"At the 'Supe Party', we theorized they had a powerful telepath, someone capable of rendering an entire room full of Supes unconscious simultaneously." Graves' voice was laced with a professional detachment that barely masked a deep unease. He gestured, the light catching the holographic projections. "The evidence at Sage Grove also supports this as the most likely method of incapacitation. However, the nature of the executions shows a significant improvement in their capabilities."
He gestured again, his hand hovering over the chilling images of Lamplighter and Sam Riordan crystalline sculptures of their former selves. "They've added a new asset to their roster, a cryokinetic of incredible power. The absolute zero temperatures required to flash-freeze a pyrokinetic like Lamplighter, encase a heavily reinforced cell in ice, and freeze a powerhouse like Sam Riordan from the inside out represent a level of power we have rarely witnessed. This is a weapon. A terrifying weapon, capable of manipulating thermodynamics on an incomprehensible scale."
"They are actively collecting powerful and diverse Supe assets," Graves continued, the implication hanging heavy in the air. "The telepath, the cryokinetic… we have to assume they are either recruiting or, more likely, replicating these abilities for their own agents. They are building an arsenal that mirrors our own." Graves concluded, his voice a grim pronouncement.
"And they stole the entire supply of the stabilized Compound V," Edgar finally spoke, his voice a low baritone that cut through the tension like a razor.
"Yes, sir," Graves confirmed, his jaw tight with suppressed frustration. "Every last vial. Along with all of Dr. Cardosa's research, every piece of his equipment, and every byte of data from the servers before they were utterly destroyed. They now possess the means to create their own army of stable Supes. An army we won't know about until it's far too late."
"So, to summarize," Edgar said, his gaze sweeping over the faces in the room. "An unknown organization has assassinated many of our low-level assets, destroyed a top-secret research facility, stolen our most valuable and dangerous new product, and has done so without leaving a single actionable piece of intelligence. Is that an accurate assessment, Mr. Graves?"
"Yes, sir. That is accurate." Graves' voice held a resignation that spoke of thorough investigation.
Madelyn finally spoke. "This is an act of war, Stan."
"No, Madelyn," Edgar corrected, his voice still unnervingly calm, a quiet certainty that defied the chaos around them. "War is loud. This is a corporate takeover, executed with the precision of an assassination. They are trying to bleed us, to steal from us, to weaken us from the shadows."
"So what do we do?" Madelyn demanded, her frustration boiling over. "The Z-Drug narrative is holding for now, but we can't possibly pin a burned down asylum on a street-level drug cartel. This is too big to hide."
"We do nothing," Edgar said simply, the two words dropping into the room like stones into a still pond.
The room fell into an immediate silence.
"Nothing?" Madelyn asked, her voice incredulous, a tremor of disbelief running through it.
"Publicly, we do nothing," Edgar clarified, his gaze unwavering. "Sage Grove does not exist. It never existed. The fire was a tragic accident at a decommissioned psychiatric hospital. The bodies found inside were unfortunate squatters. We will use every ounce of our influence with the state government and the media to bury this story so deep it will never see the light of day. We cannot afford to admit that we are vulnerable. That someone can hit us like this and truly get away with it."
Homelander, who had been a silent presence until now, pushed himself off the wall. The very air in the room seemed to crackle as he moved, a tangible shift in energy. "Nothing?" he snarled, his voice a dangerous rumble. His eyes began to glow with a furious red light, a visual manifestation of his escalating rage. "Someone blows up our property, kills our people, and we do nothing? We should be out there, tearing the city apart until we find them!"
"And what would you look for, Homelander?" Edgar asked, his gaze unwavering as he met the Supe's burning stare. "A ghost? A telepath? A cryokinetic? You would be a sledgehammer in a room full of smoke. You would cause untold amounts of collateral damage, destroy public trust, and ultimately find nothing. You will do what you are paid to do. You will smile for the cameras and sell our products. You should continue what you are doing. We will let the professionals handle this."
Homelander floated slowly towards the desk, the air around him crackling with suppressed power, tiny arcs of energy visible to the naked eye. "I am a professional." His voice was laced with raw indignation.
"You are the face of this company's security," Edgar corrected him, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, yet carrying more weight than Homelander's unleashed rage. "You are the single most valuable asset we have. Your strength lies in your presence, your power, your image. I will not have that image tarnished by having you fly around the city on a blind chase after a shadow. That is beneath you. It makes you look desperate, not powerful."
He let the words sink in, a calculated appeal directed precisely at Homelander's deep-seated narcissism, a subtle manipulation that often proved more effective than direct command.
"This is a game of intelligence. A dirty game, a game for men like Graves. Let us handle the dirty work. We will find them for you. And when we do, when we have a name, a location, a tangible target, we will point you in their direction, and you can do what you do best. But until then, you must remain above it. You must remain the hero."
For a tense moment, the fate of the city seemed to hang suspended. Then, with a low growl of pure frustration, Homelander's eyes slowly faded back to their natural blue. He knew Edgar was right. He had no target to punch, no enemy to incinerate, only an infuriating threat.
"Find them," Homelander hissed, his voice a chilling promise of future violence. "Find them, so I can burn them."
He turned abruptly and vanished, the sonic boom of his departure rattling the heavily armored glass of the window, a violent punctuation mark to his reluctant compliance.
Madelyn let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, a shaky exhalation. "He's getting harder to control, Stan." Her voice was reflecting a deep-seated worry.
"He is a necessary evil," Edgar said, dismissing Homelander as a problem already managed. His gaze settled on Graves. His voice appeasing whispers moments before, now hardened into steel. "Graves. Your previous investigation is null and void. Your new directive is absolute and comes with unlimited resources."
He leaned forward slightly a silent assertion of authority. "You will use every asset at your disposal. I want every surveillance network Vought owns dedicated to this. I want every human intelligence asset we have on the payroll activated. I want you to leverage our contracts with every three-letter agency we have in our pocket. NSA, CIA, FBI, get their data, legally or otherwise. I want a profile on every known cryokinetic on the planet, every telepath, every Supe who has ever gone off-grid, no matter how obscure."
Edgar paused, his eyes boring into Graves, the intensity of his stare demanding absolute attention. "Furthermore, you will open a priority requisition account with our suppliers. I don't care if it's Spencer Industries, Lockheed, or some back-alley arms dealer in Marrakesh. If there is a piece of technology, a weapon, or a surveillance system that can give us an edge, you will acquire it. Price is not a concern."
"Your sole purpose," Edgar concluded, his voice dropping to an intense, unwavering command, "is to find this organization. You will find out who they are, where they get their funding, who their assets are, and what they want. This is now the single highest priority in this company. Above the military contracts, above The Seven, above everything else. It's time we reminded the world why we are the ones at the top of the food chain. It's time we started hunting back."
———-
From the silent darkness of my command center I watched it all unfold.
I had a live feed from Edgar's office, the audio so clear I could hear the faint tremor in Madelyn's voice as she expressed her fear. I watched them theorize, I watched their posture, I watched the fear take root in their eyes.
They were terrified. And they were looking in all the wrong places. They were looking for a rival corporation, a government black-ops team, and an intricate conspiracy. They were looking for an army. They would never think to look for a single man.
[A cryokinetic? A powerful telepath? A whole organization?] The System's voice was a torrent of unrestrained glee, almost buzzing with delight. [Boss, you're not just a ghost anymore. You're a damn poltergeist! You're a legend in the making! They're building a myth around you, and they don't even know your name!]
I took a slow sip of my coffee, the chaos unfolding in Vought Tower an entertaining drama, a carefully orchestrated play for my private viewing.
"Let them hunt," I said to myself, the words a soft murmur in the quiet room, a cold smile touching my lips. "The more they look for an army, the less they'll see the lone soldier walking right past their gates."