The debrief was a clinical, passionless affair. Mallory asked pointed questions; I gave streamlined, practiced answers. I described a quick, violent confrontation, an accidental ignition of the volatile compound, and a swift retrieval of the primary sample.
She listened, her pen tapping a silent rhythm on her notepad. She didn't accuse me of lying. She didn't praise me for my efficiency. Her calm was more unnerving than any interrogation.
"You took a significant risk, entering the lab directly," she noted, her eyes fixed on me. "Standard protocol would be to contain the area and call in a hazardous materials team."
"Protocol would have given him time to destroy the research or flee," I countered, sticking to my story. "I assessed the situation and acted to secure the asset. The collateral damage was... unfortunate, but contained."
" 'Unfortunate'," she repeated, letting the word hang in the air. "The official report will state that Leo Sandoval died in an accidental explosion during an attempt to apprehend him. A tragedy, but a necessary one to prevent a larger disaster."
She closed the file. "Dismissed."
I stood to leave, feeling the weight of her stare on my back. At the door, her voice stopped me.
"Alex."
I turned. She wasn't looking at the file anymore. She was looking directly at me, and for the first time, I saw something behind the professional mask. Not suspicion. Not anger. Something closer to... curiosity.
"Edgar is pleased with the results of the press conference," she said. "He's approving your integration into active Seven operations. You'll be shadowing A-Train on a public appearance tomorrow. A 'buddy-cop' narrative. Play nice with the fast man."
It was a promotion. A step deeper into the belly of the beast. And it was happening because I'd just lied to her face and gotten away with it.
"Understood," I said.
As I walked back to my apartment, the encounter replayed in my mind. Mallory was a predator of a different sort than Homelander. She didn't rely on overwhelming power; she relied on information. She was a spider, waiting at the center of a web, feeling for the slightest vibration. She knew my story was a lie. The question was, why was she letting it stand?
The answer was as troubling as the lie itself: I was more useful to her as a partially tamed variable than as a confirmed threat. She was studying me. Learning my patterns, my limits, my moral compromises. I wasn't just a weapon in her arsenal; I was a fascinating new specimen.
The thought was chilling. In trying to outsmart Homelander, I might have made myself a more interesting puzzle for a far more calculating mind.