Graves stood up straight, a deep chill settling over him despite his calm exterior. A specialist who could bypass all security. An infiltrator who didn't need to use doors. A killer who could deliver a perfectly microscopic death blow to sixteen different Supes without waking a single person.
"Get me a sample from the ventilation system," he ordered. "And run full airborne particulate tests in every room."
The results were even more frustrating.
"The air is clean, sir," the agent reported, his expression a mix of bafflement and genuine nerves. "Completely clean. We ran it through every chemical and biological filter in the kit. Aside from the expected traces of cocaine, marijuana, and alcohol, we found nothing. No unknown compounds, no foreign residue. It's either a substance we've never seen, or..."
"Or what?" Graves' jaw tightened. A gas that dissipated completely within hours? That was bleeding edge engineering, the kind of thing Vought's R&D labs might produce. But the alternative was even more chilling.
"Are you telling me," Graves said, his voice dropping to a dangerously low vibration, "that there's a possibility no chemical agent was used at all?"
The agent hesitated, shifting his weight. "Sir, it's the only conclusion that fits the data. Sixteen Supes, all rendered unconscious simultaneously without a sound and without leaving a single molecule behind. It's... it's as if someone just told them all to go to sleep."
The implication hung heavy in the air. A Supe with the power to instantly and silently neutralize an entire room full of other Supes.
"Or," Graves said, his voice a low murmur, his mind racing through even darker possibilities, "it's not a single Supe."
The agent looked at him. "Sir?"
"This level of sophistication," Graves continued, gesturing to the pristine crime scene, the looped cameras and the traceless agent, "This required coordination and serious resources. It was a planned operation."
He leaned in, his eyes tracking the positions where the bodies had fallen.
"Look at the timing. Every Supe dropped in the same breath. That's a tactical strike by a unit that's trained together for years. We're looking at a specialized team of Supes executing a high stakes playbook."
The word hung in the air, colder than any of the bodies in the room. An operation implied an organization. A group with the funding, the technology, and the personnel to carry out a flawless black-ops hit against Vought on their own turf.
He pulled out his phone and made a call. "Get me Ms. Madelyn. Now."
The emergency board meeting at Vought Tower was convened in a state of controlled panic. Madelyn sat at the head of the long table, her expression a mask of cold fury. Ashley was pacing nervously by the window, her knuckles white as she clutched her tablet.
Mr. Graves stood before them, delivering his report with the detached calm of a man reporting on quarterly earnings.
"...in summary," he concluded, "sixteen of our assets have been neutralized by what we can only assume is an unknown hostile organization. The perpetrators demonstrated an extremely high level of skill in digital infiltration and wetwork. The murder weapon was a microscopic projectile or blade, delivered with surgical precision to the brain stem of each victim."
"The victims were rendered unconscious simultaneously, without a struggle. However, we have found no trace of any chemical or biological agent. The method of incapacitation is currently unknown, but the leading theories are either a highly advanced sonic device or, more likely, a powerful telepath. We have no leads and no clear motive beyond a direct message to Vought."
"No leads?" Madelyn's voice was dangerously quiet. "Sixteen of our properties are gone, and you have no leads? What about the survivors?"
"Their memories of the night are a wash of drugs and alcohol," Graves replied. "As far as they're concerned, their friends just… died in their sleep."
Ashley finally stopped pacing. "The media is having a field day. We've managed to keep them out of the hotel, but the story is out. 'Mass Death at Believe Expo After-Party.' They're already connecting Ezekiel to it. Every headline is a brand destroying nightmare."
"What's the current narrative?" Madelyn asked, her eyes fixed on Ashley.
"We're pushing a 'tragic overdose' story," Ashley said, her voice trembling slightly. "But it's not holding. Sixteen overdoses at once? All of them Supes with enhanced durability? No one is buying it. The speculation is running wild. Gas leak, terrorist attack, a Supe-killing virus…"
"We need to control the narrative," Madelyn said, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the table. "We need a story that is believable and makes us look like we're in control."
"Food poisoning?" one of the other executives offered weakly.
"Too easy to disprove," Madelyn snapped. "The hotel's kitchens are clean. We've already checked."
"A gas leak from the hotel's systems?"
"Also easily disproven. The hotel is already running its own diagnostics to cover its ass," Graves interjected.
There was a tense silence in the room as the executives wracked their brains. Ashley was scrolling frantically through the live news feeds on her tablet.
Then an idea took shape in her mind, born from desperation and PR cynicism "What if… what if it was a new drug?" she said, thinking aloud. "Something designed specifically to target Supes. Something that bypasses their enhanced biology."
Madelyn looked at her. "Go on."
"We call it… 'Z-Drug' or something equally ominous," Ashley elaborated, her confidence growing. "It's a new designer drug hitting the streets. These sixteen Supes were tragic figures who experimented with a new high and paid the ultimate price. It was the fault of the shadowy new drug dealers preying on the Supe community."
"We can launch a new campaign," Ashley continued, her voice filled with a manic energy. "A Vought-sponsored task force to combat the Z-Drug menace. We'll have Homelander do a PSA. 'Say No to Z.' We can turn this tragedy into a marketing opportunity. We can make ourselves the heroes of the story."
Madelyn leaned back in her chair, a slow smile spreading across her face. It was perfect and completely ruthless.
"Do it," she ordered. "Get the marketing team on it. I want a full press release and a media strategy on my desk within the hour. Mr. Graves, your team will now shift its focus. You are gathering evidence on the 'Z-Drug' cartel. Find me a low-level pusher we can pin this on. Understood?"
"Understood, Ms. Madelyn," Graves said with a nod, his face betraying no emotion.
————
From the silent darkness of my command center, I watched it all unfold. I had a live feed from the hacked Vought conference room.
On another screen, a dozen news channels were all running the same breaking news banner: "THE Z-DRUG CRISIS: A NEW THREAT TO SUPERHEROES?"
[Look at that. They're doing your work for you,] the System commented, its voice filled with amusement. [You've given them a whole new marketing campaign. You should ask for a cut of the profits.]
"I'll send them an invoice later," I quipped, taking a slow sip of my morning coffee. The dark liquid was a stark contrast to the frantic chaos I was observing on the monitor. "Right now, I'm happy to let them chase their own tails."