Homelander didn't wait long. The call came at 3 a.m., bypassing Mallory entirely. His voice was a silken threat in my ear. "Suit up. We have a situation. A real one this time. Meet me on the roof in five."
The "situation" was a hostage crisis at a downtown bank. A group of armed robbers—heavily armed, according to the news feeds Homelander forwarded me—had taken a dozen civilians. The police had the place surrounded, but they were waiting for us. For him.
When I reached the roof, Homelander was already there, silhouetted against the city lights. He tossed me an earpiece. "Live feed. The whole world is watching. Time to give them a show they'll never forget."
We soared over the city, a dark angel and his volatile apprentice. The bank was lit up like a movie set. Cameras, spotlights, a nervous police perimeter. Homelander landed front and center, a beacon of false hope. I landed beside him, feeling the weight of every lens.
"Here's the plan," Homelander said, his voice low enough that only I could hear it. "I'll make a grand entrance through the front. You go in through the roof. I'll draw their fire. You... you clean house. No witnesses to complicate the narrative. Make it messy. I want them to see what happens when you cross Vought."
My blood ran cold. "No witnesses" meant the hostages too. He wasn't here to save anyone. He was here to stage a massacre and pin it on me.
"Homelander, the hostages—" I started.
"Are collateral damage," he interrupted, his eyes glowing faintly red. "A necessary sacrifice for a stronger message. Now, are you a team player or not? This is your final exam, kid. Pass or fail."
This was it. The line. I could feel the echoes in my head stirring, excited by the prospect of violence. Yes, Compound King whispered. Show them our power. Let the blood run.
But Maeve's warning echoed louder. The moment you fully become the monster...
Homelander didn't wait for my answer. He turned to the cameras, flashed his brilliant smile, and smashed through the bank's reinforced front doors like they were tissue paper.
Gunfire erupted from inside. Homelander's laughter echoed out, mixed with the screams of the robbers.
It was my cue. I stood frozen on the roof. Every instinct screamed at me to go in and stop him, to save whoever I could. But that would mean blowing my cover, fighting Homelander head-on—a fight I couldn't win.
The gunfire inside suddenly stopped. An eerie silence fell, broken only by the whir of news helicopters.
Then, Homelander's voice boomed from inside, amplified for the cameras outside to hear. "Mazahs! They've got a bomb! The hostages are in the vault! Get them out! I'll handle these scumbags!"
It was a lie. A perfect, diabolical trap. He was giving me a heroic order in public, while privately demanding a slaughter. If I went in and killed everyone, he'd claim I "lost control." If I refused, he'd claim I disobeyed a direct order during a crisis.
I had seconds to decide.
I took a deep breath, and I chose a third option. I wouldn't play his game.
I crashed through the roof, not with destructive fury, but with precise telekinesis, carving a neat hole. I landed in the main lobby. It was a charnel house. The robbers were dead, their bodies broken in ways only Homelander could manage. He stood in the center, spotless, a smirk on his face.
"The vault," he said, pointing. "Hurry."
I ignored him. I focused my senses. I could hear heartbeats. A dozen of them, terrified, coming from the vault. But I could also hear something else—a faint, rhythmic ticking. Homelander hadn't been lying about the bomb.
I strode to the vault door. It was sealed tight. Homelander watched me, his smirk widening. He expected me to rip it open, likely triggering the bomb.
Instead, I placed my hands on the cold metal. I reached out with my mind, not to break it, but to understand it. I felt the intricate lock mechanism. I felt the wires leading to the explosive charge. And with the delicate precision of a surgeon, I used my telekinesis to disengage the lock and carefully disconnect the bomb's trigger.
The vault door swung open silently.
The hostages inside screamed, huddling together. They saw me, a figure of crackling black energy, and thought I was their death.
"It's okay," I said, my voice calm, forcing down the raging echoes. "You're safe. I'm getting you out."
I turned to Homelander. The smirk was gone from his face, replaced by a look of cold, pure fury. I had undermined him. I had been the hero he pretended to be.
The bomb squad rushed in behind us. The hostages were led to safety, crying with relief. Cameras filmed it all.
I had passed Homelander's test. But not in the way he wanted. I had saved the hostages. I had exposed his lie without saying a word. And I had made an enemy for life.
As we stood there, surrounded by the aftermath, Homelander flew close to me, his voice a venomous whisper only I could hear.
"You think you're clever? You think you've won? You just signed your death warrant, you little shit. This isn't over."
I looked back at him, the mask of the obedient soldier finally gone from my face.
"I know," I said. "It's only just begun."
The cage door was bending. And for the first time, I knew I had the strength to break it.