Chapter 15: The Pensieve of Lies and the Potion of Truth part- 4
He tuned into the Host's thoughts.
Homelander was standing in front of a mirror, practicing a smile. It looked terrifying.
"Hello, Maggie," Homelander rehearsed, his voice tight. "You look... adequate today. No, that is wrong. You look... functional? No. Beautiful. You look beautiful."
He crushed a hairbrush in his hand by accident. "Dammit!"
(Okay, easy there, Superman-Lite,) Ethan interjected carefully. (Put down the hairbrush before you laser the wall. We need to talk about your flirting skills. They are currently rated at 'Serial Killer' level. We need to get them to at least 'Awkward Accountant' level.)
Homelander's eyes glowed red instantly. "Who is in my head? Is it Vought? I will burn you out!"
(Whoa! Stand down! I am not Vought. I am the System. I am here to help you get the girl. You want Maeve, right? You want her to actually like you, not just fear you?)
Homelander paused. The red glow faded. He looked vulnerable for a second. "She... she hates me. Everyone hates me."
(She doesn't hate you. She is just tired of your tantrums. But there is a new guy, Captain Cosmopolitan. He is sliding into her DMs right now. He is tweeting about how 'toxic' you are. We need to fix your image. Fast.)
[Current Objective: Stop Captain Cosmopolitan from staging a fake "Rescue" of Queen Maeve during the Annual Peace Gala tonight.]
(Alright, John. Suit up. And for the love of god, stop drinking milk from a wine glass. It is weird.)
Homelander looked at the glass of milk in his hand. "It is calcium," he muttered defensively. But he put it down.
.........…
Location: The Vought Annual Peace Gala.
The ballroom was filled with the elite of the superhero world. Paparazzi flashed cameras everywhere. In the center of the room, Captain Cosmopolitan was holding court.
He was a Transmigrator designed for the social media age. He wore a suit that was a mix of Iron Man armor and a tuxedo. He was currently laughing with Queen Maeve, showing her something on his phone.
"See, Maeve," Cosmopolitan said, his voice smooth and amplified for the cameras. "The polls show that 90 percent of the public thinks you need a partner who understands 'modern branding'. Someone who isn't... unstable."
Maeve looked tired. She held a glass of champagne like it was a lifeline. "I don't care about the polls, Cosmo. I just want a night off."
"Exactly!" Cosmopolitan beamed. "That is why I arranged a private getaway for us. After this speech, my private jet is waiting. We can escape the toxicity."
(He is isolating her,) Ethan explained to Homelander, who was hovering (literally) by the shrimp cocktail table. (He is using buzzwords like 'toxic' and 'branding' to make you look like a dinosaur. You need to go over there. But do NOT be aggressive. Be humble.)
"Humble," Homelander repeated. "I am a god. I don't do humble."
(Tonight you do. Or you lose her. Walk over there. Do not float. Walking makes you look human. And bring her a napkin. She just spilled a drop of champagne on her dress.)
Homelander stiffly walked over. The crowd parted, creating a circle of silence. People were terrified.
Homelander stopped in front of Maeve and Cosmopolitan. His jaw twitched.
"John," Maeve said, her muscles tensing. "What do you want?"
Homelander reached out. Maeve flinched. Cosmopolitan stepped forward, ready to be the hero. "Back off, Homelander. She doesn't want—"
Homelander ignored him. He gently handed Maeve a paper napkin.
"You... you spilled your drink," Homelander said, his voice unusually soft.
Maeve blinked. She looked down. There was indeed a tiny wet spot on her armored corset. She took the napkin. "Oh. Thanks."
"I also..." Homelander struggled. The veins in his forehead bulged as he fought his own ego. "I also read your interview in Vanity Fair. You said you missed... apple pie. Like your mother used to make."
Maeve looked surprised. "You read that?"
"Yes," Homelander said. He gestured to a waiter. "I had the kitchen make one. No cyanide. I checked."
It was the most awkward, threateningly helpful gesture anyone had ever seen.
Cosmopolitan scoffed. "Apple pie? Really? That is your move? Maeve needs sophistication, not comfort food!"
(Now,) Ethan commanded. (Hit him with the truth. My scan shows Cosmopolitan hired a villain to attack the gala in five minutes so he can 'save' Maeve. Call it out.)
"There is a bomb," Homelander said abruptly.
Panic rippled through the room. "What?" Cosmopolitan yelled. "You are crazy! You are trying to scare everyone!"
"Under the stage," Homelander said, pointing his X-ray vision eyes at the floor. "And under the buffet table. And... oddly enough, the detonator is transmitting a signal to your phone, Cosmo."
Cosmopolitan paled. "That... that is a lie!"
"Is it?" Homelander tilted his head. "My hearing is quite good. I can hear your heartbeat. It just went from 70 to 140. And I can hear the timer ticking. Tick... tick... tick..."
Homelander's eyes began to glow, not with rage, but with precision.
ZAP.
Two thin beams of heat shot through the floor and the table. There was a sizzling sound, then silence.
"I disarmed them," Homelander stated. He looked at Cosmopolitan. "You put bombs at a Peace Gala? That is very... bad for branding."
The crowd turned on Cosmopolitan. He fumbled with his phone. "It was a prank! A social experiment!"
Maeve stepped forward. She looked at Cosmopolitan with pure disdain. Then she looked at Homelander. She didn't look scared. She looked... impressed.
"You didn't kill him," Maeve noted.
"The night is young," Homelander shrugged. "Would you like some pie?"
Maeve actually smiled. It was small, but it was real. "Yeah, John. I would like some pie."
As they walked away, leaving security to tackle the screaming Cosmopolitan, Ethan sighed in relief.
(We survived. We actually survived. You are still a sociopath, John, but you are a learning sociopath. And that is progress.)
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