The screen was still playing Vought's promotional video about the Super Seven, and it had now reached the part where each member of the team was being introduced.
"Shockwave, Black Noir, Queen Maeve, Starlight, Homelander—the world's mightiest superheroes, the Super Seven!" the narrator's voice boomed.
"This is our duty, our honor. We are Vought. We create superheroes, Vought International!"
When the short film ended, the female host returned to the stage, her face glowing under the spotlight as she smiled brightly. "I've got a fantastic surprise for you all!" she announced enthusiastically. "One of the members of the Super Seven, Queen Maeve, is here in person! Let's give her a warm welcome!"
With the applause roaring, Maeve strutted onto the stage in her uniform, her stride confident. She bowed to the shareholders and then spoke, "Thank you, everyone! Being part of the Super Seven..."
The speech that followed was long-winded and utterly boring, as far as Jon—now standing backstage and awaiting his turn—was concerned. He fought to stay awake, baffled as to how the audience could still be listening so attentively.
Maeve was a shadow of her former self, her voice no longer carrying the sweet charm it once had. Yet the crowd seemed enthralled, cheering as if the superheroes were revered gods. Was the cult of superheroes in this world really that fanatical?
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of monotonous droning, Maeve got to the point. "And now, the Super Seven welcomes a new member. I've been impatiently waiting to work with him. Ladies and gentlemen, let's give a big hand to the Phoenix Warrior!"
More applause followed, and Jon—under his alias Phoenix Warrior—calmly stepped onto the stage, though he wore an expression of feigned excitement. Standing under the spotlight, all eyes were on him. He could tell, even without looking directly, that he outshone even Queen Maeve beside him.
Phoenix Warrior and Maeve stood side by side, both waving to the audience below.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Phoenix Warrior and Queen Maeve!" the host proclaimed, her voice swelling with enthusiasm.
As the applause crescendoed, Jon smiled and waved alongside Maeve.
After the shareholders' meeting, Maeve took Jon to the Super Seven headquarters.
"This is the last part of the tedious initiation process," Jon thought to himself. "After this, I can finally start on what I really intend to do."
The heavy elevator doors opened slowly, and Maeve led Jon into the Super Seven meeting room. The interior was decked out with advanced technology, but the most striking feature was the round table in the center, where the team held their meetings.
"Impressive, right?" Maeve said, gesturing to the setup. "Look at this. We have two surveillance satellites circling the globe, capable of reading the license plates of vehicles from over 600 kilometers away!"
Jon feigned amazement, "Wow, that's incredible!" He promptly threw himself into one of the chairs around the round table and, without hesitation, put his feet up on the table.
Maeve's face twisted with irritation. Usually, she ignored such behavior. Working alongside morally bankrupt superheroes had made her numb to it. But this time, she had to intervene.
"Hey, get down from there! That's Homelander's seat!" she barked.
Jon shrugged nonchalantly. Any seat was the same to him. He couldn't care less, even if it was Homelander's.
Maeve sighed deeply. She knew Jon was probably doing this on purpose. She had been present when Jon provoked Homelander just days ago. She knew his attitude well—this was a deliberate taunt.
"It's just a chair," Jon said dismissively.
Maeve sighed again. Homelander wasn't back yet, but when he returned, there would inevitably be a confrontation. Putting Jon and Homelander on the same team was like storing dynamite next to an open flame—it was only a matter of time before it exploded.
And in her experience, those situations usually ended with Jon as the one getting burned. Maeve felt a flicker of pity—she genuinely hoped she could somehow save him. She had warned him repeatedly, but if he insisted on poking the hornet's nest, there was nothing she could do but watch.
"Anyway," Maeve continued, changing the subject, "we heard you don't have a fixed residence yet. Vought has arranged a place for you to stay. Let me show you."
Later, Jon followed Maeve to his new quarters. Vought had set him up in a plush, quiet neighborhood that aligned well with his standards.
After Maeve left, Jon lay down on the bed, ready for an afternoon nap. But he had barely shut his eyes when his phone rang.
It was an unknown number, but it might be someone from Vought, so he picked up.
"Hey, jerk! Your car is blocking my spot. Come down and move it!" a rude voice blared on the other end.
Jon blinked, then remembered. He had left his car downstairs, parked without a second thought, even leaving his phone number on the dash.
Sighing, he donned some regular clothes and headed down.
When he reached his car, Jon found a man standing in front of it, scowling. The man eyed Jon with open irritation.
Jon noticed the man's annoyance and dismissive demeanor.
Ignoring the disrespectful attitude, Jon got into his car, about to move it, when he paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing as if calculating something.
The man continued to walk away, dismissing Jon as a pushover, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind him.
Jon's expression turned cold, and without hesitation, he started the engine, shifted gears, and stomped on the gas pedal.
With a loud roar, the car surged forward, slamming into the man. Blood sprayed everywhere as the man crumpled to the ground, screaming in agony. Jon reversed, then accelerated again, crushing the man's body until there was no more movement.
Jon stepped out, looked down at the lifeless body, and muttered to himself, "Another sinner removed from the equation."