The return to Vought Tower was a descent into the belly of the beast. I didn't fly; I was collected by a grim-faced security team in a VTOL, my body too broken to offer even token resistance. The dam was a declared disaster zone, the official story a "rogue Supe attack" heroically contained by Homelander. My public image was now permanently etched as the unstable, destructive villain.
They didn't take me to the sub-basement cell. They took me to Medical, to a sterile white room where my injuries were treated with cold efficiency. The broken ribs were knit, the burns salved, the internal bleeding stemmed. They were preserving their asset, even as they planned its decommissioning. The collar was gone, but the cage was now made of expectation and threat.
Homelander visited me as I lay on the med-bed. He didn't look triumphant. He looked… curious. Like a scientist examining a particularly interesting lab rat that had unexpectedly developed a new mutation.
"You're full of surprises, Alex," he said, his voice a low, conversational hum that was more terrifying than any shout. "The dam was a bold move. Theatrical. I appreciate that. And the missile… a nice touch. Almost made me believe you had an army."
He leaned in close, his presence filling the room, sucking the air out of it. "But you don't. You're alone. And you failed. Again."
I said nothing. I just looked at him, my mind a vault containing the one secret that could undo him. The Sibyl Code was a silent symphony waiting for its conductor. I could feel its shape, its resonant frequency, a phantom limb of power I had never known I possessed.
He misread my silence for defeat. "Edgar wants you… contained. Permanently. He thinks you're too volatile. I'm inclined to agree." He straightened up, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "But I'm not without mercy. You amuse me. So I'm giving you one last chance. One final mission. Succeed, and you earn a stay of execution. Fail… well, we both know what happens."
He tossed a file onto my chest. "A little pest control. A Supe called 'The Shatterstar.' Real name Marcus Jones. He's been making noise, challenging Vought's authority, rallying other disgruntled low-level Supes. He's hiding in the old industrial district. Find him. Bring him in. Or put him down. I don't care which."
He turned and walked out, leaving me with the file. It was a test, of course. A final exam in obedience. Prove I could still be their hunting dog.
The moment the door hissed shut, I reached for the file not with my hands, but with my mind. A subtle application of telekinesis, a flicker of power so minor it was beneath the notice of the room's sensors. I floated it up and opened it.
Marcus "Shatterstar" Jones. A C-lister with sonic scream abilities. A loudmouth, not a real threat. But he was a symbol. A potential rallying point for the very resistance I needed to build.
Homelander hadn't just given me a test. He had, in his arrogance, given me a tool. An army.