[Ding! Battle detected. Reward dropped: Super Hearing (Homelander)]
[Ding! Battle detected. Reward dropped: Super Stamina (Queen Maeve)]
For the first time in his life, Samuel found the world unbearably loud.
The sound of brass bullet casings clattering onto the pavement resonated in his ears like the rhythmic beating of war drums. The heartbeats of Homelander, Queen Maeve, and himself sounded like thunderous thumps within a hollow chamber. The gentle evening breeze, the distant chatter of the city, the hum of traffic blocks away—every sound was amplified, flooding his brain in an overwhelming tidal wave of data.
It was as if he were standing in the middle of a hive, with ten thousand bees buzzing directly against his eardrums.
Samuel winced, concentrating until he managed to tune his hearing back to a manageable level. He glanced at the pale, trembling Homelander. The "hero" was clearly seething with a silent, impotent rage. Samuel smirked, raised two fingers to his own eyes, and then pointed them directly at Homelander.
I'm watching you.
Homelander's face twisted into a mask of pure loathing. He opened his mouth, wanting to scream, wanting to kill, but the words died in his throat. Samuel gave a curt nod toward Queen Maeve and vanished with a sharp whoosh.
"Shit!" Homelander exhaled, the tension finally breaking as he cursed under his breath.
Maeve glared at him. Homelander's performance today had officially toppled him from the altar she had once built for him in her mind. Everything Homelander could do, Samuel could do better. Everything Homelander couldn't do, Samuel mastered with ease.
What goes around comes around. In the face of absolute, crushing strength, the "God of America" was no different than any other coward; he felt fear, he trembled, and he bowed his head.
"Don't think you're better than me just because you've crawled over to him," Homelander hissed, noticing the change in Maeve's demeanor. "You're still a Vought product. A bitch is always a bitch!"
Maeve didn't respond. She simply looked over his shoulder. Homelander's expression instantly stiffened. Did he come back?
He whirled around, but the alleyway behind him was empty. Realizing he had been played, he turned back to Maeve, his eyes wide with fury. "You actually dared to trick me!"
Maeve met his gaze with a cold, mocking smile. "So what if I did?"
She knew he wouldn't touch her. Even when you want to kick a dog, you have to look at the Master first. Maeve didn't care how Homelander saw her anymore. In this world, everyone wore a collar; some were forged of money, some of work, others of survival. True free will was a myth for most.
Homelander was still choked by his 'Superhero Persona.' Perhaps only Samuel, mysterious and terrifyingly powerful, was truly free.
Night. Manhattan.
The city was a sea of twinkling lights. Deep within a secluded, dimly lit alleyway, behind an unassuming reinforced iron door, lay an opulent, hidden nightclub.
The clientele here consisted almost entirely of the "sanctimonious" heroes who spent their days preaching morality. Here, they could indulge in their darkest, most depraved habits without fear of paparazzi or public scandal. Almost every male member of The Seven had been a regular at one point or another.
Samuel sat in a corner booth, nursing a drink. Beside him, Starlight looked visibly ill, her eyes darting around at the absurd, debauched scenes unfolding around them.
"Why did you want to meet here?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "This place... it's worse than hell. I can't believe the people who look so upright on TV are actually... such scumbags."
The air felt thick with the scent of vice and desperation. Samuel draped an arm over her shoulder and gestured toward a man a few tables away.
"That's Ezekiel," Samuel said. "The 'Rubber Man.' He spends his days preaching across the country, telling the masses to pray for the disappearance of homosexuals. And look at him now—locked in an embrace with two men."
"Disgusting hypocrite," Starlight spat, turning her head away as if her eyes were being burned. "Let's leave. Please."
Samuel shook his head, leaning back into the plush sofa. "What do you think a superhero is, Annie?"
"Protecting the weak, saving people from disasters, bringing hope and light!" she answered without a second thought.
"Naive," Samuel sneered. "The heroes in this world are just commodities. They are products for the Vought Company to generate profit and influence. Don't bother denying it. Most people put on the cape for fame and a paycheck. 'Helping the weak' is just a line in the job description."
He looked her in the eye. "You're no exception. If you only wanted to help people, you would have stayed in your hometown. You wouldn't have chased a seat in The Seven. You wouldn't have asked me out. You know exactly what power costs."
Starlight's face flushed with discomfort. "Joining The Seven was my dream. I thought I could help more people from that platform."
"Is that so?" Samuel pointed toward two men who had just entered the club. One looked ordinary and terrified, staring at the debauchery in shock. The other wore a black trench coat and a thick beard, his expression unreadably calm.
"The thin one is Hughie. You saw the news? A-Train 'accidentally' killed a girl who 'ran into the road' while he was chasing a criminal?"
"I saw it," she whispered.
"That was his girlfriend. She wasn't in the road; she was on the sidewalk. A-Train was high on Compound V and ran right through her. Vought's lawyers offered him forty-five thousand dollars for her life. A 'humanitarian' settlement. Are you going to help him seek justice?"
Starlight opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
"The bearded man is Billy Butcher," Samuel continued. "Former CIA. His wife was Homelander's network administrator. Homelander defiled her, and then she vanished. Are you going to help him find righteousness?"
Starlight was speechless, her world crumbling bit by bit. After a long silence, she whispered, "How... how do I even know if what you're saying is true?"
"You're the one searching for the truth, not me," Samuel said, standing up and heading for the exit.
Starlight hesitated for a second before scrambling to follow him. Suddenly, a tiny figure the size of a thumb darted out from a nearby table. In a blur of motion, he expanded to his full size, blocking her path.
It was Stretchy Man, his face twisted into an arrogant leer. "Hey, beautiful. You want to play a real game with me?"
Before he could finish the sentence, his expression froze. He looked down at his chest in total disbelief. A bright, searing hole had been burned clean through his heart.
Thump.
Lifeless, Stretchy Man fell to his knees and collapsed at Starlight's feet.
Starlight stared at the corpse, her mind snapping. She let out a piercing, blood-curdling scream of terror.
The scream cut through the music, drawing every eye in the club. They saw the horrified girl, the smoking corpse on the floor, and Samuel, the red glow in his eyes slowly fading into the darkness.
However, after a few seconds of silence, the nightclub simply... returned to normal. No one spoke. No one interfered. The music picked back up, and the "heroes" went back to their drinks and their vices as if a man hadn't just been executed in front of them. To them, it was just another night in the dark.