Soldier Boy's craving for a smoke hit hard. His desire for a cigarette temporarily suppressed his displeasure with Lucas, and he scanned the crowd like a hawk.
Let's see which lucky bastard gets picked.
But to everyone else, Soldier Boy looked as though something had taken control of his brain. His eyes were fixed, and he might lash out at any second.
No one dared speak, afraid of drawing his attention. They lowered their heads and avoided his gaze, the bleak feeling of being lambs to the slaughter hanging over them like dark clouds.
At that moment, even the absurd spectacle of the president of a hundred-billion-dollar corporation beating up the president no longer mattered.
Soldier Boy clearly had no intention of giving up easily. Decades of smoking let him tell at a glance who had cigarettes in their pockets, and he soon zeroed in on a tall, skinny man squeezed into the very back.
"You'll do," Soldier Boy muttered, striding over.
As soon as he moved, clothes rustled through the crowd, and low cries of suppressed emotion rose one after another.
Homelander, who had been standing with his arms folded and looking rather bored, couldn't help turning his head.
He heard dozens of hearts pounding wildly.
"Fuck, the whole United States probably knows what an asshole he is." Homelander curled his lip, utterly speechless.
For a superhero stationed at Vought to have barely appeared in public yet still look like a super-bully in the public's eyes was no easy feat.
"Fuck, am I already so handsome it's outrageous..." Soldier Boy, meanwhile, was secretly pleased. The corner of his mouth tilted up forty-five degrees as he walked straight to the tall, skinny man, with no one daring to block his path.
"Stop shaking, pussy. Give me your cigarettes." Soldier Boy