The armored vehicle's engine purred in a low, continuous tone, almost hypnotic. Ryan felt the vibration through the seat—a constant reminder that there was no going back.
He was being taken into the heart of Vought, like a newly acquired asset being stored in a vault.
The interior was spacious, lined with black leather, far too quiet for something speeding through the city at over a hundred miles per hour.
The partition between them and the driver was completely sealed, blocking out any sound from the outside world. It was a calculated silence, professional… suffocating.
Stan Edgar sat across from him, impeccable as always. His suit didn't have a single wrinkle out of place.
The silver watch on his wrist looked expensive enough to pay for a house in an upscale neighborhood. And his eyes… observant, cold, but not cruel—merely clinical, like a surgeon seeing exactly what needed to be done.
Stan adjusted his glasses before speaking:
" Your mother is already on her way," he said calmly. " The house she'll stay in is completely untraceable. One of my private properties."
He folded his hands.
" Not even Vought has it on record. Not Homelander, not internal departments, no one. It is extremely secure."
Ryan tightened his fingers.
Relief… but also fear.
" Will she be okay ?" he asked quietly.
" Yes," Stan assured without hesitation. " And to be clear: your mother is not a prisoner."
" She may leave whenever she wishes, as long as accompanied by discrete security. It is in everyone's best interest that she remain safe and calm."
He looked directly at Ryan.
" Especially yours."
Ryan turned his eyes toward the darkened window. The city began to appear in the distance—tall buildings, busy streets, the endless flow of cars moving like a living organism.
The first massive billboard appeared next, glowing with vibrant colors.
Homelander smiled down at them, that too-wide smile that wasn't quite human, holding an American flag behind his back.
THE HERO WE TRUST
Ryan's stomach tightened.
Farther ahead, another billboard—this time Homelander holding a child, with fake, glossy patriotic slogans.
Then another.
And another.
It felt like every surface of the city was covered with him.
Storefronts. Big screens. Bus posters.
Action figures, mugs, t-shirts on every corner.
Ryan swallowed, the bitter taste returning.
Stan took note of his reaction, studying it.
" Does it bother you ?" he asked, as if posing an academic question.
" It's…" Ryan admitted. " It feels like he's everywhere."
" That is the point," Stan explained calmly. " His presence must be constant. Larger than life. Comfort for the public, control for the company." He tilted his chin.
Ryan lowered his gaze.
The screens grew larger as they approached the city center. Now Homelander appeared in a cereal commercial. Then a perfume ad. Then a children's hospital commercial.
In all of them, the same smile.
The same colors.
The same shining eyes Ryan knew were… wrong.
The boy inhaled deeply.
" Are you going to supervise my training ?" he asked.
Stan blinked once, slowly.
" Me ? No." He adjusted his suit. " I've overseen the creation of hundreds of superheroes, Ryan. My role is to ensure you receive proper training and full control over your abilities. But I am not a physical evaluator."
A short pause.
" However… I will be present for all major decisions. And I'll be monitoring your development closely."
Ryan listened, but his eyes remained fixed on the window.
Homelander again.
A massive screen atop a building.
The largest of all.
The captain looking down, arms crossed—almost as if staring directly at
Ryan.
A chill ran through him.
" Controlling your powers," Stan continued, " will be your top priority. But before that, you'll need to control something far more difficult."
Ryan turned his head slowly, curious and nervous.
" What ?"
Stan leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees.
" Your emotions."
The words hit Ryan like a dry blow to the chest.
He went quiet.
The car slowed.
The buildings around them grew taller, more intimidating, made of dark glass that reflected distorted bodies and faces.
Vought Tower finally rose ahead—a gigantic monolith, imposing, shining like polished steel in the morning sun.
Ryan felt his breath catch.
This place was the center of power.
The monster's nest.
And he was walking in willingly.
Stan noticed the tension in his posture.
" Control your feelings," he repeated, now more gently. " And everything becomes easier."
The armored vehicle turned into the tower's private underground garage.
The automatic doors began to close behind them, swallowing the daylight.
Ryan took a deep breath, closing his fists slowly.
The trembling faded…
But the bitter taste remained.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and Ryan felt his heartbeat quicken.
The corridor leading to the Seven's meeting room was wide, lit by bright lights reflecting off glass panels. It was impossible not to notice the murmurs rising as agents, guards, and employees saw Stan Edgar walking beside him—and especially the unknown boy.
" Is that him ? Who is he ?"
" Why is Mr. Edgar with a kid ?"
Whispers followed them like shadows.
Ryan kept his posture rigid, trying to look confident, but inside his stomach twisted. Every step echoed as if the entire tower were watching him. He also noticed something else: on every screen in the corridor, on banners, on glowing advertising panels… there was Homelander. Always smiling. Always looking.
Always present.
'It's suffocating,'
Ryan thought, looking away.
Stan Edgar didn't seem to notice the tension beside him. He walked with precision, hands clasped behind his back, expression neutral—almost cold.
When they reached the double doors of the Seven's room, two guards opened them immediately.
Inside, the heroes were already gathered around the oval table.
Maeve spoke quietly with Starlight.
Deep scrolled through a tablet, barely paying attention.
A-Train tapped his fingers on the tabletop.
Black Noir was motionless as always, looking like a statue.
And Homelander sat at the head—legs crossed, slight smile, casual posture that only served to disguise the crushing power radiating from him.
As soon as Ryan entered, that smile spread even wider… but there was something off about it. Something exaggerated. A hungry shine in his eyes.
" Ryan !" Homelander said, standing as if the entire world had just become brighter.
'My boy… my son…'
He took a few steps forward, arms open, ready to pull the boy into a hug.
Ryan froze, swallowed hard… and stepped back. A small movement. Subtle. Careful. But enough. Homelander's smile cracked for an instant—just a blink, but still visible.
A quick fissure that made him look more human… or more monstrous.
Starlight's eyes widened. Deep stopped breathing. A-Train raised his eyebrows.
Maeve simply watched, expression unreadable. Homelander blinked twice, quickly, and recovered his smile—tighter, stretched at the edges.
" Oh… it's alright, son. No pressure."
His voice carried a tremor so slight that only someone very attentive would notice.
Stan Edgar stepped forward, positioning himself between the two in an almost imperceptible motion, like a cold, calculated wall.
" Ladies and gentlemen," he said calmly. " I officially present Ryan Butcher…"
" Ryan will be under Vought's direct supervision. As you can see, he is Homelander's son, and he will be trained in our facilities and… eventually, evaluated for official participation in the Seven program."
Another wave of silent murmurs rippled through the room. Maeve frowned. Starlight looked away, uneasy. Black Noir tilted his head slightly. Homelander beamed with pride.
" Of course he will," he said brightly. " He's my son, after all."
Then he asked:
" And who's going to train him ?" Homelander asked, trying to sound casual, but the vein in his neck exposed his irritation.
Stan Edgar clasped his hands behind his back.
" Queen Maeve and Black Noir, of course. The only ones here with real combat experience and proper discipline."
Homelander blinked slowly. The silence that followed seemed to compress the air.
" What ?" he said, the smile finally dying. " My son ? And you want him trained by… by them ?"
He pointed at Maeve like it was an absurd choice, then at Noir, who didn't move at all.
" I should train him. I'm his father !" Stan Edgar tilted his head with a polite—yet lethal—smile.
" Homelander, the company needs him to develop discipline… not impulsiveness."
Homelander's face twitched. His eyes shone for half a second—not the laser, but the raw emotion of someone who didn't know whether to scream, destroy, or force a smile.
" He is my son," he repeated, lower, darker.
Ryan, standing beside Stan, felt the weight of those words hit like a punch. A mixture of fear, disgust, and something he hated to admit: pity. Pity for that man who was so powerful… and so empty inside.
Stan Edgar continued, flawless:
" He is also Vought's responsibility. And I will not debate this decision—least of all with you."
Homelander smiled. But it wasn't a smile. It was a threat with teeth.
Maeve crossed her arms, analyzing the scene with attention—and perhaps concern.
Starlight averted her gaze, unable to face the tension forming.
A-Train and Deep stayed perfectly still, waiting to see who would explode first. Ryan, for his part, took a deep breath.
'This is it. There's no turning back now.'
And despite everything… He didn't back down.