"Cheers!"
Stan Edgar raised his glass, smiling as he toasted everyone on the board.
Not long after the annual shareholders' meeting had concluded, and just after the announcement of the new product known as Superman, Vought's stock price surged by ten percent and hit the daily limit at closing. It was expected to maintain that momentum over the next few days.
For a publicly traded company, there was nothing more worth celebrating than that.
On the surface, Vought was an entertainment and media company that managed superheroes. But in reality—whether it was Vought itself or the truly powerful figures on Wall Street who actually kept the country running—everyone knew what the company's real foundation was.
It was Compound V.
By injecting or administering Compound V to all kinds of subjects—including but not limited to pregnant women, infants, teenagers, adults, and even test-tube embryos—then discarding the vast majority of failures, Vought selected the most exceptional individuals to form superhero teams.
Homelander was the most outstanding product of this program.
A test-tube baby born in a laboratory, he surpassed all his predecessors. From the moment he was in the womb, he was already superhuman.
At birth, he tore through his mother's uterus. Before his umbilical cord had even been cut, he learned how to fly—then came the heat vision, which killed nearly every doctor and nurse in the delivery room.
But Homelander had existed for decades now. From 1984 to 2019, in the public eye, he was seen as a singular anomaly. There was no guarantee Vought could ever create another Homelander.
Until today.
With Superman's appearance, all doubts vanished.
Stan Edgar clinked glasses with one shareholder after another. In his heart, he knew this was the real coincidence.
Superman was not created in Vought's laboratories. His origins were a mystery, his whereabouts untraceable, and he was entangled with someone like Stormfront—a Nazi remnant.
In the future, he might very well become something even more dangerous than Homelander.
But with expectations of the stock's market value doubling within a single quarter, there was no need for him to act like the only sober man in a room full of drunks.
After all, Vought's success or failure did not necessarily correlate with an individual's success or failure.
In their view, no matter how powerful these so-called 'superheroes' were, they could not defy social or physical laws. True power always came from authority, not brute force.
---
"What do you mean the Seven are required to have tracking chips implanted?"
On his very first official day as a superhero, Joey found himself blocked outside an office. He looked at the young woman in front of him and laughed.
"I have to report to you everywhere I go now?"
Seeing this, Ashley rushed over and pulled her clueless assistant aside. Were all these new hires this fearless?
"I'm sorry, Superman… uh, what she meant is that this is for your safety. In case something happens and we can't reach you in time."
Ashley had dealt with plenty of supes during her career—living deities who would break a few of your bones if they were in a bad mood.
You had to stroke their egos, especially the ones connected to the board. If they crippled you on a whim, who were you going to complain to?
"Well, well. Look who's refusing to follow company policy on his first day."
Joey turned his head and saw Homelander, wearing a uniform almost identical to his own. Aside from the blond hair, he looked almost exactly like the Supermen Joey had seen in movies and TV shows.
"Homelander!"
Joey greeted him enthusiastically and went straight in for a surprise hug.
Homelander—who had been standing there, face stiff, emotions carefully wound up and ready to bully the new guy—completely froze.
"Which planet are you from again? Is your spaceship from when you were a kid still around? Can I take a look?"
Joey had done some online research on Homelander. The results were a mess—some said he was an alien raised by local parents like Joey himself, others claimed he was Earth-born. It didn't hurt to ask. Maybe they were half-countrymen.
"I'm obviously not an alien. I was born right here in the good old USA."
Homelander was a little surprised. This young guy actually knew his early origin story—too bad it had long since been overwritten by the editors and by Homelander himself.
"How many major crises has this world even had? Any alien visitors ever come knocking?"
"Kid, you've read too many comics and watched too many VCU videos."
Seeing this new member of the Seven buzzing around him like a comic-book fanboy, Homelander compared him to the others who constantly paid lip service while acting against him.
Suddenly, this kid didn't seem so irritating.
"Listen—why don't you get the tracker implanted? Being a superhero isn't safe. If something happens, I can come help clean up your mess."
Joey thought that actually sounded reasonable—especially coming from the Superman of this universe. If this were the real Big Blue from the main DC universe, he wouldn't have doubted it for a second.
But after meeting A-Train, Queen Maeve, and the rest—and after noticing that Homelander clearly didn't know the right 'words'—everything felt suspicious.
Still, there was no harm in seeing what this so-called tracker was all about. Worst case, he could flush it down a toilet later.
"You want to implant this thing under my skin?"
In the equipment division next to Vought's Crime Analytics Department, Joey looked at the object in his hand. It resembled a tiny vacuum tube, only slightly larger than a grain of rice. He then glanced at the surrounding equipment.
"That's not happening. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me just to shave every day?"
"Everyone says they're bulletproof before they get here."
The technician responsible for the implant waved the probe in his hand.
"Nano-scale retractable probe. In and out. A tiny wound is all it takes to slip it in."
"Go ahead."
Joey casually extended his arm. Plenty of people didn't believe it until they saw it—breaking an expensive probe wasn't his responsibility anyway.
....
"Fuck!"
After snapping the third needle, the technician finally gave up.
"That was the last one. We can't waste it on you again. Ordering a new batch means going through OA, and the whole department will be shut down for one or two weeks."
"Then how about this—"
Joey reached out and took the tracker.
"I take the tracker, and we pretend we both did our jobs. Sound good?"
---
On the eighty-second floor, Stan Edgar watched the equipment room footage in silence.
So this Superman really was… just like Homelander.
An invincible man.