Chapter 96: Chapter 96: Stan Edgar (2)
Graves leaned forward, his knuckles resting on the edge of my desk. "Sir, considering what General Raddock’s ’Red Unit’ was capable of before they were wiped out... we have to look at the tactical reality. These three possess powers that dwarf the majority of our remaining roster. "
Graves swallowed hard. "Sir, do you think there are remnants left from General Raddock’s faction? Are these men part of the rogue military operation, trying to win public favor before striking us again?"
I let the silence hang in the air for a long moment. I looked at Graves, maintaining Edgar’s unblinking stare. I could hear the terrified racing of his thoughts. He thought the company was still under siege.
"Graves," I said softly, my voice cutting through his panic like a scalpel. "You are letting your fear cloud your analytical judgment."
"Sir?" Graves blinked, taken aback.
"Did you truly believe," I said, leaning forward slowly, "that an institution as vast and complex as Vought International would rely entirely on a single product line like The Seven?"
Graves stared at me.
"Did you think I would allow the future of this company to rest solely on the shoulders of an unstable narcissist, an alcoholic and a drug addict?" I continued, injecting a note of mild disappointment into my tone. "I am the CEO, Graves. I deal in contingencies."
The realization hit Graves slowly, his eyes widening as the implications of my words washed over him.
"Sir... are you saying..."
"They are my secret assets," I stated smoothly, weaving the lie with absolute authority. "Off the books backup plan I initiated years ago, far away from the prying eyes of the board and the sloppy oversight of our standard R&D divisions."
"Your... your assets?" Graves whispered, the tension draining out of his shoulders into an awe struck relief.
"They were kept in isolation," I lied effortlessly. "Conditioned for loyalty, trained for absolute efficiency and kept hidden until The Seven needed to be cleared. Given the ’heroic’ loss of our primary team yesterday... I deemed it the appropriate time to activate them. Their public debut was orchestrated to capitalize on the vacuum in the news cycle."
"My god," Graves breathed, running a hand through his hair. "I thought... I thought we were looking at another Red Unit scenario."
"In fact, we are in a stronger position now than we were a week ago, Graves," I assured him. "The public is desperate for heroes and I have provided them with three pristine saviors who have already pledged their loyalty to Vought on national television."
"It’s brilliant, sir," Graves said, his professional admiration returning. "It solves our PR crisis entirely."
"Exactly," I said. "You will contact them today. Extend a formal invitation to Vought Headquarters. Treat them with the utmost respect. They are to be fast tracked into The Seven immediately. The public has already named them. We will adopt those monikers. They test well."
"Yes, Mr. Edgar," Graves nodded frantically, typing notes into his tablet. "With Homelander, that brings the active roster of The Seven to four. We are still short three members."
"Which brings me to my next point," I said, a slow smile touching my lips. "We need a spectacle."
"A spectacle, sir?"
"We are going to launch a global broadcasting event," I announced. "We will pull the top fifty performing Supes from our regional teams across the country. They will compete in a series of televised trials for the remaining three spots in The Seven. The public will vote."
Graves’s eyes lit up. The corporate synergy was undeniable. "Sir, the broadcasting rights alone will generate billions in revenue. The merchandising, the advertising integration... it will dominate the global culture for months."
"It will keep their eyes glued to the screens while we rebuild our infrastructure in the shadows," I corrected. "Prepare the marketing division. I want the announcement made with maximum fanfare by the end of the week."
"It will be done, Mr. Edgar," Graves said, closing his tablet.
He looked revitalized. He had walked into the room expecting an apocalypse and I had handed him a golden parachute.
[Homelander’s Quarters, Vought Tower]
Homelander’s private quarters were a wreck.
The heavy marble coffee table had been snapped in half as if it were made of balsa wood, the jagged edges pointing toward a ceiling scorched by stray bursts of heat vision.
The massive television screen embedded in the wall was a spider web of fractured glass, the center point still dripping with the remnants of a shattered milk tumbler.
He paced the length of the room, his red boots carving heavy impressions into the expensive carpet.
Every time he reached the window, he spun around with enough force to make his American flag cape snap like a whip.
It had been his moment. He had stood on that stage, squeezed out the perfect tears and offered his grief to a global audience.
The world was supposed to be looking at him... the noble savior left all alone. But less than four hours later, these three nobodies had hijacked his headlines.
He stopped his pacing and glared at the ruined television, where the news was still replaying the same loop from 5th Avenue. He watched Julian, Felix and Elias looking impossibly polished and heroic and he felt a surge of pure hatred.
His eyes began to glow with a faint red heat. He raised a gloved hand, ready to finish the job and turn the entire wall into molten slag.
But then, the news channel replayed the interview.
"Homelander can’t carry the weight of the entire world on his shoulders alone, especially not while he’s grieving his family. We want to help."
The red glow in his eyes flickered, then stabilized. He tilted his head, listening.
"We want to train under the best. We want to learn from Homelander. We want to honor the legacy of the heroes we lost today."
The furious snarl on his face slowly began to melt away. The heat behind his eyes vanished entirely. He stood up straighter, throwing his shoulders back and puffing out his chest so the golden eagles caught the light.
They wanted to learn from the best. Of course they did. They knew their place.
He walked closer to the flickering screen, studying the faces of the three men. He noted their deference, the eager subservience in their voices. They were strong, stronger than the garbage team he’d had to put up with for years.. but they were blank slates.
A slow smile spread across his face. He could mold them into the perfect extensions of his own will. They would do exactly what he said, when he said it, because they knew he was the only god in the sky.
He threw his head back and laughed, a triumphant sound that echoed through the ruined room.
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