If it were permanent enhancement, Antony wouldn't dare sell it so casually.
What if he ended up creating a bunch of uncontrollable superhumans? What would happen to his absolute dominance then?
But something temporary.
Something limited.
That was the perfect tool of control.
"Doctor, you're a genius." Antony smiled in satisfaction.
"Ashley, classify this as top secret for now. Only Vought's core special ops unit—and the future members and reserves of the Seven—are authorized to use it."
He couldn't help imagining it.
A personal guard of his own.
Each of them capable, at a critical moment, of becoming a ten-minute "Hulk."
The image was… beautiful.
"But, Antony," Dr. Connor hesitated, pushing up his glasses. "The Stark Group board has been pressing us. They want to know what we've been pouring so much funding into. We need a product—something we can actually take public."
"A product for the market?"
Antony laughed softly.
He placed the green vial of "temporary Compound V" back onto the tray.
"Doctor. Dilute it another ten thousand times."
"…What?" Connor froze. "Ten thousand? That would erase any enhancement entirely! At most… at most it would just make people feel energized. Like a low-dose stimulant."
"That's enough."
Antony turned away, the hem of his lab coat cutting a clean arc through the air.
"What we're selling… is a dream."
He snapped his fingers at Ashley.
"Ashley. Take notes."
"Initiate the Vought Super Energy Drink production plan."
"Formula: one-thousandth concentration of T-Vex dilution, loaded with sugar, caffeine, taurine—and most importantly—make it blue."
He turned back toward the stunned Connor and the visibly thrilled Ashley.
"Scale up production. I want this blue sugar water on the shelves of every 7-Eleven in America within a month."
"Pricing?" He paused. "Ten times the price of our standard Vought energy drinks."
Ashley sucked in a sharp breath. "Ten times?! Who's going to buy that?"
"They'll fight over it."
Antony adjusted his collar with calm confidence.
"Because my face… will be printed on the bottle."
"And we're not stopping there." His eyes gleamed. "For every million bottles sold, we hide one Golden Ticket."
"A… Golden Ticket?"
"That's right. Whoever finds it gets a guided tour of Vought Tower—and a chance to receive a real T-Vex experience."
"Of course, we'll package it as a 'mystery grand prize.'"
Antony smiled like a devil.
"Think about it, Ashley. How much blue sugar water will Americans drink… for a chance to be a superhero for ten minutes?"
Ashley's pupils practically turned into dollar signs.
"Sir… you're a business demon."
"No."
Antony walked out of the lab, his shadow stretching long under the cold lights.
"I'm Homelander."
-----
Winter in New York always arrived without warning.
One night it was autumn winds—by morning, the city was buried in snow.
Vought Tower, Advanced Training Center.
The climate system kept the temperature locked at a perfect 22°C.
Boom!
A dull, heavy impact echoed through the training hall.
Jessica Jones went flying again, skidding five or six meters across the shock-absorbent floor before slamming into the guardrail.
Her white training uniform was soaked through with sweat, clinging tightly to her body, rising and falling sharply with every ragged breath.
"Fuck!" Jessica sprawled out flat on her back, chest heaving. "This isn't science! You're cheating!"
"This is physics, sweetheart."
Antony stood calmly at the center of the mat, one hand behind his back, the other slowly retracting as he completed the movement.
"Leverage principles—plus just a bit of philosophy."
Dressed in loose black training clothes, he walked over and extended a hand.
"This is called listening force, Queen. Your killing intent comes too early—your punch hasn't landed, but your intent already has. In Aikido, that's called 'pushing back.' A fatal mistake."
"Shove your Aikido up your ass," Jessica snapped.
But the bite was gone from her voice. What remained was stubborn defiance.
She stared at his hand for three seconds… then grabbed it.
Antony gave a gentle tug and pulled her to her feet.
"That's enough for today." He tossed her a towel. "You're improving fast. At least now you know how to protect your face when you get thrown."
"Thanks for the compliment, asshole."
Twice-weekly special training.
Every session left her battered and dizzy—but she could clearly feel it.
Her control over her strength was undergoing a fundamental transformation.
[Ding! Special Popularity Value +1000!]
"Go shower and change." Antony checked his watch. "Script meeting this afternoon—your solo film."
"Can I skip it?" Jessica's face collapsed. "I'd rather get thrown around by you all day."
"No." Antony smiled like a capitalist. "You're a Queen. Queens get biopics. This is business."
-----
Vought Studios. Conference Room.
Ashley was gesturing wildly at the projected slides.
"—And this is the vision! Queen Jones: The Manhattan Rose!" she declared excitedly.
"A feminist epic! We need romance! Struggle!—"
"You mean I wear something that looks like a condom and cry in the rain?" Jessica slammed the script draft onto the table.
"What the hell is this? 'She gazes at her hands under the moonlight, mourning the curse of her power, parting painfully from true love'? Wow, thanks—I didn't know I even qualified for true love."
"Audiences love this!" Ashley argued. "Brokenness! Redemption! Unattainable love!"
"That's bullshit."
Antony, seated at the head of the table, spoke calmly. One leg crossed over the other, casually spinning a blue bottle of Vought Energy Drink between his fingers—the thing was selling out nationwide.
The room fell silent.
"We're not making a 7:30 p.m. soap opera. Cut the melodrama."
He stood, walked behind Jessica, hands resting on the back of her chair, eyes locked on the writers.
"I want it brutal. I want bones snapping. I want to see her dragged through the mud—then stand up and rip the villain's spine out and use it as a whip."
The writers' eyes lit up.
"And one more thing," Antony added.
"Add a scene. She's at her lowest—and then she gets a phone call."
"That call… is from me."
"That's when the light comes in. Got it?"
"Got it! Mr. Starr! Absolute genius!" Ashley nodded furiously while taking notes.
Jessica rolled her eyes—but quietly let out a breath of relief.
At least she wouldn't have to act out those disgusting romance scenes.
-----
Time flew by.
December 24th arrived in the blink of an eye.
Christmas Eve in New York—cold, but electric.
Every tree on Fifth Avenue was wrapped in lights. Tourists packed around the massive Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center.
And on the giant screens of Times Square, a countdown was playing.
Less than six hours remained until registrations opened for
"Who Will Be the Next Superhero?"
Antony stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, brandy in hand, gazing down at the ant-like crowd below.
At most… it was just something to watch.
Ring—ring—ring.
That phone rang.
The one Nick Fury had given him.
A number known to only a handful of people.
Antony glanced at the caller ID and raised an eyebrow.
--------------
T/N:
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