"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to—the New Age of Vought!"
The massive stage split open.
Dry ice surged like rolling clouds. Escort drones swept overhead, showering the arena in golden glitter.
This was the official debut of the Super Seven.
"First up—"
"He's fast as a silver lightning bolt! The speed demon from Eastern Europe!"
"—QUICKSILVER!!"
A streak of silver light exploded across the stage, circling the venue three full laps in an instant.
The shockwave flipped skirts in the front row as screams erupted.
Pietro Maximoff skidded to a stop just off center stage—the absolute C-position adjacent, exactly where the cameras loved him.
He was wearing Vought's newly designed suit: sleek silver-gray lines, aerodynamic contours, and an abstract lightning emblem across the chest. His hair was styled into that perfectly rebellious bad-boy look, a pair of flashy goggles resting on his forehead.
"Whew—"
Pietro blew a whistle at the cameras, eyes cocky, grin lethal.
Back during wardrobe fitting, he and Antony had argued ten full minutes over his codename.
"Bullethead? Are you serious?" Pietro had waved his arms at Antony's back.
"That sounds like a condom brand! And bullets can't even catch my afterimage!"
"No way. I'm not being called Bullethead. I'm Quicksilver. Say it again—Quicksilver."
"Quicksilver?" Antony had raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like a washed-up surf brand."
"Silver is my main color," Pietro insisted.
"It's Quicksilver or I run onstage naked. I'm fast enough—no one'll see my junk."
Antony had stared at him for three seconds, then snorted.
"Fine. Just don't call yourself 'Gunslinger.' That'd tank your female fanbase. One more thing—stay the hell away from Wade."
Now, standing beneath roaring chants of "QUICKSILVER! QUICKSILVER!", Pietro felt his blood burn.
He looked out at the sea of lights—glow sticks, LED boards flashing his name.
Maybe… he thought,
…Baron Strucker's mission isn't that urgent.
This place isn't bad at all.
…..
The host continued.
"She is flame incarnate—
a star burning in the night!"
"She wields Prometheus's fire with divine mastery—
FIRESTAR! ANGELICA!!"
Firestar rose from a lift, surrounded by dazzling flames. Her crimson leather suit gleamed as firelight danced across her curves.
She blew a kiss to the cameras.
The flame exploded into a heart-shaped burst midair.
Then came Robbie Baldwin, bouncing out in his custom kinetic armor. The entrance was clumsy—but his honest grin won cheers instantly.
Next—
A microphone floated onto the stage.
No one else.
That was it.
The Invisible Man.
Though the crowd could only see a mic hovering in midair, the applause was thunderous.
"Hello everyone, I'm Sil—"
"—I mean, Silas Lawton. You can't see me, but I've been watching you all along…"
He paused.
"…Wow, that sounded really creepy, didn't it?"
"Shut up, Silas," Antony said with a perfect smile, teeth clenched.
"And stay away from Wade."
…..
Everything was going perfectly.
Until—
A man in a red-and-black bodysuit slowly pedaled onto the stage from the wings, struggling heroically atop a pink Hello Kitty children's tricycle.
The crowd froze.
One second.
Then the entire venue exploded in laughter.
"Hi everybody! I'm Deadpool!"
Wade Wilson waved enthusiastically while pedaling.
"I picked the name myself! It means I might die—but I'll die serving you! Romantic, right?"
"I wanted to call myself 'Wolverine's Cool Cousin,' but the licensing fees were brutal!"
He rolled to center stage and pulled out a fistful of Skittles from his crotch, tossing them into the crowd like confetti.
"Eat up, sugarplums! Uncle Deadpool's love is edible!"
Backstage, Ashley Barrett covered her face.
"Oh my god… why did we sign him…"
…
The finale belonged to the King and Queen.
Antony descended from the sky, hand in hand with Jessica Jones.
Her icy composure, paired with Antony's sun-bright smile, formed a perfect contrast.
"HOMELANDER!!"
"JEWEL!!"
At that moment, the puzzle was complete.
The Super Seven stood whole.
-----
Upstate New York
The former reality-show training center had finished its transformation.
A gleaming new sign stood at the entrance:
Vought Global Defense & Hero Operations
(V.G.D.)
This would become the largest superhero command hub in the United States—if not the world.
More than a department.
A signal.
Vought's heroes were officially stepping into global security.
As the plaque was mounted, the system chimed.
Detected: Host's faction has fully materialized and scaled.
Popularity Legion Module activated.
Rules:
Tribute Mechanism:
All officially registered heroes under V.G.D. automatically contribute 10% of their earned Popularity to the host.
Joint Liability:
If a member's Popularity drops below zero, or the member dies, the host will suffer a one-time penalty of 30% of that member's total contributed Popularity.
Antony's champagne hand paused.
"Free points anyway," he muttered.
"Still… better keep these brats on a tight leash."
-----
The Next Day
Inside the massive command hall, hundreds of operators worked nonstop.
Holographic maps flickered with real-time global alerts.
Antony stood behind the second-floor glass wall, sipping milk, watching the operation hum.
Beside him stood Steve Rogers, dressed casually, holding a Chief Instructor contract.
"I'll admit," Steve said, "this place looks… professional."
"It is," Antony replied, licking the milk mustache from his lip.
"We're a private company, Steve. No dead weight. No bureaucracy."
"So—have you decided, Captain?"
"V.G.D…" Steve frowned. "Sounds like an insurance firm."
"The name doesn't matter. The job does."
Antony leaned forward.
"There are too many heroes now. We signed hundreds from the auditions and deployed them nationwide."
"I can teach them how to win. How to smile for cameras."
"But I can't teach them how to be good people."
He placed a hand on Steve's shoulder.
"That's your job."
"Teach them when to throw a punch—and when to help an old lady cross the street."
"That's why I want you as Chief Instructor."
"If a hero can't pass your evaluation, they don't get licensed. They don't deploy."
Steve fell silent.
He knew Antony was full of nonsense half the time.
But this—
This mattered.
In S.H.I.E.L.D., powered individuals were locked away or monitored.
At Vought, despite the commercialization, they lived in the open.
If he could give them a moral compass…
"…Alright," Steve sighed, extending his hand.
"I'll take the job. But if I decide someone isn't fit to be a hero—even if he's your bastard son—I kick him out."
"Deal." Antony shook his hand.
"You're the instructor. Your call. And the salary will be—"
"I don't need that much money."
"Then donate it to the Veterans' Fund."
Steve smiled faintly.
The new era had begun.
--------------
T/N:
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