At a Vought Group underground laboratory, alarms blared relentlessly. Red warning lights flickered, casting a tense and ominous glow over the scene. Armed personnel rushed about, executing urgent tasks. Near an incinerator, two scientists in white coats argued heatedly.
"Frank, what exactly is going on with you?" one asked sternly.
"I was just following the original plan – to raise the temperature and test John's heat resistance," Frank replied calmly.
"But John is gone now! He's the only naturally born superhuman. If we don't find him, we're all doomed!" the other person shouted anxiously.
Meanwhile, on another Earth, a man on his way to work suddenly fell into a wormhole. Inside the swirling vortex, he collided with John, as if caught in a washing machine's violent churn.
Two bodies and two souls, influenced by some unknown force, merged—eventually forming a newborn baby, only a month old.
A wormhole appeared on a farm in Texas, United States, triggering a minor earthquake.
Thud!
A pickup truck sped along a bumpy dirt road. On the radio, news of an earthquake somewhere in Texas played. Lucas Starr pulled over, furrowing his brow as he surveyed the damage.
His barn lay in ruins from the sudden tremor. Dominique, his wife, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Lucas. Even though the barn is gone, the chickens, sheep, and cows are all safe."
"I'm worried…" Lucas began, but his words were cut off by the sound of a baby crying.
Both turned in the direction of the noise and found an infant wrapped in a tattered blanket.
"Ah! Oh my God!" Dominique gasped, disbelief etched across her face.
Lucas quickly scanned the area, then carefully picked up the infant.
Dominique took the baby from the blanket and said softly, "This is a gift from God, Lucas. It has to be."
But Lucas wasn't so sure. "Maybe he was just lost by clumsy parents," he muttered, shaking his head with a bitter smile.
After an earthquake, finding a child like this often meant abandonment.
Of course, the infant was the transmigrator—John's soul merged with another. Overwhelmed, he was on the brink of collapse, haunted by memories not his own: the agony of being locked in the incinerator, begging Frank to release him while Frank ignored him, absorbed in a game of tossing paper balls into a trash can.
There were also the psychological manipulations imposed by Vought's top doctors, the trauma caused by Marty's cruel teasing over adolescent problems tied to his rapid growth, plus the memory of a bleak room and shabby blanket.
"I want to call him John," Lucas told his wife.
"That's a good name," Dominique agreed.
So this baby was named John.
Time flew like an arrow.
John was already five years old but looked more like a nine-year-old boy.
John and Lucas anxiously waited outside the delivery room.
"Will Mom have a younger sister for me?" John asked, unwilling to share his parents' love.
Lucas hesitated, then swallowed hard, a hint of eagerness in his voice. "A younger brother wouldn't be so bad, would he?"
But that wasn't the answer John wanted.
John muttered softly, "But a younger brother will…" then stopped.
"A younger brother will what?" Lucas asked casually.
"No, Dad, it's nothing," John quickly avoided the subject. Lucas barely paid attention—he was about to meet his biological child.
A doctor wearing a mask emerged. "It's a boy. The mother is fine."
Lucas jumped up, punching the air in excitement.
John's eyes reddened as he watched, a flood of emotion rising. "I'm going to the restroom," he said, and Lucas waved dismissively, lost in his joy.
In the restroom, John splashed water on his face, then punched the mirror. It shattered instantly.
In the largest shards, several versions of himself reflected back—each with a different expression.
One John, with a wicked smile, sneered, "You're crying like a weakling."
A timid John murmured, "You're about to have a younger brother. You have to take responsibility."
John felt helpless.
He wished he could ignore them, but he had no one else to seek counsel from.
The John on the biggest shard declared, "It's time to overcome your need for love and heal once and for all. Unless you transcend humanity, you'll never become your true self."
"How?" John asked.
"Break through the psychological barriers Vought implanted," the figure replied.
John nodded wordlessly. Yes, this was the side effect of transmigration—when the transmigrator and John's soul merged.
He constantly grappled with whether he had overtaken John's body or if John's memories flooded his own.
Moreover, the original John had been subjected since childhood to many psychological barriers set by Vought's doctors. Now sharing John's body, some problems were unavoidable.
But since he inhabited another's body, he had to accept its flaws. After all, he wasn't the original master.
Smallville High School.
With the school dance approaching, restless teenage hormones surged.
Couples clustered at the school gates, cars packed the parking lot.
John, backpack slung over his shoulder, walked out expressionlessly.
He hadn't found a date—not because no one asked, but because he disliked the type of girls interested in him.
As the saying goes, women are like fine wine: the older, the better.
Influenced by Homelander, John preferred older women—mature, intellectual—not old grandmas, of course.
(Preferably aged 20 to 35; well-maintained, naturally.)
"Who should I take to the dance?" John wondered.
Suddenly, Aeg Yang's voice interrupted.
"Hey, John, you're not still worrying about the dance, are you?"
John sighed. "I just don't have anyone in mind."
A Chevrolet drove by. Aeg hopped inside, smirking as he said mockingly, "If you really can't find anyone, you could always ask your mom. Ha!"
The woman driving laughed and sped away.
John deactivated his X-ray vision, standing still.
His mind made up: that was the perfect dance partner.
He thought, Aeg has such a beautiful mother. She's so well-kept, almost like a college student.
Waiting for the car to disappear from his super vision's range, John retrieved a carton of milk from his backpack and headed toward the school bus, sipping as he walked.
"Hey! John! The bus is leaving! Why are you moving so slowly?" a classmate shouted from the window.
"Sorry! Coming!" John hurried on.
Under the driver's impatient stare, he boarded at the last second.
Distracted by thoughts of Aeg's mother, John failed to notice a foot sticking out.
He nearly tripped—drawing laughter from the other students.
His eyes flashed red for a moment, then returned to blue, as if nothing had happened.
Damn it, John thought. If this were Marvel and not The Boys, I'd have annihilated you all with my Cyclops laser.
But this was Marvel. As Homelander, he couldn't make waves here.
His mental state was improving—less aggressive, or so he hoped.
Just as he sat down, a harsh voice spoke beside him.
"Hey, John, can I ask you something?"
Some ill-intentioned Black students sitting ahead addressed him.
"What is it?" John asked, looking up from his phone.
"Why do your clothes smell like chicken poop every day? Don't you wash them?" the boy with dreadlocks asked, holding a fried chicken drumstick, a mocking smile on his face.
The bus erupted with laughter.
"John's clothes reek of chicken poop because he lives in a chicken coop! From now on, he's Chicken Boy."
The teasing grew nastier.
Suddenly, John stood and approached the dreadlocked boy.
"Want to say that again?" John challenged, locking eyes.
The boy laughed dismissively. "You country bumpkin, you…"
Suddenly, twin beams of red light shot from John's eyes, piercing the boy's head.
Silence fell, then screams erupted.
John glanced at the driver, realizing his powers had been exposed.
For my own stability, I can't leave any evidence. Time to send you off, he thought coldly.
In an instant, the bus driver's neck snapped, unseen but deadly.
The flaming school bus crashed off a bridge.
With a massive explosion, the bus shattered on impact with the water below—then burned fiercely.
Meanwhile, John flew above the river, scanning with X-ray vision.
Seeing no survivors, he crossed his arms and soared away with a whoosh.