"He betrayed me."
President Matthew Ellis's voice trembled with lingering fear and fury. "My Vice President… that bastard was in on it too! He wanted me publicly executed, then to step right into my seat!"
"Yes," Antony said calmly, turning back toward him. His blue eyes were unreadable. "He did. And he almost succeeded."
"And S.H.I.E.L.D.!" Ellis slammed his palm on the desk. "I pour billions into Nick Fury! The World Security Council hands him an unlimited budget! And what happened? Air Force One hijacked. Me hanging from an oil tank like a damn slab of meat! Where were his people? Where was he?!"
Antony allowed himself a perfectly measured sneer.
"Director Fury was probably still 'assessing the threat level.' Analyzing intelligence. Maybe in another two hours, he'd have dispatched a strike team… to recover your remains."
Ellis's breathing grew ragged.
"And Stark?!" he barked. "The Avengers! What did he bring? A swarm of flying remote-controlled toys!"
Ellis replayed the nightmare in his head.
Dozens of suits. Twenty minutes. Total annihilation.
Tony Stark—America's golden billionaire—pinned to the deck like an insect, helpless.
"He…" Ellis's voice dropped. "He didn't exactly perform well, did he?"
"Arrogance is his default setting, Matthew," Antony replied mildly. "He believes technology can solve anything. But he forgets one thing."
"He's still just a man. A man hiding inside a metal shell."
"And Killian?" Antony continued. "He stopped being human a long time ago."
He began to pace, every word heavy with pressure, the cadence of a man who knew exactly how to dominate a room.
"Matthew, you need to face reality."
He stopped in front of the president.
"The times have changed."
"The Battle of New York opened Pandora's Box. Aliens. Super-soldiers. Green rage monsters. This world is no longer something politicians in tailored suits can control."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Your police departments are still carrying Glocks. Meanwhile, Chitauri energy rifles are selling on the black market for fifty grand a pop. SWAT teams breach a building and get vaporized by a particle cannon."
"What do you do then?"
Ellis swallowed.
"Tonight wasn't an exception," Antony went on. "Twenty or thirty Extremis soldiers. Conventional forces walking in would've been a massacre. S.H.I.E.L.D. is too weak. The Avengers are too slow."
Sweat beaded on the president's forehead.
"So…" Ellis asked hoarsely. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying you need a new kind of team."
Antony straightened, offering a smile worth billions.
"A professional, rapid-response firefighting unit."
"A team… led by me."
"Your company?" Ellis frowned. "You mean Vought?"
"Vought," Antony confirmed smoothly, "is preparing to sell security across the United States."
"Sell?" Ellis echoed.
"A business model," Antony said lightly. "Los Angeles has a Chitauri weapons problem? They hire us. Chicago gets another Extremis outbreak? They hire us."
"Washington, D.C.?" He winked. "On the house."
Ellis frowned deeper. "That sounds like protection money."
"No," Antony laughed. "It's capitalization. The most American tradition of all."
"We capitalized healthcare. Education. Prisons. Why not superheroes?"
"I provide a premium service. Premium services come at a price. That's only fair."
Ellis fell silent.
He understood instantly.
Turn superheroes into a product—something that could be regulated, contracted, controlled.
"Go on," Ellis said slowly. "Your team… do you have people?"
"Of course." Antony's expression shifted back to wholesome sincerity.
"I'll serve as leader and public face." He tapped the eagle emblem on his chest.
"And I've already recruited our second member—a remarkably powerful woman. Lost in the dark once… but now ready to step into the light under my guidance."
("Fuck!" — somewhere in New York, Jessica Jones, currently being tortured by mandatory smile training, sneezed violently.)
"As for the rest," Antony continued, gazing out the window, "this world is full of talented people. They just need the right… agent."
Ellis's political instincts were screaming.
Crazy? Yes.
Tempting? Hell yes.
"So what exactly can you do," Ellis asked, "that the Avengers can't?"
"We do what they refuse to."
Antony leaned over the desk again.
"Steve Rogers will lecture you about freedom and morality."
"Tony Stark will show off his newest toy, then leave you hanging."
"Nick Fury will bury one truth under ten lies."
"And me, Matthew?"
He smiled—warm, sincere, lethal.
"I'm your friend."
"You want a better public image? Vought runs joint drills with your Secret Service. The photos hit Time magazine. I already have the headline: Guardians of a New Era."
"You need disaster response? Hurricanes, earthquakes, terror attacks—before FEMA finishes their meeting, my people have already pulled survivors from the rubble. And you get to stand in front of the cameras and declare victory."
Ellis's breath quickened.
Antony saw it—the hunger, the ambition.
"You're up for re-election, aren't you, Matthew?"
Silence.
"Tonight wrecked your approval ratings. People will say you're weak. That your administration couldn't even protect its own president."
"But…"
"What if the hero who saved you—the hero America adores—publicly stands with you?"
"What if Homelander becomes your guardian?"
He snapped his fingers.
"Your polls go stratospheric."
Ellis's voice shook with excitement. "What do you want?"
"All I want," Antony said gently, "is a permit."
"Official authorization. Federal-level operational clearance for Vought's superheroes."
"That bypasses S.H.I.E.L.D.!" Ellis blurted.
"S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Antony scoffed. "Matthew, they couldn't protect you. Their rot runs deep."
"And me?" He pointed to himself.
"I'm the one who can clean house."
The president sat in silence for a long time.
A permit in exchange for his political future… and an invincible protector.
Nick Fury's opinion suddenly felt very unimportant.
"How do I trust you?" Ellis asked at last.
"You don't have to trust me," Antony replied, standing tall, saintly once more.
"You only need to trust the people."
"They love me."
"And you… need their love."
President Matthew Ellis smiled.
"You're a born bastard, Mr. Starr."
"Likewise, Mr. President."