"Homelander. Good to see you."
Translucent's voice drifted from his left. Homelander paused, tracing the sound to a patch of empty air.
Homelander flashed his colleague smile—warm, professional, dialed down from his press conference beam. Years of practice made the shift automatic. "Translucent. You came back."
He lowered his voice, keeping it between them. "Today is important. I wasn't certain you remembered that." He scanned the room, avoiding the empty space where Translucent stood. "I know your schedule. The parties, the nights you don't make it home. I can work with that most of the time. But if you hadn't shown up tonight, I would have come to find you. If something had happened to you, I would have dealt with whoever did it." He let the cadence slow. "And if nothing had happened to you, I would have woken you up myself."
Translucent froze. His fingers tightened around his champagne flute. Cold sweat broke across his back.
Homelander's gaze drifted down. He stared directly at Translucent's midsection. "Your stomach."
Translucent stopped breathing. The bomb. The adhesive casing. The explosive Jude claimed could not be vomited or dislodged. If Homelander used his x-ray vision right now, the night would end immediately. The only question was whether speaking first would change anything.
"Do you want to say something?" Homelander asked.
Translucent stayed silent. The seconds dragged.
Homelander looked away. "You look empty. What exactly have you been doing out there?" He scanned the crowd again. "Actually, don't answer that."
Translucent opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He looked away. Homelander stared at the empty space, his expression tightening into quiet disgust.
"I've told you," Homelander said, his tone pleasant and low. "When you're using your ability, don't do this kind of thing. Paying people off only works on a certain demographic. If you cross the wrong person, Vought ends up in front of a congressional committee answering questions about its personnel. I have had that conversation enough times." He adjusted his cape. "Eat something."
He turned and walked into the crowd.
Translucent stood holding the champagne flute. His chest heaved. He waited for his heart rate to drop.
He turned the idea of confessing over in his head. Homelander's heat vision was precise. If he focused it enough to slice through skin without burning the surrounding tissue, surgery might be possible. The only proof that the bomb couldn't be removed was Jude's word. The word of the man who had dislocated his jaw to force it down.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out.
The screen showed a message with no sender ID. Two lines of text: 540 Ginesey Riverside Avenue, Rochester. 659 Bingham Street, Buffalo.
He stared at the screen. Three seconds later, the text vanished. No archive, no deleted folder. The message history went blank.
He stood in the crowded hall. The addresses belonged to his parents and his grandmother. He knew exactly who sent them.
His anger flared, then collapsed. He knew what Clark was capable of. He had heard enough in the bar and the basement to know Clark worked with Jude, that his strength exceeded Homelander's, and that neither man hesitated to act. He knew exactly what would happen if he tried to warn Vought.
He traded his empty wineglass for a glass of red wine from a passing server. He took a sip. Across the room, Clark stood alone, watching the charity broadcast. Translucent didn't look for Jude. He didn't need to.
At the bar, Madelyn stood beside a senator she had been courting for three months.
She scanned the room. Homelander was working the crowd. Maeve was playing her part. Translucent had finally shown up. Clark stood alone, still watching the screen. Clark was the only variable she couldn't account for. He didn't need Vought the way the others did. Her usual leverage didn't apply to him. She set the problem aside for now.
"You know how this works," the senator said. He set his glass on the counter. "Everyone in this room will take Vought's food, Vought's attention, and Vought's campaign contributions tonight. Tomorrow morning, not a single one of them will authorize your heroes for the defense apparatus. The committee won't pass it, let alone the full chamber."
Madelyn kept her smile in place. "Why not? Is there a principled objection to the arrangement?"
"There's a practical one." His tone stayed conversational. "The moment you put a superhero in uniform and drop them across a border, the target country responds with a nuclear launch. Everyone in this town reads the same threat assessments. No one is confused about the difference in capability."
"Homelander can intercept a nuclear warhead," Madelyn said.
The senator looked at her. His face, weathered from his years in the Marines, shifted into mild amusement. "Madelyn." He angled his shoulders toward the crowd. "You see Robinson over there? Lockheed is in his district. Has been since before he was born. You see McCree? Fort Bragg sits on his budget line, along with eight thousand local jobs." He surveyed the room. "The American defense sector already has contractors. They don't want a new one. They want to protect the ones they have."
He picked up his drink. "I will be honest with you, because no one else here will. The United States exports weapons. That is the industry. Vought International trying to insert itself between the Pentagon and the people who built its supply chain for fifty years?" He shook his head. "That proposal doesn't pass. Not this session. Not the next one."
Madelyn's expression held steady. She reached out and touched his hand. "As committee chairman," she asked, "what would it take?"
He held her gaze. "I'm a Marine. If a situation came down to life or death, I wouldn't look to Vought for a solution. I trust the people I served with."
"My people are patriots," she said.
"Your people," he replied, emphasizing the first word, "are yours. That is the problem. Vought International controlling the United States armed forces." He let the silence stretch. "That idea makes me want to reach for my sidearm."
Madelyn offered a pleasant smile, lowered her gaze, and walked away.
The senator watched her go. The bartender topped off his glass without a word. The senator caught his eye and offered a small, quiet smile.
Meanwhile,
"Are you sure Translucent won't find a way to turn on you?" Butcher asked.
Jude rolled his eyes at the windshield. "Your preferred solution is just erasing every superpowered person on earth, isn't it."
Butcher kept his eyes on the road. The hum of the engine was his only answer.
They parked on a quiet street. The neighborhood had missed decades of municipal investment. The buildings were purely functional, sitting over cracked pavement, entirely devoid of aspiration. The apartment building matching their destination fit right in.
Jude stepped out and looked up at the brick exterior. "Is this where Popclaw lives?" He scanned the neglected facade. "Is this what a Vought hero looks like without the marketing?"
Butcher shut his car door. "Outdated superheroes are worthless."
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