He stepped up to Tony Stark and looked down at the man who had just crawled out of his metal coffin.
"He looks like he could use… a little privacy."
Then, almost as an afterthought, Antony smiled—warm, sincere, infuriatingly perfect.
"Oh, by the way, Tony," he added casually,
"My movie—Homelander: Origin—premieres worldwide in six weeks. I'll have my people send you a VIP invitation."
"You arrogant… blond… bastard…" Tony growled, shaking with rage.
"Thank you," Antony replied pleasantly.
He didn't look at Tony again.
Turning away, his cape carved an elegant arc through the air.
"Mr. President," he said calmly,
"Let's go."
He grabbed Matthew Ellis by the arm—and shot straight into the sky, vanishing into the darkness before dawn.
All that remained on the oil rig was Tony Stark, clutching his still-glowing lover, surrounded by twisted metal, burning corpses, and the cold ocean wind—
Completely disoriented.
High Above the Clouds
Antony glanced at the man in his grasp—the most powerful politician in the free world, now utterly drained and shaking.
President Matthew Ellis.
A thoughtful smile crossed Antony's face.
And how exactly are you going to repay me, Mr. President?
The night air was brutal, slicing through Ellis's expensive suit like needles of ice.
He had never been this cold in his life.
Nor this awake.
Every ounce of "courage" he'd cultivated on golf courses and Capitol Hill felt like a pathetic joke after what he'd just witnessed—and after this airborne abduction disguised as a rescue.
"P-please… hold on, Mr. Homelander…" Ellis stammered, teeth chattering as he clung to Antony's arm like a drowning man.
"Relax, Mr. President," Antony said calmly.
He wasn't flying at full speed—just a "comfortable" subsonic cruise.
One hand casually held the leader of the United States.
The other rested behind his back.
"My God…" Ellis stared at the shrinking coastline below.
"You… you saved my life. America… America owes you."
"Oh?" Antony chuckled softly.
That word—owes—coming from a politician, was cheaper than ice in bad whiskey.
"Mr. President," Antony suddenly stopped midair.
Ellis's heart nearly stopped with him.
The sudden loss of momentum forced a strangled yelp from his throat.
"You think what I want… is a favor?"
Antony turned to face him.
"I saved your life. I neutralized a terrorist attack that would've kept the Pentagon in meetings for an entire year—in minutes."
"And Tony Stark?" Antony continued quietly.
"That so-called Iron Man?"
"He showed up with his noisy pile of scrap metal… and got beaten into the deck. He couldn't even protect the woman he loved."
Antony leaned closer.
"And then I arrived."
"I won. Just like I always do."
Ellis swallowed hard.
"W-what… what do you want?" he finally asked.
"What do I want?" Antony smiled.
"Mr. President… I don't want anything."
He paused.
"You're the one who needs me."
-----
Washington, D.C. – Pre-Dawn
The last darkness of night was split apart by a red, white, and blue streak tearing across the sky.
Antony flew at a steady pace, carrying a mortal across half of America.
That mortal—Matthew Ellis, President of the United States—had his eyes squeezed shut, face drained of color, hands locked onto Antony's arm for dear life.
"Relax, Mr. President. We're almost there," Antony said lightly.
"By the way, your suit is terrible quality."
Ellis heard none of it. He was too busy trying not to vomit his internal organs into the atmosphere.
"Hold tight. Preparing to land."
-----
4:00 A.M. — The White House
The South Lawn was flooded with light.
Washington's entire security apparatus was in full meltdown.
Secret Service agents armed with P90s rushed to form a perimeter. Helicopters roared overhead.
"My God—look!" one young agent shouted, pointing skyward.
"Unidentified aerial contact! Fast—!"
"Hold fire! HOLD FIRE!"
"That's— That's—!"
"WHOOSH—!"
A violent gust slammed into the lawn.
Antony descended slowly, powerfully, landing dead center on the South Lawn with President Ellis in his arms.
His star-spangled cape fell neatly behind him.
Silence.
Dozens of Secret Service agents stared, weapons frozen mid-raise.
"Mr… Mr. President?!"
"Oh my God—it's Homelander!"
"He brought the President back!"
"CLICK—CLICK—CLICK—CLICK—!!!"
Beyond the iron gates, reporters went insane.
Cameras flashed like daylight.
This photo—Homelander delivering the President—was destined to become a Pulitzer finalist.
"Homelander Saves the United States."
DING! Popularity +250,410
DING! Popularity +301,152
DING! Popularity +284,471
Power surged through Antony's body.
Perfect, he thought.
This… this is real marketing.
"Mr. President!"
Agent Flynn, head of the Secret Service, snapped out of it first and rushed forward with his team, pulling Ellis away.
-----
The Oval Office
The fireplace burned bright.
President Ellis sat wrapped in a thick wool blanket, holding a glass of brandy—his hand still shaking.
The room was crowded.
Secretary of Defense.
Secretary of State.
And the Vice President—who had been mysteriously absent throughout the entire crisis.
The Vice President's face was even paler than Ellis's.
He knew.
He was finished.
"Everyone out," Ellis suddenly said.
"Mr. President, we need—"
"I said GET THE HELL OUT!" Ellis exploded, hurling the glass at the floor.
"Everyone… except Homelander."
No one dared argue.
The Vice President met Antony's faintly amused gaze—and nearly fled the room in panic.
The heavy oak doors closed.
Now, only two men remained.
"…Alright," Ellis finally said, voice hoarse.
"No matter what… I owe you my life."
"Call me Anthony," Antony replied smoothly.
"You look terrible, Matthew."
He used the President's first name.
Ellis froze—then didn't object.
In front of this man, the authority of the presidency felt as fragile as paper.