Vought Tower was tearing itself apart from the inside, and I didn’t have to lift a single finger to cause it.
I stood near the glass wall of the 99th-floor executive boardroom, sipping a glass of sparkling water.
The atmosphere in the room was absolute poison.
“You’re telling me we still have absolutely nothing?” Homelander’s voice was dangerously low, vibrating with a barely contained, lethal rage.
He was pacing the length of the massive mahogany table.
Sitting frozen in the executive chairs were Madelyn Stillwell, Ashley Barrett, and the Head of Vought Global Security.
“Homelander, please understand,” the Security Head stammered, his face pale and sweating under his expensive suit.
“We have combed through terabytes of traffic camera footage.
We’ve interrogated every guard who was on rotation at Sub-Level 50.
Whoever hit the Compound V vault was using military-grade stealth tech.
They left zero biometric trace.” Homelander stopped pacing.
He slowly turned his head, his eyes burning with a faint, terrifying red glow.
“They ripped a titanium vault door off its hinges,” Homelander whispered, stepping slowly toward the terrified executive.
“They bypassed forty layers of retinal security.
And you want me to believe it was just some… mercenaries?
No.
It was an inside job.
Someone in this building gave them the access codes.” .
We have no proof of an internal leak.” “Then find the proof!” Homelander suddenly roared, his voice cracking like a thunderclap.
The heavy glass windows of the boardroom vibrated violently.
Ashley flinched, covering her ears.
Homelander’s god-complex had been completely shattered by the vault heist, and the resulting paranoia was blinding him.
He was terrifying his own allies.
He was fracturing the company’s leadership.
“I want the entire building audited,” Homelander demanded, pointing a gloved finger at the Security Head.
“I want wiretaps on every executive, every handler, and every member of The Seven.
Nobody leaves the tower unless they are scheduled for a public PR event.” Homelander stormed out of the boardroom, the heavy wooden doors slamming shut behind him with enough force to crack the doorframe.
Silence hung in the room for a long moment.
I took a slow sip of my water, masking my amusement with a perfectly neutral, concerned expression.
I walked over to the table, placing a reassuring hand on Stillwell’s trembling shoulder.
“He’s under a lot of stress, Madelyn,” I said smoothly, playing the role of the calm, supportive hero.
“The vault breach was a shock to all of us.
But don’t worry.
I’ll make sure the rest of The Seven stay in line while security does its job.” Stillwell looked up at me, a profound sense of relief washing over her face.
In a room full of terrified executives and an unstable, raging god, I was the only one offering stability.
“Thank you, Invincible,” Stillwell breathed, rubbing her temples.
“Just…
focus on the Believe Expo tomorrow.
We need good press right now to distract the shareholders.” “Consider it done,” I smiled.
I walked out of the boardroom.
I was actively manipulating the corporate hierarchy.
Homelander was burning his own bridges, and I was positioning myself as the reliable, untouchable savior of Vought International.
Deep underground, in the rusted, freezing subway tunnels of Brooklyn, the mood was equally volatile.
Billy Butcher kicked a rusted metal trash can across the platform.
It slammed into the tile wall with a deafening crash, scattering a group of rats.
“We are completely boxed in!” Butcher yelled, pacing furiously in front of his makeshift corkboard.
“Black Noir nearly took our bloody heads off, the tower is locked down tighter than Fort Knox, and we still don’t have a single drop of Compound V to prove what they’re doing!” Frenchie was sitting at his workbench, trying to clean a disassembled rifle, while Hughie sat on a rusted bucket, his knees pulled to his chest in silent panic.
Kimiko watched Butcher from the shadows, her eyes tracking his angry movements.
“We cannot hit Vought Tower, Butcher,” Frenchie argued reasonably.
“It is suicide.
Every Supe in the city is on high alert.” “Then we don’t hit the tower,” Butcher snarled, coming to a dead stop.
He stared at the blank corkboard.
“Vought can’t manufacture the V in the middle of Manhattan.
They have to move it.
And if they’re moving it, someone on the outside is handling the logistics.” Butcher turned around, his dark eyes scanning the pile of stolen mail, newspapers, and magazines they had scavenged for intel over the last week.
He walked over to the pile and yanked out a glossy, high-definition promotional magazine.
He slapped it against the table right in front of Hughie.
Hughie flinched, looking down at the cover.
It was an advertisement for a massive Christian convention.
Plastered right in the center was a picture of Ezekiel, the stretchy, hyper-religious Supe, standing with his hands raised in prayer.
The headline read: THE BELIEVE EXPO: SAVING LIVES WITH EZEKIEL.
“Ezekiel?” Hughie asked, confused.
“The stretchy guy?
What does he have to do with this?” “Ezekiel runs a dozen massive, tax-exempt ‘charities’ that fund private pediatric clinics all over the country,” Butcher said, a dark, predatory grin slowly stretching across his face.
“It’s the perfect front.
He’s the bagman.
Vought funnels the Compound V through his charities, and he makes sure the hospitals look the other way.” Frenchie looked up from his rifle.
“He is a member of The Seven’s inner circle, Butcher.
He will be protected.” “Not at the Expo, he won’t,” Butcher said, grabbing his heavy trench coat.
“It’s a public circus.
Tens of thousands of civilians, cameras everywhere.
Homelander and his goons can’t start a bloodbath in the middle of a Christian convention without destroying their stock prices.” “Wait, you want to go to the Expo?” Hughie stammered, standing up.
“Are you insane.
All of them are going to be there!” “Exactly,” Butcher said, checking the magazine of his pistol.
“They’ll be too busy smiling for the cameras to notice us slipping through the back door.
We corner the rubbery bastard in his VIP suite, and we squeeze his neck until he tells us exactly where Vought manufactures the V.” Butcher looked at his team, his eyes burning with a violent, reckless determination.
“Pack your Sunday best, boys.
We’re going to church.” High above the city, I stood on the balcony of my penthouse, looking out over the sprawling, neon-lit skyline of Manhattan.
A rigid, translucent blue interface flickered into my vision.
[CANON EVENT APPROACHING: The Extortion of Ezekiel.] [The Believe Expo is scheduled for tomorrow.] [Current Balance: 94,500 System Points.] I dismissed the screen with a thought.
Tomorrow, all the major players would be under one roof.
The press, Homelander, Starlight, and The Boys.
It was going to be an absolute powder keg.
I smiled, feeling the cold wind wash over my face.
I couldn’t wait to strike the match.
**** Enjoyed the chapter?
Your daily votes cost you nothing but help this fanfic climb the rankings and reach more readers.
Thank you for the support!