"That racing heart—that was the first gift you gave me."
Starlight's presence did indeed make Samuel's heart flutter, but he knew there were many kinds of "flutters." In the original timeline, Annie would pay a heavy price to join The Seven, coerced by the depravity of The Deep. Samuel figured that if someone was going to benefit from her vulnerability, it might as well be him. After all, the greatest advantage of knowing the plot was using that foreknowledge to seize the best rewards.
"I'd like to believe that, but…" Starlight scrutinized him, her skepticism clear. She didn't believe for a second that this stranger could get her into The Seven. "If you want to get to know me, you don't need to use such a clumsy lie. It'll be exposed the moment I walk away."
Samuel smiled inwardly. Clumsy? He wondered how "clever" The Deep's lies would have been if they had worked on her so easily in the original story.
Ring! Ring! Ring!
Samuel's phone vibrated. Only one person had this number: Queen Maeve. He answered and switched to speakerphone. Maeve's voice came through, sounding uncharacteristically frayed and nervous.
"It's me, Maeve. There's a mission… Homelander and I have to handle it. I—I'm worried there might be trouble."
Maeve was terrified that Homelander would use the chaos of a mission to "accidentally" dispose of her. She knew him well enough to know he was capable of exactly that.
"Can you… can you come over?" her voice pleaded, her desperation audible even through the tiny speaker.
Samuel glanced at the stunned Starlight. He reached out and draped an arm over her shoulder. To his surprise, she didn't pull away; she was too busy processing the voice on the other end of the line.
"You're under my wing now, Maeve," Samuel said calmly. "Of course I won't ignore a problem. Send me the address."
Maeve let out a long, shaky breath. "Okay. Sending it now."
"One more thing," Samuel added. "The Lamplighter has retired, leaving a vacancy in The Seven. Do you have the authority to recommend new members?"
Starlight's head snapped up, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and desperate hope.
"I can recommend candidates directly for the final selection," Maeve replied. "As long as their abilities aren't complete trash, there shouldn't be an issue."
"What if Homelander objects?"
"With the state he's in? He won't be a problem."
Samuel hummed in approval. He looked Starlight directly in the eyes. "And I assume blocking a specific candidate's entry wouldn't be a problem either?"
"Even easier," Maeve confirmed.
"Understood. See you soon."
"See you soon."
Samuel hung up and looked at Starlight. Her expression was a chaotic storm of emotions. She was innocent, yes, but she wasn't stupid. She understood exactly what that conversation implied: Samuel didn't just know Queen Maeve—he held sway over her.
"Now, it's not just that I want to know you," Samuel said, handing her his phone. "It's that you need to know me."
Starlight hesitated for a few heartbeats, then took the phone and dialed her number. Once her own phone chimed in her pocket, she handed it back.
"I'll be waiting for your call," Samuel said. He gave his phone a small shake and then vanished into thin air before her very eyes.
Starlight gasped, reaching out to touch the empty space where he had stood. There was nothing but the cool morning air.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
The last remaining bank robber was cornered in a dark alleyway. Homelander and Queen Maeve approached from either side, bullets ricocheting off their chests like hailstones.
"Don't kill me! Please! Don't kill me!" The robber threw his gun aside, collapsing to his knees in a fit of hysterical sobbing.
"You shouldn't be alive," Homelander said, his voice flat and cold. He reached down, grabbed the man by the throat, and hoisted him into the air.
Maeve watched with a grim expression. Homelander turned his head, his eyes burning with a malicious, icy intent as he stared at her. "What do you have to say for yourself, Maeve?"
His gaze was predatory, as if he were imagining tearing her apart right there in the dirt.
"I said—you shouldn't be alive!"
As the words left his lips, his hand punched straight through the robber's chest. The brutality of the act, combined with the years of psychological torment Homelander had inflicted on her, caused Maeve to shiver. For a second, she felt as if it were her own chest being pierced. Her instincts screamed at her to look away, to bow her head in submission.
Don't be afraid, she told herself, taking a ragged breath. He isn't a god anymore. He can be broken.
She forced herself to meet his gaze, her eyes hardening with a newfound defiance. To Homelander, this fearless look was nothing short of blasphemy. He snorted in derision and tossed the dead robber aside like a piece of garbage. His eyes began to glow a threatening crimson.
BOOM!
A searing Hot Ray struck Homelander directly in the back of his knee. Caught completely off guard, his leg buckled, and he slammed into the concrete, kneeling at Maeve's feet.
"Who did that?!" Homelander roared, spinning around with bared teeth.
But the moment he saw the figure descending from the sky, his rage vanished. It was like a wildfire being smothered by the ocean. The "God of America" instantly cowered.
"It's me," Samuel said, landing softly. The red glow in his eyes faded, replaced by a look of amused boredom.
The shadow Samuel cast over Homelander was identical to the one Homelander had cast over the world. Samuel was the last person Homelander ever wanted to see, but for Samuel, the feeling wasn't mutual. Every time they met, he walked away with something new.
Last time, it was the Hot Ray. This time, it was Flight.
"Nothing to say? Fine, then I'll speak," Samuel said, walking over to stand beside Maeve. He looked down at the silent, kneeling hero.
"She belongs to me now. Unless you're prepared to flip the table and risk everything by fighting me, keep your hands off her."
Samuel leaned down, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "If you're a dragon, you'll coil up; if you're a tiger, you'll crawl; and if you're a dog... you'll keep your mouth shut. I think you know better than anyone that once you're gutted and skinned, you're just another piece of meat."
Homelander remained silent, his eyes fixed on the ground. What could he say to the man who had already broken him?
Samuel reached down, picked up the dead robber's discarded submachine gun, and handed it to Maeve. She looked at him, confused.
"Don't you two usually do this?" Samuel asked with a smirk. "Kill someone, then create the illusion that they resisted or attacked you? This time, it's your turn to do the shooting."
A strange, exhilarated expression crossed Maeve's face. She understood. She turned the barrel toward the now-standing Homelander and pulled the trigger.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
The gunfire echoed through the alley like thunder. In the past, Homelander would have been the one holding the gun, or he would have shot himself to stage the scene. He never imagined a day would come when the roles were reversed. The bullets flattened harmlessly against his suit, but the psychological impact was profound. For Maeve, the sensation of pulling that trigger was more intoxicating than any drink she'd ever had.
Samuel watched with a satisfied grin. The System notifications began to scroll.
[Ding! Battle detected. Reward dropped: Flight (Homelander)]
[Ding! Battle detected. Reward dropped: ...]