Homelander didn't understand half of what Clark said to A-Train backstage. He didn't care to. Something about the exchange snagged his attention anyway. The moment the pre-race interviews wrapped, he found him.
"You really didn't tell anyone about the A-Train thing?"
Clark kept his eyes on the track. A-Train and Shockwave were finishing their warm-up. The race was minutes out.
"No. Every time I've seen him using, it wasn't during a meet. No competition, no fairness issue. I don't make a habit of gossiping about a teammate's private business."
"How'd you even know he was using?"
"There's a strange blue compound in his blood. Hard to miss it."
Homelander watched Clark's face. The muscles around Clark's eyes and mouth didn't twitch.
"If word about him gets out," Homelander said, "Vought's in for a world of trouble. So is Heroes Eight. I'm asking one more time. You really didn't say anything to anyone?"
"No. Why would there be that much fallout over it?"
"Because he is one of the Eight. One stain on that record, and it's not just A-Train who bleeds."
Homelander waved a hand. He accepted the answer. Clark wasn't lying. The leak hadn't come from Clark.
A-Train and Shockwave took their marks on the track below. A-Train stared straight ahead. Shockwave shifted his weight, his eyes locked on the finish line. The referee turned the starting pistol over in his hand. Thirty seconds.
Every phone in the staging area buzzed in unison.
Clark checked his screen. Cult hideout confirmed three kilometers from the stadium. Coordinates attached. The Eight, A-Train included, respond immediately to prevent civilian casualties. Superman, return to Vought Headquarters at once.
Down on the track, A-Train swallowed hard. The alert hadn't caused it. He knew he was going to lose. Losing in front of the stadium cameras meant a different conversation with his sponsors tomorrow, let alone the team roster.
Why am I letting some cape I've known for two weeks scare me off my own routine. His teeth ground together. Just go for it. Get the shot in. He might not even be fast enough to stop me.
No. He's probably every bit as fast as Homelander.
He didn't have Clark's medical chart to back it up. He didn't need it. The Eight roster had all seen Homelander look at Clark. It wasn't admiration. Homelander's shoulders stiffened. His jaw locked. It was the physical reaction of a man who had finally met his equal. For A-Train and the rest of the team, the math was simple. Whatever Homelander could do, Clark could match.
"A-Train! A-Train!" His assistant sprinted onto the field, waving both arms. "Mission! Emergency mission. Right now!"
A-Train stared at the man. His chest loosened. He choked back a laugh. Perfect timing.
Shockwave blinked at the assistant. "Emergency mission? Now?"
A-Train pulled his phone. He arranged his features for the stadium cameras. First serious. Then pained. Finally, resolved. He crossed the track and offered Shockwave his hand.
"Sounds like some people out there need me. Got a batch of cult terrorists to go deal with." He paused, meeting Shockwave's eyes. "I really wanted this match. But things happen. I've got to go."
"You can't just leave." Shockwave grabbed his arm. He had built this entire race around one plan. Beat the veteran. Use A-Train's name to vault straight into a Heroes Eight seat. It had worked perfectly until now. A few more minutes, and the fame and money were his. Now a random terrorist cell was taking it away. "The race already started. We're not finished."
"I know it started." A-Train pitched his voice for the stadium mics. It rolled out over the speakers, dialed up to hit the back rows. "But there are people out there who need a hero right now. People waiting on me. Every second I stand here arguing is a second somebody else might not get."
Shockwave's eyes reddened. His jaw trembled. A handful of strangers did not matter more than his shot at the big leagues. He swallowed the words before they hit the live mic.
"So I'm forfeiting." A-Train let his shoulders drop. He hung his head. "You win, Shockwave. Congratulations."
He vanished. A blur tore down the track and out of the stadium before the echo of his voice faded.
The cameras swung up. Homelander, Clark, and Maeve cleared the stands directly behind him. Within five minutes, the crowd and every reporter with a press badge emptied through the gates. The story had moved.
Shockwave stood alone on the track. He stared at eleven thousand empty seats.
"I won," he said to the empty air. "...Didn't I?"
Somewhere in the scrum outside, a reporter typed the headline. Shockwave gets crushed in his own signature race — without a single lap run.
Outside the stadium, Clark, Homelander, A-Train, and Maeve converged on the coordinates. It took just over ten seconds. Clark arrived first. Homelander landed next. A-Train stopped a half-step behind him. Maeve brought up the rear.
"My approval is gonna spike hard tomorrow," A-Train said. He bounced on the balls of his feet. "Shockwave spent this whole meet trying to ride my name into the Eight, and it bought him exactly nothing. Enjoy the mid-card for the rest of your career, champ." He smirked. "I'm in a good mood. I might even go easy on the cult freaks."
He glanced at Homelander. "Wait. Why did you even come?"
Homelander kept his eyes off the speedster. He turned straight to Clark. "Orders were for you to head back to headquarters. There's something waiting on you."
"We're already this close," Clark said. "Let's finish here first." He held Homelander's gaze. His posture remained relaxed. "I'm a hero too. I'm not walking past a disaster to go sit in a briefing room. The people inside come first."
Homelander's face tightened. He hadn't wanted Clark tagging along. Sharing a headline was bad enough. This job wasn't the kind he wanted witnessed.
The mass alert wasn't the only message Vought had sent him. A private one came right behind it.
The unidentified operator from two nights back has surfaced inside Shining Light's ranks. Ran into him during the raid. Handled it clean. Keep this contained. Interrogate. Then make them disappear.
Homelander glanced at Clark. He folded his phone shut, gripping the lead-zinc casing. His expression blanked.
Contained. Interrogated. Silenced. Three simple instructions.
With Superman standing three feet away watching his every move, he didn't see how he was going to manage a single one of them.
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