She clicked the video.
Figuring this had to be the one Pierce just mentioned, Stormfront hit play.
The clip was short—less than a minute long.
At a glance she recognized the location as Vought’s audition site.
Stormfront frowned.
“Why the hell did Pierce send me this garbage?
Didn’t I already say I wasn’t interested?” Still skeptical, she forced herself to keep watching.
Then a face appeared in the arena that made her freeze.
“Soldier Boy?!” Stormfront could not stop the exclamation.
“Wasn’t this bastard sold off to the Russians by Vought?” She paused the video, eyes complicated as she carefully studied that familiar, handsome face she had once ridden hard.
“No… wait.
It’s not Soldier Boy.
This guy is even younger than Soldier Boy!” But the longer she stared the more wrong it felt.
This “Soldier Boy” was way too young.
When she first met the real Soldier Boy he had already taken Compound V.
His age, just like hers, had been frozen at the moment of injection—around thirty.
The kid in the video looked barely twenty at most.
A full ten-year difference in appearance.
They could not possibly be the same person.
This was just some bastard who looked a hell of a lot like Soldier Boy.
Now Stormfront was actually interested.
“So who the fuck are you, little guy?” Curiosity fully hooked, she hit play again.
Because the arena mics had picked up the audio, Stormfront could hear every filthy pre-match insult Dean had thrown—stuff the live audience never caught.
A smile tugged at her mouth.
“You little shit really do look like Soldier Boy.
Not only the face, that mouth of yours is just as filthy!” Then she watched the nine contestants charge as a group only to get wiped out the second Dean snapped his fingers and called down nine bolts of purple lightning.
Stormfront could no longer sit still.
“Lightning?
And lightning powers identical to mine?!” Shock flooded her eyes.
Just like Pierce earlier, she rewound and rewatched the ability segment over and over.
Finally she confirmed it.
The lightning this Soldier Boy look-alike used was a perfect one-to-one match with her own.
Not the usual “similar power” coincidence you sometimes saw between random supes.
It was like someone had photocopied her exact ability.
“How the fuck is this possible?
Compound V users basically can’t reproduce.
My only daughter was born before I ever took the Compound.
Even if this kid is somehow my great-grandson he shouldn’t have inherited my powers…” “And that face is so close to Soldier Boy’s.
Is that really just a coincidence?” Stormfront muttered to herself.
One by one she eliminated every other possibility until only one answer remained.
A cold light flashed in her eyes.
“So the kids Vought cooked up back then using my genes and Soldier Boy’s weren’t just Homelander!” “Good.
Very good.
Daring to hide this from me.
Stan Edgar has really gotten tired of living!” Half-joyful, half-furious, lightning exploded from both her hands as Stormfront shot into the sky.
On the other side, Dean had already stepped off the arena stage.
He had no idea that his casual little display had kicked off so much fallout, or that someone was about to suffer hard because of it.
The moment he walked backstage a brown-haired woman in an orange suit trotted straight up to him, hand out.
“Mr.
Osborn, hello, I’m Ashley from Vought’s PR management department!” Dean looked at the slightly out-of-breath woman in front of him, a thoughtful glint in his eyes, and shook her hand.
This ultimate stress-sponge who somehow survived all the way to the end of The Boys had excellent PR skills.
He could try turning her into one of his own people.
“Hello, Ashley.
Want a glass of water?” A gentle smile on his face, Dean handed her a bottle.
Ashley was completely flattered.
Staring at that charming, handsome face she momentarily forgot why she had even come over.
“Maybe we should talk about your work here?” Dean reminded her.
Ashley snapped back to reality.
“Right, right.
Ms.
Madelyn asked me to bring you up to the commentary booth.
She said Homelander really wants to meet you.” “Homelander wants to meet me?” The corner of Dean’s mouth curled up a little.
Looks like he had already locked in his spot on The Seven.
“Then let’s go.” Ashley led the way.
Dean followed.
The two of them quickly took the elevator up to the high-platform commentary box.
When they pushed the door open, Madelyn and Homelander were already inside along with Black Noir and an entire camera crew.
“Oh, look who’s here—our Thunder King Dean!” The second Dean walked in, Homelander flashed a bright, sunny-boy smile and pulled him into a hug.
Dean’s face twitched.
He complained straight to the guy’s face.
“Thunder King?
Who the fuck gave me that thunderous piece-of-shit code name, and who the hell approved it?” Homelander, still hugging him, went stiff.
Because that code name was exactly what he had spent a long time inventing just minutes earlier.
He had been sure Dean would love it… Homelander forced the smile back onto his face, pretended he never heard the complaint, and gave Dean’s shoulder a firm pat while changing the subject.
“Dean, congratulations on officially becoming the third member of The Seven!” “Let me introduce you.
This is Black Noir.
Maybe you already know him or have seen his movies.
He’s a reliable veteran superhero!” “Starting today the three of us are the founding veterans of The Seven!” While he talked Homelander kept one hand on Dean’s shoulder and put the other on Black Noir’s, then turned a perfect professional fake smile toward the cameras.
The photographer professionally snapped a quick group shot of the three of them.
“Alright, the next match is about to start.
Would I have the honor of inviting you three superheroes to watch it with me?” Madelyn decided things had gone far enough.
She waved the camera crew out and spoke to the three of them.
“Of course, beautiful lady!” Homelander put on a gentleman act, walked over first, and claimed the exact center of the sofa—right next to Madelyn’s right side.
Black Noir gave Dean a silent nod, then walked over and sat beside Homelander.
Dean simply flopped down on Madelyn’s left, casually draped one arm along the back of the sofa behind her, and propped his feet up on the table in front of him.
Homelander’s carefully maintained fake smile almost cracked on the spot.
Oh, this damn masculine charm!
How the fuck could this guy’s completely casual sitting posture make people’s hormones go crazy?
It made Homelander look so stupid by comparison!