Weeds grew thick in the wilderness on the outskirts of the city.
An abandoned factory stood alone in the wasteland, its walls mottled and corroded, every pane of glass shattered.
Not a soul lived nearby. Only the desolate wind swept through the dilapidated steel framework, lending the place an air of utter bleakness and deathly silence.
Solomon hid in a shaded blind corner beneath the distant trees, his calm gaze resting on the abandoned factory.
This was the stage Vought had carefully arranged for today's hero show.
Today's script was so clichéd it offered nothing new: Translucent and Black Noir of the Seven were on a routine street patrol when they happened to notice suspicious activity at an abandoned factory.
Translucent would sneak inside invisibly to investigate and discover a secret arms deal between gangsters.
As a superhero, he would step forward and urge the criminals to turn themselves in, only to be refused.
The gangsters would brazenly open fire, but their guns would have no effect against Translucent's power.
Black Noir would arrive at the sound and join forces with him, subduing the criminals in one fell swoop and upholding justice.
It was a formulaic hero script from beginning to end, a tired routine, exaggerated and fake.
A series of soft, unhurried footsteps suddenly came from behind him, breaking the surrounding silence.
Solomon turned at the sound and saw Black Noir walking slowly toward him, holding two chilled drinks.
A man of few words, he simply handed one of the bottles to Solomon.
Then he unscrewed his own bottle with one hand, produced a straw from somewhere, slipped it into the opening, and quietly took small sips.
Solomon looked down at the drink in his palm. A familiar figure was printed on the bottle: Homelander.
He casually unscrewed the