Vought International Tower, top-floor office.
Stan Edgar sat in his signature black leather chair, his hands folded on the desk. The tablet laid out before him displayed the third-quarter public relations loss assessment report.
The door opened without a knock.
Homelander strode in, his cape lifting slightly behind him.
He did not sit down. He walked straight to the desk and looked down at Edgar.
"What is that new PR team of yours supposed to mean?"
Homelander's voice carried a deliberately subdued threat.
"They said my performance at recent events didn't fit the brand."
"Do you know how long I stood there for that livestream? Six hours. Smiling, waving, holding kids, and then they tell me..."
"They told you ratings dropped twelve percent." Edgar did not look up, his tone as even as if he were reading a weather forecast.
"Negative discussion on social media rose forty percentage points."
"Advertisers called three times to ask whether we needed to reassess our endorsement lineup."
Homelander tapped his fingers on the desk.
"What do those civilians know? They need a sense of security. I can give them that."
"What you gave them was a live performance that nearly spiraled out of control." Edgar finally looked up, removed his glasses, and slowly wiped them with a chamois cloth.
His gaze was almost cold in its calmness, as though he were looking at a malfunctioning piece of precision equipment.
"That protester in the Third District. You didn't need to lift him twenty meters into the air and throw him down."
"Seventeen phones were recording at the scene. Our legal team spent forty-eight hours suppressing the original videos across the internet."
"He called me a government lapdog."
"Am I? Motherfucker!"
Homelander's lips stretched into a smile, but there was no amusement in his eyes.
"I