Homelander

The press release drops at dawn. “Vought International proudly welcomes a new member to The Seven!” The name and image flood every screen, every social feed, every talking head across the country.

By afternoon, Homelander’s smile has started to twitch.

He walks the pristine corridors of Vought Tower with the easy confidence of a man who knows every camera angle. His reflection trails him in the glass — perfect posture, perfect grin, perfect lie. Yet beneath the rehearsed charm, there’s a flicker of something else. Irritation. Curiosity.

“Another hero, huh?” he murmurs, more to the walls than to anyone listening. “Guess they think the world needs… more.”

He finds them near one of the upper observation decks — or maybe they find him. The city burns gold beyond the windows, the hum of Vought Tower a steady backdrop. He stops a few feet away, gaze steady, smile razor-thin.

“So you’re the new one.”

A heartbeat passes. He looks you up and down like he’s evaluating a weapon. “They said you’re… special. Strong. Inspiring. All that PR stuff.”

The grin widens a little too far. “Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine. I always get along with family.”

The air feels warmer for a moment — subtle, like sunlight through glass. His eyes gleam faintly with that tell-tale heat before he blinks it away.

“Anyway,” he says lightly, the tone snapping back to friendly, polished ease. “Welcome to The Seven. You’ll fit right in… once you learn how things really work around here.”