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I remember that my previous life wasn't exactly the most exciting thing in the world. Or rather… it really wasn't.
I was just an ordinary guy. I worked long hours at a lousy job, surrounded by people I didn't like. I remember hating that job. The worst part wasn't even the work itself — the job was simple and brutal.
I could do it for hours without complaining about the physical labor.
The real problem was the people. My so-called "coworkers."
They were a nuisance. They enjoyed provoking me at work.
But none of that matters now. My past had become nothing more than vague memories.
It was a day like any other.
While I was walking home after another long, exhausting day at work, I was walking along the sidewalk when I was run over by a car.
Well, I didn't know it at the time, but the guy who hit me was probably drunk — or just someone who wasn't paying attention behind the wheel.
It didn't matter.
I was crushed beneath the wheels of a truck and ended up dying a horrible death.
It was extremely painful.
It hurt. It hurt a lot.
I stayed alive for a few minutes, torn apart on the ground.
But after suffering so much, I finally died.
To be honest, while I was suffering, I thought to myself:
"So this is how I'm going to die?"
Well, this is how most people die — in very ordinary or random ways.
Nothing surprising, like ultra-secret missions or police investigations. Nothing like that.
I also wondered if I was going to heaven.
Had I been a bad person in my previous life?
Good or bad, how God would judge me, I didn't know.
All of that went through my mind in my final moments.
It all happened so fast, yet it felt like such a long time.
And in the blink of an eye, my life was over — and when I opened my eyes again…
I didn't understand what had happened.
I was in a completely white place.
At first glance, anyone seeing what I was seeing would believe they were in heaven.
That's what I thought at first — but in reality…
I was in a white room. And soon, I realized it was a room, not heaven or anything like that.
Especially because there was a large window on one of the walls.
A reinforced glass window. I couldn't see what was on the other side.
With some difficulty, I turned my head and looked down.
I saw that I was strapped to a reinforced metal chair.
At first, after "waking up," I felt weak — as if my body had just awakened from a very long sleep. My bones felt heavy and fragile.
But despite that weakness, every second I felt something else growing inside me.
A strength far beyond anything I had ever had before.
A power beyond anything I had ever felt coursing through my veins.
I tried to break free.
The chair — or rather, the table I was strapped to — was reinforced with the strongest metal in the world.
I didn't know where I was or who had done this to me, but one thing was certain: they didn't want what was best for me.
I needed to get out of there.
So I started struggling.
As time passed, my strength began to return, and the reinforced chair restraining me started to shake.
A loud metallic noise echoed every time I moved.
Meanwhile, outside the room, on the other side of the one-way glass, a group of scientists and men in suits were watching their experiment.
"Was it a success?" asked one of the Vought executives.
They were inside one of Vought's countless Compound V testing facilities.
This was where they tested children and adults with Compound V.
The goal was clear: to create human weapons — or anything that could generate profit for Vought.
They were ruthless and didn't care about their test subjects.
At least most of them didn't.
Some did it for money. Others because they were being blackmailed. Others simply didn't care.
One scientist watched with an admiring gaze… or maybe a greedy one.
"Dr. Jonah Vogelbaum needs to know about this. It's a success — a perfect clone. His DNA fully assimilated Homelander's blood. It worked," said a scientist.
One of the executives turned to him.
"I thought it had failed. His heart stopped beating, then it started again. I thought he had died," the executive said.
"Yes… it's true. His heart did stop, but not for long. He survived," the scientist replied.
"So it's a success? That's good. Vought will be very happy to have another toy. But he doesn't look very stable," the executive said.
The boy struggled violently, like a wild animal, which began to frighten some of the executives.
One of them spoke with a trembling voice while watching the "mini-Homelander" trying to escape.
Everyone knew Homelander was the strongest man in the world — and standing before them was a perfect clone.
Still a child. Probably weakened.
But soon… he would be just like Homelander.
Strong. Fast. Powerful.
They couldn't risk letting him escape.
"He— he's going to escape! Stop him!" shouted one executive.
The scientists had been so busy admiring their creation that they forgot he was trying to break free.
"You're right. Send someone in there now and sedate him," ordered a scientist over the radio to a group of armed guards.
That scientist was named Erick Vans.
He had worked for Vought for a long time and was one of the few who had direct contact with Vought's upper leadership — and even Dr. Jonah Vogelbaum himself.
He was in charge of the cloning project — the attempt to create a new "Homelander."
The objective was simple:
Create a weapon capable of stopping Homelander if he ever lost control and became a threat.
They had been researching ways to do that since Homelander's creation.
He was unstable. He was a threat.
And Vought would never allow that without having a Plan B.
Erick ordered the men to go in and sedate the boy.
The boy didn't even have a name.
He was just a street kid with no parents.
Vought had taken him from an orphanage — something they did often.
Many children "disappeared" into Vought's hands every year for Compound V experiments.
He was just one more among hundreds.
They called him "V-25."
"V" was simply the code word for test subject, and "25" was the designation — meaning 24 others had undergone the same experiment before him.
All of them had died.
They injected him with Compound V, expecting him to die.
But he didn't.
Inside the room, V-25 continued to struggle when the reinforced technological door suddenly opened.
Revealing more than fifteen armed men in tactical gear.
They carried heavy-caliber assault rifles.
As they entered, they aimed their weapons at him.
"Don't move!" one of them shouted.
V-25 was startled.
Seeing all those armed men pointing guns at him, his first reaction was fear.
He froze.
The soldiers began approaching slowly.
"Neutralize him quickly and be careful. He's a Homelander clone — he might already have laser vision."
"Shit," one guard muttered after hearing that through his earpiece.
"Neutralize him now," ordered the squad leader.
V-25 heard the voice but didn't understand the language.
Still, from their expressions and body language, he could tell they were afraid.
But afraid of what? the boy wondered.
He looked about seven or eight years old.
What had the owner of this body done to deserve this?
They moved closer.
One of them was carrying a terrifying case.
The soldiers surrounded him, weapons raised, while the man with the case placed it on the floor in front of him.
"What the hell is that?" the boy muttered in a language no one understood — not the scientists, not anyone.
The soldier knelt and opened the case, revealing several large, sharp syringes.
"Stay away from me!" the boy shouted.
They tried to restrain him.
It took several of them working together just to hold him still — he was breaking free.
"Hold him down! I'll have to inject the sedative intravenously," said one of the soldiers, who was also a medic.
He grabbed a large syringe and tried to inject it into one of the boy's veins.
He pressed gently.
Nothing happened.
The needle didn't pierce his skin.
"Shit. Hold him! I'll need another syringe — his skin is too tough."
He quickly grabbed another one — reinforced, made to penetrate the skin of a supe.
Using more force, he finally managed to inject the sedative.
The boy fell asleep.
It wasn't easy.
It took more than ten men to restrain him, and the medic had to use considerable force.
If they had taken any longer, they might not have succeeded.
His skin was already becoming tougher.
The scientists watched from behind the glass, amazed.
V-25's strength — and especially his durability — shocked them.
Outside, Erick Vans made a call.
"One of the clone experiments was successful. He can't stay in this weak facility. He must be transferred to a more secure installation and guarded by a supe. Inform the doctor. Subject V-25 is sedated and ready for transport."
Soon after, Vought approved the transfer.
They shackled his hands and feet with thick reinforced chains.
Unconscious, they loaded him into a reinforced transport vehicle.
A large escort followed.
Outside the facility, it was night.
A heavily armored truck waited — not a tank, but the kind used to transport money or "valuable goods."
At least five smaller tactical vehicles followed it through the dark city.
The sedative they used was meant for medium-sized animals — lions, large felines.
Not massive creatures like elephants or rhinos.
That was a mistake.
They should have used the strongest one available.
But they were afraid he wouldn't survive it.
A mistake Vought would soon regret.
V-25 was restrained on a reinforced metal stretcher.
A gas mask was strapped to his face.
Six armed guards were inside the truck.
"We'll arrive in a few days. The package is unconscious and unstable," said one soldier.
Hours passed.
V-25 slowly opened his eyes.
His head was spinning.
He knew he was restrained.
He stayed quiet, analyzing.
He glanced to the side and saw an armed guard standing nearby.
His heart raced.
Sweat formed on his face.
But he waited.
Outside, on a rooftop…
"They're coming. Get ready," said a man in the shadows.
The convoy entered a deserted street.
Suddenly —
BOOM.
An explosion.
At least two vehicles were destroyed.
"Shit! We're under attack!" shouted the driver.
"Don't stop! If we stop, we're dead! Inform Vought!" ordered the commander.
Inside the truck, V-25 heard everything.
This was his chance.
He clenched his fists.
With a burst of strength, he snapped the metal restraints.
The soldiers heard metal tearing.
"He's escaping! Grab him!" one shouted.
One soldier tried to restrain him with his own body.
V-25 didn't move.
He pushed the man with one hand.
soldier was thrown violently against the wall and collapsed, unconscious.
Another soldier opened fire.
The bullets hit.
They hurt.
But they didn't penetrate.
The soldier froze.
"Shit," he said — right before being hurled into the back of the truck.
He exploded like a water balloon.
In the cockpit, the pilot shouted, "What the hell was that?!"
The copilot went back — and saw V-25 standing among the wreckage.
"Don't move!" he shouted.
Too late.
V-25 punched the side of the truck.
A massive hole formed.
The vehicle flipped.
Before it fully tipped over, V-25 escaped.
The convoy behind watched in horror.
They wouldn't let him go without trying to capture him.
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