The press conference was a circus. Flashbulbs popped like a hailstorm. I stood at the podium, flanked by Homelander and a stoic Stan Edgar. Homelander had his arm around my shoulders in a gesture of fake camaraderie that felt like a vise.
I looked out at the sea of reporters. I saw skepticism, fear, and a hungry glee for the spectacle. I took a breath and began to speak Mallory's words.
"For too long, I allowed my power to control me…" My voice echoed in the silent room. I sounded hollow. I sounded like a puppet.
I continued, reciting the lies. I praised Vought. I condemned my own actions. I talked about redemption. With every word, I felt a part of myself shrivel and die.
Then I saw her. In the back of the room, wearing a press pass and a baseball cap, was Annie. Her eyes met mine. There was no anger there, only a deep, profound sadness. And understanding.
It was the lifeline I needed.
My voice changed. It wasn't me reading a script anymore. It was me acting. I put conviction into the lies. I made my eyes glisten with fake remorse. I turned to Homelander and gave him a look of staged gratitude.
"I owe my life to Homelander," I said, the words tasting like acid. "He saw the hero buried beneath the pain."
Homelander's smile tightened slightly. He sensed the shift, but he couldn't pinpoint it. The performance was too good.
The conference ended. As I was led away, I glanced back. Annie was gone. But her message was clear: I'm still here. I see you.
Back in my apartment, I tore off the costume and threw it across the room. I felt filthy. But I also felt a grim sense of accomplishment. I had passed the first major public test. I had looked Homelander in the eye and lied to his face, and he'd believed it.
My communicator buzzed again. Mallory.
Acceptable. Your next assignment briefing is in one hour. A real threat this time.
The cage door had opened just a crack. I was inside the machine now. The next step was to learn how to break it from within.