The front-page headline of the European war edition of Stars and Stripes, June 1943.
The headline stood out in stark black type: "The Angel of Saint-Mère Town: One Soldier, One Miracle!"
A photograph that took up half the page became a bible passed from soldier to soldier in the muddy trenches.
The composition of the photograph was perfect.
The last rays of the setting sun pierced the smoke of battle, gilding the outline of a figure standing atop the church bell tower.
He held a strange triangular shield and looked down over the devastated town at his feet, like a god of war out of myth.
The article was full of passion and stirring rhetoric:
"When our brave men were pinned down in a killing ground by German crossfire, he appeared."
"Bullets became harmless raindrops before him, and sturdy fortifications crumbled like paper."
"He does not fight alone. Behind him stands the will of God, and every soul that yearns for peace!"
"We do not know his name. All we know is that victory follows wherever he appears. The soldiers call him 'Soldier Boy,' a name that can make Berlin tremble..."
The article traveled with supply trucks and transport planes, spreading across the entire Western Front in Europe at an unprecedented speed.
From Normandy to the Apennines, every Allied soldier still fighting the Germans tooth and nail learned of the "super soldier" who had descended from the sky.
He became hope in the midst of despair, a light in the darkness.
The atmosphere in Colonel Phillips's command tent was a little strange.
He slapped the newspaper, still fragrant with fresh ink, onto the table with a sharp smack.
"The Angel of Saint-Mère Town?"
Phillips stared hard at Lynn.
"Mr. Morris, your pen packs more punch than every shell in our division put together."
Lynn replied calmly, "Colonel, I'm just a recorder. I record the facts I see."
"Facts?" Phillips sneered and pointed at the photograph in the paper. "You call this a fact? You're creating a god! A god you can't control!"
"Colonel, people need gods."
"Especially at a time like this. A god who can work miracles is far more useful than a thousand empty promises of 'hold on, reinforcements are almost here.'"
Phillips fell silent.
He had to admit that, after the battle of Saint-Mère Town, the morale of his troops had reached unprecedented heights.
The recruits who had been too frightened by MG42s to lift their heads yesterday were now clamoring to follow Soldier Boy and take out Hitler's office.
Fervor was a contagious plague.
And right now, that plague worked in the Allies' favor.
"Damn it, Lynn, you're a real bastard. I'll grant every one of your requests."
Phillips rose from his chair and walked over to the map.
"We've prepared the best quarters, piping-hot steaks, and this."
He took two bottles of Scotch whisky with worn labels from a locked iron box.
"A 1926 vintage. My daughter gave them to me for Christmas, and I could never bring myself to drink them."
Phillips set the liquor down in front of Lynn.
"Now they're yours."
With that, Phillips came up behind Lynn, bent down, and brought his mouth close to his ear, lowering his voice to a whisper.
"Remember, what you're holding on a leash isn't a decorated hunting dog. It's a tiger that's tasted blood. Don't let him get out of control, or you'll be the first one he devours."
"Don't worry, Colonel."
A smile finally appeared on Lynn's face.
"A well-fed tiger can't be bothered to hurt anyone."
It was a deal, and a warning.
The quarters were more than a cut above Phillips's command post.
A private room.
A soft bed.
A warming fire burned in the fireplace.
Soldier Boy sprawled on the sofa like a king, a bottle in one hand and a sizzling, juicy steak in the other, grease smeared all around his mouth as he ate.
"Ha, did you see that, kid?"
Soldier Boy spoke with his mouth full. "The way those guys looked at me, it was like they were looking at God! This feels... ten thousand times better than walking a red carpet in Hollywood!"
Lynn sat by the fireplace, silently wiping down his precious camera.
Firelight danced across his face, casting a calm shadow.
"This is just the beginning."
He spoke without looking up.
"What?"
"I said, this is just the beginning."
Lynn put down the camera and looked up at him.
"Saint-Mère Town is just some backwater for nobodies. Those soldiers worship you because they haven't seen the world."
Soldier Boy stopped what he was doing.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean an achievement this small doesn't measure up to your power."
Lynn's words stabbed at Soldier Boy's vastly inflated ego.
"You're satisfied being worshipped by a bunch of privates who haven't even seen Germany's elite troops? Is that all your legend amounts to?"
"Bullshit!" Soldier Boy slammed the steak onto his plate. "I-"
"Can you destroy a full-strength German Tiger tank battalion head-on in a battle?"
Lynn interrupted him.
"Can you charge into a heavily guarded German command post and haul their general out like you're grabbing a chick?"
"Can you turn the tide of a battle involving hundreds of thousands of men all by yourself?"
With each question Lynn asked, Soldier Boy's expression grew uglier.
The smugness built up by alcohol and flattery was being stripped away, layer by layer, by those questions.
"You can do it."
Lynn's voice suddenly softened, taking on a seductive note.
"Your power goes far beyond this. Saint-Mère Town is only your first poster. Next, I'll help you paint an epic oil painting worthy of hanging in a war museum."
"A painting... with the entire Third Reich as its backdrop."
Soldier Boy fell silent. He stared hard at the flames dancing in the fireplace, his heavy breathing echoing through the room.
He found he had no way to argue back.
This frail-looking kid could always see through to his deepest desires with ease, then dangle an even bigger prize before him in the most tempting way.
A prize he fucking wanted!
In the quarters, the firelight from the fireplace lit the profiles of two young women a deep red.
They were washerwomen sent by Colonel Phillips.
Now they sat awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, stealing occasional glances at the man pouring whisky down his throat.
Soldier Boy was bare-chested.
His bronzed muscles gleamed with sweat in the firelight.
He let out a crude belch, reached out, and gripped one of the girls by the chin, forcing her to raise her head.
"What, scared of me? I'm a hero."
He enjoyed their gazes, mingled with fear and admiration, like a lion surveying his territory.
Lynn stood quietly in the doorway, watching the scene. Then he turned silently and gently pulled the door shut, closing out the warmth and the sounds of revelry inside.
The tiger needed diversion.
He, the beast tamer, also needed a moment to catch his breath and some peace and quiet.
He walked through the shadows along the edge of the camp, avoiding patrolling soldiers and the occasional drunken humming.
At last, he found a perfect corner behind a pile of discarded ammunition crates.
It was secluded enough.
Lynn leaned against the wooden crates and closed his eyes.
[Achievement: First Signs of Brilliance] [Condition: Successfully recruit or create your first superhero] [Comment: You have lit the first spark, but be careful. It can illuminate the road ahead, or it can burn down the entire forest.] [Reward: One draw]
This was the reward he had received for summoning Soldier Boy.
But only now did he have time to claim it.
Soldier Boy was a bomb that could explode in his hands at any moment.
What he needed now wasn't another bomb.
It was an ally who was more stable and controllable, someone who could make up for his shortcomings.
A real "helper," not an "ancestor" he had to go to great lengths to coax, deceive, and scheme around.
Not Homelander, not Homelander...
Lynn prayed silently.
He simply couldn't control characters so powerful that they answered to no one.
Someone whose abilities weren't so outrageous but who had a better head on their shoulders, or someone with more utility.
For example... an assassin who could infiltrate enemy territory and gather intelligence?
A scientist who could make black-tech equipment?
Even a healer would be better than another Soldier Boy!
"System, start the draw."