I'm Putting Together a Team

California, Burbank.

Hollywood's largest green-screen soundstage.

It had been transformed into the secret laboratory of the "Chaos" organization.

Azu wore a battle-damaged costume bodysuit and was strapped to a cold metal operating table.

All around him stood vicious-looking "villain" actors in white lab coats.

"Okay! Anthony!"

The director shouted through a megaphone.

"We need... pain! They're injecting you with synthetic chemicals! They're trying to destroy your will! They're laughing at you!"

"I need... rage! I want that, that... look of a beast clawing its way back from hell! Understand?!"

"Action!!"

The clapperboard snapped shut.

The actors around him began reciting their sinister lines. "Take a deep breath, Starr. The dizziness is normal! You will become our greatest weapon!"

A prop retractable syringe stabbed viciously into Azu's neck.

Azu closed his eyes.

The next second.

He suddenly opened them.

It was not Homelander's perfect smile, nor was it Anthony's playboy face.

They were... Wu Yanzu's eyes.

He remembered his previous life.

He remembered going bankrupt, drowning himself in alcohol, standing atop a forty-four-story building, and crazily undoing his belt at a shooting star!

He remembered that ultimate fury and resentment of being abandoned by the entire world, falling from the clouds into the mud...

"Uh... ah..."

He began to growl, his muscles trembling.

"AAAAAAAHHHH—!!!"

A primal, savage roar erupted from his chest!

His eyes were bloodshot, and veins bulged from his neck all the way to his forehead!

He pretended to struggle wildly, making the metal table creak beneath him!

The extras around him staggered back two steps in fright. Even the actor holding the syringe had trembling hands.

The entire set fell silent.

"...Cut!!"

Even the director's voice trembled.

He stared fixedly at the monitor, forgetting to breathe.

"My... God..." The director took off his headset and exhaled. "This... this fucking... this is... Oscar-level acting!"

Azu slowly steadied his breathing. That violent aura instantly withdrew, and he became the "fragile" Anthony once more.

Acting... this was what I did best!

Ding! Popularity gained +155! (From: Director)

Ding! Popularity gained +88! (From: Extra A)

Ding! Popularity gained +120! (From: Cameraman)

Azu was ecstatic inside.

"Sorry, Director..."

Azu sat up, covering his face with one hand. His voice was hoarse, as if he had yet to leave character.

"Sorry... I... I remembered some... unpleasant memories."

He raised his head, his eyes red-rimmed. The pain and vulnerability that "naturally" spilled from him made every female staff member present well up

...with tears.

"Did... did I overdo it? Do we need another take?"

"No! No!" The director rushed over, seized his shoulders, and shouted excitedly, "No need! Anthony! That was perfect! That's exactly what I wanted! We got it!"

Azu lowered his head, a smile curling across his lips.

Fuck, that little gold statue is as good as mine!

Hell's Kitchen.

Jessica Jones kicked open the door and tossed a bottle of cheap whiskey onto the table.

She turned on the old television, which looked ready to start smoking.

On TV, Azu's handsome face was being interviewed by Time magazine.

"...Yes, I'm putting together a team. A team more efficient and more approachable than the Avengers. I call them... The Seven."

Jessica spat.

"More like a super circus..."

She picked up the black card with the letter "V" on it from the table.

"Queen Jones..." She laughed at herself. "What a fucking stupid name."

But then she remembered the bone-deep despair from that night, when that bastard in purple had whispered commands into her ear.

She also remembered those two cruel heat-vision beams that had somehow made her feel exhilarated.

"Fuck."

She grabbed her coat and stuffed the card into her pocket.

"...I'm just going to take a look. I'm not joining that blond bastard's circus."

The Daily Bugle editorial office.

"Bang!"

J. Jonah Jameson slammed his fist down on the desk, making his signature little mustache tremble.

"A movie?! He still dares to make a movie?!"

He grabbed the phone and roared at his subordinate.

"Front page! Put it on the front page! The headline will be—Narcissist Saves the World? Homelander: A $200 Million Ass-Kissing Show!"

"What?!" Jameson's eyes nearly popped out. "Vought Media... bought most of our newspaper's shares, and they want to hold a shareholders' meeting?!"

"When did this happen?! Yesterday?!"

"Fuck!!!"

Jameson furiously hung up and collapsed into his chair.

He looked out the window. Vought's enormous logo loomed over all of New York like a mocking smile.

He grabbed a cigar, but could not get it lit no matter what he did.

"Homelander... you win." He gritted his teeth, though inwardly he also felt relieved. His skydiving experience remained vivid in his memory.

In that moment of dejection, green skin flashed through his mind.

At that moment, on the soundstage, Chaos organization grunts were firing wildly at Homelander—with prop guns that went "pew pew."

Wu Yanzu, wearing the brand-new Origin-version uniform, floated in midair.

The expression on his face? Pain, struggle, rage, and finally... resolve.

"No—!!!" He howled at the sky as though bearing the suffering of the world.

Then he opened his eyes, and blazing light shot from them.

"Cut!!!"

The director rushed out, so excited he was nearly crying.

"My God! Anthony! Did you see yourself on the monitor?! You're Jesus! You're... America!"

Ding! Popularity gained +120!

Wu Yanzu slowly descended. The pain on his face vanished instantly, replaced by a smile.

"I merely did what I had to do, Martin." He patted the director's shoulder. "For fucking art."

Filming for Homelander: Origins was already more than halfway complete.

Vought Media's publicity machine had already driven anticipation into the stratosphere.

The trailer aired during the Super Bowl: thirty seconds of explosions, tears, and Wu Yanzu's handsome face blackened by the smoke of war.

It directly caused movie theater presale systems across America to crash three times.

Ding! Popularity gained +150210!

Ding! Popularity gained +205114!

...

"Now that's more like it." Wu Yanzu draped on the silk robe handed to him by his assistant and entered his private trailer.

"Sir," his chief assistant, Ashley—a shrewd blonde beauty in rimless glasses—waited for him with a tablet in hand. "Both The Jimmy Show and The Ellen Show are competing for the first interview of your movie's promotional run."

"Let them compete." Wu Yanzu accepted a glass of iced soda. "That's how buzz is made."

"And..." Ashley's expression was somewhat strange. "There's a... woman waiting for you downstairs. She says her name is Jessica Jones."

"She has your V card."

Wu Yanzu paused.

"Oh, right, Jones... Queen." He smiled.