The last few days had been a living hell for the Deep. Ashely was convinced that the kid he "saved" was some kind of Supe-eater, even though he was absolutely certain it was just the Russian girl. But orders were orders.
The only silver lining was his current assignment. Ashley had sent him to track the kid down, and the crime analytics unit had traced his last known location to an electronics shop under repair called Bryman Audio-Visual.
Wandering aimlessly around the city was a million times better than being anywhere near Vought Tower, especially after seeing the livestream of Homelander lasering the ocean and screaming in a blind rage.
Kevin wanted to hide in the sea, but the memory of Great Wide Wonder's empty corpse kept him on dry land.
As he walked, his phone suddenly vibrated. The sound sent a cold shiver down his spine, leaving him nauseous. "Ashley, please be Ashley," he muttered like a mantra, his thumb hovering over the screen. "Please be that shrieking, hair-pulling lunatic..."
He looked down. The screen just said: HOMELANDER
"Fuck," Kevin breathed, the air suddenly feeling very thin.
Taking a deep breath, he accepted the call. "Hello, sir."
"Deep." The voice on the other side was steady and quiet, a voice the Deep knew very well. It meant someone had fucked with Homelander, and someone was going to die.
"Come to me right now."
"Everyone, please! For your own safety, stay back!" Stillwell paused the recording on the screen and looked at Ashley beside her, who was staring at the screen with a vacant, soulless look.
To be honest, since Homelander still hadn't clarified what happened, they were still in the dark. She had called him to get back to the tower, but he still hadn't arrived, and they were still blind as to what made him do any of what he did.
"How many?" Stillwell finally asked.
"Five points in thirty minutes," Ashley said. "The stock is in a freefall."
Stillwell took off her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose. This was a disaster, a total catastrophe with no clear path to recovery.
If Homelander had only caused damage to the pier, that would have been manageable; Vought's legal team could have spun it as "collateral damage."
If he had simply mentioned imaginary terrorists, that would have been horrible, but they could have manufactured a "cell" to take the blame later.
But he hadn't stopped there. He had told a crowd of onlookers, and their live-streaming phones, that these same terrorists were holding Translucent, a member of the Seven, hostage.
Then, after ten minutes of standing there like a statue, he had vented his rage by leveling the pier and lasering the sea. Anyone with a brain could put one and one together: the "Greatest Hero in the World" had just been played, and a member of the Seven was missing, vulnerable, and potentially already dead.
"How do we spin this"? Stillwell asked after some time.
"Well, it would certainly help if we could... have Homelander's side of the story first," Ashley stammered, clutching her tablet.
The door opened. Homelander walked in, his face cold and terrifying. He sat on the sofa, looking one piece of bad news away from a total crashout that even Vought couldn't contain.
Stillwell walked over and sat beside him, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Talk to me. What happened out there?"
Homelander let out a long, heaving sigh. "I don't know. It was a mess."
"Tell me everything. We need to fix this."
"I was out there looking for Translucent when his tracker signal appeared," Homelander began. "While I was flying, this little... pathetic, filthy little shit calls out to me from a roof. I asked him what he was doing there. And do you know what he says? He tells me they paid him seventy-five dollars and some sandwiches just to stall me."
Stillwell froze. "Who are 'they'?"
At this point, Ashley and Stillwell were fully locked in. The stock market didn't matter anymore; the "Seven" brand didn't matter. The sheer audacity of the claim had them paralyzed.
"He told me "they" were terrorists holding Translucent. He said they're shoving C4 up his... his ass, as we speak. A British guy, some Russian and Chinese, and a man named Frenchie. He said they called him a 'freak' and said all Supes should be killed. Can you believe the nerve? Shoving explosives up the bottom of a member of the Seven?"
Stillwell sat in a trance, her mind failing to process the absurdity. "They called him a 'freak'? So the kid is a Supe as well?"
"Yeah," Homelander growled, his eyes beginning to shimmer with a faint, resentful red. "And the little shit said he'd only give me the location if I saved him."
"Saved him? Saved him how?" Stillwell asked.
Homelander turned to her, his expression a mix of disgust and a strange, lingering confusion. "He had a tumor, Stage four cancer, he was convinced that a drop of my blood could heal him."
Ashley's face went pale. She thought of the Deep's copy-cat, and her heart started racing in her chest.
Homelander caught the shift in her pulse instantly. He turned his head slowly, his gaze pinning her to the spot like a specimen under a microscope.
"What's wrong, Ashley?"