I'm fucked.
Like, properly fucked.
You ever have one of those "I really screwed the pooch" thoughts?
Well, this is one of those moments.
CREAK!
The armchair groaned under my weight. How did I end up on the top floor of the Vought Tower, sitting across from a milk-loving psychopath? The most powerful, violent, and dangerous Supe in the world was staring at me, and I'm just hoping I don't die too fast.
'Don't breathe too loud. If he notices you're shaking, you're a dead man.'
[Main Mission: Become Homelander's best friend.]
To understand how I got here... we have to go back 24 hours. To the exact moment I made the worst mistake of my life.
It was one of those days.
One of those days where getting out of bed felt like a goddamn crime.
One of those days where the universe decides to piss on your head; your boss calls you in the middle of your vacation to replace Joe because he got a splinter, and you end up traveling two hours under a summer sun, sweating like a pig.
BAM!
Twelve hours working like a dog just to realize you aren't getting any younger. A new gray hair, back pain that's killing you. And to top it off, some brat dressed as Batman decides your car needs a makeover with cheap pink paint and a moronic "Trick or Treat" sign.
'If I catch the little bastard, I'll make him swallow the paint,' I thought, clenching my teeth until my jaw ached.
Then, the traffic jam.
Two hours wasted because some prick hit a traffic light, only to realize my tank was bone-dry in the middle of the highway.
CLACK!
The fuel needle marked absolute zero.
Yeah, it was one of those days.
To close the curtain, the only open bar is hosting a Halloween-themed Poker tournament.
There is nothing more "relaxing" than watching Bob—a fifty-year-old guy with an elephant belly and toxic sweat—dancing in a pink tutu.
It couldn't get any worse.
At least the booze was cheap... Small favors.
I must have had too much to drink, because I found myself at the final table playing against a dandy with glowing blue skin. He had perfect posture, musculature that looked carved from marble, and a suit so expensive it was probably worth more than the entire bar. His glasses were designer, and his bald head shone like a full moon under the fluorescent lights.
In contrast, my costume was the best of all: "Exploited and underpaid worker." The realism of my dark circles and the smell of stale tobacco shut a lot of mouths.
SLAP!
I slammed my cards onto the table, defiant. The blue guy didn't even flinch. His eyes were invisible behind those lenses, but that expressionless face gave me the creeps.
I didn't know who the hell he was supposed to be—some comic book character for people with too much money—but his presence made my skin crawl.
"It is curious," he said, with a deep voice that made my whiskey glass vibrate. "I have observed the trajectory of every molecule in this room. I know the position of every card because to me, time is not a line, but a map. In the vast number of possibilities of this encounter, your probability of victory is 0%."
I let out a dry, sarcastic laugh. I leaned forward, far too amused; it was time for all those hours of cheap movies and sci-fi to shine in my mind.
"0%, huh?" I spat the words. "Listen, 'Shiny Smurf.' I don't know what asylum you escaped from with that makeup, but impossibility is just a possibility that thinks it's special."
I held his white gaze. The guy didn't blink. It was scary, but I was too tired and drunk to care. It seemed like the guy was really into his character, some kind of cold, logical alien... or some experiment gone wrong.
"The universe is a clusterfuck of chaos," I continued, lowering my voice. "Nothing is 100% certain and nothing is 0% impossible. If you're sitting here looking like that, then there's a chance I win this hand with a pair of sevens. The moment you say 'zero,' you're ignoring that chance itself is what runs this shithole. If everything was written, you wouldn't be here wasting your time with a guy like me."
THUD!
I pushed all my chips into the center with a sudden jerk. My back screamed in pain and my blurred vision focused only on him.
"As for impossible," I snapped at him, letting cigarette smoke escape through my teeth, "impossibility itself is a paradox, 'Smurf'."
The guy tilted his head, his blue skin reflecting the cheap neon of the bar like a sapphire.
"Explain yourself," he said. His voice was deep and smooth.
"In the vast number of worlds, in the vast number of times, in the infinite mess of possibilities out there, there has to be at least one... just one, where I win this hand. Ignoring that single variable among millions isn't logic, it's arrogance. And for a logical guy, being arrogant is the most Human mistake you could make."
BAM!
I slammed my hand against the sticky wood of the table, making the chips vibrate.
"If there's a possibility, no matter how microscopic, then it's no longer zero. And if it's not zero, I can work with it. Nothing in this shitty universe is 100% certain"
"..."
That guy is smiling. I swear he just laughed... shit, that's scarier than his poker face.
I flipped the cards and even I was surprised. 'Holy shit, four sevens.' It was better than his hand. I think I won.
"I won... I beat the odds," I smiled triumphantly.
"Fascinating," he said. His voice was no longer cold; it had a quiet joy that didn't belong in this grimy bar. "You have found the only path among millions where your cards outperformed mine. I congratulate you, Alex."
'Wait... did I tell him my name?'
"As the winner of the tournament," the dandi continued, extending a bluish hand toward the center, "the reward is yours. A prize that, I suspect, you did not come looking for."
"There was a prize?" I asked stupidly, looking at that empty blue hand. "A handshake?"
"Double or nothing," I blurted out.
The guy tilted his head, his bald crown gleaming under the fluorescent light.
"Double or nothing? Are you sure? This opportunity is much more valuable than you think."
"Call it instinct," I lied, looking at that hand that was way too blue. He probably went to the bathroom and didn't wash his hands; 'the paint would have come off.' "One single card. If I guess which one it is, you give me... whatever a guy like you considers valuable."
'Please be money, please be money, please be money.'
The guy nodded slowly. He pulled a card from the deck and held it in front of him, back facing me.
"Tell me what you see, Alex."
He believed in destiny. He believed in quantum physics.
But he forgot one variable: this bar was a dump. The cards were cheap, poor-quality laminated cardboard, nearly transparent under a strong light. And the dandy had the shiniest head in the multiverse.
BINGO!
The light projected by his glowing bald head acted as a perfect reflector, passing right through the cheap paper. From my angle, the reflection on the table and the transparency of the card gave me the answer in high definition.
"It's the Ace of Spades," I said in a clipped tone, without blinking.
The guy lowered the card. It was, indeed, the Ace of Spades. He didn't look annoyed; he looked... amused.
Wait... did he just glow? I'm sure he's bluer than he was at the start. Or am I too wasted?
"It wasn't luck, nor was it destiny," he murmured, looking at his own card and then at my mocking smile. "It was a design flaw in the environment. A physical causality that you decided to exploit. You are an interesting being, Alex."
Suddenly, the bar began to distort. The blue of his skin became blinding.
"I have accepted the 'double.' I will fulfill your deepest desire, the last great longing of your heart. I will give you what you truly need, and not just what you want."
He glowed brighter and brighter; I could barely keep my eyes open. The air tasted like electricity and ozone.
VREEEEEE!
A pulse of blue energy hit me in the chest, throwing me backward. I felt as if the world was spinning; it was like suffering the worst hangover in the world multiplied by ten.
'Shit, I just wanted taxi money...' was the last thing I thought before the world turned white and the System burned itself into my soul.
***
Everything was noise. A constant, aggressive electric hum drilled into my ears.
THUD! THUD!
I felt the thumping in my eyelids. I tried to move, but my limbs felt like lead; I felt larger, denser, as if someone had injected cement into my muscles while I slept. I opened one eye and the white, aseptic, perfect light burned my retina. There was no old wood, no smell of cheap beer, no trace of tobacco smoke.
"Where...?" I tried to speak, but my throat was as dry as a desert.
I sat up and the room began to spin. It was a massive, minimalist space, filled with technology I didn't recognize and furniture that looked like it came out of a design magazine for millionaires.
'Was I kidnapped? Is this a hospital? A luxury prison?'
I crawled out of bed. The marble floor was so cold it sent a shiver down my spine like a shock. I stumbled toward what looked like a window, but it was a full glass wall. As I pressed my hands against it, the outside world hit me like a punch to the face.
Skyscrapers. Thousands of lights. And in front of me, a tower that defied gravity with a giant "V" crowning the sky.
"V...? V for what?" I gasped, pounding the glass. "Get me out of here! This isn't New York..."
I looked down and vertigo made my stomach churn. The cars looked like toys and the people like ants. Nothing fit. The architecture was too advanced, the air felt vibrant, almost electric.
I turned toward a mirror and stopped dead. My reflection was an upgraded version of myself: taller, stronger, with a gaze that radiated a danger I had never possessed.
"Who is this...?" I touched my own face, terrified. "This is my face! Shit, I'm younger! What have they done to me?!"
In that moment of pure panic, reality fragmented. A cold, golden interface erupted from nowhere, floating in the air like a scar of light.
[Critical Synchronization: Tyrant System]
[Status: Spatial Disorientation / Identity Crisis]
[Main Mission: Best Friends. Objective: Become Homelander's best friend. Reward: Obtain Homelander's powers. (The higher the friendship rate, the longer you can use his power). Current Status: Friendship 0%]
"Homelander? The one from the comics? The TV show guy?" I let out a hysterical laugh, bordering on madness. "No... no, no. This is a psychotic break. The alcohol broke my brain. I'm in a psych ward imagining I'm in a superhero show."
I tried to shove my hand through the light screen, but my fingers only touched the cold air. The message remained there, imperturbable, reminding me of a name that only meant death and sadism.
[System Note: Your current location is the 82nd Floor of the Vought Tower.] [Warning: The target "friend" is within 100 meters.] [Failure Penalty: Immediate Execution.]
"I don't give a fuck about the Mission!" I screamed, slamming the marble wall. "I want to go back to the bar! I want my debts and my shitty life back! Get me out of this goddamn dream!"
I stood there panting, leaning against the cold marble. My mind was working a mile a minute, trying to find a logical way out.
'It's impossible, it has to be some elaborate lie.'
'This is a hidden camera prank. The blue guy injected me with some designer hallucinogen. That's the only explanation. It's that or any second now doctors are going to walk in with a straitjacket and I'll wake up in a padded room... or dead in an alley.'
But my body told a different story. I could feel the real weight of my boots, the grainy texture of the wall, and above all, that electric hum at the base of my skull that didn't come from outside, but from within my own brain.
'What if it's not a lie?' That thought was like a swig of acid. I looked at my hands: the pores, the small scars I remembered having that were now gone... 'so much effort just to trick a nobody?'
'Maybe a hallucination, alcohol had been my friend for many years. Brain damage?'
But alcohol doesn't give you a new body. Alcohol doesn't create entire cities from the 82nd floor. If this was a delusion, it was too perfect. It was a reality that didn't ask my permission to exist.
CLACK!
The sound of an electronic lock opening made my blood run cold. I stood frozen in the middle of the room, heart hammering against my ribs, staring at the door. Someone was coming in. And from the way the System started flashing red, it wasn't room service.
'Please, let it be a doctor. Let it be a doctor and let me wake up from this nightmare.'