The media went into a frenzy. "MAZAHS SAVES HOSTAGES!" "A TRUE HERO IS BORN!" My face was everywhere, the dark, brooding savior juxtaposed with Homelander's smug, bloodless presence at the scene. Vought's PR machine, ever adaptable, spun it perfectly. They couldn't condemn Homelander, so they celebrated me twice as hard. I was the "redemptive powerhouse," the "calm in the storm."
Homelander was livid. He didn't say a word to me in the days that followed, but the silence was more threatening than any scream. He'd look at me during Seven meetings with a dead-eyed stare that promised a world of pain. The team felt the shift. A-Train and The Deep gave me a wider berth, sensing the alpha's rage. Maeve occasionally met my gaze, a flicker of something like respect in her eyes before the shutters came down again.
Stan Edgar, however, summoned me to his office. It was a different kind of intimidation. Cold, polished, and utterly calculating.
He gestured to a screen showing the news coverage. "You handled that... situation... with remarkable restraint," he said, steepling his fingers. "A profitable deviation from the initial plan. The public loves a savior. It's a more sustainable brand than a punisher."
He wasn't praising me. He was assessing an asset that had unexpectedly increased in value.
"Homelander is a necessary force," Edgar continued, his voice devoid of emotion. "But he lacks... nuance. He is a hammer. Sometimes, a situation requires a scalpel." He looked directly at me. "I believe you could be that scalpel."
This was new. Edgar was subtly positioning me as a counterweight to Homelander. He was playing a deeper game, using Homelander's instability to his advantage. He wanted a tool he could control, one that wouldn't smash the china while killing the fly.
"It is in Vought's best interest that certain internal... equilibriums... are maintained," he said. "Your continued success and stability serve that interest. Do you understand?"
I understood perfectly. He was offering me a deal. His protection, in exchange for being his leash on Homelander. It was a pact with a devil far smarter than the one I was currently serving.
"I understand, sir," I said.
"Good," Edgar replied, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Mallory will have your new assignments. They will be more... delicate. Continue to prove your value."
I left his office feeling like I'd stepped from one snake pit into another. I was now a piece on Edgar's chessboard, and Homelander was the king I was supposedly meant to check. It was a more powerful position, but infinitely more dangerous. If Homelander sensed Edgar's maneuvering, his rage would be apocalyptic.
That night, a encrypted message flashed on a burner phone I kept hidden.
The offer still stands. We have a lead. The source. Meet me. - B
Butcher. He was still out there. Still fighting. And he'd just thrown me a lifeline. "The source." He meant the original source of Compound V. The key to bringing Vought down for good.
I was trapped between three titanic forces: Homelander's naked aggression, Edgar's cold-blooded manipulation, and Butcher's relentless crusade. My cover was thinner than ever, my mind was a battleground for dead Supes, and the only way out was through.
I typed a reply.
When and where?
The game had just gotten a lot more complicated. And the only way to win was to play all sides against each other, without any of them realizing I was holding the deck.