Vought Awaits Your Challenge

Across this vast land, countless "freaks" hidden in the shadows saw the light for the first time.

Many others, regarded as outcasts and shunned by society, who could only scrape by in circuses or underground fighting rings, also raised their heads.

Homelander had not been wrong. This was a ticket.

A ticket that could turn them from "monsters" into "gods."

Desire spread wildly across the United States like weeds.

Eastern Europe, Sokovia.

Hydra's secret base.

There was no sunlight here, only cold blue glimmers—the radiation emitted by the Mind Stone on the scepter.

Baron Wolfgang von Strucker stood before the bulletproof glass, its icy glow reflected in his lenses.

"Looks like our American friends have caused quite a stir."

Strucker looked at the tablet in his hand, displaying the promotional page for Vought's reality show.

"'Who Is the Next Superhero?'" He gave a scornful laugh. "Such typical American arrogance. Turning evolution into entertainment and power into merchandise."

"But he succeeded, sir." Dr. List, standing behind him, adjusted his glasses. "He is building an army of superhumans, and it is legal."

Strucker turned around and looked toward the center of the laboratory, where two figures in lab coats stood.

One male, one female.

Wanda Maximoff sat cross-legged on the floor, red energy coiling around her fingertips like living threads of blood. She stared blankly into the void, a trace of nervous anxiety in her eyes.

Her brother, Pietro Maximoff, was like a caged cheetah. He paced back and forth through the cramped space so quickly that only a silver afterimage could be seen.

When the twins were ten, a missile produced by Stark Industries had killed their parents, leaving them war orphans.

That tragedy became the turning point of their lives, planting the seeds of hatred for Tony Stark.

For revenge, the siblings had volunteered for Hydra's secret experiments as adults. Under Baron Strucker's direction, they came into contact with Loki's scepter, and the power of the Mind Stone within awakened their abilities.

"We need eyes," Strucker said quietly. "Nick Fury is busy hunting traitors. Our informants inside S.H.I.E.L.D. cannot move for now, but we cannot afford to be blind."

"We need to know what this so-called Vought really is. And where Homelander's power comes from."

Strucker pressed the communications button.

"Pietro, stop."

The silver blur in the cell froze instantly.

Pietro stopped before the glass, his face full of impatience.

"What test is it this time, Baron?" Pietro's voice was barbed. "Do you want me to run faster than a bullet, or smash through this wall?"

"No. This time, it is a mission."

Strucker held the tablet against the glass, displaying the poster for Who Is the Next?.

"Vought International is recruiting superheroes."

"Ha!" Pietro laughed with open disdain. "Superheroes? You mean like that iron turtle Stark? Waving at cameras like some clown?"

"Exactly." Strucker remained expressionless. "I want you to enter."

"What?!"

Wanda, who had been silent in the corner, suddenly raised her head. The red light in her eyes flared. "No! Pietro is not going anywhere!"

"Wanda, calm down." Strucker's voice came through the speakers. "This is for the innocent people who died in Sokovia, and for your parents."

He looked at Pietro. "Stark is in the United States. The Avengers are in the United States. And this Homelander... he is an American bastard too. We need to infiltrate his inner circle."

"I want you to become a member of The Seven."

Pietro looked at Homelander's perfectly smiling face on the poster, then at Wanda behind him.

"I'll go," he said.

"Pietro!" Wanda rushed over and grabbed his hand. "That is the United States! The enemy's stronghold!"

"That is what makes it fun, isn't it?" Pietro flashed a smile so confident it bordered on arrogance.

He looked at Strucker. "But I have one condition."

"Say it."

"If I become some big star in that Seven..." Pietro's eyes turned cold. "You guarantee that no one will ever touch Wanda again. No more experiments. No more pain."

Strucker fell silent for two seconds, then smiled.

"Deal."

"Get ready, Pietro! Your flight leaves in six hours. Remember, your identity now is a refugee from Eastern Europe, yearning for the American dream. Americans love that kind of story."

Pietro gave a cold snort.

"Since it is a reality show... let me give those Americans a little Sokovian shock."

Illinois, Chicago.

Margaret Sisters Girls' School. (Actually a rundown bar packed with mercenaries.)

The air here consisted of ninety percent nicotine, five percent cheap alcohol, and five percent the smell of vomit.

Wade Wilson sat on a barstool in the farthest corner of the counter.

He wore a filthy red hoodie with the hood pulled low and a crude mask on his face that looked as though it had been made from red long underwear.

"Weasel, another drink." Wade tapped the counter. "And do not spit in it this time. My sense of taste is shot, but I can still tell you ate asparagus yesterday."

The bartender, Weasel, looked like a mutated hamster that had been exposed to radiation. With a sour expression, he slammed a glass of murky liquid down in front of Wade.

"You already owe me three hundred bucks, Wade. This is not a charity, and even if it is called a school, I cannot teach you how to be a decent human being."

"Three hundred bucks? Impossible." Wade dramatically clutched his chest. "I pulled a big job last week! I helped that drug dealer find his missing Chihuahua!"

"Then you sold the Chihuahua to another drug dealer, made money twice, and lost all of it in Scarface's betting pool." Weasel mercilessly exposed him. "And that drug dealer is offering five grand for your head now."

"That is because he has no appreciation! That 'dog' clearly preferred its new owner!"

Wade grabbed the glass and drained it in one gulp.

The alcohol ran down his throat, scraping it like razor blades.

Wonderful.

But it still hurt.

It hurt every second of every day.

Ever since that damned laboratory explosion in 1989, every inch of his skin and every nerve in his body had been screaming.

His cells constantly died, then regenerated frantically under the catalytic influence of Tesseract energy.

It was like ten million ants were throwing a party in his veins, and it was a heavy metal party.

Only talking—talking nonstop, saying all that garbage—could distract him enough to keep him from going insane.

"All right, I do happen to be having a little... cash flow trouble right now." Wade sighed, reached into his hoodie pocket, and pulled out a crumpled coupon. "A buy-one-get-one-free burrito coupon. How about it for my bar tab?"

"Get lost."

Just then, that irritatingly stirring music sounded again from the old television in the bar.

"...Are you special? Do you crave glory? Vought... awaits your challenge!"

Homelander's crystal-clear face filled half the screen.