Chapter 91: Chapter 91: Legends (Bonus Chapter)
[Vought Headquarters, Intelligence Room]
Stan Edgar stood in the subterranean gloom of the Vought Intelligence hub, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture as rigid as a marble column.
The frantic energy that had consumed the room an hour ago had evaporated into a horrified silence. The analysts sat frozen at their stations, staring up at the primary monitor.
Graves stood beside Edgar, his face the color of wet ash. He was holding a tablet, his hands trembling so badly he had to rest it on the console to read it.
On the massive screen, the ARGUS satellite footage of the Appalachian military base played in a continuous loop. It displayed the thermal imaging of the ultimate clash.
They had watched Homelander, Queen Maeve, A-Train, Starlight and Deep descend upon the base.
And then, had watched the ’Red Unit’ engage The Seven in a battle that defied comprehension.
They had watched the Red Unit utilize telekinesis, absolute zero cryokinesis, teleportation and size alteration to fight the world’s greatest heroes to a standstill.
And then, the ghost of the Cold War had crashed into the fray.
Soldier Boy.
The thermal camera captured the visceral melee.
Edgar watched, his face unreadable, as Soldier Boy crushed The Deep’s chest.
He watched as A-Train was decapitated by the heavy brass shield.
He watched the chaotic team up between the surviving members of The Seven and the Red Unit as they tried to put down the rampaging legend.
And finally, he watched the thermal bloom.
The screen flared a absolute white as Soldier Boy unleashed his nuclear payload. The blast wave erased the Red Unit. It erased Starlight. It evaporated Queen Maeve.
When the thermal sensors finally adjusted to the cooling crater, there was only one heat signature left hovering in the stratosphere above the devastation.
Homelander.
"Sir... The Seven," Graves whispered, his voice cracking, breaking the heavy silence in the room. "They are all dead. The tactical team is also dead."
Stan Edgar stared at the glowing crater on the screen.
To Graves, it was the apocalypse. The destruction of Vought’s premier product line, the loss of billions of dollars in marketing, merchandising and corporate security.
But to Stan Edgar, playing the grand game of corporate chess, the board had just been miraculously simplified.
"A tragedy, Graves," Edgar said, his baritone voice utterly devoid of grief. "An unmitigated tragedy."
Graves turned to look at his CEO in disbelief. "Sir? We just lost the core of our defense infrastructure. Vought’s stock is going to plummet the moment this leaks... "
"The stock will do no such thing, Graves," Edgar interrupted, turning his dark eyes onto the Intelligence Director. "Because we are going to control the leak. And we are going to author the narrative."
Edgar gestured elegantly to the frozen image of the nuclear blast.
"General Raddock’s rogue faction is entirely eradicated," Edgar stated, ticking off the points on his fingers. "The ’Red Unit,’ the illegally manufactured super soldiers threatening our monopoly, have been vaporized. And the unmanageable relic known as Soldier Boy has permanently eliminated himself from the equation. The threats to this company have been surgically removed."
"But at the cost of The Seven!" Graves argued, gesturing helplessly at the screen.
"The Seven," Edgar corrected coldly, "were a liability. A-Train was a drug addict. Deep was a PR nightmare waiting to happen. Maeve was broken and cynical. And Starlight was a naive variable we could not control. They were depreciating assets, Graves."
Edgar straightened his tie, his mind already churning out the press releases, the shareholder letters, the merchandising spin.
"You will immediately draft a statement for the global press," Edgar commanded softly. "The brave heroes of The Seven, Queen Maeve, Starlight, A-Train and Deep sacrificed their lives tonight in a heroic effort to stop a radicalized military faction and a brainwashed Soviet weapon from detonating a nuclear device on American soil."
Graves stared at him, the sheer scale of the manipulation washing over him. "You want to make them martyrs."
"I want to make them legends," Edgar corrected. "Legends sell movies, comic books and congressional votes. Homelander, the sole survivor, the grieving leader, will be elevated to the status of a living legendary hero in the eyes of the public."
Edgar turned his back on the monitors, walking toward the elevator.
"Lock down this footage. Initiate the PR rollout in exactly four hours. Tomorrow morning, when the market opens, our stock is going to soar on a wave of tear soaked American patriotism."
[White House, Situation Room]
President Robert Singer sat slumped in his chair, his head resting heavily in his hands. The styrofoam coffee cup in front of him had been crushed.
General Higgins looked aged and hollowed out. He was staring blankly at the polished mahogany table, his jaw slack.
Director Raynor was pacing near the back wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, chewing nervously on her lower lip.
Grace Mallory stood at the head of the table. She looked exhausted, the deep lines around her eyes carved in sharp relief by the harsh fluorescent lights. She closed the classified after action report and laid it flat on the table.
"That is the final assessment, Mr. President," Mallory said, her voice devoid of its usual sharp edge, replaced by a weary resignation.
"Summarize it for me one more time, Grace," Singer muttered without looking up. "Just so I can be sure I’m not trapped in a nightmare."
Mallory let out a slow breath. "At 0200 hours, Vought deployed a black ops tactical team to Fort Benning. We still do not have a confirmed motive for this action, but they initiated a hostile massacre of the 4th Special Forces Group utilizing advanced sonic weaponry."
General Higgins flinched at the mention of his slaughtered men, closing his eyes.
"Shortly after the Vought incursion," Mallory continued, "Homelander and the rest of The Seven arrived on site. They escalated the conflict, engaging in a wholesale slaughter of the remaining military personnel."
"And then the Platoon intervened," Raynor interjected, pacing faster.
"Yes," Mallory nodded. "Our satellite intercepts indicate that the ’Phantom Platoon,’ the retired operators we attempted to contact, teleported into the base. It appears they attempted to defend the surviving military personnel from The Seven."
Mallory paused, tapping the closed file.
"And then, Soldier Boy arrived," she finished grimly. "He engaged both The Seven and the Phantom Platoon. The conflict culminated in Soldier Boy initiating a localized nuclear detonation. The blast radius encompassed the entire base."
"Casualties?" Singer asked, finally lifting his head. His eyes were bloodshot.
"General Raddock and his entire command are dead," Mallory stated flatly. "Vought tactical team is dead. Phantom Platoon, our only potential leverage, was vaporized. Queen Maeve, Starlight, A-Train and Deep are confirmed deceased. Soldier Boy’s biological signature was destroyed in the blast."
"And Homelander?" Higgins rasped, opening his eyes to glare at Mallory.
"Homelander survived," Mallory said, the words falling like lead weights in the silent room. "He evacuated the immediate blast zone moments prior to detonation. He is currently back at Vought Tower."
"We lost," Singer whispered, leaning back in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling. "We lost everything."
"The Platoon was our only chip, Bob," Raynor said, her voice frantic.
"And Vought knows it," Higgins grunted, slamming a fist weakly onto the table. "They wiped out an American military base and we can’t do a damn thing about it. If we accuse them, Homelander will just say he was defending the country from a rogue General and a Russian weapon. And the public will believe him."
"They hold all the cards," Mallory agreed, her voice bitter. "Homelander is the only survivor. Vought is going to spin this into the greatest tragedy and triumph in American history. The Seven died to keep us safe."
Singer let out a long sigh. The political reality was a tidal wave he could no longer hold back.
"The superhuman military integration bill," Singer said softly.
"It goes to the floor tomorrow," Raynor reminded him.
"With the public reeling from the ’heroic sacrifice’ of The Seven, Congress will pass it unanimously," Singer muttered.
Singer looked at Higgins, then at Mallory, the fight completely drained out of him.
"We have no leverage," President of the United States conceded, his voice cracking with the admission of absolute surrender. "We have no weapons left to fight them."
Singer stood up slowly, leaning heavily on the table.
"Draft a statement of profound condolence from the White House," Singer ordered his staff, his eyes vacant. "We will publicly mourn the loss of The Seven."
