Vought International wasn’t just a company—it was a corporate panopticon.
Cameras watched from every corner, microphones caught every whisper, and handlers scribbled in their notebooks while you thought you had a moment of privacy.
I sat back in one of those plush leather chairs in The Seven’s conference room, idly spinning a heavy gold pen between my fingers.
At the head of the big mahogany table, Homelander was putting on a show.
He hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours, driving Vought’s security teams nonstop on this all-out hunt for the so-called “human terrorists” who’d somehow broken into Sub-Level 50 with hydraulic charges.
Obsession didn’t even begin to cover it.
“They’re insects,” Homelander hissed, his voice wound tight enough to snap.
He stalked behind his chair, those laser-blue eyes zipping from The Deep to A-Train to Black Noir.
“They think they can waltz into our house and rob us?
We’re gods.
I want this city flipped upside down.” Across from me, Annie January sat perfectly still.
She looked flawless.
Every blond curl in place, makeup untouched, her Starlight uniform practically glowing.
To everyone else in the room—Ashley, The Deep, even Homelander—she seemed like the same eager, innocent kid from Iowa who’d just joined the team.
She nodded along to his rant, face locked in that attentive, polite look Vought teaches you.
But I didn’t see her the way other did.
Didn’t hear her that way, either.
Out of sight under the table, Annie’s hands were knotted together so tightly her knuckles looked ready to split open.
I tuned out the air conditioning, the traffic eight floors down, and focused my Viltrumite hearing right on her chest.
Her heart wasn’t racing with that nervous excitement she used to feel around Homelander.
It pounded slow and heavy, like an animal frozen in place, hoping the predator doesn’t see it.
Ever since she’d turned Butcher down in that alley, she’d finally seen how deep in Vought’s grip she really was.
Vought owned the cops.
Vought owned the news.
She couldn’t run.
She was caged.
“Starlight,” Homelander called out, stopping his pacing mid-step.
Annie didn’t even blink.
She lifted her eyes, calm as could be.
“Yes, Homelander?” “You’ve been quiet.” He leaned in, voice all suspicion, looking for some crack in her mask.
“Is there something about this that bothers you?” The room went stone silent.
A-Train stared at his shoes.
The Deep barely breathed.
I stopped spinning the pen and tensed up, ready to jump in, throw some distraction his way if Annie’s nerves gave her away.
Knowing Homelander, he’d zero in on any flicker of panic.
But Annie just took a breath and soldiered on by herself.
“I’m just angry,” she said, her voice rock solid, even righteous.
She looked him right in the eye.
“Someone attacked our company.
They put people in danger.
I want them caught, same as you.” Homelander studied her, searching for a lie.
After a beat, he eased up.
The edge dropped from his shoulders, and a tiny, satisfied smile curled his lips.
“Good.
That’s what I want to hear.” He turned away, signaling we were done.
The others shuffled out, but I stayed seated, watching Annie tidy her notebook.
She hadn’t lied—never said she was angry for Vought.
She’d taken the fury she felt for the company and flipped it, wielding it so Homelander thought she was loyal.
Smart.
She was starting to understand how this place worked—how to put on the mask and make it fit.
“You handled him well,” I murmured once the thick glass doors sealed behind the others.
Annie froze.
She looked at me, walls snapping up.
To her, I was Invincible, Vought’s poster boy.
Another part of the machine that had built her in the first place.
“Just being honest,” Annie replied, her smile polite and practiced, pure PR.
“We’ve got to work together, right?” “Right.” I kept my voice smooth, gave her a reassuring nod.
“Stay safe out there, Starlight.” She nodded back, stiff and formal, and left.
She kept her back straight all the way to the hall, only relaxing once she’d rounded the corner and disappeared.
I let myself sink into the chair, looking out at the New York skyline.
She wanted to be a real hero, do things the right way.
But every day of smiling at Homelander, every lie of omission about Compound V, just made the pressure worse.
Eventually something had to give.
When that happened, it wouldn’t just be a desperate call to Butcher—she’d be the one leading the charge.
All I had to do was play the part, be the perfect hero, and wait for her to snap.
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