Antony's mouth twitched.
"Sure. I believe you."
"However, Your Majesty—"
He leaned closer to Jessica Jones, lowering his voice to a whisper by her ear.
"It's too noisy here… come to my room tonight and check properly."
"Get lost!!"
Jessica felt like her brain was about to short-circuit.
Grinding her teeth, she spun around to hide the embarrassment and roared at the terrorists below:
"What are you looking at?! Go die already!!"
BOOM—!
She turned into a streak of violet light, venting every ounce of humiliation and fury on the unlucky bastards below.
-----
Washington, D.C. — The Triskelion
Alexander Pierce stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, a whiskey glass trembling in his hand.
The authority he'd built his entire life around… was collapsing.
Back in his day, controlling public opinion was simple.
One phone call to The New York Times.
A sternly worded statement from a few senators on the evening news.
Black became white. Lies became truth.
But the world had changed.
Dozens of channels. Endless social feeds.
Real-time data floods crashing down like a technicolor avalanche.
The faces on screens weren't polished anchors anymore—but kids filming rants in their bedrooms.
On YouTube, a video titled "S.H.I.E.L.D. vs Vought: Who's Really Lying?" hit 120 million views in three hours.
A green-haired creator spliced Pierce's press conference accusing Steve Rogers with WWII footage of Steve fighting Nazis—set to meme music and glitch effects.
"Hydra Captain? Give me a break. When Steve Rogers was punching Hitler, Pierce was still in diapers!"
The comment section was even worse:
#DisbandSHIELD — "Tax money to smear our heroes?"
"Vought is GOAT. Homelander's out saving the world while S.H.I.E.L.D. plays office politics!"
"My grandpa's a WWII vet. He nearly smashed the TV. Screw you, Pierce."
Then Vought dropped the real bomb.
The Daily Bugle—Vought-owned—didn't publish an editorial.
Instead, it released a set of "blurry" photos.
Senior S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.
Infamous South American warlords.
Backroom deals.
Captioned with a single line:
"Whose shield is S.H.I.E.L.D., really?"
This wasn't a fair fight.
It was a massacre.
Vought's PR teams didn't debate—they manufactured trends, hijacked emotion, turned anti-S.H.I.E.L.D. into a social identity.
"Sir…"
Agent Sitwell staggered in, pale, phone shaking in his hand.
"The White House won't take our calls. Congress is distancing itself. Three senators just announced an independent investigation into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s funding."
Crack.
Pierce crushed the crystal glass in his hand, liquor and shards cutting into his palm.
He'd lost.
Lost to the damn internet.
"This can't continue," he said quietly, closing his eyes and steadying his breath. He pulled out a handkerchief and calmly wiped the blood from his hand.
His eyes hardened again.
"We cut our losses."
"Cut… losses?" Sitwell asked.
"When a limb turns gangrenous, you amputate before it poisons the heart."
Pierce picked up the secure phone.
"Execute Clean Sweep."
…
That afternoon, an even bigger press conference detonated.
This time, led by the FBI.
The Director announced grimly:
"After joint investigation, we have uncovered a major infiltration case. Senior S.H.I.E.L.D. advisor Jasper Sitwell has been confirmed as a deep-cover Hydra operative."
Footage showed Sitwell being shoved into a police car, eyes wide with disbelief—like he'd only just realized he was the sacrifice.
"It was this individual who fabricated false files on Captain Steve Rogers, attempting to sow division and weaken Earth's defenses…"
Simultaneously, several Hydra safehouses worldwide were "raided."
Dozens of "Hydra agents" were killed or arrested.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s official account posted:
We are cleaning house. Justice may be late—but it never fails.
A textbook act of self-mutilation.
Embarrassing—but enough to keep the S.H.I.E.L.D. brand from collapsing entirely.
Overnight, Hydra sleeper cells worldwide went silent.
Pierce stared at reports of Homelander's global crime-fighting tour, grinding his teeth.
He'd created chaos to force the Council into approving Project Insight.
Instead?
The chaos happened—and they begged Vought for help.
Every city Homelander saved, Vought's valuation soared.
Every surge in popularity—S.H.I.E.L.D.'s budget got cut.
This wasn't terrorism.
It was free advertising.
"Call it off," Pierce slumped into his chair, suddenly ten years older.
"Everyone… stand down. Stop feeding Vought's numbers."
…
The world went quiet.
No bombings. No attacks.
Even street robbers seemed to take a holiday.
Antony hovered over a peaceful Syrian city, smacking his lips in disappointment.
"That's it? They folded already?"
He'd planned to farm another million popularity points in the Middle East.
"Hydra's mental resilience is trash," he sighed. "We barely got started."
"Whatever. Time to go home."
-----
New York — JFK International Airport
This might've been the most crowded day in aviation history.
Tens of thousands of fans broke through security, flooding the runway.
When the black Gulfstream G650ER pierced the clouds and touched down, the roar of the crowd drowned out the engines.
The cabin door opened.
Antony stepped out first.
A smile bright enough to light the world.
He waved, cape snapping in the wind.
Behind him—the Super Seven.
Jessica tried to look aloof, but her lips kept curling upward as she spotted girls holding chibi versions of her face on lightboards.
Angelica blew kisses at the cameras, triggering shrieks.
Robbie scratched his head, grinning.
And Pietro Maximoff—once a Sokovian street punk—strode out wearing oversized goggles, hands in pockets, chewing gum like he owned the planet.
"Quicksilver! Quicksilver! I want to—!!"
Girls screamed themselves hoarse.
Pietro froze, then pulled off his goggles and shot them a dramatic wink.
"OOOO—!!"
The scream hit a new decibel record.
His heart hammered.
Because this feeling—
Being needed.
Being worshipped.
Being treated like light itself.
Back in Sokovia, he'd been a nobody.
Later, a lab rat.
Here?
At Vought?
He was someone.
He glanced at the man walking at the front—Homelander.
"…This," Pietro murmured to himself, smiling,
"is what life is supposed to be."
--------------
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