*Boom—!*
The deafening crash of a wall shattering echoed through the top-floor corridor of Vought Tower alongside the shriek of blaring alarms.
The scorched edges of the breach still glowed red-hot, the specialized alloy dripping down like melted wax.
Inside the hidden surveillance room behind the wall, two security guards were slumped in their chairs, faces deathly pale, their crotches thoroughly soaked.
The air reeked of scorched metal and stale urine.
Homelander stood before the breach, his face icy cold.
The terrifying red glow in his blue eyes had not yet completely faded.
Hurried footsteps approached from down the hall.
Ashley rushed over with a crisis management team.
The moment she took in the apocalyptic scene before her, her knees buckled, and she nearly collapsed to the floor.
“H-Homelander…” Her voice trembled, cracking uncontrollably.
“Th-this is a misunderstanding! Just a routine security protocol…”
Homelander didn’t look at her.
His gaze slowly drifted away from the terror-stricken security guards, settling on the head of Vought’s legal department and the other executives who had rushed to the scene.
Then, he turned to look at Lynn, who had been standing nearby the entire time, unnervingly calm.
Only then did his eyes shift back to Ashley, his voice terrifyingly calm.
“Who gave you permission to monitor *my* doctor?”
He stressed the word “my”—spoken softly, yet carrying crushing weight.
Lynn’s heart sank.
That label was heavier than any set of chains.
Like an invisible brand, it permanently stamped him as “Homelander’s personal property” in front of every Vought executive present.
It meant he was no longer merely a Vought employee; he had become the property of a god.
And the property of a god was not to be coveted or spied upon.
Cold sweat instantly soaked Ashley’s back.
She felt as though an invisible hand were crushing her throat.
“John, let me explain! This was… it was only to ensure Dr. Lynn’s safety! His work is vital to you—to all of us—”
“Safety?” Homelander scoffed, taking a step forward.
That single step made every executive reflexively flinch backward.
“Your idea of ‘safety’ is locking him up like a lab rat and recording his every move?”
Homelander’s voice remained calm, but Lynn’s newly acquired super hearing caught the volcanic pounding of his heart beneath that veneer. This story is hosted at g.com.
He wasn’t enraged because he himself was being spied on.
He was enraged because Vought was trying to control the people around him—a move that instantly hauled him back to that cold childhood laboratory, dominated by white-coated researchers.
Homelander’s murderous intent condensed into a tangible, suffocating pressure in the air.
An ominous crimson glow began pooling in his blue eyes once more, this time locking onto Ashley at the front of the group.
Right then, a cold system chime sounded without warning in Lynn’s mind.
[Main Mission Issued: Force Homelander to reveal his true fear.]
[Mission Requirement: Target must personally voice what he fears.]
[Mission Reward: Super Hearing Shard × 5.]
[Penalty for Failure: Target will enter an uncontrollable, permanent state of hostility toward the host.]
Lynn’s eyelid twitched.
This mission was more unhinged than anything before.
Making Homelander admit he was sick or starved for love was just tearing open his scars.
But making him say “What I’m afraid of is…” out loud was tantamount to forcing him to rip apart his mask of godhood and lay bare his core vulnerability.
It was an all but impossible task.
Worse, the failure penalty was “permanent hostility,” meaning he would completely lose Homelander’s twisted “trust” and be reduced to a bug that could be squashed at any moment.
Seeing Homelander’s heat vision on the verge of firing, Ashley squeezed her eyes shut in terror.
Lynn knew he had to intervene immediately.
He couldn’t let Homelander slaughter these executives.
Not out of mercy, but because they were still useful.
They were the cogs of Vought’s massive machine; keeping them alive was the only way to stir the muddy waters to his advantage.
“If you kill them now,” Lynn’s calm voice cut through the chaos, quiet yet perfectly clear to every ear, “Vought International will issue a statement tomorrow calling this an unfortunate electrical fire or a gas explosion.”
Homelander’s gaze shifted slightly, settling on Lynn.
“They’ll receive hero’s funerals, their families will get massive compensation payouts, and new directors and department heads will sit at their desks, continuing to monitor you and me the exact same way.”
Lynn looked directly at Homelander, his tone devoid of any ripple of emotion.
“Killing them would just be setting them free.”
He paused, offering an alternative.
“But if you let them live…” This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
Lynn’s gaze swept over the pale, trembling executives.
“…they will remember today forever. They’ll remember this wall melted through, they’ll remember your glowing eyes, and they’ll remember how they were standing a single breath away from death.”
“Every time they sit in their offices, every time they draft a PR campaign, every time they consider playing cute again, they will remember the terror of this moment.”
Lynn’s voice carried a chilling, seductive persuasion.
“Don’t you think keeping them trapped in your shadow forever is far more entertaining than giving them a quick death?”
Those words acted like a precision key, unlocking the door labeled “sadism” and “control” in the deepest recesses of Homelander’s mind.
The pleasure of killing was fleeting.
Permanent psychological torment was the game this “god” truly relished.
The crimson glare in Homelander’s eyes slowly faded.
He looked at Ashley’s bloodless face, glanced at the legal chief who could barely remain standing, and suddenly broke into an exceptionally radiant smile.
“You’re right, Doctor.”
He clapped his hands in high spirits, as if everything that had just occurred was nothing more than a harmless joke.
“That really is far more fun.”
The assembled Vought executives felt as if they had received a royal pardon, yet simultaneously plummeted into a deeper abyss.
The way they looked at Lynn changed completely.
He was no longer just a tool or a subordinate.
Their eyes held awe, terror, and a faint sliver of…
hope.
For the first time, they realized that this seemingly ordinary psychiatrist might be the only person capable of slamming the brakes on the runaway train that was Homelander.
Homelander gave a dismissive wave, shooing the executives and guards away like pesky flies.
Soon, only he and Lynn remained in the corridor.
He turned to leave, took two steps, and paused.
Without looking back, Homelander merely tilted his head, catching Lynn in the corner of his eye.
“Since you understand me so well,” he said, a playful edge of appraisal in his voice, “in our next session, you’d better tell me.”
“What am I actually afraid of?”
As the words landed, the system’s chilly voice sounded in Lynn’s head:
[Mission Countdown: 24 hours.]