"New Divide"
The external surveillance center was on the third basement level of Vought Tower.
The instant Homelander pushed through the door, the entire hall fell silent.
The clacking keyboards stopped, the conversations vanished, and even their breathing became especially careful and quiet.
They had barely dealt with Homelander, so it wasn't his temperament they feared.
What worried them was what his actions meant.
Why?
Because the last time Homelander had walked in like this, Translucent had disappeared.
The outside world might still have been kept in the dark by Vought's PR, but veteran employees like them knew the whole story.
Missing, their asses. Sacrificed himself on a mission, their asses.
It was all fucking excuses.
The truth was that anti-Vought elements had shoved C4 up his ass and blown him into meat paste.
And now that Homelander was here, it probably meant nothing good.
At that thought, everyone lowered their heads, watching out of the corners of their eyes as the Stars and Stripes cape swept over the metal floor and finally stopped before the main console.
"Oh, everyone, don't be nervous. I just wanted to look something up."
Homelander planted his hands on his hips, crow's-feet stretching from the corners of his eyes to his temples as he flashed his signature fake smile.
He had come to look for traces of Black Noir.
After all, Madelyn rarely asked him for favors, and as her "good son," he still needed to make a gesture.
So his cool, aloof face showed little reaction.
He merely tapped his fingertips casually against the console, signaling the operator to pull up Black Noir's movements over the last seventy-two hours.
"My friend, help me check Black Noir's last known location, and the surveillance footage around it."
The female operator tapped a few keys. Before long, a simulated blue trail unfolded across the miniature map of New York on the screen.
"Let's see where my good brother went..."
Homelander watched with his arms folded as the line led from the top floor of Vought Tower to The Deep's apartment.
Then it turned into a blind spot in the seventh-floor archives before finally coming to a leisurely stop at an abandoned auto repair shop in southern Brooklyn.
"The Deep? Why follow that useless piece of shit?"
"To watch him fuck fish?"
Homelander snorted, then quipped:
"Halfway around the city just to crawl into a dump like that? Black Noir's usually so careful. Even he could fall into someone else's hands?"
As far as he knew, Black Noir was an extremely obedient fighting machine who had never failed any assignment Vought or Homelander gave him.
That perpetually silent black shadow was the sharpest blade in Vought's hands, and the member of The Seven he trusted most.
Next came-oh, there was no next. Maeve barely counted.
Homelander raised an eyebrow and traced backward along the trail with a fingertip, intending to find the exact spot where Black Noir had disappeared.
But his fingertip paused, fixing on another faint blue line on the map.
That line branched off from The Deep's apartment and headed north, plunging straight into the old-growth forests of northern New York State.
Homelander knew his subordinates' assigned territories inside out. This place was nowhere on Black Noir's regular patrol route, nor was it on the security department's public mission list.
The detour was far too great. It was like a runner on a designated marathon course taking a turn midrace and winding up in India.
"Wait, you're saying his tracking device passed through here?"
Somewhat surprised, Homelander leaned down, pointed at the spot, and tilted his head toward the operator.
"What is this place?"
Although the operator wasn't familiar with Homelander, having him so close still made her feel pressured.
So she spoke with a slight tremor in her voice:
"Sir, the system has no detailed information. It's marked as... an undisclosed asset."
Undisclosed?
Usually, wording like that meant either a secret corporate base or some clandestine incident.
But he was Homelander. What wasn't he allowed to see?
What wasn't he allowed to know?
"Raise the clearance."
Homelander spoke calmly, his expression unreadable.
Beside him, however, the operator shuddered and felt her bladder tighten.
Pressing her legs together, she hurriedly entered a search command, but glaring red words soon popped up on the screen:
Access restricted. Highest-level board authorization required.
"Mm-hmm-"
Homelander narrowed his eyes, obvious displeasure already showing on his face. But there were plenty of employees here, and some of them might even be his fans.
So he couldn't very well lose his temper.
Fuck!
He was the face of Vought, the master of this tower. In his entire life, this was the first time he had seen the words "access restricted" on his own turf.
Homelander said nothing more. He simply pulled his highest-clearance card from his waist and held it against the reader.
The next second, the reader gave a faint hum. Three seconds later, a terse file summary appeared:
Under the jurisdiction of the Vought Special Assets Management Department. Codename: "Mangrove." Purpose: "Long-term placement." Heavy casualties. Injured personnel housed at the Prince Medical Department. Person in charge: Stan Edgar.
Stan Edgar?
The instant that name struck his eyes, Homelander's heart sank.
He had an especially poor impression of that fucking nigger CEO. Ever since he was little, that son of a bitch had loved looking down his nose at him.
He was clearly the strongest person in the world, yet he still had to endure this sickening restraint.
A "long-term placement" facility personally overseen by Edgar, hidden underground in an uninhabited forest.
There was definitely some secret here, and they were fucking keeping him in the dark again.
Madelyn, and that old dog Edgar too!
Being lied to disgusts me more than anything!
(I can't hold it in anymore. I have to shout this: I hate apologies after the fact more than anything!)
The more Homelander thought about it, the angrier he became. He wasted no more words on the surveillance staff and turned to leave.
The gust from his Stars and Stripes cape sent the white papers on the desks flying all over the floor.
Only after he disappeared into the elevator did the people in the hall dare to slowly exhale.
Homelander had lost his temper...
They trembled.
Leaving the surveillance center on the third basement level, Homelander completely ignored the greetings and delighted reactions of the other Vought employees.
Rather than take the long way around through the staff passage, he turned straight into the fire access light well at the back of the tower.
Rough concrete load-bearing walls lay beneath his feet, with the lead-gray sky directly overhead. It was the quietest secluded corner of the entire building, and the best place to take flight.
"Let's see what's so unspeakable."
Homelander casually gathered the hem of his cape, its stars and stripes sweeping through the light in a low arc.
The tips of his boots lightly touched the concrete. The instant his body dipped, a blast of air erupted beneath his feet.
"Whoosh-"
The next second, his arms crossed, he pierced straight through the clouds like a red bullet.
The buildings of Prince District rapidly shrank beneath his feet, and the traffic in the streets became slowly shifting lines.
Trying to hide it from me?
To Homelander, this really was nothing.
All he had to do was pull up a few injured men's room numbers and ask a few questions. For Homelander, it was no different from reaching for a glass of ice water.
The whole of Vought International had been built with him as its cornerstone. Could visitation restrictions for a few ordinary security guards really stop him?
What was the point of hiding it?
Soon, he landed directly on the medical staff's private rooftop terrace behind the medical wing.
Going through the front entrance would attract too much attention. If some rabid fan came asking for an autograph, his business would certainly be delayed.
With that thought, Homelander pushed open the heavy fire door.
As he pulled it open, stark white light cast long shadows, and the smell of disinfectant mingled with the bitterness of vitamins and medication instantly spread around him.
At Homelander's sudden appearance, a doctor pushing a treatment cart froze in place, while the hand of an accompanying nurse resting on the rail trembled almost imperceptibly.
Seeing this, Homelander merely assumed they were in awe of him.
All his life, people had stolen glances at him from the corners of their eyes, yet no one dared truly meet his gaze.
Awe, fear, undisguised adoration-he had seen them all and had long since grown accustomed to them.
The nurses' station stood halfway down the corridor. Its curved acrylic countertop had been polished spotless by the cleaners, and two nurses on duty were checking infusion orders with their heads lowered.
The instant his shadow fell over it, the younger nurse's pen dropped onto the chart folder with a clack.
"Mm, ma'am, which rooms are the security guards injured in the Mangrove incident staying in?"
He rested one hand on the edge of the counter, his gaze casually sweeping over the chart folder.
He waited for the nurse to immediately give him the room numbers. Then he would go in and get to the truth in just a few words.
Vought was far too naive to think it could hide things from him.
But Homelander's expectations were soon dashed.
The nurse gripped her pen so tightly her fingertips went white, speaking in a trembling voice:
"S-sir... all the injured from the Mangrove incident have been marked 'restricted access'...
"The system is locked. We need Mr. Edgar's written authorization before... before we can retrieve their room information or allow visits."
At those words, Homelander's brows abruptly drew together.
For an instant, he genuinely fucking thought he had misheard.
The corridor lights were still buzzing.
His expression ugly, Homelander leaned down slightly and moved an inch closer, his dark gaze settling on the crown of the nurse's head.
His tone held a trace of incredulous surprise, and he forced an awkward fake smile, as though he had just heard some monumental joke:
"Say that again. I just want to see a few injured security guards, and I need Stan Edgar's authorization?"
"Y-yes... the system lists it as the highest clearance level..."
The nurse's voice now clearly carried the edge of tears as a trembling fingertip pointed to a tiny red lock icon in the corner of the screen.
"Only Mr. Edgar's own clearance can unlock it. We... we can't touch it."
"Fucking hell."
Homelander pulled back.
An inexplicable sense of absurdity crept up his spine like cold water, followed by a surge of anger that bordered on humiliation.
How dare he do this? How dare he!
He was the entire corporation's most essential asset, its most dazzling name.
And now he was being told he couldn't even fucking enter the hospital rooms of a few bottom-rung security guards?
Edgar.
Fucking Edgar, that moron, again.
No, no, no. Fine. I'll go ask Edgar right now. Let's hear how that old fox plans to explain it to him.
"Call him."
He straightened and withdrew his hand from the counter, his tone betraying little emotion.
"Tell him I'm here waiting for his authorization. Let's see what he has to say to me."
The call connected.
The nurse spoke quietly into the receiver, her face growing paler and paler. Finally, she covered the mouthpiece and looked up at him, her eyes filled with fear:
"Mr. Edgar said... the security department has full responsibility for the Mangrove incident, and you don't need to get involved. He... he asks that you return to the top floor and rest."
"Is that so... good."
He stood there, looking at the nurse's trembling face, and suddenly smiled.
"Then tell him I'm going to take a look myself."
The forests of northern New York State.
As the landscape drew closer, waves of deep-green pines surged toward the horizon.
The clouds hung low, bathing the entire mountain forest in a gray gloom.
Homelander checked the airflow of his descent, his soles grinding heavily over the humus as he walked forward.
He scanned his surroundings, his gaze quickly fixing on a weed-covered concrete platform behind the logging workshop.
The entrance should be right here.
But the sight before him was somewhat unexpected.
A heavy blastproof steel door was set into the concrete wall, but a neat rectangular opening had been cut into what should have been a tightly sealed door.
It didn't look like the ragged damage left by explosives, nor were there tooth marks from a cutting saw.
The linkage rod inside the lock had been snapped. The exposed concrete had a charred, porcelain sheen, and its edges were extremely smooth.
Homelander silently crouched, brushing the tip of his glove over the blackened groove.
He knew that scorched texture all too well. The cutoff was exceptionally clean, exactly like his usual technique.
It was Heat Vision.
It looked like his power.
But he definitely hadn't done it.
Then who the fuck had?
A copycat? Or some terrorist organization that didn't know its own limits, imitating his powers and slaughtering people everywhere.
Besides him, was there really a second person in the world who could control Heat Vision with this much precision?
So was this what Black Noir had sneaked into this godforsaken place to investigate?
Honestly, there was no need.
Homelander still had plenty of faith in Vought's public relations capabilities.
But on second thought, something felt wrong. If Edgar had been the one to give the order, then this definitely wasn't that simple.
With that thought, Homelander turned sideways and stepped through the cut opening.
The corridor was filled with the dampness peculiar to underground structures, mingled with dust and a faint smell of blood.
His footsteps struck the concrete floor, sending dull echoes bouncing through the empty passage.
The farther Homelander went, the more signs of everyday life he found in the facilities.
There was less accumulated dust, and there was even a half-finished tub of baby formula sitting in a corner.
The apartment door at the far end of the second basement level was still half-open. Someone had forcibly snapped the steel latch, twisting it into a mangled lump.
The instant he pushed the door open.
The sight that greeted him.
Stood in stark contrast to what he had imagined.
This wasn't the cold prison cell he had expected, but an utterly ordinary apartment.
The living room wasn't large, with an old-fashioned fabric sofa and a TV cabinet against the wall.
The kitchen opened onto the living room, and all the furniture was relatively intact. It looked more as though some sudden accident had startled the occupants into fleeing.
Crack-
The foot that had snapped a marker kept moving forward, and Homelander's gaze finally settled on the refrigerator.
It was a white double-door refrigerator.
Crayon drawings were stuck crookedly to its doors.
Blue crayon had been thickly smeared over half a sheet of paper. A reddish blob extended several crooked tentacles, with a green stick figure clinging to one.
Abstract as the drawing was, Homelander didn't even have to think. One look told him it was that dumbass, The Deep.
Then there was another drawing: a large stick figure beside one with a ponytail, traced over three times in crayon.
The word "Mom" was written crookedly, the strokes wobbling badly.
Clearly the work of some little brat.
But why would there be a little brat in this godforsaken place?
He walked over and lightly brushed his fingertips across the paper.
The crayon pigment stood out in ridges, dry and rough, tickling his fingertips a little as they brushed over it.
He stared at that crooked "Mom" for a few seconds, then gave a derisive chuckle and casually tossed it aside.
Farther inside were two bedrooms.
The wardrobe door in the master bedroom on the left stood half-open, revealing a dark gray wool coat.
He reached out and touched the fabric. The style was very dated, something that had been fashionable many years ago.
He vaguely remembered that a woman who had once spent a wild morning with him had worn this very coat.
What was her name again... right, Becca, he thought.
Wait, Becca?
The instant that name sprang to mind, an absurd thought suddenly formed in his head.
(Don't rush. The previous chapter ties into the next one. Let me get your precious Homelander onstage first.)
(Oh, I forgot to mention, the next chapter has Getsuga Tenshō.)