he slid the photos back into their rubber band and tucked them safely back into his suit pocket.

Standing up from the bed, Noir moved to respond to the call but not before glancing once more at the photos hidden safely away before he picked up the phone.

A message from Edgar appeared on the screen.

"Report to my office immediately."

Noir acknowledged the command with a single tap on the screen. He got up from the bed, his movements deliberate as he left the room. The door slid shut behind him with a soft hiss, sealing the emptiness within.

He navigated the corridors with practiced ease, his presence causing a ripple of unease among the employees he passed. They averted their eyes, their conversations hushed in his wake. Noir paid them no mind, his focus solely on his destination.

Reaching Edgar's office, he paused briefly before entering. The door opened, revealing the CEO seated behind his desk, his expression unreadable.

"Black Noir," Edgar greeted him, his tone measured. "I have a new assignment for you."

Noir stepped forward, his silence conveying his readiness to listen.

"The situation requires discretion and precision," Edgar continued, his fingers steepling together as he locked eyes with Noir. "The Japanese seem to have created their own superhuman, which means they managed to create their own version of compound V."

"Your mission is to destroy all the information related to their research and eliminate the superhuman they've created. This is a covert operation, Noir. Any public knowledge of our involvement would be catastrophic for our image."

He slid a dossier across the table, which Noir picked up in his gloved hands. There was no need to open it; he was already familiar with the requirements. Still, he flipped it open for pretense's sake. Photos of a young Japanese woman glared back at him from the first page, her eyes full of fire as she struggled against the chains that bound her hands and feet.

"If the worst-case scenario were to happen…"

Edgar continued to speak, details of the mission flowing like water over pebbles. His tone never wavered, even as he instructed Noir to perform acts that would have made lesser men blanch. Noir took in the information silently, analyzing possible routes, extracting any potential threats from the given location, and mentally preparing an action plan.

Finally, Edgar finished speaking and looked at Noir expectantly. Without missing a beat, Noir snapped the dossier shut and nodded once, his movements concise and efficient, and turned to leave.

"Remember," Edgar called after him in a chillingly calm voice, "Failure is not an option. I'm up to here with other nation's governments up my ass because of Homelander who can't seem to follow the simple agreement that Vought's heroes are not allowed on other countries' soil and air space."

The CEO of Vought took a deep sigh, rubbing his head as he could feel a massive headache forming.

"It's a miracle that Maeve convinced him to stop before he started a world war."

The masked man nodded his head keeping that in mind, ready for the mission that was ahead of him.

?

Noir arrived at the terrorists' campsite under the cover of night, the darkness providing perfect cover for his approach.

The Shining Light Liberation had a notorious reputation for violence and hostility, fueled by its high-ranking members—former politicians, military officers, and even a few rogue scientists.

The camp was settled in a dense forest, an area that would have been picturesque if not for the temporary structures and watchtowers that reeked of hostile intent.

The natural chirping of insects was drowned by the low murmur of conversations and occasional laughter. Men adorned in uniform moved around, their shadows dancing under the soft amber glow of fires.

From his vantage point within the overhead foliage, Noir surveyed the camp with an eagle-eyed intensity, his eyes darting from one end to another. His gaze fell upon what seemed to be a research lab nestled towards the far end of the camp. A large tent reinforced with metallic frames to combat weather or any accidental fires.

The hum of generators grew louder as he discreetly moved closer.

Progress made with careful precision, he descended from the trees and hovered along the shadow's edge, blending seamlessly with the darkness. Several times he froze, allowing patrolling guards to pass by unknowingly.

Vought's lapdog noted their lax posture and inattentive eyes, the gaps in patrol patterns, and the lack of vigilance.

Creeping through the camp, he avoided the lit areas, staying in the cover of darkness. He could hear the distant chatter of the soldiers, their voices carrying a casual relaxed tone.

He had memorized their patrol routes, accounting for every single guard shift. Once he was close enough to the lab tent, he could see a few people in lab coats bustling inside through the translucent material.

He noticed one of them heading towards the back of the tent, towards a large metal cabinet. The figure fumbled with the lock, before pulling out a large glass cylinder filled with a red substance.

Noir recognized it immediately as blood.

Tearing his gaze from the cylinder, he scanned the rest of the lab, identifying potential threats and noting their positions. The security was pathetic with the tent being guarded with a total of four soldiers.

Two guards stood at the entrance of the tent while the other two patrolled around it.

The mission was clear: kill the newly created superhuman, collect data, destroy any information related to the creation of compound V, and plant explosives to ensure no evidence would be left behind. As for those involved in the creation...they were to be eliminated.

His first step was to neutralize the guards without alerting others. He needed access to the lab without worry and where he assumed all data related to their research would be stored.

Moving with an uncanny silence, he crept up on the patrol guards, covered their mouths with one hand, and snapped their necks with one swift motion. The bodies dropped limply onto the ground before he picked them up and tossed them miles into the jungle without a single noise.

Next were the guards at the entrance. Deftly pulling out a throwing knife from his belt, he aimed at the guard's head and released the blade in his hand with freighting precision. The single blade killed both of the guards instantly as it pierced through both their heads. The now-dead guards collapsed on each other's shoulders before they could even react.

They too were swiftly thrown into the deep jungle for the wildlife to consume.

The entrance was now clear. Noir moved quickly, darting across the open ground and slipping into the tent unseen.

Inside, a harsh light revealed the extent of the terrorists' operation. High-tech computers filled one end, cluttered desks littered with files and notes scattered about, and rows of humming cabinets housed more vials of blood.

The scientists were so engrossed in their work that they didn't notice him until it was too late. Within seconds, all five lay dead on the dirt floor.

Swiftly crossing to the computers, he began to search for the relevant information. His gloved fingers danced across the keys, flicking rapidly through file after file until he found what he was looking for. With practiced ease, he started downloading all the information onto a tiny chip embedded in his wrist.

As the download ran quietly in the background, he moved with deliberate purpose to eliminate any other traces of their research. Before he did so however he grabbed a vial of blood from the cabinet and put it into his pocket.

As Noir did that, he carefully placed a disk-shaped bomb made by Vaught and put the explosive at max power, knowing it would be more than sufficient to obliterate a large area. He would detonate the bomb when he located and eliminated the Japanese supe.

With that done, he turned his attention to the most critical part of his mission: eliminating their newly created superhuman. Wherever she was being kept, it wouldn't be far from here.

With the data fully loaded, Noir exited the tent as silently as he had entered, Noir scanned his surroundings once more for any signs of her. It didn't take long before his eyes fell upon a heavily fortified structure a little way down from the lab.

As he advanced towards it under cover of night, guards patrolling around it caught his attention.

He assessed their movements, taking in the formation and strategy of their patrol. Four guards moved in a clockwise fashion around the perimeter of the building, while two others stood sentinel at each entrance.

With stealth, he arrived at the side of the building opposite the patrolling guards' route. The darkness of night being his ally, he merged into it, his form barely distinguishable. crouching low, he crawled along the ground and reached up to press against the cold wall of the structure.

Repeating his prior plan seemed to be the most efficient course of action.

Swiftly yet silently, Noir struck as the patrol passed by his position, taking out two men with a swift jab to their necks and crushing the heads of the other two without them making so much as a gasp.

Their bodies dropped noiselessly onto the foliage-covered ground where he left them hidden beneath thick bushes.

The guards at the entrance presented a slightly tougher challenge. Noir weighed his options carefully, knowing that any misstep could jeopardize his covert operation.

Using his enhanced speed, he covered the distance between himself and the guards in less than a blink. Before either guard could react, they were dispatched by precise strikes to their vitals.

With all immediate threats neutralized, Noir turned his attention to gaining entry to the fortified structure. With no more guards blocking the way inside or to alert the others, he forcefully opened the locked doors and entered the building.

Inside, the structure was lined with cold metal surfaces that reflected the stark fluorescent lighting overhead.

Noir idly noted the metal was coated in zinc.

Surveillance cameras peered down from corners, their red recording lights blinking ominously. Undeterred, Noir moved with fluid agility, swiftly disabling each camera in his path using a device that sent out a wave of electric current to short-circuit them. He navigated through the maze-like passageways, guided by his gut instinct and trained senses.

Eventually, he arrived at a heavily reinforced door.

Noir wasted no time in bypassing the complex lock and security system. He pulled out an advanced lock-picking kit from his pocket, complete with microcomputer chips programmed to decipher digital codes.

No sooner had the door slid open than he was met with a startling sight.

A naked woman lay suspended in some form of liquid-filled containment chamber at the center of the room. Tubes and wires snaked around her like mechanical serpents, connected to various machines that monitored her vitals displayed on a large wall-mounted screen nearby.

The hero looked around the empty room, analyzing every little detail.

High-tech biological monitors, various machines humming with electronic life, pumped fluids into the woman in the tank. Their flickering lights and constant beeping were of mechanical efficiency that indicated an investment of massive wealth.

Expensive workstations filled with top-tier technology such as advance computers and other high-tech machines lined the walls around the room.

Someone with money and power was funding this operation.

Pulling his attention back to the woman in the tank, he carefully approached, eyeing the various readouts on her vitals. She was alive but appeared to be in some form of drugged sleep. Her features were sharp and defined, even in her unconscious state there was a sense of danger about her.

He placed a hand on the glass containment wall, his eyes trailing over her form. Kimiko, Noir remembered, her name echoing in his mind.

…the one who he was sent here to kill…

Suddenly, a blur of motion in the corner of his eye had every nerve in his body prickling with warning. He spun around just in time to see a figure lunging at him, a blade glinting ominously under the harsh fluorescent lighting.

Noir moved instinctively to block the attack, his enhanced reflexes barely matching the lightning-fast speed of his assailant. The harsh clash of metal resounded through the room as his own blade met that of his attacker's mid-air, creating a shower of bright sparks.

Falling back, Noir took in his attacker for the first time. It was a man as tall as he was, muscular and clad in green armor that contrasted starkly with his black hair. His face was concealed behind a sleek mask, but his eyes were filled with mindless rage.

Noir watch the man coat his weapon with unknown energy, making Noir tense. Did the Japanese manage to create another superhuman besides the woman in the tank? Why was there no information about another superhuman in the file?

His thoughts were interrupted when the man lunged at him again, moving so fast he was a mere blur. Noir parried the attack again but found himself pushed back by sheer force and the weapon in his hand was cut in half.

Noir dodged a series of swift strikes from the blade, their dance deadly and silent apart from the crazed supe's growl of madness. Sweat dripped down the man's forehead as Noir matched his attacks strike for strike.

The superhuman attempted a wild desperate swing, seeing an opening Black Noir landed a heavy blow on the man's chest, sending him sprawling backward. The armored figure hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of him and his weapon clattering aside, its energy field flickering out. But before Noir could finish him off, he was sent flying by a blast of energy.

Noir crashed into the bank of monitors on the far side of the room, shattering their high-definition screens into a shower of sparks and debris. The hero extracted himself from the wreckage, shaking off the attack with ease.

He registered the sound of approaching footsteps making him look up to where the sound came from, and there stood three new figures barring his path, all of them Japanese.

The leader was a daunting man, his physique radiating raw power. His face was obscured by a dark mask embellished with an intimidating red emblem, but it did little to hide the murderous intent that gleamed in his eyes.

Gazing at Noir, he flexed his hands and a corona of energy pulsed around them, casting an eerie glow onto the floor.

"We have been expecting Vought to send someone," he said in perfect English, his voice like the growl of thunder on a stormy night. "But we didn't expect it would be so soon."

Behind him stood two others, each equally imposing and armed with their own powers activated. One was a woman cloaked in azure robes that glowed faintly against her skin. Her crimson eyes stared unblinking at Noir with an intensity that would send chills down most people's spines. In her hands, she held a whip crackling with red electricity.

The other figure was clad in silver armor, a shiny metal helmet hid his face, giving him an inhuman aura. In his hands he was holding a weapon, its massive size and formidable design gave the impression that it belonged on a tank, rather than in the hands of one man. The weight of it alone looked to be too much for any normal human to bear.

"You shouldn't have come here alone, American," the leader spat, his arrogant voice echoing through the cold room. "You are no longer the only country able to make gods."

Noir stood to his full height and calmly surveyed his new adversaries. He flexed his hands, metal knuckles glinting ominously under the flickering lights. Despite the fact, he was outnumbered by superhumans with powers that could potentially harm him.

He exuded a lethal calm, every inch the apex predator in a room of mere pretenders.

 

[shirouM]

Chapter 17

"You are more than just a tool for Vought to use… you know that right?"

Noir paused his playing of Beethoven's Für Elise and turned to look at John, tilting his head questioning.

The piano keys went silent, and the room descended into a quiet stillness.

John sighed, a myriad of emotions played in his eyes as he leaned back against the old wooden chair, the creaks of the wood echoing in the silence.

"You are more than your abilities and more than just being Vought's silent killer. You're someone with thoughts! With emotions!" His voice echoed in the room, bouncing off the empty white walls as he held Noir's gaze steadily.

Noir tilted his head once again, still confused by John's words.

John shook his head, chuckling to himself while running a hand through his hair.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that I know you're more than just a Killer, more than just Vought's lapdog."

Noir's masked face remained impassive, but his fingers twitched slightly, a subtle sign of the conflict within him. He turned back to the piano, his hands hovering above the keys, hesitating. The silence stretched on, thick and heavy.

John watched him, the weight of his words hanging in the air. He knew Noir had been molded into a cold unfeeling weapon by Vought, stripped of his identity and humanity but he believed there was still something more beneath the surface, something worth saving.

"I know it's hard to believe," John continued, his tone softer now, almost pleading. "But I know there is good in you,

Noir's fingers finally touched the keys, and a soft, hesitant melody began to fill the room. It wasn't Für Elise this time, but something softer, more melancholic. John listened, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"See?" John said quietly. "That's not the music of a mindless killer. That's the music of someone who feels, who thinks, who has a soul."

The melody grew stronger, more confident, as if Noir was drawing strength from the strongest hero's words.

John could almost see the stone-like man before him swaying minutely to the rhythm, the only sign of acknowledgment he had that his words went through.

The smile on his face couldn't have been brighter.

---

Noir stared the enemy down as he ready himself for the battle ahead.

"Kill him," the leader commanded, waving dismissively towards Noir, his voice strained with impatience.

The woman moved first with a flick of her wrist; she sent the whip crackling through the air towards Noir. He sidestepped the attack, with it landing on the cement floor shattering it, and lunged at her.

Before he could reach her and rip her head off her body, a wall of energy erupted from the hands of the man in the helmet, making Noir flip back just before the wall could touch him.

Noir quickly regained his footing and shook off his momentary disorientation but was on the move barely a second later. He had only a split second's warning before he felt an intense heat coursing towards him from his left side. Fortunately, he managed to weave past a hail of energy blasts from the massive weapon wielded by the armored supe despite having almost no time to react.

Noir's mind analyzed their abilities and strengths within seconds, coming up with strategies to deal with them just as fast. They were powerful but predictable, their overreliance on their powers told him they weren't highly trained combatants but armatures who were drunk on power.

As he read himself once again, the arrogant words of the one leading the team echoed in his head.

"You are no longer the only country able to make gods."

Perhaps it was true Vought was no longer the only one able to make compound V... but Noir knew one thing for certain, he wasn't made a god... he was born as one.

Noir's helmet coldly stared at the supes before him, their leader chuckling at the sight of him not backing down and signaling for another attack.

This time, Noir was ready.

The woman with the electric whip struck first again, but Noir was faster, ducking under the crack of the whip and using the momentum to launch himself into a run. He rushed towards her, this time forcefully breaking his way through the energy shield constructed and ignoring the burning heat from the supe's weapon skimming his side.

His only focus was reaching the whip-wielding woman whose smug smile was beginning to falter into a look of fear.

She cracked her whip again in panic, but Noir anticipated her attack and grabbed it mid-air, much to the shock of everyone in the room. With the electricity seemingly having no effect on him, Noir jerked on the whip with immense strength, and pulled her off balance and towards him. Just as she flew forward, he met her face with his fist.

Crack!

The sound of a skull being broken could be heard throughout the room as the woman's head flew across the room and into the opposite wall.

"Wh-What the fuck?!"

Before anyone could react, Noir was already in motion towards the man in armor. The leader tried to intervene by blasting energy at him, but Noir sidestepped his attack and landed a punch across the giant's face. The man staggered back, clutching his head in pain from the painful blow but was still standing thanks to his heavily dented helmet.

The leader, now infuriated, rushed headfirst at Noir with his hands coated red with energy. The superpowered terrorist threw an energy blast toward the hero, aiming to take the hero down in one blow.

Noir evaded the attack by a mere inch by dodging out of the way with an acrobatic backflip, using the momentum to launch himself back, and taking hold of a large piece of broken concrete. He hurled it at the leader with inhuman strength.

The concrete landed into the leader's chest with a sickening thud, sending him flying back like a ragdoll and crashing against a wall of electrified machinery. The stench of sizzling flesh filled the air as he convulsed in agony, his body being electrocuted by the exposed wires that tore through his skin.

The armored supe rose from the ground, fury blazing in his eyes as he charged his weapon for a deadly strike.

Before he could so much as press the trigger, Noir closed the distance with lightning speed. With a single fluid move, he disarmed the supe by snatching the weapon from his grasp and brutally smashed it to pieces across the man's face, sending shards of metal flying in all directions.

The supe stumbled back, blood pouring from his shattered nose as he struggled to stay on his feet.

"Arggh!" The enemy groaned in pain before quickly recovering and charging at Noir.

The superpower began his charge with a roar that shook the very air in the room. Noir, however, remained unmoved. The supe's weapon was heavy in his hands, but it felt as light as a feather to him. His body was a well-oiled machine, humming with anticipation and ready to strike at any moment.

As the supe neared Noir, he raised his weapon once again, the broken weapon still having one good use out of it before completely breaking. He stepped forward and swung the weapon, intercepting the supe's charge with a clash of metal on metal that echoed around the room.

The force of Noir's swing sent the superpower flying back, he landed heavily on his back, gasping for breath and clutching his side. The weapon he had tried to use against Noir now lay discarded on the floor, useless.

Noir didn't give him a chance to recover, the hero closed the distance between them in quick strides and towered over the fallen enemy. He reached down and grabbed the superhuman by his collar. He could sense his adversary writhing in his grasp, desperately attempting to break free, but there was no way out of his iron-clad hold.

Noir lifted the tank of a man off the ground with ease and slammed him against the floor, creating a crater as the entire room shook. A cry of pain echoed from his opponent as he felt every bone in their body rattle and break from the impact.

Just as Noir was about to deliver the finishing blow, a sharp sting penetrated his back causing him to falter. The supe he had taken out earlier was back, now holding a sword covered in their power along with Noir's blood.

"America no kuzu domo me!"

How he managed to recover so quickly, Noir didn't have time to think, as he dropped the armored supe and rolled away from another deadly swing of the glowing sword.

The blade sliced through the air where his head had been just seconds before, leaving a trail of shimmering particles in its wake that dissipated into nothingness. The wielder of this weapon, who Noir had previously dismissed as being dispatched, was now a glowing testament to how precarious the situation had become.

The super lunged at Noir with relentless force, attacking him with furious fast strikes that the normal human eye could never hope to follow. The crazed supe swung the sword with deadly precision, causing an explosion of sparks whenever it clashed with the floor whenever it failed to land a blow on Noir.

Evading the thousands of deadly slices from the super's blade, Noir managed to deliver a powerful blow to the super's midsection. Groaning in pain, the super staggered backward but quickly regained his equilibrium and retaliated with another slice aimed at Noir's head.

But Noir was a blur, moving with terrifying speed and effortlessly dodging every single attack thrown at him. His movements were precise and calculated, almost like a dance as he weaved in and out of his opponent's strikes.

The sound of his quick footwork resonated in the air, almost like a rhythm to the intense battle. He seemed to be one with the flow of the fight, anticipating each move before it even happened. His agility and speed were unmatched, making it seem as if he was untouchable.

"RAAAHHHHHH!" Suddenly, with a primal roar, the armored supe came to life once more.

Ignoring the burning pain of his entire body begging him to stop, the living tank pushed off the ground and launched himself at Noir with all his might. The acceleration at which he launched himself could be compared to that of a fighter jet.

The armored giant's body came barreling towards Noir with the force of a runaway freight train, and for a moment the hero's concentration faltered. There was no time to react, no time to dodge or deflect. All he could do was brace himself for the impact.

BOOM!

The impact of the armored supe's attack sent Noir crashing into one of the massive support beams that held the roof up. Steel groaned and concrete crumbled as the force of the hit caused cracks to scatter across the pillar.

Dazed momentarily, Noir shook his head to clear his vision and looked up to see the two supes on him within moments.

The sword-wielding supe was upon him first, his blade coming down like a flash of death. Noir rolled forward, evading out of harm's way as the super's blade destroyed a section of the beam behind Noir.

As he got back onto his feet, the armored giant was already swinging a punch at him. This time, instead of evading it, Noir met it head-on. His fist clashed against that of the armored supe's causing a shockwave that blew dust in all directions.

The armored supe was strong… but Noir was stronger.

The immense power in Noir's punch shattered the supe's gauntlet, exposing his bruised flesh underneath. Pain exploded on his face as he pulled back in agony, clutching onto his now bare and mangled hand that looked beyond the repair of even the best medical professional.

"AHHHHHHH!" They screamed out in agony as they clutched their bloody and broken hand.

While the supe's attention was diverted, this allowed Noir a crucial opening. Swiftly, like a coiled viper striking its prey, Noir seized the chance.

He swung his fist back and drove it into the giant's chest with a mighty blow, his fist tore through flesh and bone, leaving a gaping hole in the man's body as he fell to the ground in a bloody heap.

"A-Argh…"

As Noir's fight continued, the sounds of wires could be heard snapping in half from the opposite side of the room.

Rising from the wires and broken parts of machinery, the leader rose from his previously static state. The once electrocuted wires surrounding him hissed and spat sparks in protest as he forced himself up, grimacing through the pain. Wires trailed from his body like venomous vines, and he ripped them apart with raw strength that echoed desperation.

He hobbled towards Kimiko's containment cell, a transparent glass box filled with chemical liquids that broadcast her frail and weakened form for all to see. She was a force to reckon with when unleashed, but for now, she lay unmoving under the disinfectant white light due to her wild uncontrollable nature.

The leader looked at Kimiko before glancing back at the ongoing fight, his gaze hardened as he entered the access codes into the panel.

He was taking a huge risk freeing her from her cell, but it was a risk he was willing to take if it meant killing that American scum!

Gas hissed within her chamber as locks came undone and alarms blared their warning signs. The liquid slowly emptied and gradually, with her containment now empty, Kimiko stirred from her unconscious state amidst the chaos, her lips parted in confusion as she drew in a sharp breath of air.

Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, she felt a cold slap of something hard against her neck.

The collar.

The cruel device had been used on her before like a puppeteer's string, controlling her and her actions against her will with the threat of excruciating pain.

She clenched her jaw, letting loose a silent scream of rage and fury. She reached to the collar to rip it off her neck, but blinding pain shot out throughout her body the moment she touched it.

"Don't bother trying to take it off, it's made from a material even the strongest superhuman will have trouble breaking."

The leader smirked wickedly as he held up the controlling remote and pointed it at the collar.

"Kill Black Noir," He commanded, his voice echoing in the chamber's silence. His fingers twitched around the device with a sadistic gleam in his eyes.

Kimiko's eyes widened, fear and rage swirling within their depths as she gazed at Noir battling fiercely in the distance. She clenched her fists tightly, her nails digging into her palms until they drew blood. The command rang in her ear louder and louder the longer she ignored his command.

Noir, however, fighting with the remaining supe, was unaware of Kimiko's predicament as he landed another powerful punch that sent the supe crashing onto the wall with crushing force.

Meanwhile, Kimiko's body trembled as she fought against the command imprinted in her mind by the menacing collar around her neck. She gritted her teeth painfully as she tried to resist, a bead of sweat trickling down from her forehead.

"Now!" The leader roared, pressing a button on the remote.

"!" Searing pain shot through Kimiko's body causing her to scream out in silent agony. The collar was doing its vile work, compelling her to obey and follow his orders.

Kimiko staggered towards Noir, her body shaking with the fight to resist. Her once vibrant eyes were hollow, the life drained from them as she was reduced to a mindless puppet. Each step was filled with trepidation and reluctance, her mind screaming at her to stop but her body refusing to obey.

Meanwhile, Noir landed a brutal kick on the chest of the sword-wielding super, sending him flying backward. The supe's head crashed onto the concrete wall with a thunderous crash and he crumbled down dead.

"…"

With a last lingering look at Noir, her eyes filled with regret and desperation over a battle she couldn't control, she catapulted herself into the fray. Her eyes were no longer her own, reflecting instead a frosty glaze of mindless obedience.

Noir's senses tingled with warning as he turned his head, but it was too late. A brutal sharp swipe connected with his jaw, sending him hurtling through the air and slamming into a console with a deafening crash. The impact shattered the machine, showering deadly sparks and shards of metal that sliced through the air like shrapnel.

The leader of the supe team laughed at the sight of the hero crumpled in twisted metal, his dry laughter echoing around the cavernous room.

"Hahahahaha! Pathetic," he spat out with a disdainful sneer.

Kimiko, still under the cruel influence of the collar, stalked forward with silent steps. Her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides in a threatening rhythm, her eyes now icy and detached.

Noir rose rise to his feet, not at all bothered by the attack that managed to send him flying and cracked his neck with a satisfying pop.

He looked to his attacker and found it to be the female he was originally sent here to kill.

"What are you doing?! Don't just fucking walk to him! Attack him now!" He pressed the button on the remote and activated the collar around her neck once again.

Black Noir looked at the screaming man with a tilt of his head before focusing on the naked woman.

Kimiko came at Noir with another fierce swing, but he blocked it this time with his forearm and retaliated with a heavy punch to her stomach. To his surprise, instead of recoiling from the hit and doubling over in pain as he expected, Kimiko absorbed the strike, her face contorted in a grimace of pain, but she never faltered.

Once again, she attacked relentlessly, each punch and kick filled with desperation. Her movements were becoming less structured and more instinctual - driven by wild emotions rather than trained strategy. She was fighting against his blows and also herself, her body forced to act against her will.

Simultaneously, on the other side of the room, the leader's gloating laughter could be heard echoing off the sleek metal walls, the sound cold and distorted. He held up his remote like a twisted conductor, pushing the button with a sick glee that only seemed to grow with each forced attack Kimiko made.

"Good girl," he crooned, his voice dripping with poisonous satisfaction. "Make it nice and painful."

She jumped forward, swinging a vicious kick towards Noir's torso, but he was ready. Noir sidestepped just in time, her move barely grazing him, and grabbed her extended leg and twisted it around, pulling Kimiko into an uncompromising and inescapable hold.

He could end her life right here and now without so much as a second thought… but something stopped him from doing so.

Kimiko's eyes bore into his, her expression contorting with physical pain and mental agony as she fought against the commands pulsating from the collar around her neck. Noir watched her claw at the collar around her neck while she tried to get out of his hold.

The leader scowled from across the room, slamming his finger onto the remote to further increase the power of the collar.

"Enough!" he growled, his voice echoing ominously in the large room.

Kimiko cried out as a wave of blistering pain surged through her body, a silent scream tearing from her throat as she clawed desperately at the collar around her neck. Her body convulsed uncontrollably under the intensified command, and even Noir found it hard to maintain his grip on her.

"Finish him off! NOW!" He screamed in blind madness, his patience waning with every second that passed without Noir's death.

The mute hero's ears rang with the man's infuriating commands, urging the woman to fight, to kill.

The realization dawned on him, as he watched her wide eyes brimming with pain and desperation. She was nothing but a tool, a puppet being utilized as a deadly weapon at the mercy of someone else's desires.

A wave of dark memories crashed over Noir, drowning him in emotions he thought he had buried long ago. His heart pounds with a mixture of anger and sympathy, conflicting forces tearing at his chest. He grits his teeth, struggling to keep the memories at bay, but they claw their way back to the surface, threatening to consume him once again.

His fists clenched tighter as he looked at the man across the room angrily tapping away at the remote and mindlessly bringing pain to the woman in his arms.

Noir released Kimiko from his grip, letting her slump onto the floor while still writhing in agony, completely unable to do anything because of the excruciating pain. As she clawed at the collar around her neck till her neck began to bleed, he could see her pleading eyes staring back at him.

The sight was hauntingly familiar - it was the same helpless look he had seen reflected in his own eyes countless times before.

"Useless fucking bitch!" The cruel, shrill voice of the Japanese supe echoed in the room, filled with an almost childish tantrum. He reached for the remote, his meaty fingers shaking with rage as he turned the dial to its maximum setting.

Suddenly, a horrendous screeching filled Noir's ears, a sound akin to a thousand nails on a chalkboard. It was the collar's power increasing, an agonizing tenfold, Kimiko convulsed violently, her back arching and eyes rolling back into her skull as pain beyond comprehension washed over her.

Noir quickly knelt down beside her, his hands reaching for the metal collar around her neck before he could think.

Like a bolt of lightning, the excruciating pain meant for Kimiko surged through Noir's body as soon as his fingers made contact with the collar. His entire being shook with violent spasms, but he refused to release it, gritting his teeth against the overwhelming agony. With overwhelming strength, he began tearing the collar apart with the hard metal slowly giving way under his unyielding will.

His muscles strained alarmingly under the force, veins popping up on his arms as if they would burst any second. His teeth clenched together, and a pained grunt escaped him as he bore the brunt of the pain meant for Kimiko.

SNAP!

With one last titanic effort and a shower of sparks, he ripped the collar off Kimiko's neck. He watched as she collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air. The gratefulness in her eyes brought a strange comfort to Noir, he disregarded the throbbing pain in his hands and focused on the relief on Kimiko's face.

But he had little time to recover before the left side of his face exploded in pain.

He had been so focused on Kimiko, that he hadn't noticed the leader charging towards him, his hand encased in a glowing fist. The force of the punch sent Noir skidding across the room's slick floor, coming to a halt against one of the steel walls with a brutal thud.

The man was fast, faster than Noir would have given him credit for. And the power that came from his punch...he hadn't expected that either.

Ignoring the dull throbbing in his jaw, Noir pushed himself up onto one knee and eyed his opponent carefully as they stalked towards him with an air of smug satisfaction. As the man came near, Noir could see him chugging down small vials filled with a red liquid one after another.

Shatter!

"*Gasp* There! That should be more than enough!" The crazy bastard let the empty vials shatter on the ground, his smile twisting into a grotesque mask of anticipation.

His bulging muscles pulsed with raw power as the substance coursed through his veins, his eyes glowed an eerie red matching the liquid he just consumed. It was the all too familiar sight of the effects of Compound V, the bastard had juiced himself up.

"HAHAHAHAHA! His laughter echoed once again throughout the room, a chilling sound.

Blood was trickling from the corner of Noir's mouth, and for the first time in a long while, he felt genuinely worried about the fight ahead.

As he rose to a standing position, feeling every bruise and cut on his body, he noticed Kimiko stirring from her unconscious state. Her eyes fluttered open and locked onto Noir's for just a moment before straying towards her tormentor. A shudder ran through her body, and she pushed herself up from the floor with shaking hands.

"You two belong together," the leader sneered with loathsome pleasure, his eyes flitting between Noir and Kimiko. "Both nothing but tools!"

Ignoring his taunts, Noir glanced over at Kimiko, silently conveying the urgency of the situation. She nodded weakly in understanding despite no words being spoken between them, pushing herself to her feet with a grimace.

Emboldened by his newfound power, the leader rushed forward, fists blazing an eerie red as they swung towards Noir. The mute hero dodged the first punch and blocked the second one with forearms steeled with resolve. He felt the searing heat scalding his skin but bit back the pain and retaliated with a powerful right hook straight to the face.

The impact sent the man reeling back, wiping the smug grin off his face momentarily, but it was quickly replaced by an even more maniacal smile, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He spat on the ground and laughed again, shaking off the effects of Noir's punch as if it were nothing more than a mosquito bite.

"Is that all you got?" He taunted, wiping the blood from his mouth.

With each passing second, the effects of Compound V on his opponent became more evident. The man's muscles bulged grotesquely under his skin, distorting his once human-like appearance into something monstrous. Nonetheless, Noir stood his ground, his gaze never leaving the man's twisted face.

Sensing the inevitable, Noir steeled himself, clenching his fists as his knuckles turned white under the strain. He was a mess, his suit was torn and dirty, yet he held an air of defiance that contrasted sharply with his battered state.

With red energy crackling around his fists, he launched red blasts of death at Noir. The mute hero managed to dodge most of the energy blasts but failed to dodge the last one. The world spun as he crashed into a wall, feeling each rib strain against the impact.

Pain erupted throughout his body and his vision blurred as he tried to regain his senses, pushing past the throbbing pain in his head where the blast landed. Through narrowed eyes, he spotted Kimiko slowly rising and positioning herself between him and their opponent despite her own weakened state.

Despite her trembling limbs and the pain of the collar still racking her body, Kimiko stood defiantly against their common enemy.

The maniacal leader laughed again, the sound dripping with disdain as he stalked towards them, his hands crackling with the same fiery energy.

"You will protect this American scum?" he sneered. "You're a stain to your country!"

She raised her middle finger in response to his words.

Noir pushed himself off the floor, gritting his teeth against the agony that screamed along his spine. He cast a quick glance at Kimiko, and in that shared silence, an agreement was formed.

The two mutes flanked out on either side, their movements coordinated despite the lack of apparent communication.

There was an unspoken understanding between them.

As the leader lunged forward, itching to unleash another barrage of energy blasts, Kimiko jumped into the air and swiped at his face with her sharp nails. He screamed out in pain, clutching his wound, as blood dripped down from his face, unable to dodge her sudden attack. Noir took advantage of this distraction to deliver a thunderous punch to the gut that sent the leader kneeling over.

"*Cough!* *Cough!* It's going to take more than that to tak-!"

He was interrupted from finishing his sentence by a brutal left hook.

Noir's fist collided with the man's jaw, sending shockwaves of pain up his head, but he didn't relent, he kept forward – one punch, two punches, three punches. Each hit was like a hammer to an anvil, echoing around the room.

Kimiko took her turn then, her attacks were precise and lethal, her nails slashing through flesh and leaving deep wounds behind.

With a sickening thud, Noir slammed his face into the ground, sending shockwaves of pain radiating through his skull. Kimiko followed by ruthlessly slamming her foot down on his head, grinding his head further into the ground.

Blood oozes from his broken nose and teeth as he gasps for air, struggling to escape their ruthless assault.

The man tried to retaliate, and energy blasts flew from his hands in a chaotic frenzy. But both Noir and Kimiko were relentless as they drew upon every ounce of strength to jump this man's arrogant ass.

"ENOUGH!"

Kimiko tried to land another blow but failed as the man managed to grab hold of her.

His red-tinted energy blast collided with her chest and exploded upon impact. She groaned in pain, crumpling to the floor as a chilling sense of cold numbness spread through her body, the left side of her body completely blown off.

For a moment, time seemed to stop.

Noir's heart pounded in his chest as he looked at Kimiko's lifeless body on the ground, her eyes closed, and face smeared with blood and dirt. A strange, overpowering rage began to crawl up his throat, a feeling so powerful it almost consumed him.

Why did he feel this way? Why does his body tremble with an emotion he could barely understand?

His eyes were locked on the supe, who gazed down at Kimiko's lifeless body with a sadistic smile etched onto his face. The red haze of rage clouded his vision, intensifying every repulsive detail of the vile man before him, from the sickening sound of his laughter reverberating through the room to the twisted expression of pleasure on his face.

"Your next American scu-CRUNCH!"

His fist met the leader's face, but this time it was not just an ordinary punch, it was one filled with

all his anger, sorrow, and wrath. Every ounce of frustration bottled up in his silent world was released into this single punch. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through the room, causing dust particles to spiral about them.

The supe was knocked back several feet, crashing into a wall with such force that it cracked under the impact, his grotesque form sprawled on the floor beneath a shower of debris. Silence filled the room - a startling change from moments ago when agonized screams and maniacal laughter were all they could hear.

Noir stood there panting heavily, his knuckles slick with blood - the Japanese's or his own, he didn't know.

The supe let out an anguished cry, clawing at the rubble that now covered him in a failed attempt to rise up. His face was twisted into a grimace of pain and hatred as he spat curses and insults, but his words fell on deaf ears.

Noir had already begun moving forward, each step heavy with barley-controlled rage.

He grabbed hold of the fallen man's collar, hoisting him up against the cracked wall with a strength that came not just from his physical prowess but from his burning need to make him feel pain.

Noir blow after blow landed on the Japanese supe's face, with each punch reverberating through the battle-worn room. Blood sprayed from the supe's nose and mouth, splattering against the metal walls. No matter how much blood was spilled or how many bones he broke, Noir's anger seemed to only grow.

His fists moved faster and harder, driven by a fury that blinded him to everything around him.

The man tried to raise his arms in a desperate attempt to defend himself, but Noir's relentless attacks broke through his defense with ease.

The supe's face was a mess of bruises and cuts, his eyes swollen shut from the merciless blows of Noir's fists. But even in the midst of his own pain, Noir didn't stop, he continued to pummel the supe's head until his knuckles were raw and dripping with blood.

One minute…

Four minutes…

Seven minutes…

Ten minutes…

And when there was nothing left but a headless corpse crumpled against the ruined wall, Noir finally stopped. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body shaking from the burning anger still raging inside him.

The room was still now, except for the harsh panting of Noir filling the heavy air. He stood there for a moment, heart pounding in his chest as he stared down at his blood-soaked knuckles. They throbbed painfully but he barely felt it.

All he could feel was the hot rush of adrenaline leaving his system, replaced with a chilling sense of emptiness.

BBRRRR! BBBRRRR!

The phone in his hidden pocket started vibrating. The sudden noise was abrasive against the overwhelming silence of the room. His hand, slick with blood and sweat, slowly reached into his pocket. The cold device felt alien against the raw brutality of his violence.

The screen illuminated, casting a dim, sterile light across the depraved scene that was once a battleground but now resembled a slaughterhouse. Stan Edgar's name flashed on the screen with an incoming call display. An icy dread started to coil within his guts, yet he answered.

He pressed the phone against his ear, not caring about staining it with blood. It made a squelching sound as it met his ear, but all he could hear was the steady pounding of his heart.

"Are you done with your mission, Noir?" Stan asked, his emotionless voice coming out from the phone loud and clear.

He didn't respond immediately, staring blankly at the headless corpse that lay crumpled against the ruined wall. Still silent on his end, Noir looked around the room once more, his gaze eventually drifting back to Kimiko's bleeding body on the floor.

Stan's impatient voice called out to him again, "Noir, do you copy?"

Finally gathering himself, he responded in the only way he could, through the app specially designed for him on his phone. His blood-stained fingers moved mechanically across the touchscreen, carefully spelling out: 'Mission accomplished.'

The smell of sweat, blood, and death hung heavy in the air. It was a pungent, nauseating mix that threatened to suffocate, yet Noir felt nothing.

"Splendid," came Stan's clinical, detached voice over the line, completely unfazed by the horrors that Noir had committed. "Do you have her body? Due to the data you sent over, we found that she is the reason why the Japanese are able to create compound V. We need to run some tests to see exactly how this is possible."

Noir looked down at Kimiko's lifeless body lying on the floor, a dark pool of blood beneath her.

Stan's disturbingly relaxed voice cut into his thoughts again, "Noir, I asked if you have Kimiko's body?"

His blood-stained fingers slowly moved over to the touchscreen again to confir-

Twitch

Noir stopped mid-sentence, his eyes darting towards Kimiko's seemingly lifeless form. The twitch was barely perceivable, a minuscule movement in her fingers that belied the grave injuries that should have claimed her life.

But his eyes could see it clear as day.

Twitch Twitch

Noir's heart hammered in his chest as he watched with fascination as her wounds began to close rapidly, knitting together at an incredible speed. Before Noir's gaze, her shattered body started mending itself. Her mangled flesh rippled and reformed with each pulsating heartbeat, fixing the scattered fragments of bone and muscle back into place.

It was a gruesome ballet of cell regeneration and tissue reconstitution; a spectacle of nature Noir had never seen before.

"Noir," Stan's icy voice snapped him out of his trance, "Is Kimiko's body secure?"

His blood-stained fingers hovered over the phone screen, but he did not respond immediately, transfixed by the spectacle unfolding before him.

Kimiko's left arm, previously torn to shreds by their vicious fight, now appeared unscathed as if it had never been damaged. Her chest which was motionless began to heave with the rhythm of life, as if she were only sleeping and not dead minutes ago.

The rise and fall were slow at first, but rapidly began to increase in speed as her body kicked into overdrive. His gaze lingered on her abdominal area, where deep gashes crumbled away like ash, revealing fresh skin untouched by the violence inflicted upon it. The sight was nothing short of morbidly miraculous.

Stan's voice came again, sharp and demanding, "Noir, I need you to respond."

His fingers quivered as they hovered over the touchscreen, the gravity of his choice weighing heavily on him. He was caught between following orders and pursuing his own desires.

His answer would seal her fate.

Caught in a moment of indecision, Noir's gaze swiveled back to Kimiko, now fully restored, her eyes fluttering open. They held the depth of an innocent woman who became a cornered beast brought to bay by circumstances she did not understand or ask for.

"Noir!" Stan's command had lost its patience, ringing with urgency and annoyance. "I need your response! Now!"

But Noir was not listening anymore. Instead, he watched as Kimiko's hand slowly rose to her chest as if reassuring herself that her heart still beat within her.

That she was alive against all odds.

His blood-stained fingers pressed down on the phone screen, forming words he hoped he wouldn't regret.

'Body destroyed, nothing left.'

He sent the message before he could rethink it then pocketed his phone.

As silence from Stan's end filled the room, Noir stood up, his tall figure a dark silhouette against the dimly lit background of the broken room. Kimiko propped herself up on an elbow, managing to sit up with visible effort.

She gazed intensely at Noir as a flood of emotions washed over her - confusion, fear, but most of all, gratitude.

She watched as he slowly walked closer to her, his combat boots crunching over the shattered glass underfoot. His steps resonated throughout the room, each one echoing the pounding of her heartbeat.

He kneeled down and offered out his gloved hand towards her, she noticed that he hesitated for a moment, an inexplicably human gesture from the seemingly inhuman man. She tried to read him, searching his features for any sign of intent or emotion.

Her gaze shifted from his outstretched hand to his face, the helmet he wore damaged by the energy blast from the previous battle.

As she trailed across his damaged helmet, her eyes met his.

…

…

…

Empty blue eyes stared back at her.

 

[shirouM]

Chapter 18

The sound of knocking could be heard throughout the warehouse, alerting everyone to the imminent arrival of a visitor. The members of The Boys halted their activities, each standing in anticipation, their eyes darted towards the entrance of the warehouse. They all instinctively reached for a weapon in case of the possibility of it being hostile.

"All of you calm your fucking tits!" Butcher ordered them as he walked to the door. "This one with me!"

Hearing this some of them relaxed while others remained alert with hands still on their weapons. The warehouse door creaked open, casting a slender thread of daylight into the gloomy interior.

The silhouette of a nervous figure slowly etched itself on the floor and Hughie stepped in, his eyes reflecting the uncertainty and resolve that clutched at his heart.

His palms were slick with sweat, the papers he clutched in his hands dampening with every passing second. The room was deathly silent, all eyes upon him now. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe.

"Butcher," he croaked out, trying to conceal his jittery nerves behind a facade of calm.

Butcher approached him slowly, facing Hughie with a hard gaze.

"Well then, lad," he drawled out slowly crossing his arms over his chest, "I hope you thought about this nice and long because there is no turning back after this."

Hughie nodded, his throat too dry for words, but he forced the words out.

"I know what I'm doing," he said, a firm confidence cutting through the slight tremble in his voice. He held up the papers for Butcher to take.

The burly man gave a curt nod, accepting the documents. His eyes skimmed over them meticulously as Hughie watched with an anticipatory curiosity brewing in his expression.

One by one, expressions softened, shoulders relaxed, and hands withdrew from hidden weapons. Relief was evident in their faces as they retreated back to their interrupted tasks without another word.

Butcher finished reading and glanced up at Hughie, his expression unreadable.

"Well then," he said gruffly after a moment of contemplation, "Suppose I got some explaining to do."

The documents were placed carefully on a nearby table and Hughie felt a surge of relief.

"Butcher, I don't need any explanations," Hughie replied, his voice echoing hollowly in the large expanse of the warehouse, his voice sounding so small. "I'm just here to give you the information you need, nothing more and nothing less."

"Look," Butcher sighed, running a hand through his hair as he considered his next words carefully. "You've made a decision to join this fight with us. That's no light matter, and you need to be fully informed less you fuck up and get turn into a red paste on the floor."

Hughie eyed him warily, swallowing the rising anxiety that pooled at the pit of his stomach. He nodded slowly, mentally bracing himself for what was to come.

"We are a team called The Boys and we work for the Government to…"

A heavy silence etched itself in the warehouse as Butcher began explaining who they were and what they do. As Butcher's words flowed into the stillness of the room, Hughie felt as if he was being submerged into an abyss of bleak darkness, but he remained rooted in his resolve to go through with this.

While Butcher was talking to Hughie, Mallory took a look at the papers Hughie brought and nodded her head in satisfaction. It was new information that they weren't able to get, but thanks to Hughie they now have detailed reports of the company's activities, reports on certain heroes, and even a few names they hadn't heard before.

After what felt like hours, Butcher finally finished his explanation. Hughie was left to digest everything he had heard, his heart pounding in his chest as he looked around at the group whose ranks he had decided to join.

The faces staring back at him were worn and weary but unbroken; each one of them had seen their fair share of horrors, and each carried an unquenchable thirst for payback.

Hughie thought back to the folder Butcher gave to him, filled with information about a popular hero who everyone loved. A hero who, in reality, was nothing but a cold-blooded murderer and drug addict the complete opposite of what his public image suggested.

The contents of the folder had left him numb, filled with a growing sense of dread. The content of the folder given to him by Butcher left him puke out most of his lunch in the toilet, making Robin become worried about him when she heard him puking his guts out in their shared bathroom.

"While the information you gave is good, it's still not enough." Mallory interrupted his thoughts, her tone solemn as she carefully laid down the documents that Hughie had brought over. "There is something missing here."

Hughie was drawn out of his thoughts, his eyes darting to Mallory who was now standing and pacing around the room.

"And what might that be?" Butcher asked, his voice gruff but attentive.

"Homelander," Mallory replied in a hushed whisper, the very air seemed to vibrate with tension. She paused for a moment, letting the weight of the name sink in before she continued.

"There isn't any information on him, non what's so ever," she said, shaking her head slightly. "It's as if he doesn't exist outside of television screens."

Butcher ran a hand over his stubbled chin, his eyes flickering with an unreadable expression as he surveyed the papers once more.

Mallory resumed her pacing, her mind working like a well-oiled machine as she started formulating possible ways to gather information. She turned to Hughie, observing how she was looking at her with a confused expression when she mentioned Homelander.

"W-Why would you need information on John? I-I mean yeah, the other heroes are pieces of shit but that doesn't mean he's like them! He's a true hero!" Hughie stammered, his eyes wide and filled with fervent disbelief. He paused a moment, swallowed hard, and continued, "He...he saved my life once."

Mallory halted her pacing, turning slowly to regard Hughie with a scrutinizing gaze. Briefly, her lips curled into a thoughtful frown before she gently shook her head.

"That's the problem, Mr. Campbell," she began, folding her arms across her chest and leaning back against a dilapidated table strewn with maps and empty coffee cups. "The public image of Homelander...John, as you call him is impeccable. Almost too much so."

Hughie's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, unsure of where Mallory was driving at.

"The man has been in the spotlight for years," she said, drumming her thick fingers on the table next to the scattered papers. "But we know next to nothing about his past or the corpses he might be hiding in his closet, and he is the one that Vought treats as their golden hen. They would be more than willing to erase anything that would go against their cash cow's image."

"But he's…" Hughie trailed off, his mind reeling as he tried to comprehend their words. He opened his mouth to protest further but the steely look in Butcher's eyes made him swallow them down. He felt a chill creeping up his spine, his heart hammering against his rib cage.

"Think about it," Mallory urged softly, her gaze never wavering from his face, drilling into him like a laser beam. "When's the last time you saw anything about him that didn't feel like carefully curated PR?"

Hughie blinked at her words, suddenly seeing her point.

His mind whirred as he tried to recall a time when Homelander was anything other than a beacon of hope, the embodiment of all things good and heroic. He remembered the numerous times he had watched Homelander on television, fighting crimes and saving lives, always ending with his trademark smile that seemed to light up the screen.

The more Hughie thought about it, the more he realized, every public appearance was too perfect, too well-managed. It was as though someone had crafted an unblemished image of him and projected it for the world to see.

"Consider this," Grace continued, her voice cutting through Hughie's thoughts. "Supes aren't like you and me. They've got powers that would make your head spin, powers that come with... temptations. And who's to say Homelander's any different?"

Hughie stared at Butcher hoping for him to come in and defend John, but he did nothing but remain silent and continue to watch from the sideline.

"If what you're saying is true..." Hughie began hesitantly. "What do we do?"

A deep sigh escaped her lips as she leaned forward, hands clasped together, a picture of grim resolve etched across her face.

"We take them down," she said simply. "We expose them for what they really are."

"But... what if you're wrong?" Hughie's voice was barely a whisper, his eyes scanning the room helplessly as if seeking escape from the heavy burden that Mallory seemed to have casually dumped on him.

"What if I'm not?" Mallory retorted sharply, she straightened up, her silhouette casting a long shadow in the dimly lit room.

Without another word, she picked up her dented coffee mug and walked out of the room, leaving Butcher and Hughie in a heavy silence.

They exchanged glances, each assessing the other's reaction. Butcher's usual scowl was replaced with a grim set of his mouth. Hughie could see the shadows of doubt lurking in his eyes struggling between what they knew about Homelander and what Mallory had just proposed.

Finally, after an eternity of silence, Hughie stirred.

"Do you think she's right?" He asked cautiously, his voice barely above a whisper as he met Butcher's gaze.

The older man turned slowly to face Hughie and took a deep breath, he let out a sigh through pursed lips before answering.

"I don't think so," Butcher admitted grudgingly, he ran a tired hand over his stubbled face before bringing his intense gaze back to meet Hughie's happy smile.

"Then you can tell her th-"

"But I don't think Mallory cares if he is or not."

Hughie's smile faltered, replaced with a stunned expression. He hadn't expected Butcher to say that.

"W-What do you mean?" He stammered, his mind churning.

Butcher's gaze was steady on him. "The question isn't whether he's innocent or guilty,"

Hughie frowned, not understanding where Butcher was going with this.

"It's about control," Butcher continued, his eyes burning with an intense fire. "The Supes, Vought… and John. They have power, and they use it however they want without anyone to check them."

Hughie blinked as realization dawned.

It wasn't just about Homelander being a potential enemy, it was about the unchecked power that these entities wielded over the world.

His mind raced back to the heartbreaking information in the folder he had brought to Mallory. The kind of gross misconduct that could only take place when those with power were left unchecked.

"But…" he started, then hesitated, unsure how to phrase his thoughts. "Isn't that what we're doing? Trying to keep them in check?"

Butcher let out a dry chuckle.

"Yeah, you could say that," he admitted, raking a hand through his hair and turning away from Hughie to stare at the scattered papers on the table once more. "But like I told you Hughie, we work for the government, and they hate not being in control. And it just so happens what they can't control happen to be pieces of shits and puts them in a better light."

Hughie's mind spun, feeling as if he had been pitched headlong into the deep end of murky waters. He stared blankly at Butcher, then at the scattered papers on the table once more, each document a testament to a world far more complex and darker than he'd ever imagined.

An awkward silence encased them. The tension seemed to rise with each passing heartbeat. It was a monstrous, living thing in the room - almost tangible and definitely suffocating. Hughie could feel its clammy tendrils curling around him, squeezing the air from his lungs.

Wanting to disperse it, he sputtered out an unexpected random fact.

"D-Did you know Black Noir shares a birthday with Homelander?"

Butcher looked at him with confusion filling his eyes, he had no idea what the hell he was talking about.

"I-I looked it up?" Hughie said quickly, eager to share information and distract them both from their grim reality.

Butcher, taken aback by Hughie's trivial revelation, raised an eyebrow as he turned towards him. His intense gaze softened a bit, a corner of his mouth twitching into what might've passed for a smirk.

"Is that so?" He queried, leaning back in his chair, eyeing Hughie with an amused expression. "And what am I meant to do with that information, Hughie?"

Hughie gulped, struggling to maintain some semblance of composure.

"I, er... thought it was interesting," he replied weakly, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

Butcher let out an unexpected chuckle, a fleeting moment of amusement overshadowing his normally stern demeanor. It was like seeing the sun peek through on a stormy day - brief and almost unbearably bright.

"You're an odd one..." Butcher said shaking his head, yet there was no malice in his words, just a bemused disbelief.

"Thanks," he replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and allowing himself a small smile of relief.

 

[shirouM]

Chapter 19

"Reports have just come in, that the terrorist group known as The Shining Light Liberation Army has suffered a catastrophic blow. The camp nestled in the dense jungle, once teeming with dangerous terrorist activity, now lies in ruins from a catastrophic explosion. No one knows who is responsible fo-"

Noir looked away from the TV and focused back on the task at hand… finding clothes for Kimiko.

Despite the late hour, the convenience store was conveniently open for them to shop for clothes. The only person inside was a passed-out cashier sleeping away behind the counter, allowing them to browse in peace.

Black Noir watched as the woman, now dressed in a plain white t-shirt and black pants, grabbed everything in sight. From bags of chips and sweets to cans of soda, it was as if she'd never had the freedom to choose such common commodities before. She piled them all into the shopping cart with a childlike glee that was almost infectious.

Noir felt something tugging at the corner of his lips.

A high-pitched ding broke the silence as Kimiko approached the freezer section and yanked open the door. She studied the ice cream selection with an intensity that would be more appropriate for disarming a bomb, while Noir quietly watched from afar.

He had always been a silent shadow, a figure lurking on the sidelines, people often forgot he existed, which suited him just fine. The less they noticed him, the easier it was for him to do what needed to be done.

In this case, what needed doing was finding clothes suitable for Kimiko to wear. Noir steered their shopping cart towards the clothing aisle, leaving Kimiko with her ice cream decision-making.

He picked out several items - a jacket with a hood large enough to hide her face, more pants and shirts, and some shoes. He added them to their growing pile of items and looked back towards Kimiko. She was excitedly walking back to him with two ice cream cones clutched in her hands and a triumphant smile on her face.

Kimiko offered him one of the cones, her expression full of expectation for him to take it.

He regarded her for a moment before taking the offered cone with a nod of his head. Normally, he wouldn't eat in front of anyone but since it was her… he moved up his mask, showing his pale skin that had never seen the sun, and took a bite of the ice cream. The cold sweetness of the ice cream flooded his senses.

Kimiko watched him with bright, curious eyes, waiting for his reaction. Noir noticed this and brought his hand up and gave her a thumbs up, much to her delight.

She began to eat her own cone with fervor, little hums of approval slipping out between bites. Kimiko seemed to relish every bite, eyes squeezed shut as she concentrated on the flavor, like it was the most delicious treat she'd ever eaten.

Noir couldn't help but watch her, her happy smile reflecting off his helmet. Although battered and scarred by her past with The Shining Light Liberation Army, there was an innocence about her that he hadn't expected.

He turned away from her and began to push their cart toward the counter with Kimiko walking beside him. They stopped in front of the sleeping cashier and rang the bell that was sitting on the counter. The cashier started, flailing for a moment before looking blearily around the store.

She blinked at the sight of them, her gaze sweeping over their shopping cart full of goods, Kimiko's closed eyes as she enjoyed her ice cream and Black Noir's mask staring down at him. Noir took out a large roll of cash, took out a single note, and slid both of them over the counter to the cashier who was still blinking as though she wasn't quite sure if he was dreaming or not.

"B-Black Noir? W-What are you doing here?"

The silent member of The Seven simply pointed at the cart full of items.

"O-oh, you w-want me to scan your items?"

Noir gave a curt nod before turning to Kimiko, who had just finished her ice cream cone. She gave the cashier a smile before turning back to Noir with a tilt of her head. Understanding what she was asking, the hero nodded his head again, much to her joy as she excitedly ran back to grab more ice cream.

She came back with the entire contents of the freezer.

"…A-Alright."

The cashier quickly set about scanning their items and bagging them up in haste. Kimiko watched curiously as each beep rang out clearly in the silent store. In between bagging, she stole glances at Noir who was patiently observing their surroundings through the reflection on the store's window, ever so vigilant.

Eventually, with all items scanned and placed in several plastic bags, Noir took one last look around before nodding at Kimiko who had finished another ice cream and looked ready to leave. He grabbed the bags and handed her a couple to carry.

"W-Wait! You forgot yo-!"

Noir brought a finger up to his masked lips and made a shushing gesture towards the flustered cashier. The poor girl abruptly fell silent, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

She looked down, her eyes widened in disbelief when she saw the roll of bills was filled with hundreds while a single bill was separate from the rest to pay for the items. Thinking that maybe it was a mistake she looked back at Noir to clarify. But Noir's unwavering gaze and silent demeanor made it clear: there were no mistakes.

"Uh... right," the cashier stammered, gratefully taking the roll for herself. "T-Thank you for your business a-and your service."

She understood what was happening, Noir was giving her the money in exchange for her silence. While she would have happily done so without it, she was in desperate need of money which was why she was working such a late shift. The money would really help her…

Noir then picked up the remaining bags and headed toward the door, with Kimiko following closely behind him.

Their exit from the store was silent; Kimiko looked back over her shoulder at the dimly lit aisles before stepping out into the night. The cold wind whipped around them but neither flinched, they were able to handle worse weather.

They walked in silence through deserted streets back towards their temporary hideout.

Despite the shadows that followed them, there was a lightness in her steps, a freedom she was only just beginning to understand. She held up one of the bags, peering inside with excited eyes before hastily opening yet another ice cream cone. Noir couldn't keep a bemused smile from forming beneath his mask at the sight.

Together they walked down the dimly lit streets, their silence a comfortable understanding.

As they walked towards their destination Kimiko's head kept swiveling around, taking in every little detail of her surroundings. Noir could see her expression shift from excitement to fascination before finally settling on a contented smile as they walked further into the heart of the city.

Suddenly, her gaze landed on something across the street, and froze. Her eyes widened in awe at a small park bathed in moonlight, with a playground sitting quietly in its midst. She tugged at Noir's arm to get his attention, pointing enthusiastically towards it.

He noticed her excitement and followed her gaze, tilting his head when he saw the playground. Slowly, he nodded and together they crossed over to the park with Kimiko immediately running to the swing set, leaving Noir at a nearby bench where he carefully set down their bags.

Noir watched as Kimiko giggled while pushing herself higher and higher on the swing, her silent laughter echoing through the still night air. It was an unusual sight for anyone who would happen to stumble upon them to see a grown woman acting like a child.

But he didn't mind.

As Kimiko continued to enjoy her newfound freedom, Noir walked to her and took the swing next to her. He struggled to take a seat due to his large muscular frame, but he was eventually able to get on and began to gently swing beside her.

…Just two broken kids having fun.

 

[shirouM]

Chapter 20

It had been nine days since he lied to Stan Edger about the destruction of Kimiko's body. Nine days since he had smuggled her out of the lab and into the secrecy of the night.

Nine days in which he'd learned more about his emotions than he had in his entire life leading up to it.

They were heading to the only location Noir could trust to keep her safe, a place Vought would never hope to find her.

Black Noir and Kimiko traveled mainly under a cloak of night, using their superhuman physique to traverse large distances that no vehicle could hope to keep up.

But even with their superhuman physique they still have to take a break every now and then despite their impressive stamina. It was during these breaks they communicated together in a language of nods and gestures, a silent conversation only the two of them could understand.

The bond between them, two damaged beings incapable of speech, deepened with each passing day as they spent time together.

Their journey had taken them across several states, through abandoned railroad tunnels and dense forests where the moonlight strained to break through the thick foliage. Noir avoided the highways and populated areas where Vought surveillance was more likely to pick up on their trail.

Occasionally, they would have to make trips to a store to restock their supplies. Fortunately, he had a device that could disable electronic devices, allowing them to safely gather what they needed. Without it, he would have never even considered the idea.

And during those small breaks, they would carve out for themselves moments of simple, human happiness.

They reveled in the mundane, in the acts that those without superhuman abilities took for granted. They relished each other's company in silence, existing together against the backdrop of a world that brought them nothing but pain.

In one such break, they found an abandoned playground hidden away in an overgrown field. Kimiko's eyes lit up at the sight of a rusty swing set, an artifact from a childhood they didn't get to live. A nod from Noir was all the invitation she needed.

She ran towards it, her usually stoic face breaking into a grin. As she settled onto the swing, her feet barely grazing the ground beneath, her gaze met Noir's and she beckoned for him to join. A moment of hesitation, then he moved forward, pulling himself onto the seat beside hers.

They swung in tandem under a blanket of stars splattered across the obsidian sky. The creaking swings and swaying grass around them were all the music they needed.

And many more of these moments happened during those nine days of traveling together.

But as they neared their destination on the tenth day, Noir's unease grew into a gnawing suspicion. Something was not right, a foreboding sense of danger creeping up his spine. He scanned their surroundings with heightened awareness, every nerve on edge.

They were being followed.

Noir's steely gaze pierced through the distance miles away, locking onto the figures who were stalking them with less than pure intentions.

His gaze hardened; eyes narrowed into thin slits of intense focus.

His enhanced senses picked up the faint sound of footsteps, muffled whispers just on the edge of audibility, and a peculiar scent that was unfamiliar yet distinct. He felt a deep sensation of unease prickling at the back of his neck.

There were ten of them in total, Noir counted.

Some flew through the air, while others silently pursued on foot, their eyes fixed on Kimiko.

"…?"

Sensing Noir's tension, Kimiko looked at him with a questioning glance. She reached out to touch his arm lightly, her fingers tracing a silent question over his tense muscles. He turned towards her; his eyes softened slightly as his helmet met her concerned eyes.

Despite their muteness, they somehow were able to understand each other despite no words being said.

He waved his hand lightly, a careful gesture meant to reassure her concern when he realized she wasn't aware of their stalkers.

Kimiko looked at him, her eyes narrowing slightly as she assessed his calmness to see if it was a lie. But trust prevailed over her concerns, and she nodded her head at Noir without question.

Noir's attention left Kimiko for a moment, shifting back to the figures following them. He could tell they were closing in, their cautious movements becoming more brazen as the distance between themselves and their targets began to lessen.

The pulsing lights of a hotel sign blinked in the foggy night ahead of them from a hotel that was outside of town, a lone beacon amongst the sea of darkness.

It was far from luxurious, but it would serve its purpose.

With a swift motion, Noir took Kimiko's hand into his own and made a beeline toward the building, pulling her along with him. Kimiko stumbled slightly over her own feet in surprise but quickly regained her balance, keeping pace with Noir's rapid strides.

"…!" She tilted her head in confusion at his hurried pace.

They made it inside and the hotel's dim lighting gave it an ominous feel; old wallpaper peeled off the walls while antique furniture was scattered about haphazardly.

"Bl-Black N-Noir?!"

Ignoring the flabbergasted man behind the counter, Noir slammed a heavy wad of cash onto the desk with a loud thud and raised his hand for the key to a room.

"O-Ok? Y-Your room n-number i-is 140, w-would you lik-"

He began to ask while raising their hand to give him the key to their room but was cut off as Noir grabbed the keys out of their hands and rushed up the stairs to their room.

It was a small room; with a single bed against one wall, a tiny bathroom just on its right, and a TV mounted on the wall.

Noir looked out the window to see if they were still being followed and after a second of searching, he found them miles away on top of a random building, glaring at the hotel they were in.

Kimiko looked at him quizzically as she adjusted her grip on the bag of supplies. She furrowed her brows in confusion when Noir signaled for her to stand in the corner, away from both the window and the door.

In his gut, he knew their trackers were getting impatient and they were going to attack at any moment. The adrenaline rush that came with this realization forced him to move quickly.

His posture was rigid, every muscle taut with anxiety. It wasn't like him to be this on edge; in Kimiko's eyes, Noir was always the epitome of cool, an unshakeable force in even the most precarious situations.

"…?" Kimiko's silent question hung in the air, her eyes filled with worry.

He sighed heavily before stepping away from the window. His hand went up to remove his helmet, revealing the dark lines of fatigue etching into his face as messy blonde hair fell over his hollow eyes.

"…!" Kimiko was taken aback by this rare sight.

Noir rarely removed his helmet during their travels, she could count on one hand how many times she saw his face without his helmet, if he removed his helmet then something was happening.

Now without his helmet, she could read the exhaustion and worry in Noir's face.

He gestured towards the bed, his eyes soft as he looked at her. Kimiko stayed rooted to her spot, confusion marring her features until she finally understood - he wanted her to rest and stay in the room.

She shook her head and glared at him, her eyes demanding to know what was going on.

Without a word, Noir reached out his hand to hers and gently pulled her towards the bed. He cast a furtive glance at the window as he did so.

"…" Kimiko's lips formed a silent protest, but she allowed herself to be led.

They sat together on the edge of the cheap hotel bed, the dull flicker of the television casting an eerie glow over them.

Noir looked deeply into Kimiko's eyes, his own filled with an intensity that made her heart race. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. Noir frowned and shook his head at his failed attempt.

So, he instead used his hands to trace a single, silent phrase to her.

"We are being followed."

Her breath hitched in her throat, eyes quickly flicking towards the window. She was about to rise when he stopped her with a firm grip on her arm.

A wordless command.

"Stay."

Kimiko shook her head vigorously, her eyes sparkling with a fiery defiance as she moved her hands angrily through the air.

"Why?!"

Noir's gaze was steady as he held her wrists, stopping the angered flurry of her fingers. He moved his head to gesture at the window, his grip on her wrists still firm but not unkind. His mouth formed a thin line, and then he let go of her wrists.

He moved his fingers delicately in the air, each movement of his hand carrying a precise meaning.

"Dangerous. Ten, maybe more, not sure."

She pointed to herself, then to him, making it clear that she would not back down.

"Two of us! More dangerous!"

Noir gave a dry chuckle, the sound seeming foreign in the tense atmosphere of the room. The sight of a smile playing on his lips was equally strange to Kimiko, who had grown accustomed to his usually stoic demeanor.

He held up his hand, fingers spread wide as if to show her the inevitable gap between their pair and their impending foes.

"Yes, two of us," he signed back. "But you are tired, less dangerous, rest."

She shook her head again, her eyes burning.

"No."

Noir's gaze grew intense once more as he lifted his hands to sign again.

"Rest. I'll fight."

But Kimiko's eyes blazed in defiance.

"We fight, together."

Noir felt a strange mixture of admiration and frustration at the sight. Admiration for her tenacity and courage; frustration at her refusal to see reason.

With a sigh of resignation, he released one of her hands and ran a hand through his unkempt hair before shifting his gaze back towards the window and back at her determined eyes.

And yet Noir knew he couldn't risk it, he couldn't risk losing her.

He held her gaze for a moment longer before his features hardened; his decision was made.

Before she could react, he swiftly touched two fingers to the side of her neck - a swift pressure point technique he learned in case he ever needed to capture a target alive.

A wave of dizziness washed over Kimiko as her eyelids grew heavy. She tried to resist, but it was futile against Noir's expert maneuver. As she collapsed onto the bed, unconscious, Noir caught her easily and laid her down on the bed.

The room spun around him as he stood up, the adrenaline coursing through his veins giving him a temporary high.

He did not have much time before their stalkers decided to attack.

…

…

…

"…So, are we just going to continue looking at them or are we going to get those fuckers or what!?"

The voice belonged to their lead stalker, a lanky man with spiky red hair and a nasty scar running across his cheek. He was floating in the air with his red cape billowing in the wind, glaring at the window where Noir and Kimiko had been mere moments before.

"No, we're going in soon," a second voice grumbled beside him. This one came from a much larger figure, dwarfing the redhead in size. He had the build of a mountain troll with almost as much gristle and scars. "So shut your annoying bitch ass up!"

"The fuck you say to me?! You piece of-"

"Enough with your childish bickering!" A woman's voice, cold as ice whispered into the air, her words sliding over each other like snakes. She was positioned a little further away, perched on top of an adjacent building, her dark eyes never straying from the window. "Just follow the plan and capture the target aliv-"

Crack!

Their bickering was put to a sudden stop as they heard something break through the still silence of the night. It was akin to a rumbling growl, growing louder and more beastly with each passing moment.

The three supes shared a confused glance before there was a ripping sound followed by a colossal 'whoosh'.

They turned just in time to see two enormous trees flying towards them.

The tree moved with terrifying speed, its leaves bristling against the moonlight and bark glistening with an unnatural sheen. Roots tangled together formed a deadly blunt projectile that moved with the force equivalent of a freight train.

With wide eyes and mouths agape, they could only gawk at the incoming sight. The two who were blessed with flight tried to move out of the way of the dangerous projectiles, but it was too late.

One of the trees crashed into the two airborne foes with a thunderous crash, sending them spiraling uncontrollably into the night sky. Their screams echoed through the silent night, cut short by the sickening thud as they hit a nearby mountain, nothing but messy red splat remained of them.

On top of the adjacent building, the woman barely managed to dodge the lethal projectile. She tumbled onto her side, quickly getting back on her feet, eyes wide with fear and shock. There was a hiss as she held out her hand and began to warn her other teammates of what had just happened.

"We've been spotted! Two of our flyers are dead! I need back up right no-!"

Suddenly, from behind her, there was a swift movement. She quickly turned around to face it but was caught off guard by a punch to her head.

A deafening crack splits through her skull, sending shards of bone and brain matter flying in all directions. The force of impact is so intense that darkness instantly consumes her vision as her head literally explodes into a bloody mess.

Black Noir stood where she had been before, his body already tensed and ready for the battle that was just beginning.

He searched through the body and found something that made his stomach drop.

A red vial gleamed dangerously through the night.

---

Stan glared down at the information laid bare on his table.

It was a dossier of grim foreboding, detailing the unthinkable – a terrorist group crafting their own Compound V. His fingers traced over the screen as his mind whirred, soaking in the implications.

The report was riddled with scientific jargon, complex diagrams, and chemical equations that suggested the possibility of a day Stan Edgar had been fearing, the proliferation of their jealously guarded secret.

And all because of one rogue Supe that appeared from seemingly nowhere.

Kimiko.

Her unique physiology had allowed her body to produce a mutated form of Compound V, and it seemed that they found a way to harvest it.

A sense of trepidation gripped him as he read about the extraction process borne out of Kimiko's unique blood. They were using her like a blood bank, draining her life-giving fluid for their malicious purpose. It was disturbing, but at the same time fascinating how her seemingly inhuman capabilities had become the missing piece in the terrorist's chilling puzzle.

Black Noir had managed to send surveillance photos of grainy images showing a raven-haired Asian woman strapped to a glass tank with tubes connecting to her body to obscure machines humming with dark purpose as it drained her of her blood.

Stan swiped to a section filled with photos.

Crude labs hidden undercover in buildings, machinery jury-rigged from stolen equipment, and men in hazmat suits hunched over tubes filled with crimson fluid derived. There were vats filled with what he assumed to be raw Compound V extracted from the woman's blood, glowing an ominous red under the harsh lights.

The picture depicted a massive amount of blood stored away, enough to fill an entire lake, and that was just based on our assumption that it showed all the blood they had extracted.

How the woman managed to produce such an astonishing amount was beyond him. It seemed her powers were both a miracle and a curse, endlessly replenishing what was continually taken from her.

Stan's gaze shifted to another picture - this one showing Kimiko herself out of the tank but chained like an animal. Her eyes were hauntingly hollow with dark circles under them, her body frail and gaunt but still radiating an eerie strength.

He swiped the screen and landed on a video, this one now showing Kimiko's strained and painfilled face as she fought as if her life depended on it as they put a collar around her neck. Even without explanation, the video spoke volumes about the agony she was enduring as she desperately tried to tear off the collar to the point her hands were bleeding.

He sped up the video skipping three hours ahead and stopped after the three-hour mark.

Her pale skin looked ashen against the cruel shackles securing her to the glass tank, and her dark eyes, once filled with defiance, now held a distinct dullness, a testament to the torment she had been subjected to by the metal collar.

Stan took note of this.

 

[shirouM]

Chapter 21

"We've been spotted! Two of our flyers are dead! I need back up right no-!"

The voice transmission was cut off before the person on the other side could finish speaking. The following sound of bones breaking soon alerted them of that person's gruesome demise.

"…The scouting team is dead." A voice rumbled through the darkness, informing the rest of their team.

The information hung in the air, a poignant reminder of their mortality despite their powers. A cold dread descended upon them, making the air feel several degrees colder than it actually was. They were seven now, seven against an enemy who had already taken out three of their most formidable men.

An enemy they scarcely knew anything about.

"Wraith, what's your position?" The thunderous voice echoed in the dimly lit control room. Their name was Metal Hand, and they were the team leader. Every scar etched on his face spoke of battles fought and won, and the countless blood he has spilled.

There was a pause before a ghostly image appeared on their communication device.

"I'm by Black Noir's last known location… and it's dead silent," Wraith reported, her spectral voice sending chills down their spines. Despite being one of them, Wraith had a way of making even her comrades uncomfortable with her powers.

The room went quiet as they waited for their commander's next command.

After a moment of thinking, he finally spoke, "We need you to recon Black Noir's route. Stay invisible and do not engage."

Wraith nodded and disappeared from the screen as she got to work.

"Iceberg, Inferno you're both with me." Metal Hand announced next. "We're going to engage."

Iceberg nodded solemnly, his icy blue eyes reflecting a stoic resolve. As his name suggested, Iceberg could manipulate water molecules around him and freeze them into any shape or form he desired. An invaluable talent in times such as this.

Inferno's fiery hair seemed to flicker in anticipation. Her powers were destructive and wild compared to her counterpart, like a firestorm caught in a human shell. She had the ability to ignite and control flames, but it came with the cost of total destruction.

"Teleforce, you'll be on standby. You're our last resort in case we fail." Metal Hand continued, turning to the young man whose eyes glowed with an unnatural cyan hue - a side effect of his telekinetic powers.

Teleforce was the youngest member of their team and also one of the most powerful, his psychokinetic abilities could demolish buildings in an instant with ease.

Unfortunately, he had little to no control over how much power he would apply and has caused more than a few missions to end with either their target or ally exploding like a blood-filled pimple.

Teleforce stared at the man for a long moment before nodding his head in acceptance.

Metal Hand turned his attention to the device in his hands and switched from Wraith's signal to the two remaining members of his team.

"This is the team lead connecting with S-"

CRASH!

The wall where Iceberg was leaning on exploded inwards in a hail of concrete and steel. A large, obsidian hand shot out from the billowing dust, gripping Iceberg by the mouth in a terrifying vice-grip. The suddenness of the attack was such that Iceberg couldn't even muster a startled gasp.

Iceberg grunted, trying to wrestle the hand away but the grip was steel-like, unyielding.

Before he could retaliate or use his powers, he was dragged through the crumbling wall, shards of concrete piercing his skin and his vision blurring from the sudden impact.

Unable to react in time, they watched as their team member disappeared into the darkness. The room soon erupted into chaos.

Metal Hand roared a command as he switched back to Wraith, his voice tearing through the sudden commotion.

"Wraith, abort mission NOW! We're under attack!"

Simultaneously, he launched himself towards the gaping hole in the wall, his metallic fist glowing ominously under his control.

Inferno was a step behind him, her flaming hair igniting into an inferno with a wave of her hand. The room was bathed in a sickly orange light as she focused her power, ready to unleash it on their unseen foe.

"What the fuck was that?!"

Meanwhile, Teleforce fought to keep his panic at bay as shockwaves rippled through his mind. He tried to focus on the surrounding rubble, attempting to telekinetically shift them aside but his fear made him erratic - chunks of walls and debris flew haphazardly, crashing into tables and screens with destructive force.

There was no sign of Iceberg or their assailant beyond the ruined wall as Inferno looked inside. Only debris and whirling dust were visible amid the pandemonium.

But within seconds, an unholy scream echoed from the unseen recesses of the building, shaking their bones with its ferocity and pain.

"Fuck this bull shit!" Metal Hand growled as he turned towards the wall that had a window and punched it.

It broke with ease, leaving a giant hole that led to the outside. He turned around and grabbed Teleforce before leaping out of the twelve-story building.

Seeing them leave, Inferno cursed under her breath, her heart pounding wildly as she considered the reality of her situation. She was alone in a terror-stricken room with an enemy that easily took down four of them.

She snapped back to reality when another monstrous scream echoed - this one closer. It sounded human, but no human could ever produce such a gut-wrenching sound.

"Keep your head straight, Bitch!" she reminded herself, her palms sweating as she clenched them into fists. Her flames danced wildly around her hands, flickering in sync with her erratic heartbeat.

Despite the fear gnawing at the pit of her stomach, she turned towards the gaping hole in the wall. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she leaped into the air and followed after her teammates.

Her hair blazed like a comet tail as she flew.

The moment she crossed the threshold, an oppressive chill washed over her. It wasn't a physical coldness but something much deeper that seemed to touch her very soul.

On the next rooftop, Metal Hand had landed with a thud that rippled through the concrete beneath them. He put Teleforce down and swept his gaze around their surroundings. The night was silent except for their heavy breathing and Inferno's crackling flames.

"We need to regroup," he commanded, his voice hoarse but stern.

Inferno nodded, extinguishing her flames enough so that they were only blue licks of fire around her form. Her eyes were wide and scared but she masked it with an angry scowl.

"I'll keep a lookout," she said hurriedly before taking off into the air.

Metal Hand watched as she disappeared into the sky before turning to Teleforce who was shaking visibly.

"Pull yourself together!" He ordered with a growl, "Fucking pussy!"

Metal Hand's insult seemed to snap Teleforce out of his paralyzing fear. The young telekinetic's shaking subsided, replaced by a flash of anger. His cyan eyes flared as his breathing evened out.

"I'm not a pussy!" Teleforce muttered, his voice laced with a controlled fury.

Metal Hand grunted as he tried to connect with Wraith. "Then don't fucking act like one! I need you focused."

They stood in tense silence for a moment, the sounds of the night eerily absent. Teleforce closed his eyes, trying to extend his senses, but he couldn't pick up anything nearby. No movement. No vibrations. Just an oppressive, suffocating stillness.

"Where the hell is Inferno?" Metal Hand growled, scanning the horizon. He tried to focus on any telltale sign of her flaming presence, but the night offered nothing but darkness.

Suddenly, his comm device crackled to life, and Wraith's ghostly voice came through. "Metal Hand… I found Iceberg's body."

He tapped the communicator on his wrist. "Report."

Wraith's voice was low, almost a whisper. "He's dead. But it wasn't just a kill. His body… it's mutilated beyond recognition. It's like something fed on him, ripped him apart from the inside."

Metal Hand clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white under the metallic sheen of his namesake. "Is the enemy still nearby?"

"I'm not sure. I'm cloaked, but I feel like I'm being watched," Wraith admitted, her tone betraying a rare moment of unease. "This man, no… thing. it's not like anything we've ever encountered."

"We've lost Iceberg," Metal Hand said grimly. "Abort recon. Get back to us. Now."

"I'm on my wa-" Wraith replied before her signal abruptly cut off.

Metal Hand tensed, dread crawling down his spine. He tried reconnecting to her comm device, but there was no response. The silence that followed felt like a heavy weight pressing down on him.

"She's gone, isn't she?" Teleforce asked quietly, his gaze distant.

"Shut up," Metal Hand snapped. But deep down, he knew the kid was right.

Suddenly, the rooftop rumbled, a tremor passing through the building beneath their feet. Teleforce's eyes widened as a low growl echoed from below them.

"What the hell is that?" Teleforce whispered, panic creeping back into his voice.

Metal Hand's response was swift. "Stay close. If anything comes at us, hit it with everything you've got!"

RUMBLE!

Suddenly, the rooftop exploded in a shower of concrete and metal as a massive figure erupted from below. The man's hulking form was obscured by the dust and debris, but its gleaming obsidian hands, the same ones that had snatched Iceberg, were unmistakable.

The figure loomed over them, its outline barely visible in the night.

"Black Noir!"

The hero ignored them as he looked up into the sky, seemingly looking for something.

Without hesitation, Metal Hand launched himself forward, his fist glowing with a metallic sheen as he aimed a devastating punch at the man's chest. His strike landed with a thunderous crash, but the figure barely flinched, absorbing the impact like it was nothing.

"Damn it!" Metal Hand snarled, pulling back just in time as the figure returned the attack before his fist suddenly stopped inches from his face.

Black Noir looked at his first with a tilt of his head, before pulling it back and waving it back and forth.

Teleforce, though visibly shaken, raised both hands, focusing his mind on Black Noir. His eyes glowed with a fierce cyan light, trying to pin him down with his telekinetic force.

"My powers are not working!" Teleforce shouted, panic lacing his voice as he watched the black-themed hero continue to move his body slowly.

"Keep it up!" Metal Hand roared as he continued to land blow after blow that seemed to do little to nothing.

He instinctively ducked down to avoid another swipe that stopped inches from his head, seeing his life flash before his eyes each time it happened. He could feel the power radiating off the beast, a dark, oppressive strength that gnawed at his resolve.

"We need to take this bitch down or we're fucked!"

As the two of them fought to take Noir down, a sudden burst of red flames cut through the night.

Inferno swooped down from above, her entire body ablaze in a wild, uncontrollable inferno. She unleashed a torrent of fire at the man, the searing heat igniting the air around them.

Teleport continued to keep him in place desperately but found himself slowly unable to.

They watched as Noir's entire body was engulfed in flames as Inferno continued to unleash everything she had on the bastard.

After a minute of nonstop fire that lit up the night, Inferno stopped as she gasped for breath and almost dropped to the floor in exhaustion.

They all looked at the fire, half expecting to see Noir's charred body lying amongst the rubble. Their hopes were dashed however as the flames died down and revealed an unscathed figure, standing tall and unaffected while the flames danced around his armor.

"What the fuck?!" Inferno shouted, her voice edged with fear and frustration as she hovered above the rooftop, fire crackling at her fingertips.

He extended a hand towards her and she ignited once again, lashing out with a whip of fire that was swatted aside effortlessly.

With a burst of speed, Noir closed the distance in an instant.

Teleforce renewed his efforts then, a visible force field forming around them. It shuddered visibly under Noir's nonchalant attack.

"Metal Hand!" Teleforce shouted over the sound of cracking energy. "Fucking stop him before he kills us!"

Metal Hand surged forward, landing another punch with enough force that it would have sent any other super flying. But Black Noir simply staggered back a few steps before righting himself.

He lifted his gaze and locked eyes with Metal Hand, and for the first time since becoming a superhuman, Metal Hand felt fear creep into him.

Noir lunged forward with unnatural speed, his hand piercing through the force field, and reached for Teleforce. Before Metal Hand could react, the obsidian fingers wrapped around Teleforce's outstretched hand, violently pulling him out of the psychic force field.

The psychic user had less than a second to react before he became a statistic in Black Noir's kill count.

Fortunately for him, he stopped Noir before he could rip him apart! Unfortunately? He was now stuck in Noir's deadly grip as he began to slowly tear him apart.

Teleforce screamed as the bones in his hand cracked and flesh torn open, his body thrashing as he tried to summon his powers to escape, but Noir's grip was too strong.

"NO!" Metal Hand bellowed, launching himself toward the hero. He slammed his fist into his arm, trying to free Teleforce from its grasp, but Noir's hold was unbreakable.

Inferno swooped down, her flames flaring even brighter as she joined the assault.

"Let him go! You fuck!" she screamed, unleashing a concentrated blast of fire at the man's face that could melt steel. The flames engulfed the beast's head, obscuring it in a searing blue inferno.

For a moment, it seemed like the attack might work.

The hero staggered backward, releasing his grip on Teleforce, who dropped to the ground with a gasp. But as the flames subsided, all they could see was the melting mask that revealed empty blue eyes that were glaring murderously at them.

As the mask completely melted off, the three supes could only gap at the face that was revealed.

The pale white skin, the messy blonde hair, and the blue eyes resonated with an icy menace. It was a face they all knew, a face the whole world knew. A face they revered and feared in equal measures.

Homelander.

It was him, or rather, a near-exact replica of him. It was as if they were staring into the face of Homelander himself, but while there were similarities there were also differences.

Each facial feature was painstakingly similar, the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the chiseled jawline, and even the slight cleft of his chin.

The only thing that differed was the cold, emotionless gaze that contradicted Homelander's charismatic, hope-filled one.

Teleforce's eyes widened with disbelief and fear, his powers whimpering as he tried to move, his injuries too severe.

"No… it can't be…" he whispered, falling to his knees.

Inferno's flames flickered as she hovered in shock, her expression mirrored the horror growing within her. The heat that usually radiated from her started to diminish.

Her voice echoed with uncertainty when she finally spoke, "H-Homelander?"

Metal Hand stood statue-like, frozen by the revelation.

"Impossible..." Metal Hand whispered, his metallic fingers clenching into fists so tight the metal groaned under his pressure. "They said he was still in his country…"

The little hope of them winning died a horrible and painful death.

Homelander, or whatever this thing was, took a slow step forward. The chilling emptiness in those blue irises, devoid of any emotion, radiated something far more dangerous than even the original hero could convey.

Pure, unadulterated menace.

Metal Hand clenched his fists tighter and made the best decision at that moment.

"Move!" he barked, shaking his head as if to dispel the fear paralyzing him. "We have to retreat! NOW!"

Inferno, still hovering above, snapped out of her shock at Metal Hand's command.

"We can't leave! If this thing is really him, we're dead no matter where we go!" Her voice trembled with fear but hardened with defiance. Her flames reignited with a burst of energy, swirling around her in an angry blaze.

Teleforce, gasping in pain as he struggled to stand, stared at the figure before them, his mind racing in disbelief.

"This… this isn't him. It can't be." He clutched his injured arm, the bones in his hand shattered, blood seeping through his suit. He tried to summon his powers, his glowing cyan eyes flickering weakly as they struggled pitifully to hold Noir back.

"We don't stand a chance either way!" Metal Hand roared, forcefully grabbing Teleforce by the collar and dragging him back. "Inferno, cover us!"

The fire-wielding woman didn't need to be told twice. With a primal scream, she unleashed everything she had, her body becoming a living embodiment of destruction. Flames exploded outward, swirling in a massive inferno that enveloped the rooftop. The fire roared with a deafening intensity, a vortex of blue and orange that seemed to consume the very air around them.

As the flames raged, Metal Hand hoisted Teleforce over his shoulder and sprinted toward the edge of the building.

With a powerful leap, Metal Hand soared into the night, his powerful legs absorbing the impact as he landed on the rooftop after rooftop. He set Teleforce down, turning just in time to see Inferno fly through the firestorm, her body trailing flames as she landed beside them.

Behind them, the inferno raged on, casting long shadows across the cityscape. But as they watched in horror, the flames began to part, revealing the figure within. Homelander's copy stepped through the fire, completely untouched, his icy gaze never leaving them.

The flames seemed to bend around him, as though they were afraid to touch him.

"Run," Metal Hand whispered, his voice barely audible. "RUN!"

Without another word, the three of them bolted, leaping from rooftop to rooftop in a desperate bid for survival. The oppressive night air clung to them as they raced through the city, the looming presence of the doppelganger never far behind.

"We need to regroup with what's left of the team!" Inferno gasped, glancing over her shoulder at the burning rooftop they'd left behind. Her flames sputtered and flickered, the toll of her earlier attack weakening her.

"There's no one left to regroup with!" Teleforce hissed, his voice ragged with pain. "Wraith is probably fucked. Iceberg is dead. And now… whatever that thing is—it's hunting us!"

"Keep moving!" Metal Hand commanded, his eyes darting around, looking for any semblance of cover as he began to tap away at his communication device. "We need a plan. We might stand a chance if we regroup with the others, and if we have no other choice, we'll have to use our last resort!"

Suddenly, a deafening sound echoed through the air, and before they could react, the figure appeared in front of them, blocking their path.

Metal Hand skidded to a halt, his heart pounding in his chest. "You… what are you?"

Black Noir didn't respond. He merely raised his hand, the same obsidian-black hand that had crushed Iceberg earlier, and pointed it toward them as something flew out of his hands at impossible speeds.

A low hum filled the air, and the very atmosphere around them seemed to warp.

"Move!" Metal Hand shouted, pushing Inferno and Teleforce aside, barely getting them out of the way of two daggers that were about to pierce through their skull.

He lunged forward, his metallic fists glowing with power. He swung with all his might, aiming for the figure's head, but his blow never landed.

In a blur of motion, the doppelganger dodged, its movements unnaturally fast. It grabbed Metal Hand mid-punch, its fingers digging into his arm with crushing force. Metal Hand roared in pain as his metal-encased arm buckled under the pressure.

"Raagghh!"

His teammates stared in shock at their commander screaming out in agonizing pain.

"Metal Hand!"

In a calculated manner, Noir gazed down at the man who was writhing on his knees in pain. He lifted his other arm, poised to deliver the final blow.

In the face of absolute death, Metal Hand bore down on his agony, straining against the grip that threatened to shatter his arm.

He closed his eyes, waiting for his end.

Click!

The sound of something metal clicked in place before Metal Hand was suddenly let go and dropped to the ground with a thud. A portal then opened underneath Metal Hand and swallowed him up in the barest of a second.

Inferno and Teleforce, who were left behind, watched as the once seemingly invincible hero writhed in agonizing pain, grasping at his neck where a mysterious metal collar had appeared.

A few buildings over, Planeshifter and Sharpshot appeared on a secluded rooftop.

She was panting heavily, her face pale from the strain of teleportation. It was never simple to carry others along these interdimensional lanes, and with Metal Hand unconscious, his mechanical arm added considerable weight.

A metallic clink echoed through the deserted alleyway, causing both of them to jerk their heads toward the sound; it was Metal Hand's arm coming in contact with the concrete floor. His eyes were closed, and he was groaning in pain, each breath rasping out of his throat.

"You think the collar will be enough?" Planeshift questioned as she laid Metal Hand down and got to work.

"No," Sharpshot answered as he glared in the direction of where Noir and their other two teammates were. "From the looks of it, they have a measly minute, if not less, to get the hell out of there."

His guess was soon proven terribly wrong however as within the next second the collar around Black Noir's neck shattered into pieces.

"…And that was a stronger model too." The man grumbled to himself as he readied another collar to shoot at Noir. "You think you can teleport us the hell out of here in the next minute or so?"

"No, it took a lot out of me just to save this idiot," The teleporter sighed as she took out a red vial and began putting it in a syringe. "The best I can do is teleport us a couple of meters. If you're hoping for more than that then you're going to have to hold that monster back for a day. You think you can manage that?"

She asked sarcastically before she grabbed a water bottle and splashed it on their leader's face.

Metal Hand began to come to life as he groaned, finally regaining consciousness. His eyes fluttered open, taking in his surroundings before they landed on Planeshifter and Sharpshot.

"What the fuck took you so long." Metal Hand rasped, more than a little pissed at them.

"Shut up bitch, you owe me for saving your pathetic ass," Planeshift growled as she handed him the syringe and then prepared another one.

Sharpshot stood nearby, his gaze staring at Teleforce and Inferno as fought against Noir with all their desperate might.

"That thing… it's still out there and I don't think it's going to stop until it kills each and every last one of us."

Metal Hand forced himself up, ignoring the pain still coursing through his body. "We need to regroup with Inferno and Teleforce. If we don't find a way to kill this thing, it's going to pick us off one by one."

Sharpshot turned, his expression grim. "Do you even have a plan? Because whatever that thing is, it's beyond anything we've ever faced. And if it really is some fucked up clone of Homelander…"

The words hung heavily in the air.

Metal Hand clenched his fists, his mind racing. "We don't have a choice. We either fight… or die."

Planeshifter glanced between the two men and groaned. "Then we need to move fast. I can still use my powers, but it gets harder with every use. I'm not sure how many more jumps I can make."

"Do what you can," Metal Hand said, his voice hardening with resolve. "We'll make our stand together. And if we're going down… we'll take that bastard with us."

They stared at the red syringe that gave off a foreboding glow.

---

Somewhere thousands of miles away, in a whole other country in fact.

A certain man flying in the sky turned and stared in their direction.

 

[Lillie Jones]

Watching

 

[Draconic fan]

Interesting, especially homeSIlander's positive effect on his brother and team.

 

[Lizard Mama]

Was really confused on what version of Black Noir you were using at first, glad you cleared that up.

 

[Kaya]

Nice to see you're posting here, been following it on ff for a while

 

[TrueGuardian32]

You sure this isn't a Blue Beetle insert?
Wrong hero meant the Tick

 

[M_Z]

Man this is so good!

The government going crazy since there's 0 dirty on Homelander is funny af!

Also imagine the shitshow that would happen when they try to make Homelanders origin story public, and creating false rumors, etc...and the man still continues to save everyone.

 

[ArtMagnus]

Man this is so good!

The government going crazy since there's 0 dirty on Homelander is funny af!

Also imagine the shitshow that would happen when they try to make Homelanders origin story public, and creating false rumors, etc...and the man still continues to save everyone.

Click to shrink...

That could be funny. It reminds me of Captain America from Earth's Mightiest Heroes actually, after the Secret Invasion Arc.