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"Chaos!" Homelander nodded.
"Nice and trashy—I love it."
Screenwriter B went full method: "They saw your potential! They turned you into a lab rat! They tortured you! Pumped you full of chemical cocktails! They wanted to forge you into their ultimate weapon!"
"Oh…" Homelander's eyes lit up.
Screenwriter C: "But! Your spirit! That unbreakable, all-American will of yours pulled you through! You faked submission, learned to master your power…"
Screenwriter D: "Then you struck back! You freaking leveled their base! Ground their boss into the dirt!"
Screenwriter E: "You rose from the ashes! Flew clear across the Pacific! Landed back in New York! You were no longer Anthony Starr…"
Everyone—including Homelander—roared in unison:
"—you are Homelander!!"
"F*** yeah!!" Homelender sprang to his feet and drained his glass.
"This… this is exactly what I want! This is me!" (Inner monologue: Cliché! So damn Disney! Whatever—audiences eat this up!)
"Title!" He swept an arm.
"Call it—Homelander: Origins!"
He was already picturing himself in a tux, on the Oscar stage, snagging the first golden boy of his life in this godforsaken Marvel universe.
The writers erupted in applause; the payday was locked.
The day after green-light, Vought International's media machine spun up to full throttle.
Homelander's sole order: maximize popularity.
Front One: comics and merch.
"Get me the best artist in America!" he barked at the comics chief.
"I don't care whose payroll he's on—buy him out!"
"I want my jawline flawless! My muscle mass beyond Greek statues! Colors—bleed the brightest red, white, and blue! Kids should see nothing but those three hues!"
"Issue One—The Adventures of Homelander #1—must flood every comic shop in the country before the first trailer drops!"
…Three days later, pre-orders opened.
Cover: Homelander punches a Chaos aircraft out of the sky, a burning Stars-and-Stripes behind him.
Front Two: tie-ins.
Vought's toy lines ramped into overdrive.
"Two figures!" Homelander said, reviewing the specs.
"One: Hampton playboy—Anthony, removable shades and martini glass."
"Two: Hero Rising—Homelander! LED eyes! Hit the eagle on my chest and it says my line—You're the real hero!"
"And…" he pointed at the villain sketch, "make the Chaos leader ugly—hideous! Kids need to want to smash him!"
Within days, store shelves were carpet-bombed with Homelander.
Homelander Breakfast Cereal!
Vought Energy—drink your super-power!
His game trailer dropped; pre-orders hit number one.
Homelander's philosophy was blunt: "People shouldn't just see me—they need to buy me, eat me, cosplay me."
"I want to seep into their blood, their dreams, their goddam DNA."
…Avengers Tower.
Steve Rogers sketched, still acclimating to the 21st century; Natasha cleaned her Widow's Bite.
Tony Stark—billionaire who'd just redecorated—was enjoying rare downtime.
Until he saw the magazine headline.
Slap!
Tony slapped the tablet onto the lounge table.
"You guys buying this?"
Headline: Starr Power! Homelander: Origina green-lit; Anthony Starr to play… himself!
Tony mocked an announcer voice: "Good Lord—this guy's ego is epic. He's starring in his own origin story! I kinda admire the audacity."
"He turned heroism into a business!" Tony gawked.
"Started a company, cast himself—method acting my ass! JARVIS, get me Vought's ticker—I'm shorting it."
"Sir, Vought's private—wholly owned by Starr Group."
"F—!"
Steve frowned, setting down his pencil.
"Tony… is this right? He's… commoditizing the word hero."
"Commoditizing?" Tony poured a drink.
"He's fluent in it! Look!"
He swiped to Vought's site.
"He's got his own comic—The Adventures of Homelander! Steve, how long after you shipped out did your Captain America comic hit? A year? Two?"
"This guy—one month. Whole vertical integrated in four weeks!"
Natasha leaned in and clicked a leaked synopsis.
"Wait… mysterious shadow org kidnaps him, inhuman experiments, persecution, eventual awakening?"
She looked up: "That's the exact sob story he fed Fury."
Tony's grin froze.
Then he burst out laughing.
"Ha! Genius—shameless genius! He didn't even bother writing a new script—just recycled the one he sold SHIELD!"
(Anthony: the writers came up with that—don't pin it on me!)
"Why juggle two lies when one will do?" Tony marveled. "He's not a hero, Steve—he's a brand! A walking Stars-and-Stripes logo!"
Steve's frown deepened.
"That's wrong. Heroism… isn't supposed to be a product."
"Really?" Tony pointed to Coulson's prized 1945 Cap lunchbox in the corner. "Better have a word with that tin."
"Okay, Tony—back then I didn't have a choice," Steve said sheepishly.
"Look, Cap," Tony turned serious, "the big guy's off-world, Green Goliath's playing hide-and-seek. Right now, we're the only ones in this city who can keep an eye on him."