Chapter Text
Something wasn’t right.
His blood was boiling.
His eyes were burning.
His head was pounding with what felt like the worst hangover he could remember.
Yet it was all achingly familiar. He knew each sensation intimately, though his tired mind couldn’t place anything past the brain fog that left him feeling like he had just finished a week-long bender. “What the fuck?” Butcher grumbled as his hands lethargically reached up to rub at the burning sensation.
They ran down his face and through his scratchy beard before his mind drifted. Was this all a result of taking too many vials of temp V? If so, it was frankly shit. “You’re an idiot.” he muttered to himself before settling back on whatever scratchy blanket and questionably stiff pillow he was on.
“That’s one way to thank me for fulfilling my end of the deal. Not to mention saving your life.”
The voice was distinct and gruff, only capable of belonging to one person: Soldier Boy. Butcher sat up and opened his eyes, even as every muscle in his body ached against the action. Sure enough, in the blurry mess of vision was the undeniable presence of Soldier Boy sitting in a rusted chair.
“People usually show gratitude for that, so maybe you can get around to it sooner rather than later,” Ben said with a smug, knowing look as he folded his arms and sat back. Saved his life? Butcher had no idea what the other man was talking about.
Hell, he had no idea where he was.
He refused to acknowledge Ben further as he looked around the room. Brick walls with holes and cracked paint, cheap-looking medical equipment around the bed he was on, semi-shattered glass windows near the ceiling, some sort of steelwork business sign visible through them, and moss and plant-covered bookshelves, seats, and desks. It must be one of the Boys’ older safehouses.
“What the hell are you talkin’ about ‘savin' my life’?” Butcher questioned, wincing as he leaned back on his arm where a dull pricking feeling ran through it, one he ignored.
Soldier Boy was unfazed by Butcher’s confusion. “Well, after you and that Maeve chick helped me deal with Homelander by holding him down, the blast left you nearly dead, and that temporary shit you were taking was gonna finish you off.” He waved his hand dismissively at the mention of the temp V before standing up.
“So I thought, why not snoop around a bit? The bastard was dead, so I had time to spare. Turns out he had a whole drawer full of the permanent stuff. I figured that since you were willing to try the temp stuff, why not tackle two birds with one stone and give you the proper dose; bring you back and let you keep those powers you were starting to like.” His expression as he explained himself was one of confidence, pride, and something else not quite readable.
As soon as the words processed in Butcher’s fog-addled mind, it started to clear. He looked down at where the pricking sensation was coming from to see an IV tube with a few drops of blue liquid, most of it probably searing its way through his veins, and the empty glass vial labeled ‘Compound V’ telling him exactly what it was.
“If it helps, I burnt out the cancer and whatever else that the other shit it was giving you. So any of the other parts of the temp V should be gone.” His words showed that Soldier Boy was all too pleased with himself, or maybe he was just happy that his efforts hadn’t gone to waste by Butcher dying.
Billy felt the spark behind his eyes flare and the orange light glare at the edges of his vision. “You son of a bitch!” He ripped the IV free and stood, only for everything to blur together. Maybe it was the V, or maybe the anger. Either way, it just made it all the more apparent.
He was now the very thing he hated most. He was a supe.
“What the fuck were ya thinkin’? Givin’ me bloody V, ya twat!” he spat, steadying himself against the creaky wooden table that he felt splintering easily under his grip. “I never asked ya to do that. I never wanted to be one of ya cunts!” He continued, eventually managing to focus again on Ben.
“Oh, come on, don’t be such a pussy. What’s the difference between you taking it for a day and me helping you like this?” Ben looked him up and down with a scowl. “Would have been easier to leave you to die, but no, I’m the bad guy for helping you. I guess you would’ve preferred having your brain rot until you die,” he said with growing annoyance.
"You... you bastard," Butcher spat, his anger literally spitting out with the words. "I never wanted this. You turned me into one of them! Into one of you!" He jabbed his finger against Soldier Boy’s chest to drive the point further.
Ben didn’t flinch. He met Butcher’s glare head-on, his own expression hardening. "I did what I had to do to save your life. You were dying, and I wasn't about to let that happen. You still have... use to me." While his demeanor was decidedly neutral, his words were hesitant and carefully chosen, yet the other didn’t much care to pay attention.
Butcher clenched his fists, feeling the semi-familiar strength in his grip. He wanted to lash out, to vent his fury and punch Ben in his stupid rugged face, but the rational part of his mind held him back. He took a deep breath, trying to reign in his emotions, even if only for a moment.
"And what now?" Butcher asked, his voice low and dangerous. "What do we do now that I'm one of the bloody freaks?"
Ben stood up, towering over Butcher but maintaining a calm demeanor. "We use it.” He casually shrugged. “Butcher. We use the power to do whatever the hell we want. I gave you a second chance here.” He looked him up and down with a subtle sneer. “Don’t waste it."
The room fell silent again as Butcher looked away, staring at the ceiling as he processed Ben's words. The anger still simmered, but beneath it, a grim determination began to take root.
"Fine," Butcher said finally, his voice hard. "But don’t think for a second I’m happy about this. ‘Sides, not like I got much of a choice now, do I?”
Ben nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he patted Butcher on the arm. “Good boy.” He praised before walking out of the room, leaving Butcher with a shiver running down his spine and a split second of pure joy that made the world feel perfect and made him think that Ben could do no wrong.
He quickly and violently shook his head the moment after. “Fuckin’ Hell.” He muttered, spying his reflection in the broken mirror across from the bed.
Within the cracked splinters and shards that remained of it, his reflection stared back at him with the same self-loathing and hatred he’d grown accustomed to. Dust-covered Hawaiian shirt and rubble-stained jeans with weather boots were still his apparent outfit of choice after so it probably hadn’t been too long from their plan to take down homelander and judging from what Ben had said, he’d gone through it with. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” Billy Chutters seeing something he hadn’t expected.
The reflection of his face startled him more than some dirty clothes.
“What the hell?” Butcher whispered as he squinted closer. Gone was the withered look and green goop that was probably his brain melting out of his ear, and instead, he looked just about as healthy as he used to as the life he led could let him. “Well, I’ll be damned. At least it makes all the beauty sleep worth it.” He remarked with a deep sigh.
Any more revelations could wait until after he had something to drink, preferably alcoholic but caffeine would be fine.
---
A few minutes later Butcher eventually dragged himself out of the room and stepped out to find the rest of The Boys in what looked like the leftovers of that Factory he spotted a sign for. Each of them were nursing their own wounds and weariness. And from the way the others looked at him with even more disdain then usual he knew that his confrontation with Ben had been overheard.
MM leaned against a cracked wall, arms crossed and eyes hard and he rolled his neck in a tense motion. Frenchie was at the table, tending to a cut on Hughie’s arm, while Starlight sat nearby, her expression a mixture of determination and exhaustion. Kimiko sat on the dusty, leather armchair with a scowl on her face as she spotted Butcher.
"Look who’s finally with us." MM started seeing him and breaking the silence, "We need to figure out our next move. Vought's not gonna let this slide." He stepped forward, leaning heavily on the spool-turned-table before glancing at the others..
"No, they will come after us and hard." Frenchie agreed, his voice laced with tension as he delicately threaded the stitches onto Hughie’s arm "Yeah well I doubt that someone up there is going to appreciate use killing of Homelander like that." He remarks, trying to grit through the pain. “You need to stop squirming. But you’re right.” Annie added squeezing his free hand gently.
Kimiko nodded, her eyes meeting MM’s before she pulled out her phone and started typing out “They will be after our heads.” To which he read quickly a responded, “Which is why I vote we keep those same heads down. What we just did isn’t going to blow over for a long time.”
Starlight sat up at MM’s words, "We can’t just let them spin this into whatever makes them look good. We need to get the truth out before they bury it." She tries to argue.
"Easier said than done." Hughie replied, his voice heavy with frustration. "They do sorta control everything and besides I’m sure they’re already preparing someone else to take over." He grimaces feeling Frenchie’s needle and thread slowly closing the large cut.
Suddenly, the beat-up TV in the corner flickered to life as Ben messed with the taped together remote. “Can you all stop complaining? We did what we wanted and we’re all alive. If anything we should be celebrating.” Soldier Boy shouts as he lays back on the beat up couch while the TV starts displaying a VNN news report as he flicks through the channels.
“Wait a tick, mate. Let’s hear what lovely ginger locks here has to say.” Butcher orders from his position of leaning against the metal railing. The others silently followed and watches as
"-aking news, America’s beloved superhero, Homelander, has been killed in a super-abled terrorist attack that took place just last night. We are still getting information on the damages and casualties that this senseless tragedy against America’s finest has inflicted. But now we hand you over to Vought CEO: Ashley Barrett." the news anchor began.
Soon enough Ashley appeared on screen, her face a mask of practiced sorrow. "This heinous act was perpetrated by the rogue superhero known as Soldier Boy, it was believed that he once bravely sacrificed his life to help keep us safe but it turns out that he had been taken by the Soviets and they turned him against our great nation. Soldier Boy is responsible for the deaths of numerous Superheros, first his old team and now he has taken away our best hero to date."
She took a break to pretend to cry as she wiped her eyes with a silk handkerchief, “But he was not working alone. We have gathered evidence that he was working with a group of criminals. There names are: Serge Durand, Marvin Milk, Hughie Campbell, Kimiko Miyashiro, William Butcher and Annie January and Maeve Shaw. Yes, it breaks my heart too to see two more heroes turn on their country. All have since gone missing but rest assured, it is Vought’s commitment to see that each and everyone of these criminals face the full reach and might of the law and pay for their heinous crimes. Even Soldier Boy can be brought down.”
As it switched back to the anchor commenting on Ashley’s response, the room fell silent as the weight of Ashley's words began sinking in. Butcher’s jaw tightened, “I- “ but before he could speak Soldier Boy’s gruff voice cut past it.
"That's not happening," Soldier Boy declared and tith a swift, angry motion he hurled his empty bottle of beer at the TV. It shattered against the screen easily and sent shards of glass and sparks flying out.
“Shit! If they know about us then they are going to go after my family. I’ve gotta call Monique, she needs to get Janine out now.” Marvin stormed off with his phone in hand. “I mean how the hell did they know it was us? All the camera must’ve been destroyed in the blast right? They were disabled anyway…I think.” Hughie stuttered as the bandages were wrapped around he injury.
Butcher just eyed him non-chalontly “You think? My boy, that right there was clear that they had our pretty little mugs on camera. Probably had it the moment we stepped foot in there.” He grimaces at the fact for moment before Starlight interrupts him, “There is no way that is all you have to say. They just declared us America’s most wanted and all you can do is stand there looking all pleased with yourself.”
She moved until she was inches away from him, seething as she spoke “Our lives are over because of you two. None of us will ever get to see a normal day again and whatever is left of our families thinks we’re criminal masterminds along with the rest of the world.”
She quickly turns her attention to bed who had been busy getting comfortable on the couch almost as if to take a nap “And you. How many died because of you? The building still had people in and you detonated regardless. Neither of you thought for a second that they could have gotten killed. I don’t even have to bet on it, I already know that you don’t care all you wanted, Butcher, was revenge.”
She puts on a fake smile, “Well you got it. Homelander’s dead. Ryan is missing. Neuman is still out there and you damned the rest of us right along with you. The moment I’m able to leave, I’m going to. I never want to see your face again and if I do I will burn it until there is nothing left but smoke and ash.” Annie vowed before barging past Butcher, scoffing as he seems unphased by it.
As she left, Hughie slumped on his stool in contemplation. “I’m sorry, Butcher but she’s right. My dad isn’t going to want to even look at me once he finds out that I had a part in killing America’s golden boy. I don’t even have anywhere to send him or anyone to call.” The man ran a stressed hand through his hair and started pacing up and down the room.
“I guess, MM could help but Annie has a point. You got what you wanted but the rest of us are screwed over because of it. What are we supposed to do now. Please tell us that you have some plan for this?” His fear quickly becoming aggression “Tell me that you didn’t drag all of us through the fucking dirt and shit just so that you could get your revenge. Tell me that you have some sort of plan for us all.”
He stared as Butcher’s attitude diminished into shameful silence. “You can’t. Un-fucking-believable! You never cared what happened to any of us in the end did you? You were all just going to destroy yourself and the rest of us right along with you.”
Butcher's silence hung heavy in the air, the weight of Hughie's words pressing down on him. Frenchie looked around at the tired, frustrated faces and then at Kimiko, who gave him a nod of understanding. She pulled out her phone and started typing, showing off the sentences when she finished.
“We can’t stay. We need to leave ASAP. Far Away.”
"But where?" Hughie asked, desperation in his voice “We have no where to go until we get that CIA to help us or something. I mean until then if we so much as step outside we’re as good as dead. Vought will be on us in an instant.” He argues with as his hand slaps helplessly onto his lap.
Frenchie stood, pulling Kimiko to her feet. "We have a few places we can go. Places Vought doesn't know about. We will be safe there, at least for a while but the longer we stick together the more chance for us all to be caught." He
"But we're stronger together," Hughie protested, looking between the two of them pleadingly, eyes big and brows raised.
"Sometimes, we must protect ourselves first, mon ami," Frenchie replied gently. "We cannot fight anything if we are dead."
Kimiko typed again, her face serious as she handed the phone back to Frenchie. He read, "We will keep in touch. When it's safe but for now we must go. All of us."
MM, who had returned after his call to Monique, nodded in agreement. "They have a point. We need to be smart about this. Keep our heads down, go our separate ways, and then regroup when the time is right and only if we’re needed. Don’t do anything reckless."
Starlight, still seething but more composed returned a few moments later and leant on the crumbling door frame and turned to Frenchie and Kimiko. "Be safe, both of you. We'll figure this out soon. Me and Hughie here have got to figure out a new place to go. No doubt they’ll be crawling all over the apartment"
Frenchie gave her a tight smile. "You too, Annie. Watch each other's backs. Can’t let him get into any more trouble, oui?" He glanced at Butcher one last time, a mix of disappointment and understanding in his eyes. "I hope you’re happy with what you’ve got." The man says with a frown and sombre gaze.
With that, Frenchie and Kimiko gathered their things and headed for the back exit. Kimiko paused at the door, typing one last message. She handed the phone to Starlight, who read aloud, "Stay safe. We'll see each other again."
With one final hug they were gone.
As they left, the room fell into a heavy silence once more or maybe Butcher just shut down. Let the world move around him as one by one the people he might’ve called friends gave their hugs and muttered their goodbyes slowly left through different doors until he was alone.
Almost Alone.
“You don’t need them.” A voice suddenly commented from the couch “Fuckin’ hell. Forgot you were here.” Butcher retorted slumping into the now empty leather armchair. “Like I said, you don’t need them.” Ben repeated sitting up slightly and slinging an arm carelessly over the back of the couch.
Butcher just took a deep sigh and closed his eyes whilst his head fell back against the chair, “Yeah, why’s that then, mate?” He wonders aloud and it doesn’t take long for Ben to answer.
“Because you have me and those Powers I gave you. We’re stronger than them snivelling sissies. Vought can’t stand a chance against me and not to you if you stick with me. Because of me you’re better.” Ben promises with that same sickly arrogant smirk.
Butcher just weakly looked over and sighed once more. His wife was dead. The man he hated the most is dead. Ryan is missing. All his friends just left. He is one of America’s most wanted men. He was supposed to be dying.
Yet he’s alive thanks to Soldier Boy.
“Fuck it. Why not? It’s not like I have much to lose any way.” He concedes and slouches back into the seat, purposeless and aimless. Just maybe sticking around with Ben long enough would give him a new one. Afterall who was capable of killing all the other supes if not both of them.
“Good boy.”
The praise sends another shiver of joy through him but this time he let it wash over him and ebb away at the shame and, dare he admit, sadness. He let it fill him with a sense of happiness he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in…well ever.
Neither of his parents ever praised him or Lenny as kids. Not that he deserved. His father made it clear enough that Butcher was nothing more than disobedient, underserving mistake.
Yet it was just a drop is against the ocean of self loathing that Ben was determined to replace with unwavering admiration, dependency and loyalty.
After all, what was he supposed to do with his free time, besides drinking and drugs?
---
Marie sat at a small desk in her room at the Red River Institute, the dim light of her lamp casting a soft glow on the papers spread before her. She was in the midst of writing her application for Godolkin University, her heart set on escaping the confines of the orphanage and making something of herself. The prospect of attending the prestigious school for superheroes was both thrilling and daunting, and she meticulously crafted her personal statement, hoping to convey her passion and potential.
The radio suddenly, disrupting her focus. Marie looked up, annoyed at first by the interruption, but her irritation quickly turned to curiosity as the words "Breaking News" suddenly blurted out of the old machine. She reached over and turned the dial to raise the volume, her pen momentarily forgotten as it clattered against the rickety table.
The news anchor's voice was tense, filled with a mix of shock and gravity. "Once again we recite that America’s beloved superhero, Homelander, has been killed in a super-abled terrorist attack that took place just last night.”
Marie’s eyes widened, “The hell?!” she gasped as she felt a jolt of fear shoot through her. Homelander, the invincible icon of The Seven and the superhero wider world, was dead. Her heart pounded as the radio switched to Ashley Barrett, who repeated the message she had prior.
"This heinous act was perpetrated by the rogue superhero known as Soldier Boy," Ashley began, her voice heavy with manufactured grief. "It was believed that he once bravely sacrificed his life to help keep us safe but it turns out that he had been taken by the Soviets and they turned him against our great nation. Soldier Boy is responsible for the deaths of numerous superheroes, first his old team and now he has taken away our best hero to date."
Marie’s hand clutched the edge of the desk, her knuckles turning white. “Jesus.” She muttered as the implications of this were becoming staggering. If Homelander could be killed, it meant that no one was truly safe. The walls of the institute, which had always felt like a cage, now seemed like a fragile barrier against a world filled with even more danger than she had imagined.
Ashley continued before the radio switched back to the anchor, but Marie barely registered the remaining words. Her mind was racing. The reality of the superhero world was far darker than she had been led to believe. Heroes were being hunted, and those who defied Vought were branded as terrorists. It was a sobering reminder of the power dynamics at play and the precarious position she would be stepping into if she were accepted into Godolkin University.
She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. The weight of her decision to apply to Godolkin now felt heavier and her resolve to get there was bolstered. It was no longer just about escaping Red River or proving herself. Now if should get through university then there might just be a spot in The Seven waiting for her.
All she had to do was finishing writing this damn thing and then pray to whatever might answer that she gets in. “Guess I don’t have much of a choice but to get back to it.” She spoke to herself, swiveling the chair back around.
Marie turned back to her application, her focus sharper than before. She picked up her pen once more and began to write with renewed purpose, her words flowing with a newfound clarity. She would get into Godolkin. She would become a hero. And she would make a difference. Maybe find a relationship along the way.
---
Jordan sat in their family's opulent living room, while lazily eating from the plate of toast they had buttered moments before. The room itself was the same old testament to their family's wealth and status within the superhero community, adorned with awards, photos, and memorabilia. Of course in each photo Jordan was the ‘Perfect, gifted son.’. The idea of being that was just as loathsome as when they had first heard but eventually they had learnt to put on a smile and use it to act through the pain.
As they sprawled out on the plush sofa, the news blared from the widescreen TV mounted on the wall.
"Breaking news, America’s beloved superhero, Homelander, has been killed in a super-abled terrorist attack that took place just last night..."
Jordan's breath caught in their throat as they choked on the toast for a moment before spitting it out, their eyes glued to the screen. They barely noticed their father, Mr. Li, enter the room, his face lined with concern. He paused, watching as Ashley Barrett delivered her statement, her sorrowful mask firmly in place.
"This heinous act was perpetrated by the rogue superhero known as Soldier Boy…" Ashley said, her voice breaking as the spoke. Jordan set the plate aside and watched raptly as she explained what Vought’ response to the incident was. “Well would you look at that.” They muttered as each of the names were listed off. “Wait Starlight and Queen Maeve were part of it?!” They yelled
Mr. Li's face hardened, and Jordan felt a chill run down their spine. They knew what was coming next. Ashley's voice droned on, detailing the involvement of other supposed criminals. Names flashed on the screen: Serge Durand, Marvin Milk, Hughie Campbell, Kimiko Miyashiro, William Butcher, Annie January, and Maeve Shaw. The gravity of the situation hit Jordan like a punch to the gut.
"We have gathered evidence that he was working with a group of criminals... All have since gone missing but rest assured, it is Vought’s commitment to see that each and every one of these criminals face the full reach and might of the law and pay for their heinous crimes. Even Soldier Boy can be brought down."
The TV switched back to the anchor, who continued to discuss the ramifications of Homelander’s death, but Jordan could hardly process the words. They felt their father's intense gaze on them, a mixture of disappointment and fear.
"Do you see now, Jordan?" Mr. Li said, his voice barely above a whisper but heavy with meaning. "This is the world you're stepping into. It's not just about glory and power. It's about danger and responsibility."
Jordan turned to face their father, their heart racing. They had always known the risks, but this was different. Homelander was supposed to be invincible, untouchable. If someone like him could be taken down, what chance did anyone else have?
Mr. Li continued, his voice growing sterner. "You need to be prepared. This isn’t a game. The decisions you make, the people you trust... it all matters. You can’t afford to be reckless."
Jordan clenched their fists, feeling a mix of anger and frustration. They had spent their entire life training, honing their powers, all under the watchful eye of their demanding father. They wanted to prove themselves, to show that they were more than just their abilities or their family name. But the news of Homelander’s death was a harsh reminder of the reality they were about to face.
"I know, Dad," Jordan replied, their voice steady but laced with determination. "I think I’m ready to handle University. I doubt Soldier Boy is going to go and blow up some random kids." They dismiss
Mr. Li nodded, though his expression remained stern. "Good. Just remember, it’s not just about you. It’s about all of us. Our family, our legacy. Don’t forget that."
As Mr. Li left the room, Jordan turned back to the TV, shaking their head in frustration. They had always felt the weight of their family's expectations, but now it felt even heavier. The prospect of attending Godolkin University, which had seemed like a thrilling opportunity, now felt like a daunting challenge. They just wanted things to be about them for once and that’s what Godolkin was going to be.
But despite the fear and uncertainty, Jordan felt that spark of resolve. They had trained their whole life for this moment, and they weren’t going to back down now. If anything, Homelander’s death solidified their determination to get out there and reach number one by any means, dangers be damned.
With a deep breath, Jordan picked up their phone and opened their application for Godolkin University. They reviewed it and clicked send moments after.
They would prove themselves, not just to their father, but to the world. And they would make sure that their name, and their actions, would be remembered because it was Jordan not the Son of Mr Li.
---
Andre sat in his bedroom, surrounded by posters of his favorite superheroes and trophies from various athletic and academic achievements. His laptop was open on his desk, displaying his half complete personal statement for Godolkin University. He had been staring at it for hours, trying to find the right words to convey his passion and potential and now it had gotten to the point that the sun had started piercing through his window.
The news was playing on the TV in the background where his dad had been listening to it after waking up, but he barely paid attention until he heard the name that made him freeze. Afterall, recently death was something the news was having a field day with.
"Breaking news, America’s beloved superhero, Homelander, has been killed in a super-abled terrorist attack that took place just last night…
Andre darted into the room and saw the memorial image on the screen, as his heart started racing as he listened to Ashley Barrett's statement. The weight of the news settled over him like a heavy blanket. He knew this was more than just a headline—it was a seismic shift in the world he was about to enter.
"This heinous act was perpetrated by the rogue superhero known as Soldier Boy…" Ashley said, her voice thick with feigned emotion. But the literal newsflash of Soldier Boy, someone who had been missing for decades, coming back and killing Thee Homelander sent him reeling. “What the actual fuck?!” he questioned stepping closer to the TV.
Andre's father, the once famous Polarity, entered the room, his expression serious. He had heard the news too, and he saw it as an opportunity. "Did you hear that?" he asked, pointing at the TV. "This is it. This is your chance."
Andre looked up, confusion and anxiety in his eyes. "What do you mean, Dad?" he asked with a slight frown.
Mr. Anderson sat down next to him, his hand on Andre’s shoulder. "Homelander is dead. The Seven are going to need new blood. This is your opportunity to get ahead, to make a name for yourself."
Andre shook his head, struggling to process everything. "But Dad, this is huge. Homelander was... he was the face of everything that being a hero was, of everything. How can you be thinking about opportunities right now?! The guy literally just died a few hours ago!"
Mr. Anderson's grip tightened on his son's shoulder, his eyes intense. "Because this is how the world works, Andre. Tragedy creates openings. You have to be ready to seize them. Vought will be looking for new heroes to fill the void. This is your chance to prove yourself, to get into Godolkin and from there, into The Seven."
Andre looked back at the semi-filled personal statement on his laptop, his father's words echoing in his mind. He had always felt the pressure to live up to his father’s expectations, to follow in his footsteps. But the death of Homelander changed everything. It made the stakes higher, the path more treacherous.
More worth it. More Rewarding.
"I don’t know, Dad," Andre said, his voice uncertain. "This feels... wrong. Shouldn't we be mourning or something, not scheming?"
Mr. Anderson sighed, his expression softening slightly. "I understand how you feel. But this is the reality of our world. If you want to make a difference, if you want to be a hero, you have to be willing to step up when the moment comes. And this, Andre, is your moment. Don’t squander it mourning someone you didn’t even know."
Andre took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his father's words. He knew his father was right, in a way. The world of superheroes was brutal and unforgiving. If he wanted to succeed, he had to be prepared to seize every opportunity, no matter how it presented itself.
"Alright, Dad," Andre said finally, determination hardening his voice. "I'll do it. I'll finish my statement, and I'll get into Godolkin. And then... I'll aim for The Seven."
Mr. Anderson smiled, pride shining in his eyes. "That's my boy. Remember, this is just the beginning. You have the potential to be one of the greatest. Don't let anything hold you back not matter how hard the kids there or people at Vought push you."
As his father left the room, Andre followed suit and turned back to his laptop, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. The news continued to play in the background, soon switching to descriptions of the. He began to think over the remaining sections of writing, even if his goal was to take the place of a dead man or either of the two traitors and the other dead man, Black Noir.
Afterall where he was going he was going a little more steel and grit, thankfully that’s what the Anderson's are made off.
---
Emma sat cross-legged on her bed, her phone in one hand and a handful of semi-burnt popcorn in the other. Her room was a cozy mess of fairy lights, posters of her favorite superheroes, and plush toys. She had been busy editing her latest Little Cricket video, on the laptop beside her but it had gotten forgotten in a cycle of scrolling Twitter.
Then the news of Homelander’s death suddenly appeared in her notifications.
"VNN: Breaking News: Homelander found Dead in Vought Tower. Soldier Boy is the Supe Terrorist to blame as well as others.”
She pressed on it and read over the ominous text, taking in each of the witness reports, the names of the criminals accountable. “Starlight? I’m sorry, what?!” She shouted reading that one of her favourite heroes was accountable for the death of America’s sweetheart.
Emma’s mother knocked on the door before poking her head inside. "Emma, honey, have you seen the news? Did you hear about Homelander?" She asked hesitantly
Emma nodded, her eyes still glued to the screen. "Yeah, Mom. Of course I’ve seen it. Homelander sure is dead. It’s unreal." The girl answered already bothered by the revelation of her icon being a new villain and now she had to deal with her pushy mother trying to suddenly play the parental concern card instead of the usual role of control freak.
Her mother walked in, sitting down beside her on the bed. "I know. It’s a lot to take in. He was... well, he was everywhere. On TV, in the news, in all those commercials and movies. It's hard to imagine the world without him."
Emma turned to look at her mother, a look of what might just be genuine confusion and concern in her eyes. "What do you think I should now? I mean, Godolkin... becoming a hero... seems more dangerous than ever right?"
Her mother put a comforting hand on Emma's shoulder. "That’s why I made sure you went into the acting course, darling. I couldn’t stomach the thought of you out there dealing with people like Soldier Boy. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to watch the news and see you up there.."
There it was; the same controlling, selfishness that Emma had become accustomed to hearing from her mom.
Emma felt her frustration bubble up, mixing with the confusion and shock from the news. She had been so sure of her path, so determined to prove herself as a hero. Now, with Homelander dead and Starlight branded a traitor, everything seemed uncertain and now her mom was trying to get her onto some acting course.
"Mom, I know you're worried, but acting isn't what I want. I mean stage acting and those weird Vought shows, Youtube is fine. I want to be a real hero, to make that difference." Emma said, her voice tinged with defiance.
Her mother sighed, brushing a stray hair from Emma's face. "I understand, sweetheart, but the world is dangerous. People like Soldier Boy... they're unpredictable. I just want you to be safe."
Emma pulled away, her resolve hardening. "Being safe isn’t going to change anything. I want to help people, to be someone others can look up to. Like Starlight—before all of this, anyway. Maybe now more than ever, people need new heroes. I have these powers and what am I supposed to do with them if not try and help people." She desperately argued.
Her mother looked at her with a mixture of pride and worry. "I won’t hear it. You’re going to Godolkin and you are going to ace that course and that is the end of discussion. I will not have you putting yourself in more reckless danger than you already do."
Emma nodded, her body slumped over her phone again as she sat back on the bed while her mom got up and went to leave. "I care about you, Emma and I don’t want to see you get hurt."
Her mother smiled faintly, seeing the conviction in her daughter's eyes. "Alright, Emma. Just remember, no matter what happens,make sure to keep those calories in check."
Emma returned the smile, a painfully forced expression. "Thanks, Mom, will do." She grimaced with thinly veiled irritation.
As her mother left the room, Emma turned back to her laptop. She closed the video editing software and reopened her application document and switching the requested course from acting to crime fighting.
It wasn’t like her Mom would be there to check on her ever.
---
After making the immediate statement it took Vought all of one hour and thirty four minutes to go into a nuclear meltdown level of PR failure.
Ashley was sat at the head of the large, polished table in Vought's executive boardroom, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched a pen to distract herself from the urge to tug at the few strands of real hair she had left.
The room was a stark contrast to the usual sleek, controlled environment of Vought Tower. Papers were strewn across the table, and the room buzzed with urgent conversations and frantic phone calls being made back and forth.
"Everyone, please, shut up!" Ashley called out, her voice cracking slightly. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "We need to get a handle on this. Homelander's death is the biggest crisis we've ever faced since someone leaked the Seven’s nudes."
The board members, who were once a collection of stern-faced executives and frantic PR specialists, and now were a room full of panic ridden and frantic lunatics scrambling to find some miracle solution.
They eventually, slowly quieted down and began to listen to Ashley. They each slowly settled into their seats as Ashley gestured to the large screen on the wall, which displayed various news outlets, all covering the shocking news of Homelander’s death. “We need to do something about this before we have the public at our throats and supes clambering thinking we owe them something.” She starts.
“We’re trending everywhere,” one of the PR specialists muttered, scrolling through Twitter on his tablet. “#HomelanderDead, #VoughtCollapse, #SuperTerrorists. I could go on.” He sassily repeated from the device.
Ashley just slammed slammed her hand on the table, causing everyone to jump in surprise. “We need solutions, not hashtags!” she snapped. “How do we spin this? How do we reassure the public that we aren’t actually losing our shit?”
One of the senior executives, a graying man with a sharp suit and sharper eyes, spoke up. “We need to show strength. We’ve Acknowledged the tragedy but we need to immediately take action and find out where the criminals are hiding and I say we let the Seven make an examples of them.”
Ashley nodded, her mind racing. “Right. We need something to show we mean business Something powerful, get a list together of the supes that we had recorded for potential recruits.” She ordered before seeing the picture of Ryan and the file-dossier with all his information
“And while we’re at we need to address Ryan before he has starts lasering people all over the place.” She realises and tosses the file into the centre of the room for the others to read over.
At the mention of Homelander’s son, a hush fell over the room. Ryan, the young boy that was the first natural born supe, was a potential PR nightmare. “If we don’t deal with him soon then he’s going to blow. Does he even know about his dad’s death?” Another woman asked.
“No and he won’t know until long after he’s been moved to wherever. We need to get Ryan out of the public eye.” Ashley answered. “Somewhere safe, where he can be monitored and, um, mourn in private, I don’t fucking know.” She continued to ramble searching among the various papers for a possible location
“What about Blue Coast?” suggested another executive. “It’s a secure facility, and we can control the narrative from there.”
Ashley nodded, making a note. “Good. We’ll send Ryan to Blue Coast. Frame it as giving him the privacy he needs during this difficult time.” She practices in the comporate tone that always worked on kids.
A young PR assistant, nervously fiddling with her pen, spoke up. “And what about The Seven? With Homelander, Supersonic and Black Noir dead, and Starlight and Maeve branded as traitors, we’re down to two members. We need new heroes to fill those gaps, fast. I’m talking about needing them yesterday.”
Ashley looked around the room, her eyes narrowing in thought. “Godolkin University,” she said slowly. “They have top-tier students ready to step up. We’ll select the top three to join The Seven. It will show that we’re moving forward, investing in the future.”
The PR specialist nodded, quickly jotting down notes. “We can frame it as passing the torch to the next generation of heroes. Emphasize their training, their readiness, their loyalty to Vought.”
Ashley allowed herself a small, grim smile. “Exactly. We’ll hold a press conference to announce the new members. It’ll be a spectacle, something to distract the public from the chaos. We’ll also need two others. We’ve lost out biggest marketing faces so we’ll need someone to appeal to conservative middle aged white America and then someone to fill in the Brave Maeve brand we made.”
The senior executive leaned forward, his eyes sharp. “And what about Soldier Boy and the others involved in this attack?”
“We’ll continue to push the narrative that they’re dangerous terrorists,” Ashley replied. “We’ll work with law enforcement to hunt them down and bring them to justice. Make it clear that Vought is on the front lines, protecting the public.”
There was a murmur of agreement around the table. Ashley felt a surge of determination. This was a crisis, yes, but it was also an opportunity. If they handled it right, Vought could emerge stronger than ever.
“Alright, everyone,” she said, standing up. “You know your roles. Let’s get to work. We have a lot to do, and the world is watching.”
As the board members dispersed, Ashley took a deep breath, steeling herself for the days ahead. This was just the beginning, but she was determined to navigate Vought through this storm, no matter what it took.
It was her role as CEO of the company and she was going to play it to perfection.