A bunch of washed-up old has-beens

Soldier Boy stood by the roadside, silent for a full three seconds.

He knew Private Angel all too well. That woman was a pervert through and through, with a heavy streak of sleaze.

Soldier Boy looked up across the street. The neon lights on the bar's sign flashed, spelling out the words: Heavenly Night.

A few drunks stood at the entrance, making their way out with their arms around one another's shoulders.

Soldier Boy's mouth twitched. Was this a respectable bar?

But on second thought, Private Angel would never go anywhere respectable, so he crossed the road and pushed the door open.

Deafening music blasted him. The bar was packed, and countless young men and women writhed wildly in the middle of the dance floor.

Soldier Boy scanned the room, then headed straight for the second stall in the men's room and knocked.

Knock, knock, knock.

There was a second of silence inside, followed by a woman's voice. "Occupied."

"Private Angel, it's me," Soldier Boy said in a low voice.

A few seconds later, the stall door flew open, and a woman with a smoking-hot figure stepped out in high heels. Her long blond hair curled slightly, and the fabric covering her chest was pitifully scant.

Their eyes met.

Private Angel blinked and exclaimed, "Ben?"

Soldier Boy tipped his chin up slightly. "Who else is this handsome?"

The next instant, an excited shriek rang through the entire men's room.

"Fuck! It really is you!" Private Angel launched herself at Soldier Boy and clung to him.

Her long legs wrapped expertly around his waist, her arms around his neck.

The impact knocked Soldier Boy half a step back, and his face darkened. "Get down."

"No." Private Angel buried her head in Soldier Boy's chest. "Bastard, I missed you so fucking much."

"Fuck off. Cut that out." A relaxed smile appeared on Soldier Boy's face.

A drunken teenage boy stumbled groggily into the restroom and stared at Private Angel for a long moment. "Sorry, wrong room."

With that, the boy staggered out of the men's room and headed for the women's room next door.

Private Angel burst out laughing and finally hopped down from Soldier Boy.

Then she circled him twice, as though inspecting some rare animal. "God, I thought you were dead. I didn't believe the news when they said you were back, but it really is you."

Soldier Boy dragged her out of the men's room. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Of course." Private Angel proudly thrust out her chest. "I'm only twenty-eight this year."

Soldier Boy's mouth twitched. "You're fucking over eighty."

"Ben, a woman's age is a secret. Don't say that again. I'll forgive you this time," Private Angel said shamelessly.

Soldier Boy rolled his eyes. "Why were you in the men's room?"

"Because there was a line for the women's," Private Angel answered as though it were obvious.

By then, they had left the bar, and the world was considerably quieter.

They stared at each other on the street, then suddenly both laughed. It was the kind of unspoken understanding only old friends shared.

Back in the 1950s, they had served side by side in Vought's first team for thirty years.

They had gone on missions together, drunk together, fought together, and even gotten screwed over by Vought together.

"Ben, what happened to you all these years?"

Private Angel had never dreamed she would see this bastard again.

Soldier Boy waved dismissively. "Spent a few decades as a lab rat for the Soviet Union. You?"

Private Angel frowned slightly and hooked an arm around Soldier Boy's shoulders. "Slept with a few handsome guys now and then, treated some patients. Just got by."

"Interested in coming back to Vought?" Soldier Boy asked.

The evening breeze tousled the loose strands over Private Angel's forehead, and a trace of reminiscence flickered in her eyes. "Forget it. Vought would rather pick some fire-breathing idiot than me."

A look of understanding appeared on Soldier Boy's face.

Because Private Angel's healing ability required varying degrees of physical contact, Vought had tried to package her, only to discover there was simply no way to market her.

Other superheroes blew up tanks with a single punch, and the media went wild reporting it.

With Private Angel, curing a patient involved kissing and cuddling.

There was no excitement, nor any of the sense of sanctity a superhero ought to have, so Vought gradually shelved her.

"Fuck." Soldier Boy laughed. "That old bastard Edgar is an idiot. Vought's about to be mine."

Private Angel shot him a surprised, questioning look.

Soldier Boy continued, "Homelander is my son. The Seven are in my hands, and we're planning to form a second team. I want you to join."

There was so much information packed into those words that Private Angel's mouth hung open for a long time.

"Ben, you have to explain what the hell happened."

Half an hour later.

Private Angel's eyes sparkled. "Ben, you've absolutely lost your mind."

Soldier Boy held out a hand. "You in or not?"

Private Angel looked down at his hand, fell silent for a moment, then slapped it away.

Then she abruptly pulled Soldier Boy close and planted a hard kiss on his cheek.

"Deal."

"Fuck!" Veins bulged on Soldier Boy's forehead.

"Hahahahaha!" Private Angel doubled over with laughter and even licked her lips.

Under the night sky, a figure had appeared atop a tall building at some point.

Homelander.

His cape snapped in the wind as he held a phone, a cruel smile on his face.

"The Blood Debt Repayment Team? Nice name."

Soldier Boy's words still echoed in his ears. Although he had already tortured The Deep until he wished he were dead, he still felt frustrated.

Fortunately, Ashley Barrett had come through with some information just then.

She had dug up the personal details of the teammates who had betrayed Soldier Boy back then.

The TNT Twins, Scarlet Earl, Mindstorm.

Ashley Barrett had originally intended to give it to Soldier Boy, returning the favor in hopes of an even greater reward. Unfortunately, she had run into a grim-faced Homelander on the way, and he had intercepted it.

In the darkness, two points of scarlet light flickered on and off.

"A bunch of washed-up old has-beens." Homelander forced the words through clenched teeth and shot into the sky.

In Scarlet Earl's shabby rented apartment, suggestive red and blue lights swirled, and the phone in front of her was livestreaming.

"Baby, come closer." A sleazy voice came from the phone.

Suddenly, the screen went black. The man on the other end cursed anxiously, but there was no further response.

The red light on Homelander's chest-mounted camera blinked, recording the entire process.

With a hint of disgust, he wiped his blood-covered gloves.

The same tragedy was still unfolding elsewhere in the United States.

The Blood Debt Repayment Team, Vought's flagship team in its early days, was wiped out.

Just as Homelander had said, the Blood Debt Repayment Team was outdated, a fact he, the most powerful living weapon in history, demonstrated to the fullest.

Homelander flew back toward Vought Tower, thoroughly satisfied. He had avenged his father.

High in the sky, Homelander kept accelerating. He could hardly wait to hand Soldier Boy the camera footage.

Just then, a private passenger jet flew toward him.

"Wow, is that your friend?" A little boy pointed out the window in delighted surprise.

Baltimore's mayor looked in the direction his son was pointing.

"Homelander?!" His thoughts were not as innocent as his son's, and he muttered fearfully to himself, "What's he doing here?"

The mayor's heart sank, and he immediately thought of how he had threatened Madelyn with information about Compound V.

Homelander recognized them too. He had already overheard that negotiation with his Super Hearing.