Maya Lin came to an hour later, confused and terrified. She had no memory of what happened after Homelander had confronted her at Vought Tower. We calmed her down, gave her a sedative Frenchie had on hand, and put her to sleep in one of the back rooms. She was another loose end, another life irrevocably damaged by our war.
"We need to get her out of the city," I said. "Somewhere Homelander can't find her."
"I know a place," MM said. "Cousin upstate. Runs a quiet farm. No connection to any of this. She'll be safe there."
It was one small piece of the puzzle. The next was sending a response to Homelander.
We couldn't use Maya again. We couldn't use any method he might be monitoring. We needed a channel he wouldn't expect, a way to show that I was already thinking like a player, not a pawn.
"The press," I said, an idea forming. "We use the press. But not a statement. An image."
Frenchie raised an eyebrow. "An image?"
"A symbol. Something that says 'I'm considering your offer, but on my terms.' Something that shows strength, not submission."
An hour later, we were on the roof of a different safe house, one we'd prepped for emergencies. The city skyline stretched out before us, Vought Tower a gleaming needle in the distance. I stood at the edge, my back to the camera Butcher held.
I wasn't in my Mazahs form. I was just me, Alex, dressed in dark clothes. But I was demonstrating the power. With Graviton's ability, I lifted a massive, rusted water tank from a nearby abandoned building. It weighed several tons, but it hovered effortlessly above my outstretched palm. I held it there, a blatant, undeniable display of power that had nothing to do with Vought, with Homelander, with anyone.
Butcher took the picture. It was perfect. A lone figure, effortlessly holding a symbol of industrial weight and neglect in the palm of his hand, with the city—and Vought Tower—laid out before him. It was a statement of potential. A threat and an offer, all in one.
We sent it anonymously to every major news outlet with a single, cryptic caption: The future is negotiable.
Within minutes, it was everywhere. The mysterious "Supe killer" had broken his silence, not with a murder, but with a show of impossible power. The speculation was instantaneous. Was this a declaration of war? A claim of territory? A job application?
We didn't have to wait long for a response.
Thirty minutes later, a news alert flashed on Hughie's laptop. Homelander was giving an impromptu press conference on the steps of Vought Tower.
We watched, gathered around the screen. Homelander looked… pleased.
"People of America!" he began, that fake-heroic smile plastered on his face. "It seems our mysterious friend has a sense of drama! I see this not as a threat, but as an opening. A door. Vought has always believed in redemption, in second chances. We believe in harnessing power for the good of all."
He paused, letting the cameras flash.
"So I'll make my offer public. Mazahs, or whatever your name is… come in. Talk to us. Let's discuss a future where your incredible abilities are used to protect, not to destroy. The world is watching. Don't let fear hold you back from your destiny."
He was good. He was turning my act of defiance into a narrative of his own making. The generous hero offering a hand to a lost soul.
My phone, a burner we used for emergencies, buzzed once. An unknown number. A single text message:
The board is set. Your move. -H
He'd received the message. The game was on.
I looked at the team—my team, my friends, the only people left in the world I trusted.
"It's time," I said. "You know what to do."
The goodbyes were quick and brutal. There were no tears, just hard handshakes and promises to see each other on the other side. Annie hugged me, a desperate, fierce embrace that lasted a second too long.
"Don't forget who you are in there," she whispered.
Then they were gone, vanishing into the city to become ghosts. I was alone.
I looked at the text message again, then out the window at the towering symbol of my enemy.
It was time to go to work.