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Just when he thought he was doomed to smash into a puddle of meat…
Whoosh!
A blue after-image.
Anthony dove even faster, caught him casually less than a hundred metres above the ground… and slowed to a gentle landing.
"Oh, got him."
"…" J. Jonah Jameson had stopped thinking altogether.
A few seconds later.
Anthony flew back into the glass-strewn office and tossed Jameson onto the carpet.
Thud.
Jameson collapsed like a sack of bones, hacking and gulping air.
A sharp stench spread across the floor—he'd wet himself in terror.
"Ugh…"
Anthony stepped back in disgust and swept him with a glance of X-ray vision.
"Tsk… Jonah, your bladder's not in great shape.
Prostate's a bit swollen too."
Jameson trembled, teeth chattering as he stared at this 'demon'.
Anthony crouched, the 'perfect' smile back on his face.
He patted Jameson's dripping cheek.
"Listen, Jonah. I'm New York's hero. People… love me."
"And you," he pointed at the puddle, "are a smart man."
"So tomorrow's front page—I'd like to see something… positive."
"Like, 'Homelander: Guardian Angel of New York?' or 'J. Jonah Jameson: I Owe Homelander an Apology'?"
He tilted his head. "Which headline do you prefer?"
"…Guardian… Guardian Angel…" Jameson forced the words out with every ounce of strength.
"Good boy."
Anthony straightened his uniform and stood.
Whoosh—
He vanished into the night.
In the office only Jonah Jameson remained, the warm patch between his legs cooling… while Anthony returned to his penthouse.
"Ha." He sipped the '82 cola from 'Anthony's' private stash, feeling excellent, and flicked on the TV.
"…Affected by the Battle of New York, Stark Industries shares swung wildly… but today the late Starr Group's sole heir, Mr. Anthony Starr, has confirmed his return, sending Starr Group stock sky-rocketing 300%…"
His phone rang on cue.
"Mr. Starr," said the voice of his retained counsel-cum-assistant at Starr Group, "the board is ready and all your assets have been unfrozen. The Group… awaits your command."
"Excellent." Anthony walked to the window and looked out over the city that now belonged to him.
"Business as usual at the Group. Register a new company for me—media and PR."
"Certainly, sir. What shall we call it?"
"…Let's call it Vought."
…'Vought' International Media, backed by Starr Group's vast capital, was incorporated, registered and running within three weeks.
Anthony, sole signee and owner of Vought Media, naturally threw himself into every publicity campaign.
"Mr. Starr, Vought's brand value jumped twelve points after yesterday's heroics."
"Our PR strategy is working; the Homelander IP is now the hottest property on Earth…"
"Not an IP, dear." Anthony cut her off.
In full uniform he walked to the window and gazed down at New York.
"It's faith."
"…Yes, sir." The assistant's breath hitched.
"Tonight's schedule?"
"The Jimmy Tonight Show, sir. Live across the nation."
"Perfect." He turned, flashing a flawless smile. "Time for America to see how approachable their hero really is."
That evening, before the talk-show, Anthony attended the Battle of New York Victims Fund gala—held, of course, in Stark Tower, now renamed Avengers Tower.
And there, unsurprisingly, he ran into Tony Stark.
"Hey, Pepper, look—'Blondie' just arrived." Tony Stark lounged against the bar with a martini, murmuring to Pepper Potts beside him.
The alien menace from the Battle of New York still lingered, but with Anthony hogging the spotlight Tony had never taken that near-fatal trip into space.
No near-death experience, no PTSD, no hiding inside his armour for comfort.
He was still the party-king billionaire playboy.
"That get-up…" Tony circled Anthony, champagne in hand.
"Seriously? You wore the suit to a dinner? Nothing underneath, I bet."
Tony Stark's mouth was as cheap as ever.
"People need a hero on call 24/7, Tony," Anthony said loudly; heads turned. "Not someone who avenges them only after they're dead."
Applause rippled; Anthony nodded and smiled.
"Hah!" Tony snorted. "Did Vought write that line for you? I heard you started a company. So what's the big plan—printing your own posters?"
"Just PR," Anthony answered, smile intact. "Someone has to clean up, make sure heroes… look like heroes. Not like an egomaniac who keeps building killer weapons, right?"
Tony Stark's grin froze.
"Killer weapons? You talking about me?"
"A metaphor, Tony—relax." Anthony gave his shoulder a friendly pat.
"Great place, by the way. Everyone's grateful—after all, without your tower… the aliens would've had nowhere to land, right?"
…
For once Tony Stark was speechless.
Anthony Starr's tongue was more devastating than his repulsors.
"fuck…" Tony gulped his drink.
"You're one… boring bastard."
"Tony!" Captain America Steve Rogers arrived, suited up in slightly old-fashioned style.
"Homelander." Steve offered his hand.
"Good to see you again. What you've done lately… remarkable."
"I'm only following your lead, Captain." Anthony clasped the hand, humble. "You're the real hero."
Steve Rogers lapped it up.
"You're too modest. You've… adapted well."
"All right, enough, American Idol duo." Tony couldn't stand the positivity.
"You two carry on—I'm off to find someone who can hold their liquor."