Back Off, or I'll Laser You to Death, You Damned Things

"No, no—you're the real heroes."

Basking in the cheers and adoration directed at him, Homelander feigned modesty, flashing a bright, sunny grin.

Click!

The sealed cabin door opened.

Inside, the last remaining hijacker leader pressed a gun to the pilot's head.

"Easy now, stay calm."

Maeve tried to persuade him to lower the pistol.

Bang!

But the agitated, vicious hijacker blew the pilot's head off with a single shot, then spun around to aim at Maeve and Homelander.

Ssssssh!

A searing ray swept across—his body was cleaved cleanly in two without resistance, and the aircraft's control panel behind him was sliced open as well.

High-altitude wind howled in through the breach.

Homelander walked over coldly.

She tried contacting air traffic control, but got no response. Maeve turned back and asked, "The signal's dead. Can you fly this thing?"

"Even if I could work the controls, it wouldn't matter."

He spread his hands, gesturing for Maeve to look at the wrecked control panel.

"Oh, crap."

Maeve's expression soured as she turned to him. "Maybe you should fly outside and try to lift the plane."

They had to do something—save the people on board.

Just moments ago, Homelander had precisely pierced the hijacker's chest with his heat vision. Why was it so excessive this time? But now wasn't the time to dwell on that.

"The plane's fragile hull can't handle my force. I'd just punch through it like a nail. Don't think about it, Maeve."

Homelander shook his head, refusing.

Boom!

The plane went into a nosedive, plummeting downward. A sudden jolt sent some passengers slamming into the cabin ceiling before they crashed back to the floor.

"Oh, what's happening?!

Save us, Homelander!"

"I don't want to die!"

The passengers, who had thought they were safe, screamed in panic, begging for help.

"Calm down, everyone. Everything's fine."

Homelander led Maeve to the cabin door.

"If you carry them back to the ground one by one..."

Maeve knew Homelander's nature. His expression turned cold—he clearly intended to abandon them. But these were over two hundred lives. She spoke urgently.

"How? One in each hand, running over a hundred trips?"

"No time. Their fragile bodies can't handle supersonic speed."

With that, he opened the cabin door.

"Come with me, Maeve."

"Even if you save just one..."

Maeve grabbed two terrified little girls from the plane. "Take them."

"No. I said no!"

Homelander wagged his finger, his voice harsh.

"Let them live, so they can tell the world we abandoned over two hundred people to die?"

He had already planned for all of them to die in this crash, pinning the blame on the Defense Department for refusing to let superheroes join the national defense system.

Not a single one could survive.

A terrified passenger stumbled forward, leaping out of the hatch early, hoping to somehow survive.

"Get back. All of you, get back!"

Homelander's face twisted savagely, his roar cutting through the wind-whipped cabin. His eyes glowed red, like a monster ready to devour.

"Or I'll laser every last one of you bastards right now!"

"Help! No!"

Staring at that demonic figure, the passengers recoiled in terror. They couldn't believe this was the same Homelander they had just praised.

"Take one more step, and you'll die right now!"

"Please, Maeve, don't abandon us."

The passengers wept, pleading with Maeve, who looked pained and worried. Their cries for help stabbed at her heart.

"Maeve, my daughter's biggest hero is you—save her!"

"Are you going to die with them? Maeve."

An icy, merciless voice rang out.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Maeve struggled for a long time, gazing at the passengers in anguish, repeating her apologies as Homelander pulled her away and out of the cabin.

Homelander hovered in midair with Maeve, watching coldly as the plane hurtled toward the distant sea, crashing into it.

But the moment they left—

Boom.

A muffled thud came from inside the cabin window. Ron appeared, his face cold.

"Dark Star! It's Dark Star!

Save us—you have teleportation and translocation powers."

The passengers, who had just been abandoned and were crying in fear, saw Ron appear among them like a last god who could save them. They swarmed toward him.

"Please, don't abandon us like Homelander and Maeve did."

Homelander almost never used his X-ray vision or super-hearing, except when peeping at Madelyn breastfeeding her child or checking if someone's heartbeat betrayed a lie.

Nearly a minute later, the plane struck the sea, exploded into fragments, and all the passengers died.

On a deserted island.

Holding a phone, Ron stood behind a dozen rescued children.

He had only saved all the children on the plane. He had no obligation to save anyone else. As for the others...

"Adults aren't like children. They have their own minds and won't be so obedient."

His face expressionless, he murmured inwardly.

Ron intended to use this incident to threaten and control Homelander, not to push him into a corner.

Because this matter was extremely important, and fearing that the butterfly effect might prevent anyone from filming the process, he had made a special trip.

If there was no physical evidence, he could still save a few human witnesses.

Glancing at a little girl beside him—one Maeve had wanted to save but couldn't—Ron gazed at the distant sunset, his eyes deep.

"Now I have both physical evidence and witnesses."

These witnesses might still serve some other purpose.

On the deserted island, after settling the rescued children, he teleported away.

"There's one more thing to do."

New York, Eighth Street Subway.

Amid the flowing crowd, three people were anxiously searching for something.

"Fuck, where the hell did she go?

Frenchie, didn't I tell you? The second you see her, spray her with knockout halothane!"

The Butcher gritted his teeth, fuming.

"Sorry, okay?

Isn't finding her the most important thing right now?"

Frenchie's eyes darted through the crowd, focused only on the girl who had just run away from him. She had been imprisoned and tortured, sharing his pain—he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Butcher, let's just find her first."

Hughie urged from the side.

This Frenchie—whom the Butcher had described as ruthless, skilled at modifying weapons to fight superhumans, and a useful gangster to help them—showed no sign of being ruthless at all.

Ever since he'd seen that disheveled girl behind the supermarket, he'd been like a man possessed, acting like a lovesick puppy.

"I see her. She's over there."

Suddenly, Frenchie caught a glimpse of a familiar figure, delighted, and pointed.