Soldier Boy found it somewhat hard to accept, and was even more worried that this was another sign of Homelander going off the deep end.
As though he had noticed Soldier Boy's concern, Homelander continued:
"Don't worry. This will only rein in the people stupid enough to actually believe we're God's chosen. Most people won't believe it. They'll just see it as a Vought marketing strategy. No harm done."
At that, Soldier Boy, who had been getting somewhat worked up, suddenly calmed down. He wasn't someone who refused to see reason.
Although Homelander hadn't explained it very clearly, he understood.
In just these past few months in New York, he had already seen far too many unbelievable things.
Like a two-hundred-pound fat man wearing a bikini and dancing provocatively outside Vought International, declaring his love for Homelander as he danced.
And the mailboxes Vought had set up everywhere, stuffed with love letters to superheroes, every word revealing madness.
Sometimes, a single Vought publicity stunt could whip these people into a frenzy. The sheer extent of their madness was staggering.
As for Homelander's so-called plan to develop the Vought brand into an object of worship, in more practical terms, it was nothing more than bringing these crazed fans "into the fold" and giving them something to believe in. That way, a single public statement issued in Homelander's and Soldier Boy's names could quiet these lunatics down and put them to work for Vought.
Soldier Boy told Homelander his understanding of it.
Homelander clapped his hands. "That's exactly what I mean! And it'll inject fresh blood into Vought's existing superhero lineup. Two birds with one stone!"
Soldier Boy relaxed. They had finally cleared things up. He had nearly misunderstood Homelander.
Wasn't this just a fucking souped-up, oversized fan club?
Only this fan