"What was Project Insight for?" Pierce rose to his feet and walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window, looking down over Washington.
"For order." Sitwell answered as if reciting from memory. "Through algorithms, predict threats and... eliminate them before they take shape."
"Exactly." Pierce nodded. "Stark, Banner, Steve Rogers... they're all on the algorithm's list. They are threats, but... predictable threats."
"But this Homelander..." Pierce's smile vanished. "He isn't in the algorithm. He came out of nowhere, he's absurdly powerful, and now he's practically calling the President his brother."
"He isn't threatening order, Rumlow. He's... building an order of his own."
"So what?" Rumlow snorted disdainfully. "He's still human. And humans have weaknesses."
"Oh?" Pierce turned to look at him.
"Weaknesses?" Pierce's voice turned cold. "Brock, report our results so far."
Rumlow's smile froze.
"Well... the agent we planted backstage at The Jimmy Show tried to collect saliva from the cup he drank from. Before the agent could touch it, the cup 'accidentally' shattered."
"We sent a Level 7 agent disguised as an extra on the set of Homelander: Origins, hoping to 'run into' him. Before that extra could get into his trailer, his assistant Ashley fired her on the spot for falsifying her résumé."
"We even sent our best sniper, armed with specially made sampling rounds, to try and... scrape a little skin off him."
Pierce sneered. "And then Homelander vaporized that sniper's scope from two kilometers away with Heat Vision... The sniper is still in psychiatric rehabilitation. He firmly believes he saw god."
"That bastard..." Sweat beaded on Rumlow's forehead.
"Brock..." Pierce sat back down, interlacing his fingers.
"He can hear our heartbeats. He can see through our bones. He may even... that pervert may be listening to this conversation right now."
Meanwhile, Homelander, who was sunbathing on the beach, suddenly flipped off the direction of Washington.
"What do we do, sir?" Sitwell's brows knotted tightly. "If he finds out about us..."
"Go, Sitwell. Mobilize all our 'assets.' I don't care how you do it—I need his DNA."
"A strand of hair, a drop of blood, even a flake of skin."
Pierce patted Sitwell on the shoulder. "Even if he really is Superman... we'll create Kryptonite."
"My hair..."
Homelander stood in his silk robe inside the enormous walk-in closet on the top floor of Starr Tower, looking thoroughly annoyed.
"Ashley!"
"Yes, sir?" His chief assistant, Ashley, hurried in on high heels like a gust of wind.
"Why?" Homelander pointed at the leather sofa. "Why is there... a blond hair on it that doesn't belong to me?"
Ashley froze. She examined it closely. "Sir... isn't... isn't that your hair?"
"No." Homelander's gaze was as cold as ice. "This one... is too thick. And... it's fake."
He pinched the fake hair between two fingers.
"This is... how many times this month?" Homelander's voice was calm.
Ashley's tablet was lit up. "Sir, including the 'female fan' last night who tried to 'hug' you at the charity gala and was knocked unconscious by your custom suit... this makes twelve times."
"Twelve times." Homelander smiled.
Even in his past life, when he had been a movie star, he had never seen this many crazed stalker fans.
At first, he had thought it was just another clumsy test from S.H.I.E.L.D.
Like three days ago.
He had been "pretending" to work out in the gym at Vought Headquarters for promotional photos when a new "Cleaner" wiped down the equipment nearby with laughably clumsy movements.
Homelander's X-Ray Vision had effortlessly seen through the device in her uniform pocket... a military-grade biological sampling instrument.
What had he done then?
"Bzzzt—"
To everyone else, the Cleaner's phone had short-circuited with a crackle.
But from Homelander's perspective, he had used precisely timed Heat Vision for 0.01 seconds, melting the sampling case through her uniform and conveniently burning the phone in her pocket as well.
"Oh my god," he said, "gently" supporting the woman. "Looks like your phone isn't very high quality. Have you heard of Vought Group's latest V-Phone?"
The female agent fled in disgrace.
Homelander had long since run out of patience.
These "rats"... were too filthy.
He recalled the faint yet persistent... stench of rot within S.H.I.E.L.D.
"Ha." Homelander laughed. "...It's Hydra. Fuck, I hadn't even come looking for you, and you came looking for me."
The memories from his past life instantly clicked together.
"Serpent Shield... fuck, snakes and rats all in the same den."
"Sir?"
"Ashley. What do you think... paparazzi and stalker fans hate most?" Homelander suddenly asked.
"...Uh, getting caught by security?"
"No." Homelander shook his head. "What they hate most... is the spotlight."
"I'm sick of these bitches pulling out my hair."
"Ashley."
"Yes, sir."
"Find me someone."
Two days later, Los Angeles. An old Dodge van parked in an alley.
This was the mobile base of Rising Tide.
Skye, with two enormous dark circles beneath her eyes, was attempting for the nth time to breach a S.H.I.E.L.D. encryption firewall.
"Fuck! Failed again!" She irritably clawed at her hair, grabbed a can of Vought Energy Drink, and gulped it down.
"S.H.I.E.L.D... you bastards, what the hell are you hiding..."
"Knock, knock, knock."
Someone was knocking on her van door.
Skye's hairs instantly stood on end!
Even homeless people wouldn't come to the place where she had parked!
She snatched up the stun gun beneath her seat and aimed it at the door.
"Who is it?!"
"A... fan who appreciates your talent."
The voice outside was gentle and magnetic, and somehow familiar.
Trembling, Skye pulled open the door.
The sunlight... was blocked out.
The man stood there in a red-and-blue uniform, a Stars and Stripes Cape hanging behind him. He looked down at her with a smile.
"..."
Skye's brain crashed for three seconds.
"What... the fuck?" The stun gun dropped from her hand with a clatter.
"Home... Homelander?!"
"Hello, Skye." Homelander's smile was flawless. "Mind if I... come in and have a seat? And while I'm at it, connect to your Wi-Fi?"