"Animals"
Starlight stood frowning in the fitting room on the tower's seventh floor.
She stared at herself in the mirror, at what Ashley had wheeled in front of her on a clothing rack.
A new costume that covered three points and barely more than a bikini.
The costume was predominantly pure white, made of cheap material, with an absurdly small amount of fabric over the chest.
The top ended at the bottom of her ribs, and the neckline plunged low enough to expose most of her tits.
The skirt's hem was practically level with her crotch. Any shorter and she might as well have been wearing nothing.
"No, what the fuck is this? A uniform exclusively for thirst-trap streamers?"
"I'm a member of The Seven, not here to do a striptease."
This costume was so fucking outrageous that even her good temper couldn't hold.
This was The Seven?
More like whores, if you asked me.
Ashley stood beside the rack, holding a tablet displaying the marketing department's research data.
"This is an upgraded costume tailored for you by marketing based on our latest audience research. Our data analysis shows that
your 'visual distinctiveness' ratings among male viewers aged eighteen to thirty-four still have considerable room for improvement.
This costume can help you close that gap next quarter."
"Visual distinctiveness?"
Starlight yanked the costume off its hanger and held it in her hand.
The fabric was incredibly light, no bigger than a fist when crumpled into a ball.
"You mean the less I wear, the more distinctive I am? What kind of bullshit reasoning is that?"
"It's positioning. We need precision."
"You need to understand that every inch of fabric removed corresponds to a zero-point-three-percentage-point increase in ratings. The data supports this.
Besides, the accompanying promotional campaign has already been finalized. You'll be making a public appearance in Times Square next week, wearing this costume."
"I think you've all gone insane. Winning over the public with sex appeal-is that the standard The Seven should uphold?"
"First, you need to understand that The Seven, including you, are all core brand assets belonging to Vought."
"Joint promotion of brand assets is a well-established industry practice. Marketing will manage the entire event.
All you need to do is put on this costume and pose onstage."
Starlight looked at herself in the mirror.
She usually liked wearing casual clothes: an old sweatshirt, jeans, her hair thrown into a ponytail, just like an ordinary person.
But she wasn't content to be ordinary. Her place in The Seven was the "success" she had spent decades working for.
Giving it up was something she genuinely found hard to do.
But...
Why was this place nothing like she had imagined?
At that thought, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and forcibly swallowed the curses already on the tip of her tongue.
"Anything else?"
"One more thing. That plan to promote you as a couple has been canceled. Children's nightclubs in Manhattan have been very popular lately, and Mr. Homelander needs you to perform."
"What? You..."
Starlight's eyes widened in utter disbelief.
"No, what do you mean I have to perform at a children's nightclub? What exactly have you arranged?"
Fuck, this was so fucking humiliating.
What was this supposed to mean?
Did they think I was easy to push around?
Was that a fucking place fit for human beings?
At that thought, Starlight clenched her fists, glaring furiously at Ashley to see how she would explain herself.
But Ashley was clearly in an even worse mood. She rolled her eyes at Starlight, tucked the tablet under her arm, and turned to leave.
"You can choose not to go, but this is an order from Homelander. Wasn't the lesson you learned last time enough?"
This was fucking bullying...
The fitting room fell quiet again, and two trails of clear tears spilled from Starlight's furious eyes.
By the time she left Vought Tower, it was almost dark.
Head lowered, she walked quickly toward Central Park.
She was bottling up a bellyful of anger.
She wanted to vent but couldn't, and could only walk to ease the pent-up frustration in her heart.
There weren't many people in Central Park at this hour, and the streetlights had just come on.
Starlight walked a circuit around the artificial lake, then sat on a lakeside bench, hugging her backpack.
Opposite the bench stood a bare maple, its branches swaying gently in the wind.
She stared at that tree for a long time, her mind blank.
Then she suddenly heard paws rustling through fallen leaves.
A very fat dog suddenly ran over.
It looked like a French bulldog, its ears sticking up like two triangular crackers.
It had short, light-brown fur all over, a flat nose, and incredibly loud panting.
It ran up to the bench, circled her feet twice, then stuck out its tongue to lick the ankle exposed below her pant leg.
Its tongue was warm, with a slightly damp touch.
Starlight looked down at it. The French bulldog raised its head and looked at her with black eyes that took up half its face, its mouth spread wide, half a pink tongue showing.
She couldn't resist reaching out to stroke its head, and the bulldog immediately pushed into her palm.
"Little Terror! Little Terror, get the fuck back here!"
A young man's voice came from beyond the bushes, accompanied by the crunch of feet through fallen leaves.
Soon, a tall, thin figure ran around the corner, his hair blown into a mess.
He wore a gray hoodie that was clearly a size too large and jeans with a hole in one knee.
First he spotted Starlight on the bench and froze briefly, then saw the bulldog wagging its tail at her feet and sighed in relief.
"Sorry, sorry... He's not usually like this. I don't know what's gotten into him today."
Hughie ran over and bent to grab the leash, but the bulldog hopped aside to dodge him and stayed crouched at Starlight's feet, licking her shoelaces.
Hughie sighed, straightened, and awkwardly scratched the back of his head.
"His name's Little Terror. My friend's new dog. He said he was a guard dog. Can you imagine? He's happier to see a delivery guy than a burglar."
Starlight smiled, the corners of her mouth lifting.
Then she bent to pat his back, and the bulldog gave a satisfied grunt.
"He's pretty cute."
She said.
"He's cute, sure. Just not very smart."
Hughie crouched beside Little Terror and poked the bulldog's butt with one finger.
The bulldog turned and snorted at him, then turned back to licking Starlight's shoelaces.
Hughie smiled helplessly and glanced up at the girl on the bench.
She seemed exhausted, "defeated" from the heart, inside and out.
It was a little like what he had been through when his girlfriend died.
"Are you okay?"
"Uh... I don't mean anything by it. It's just... you don't look very happy?"
"Ah, is it that obvious?"
"Actually, it's like... something you've dreamed of doing, of becoming, since you were little, only to find it isn't as wonderful as you imagined."
Hughie paused, then lowered his head and patted Little Terror's back. He didn't rush to respond, staying silent for several seconds before speaking.
"That asshole... is he your boss?"
"Sort of... a coworker. But my boss isn't a good person either."
"You don't want to do it?"
"I don't."
"Then have you thought about keeping a record of all this?"
Hughie lowered his voice a little and slowed his words.
"I mean your company, your boss, all this shit they make you do.
Emails, files, internal notices, anything that proves they're forcing you to do their dirty work.
Keep it. Save it somewhere safe.
Someday, that stuff will come in handy. Even if you don't use it yourself, sending it to the media or posting it online can show people outside what this company really looks like."
Starlight gave him a strange look without speaking.
She glanced down at the dog, then back up at Hughie, and for some reason felt a little like laughing.
"So, do you do this a lot?"
"Ah... no, not a lot. Actually, I've only done it once, handed it over to a friend.
But that one time was pretty useful. At least it made me feel less stifled."
"So you know people in the media?"
Starlight suddenly asked.
"Uh, a friend of a friend. If you have something you want to send out, I should be able to pass it along."
"I have some dirt about my company."
"A few days ago, a senior executive was attacked inside the company itself. The attacker knocked him unconscious and took him away, and he still hasn't woken up.
The company buried the whole thing. No news, no reports. Publicly, they're just saying he's on vacation."
Wait... why did this sound so familiar?
Hughie's expression suddenly turned strange.
Of course he knew about this.
He knew all too fucking well.
Just three days ago, he and Frenchie had first treated Black Noir to a nut extravaganza.
After weakening him, they had caught him off guard, clubbed him, and driven him out to dump him in an alley near Vought Tower.
So... this girl was a Vought employee?
Hughie swallowed.
"Well, have they found the attacker? Also, this information... are you sure it's true?"
"I heard people discussing it outside while I was in the restroom. It's true."
"But the attacker is too mysterious. Someone deliberately smashed the cameras by the alley, and they still haven't found them."
Hughie sighed in relief.
Then he slowly stood up and bent to pick up Little Terror's leash. The bulldog reluctantly rose from Starlight's feet and shook his head.
He stayed silent for a few seconds, then pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to Starlight.
Since this girl worked inside Vought, he could try establishing contact.
Although A-Train and The Deep had both joined their camp, they were still under Homelander. Any unusual move would cause unnecessary trouble.
And this girl might become a channel for finding dirt on Vought or other information.
"How about... we exchange contact details? An anonymous email is fine. If you really want to give the media something, I can help get in touch."
Starlight didn't hesitate. She took the phone and entered an encrypted email address in his contacts.
She glanced at Hughie and handed it back.
"Thank you."
Hughie took the phone, glanced at the email address on the screen, and quickly saved it to his contacts.
He opened his mouth to say something, only to realize he didn't know what to say. In the end, he merely scratched the back of his head.
"Okay, then... take care."
Starlight just found the awkward man in front of her rather funny.
"I know. Thanks for your dog."
The black stretch Lincoln cruised smoothly through Manhattan's nighttime streets.
Soldier Boy leaned against the leather seat, one finger propping up his temple as he looked out the window.
The giant screen in a New York square swept across his face. Through the flickering light, his expression remained calm.
The glamorous boy in the advertisement, with his fake smile, had a face somewhat similar to his.
The curve of his jaw, his brow ridge, and the arrogance hidden in those blue eyes were exactly like his own when he was young.
This was the product Vought had used to replace him?
He looked decent enough, but he seemed like a dysfunctional pussy who couldn't get it up.
Before long, the car stopped silently outside Vought International's headquarters.
The skyscraper thrust more than seventy stories into the clouds, its exterior clad entirely in dark-blue glass that gleamed coldly in the night.
The fountain jets outside were lit red, blue, and white, falling in a riot of colors and splashing up a fine mist.
Uniformed guards stood ramrod straight on either side of the revolving doors. Seeing the car approach, they hurried forward.
A white-gloved hand respectfully opened the car door.
He had to admit, he loved this kind of fanfare.
Apart from the lack of women, there really was nothing to fault.
Carter led him inside, through the resplendent lobby, where Vought's enormous logo hung suspended behind the reception desk.
An expensive fragrance lingered in the air.
"Ding."
The elevator doors opened.
A thick red carpet lined the corridor, and enormous portraits of Vought's products through the years hung on the walls on either side.
Soldier Boy glanced over and saw his younger face lined up alongside the others.
A bunch of pussies with balls growing on their ugly mugs.
He curled his lip and kept walking.
The office door at the end of the corridor stood ajar. Carter stopped, clasped her hands in front of her, and gestured for him to enter.
"Mr. Edgar is waiting inside. I won't be joining you."
Soldier Boy glanced at him without a word, then raised his hand and pushed the door open.
The office was far larger than he had imagined.
An entire wall consisted of floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside lay Manhattan's endless sea of lights, like stars spilled across the ground.
A man stood before the windows in an impeccably tailored dark gray suit, his graying hair neatly trimmed.
His back was to the door, and he held a glass of whiskey. Warmed by his palm, the ice shifted gently in the glass with faint clinks.
Hearing footsteps, the man slowly turned around.
"Ben."
"Welcome back."
Who the fuck are you trying to impress...
Soldier Boy strode brazenly up to the desk, a cigar between his teeth, and looked Edgar up and down.
Then he scoffed.
"So it's you. The pussy from Legal who used to sit in the corner, too scared to say a word. Never thought you'd end up running Vought."
"Times have changed."
Edgar walked unhurriedly to the bar and calmly picked up a crystal whiskey glass.
He slowly poured in the amber liquor and added two pieces of hand-carved ice.
Then he walked back with the glass, set it on the edge of the desk in front of Soldier Boy, and slid it toward him.
"People change too. Thirty-eight years is enough time for a great deal to happen."
"Cut the bullshit."
Soldier Boy didn't touch the glass. He didn't even look at it.
"On the way here, your subordinate told me you could help me find those wonderful teammates of mine... What's the catch? Spit it out."
"What, aren't you going to ask whose idea it was back then?"
Edgar smiled, picked up his own glass, and turned to stroll back to the windows.
"You political types have shit for brains. Of course I wouldn't mind killing you, but what I want isn't here yet."
"I did a little digging. You sons of bitches pinned plenty of charges on me too."
"Some I'd never even heard of."
"Heh. The terms are actually quite simple."
Edgar didn't respond to Soldier Boy's remarks, continuing at his own leisurely pace.
"Stay with Vought. Rejoin the Seven. You're a legend, Mr. Ben.
You're a symbol of the American spirit. Once word gets out that you're back, fans around the world will go wild."
"That simple?"
Soldier Boy raised an eyebrow. He walked around the mahogany desk and stood beside Edgar at the windows.
Then he eyed the gray-haired man sidelong.
"You went to all that trouble to get me out of that hellhole... just so I could come back and be your walking billboard?"
"Of course that's not all. I'll also have all those charges against you dropped..."
Edgar turned to look at him, his gaze unfathomable behind his lenses, that faint smile still on his lips.
"Wait, you can sway the president's decisions now?"
"When interests are involved, how can you call it swaying? All it takes is a little negotiation."
As he spoke, Edgar set down his glass and slipped both hands into his trouser pockets.
"The Seven are unstable at the moment. I need someone with authority and ability to keep them in check."
Soldier Boy understood immediately.
This was fucking exactly like thirty-eight years ago. First Vought raised you to the heavens, then once your wings had grown strong, they suddenly drove a knife into you.
Heh. Politicians who kill without licking the blood.
"Oh, what makes you think I'll agree?"
Soldier Boy sneered.
"I hate Vought. I hate every last one of you... Aren't you afraid the first thing I'll do is twist that black head off your shoulders?"
"You won't."
Edgar sounded utterly certain.
He toyed with the glass in his hand, watching the ice slowly rotate in the liquor.
"You hate the people who betrayed you back then, not Vought itself.
Deep down, you're still proud to be a superhero.
You like the warmth of the spotlight on your face. You like standing at the top of the pyramid, looking down on everything.
Only Vought can give you those things. We could before, and we still can."
"As for what happened back then..."
Edgar paused.
"Crimson Countess, Gunpowder, Mindstorm... They betrayed you and sold you to the Russians.
You can settle that score however you like.
Vought won't interfere.
In fact, I can help you find them. The farm in Montana, the shooting range in Texas, the villa in Hollywood.
Addresses, schedules, gaps in security-I can give you all of it. I've already offered every show of good faith I can."
Soldier Boy's gaze showed a flicker of interest.
That really had struck his weak spot.
His greatest obsession right now was revenge.
And reclaiming everything that belonged to him, getting back into the newspapers.
Instead of letting those pussies who only knew how to play house steal all his limelight.
He remained silent for a long time.
Five minutes later, he finally reached out, picked up the whiskey glass on the desk, and swirled it with his wrist. Then
he raised his eyes, his brown gaze fixed intently on Edgar.
"You'd better not try anything."
"I'll settle every last score from these thirty-eight years.
Anyone who gets in my way dies. Even this building-I can raze it to the ground just the same. I mean what I say."
Edgar smiled.
"Rest assured."
"From today onward, we're allies. Allies don't turn on each other."
"You'd better mean that."
"So what do I need to do now?"
"Help me find these people first."
Edgar took a photograph from his suit pocket.
It showed members of the Boys Squad, Kimiko, Cate, and a mysterious man wearing a mask.
"So... you want a pledge of allegiance?"
Soldier Boy spat disdainfully and took a deep drag on his cigar.
"I trust you, Ben."