We returned to the safe house to regroup, the gravity of the new situation settling over us. But as we approached the building, I felt it—a familiar, hypnotized mental signature. Dull, compliant. Waiting.
I threw up a hand, stopping the team. "Someone's inside."
Butcher instantly had his gun out. "Vought?"
"Worse," I said, pushing open the door with my telekinesis.
Sitting calmly on our ragged couch, hands folded in her lap, was a woman with a glazed look in her eyes. It was Maya Lin, the data analyst.
Annie gasped. "Maya? What are you doing here? How did you find this place?"
Maya's head turned slowly, her movements robotic. When she spoke, her voice was a monotone, but the words were not her own. They were layered with a familiar, smug malice that made my blood run cold.
"Hello, Annie. Hello, Mazahs," the voice said through Maya's lips. It was Homelander's voice, using her like a living radio. "I hope you don't mind, but I borrowed your friend. We had a little chat after your coffee date. She was very... cooperative, once I explained the consequences of not being helpful."
Annie looked like she was going to be sick. "You monster."
"Now, now, let's not be dramatic," the Homelander-voice chided. "I just wanted to give you a message. A proposition, really."
I stepped forward, my fists clenched. "Get out of her head."
"Or what? You'll kill her? Go ahead. She's a traitor to Vought. She's disposable." The voice paused, letting the cruelty sink in. "No, I think you'll listen. Because I'm not here to threaten you. I'm here to offer you a job."
The room was dead silent. We all stared at the possessed woman.
"A job?" I repeated, incredulous.
"Vought is the future, Mazahs. This petty rebellion, this little murder spree... it's beneath you. You're powerful. Ambitious. I can respect that. So I'm offering you a seat at the table. A place in The Seven. More money, more power, more adoration than you can imagine. All you have to do is stop killing my employees and start working for me."
It was a shocking, brilliant, utterly psychotic move. He wasn't just trying to kill me; he was trying to recruit me. To turn my strength into his asset.
"And if I say no?" I asked, playing for time as I subtly reached out with my telepathy, trying to find the thread of Homelander's control.
"Then I kill this woman slowly on live television and blame it on you. Then I kill Starlight's mother. Then I level a city block and tell the world Mazahs did it. I will burn your world to the ground until you have nothing and no one left to fight for. Or... you can have it all. Your choice."
The choice was no choice at all. It was a show of absolute power. He was demonstrating that he could reach anyone, anywhere, and that he held all the cards.
I found the psychic thread. It was a brute-force implant, a hypnotic command buried deep in Maya's mind, relaying audio like a wiretap. With my amplified telepathy, I could sever it.
"I'll need to consider your offer," I said, maintaining eye contact with Maya.
"Of course," Homelander's voice purled. "Take twenty-four hours. But don't take too long. My patience has limits."
As he said "limits," I lashed out with my mind, slicing through the psychic connection. Maya's body jerked violently, and she slumped forward, unconscious.
The room was left in stunned silence, the echo of Homelander's ultimatum hanging in the air. He had escalated the war to a terrifying new level. This was no longer about fighting Supes in back alleys. This was a battle for our very souls.
And he had just shown us how far he was willing to go to win.