The rooftop was quiet. Adam sat alone in one of Vought Tower's unused deck chairs, watching the city slip into evening. The summer air carried the distant sounds of traffic far below.
Somewhere across New York, Robin Ward was probably asleep beside Hughie Campbell. The Architect brand had exploded in popularity, three hundred million streams and endless merchandise sales, Vought's newest golden boy. And The Deep was already in the ground. Adam barely cared about any of it. His thoughts were elsewhere.
Sage.
" Yes. "
Confirm something for me. Standard L4 deployments last one hundred and eighty days, right?
" Correct. However, that is only the recommended duration. L4 deployments may remain active for up to three years at the Explorer's request. "
Adam blinked.
Three years?
" Correct. Higher-tier deployments can remain active for significantly longer. "
For several seconds, he simply stared at the skyline. Three years. Seven months on Earth-Prime, of Ren running Eclipse alone, Brandt handling the foundation program and Sophie growing older without him around. The possibility existed. But he already knew the answer.
No.
The S-rank paths he'd outlined yesterday didn't require more time. Extending the deployment would buy him convenience, nothing more, and convenience wasn't worth that kind of absence.
We're sticking with the original schedule.
" Logged. "
A brief silence followed. Then Sage spoke again.
" There is another matter. We have removed six known supes from the board. The Bazaar has yet to award any NP. "
Adam smiled faintly.
I noticed.
A-Train. The Deep. Translucent. Popclaw. And two others whose names Vought's public relations teams would spend months trying to erase. Not a single notification. Not a single reward.
" Historical precedent suggests hidden objectives may be paid out during extraction rather than during deployment. "
Maybe.
The Boys wasn't a world built on one villain. It was a rotten system pretending to be a society. Maybe removing a few monsters wasn't enough to register, or maybe the Bazaar was keeping score in silence. Either way, there was nothing he could do about it.
He rose from the chair and looked down the side of Vought Tower. On his first day here, he'd stood near a hot-dog cart and decided he was going to destroy everything this company represented. Now he was halfway there. The question wasn't whether Vought would fall. The question was how much of the world would burn with it.
The first six weeks passed in a blur. Press conferences, interviews, charity events, television appearances. Marketing teams dressed him, scripted him, and sold him to America. Adam smiled when they wanted smiles, nodded when they wanted approval, and played the role perfectly.
The results exceeded even Vought's expectations. Within three weeks, Architect had surpassed Homelander's launch metrics, and by the end of the quarter, board reports listed him as the company's most successful new superhero in over a decade. Nobody suspected that every public appearance was just camouflage.
While Vought celebrated, Adam worked. He trained daily in the Seven's private gym, limiting himself in public to displays that looked impressive but believable. Privately, Sage tracked every change occurring inside his body. Compound V was integrating. Strength increased steadily, reflexes improved, healing accelerated. No flashy powers yet, no flight, no lasers, no storms. The serum was still building the foundation.
Adam didn't mind. Training had taught him patience long before the Bazaar ever entered his life. True power wasn't gained in sudden leaps. It was built one step at a time.
The first real breakthrough came on Day Twenty-Six, when Homelander invited him to the roof. Midnight. Two glasses, one bottle of bourbon, no cameras. Adam understood at once what was happening. Homelander wasn't looking for a teammate. He was looking for a friend, or at least his broken imitation of one.
"You spend a lot of time up here," Homelander said.
"So do you."
Homelander laughed.
"You know, Architect, everyone else wants something from me."
Adam remained silent.
"They want power. Status. Money. Approval." Homelander swirled his drink. "You don't."
"I already have things I want."
"And what are those?"
"Peace and quiet."
That earned a genuine laugh. Not the public one. The real one.
The conversation drifted naturally after that, until Homelander eventually asked the question Adam had been waiting for.
"What do you think of Stillwell?"
There it was. Adam took his time answering.
"I think she's good at her job."
Homelander's expression didn't change. "And?"
"And I think her job is serving Vought."
A pause. "Not serving me."
"No."
Homelander stared out across the city, and Adam could almost hear the gears turning, years of doubt and suspicion, of desperately wanting someone to confirm what he already believed.
"You think she manipulates me."
"I think she manages you."
The difference mattered, and Homelander understood immediately. For the first time since joining the Seven, Adam watched genuine trust begin to form. Not because he'd lied. Because he'd told the truth. Just not all of it.
The Influence Modulation technique took eleven days to create. It wasn't mind control; Adam refused to build something that crude. Instead, Sage combined Hamon's cellular resonance with Nen Manipulation, creating a subtle emotional amplifier. A thumb on the scale, nothing more. The target still made their own choices. The technique simply nudged them toward decisions they already wanted to make.
Homelander was the perfect test subject. By now Sage had accumulated weeks of behavioral data: heart rate, micro-expressions, stress responses, emotional triggers. The psychological profile was disturbingly complete.
The first test occurred during a late-night television appearance. Adam raised Homelander's sense of grandiosity by a small amount, thirty percent intensity, nothing extreme. The results were immediate. Homelander stood taller, spoke longer, ignored portions of the script. The audience loved it, and the confidence boost felt natural enough that he never questioned it.
That was all Adam needed to know. The technique worked. Over the following weeks, he slowly turned the dial. Not enough to control. Just enough to guide.
The deaths continued. Translucent disappeared first; officially, Vought blamed a sudden medical event, and unofficially, nobody cared enough to investigate. Popclaw followed several weeks later, another tragedy, another press statement, another body quietly removed from the board. The pattern continued, and the Bazaar remained silent.
" Still no reward notification. "
Then we wait.
Because whether the system acknowledged it or not, the world was changing. One death at a time.
The next major crack appeared when Vought selected a replacement for A-Train. The obvious choice was Shockwave: fast, marketable, reliable, a perfect corporate asset. Instead, Marketing chose Annie January. Starlight. Homelander hated the decision.
"They picked her because she sells merchandise."
Adam nodded. "Probably."
"We need a speedster."
"Indeed we do." Adam smiled.
Homelander's frustration kept building, and Adam barely needed to help. The resentment already existed; Influence Modulation simply ensured it never faded. Every disagreement with Vought, every reminder that the executives viewed him as a product, every slight, every compromise, the pressure accumulated day after day, week after week, like steam building inside a sealed container.
But Homelander wasn't Adam's only project. There was also Butcher.
The meeting took place in a dim East Village bar, Mother's Milk sitting across from him, watching, judging, distrusting. Adam couldn't blame him. The man had good instincts.
"We need information on Stillwell," Butcher said.
Adam considered his answer carefully, then delivered exactly what Butcher needed to hear. Not lies. Never lies. Truth was far more useful. Stillwell had been taking secret calls. She had been meeting people from Edgar's office. She had been keeping information away from Homelander. All of that was true. The conclusion Butcher drew from those facts was not, and Adam made no effort to correct him.
By the end of the week, Butcher's people were following Stillwell. By the end of the month, Stillwell knew someone was watching her. Stress levels rose, sleep quality fell, paranoia spread. Meanwhile, Homelander noticed every change. The trap was closing from both directions, and neither side realized who had built it.
Everything finally came apart on Day One Hundred and Six. Homelander called him late that evening.
"Come to Stillwell's office."
Adam already knew what he would find. Stillwell sat behind her desk, working late, unaware that her life was measured in minutes. Homelander stood near the window, waiting. The tension in the room was palpable.
"Madelyn," he said quietly.
She looked up. "What is it, John?"
"The calls."
Her expression tightened. "What calls?"
"The ones you've been hiding."
Adam remained silent. Stillwell tried to explain: IPO discussions, government contracts, corporate strategy. Most of it was true. But truth no longer mattered, not after months of suspicion, not after weeks of manipulation, not after every carefully placed domino. Homelander had already decided there was a betrayal. He simply needed confirmation.
And then Stillwell made a mistake. A small one. A human one.
"I should have told you."
The moment the words left her mouth, Adam knew it was over. So did she.
Homelander's eyes glowed red. For a fraction of a second, nobody moved. Then the heat vision fired. The office flashed crimson, the smell of burning flesh filled the air, and Madelyn Stillwell died.
Silence followed. Eleven long seconds. Homelander stared at the body, almost as though he couldn't believe what he'd done. Then he turned toward Adam.
"Architect."
"Yes."
"You stayed."
"Of course."
"Why?"
Adam met his gaze. "Because I thought you'd want someone here."
Something shifted behind Homelander's eyes. Something fragile, something desperately needy, the abandoned child hidden beneath layers of power and narcissism. He stepped closer and placed a hand on Adam's shoulder. Not as a superior, not as a leader, but as someone looking for reassurance. For belonging. For family.
"You're different from the others."
Adam didn't answer. Homelander smiled, a real smile, the kind cameras never saw.
"You're family."
Adam felt the weight of those words. Not because they mattered, but because of what they represented: the final collapse of Homelander's support structure. Stillwell was gone. The executives feared him. The public worshipped him. And now the only person he truly trusted was Adam. Exactly as planned.
"We'll clean this up," Homelander said.
"Of course."
"I want you to find the body tomorrow."
Adam nodded. "I understand."
Homelander left, and the office became silent once more. Adam looked at Stillwell's corpse, at the unfinished paperwork, the untouched glass of water, the life that had ended because of a hundred tiny manipulations stretching back months.
" Path One has accelerated significantly. Homelander's primary emotional anchor is now you. "
Logged.
" Estimated probability of successful world destabilization has increased. "
Adam didn't respond. He simply stared out at the city, at the lights, at the people living ordinary lives below. None of them knew how close they were to disaster. None of them knew a war was already being prepared. One conversation, one push, one catastrophe at a time. Eventually, Homelander would break, and when he did, the world would break with him.
Adam left the office, called Vought's emergency line, and calmly reported that he had found Madelyn Stillwell unresponsive at her desk. Then he waited for the consequences to arrive.
AN: If we get to 500 power stones, I will release an extra chapter on 700, another one. If you wish to support the story and read ahead, visit [email protected]/skeri123