Chapter II: It's a Long Way to Mukumbura
"I'm America's Greatest Fucking Bully. And I claim that title with neither shame nor disgust. Why? Because I'm the fucking Homelander."
—Homelander. 2009
(V)
2001. Vogelbaum Mansion.
A sonic boom reverberated outside the expansive mansion situated in Vogelbaum's garden.
Home that is befitting of a powerful and extraordinary man.
John, donning his outfit with the Star-Spangled Banner as a cape and a form-fitting muscular skin suit, approached the door of the luxurious manor.
He pressed the small button, the doorbell, conveniently located beside the door, of course.
Then he waited.
An old woman, dressed in a housekeeping uniform, opened the door.
"What can I help you with, sir? Sir Jonah is not currently present—oh... A superhero..." the old woman exclaimed as her gaze fell upon the blonde young adult before her.
"Hello, ma'am! I am here for Arthur. I'm here to visit him," John stated, a perfect smile adorning his face.
"Ah, Arthur, you say? But he is not he—" the old woman began to respond but was swiftly interrupted.
"Don't lie to me, ma'am. I confirmed it with Dr. Vogelbaum himself, and I have the authorization to visit here," John's tone turned cold, asserting his authority.
"But—" the old housekeeper tried to speak, yet she stopped herself. After all, John was glaring at her with a menacing stare.
And despite her age, the housekeeper knew better than to pick a fight with a Supe.
"If you don't believe that I have the authorization... then here," John handed her the spare ID of the Vought CSO.
The housekeeper silently inspected the ID.
"Alright. I will just call Dr. Vogelbaum for confirmation. If you can wait for a moment in our lounge, please," the housekeeper stated with an accommodating tone.
"Thank you, ma'am," John replied, his smiling expression returning once more.
(V)
Seated upon the opulent couch in the mansion's lounge, John patiently waited for a few minutes. The room exuded an air of extravagance, with plush furnishings and intricate decor that spoke of wealth and luxury. Sunlight filtered through ornate windows, casting a warm glow upon the surroundings.
The old housekeeper returned, her face adorned with a welcoming and professional smile.
"Apologies for the wait. Dr. Vogelbaum indeed expected you to be here. Please follow me," the housekeeper stated in an accommodating tone.
John reciprocated the smile and said nothing, acknowledging her words. He rose from the couch and followed the housekeeper, their footsteps echoing softly as they traversed the grand corridors of the immense mansion.
After a brief journey, they arrived at a corridor on the second floor. Turning left, John found himself standing before a simple yet clean wooden door.
"He is inside, sir," the housekeeper informed John, her voice carrying a hint of reverence.
Nodding appreciatively, the star-spangled hero acknowledged her guidance. With his gloved hands, he grasped the doorknob and slowly turned it.
(V)
A man was lying on the bed.
That was the first thing that John saw when he entered the room.
"….Brother…" John stated with a hollow tone on his voice.
Emaciated and gaunt, the man's features seemed etched with the delicate brushstrokes of suffering. Shadows danced upon his hollow cheeks, deepening the lines that traced the map of his affliction.
In stark contrast to the opulence of the room, the man's body lay shrouded beneath the thin clean sheets, a mere whisper of its former strength. His frail frame seemed swallowed by the expanse of the bed, the very embodiment of fragility.
Above the man, the ceiling echoed with the symphony of life support machinery. The rhythmic beeping and whirring echoes in the air. Wires and tubes snaked their way across the room, connecting the man to the machines that stood vigil by his side, their mechanical symphony a testament to the tenacity of medical intervention.
Atop the man's head, a barren landscape greeted the eye. The absence of hair painted a stark portrait of the toll that illness had exacted. No longer did locks cascade in waves of vitality; instead, the smooth expanse of his scalp stood as a testament to the battles fought, the strands of resilience lost along the way.
As John approached the bedside, a solemn hush enveloped the room, as if time itself held its breath in reverence.
John sat in the chair beside the bed and stared at Arthur for a few minutes. His brother was clearly sleeping.
"…Art… Ah, I-it's been five years since I last saw you…" John began to speak.
"At first, when you stopped going to that wretched room, I thought you hated me. I thought you weren't sincere. Just like my previous tutors... fucking mud people addicted to checks and coins." His tone turned angry at the end of his words.
"It was hard in there without you, brother." John continued.
"The tortures... the experiments... the fucking humiliation that a god like me had to endure!" John exclaimed, his tone on the verge of exploding.
"…I hated you at that time, brother, for leaving me all alone... but it seems like I was mistaken…" The blonde supe's tone grew quiet.
John then gazed at Arthur's sleeping body on life support.
"I asked Jonah about you, but he didn't reply. He always gave vague answers. It made me almost want to laser the shit out of him." John stated with a joking tone.
"It wasn't until two years ago that he told me what happened to you." John's tone almost broke.
"Seriously? Fucking cancer!? A fucking cancer in the brain!? Are you kidding me? What the fuck!?" John shouted, his tone both on the verge of laughter and lashing out.
"Out of all the fucking people, it had to be you hit with fucking cancer. Isn't that... fucking ridiculous!?" John's attention wasn't even on Arthur anymore. He was practically monologuing to himself.
Then, at that moment, Arthur's eyes slowly opened.
"…John?" Arthur said as he woke up, clearly surprised by his little brother's presence.
But John wasn't surprised. His superhuman hearing and senses granted him the advantage of knowing the state of every single human being he focused on.
"…Ah... sorry for that rant. Um... Good morning, I guess." John's eye twitched repeatedly, an acquired mannerism when anxious.
"….I'm sorry for all those years—" Arthur weakly began to speak.
"No, no, no. Just rest. I understand..." John replied with a reassuring tone.
"Ah…." Arthur fell silent at that.
Both brothers remained silent for a few moments until John started to speak.
"How bad is it?" he asked his brother.
"…" Arthur looked away from John.
"Art, I need to know—" John was cut off.
"Stage IV. Only a few months left…" Arthur stated with a normal tone, as if it were just one of the daily occurrences of life, like fetching a lost dog from the streets.
"…" John remained silent, staring out the window a few feet away from the bed.
"So, do you still watch those Mongolian cartoons I gave you, John?" Arthur broke the tense atmosphere with a random question, his tone filled with humor.
"I-What?" John turned his head around, baffled by the sudden change in conversation. Clearly, he didn't expect this.
"I mean, do you still watch those VHS tapes of anime I gave you?" Arthur repeated, weak laughter escaping his lips.
"Oh, for fuck's sake! Come on! Of course, I still watch them! Well, along with Clint Eastwood and John Wayne movies," John replied with a forced humorous tone, clearly attempting to lift the heavy atmosphere.
"…"
"…"
Once again, silence filled the room. That is until John spoke up.
"Is there really no chance of curing you anymore?" John asked, pleading in his tone.
"No. It's already too late. The cancer has spread throughout my entire system…" Arthur looked toward the window as he spoke those words.
"Well, since Vought was a pharmaceutical-focused company before the dawn of superheroes, maybe—" John replied, but was cut off once more.
"No. Don't. John, I want to spend my limited time in peace," Arthur said, closing his eyes while lying in bed. Then he opened them again.
"How about you, Buster? How are you?" Arthur asked his little brother.
"Ah... Well, tonight is my debut, I guess..." John stated with an unsure tone.
"Huh. Congratulations, I guess... but why don't you look happy?" Arthur asked his little brother.
"Well, it's just that... I don't know what to do in front of the public, you know? Like, what words should I speak or whatnot or—" John frantically stated until his brother interrupted him.
"John. Remember your promise?" Arthur asked.
"…Of course I remember it. Be genuine, right? But I won't be popular—" John started to say.
"Who gives a fuck about popularity? Aren't you a god, John?" Arthur stated.
"Yes, but—" John tried to interject.
"Are you afraid of their expectations?" Arthur cut to the heart of the matter.
At that, John stood up and fumed.
"NO! I AM NOT AFRAID!" He shouted as he turned away from his brother.
At that, Arthur smirked. The lips on his emaciated face curled up in response to the actions of the blonde Supe.
"Then... be genuine. You are your own man, John. Despite spending your childhood in those sterile walls, you are strong," Arthur said calmly.
Upon hearing that, John exhaled deeply and turned to face his brother again.
He placed the chair back in its proper place and sat down once more.
"…Alright. But watch me, will ya?" John stated with a humorous tone.
Arthur's face broke out a smile.
"Of fucking course, I will. I fucking tutored your ass!" Arthur laughed in response.
At that, John smiled in satisfaction.
"…So... do you want to watch Mongolian cartoons?" John asked his former tutor.
"Hell yeah! What do you have?" Arthur replied enthusiastically, despite being confined to his bed.
"Well, I brought 'Visions of Escaflowne,' 'Cowboy Bebop,' 'Bubblegum Crisis'—God, such a weird fucking name. I also got..."
In the spacious and ornate room, two brothers conversed as if there were no tomorrow.
The shadowed dawn faded, replaced by the radiant glow of brotherhood's essence.
(V)
2001. Dome of Vought International. New York.
The dome was teeming with an enormous crowd, its expansive confined filled with countless people.
Interviewers, poised and ready to pounce with their probing questions, mingled amidst the throng. Eager fans eagerly awaited the appearance of the new hero, their anticipation palpable.
Businessmen, prepared to negotiate lucrative deals towards the current Corporate Behemoth, navigated the bustling scene. And even small-time C-list heroes, away from their patrols (or their drug-addled orgies), found themselves among the attendees.
Countless cameras were strategically positioned, their lenses pointed towards the stage, capturing and broadcasting every momentous occurrence. Incandescent lights were strategically dispersed, casting their luminous glow upon the tense and air-conditioned atmosphere, further enhancing the palpable energy.
At the podium, two individuals captured the attention of the crowd.
Madelyn Stillwell, the current rising star on the corporate ladder, and the Director of the Hero Management Department at Vought International.
A ruthless woman.
And, of course, standing beside her is Stan Edgar, the former handler of the renowned Premier Superhero team, "Payback." Presently, he holds the esteemed position of Chief Executive Officer of the greatest and largest corporation in the Western Hemisphere.
A man who sees men as cogs and products.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage..." Stan began to speak with a voice that was accommodating and welcoming. However, for those with the necessary skills or perhaps the ability to analyze his movements and psyche it was undeniably fake, one might say. Thankfully, people can easily be deceived.
"—the latest, and might I say, greatest, addition to the Vought crime-fighting family..." Stan continued with a cheerful tone that had the ability to ignite excitement within the crowd.
Above the stage, the grandiose circular roof gracefully opened, revealing the centerpiece of the evening.
As the roof opened, a figure emerged—floating effortlessly, with a billowing cape that added an aura of grandeur.
"—The Homelander!" Stan immediately followed up, announcing the name with fervor.
And thus, a being akin to a deity, clad in the American Colors, descended upon the stage.
A God among Men.
Spotlights converged upon his majestic form, while his image was projected in a larger-than-life display behind him.
And so, the crowd cheered as if there were no tomorrow, their exuberance filling the dome. Camera flashes illuminated the space, complemented by the reverberating cheers of the audience.
Taking the cue, Madelyn Stillwell stepped forward. It was her time to address the crowd.
"Not since Soldier Boy has Vought been this excited to collaborate with a superhero of Homelander's caliber." she spoke, her tone accommodating and befitting her position as CEO.
After concluding her introductory words, Madelyn glanced at Homelander, only to be taken aback by her surprise.
However, after the initial surprise, a tickmark manifested on Madelyn's head.
She is pissed.
It was his fucking debut for Christ's sakes.
So why did he look like he was goddamn bored out of his mind?
(V)
John, or Homelander as Madelyn introduced earlier, felt an overwhelming sense of boredom and irritation.
Scratch that. He was bored and irritated simultaneously.
His eyes scanned the crowd, further fueling his irritation.
"Is this what I abandoned my brother for? These... fucking peasants?" John's thoughts brimmed with increasing frustration.
"Do I have to entertain these fucking peons? And is that a fucking hijab? What the fuck?" John incredulously pondered, observing the audience and the interviewers poised for questions.
Nevertheless, John shook his head and began to speak.
"Hello, uh... folks?" he awkwardly stated, clearly unaccustomed to public speaking.
He glanced at Madelyn, who, as usual, was glaring at him.
"The Homelander, what made you decide to join up with Vought?" a curious reporter inquired amidst the sea of audience.
"Eh? Um..." John hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the attention, causing him to hesitate in his response.
As a moment passed without a proper answer, murmurs rippled through the audience.
Clearly, they too sensed the awkwardness of the atmosphere.
'Why the fuck are you murmuring!? I will laser the fuck out of you!' John seethed inwardly, his anger directed both at the audience and his own antisocial tendencies.
Once again, he glanced at Madelyn and Stan, their faces filled with tension, silently conveying, 'Don't mess this up.'
The blonde Supe felt an urge to deliberately ruin the moment. John almost wanted to fuck this up. Because fuck Stan. Fuck those dressed up corporate whores.
Well, almost.
Still, he remembered the words of his brother.
"Be genuine, John."
John's expression softened slightly, attempting to appear more accommodating, though it was forced.
"Well, do you know those Classic Frontier movies where the rugged cowboy shoots the shit out of the bad guys?" John began, adopting a tone that was both cheerful and sarcastic.
Beside him, Madelyn's jaw dropped, realizing that Homelander was not going to stick to the script.
"I know some of you guys have watched John Wayne or Clint Eastwood movies. If you say no, then either you're not American or probably a clueless person who watches 'Friends'," John mercilessly stated with a smile on his face.
The crowd fell into a stunned silence, mouths agape in shock.
"What in the fucking fuck are you doing!?" Madelyn seethed silently at the side, realizing she couldn't be seen as the spotlight was solely focused on Homelander.
Meanwhile, Stan's eyes turned cold.
"Since I was a kid, those frontier movies were my favorites. I mean, it's very simple, after all: Shoot bad guys and shoot bad guys! I mean, the formula is really good! Walk into the bar, shoot the bad guys, and get the women! Easy peasy. Can you relate to that? No? Well, probably because you're a woman," John continued, once again letting his unfiltered thoughts escape.
At the sexist remark, the audience was left utterly stunned.
"Hold on, what?" "That's... sexist, isn't it?" "I don't know, man, what the hell?" "Is... is this really a hero?"
Murmurs in the crowd grew louder, some agreeing with his words, while others vehemently disagreed.
"Of course, as a kid, I wanted to emulate those rugged individuals. I just wanted to do two things: Beat up bad guys and punch bad guys! In fact, when I was younger, I punched my bully in the face. I think I broke his skull at that time... Well, he decided to mess with me, so I messed him up!" John cheerfully stated to the audience, his tone contrasting sharply with his remarks.
The Vought-powered personnel whom he personally cracked skulls.
The crowd, at this point, was clearly in shock, although some had begun to recover. They all wanted to question the superhero on stage about his outrageous statements, but John cut them off.
"But cracking the skulls of bullies at school and busting the faces of bike stealers in the local community wasn't enough. My frontier was too small..." John continued, his tone remaining cheerful and entertained.
Madelyn, in the current moment, was on the verge of a mental breakdown, her true emotions hidden behind a forced smile and nails digging into her hands.
"But Vought! Vought is different! Vought offers me a chance to clean wider frontiers! A chance to use my gifts to make the world... less accommodating to the bad guys!" John concluded his statement with a cheerful tone.
The audience fell silent, completely taken aback by what they had just witnessed. Then, someone yelled.
"Oh yeah! Fuck them up, my man!" a masculine voice erupted from the sea of people.
Half of the stadium erupted in applause, while the other half remained silent.
The first followers.
"Yeehaw! Beat their skulls! Beat their skulls! Beat their skulls!" a chant emerged from the crowd.
Meanwhile, the reporters grew uncomfortable with the chant. This was not a chant befitting of a hero.
After hearing the chant, Stan broke into a smile.
John, at this point, was clearly surprised. 'Did... did they cheer for me? What?' he thought, filled with incredulity and a hint of humor.
One of the reporters couldn't take it any longer and immediately asked a question.
"Aside from your rather... uncourteous remarks... New York is NOT a frontier, Mr. Superhero. This is a civilized city. How do you plan to make it, in your own words, 'less accommodating for the bad guys'?" A woman wearing a hijab, a professional reporter, asked aggressively. It was clear she was not a fan of the blonde supe.
But Homelander was taken aback, not by the question, but by the appearance of the woman.
'Wait, hold on... Is that a fucking hijab? A fucking hijab in New York? Doesn't that belong in those dune dwellings... whatever, fuck it,' John thought as he looked at the reporter.
He answered with a smile and a slightly sarcastic tone, "A magnificent question, my fellow American!"
A tick mark appeared on the reporter's head, clearly sensing an implication in his response.
"Vought has teamed me up with someone as rugged and masculine as Clint Eastwood and John Wayne. He's someone I idolized next to Soldier Boy himself! My friend and yours..." John said, extending his hand to the right, gesturing towards the shadow on the stage to introduce someone.
"...Black Noir!"
The current number one hero.
A man dressed in the darkest black emerged, waving at the audience.
Triumphant music played, and the previously silent crowd erupted in cheers even louder than when they had cheered for John earlier.
Camera flashes flickered, and shouts of reverence filled the stadium.
The spotlight shifted to Black Noir, removing John from the center of attention
But it didn't bother John. He continued clapping with a smile on his face.
'A god has no need for the opinion of mortals,' John thought as he observed the spectacle created by Black Noir's presence before him.
Yet, at the same time, as he looked at the cheering crowd in front of him, he felt disgusted.
'Muds and mongrels... No wonder kings have oppressed these fucking sheep since the dawn of history. Common people truly are pathetic. Bootlickers and moralists...' John thought, filled with absolute disgust.
'And a God like me has to gain their worship…..Absolutely disgusting.' John thought with total repugnance. Abhorring expression twisted in his face.
(V)
"WHAT. THE. FUCK!?" the voice of a screaming banshee echoed backstage.
At that shout, John stopped walking with Madelyn and covered his ears.
"Ow! Hey, warn me next time you shout like that! I have super hearing, for fuck's sake! I need to adjust it properly!" John indignantly stated.
"FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" Madelyn screamed once more, her beautiful visage ruined by the anger on her face.
"Look, I know I didn't follow the script—" John was cut off.
"YOU DIDN'T FOLLOW SHIT! NOT ONE FUCKING IOTA OF IT CAME OUT OF YOUR MOUTH!" Madelyn, clearly unhinged with her prime product, Homelander, going rogue, shouted.
John tried to placate Madelyn, raising both hands in a calming gesture.
"Look, I won't make any excuses, but you've seen Mr. Edgar, right? He smiled. He agreed with my stance." John stated with a proud tone.
"YOU GODDAMN... No... Control yourself..." The director of the Hero Department calmed herself.
After a few moments to catch her breath, her tone returned to calm.
"Look, this was supposed to be your big debut, but you messed it up. And then there's Black Noir up there with you..." Madelyn stated with an irate tone.
"In fact, why aren't you fucking upset about this? Nothing has really gone your way today, and even your meager fans cheered louder for Black Noir!" Madelyn stated, pointing her finger at John behind her.
"Noir is there to teach me. Mr. Edgar clarified that." John stated with a bored tone.
Of course, his bored tone annoyed Madelyn.
"Noir is there to fucking watch you! Not teach you. To make sure you don't fuck up the company!" Madelyn stated with absolute seriousness.
"And do you think Noir wants you taking his place? Do you think he wants you to be number one? Not likely." Madelyn stated with a humorous and mocking tone.
At that, John only stared at Madelyn.
But still, Madelyn continued. This time, a seductive tone entered her voice.
She stepped closer to John.
"...Being on stage..." Her hands gently touched John's chest.
"...All those people who wanted you..." Her tone was filled with sweetness.
"All those people who wanted to be you..."
Touch.
"...or be with you..."
Touch.
"...or fuck you..."
Touch.
Then, Madelyn stepped closer. She tiptoed towards John and positioned her face right beside his ear.
"...it felt good, right?" she seductively whispered into the ear of the handsome blonde Supe.
After saying her words, she smirked, expecting him to agree.
But after a few moments, she didn't hear any response, and that weirded her out.
"John?" she asked in a whisper once more.
After hearing no response from him, Madelyn returned to her previous position.
"John, I said, don't you want—" But she cut herself off.
After all, John's face looked utterly bored and unconcerned.
And this boggled Madelyn. After all, aren't Supes starved for attention?
Then, John's muscular physique leaned towards his handler.
"All I felt when I saw those peons—" He began to speak.
Then, he leaned his face right in front of Madelyn's ear.
"—was disgust." He whispered with a tone of absolute revulsion.
A god disgusted with the degenerate mortals.
"...What?" Madelyn froze, clearly not expecting that answer.
And after that, John walked away.
"Also, remove the 'The'. Just make it 'Homelander'. Much more fitting," he stated with a cheerful tone, betraying his previously bored expression.
Then, he walked off, leaving the gobsmacked Director of the Hero Department alone.
(V)
And that's the Second Chapter.
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