The broadcast cut to footage of the "rescued" bus.
"Yes—he saved the passengers! But what about the bus? Total loss! The insurance companies are probably in tears! And what about this damn road?!"
The camera pulled back to a rescue scene—right where Antony had landed, two deep footprints were stamped into the pavement, cracks spider-webbing across the ground.
"He doesn't care about collateral damage! All he cares about is whether his goddamn hair gets messed up!"
"We've reviewed the Battle of New York! The so-called 'Homelander' caused more collateral damage than those damn alien invaders!"
"He's nothing but a brute with blonde hair! He's a threat to New York!!"
"I, J. Jonah Jameson, will continue exposing his crimes!"
Antony watched the entire tirade without changing expression.
Ding! Popularity −105
Ding! Popularity −98
Ding! Popularity −112
"…"
"Heh." He laughed softly.
"Haters…" he muttered. "Figures. No matter what world you're in, these loudmouths who make a living flapping their gums are all the same."
Back when he'd been a Best Actor award winner, hadn't he been dragged just as hard?
"Jameson… the Daily Bugle…"
Antony's eyes cooled.
"You're not wrong, old man. I really don't care about the damage. The question is—why did you feel the need to say it out loud?"
He knew he wasn't DC's red-underwear golden boy.
He didn't have that invisible bio-field that protected everything he touched.
Every rescue depended on precise control.
Even then, physics was still physics.
Catch someone at supersonic speed and you'd turn them into paste—so he always had to slow himself down.
"…Looks like setting up my own media company needs to move up the schedule."
He needed control of the narrative.
A machine that could turn black into white.
A system that could turn justice into a business.
The corner of his mouth lifted into a cold curve.
"But before that…"
-----
11:00 PM
Only one office in the building still had its lights on—the editor-in-chief's.
Cigar clenched between his teeth, Jameson was screaming into the phone, spittle flying.
"What do you mean there's no evidence?! I don't need evidence! I saw it with my own eyes! That spandex-wearing egomaniac! Flying around, shooting lasers out of his eyes! That alone makes him the biggest threat there is!!"
"Shut up! You're fired!!"
"…What? You're my boss? Fine! We'll talk tomorrow!"
He slammed the phone down and took a vicious swig of whiskey.
He remembered it clearly—during the Battle of New York, his brand-new Mercedes had been sliced into four pieces by those damn laser eyes.
And the insurance company refused to pay.
Alien invasion—force majeure.
Someone had to teach that out-of-control "superhero" a lesson.
"Cowards… all of them. This city doesn't need gods. It needs me—J. Jonah Jameson—to—"
"Mr. Jameson?"
A voice spoke behind him—gentle, yet so out of place it made his skin crawl.
Every hair on Jameson's body stood on end.
He spun around.
Standing in the center of the office was Homelander himself—New York's most controversial headline made flesh.
That handsome face wore none of the camera-ready smile from earlier.
What replaced it was… nothing.
The look someone gives an insect.
"H-how did you get in here?!" Jameson stumbled backward into his chair.
"I walked in, Jonah," Antony said calmly, stepping forward. "Mind if I call you Jonah?"
"D-don't come closer! Don't call me that! You— you monster!" Jameson shouted, trying to sound brave. "Security! SECURITY!!"
"They can't hear you, Jonah." Homelander smiled faintly, glancing downward with X-ray vision. "They're watching a rerun of Saturday Night Live. Volume's pretty high."
"What do you want?!" Jameson grabbed an ashtray. "I warn you—touch me and the whole world will know what you really are!"
"The real me?" Homelander chuckled, picking up a copy of the Daily Bugle from the desk.
"'Arrogant tyrant.' 'Devil wrapped in the Stars and Stripes.'"
He shook his head, disappointment written across his face—textbook, award-winning sorrow.
"Jonah… do you know how many people I saved in that building? Thirteen. I saved NYPD officers shaking under gunfire. I saved this city."
"And you," he continued softly, "hid behind a keyboard and attacked me with this?"
"I reported facts!" Jameson yelled, his voice cracking. "You lunatic in a costume! You think I'm afraid of you?!"
"Oh?"
Antony vanished.
Jameson felt his throat tighten as he was yanked into the air by an iron grip.
"L-let me go! You Nazi!!" he screamed, legs flailing.
"I came here to have a civil discussion about responsible journalism," Homelander said gently.
"But now I see—you're not the Jonah I thought you were."
"So I've changed my mind."
"I've decided to show you… a bigger world."
"Y-you can't—" Jameson's face turned purple. "Y-you're a hero—"
"Now you remember that?" Antony smiled.
Crash!
Still gripping Jameson, he smashed straight through the floor-to-ceiling window and rocketed into the New York night sky.
"AAAAAAHHHH—!!!"
The freezing wind and weightlessness swallowed Jameson whole.
Antony dragged him upward like a missile.
One thousand meters.
Five thousand.
Ten thousand.
The air thinned.
Jameson's screams degraded into choking gasps, blood vessels bursting in his eyes.
"Jonah!" Homelander had to shout over the wind.
"LOOK DOWN! Nice view, isn't it?!"
"P-please… please give me another chance… I have a daughter…" Jameson broke completely.
"You tell me."
Antony smiled—a truly ugly smile.
He opened his hand.
"NO—!!!"
Jonah Jameson, editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle, began to fall.
"F—F—FUCK!!!"
He flailed uselessly as gravity claimed him.
The clouds tore past.
Below, New York's lights spread out like a vast, glittering spiderweb—ready to swallow him whole.
"H-help…"
No sound came out anymore.
Only terror.