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"Welcome, everyone, to Dodge's live stream!"
"I'm your friendly neighborhood host—Dodge Wesson—bringing you the latest and hottest news, as always."
"It's been a while! Some of you thought I disappeared, huh?"
"Well, those are just rumors, folks. I'm still here, still fighting the good fight."
"I'm still committed to uncovering the truth for all of you."
"And today, we're diving deep into the latest scandal—Homelander, once again, finds himself in the eye of the storm."
"Even Homeland Security is fed up with him. Can you believe it? What have these superheroes really done for us over the years?"
"Are they actually protecting us? Or is this whole protection thing just some twisted game for them?"
"Because it sure seems like they don't care about us at all."
"Otherwise, why are there so many victims—people hurt or even killed—because of superheroes?"
"I've got countless stories of innocent people suffering due to so-called heroic interventions."
"For instance, I know a woman who was 'rescued' by a superhero. But in the process, that hero didn't consider her fragile spine."
"Now? She's bound to a wheelchair for the rest of her life."
"And there are many, many more stories like hers."
"The number of people hurt or killed by superheroes each year is shocking. Truly disturbing."
"Vought should be forced to release these numbers to the public. Heroes need to follow the law and, more importantly, consider us ordinary folks when they're playing their little hero games."
———
In a dimly lit room, Butcher sat back, smoking a cigarette, a sly grin tugging at his lips as he watched Dodge's passionate rant unfold on a phone screen.
"Numbers are climbing. People love this crap." He exhaled a stream of smoke. "Didn't think that bastard had it in him, but credit where it's due."
Across from him, a short man fiddled with a laptop. Suddenly, a heavy dumbbell slammed onto the table, nearly smashing the computer.
"Oi! Watch it, M.M.!" the man—Frenchie—complained, throwing up his hands.
M.M., a hulking Black man with arms crossed, gave him a warning glare. "Shut your mouth, Frenchie. Or you wanna go a few rounds?"
Frenchie flipped him off. "Please. We both know who'd win."
He then turned to Butcher. "But seriously, mate, bad press won't kill Homelander. It's not like anyone's gonna cancel him."
"And come on, shouldn't we start with a smaller target? You know, work our way up? Like peeling an onion. But instead of an onion, we're trying to wrestle a cactus."
"Touch the wrong bit, and we'll end up with needles in places we don't want."
Butcher smirked, taking another drag of his cigarette. Getting these two to cooperate had taken all the patience and manipulation he could muster.
"Look, it's not about bringing Homelander down with a bunch of bad press." He tapped his temple. "It's about making him stink like a pile of shit."
"He's in trouble, and all we gotta do is throw a bit more fuel on the fire. Burn him? Nah. Just distract him long enough for us to make our move."
M.M. checked his watch. "Make it quick, Butcher. I gotta pick up Janine from school."
Frenchie grinned. "Aww, look at you, M.M. What a doting father."
M.M. grabbed Frenchie by the collar. "One more word, and I'll stuff you headfirst into a trash can."
Frenchie calmly pressed a handgun against M.M.'s ribs. "You lay a finger on me, mon ami, and you'll be enjoying the taste of some lead."
Butcher exhaled loudly. "Enough, you bloody idiots."
"Now, are you gonna keep bickering, or are you gonna help me tail a skanky little tart?"
"Which tart?" M.M. and Frenchie stopped, intrigued.
Butcher gave them a sly grin. "Popclaw. Train's girl."
M.M. frowned. "Popclaw? What's the point in digging into her? Train's dead."
Butcher shrugged. "Don't know. But you got a better idea?"
"Or are you two itching to take on Homelander directly?"
He pointed toward the door. "If not, get moving."
———
[Seven Tower]
Ashley was at her breaking point. After juggling a chaotic press conference, her phone buzzed again—Homelander wanted to see her.
She buried her face in her hands, muttering, "I swear, I should just quit. This job's gonna kill me."
Still, by the time she reached the command center, she had plastered a bright smile on her face, as if everything was just peachy.
"Homelander! What can I do for you?"
Homelander gave her a lazy glance, his smile charming yet cold. "Ashley, sweetie, do we have a shapeshifter on staff?"
Ashley nodded. "Yes, we do."
"Good. I need him here. Now."
Twenty-five minutes later, a voluptuous blonde woman sashayed into the room, her blue eyes gleaming.
"Good afternoon, Homelander," she purred.
Homelander's eyes flashed with a faint gold light. "Cut the act. I don't have time for games."
The woman's face twisted awkwardly before she morphed into her true form—an overweight, greasy-faced man with a nervous smile. [T/N: See guys, that maybe the reality of the girl you are texting day n night. Be aware.]
Homelander's grin widened slightly as he turned to the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing out at the city below. "I need a favor."
The shapeshifter stammered, "It—it would be an honor to serve you, sir."
Homelander nodded. "I'm no government official, but even I know how rare it is for the Supreme Court to act so quickly."
"Within days, they've accepted Homeland Security's case against me and scheduled a hearing."
"It smells fishy—like someone's greasing the wheels from behind the scenes."
"I want you to slip into government offices and figure out who's pulling the strings."
"Find out who's so eager to see me locked up."
The shapeshifter visibly trembled. This was dangerous territory—far too deep for his liking.
He hesitated, shifting uncomfortably.
Homelander didn't press him. He simply stood there, hands behind his back, as if carved from stone.
Seconds stretched into minutes, the weight of silence pressing down on the room like a heavy fog.
Finally, fear outweighed hesitation. The shapeshifter wiped the sweat from his brow. "I... I'll do my best."
Homelander turned, and as if summoned by his will, a dark cloud drifted past the windows, dimming the light in the room.
In that moment, the shapeshifter felt the full weight of Homelander's presence—an overwhelming force, with eyes glowing gold like twin suns.
"Best? No."
"You fight for it. You fight with everything you've got. Understand?"
The shapeshifter swallowed hard, his teeth chattering. "Yes, Homelander. I understand."
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