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V.G.D. Training Base.
Steve Rogers, wearing a tactical vest and holding a clipboard, stood in front of the assembled recruits.
His current role: Chief Instructor of V.G.D.
"Listen up!"
Steve's voice rolled across the training ground—no megaphone needed for every ear to hear him clearly.
"In front of the cameras you're stars, idols. On the battlefield you're nothing but targets!"
"The enemy won't go easy because your suit looks cool, and they won't stop shooting just because your fans scream."
"Here, forget those damn autographs and selfies. Learn to cover your teammate, learn to crawl out of a pile of corpses with a broken leg!"
"Understood?!"
"Sir, yes, sir!"
Dozens of newly signed city heroes roared in unison.
Steve gave a satisfied nod and continued.
"I know you've got powers—some are bullet-proof, some grow spikes, some can stretch a tongue three meters."
"But to me you're still kids waving loaded guns!"
"Being a superhero isn't about flexing muscle. It's judgment, restraint, protection!"
Steve pointed to the mock-tactical board behind him.
"Lesson one: collateral-damage control. If you flatten a whole street just to catch a pickpocket, you're not a hero—you're a jackass!"
...While Anthony enjoyed the show from the floor-to-ceiling window, the office door burst open.
Ashley stormed in looking like her World had collapsed.
"Mr. Homelander! Something's happened!"
"Did the sky fall, Ashley?" Anthony asked calmly.
"Worse than that!" Ashley waved her tablet in a frenzy.
"Wade! That psycho—he's gone!"
"Gone?" Anthony raised an eyebrow.
"Two hours ago he got his first signing bonus—five million dollars!" Ashley shrieked.
"Then poof! Phones dead, GPS shows his tracker inside a dead fish in the Hudson!"
Anthony narrowed his eyes.
"That little bastard…"
"So? Do we launch a city-wide manhunt?" Ashley stamped her foot.
"Forget it, he's already left New York." Anthony waved a dismissive hand. "Let him run."
"But sir! He's one of The Seven—this is breach of contract…"
"Ashley." Anthony cut her off. "You still don't get Wade? He's a rabid dog—lock him in a cage and he'll chew through the bars."
Anthony gave a cold laugh.
"Once he's blown the cash or landed in trouble he can't fix, he'll crawl back."
"Then I'll show him what a truly strict daddy looks like…"
"Issue a statement: Deadpool is on a 'highly classified overseas mission'. Don't let the press think we can't keep our people on a leash."
"...Yes, sir."
...Washington, Triskelion Building.
Alexander Pierce sat in his office, staring at a cup of coffee long gone cold.
Outside, a drone-borne billboard hovered level with his window, featuring Homelander's smug grin—an unspoken taunt.
"Two months."
Pierce's voice was low, fury barely leashed.
"Two whole months, and those old fools on the Council still hem and haw."
Across from him, Agent Sitwell sat on the sofa, mopping sweat from his brow.
"Sir… Vought's influence is enormous," Sitwell stammered.
"After President Ellis's Capitol Hill speech, most member states lean toward buying Vought's defense package."
"One delegate even proposed cutting S.H.I.E.L.D.'s budget to fund Vought's global expansion."
"I suspect Vought has bought off several councillors."
Smash!
Pierce swept the coffee cup to the floor.
"If Vought monopolizes global defense, there'll be no room for S.H.I.E.L.D.—or HYDRA."
"We wait no longer."
Pierce turned, eyes hard and ruthless.
"If they think the World is so safe… let's show them how fragile it really is."
He looked at Sitwell.
"Activate HYDRA's sleeper cells worldwide."
"But sir, that will cost a lot of lives…"
"Sacrifice is necessary for order," Pierce cut him off coldly. "We need chaos. Only through fear will those idiot councillors remember the Insight Project's necessity."
Pierce issued the command.
"Target the wavering non-permanent members of the Council: Europe, Asia, Brazil, Saudi Arabia, …"
"Spread terror—explosions, attacks, assassinations. I want those nations panicked, convinced that only a preemptive strike like Insight can protect them."
"Yes, sir. What about the continental U.S.?"
"The homeland…" Pierce narrowed his eyes at the monitor.
On-screen: a Vought publicity photo showing several second-tier city heroes.
"Vought has plenty of city Guardians, doesn't it?"
"Let the World see how fragile those Guardians really are."
"Sitwell, wake the Winter Soldier."
"Time… to teach those spandex-clad brats a lesson."
"I'll show everyone that Vought's heroes can't even protect themselves—let alone the World."
...Over the next month the World slid into a strange frenzy.
First, a massive gas attack in Vietnam sent thousands to hospital.
Then several key government buildings in South Africa were leveled by truck bombs.
Poland's energy pipelines were severed, blacking out half the country.
Brazil suffered an armed coup, rebels wielding high-tech weapons of unknown origin.
The Security Council turned into a circus.
Plea calls snowballed into Vought International.
"Mr. Homelander! We need help!"
"Homelander! Please save our people!"
Anthony beamed at the stack of requests from every corner of the globe.
"Ashley, map out the routes. Jessica and I fly solo—no plane tickets."
"This is The Seven's first World tour."
Anthony rose, straightening his cape.
"We're off to play saviors. Tell the camera crew to polish their lenses—at least two hundred Hummingbird drones in every country we visit."
So, all month long, the red-and-blue figure streaked across every screen.
Each appearance met with thunderous cheers.
His global popularity soared—yet while Anthony basked in worldwide adulation, shadows back home quietly spread.
Chicago, late night.
Rain poured in sheets.
The "Guardians of the Windy City"—three Vought-contracted local heroes—cowered behind a shipping container in an abandoned factory.
"Damn it! Who is that guy?! Is he even human?!"
Team leader "Iron Arm Joe" clutched his mangled left arm; steel-hard as it was, the man had snapped it clean.
"I—I couldn't see him…" the hero "Sonic Girl" trembled. "He's like a mechanical ghost… my sonic blasts didn't even faze him…"
Thud.
A heavy footstep landed atop the container.
The three looked up in terror.
Lightning split the sky.
A man wearing a half-face mask, left arm glinting with cold metal, stared down at them.