Chapter 9: Blood and Money
~ 1974 ~
One year later, since the commercial launch, Vought has astoundingly recruited nearly three hundred supes.
Apparently there have been plenty of V-powered individuals out there the whole time. All they needed was a green light to emerge and present themselves, which the company has been continuously shining. So far the newcomers are just from within and nearby New York, but that's projected to change as the campaign grows.
As for Homelander and The Seven, Vought is finally profiting off their Flagship Flock.
Shortly after Homelander and Queen Maeve's meeting with the execs, the company began selling Seven-themed merchandise. There's already a wide range of goods; from new comics, children's toys, consumables, collectors items, and more. And with the heroes quickly becoming global sensations, the adoring public simply can't get enough of their products. Vought's earnings off the Seven thus far are estimated to be in the millions.
Additionally, "in return" for their superheroism, the Seven have started getting paid by Vought, albeit without an actual financial contract. …YET.
While Homelander's still unsure how to handle his checks, and Maeve's been spitefully crafting new ways to destroy hers, Mister Marathon, The Deep, Lamplighter, and Jack have been cashing in theirs. Though they're mostly undecided how to spend their earnings, their first purchase was a no-brainer: A communally paid-for collection of their elder siblings' favorite graphic and literary novels. Needless to say, Jonathan and Margaret were immensely grateful for their gift.
Back to the campaign: True to his word, Homelander has been personally meeting each and every newcomer. And for the first nine months, to his amazement, most of them turned out surprisingly moral. However, he inevitably came across the first bad apple: an unashamedly sleazy super-strengthened addict.
"I'm sorry, my friend…"
Homelander had said at the recruiting station on the sixth month, curtly returning the application form to the druggie.
"But I'm afraid you don't have what it takes to be a superhero."
"URRRP! And WHYZ dat?!"
"You expressed upfront that your primary reason for enlisting is – and I quote – '2 jet maOr Kassh fwo dWUgz AND aSs'. That alone clearly proves you're purely signing up for personal and ill-intentioned gain."
"WRawwwraAAAH! Hoo carez?! I WANT DAT MONIES!"
The addict tried to forcefully object, only to be easily picked up…
"There will be none of that!"
…And carried out the door.
"Come back once you've cleaned up your act! GOOD DAY to you!"
As for Queen Maeve, she's still rather edgy about supes being on the company payroll.
On one hand, it rewards the well meaning for putting their powers to good use. On the other, it could enable hedonists to fund their destructive lifestyles, as demonstrated by the rejected addict.
Though speaking of well-meaning supes, she is grateful for the campaign bringing in actual heroes.
Like Glow Stick, Wipeout, and Mute Brute: Who quickly became excellent additions to their ranks. Though not as powerful as the Seven, they're incredibly effective at fighting crime, assisting emergency responders, and promoting moral messages.
And of course, there's her new friend, Bella... Now known as Batelia when on duty.
For true to her codename, she can transform into a beautiful batlike humanoid: Possessing powerful wings, her signature claws, night vision and enhanced hearing, and a destructive sonar screech.
And so these four and many more have dedicated themselves to enforcing justice and protecting their fellow man.
Thus for a while, it looked like a promising future was just on the horizon. A bright and sunny future powered by benevolent supes.
That is until the tenth month. When Vought received a massive collective contribution, and put over half of it towards their recruitment campaign.
As advertising increased and enlisting stations multiplied, the influx of supes nearly doubled. And with even more newcomers being brought in, Homelander gradually fell behind on profiling them.
Which is why now, on the twelfth month, Homelander is about to have a serious talk with corporate….
~O~
"Well! That was quite a scuffle! Wasn't it, my lady?"
Fresh from their latest fight, Queen Maeve flies alongside Batelia, now in her ivory haired and ebony skinned bat-woman form.
"Huh? Oh… Uh… Yeah! It was, wasn't it?"
Batelia glances worriedly at her hero.
"Is something the matter? You've been rather… On edge these last couple months."
Indeed the Queen has been on edge, for the same reasons as her brother. But not wanting to worry her friend, she decides to tactfully deflect.
"No need to worry, thanks. I'm just wondering what to get for Homelander's birthday."
"Aww! That's so sweet of you!"
"M-hm… Listen, I'm just going to Vought HQ for a while. I'll see you later!"
As Maeve changes course, Batelia waves and continues on her way.
Upon arrival, the Queen swiftly enters the front lobby. There she sees her brother with his backpack, browsing through its contents before noticing her.
"What're you doing here, Mag- Maeve?"
"You're gonna talk to the bigwigs, right? I want to hear their response."
Homelander unsurely furrows his brow.
"C'mon! Lemmie listen in. I promise I won't hurt anybody."
After a few seconds, he rolls his eyes with a huff. Then he leads her to the elevator, which takes them back up to the upper offices. Once there, they soon find Mr. Thistle with a scroll in hand.
"Homelander and Queen Maeve! Welcome ba-"
"Spare me your pleasantries and tell me: Why have you bolstered your recruitment efforts so astronomically?!"
Mr. Thistle shrugs dismissively.
"I already told you: More supes equals more money! Sure, we'll have to proportionately advance our promotional operations before receiving some returns. But we're confident we'll be getting our dues soon enough."
"Okay, that's all fine and dandy for you. But more supes also means less time for me to vet them! And that means more rotten apples tainting the barrel! Which brings me to my next point…"
Homelander pulls some photos out of the backpack and presents them.
"What's the problem? These are just some of our newest additions."
"What's the pro-?! These 'newest additions' are clearly unfit for our ranks! And before you ask: YES. I managed to meet each one upon entry and check their criminal backgrounds! Look…"
He points at the pictures one by one.
"Kra-Z Max… Serial drunk-driver. Via-Bro… Convicted sex offender. Loots'A'Lot… Grand larcenist. Annnd, who could forget, THE DRUNKIE…"
He emphasizes a mugshot of the addict from before.
"Now seeing that I personally spurned these rejects, why have they been regardlessly accepted?!"
The exec shakes his head with a smirk.
"Heh heh heh. Ahh, Homelander... Do you really think Vought gives a damn about your 'approval process?' All that matters to us is that they're supes, ready to be marketed and merchandised! Sure, they'll never be quite as profitable as you Sevenees, but…"
"ENOUGH!"
Homelander's sudden outburst surprises everyone present. Queen Maeve is especially shocked, gaping at her brother with widened eyes.
"WE'RE NOT YOUR EMPLOYEES!"
Mr. Thistle snidely counters by unrolling the scroll…
"Wake up the hell up, Golden Boy…"
Revealing Vought's latest recruitment poster, appropriating the Seven front and center.
"That's exactly what you are."
~ 1975 ~
Another year later, the future definitely doesn't look so bright and sunny anymore.
Out of the two-thousand-plus supes now under Vought, Homelander's only familiar with about half of them.
To make things worse, nearly a half of that half have ranged from morally dubious to outright corrupt. Whichmakes Homelander especially anxious about the multitude of supes still unknown to him.
Now at MarvaLabs in his civvies, as he handles one of several files profiling the newest recruits, Professor J looks over his shoulder.
"Trying to catch up?"
"Not sure why I'm even bothering. I'm almost certain these have been heavily edited and/or redacted. If only I could've personally met-and-greeted each applicant like before, I'd have a much better idea who we're letting in! But now… "
"Hmh. You have a rough guess how many of them are bad apples?"
"At least a quarter. That much I'm sure of. But for all I know, it could be more. Hell… I wouldn't be surprised if most of the barrel's rotten at this point. And to top it off, more and more supes just keep coming in!"
Jonathan dejectedly drags a hand down his face.
"I'm worried, Professor. Vought claims there're no plans to replace me and my siblings. But at the rate the ranks are skyrocketing…"
"My boy..."
Professor J places a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"If you'll pardon me for paraphrasing that pretentious commercial: You are indeed one of America's most beloved heroes. Even better, you're the very first superhero mankind has ever seen! Those two distinctions alone put you light years ahead of the others. And as for your fellow Sevenees… I'm absolutely certain they also take precedence. After all, they are your closest allies and part of the world's very first super team."
Reassured by his words, Jonathan gives him a grateful smile.
"Thanks. I really needed to hear that."
"Of course. On a more pleasant note, I heard your Satellite HQ is almost complete?
"It is! In fact, I think it's only a matter of weeks now!
~O~
Sure enough, one fortnight later, the Seven Satellite is fully constructed and operational.
Now magnificently adrift in the ocean several miles off the Long Island coast, a grand televised ceremony is being held to commemorate its unveiling. And standing at the end of its hangar are the Seven, with the Homelander addressing their audience there and afar.
"… AND SO REMEMBER: WHILE WE MAY RESIDE IN THE GREAT SKIES ABOVE… WE'LL ALWAYS BE WATCHING OUT FOR YOU! SEVEN UP-UP AND AWAY!"
As the crowds go wild, the Satellite's built-in propulsion system takes off, launching it skyward in a spectacular display. And so by the end of the day, the Seven's HQ is floating in orbit above the clouds.
"For once, I've gotta handit ta Vought! This is one impressive construct!"
Queen Maeve admires their new home with genuine amazement.
"Makes ya wonder why th'company hasn't invested more inta space tech!"
"Really does, doesn't it? What do you boys think?"
Homelander turns to his brothers, who're reacting in different ways.
Mister Marathon, The Deep, and Jack are clearly just as mesmerized, with the former speeding off to explore.
Black Noir just silently walks away, further reminding Jonathan to increase their interactions now he's finally living with them.
As for Lamplighter, he's still standing at the hangar, gazing pensively at the horizon.
"How d'ya think he is?"
Maeve asks Homelander worriedly.
"Been o'er a year since… that happened, and he r'mains aloof as ever."
"Who could blame him? The best we can do is be there when he needs us."
"Hm… So who else is up here?"
"An onboard crew to keep the various facilities running. But given the Satellite's heavily automate-"
"Jiliping Jilikers!"
Upon hearing Mister Marathon, the two rush towards the source of the exclamation. Eventually they reach an open doorway, from which their brother emerges in a daze.
"Wesley, what's wrong?!"
"I wanted to check out the lower levels. So I headed straight for the stairs!"
He walks them through the doorway, which indeed leads to a stairwell landing…
"But just when I was about to go down a flight, this gave out when I leaned on it!"
Then points to the railing, bent nearly 90-degrees over the multistory well-hole.
"JEEZ! How'd that happen?!"
"Shoddy materials, I'm guessin'! Surprise, surprise!"
With a shrug, the Queen bends it back into shape.
"There! I'll slap a warnin' on that later. Y'sure you're okay, boyo?"
"Yeah, yeah! I'm good! I'll just have to be more careful!"
As Mister Marathon steadily descends the stairs, Maeve glances back at the railing.
"Ya think there're any other potential hazards lyin' about?"
"Most likely, I'm afraid. In fact, I think I'll have to ask for one last inspection of the place before I feel comfortable living in it."
"Seriously?! That could take weeks! And hasn't all our stuff been moved up'ere already?"
"Yes, but no big deal. All the containers are organized and labeled, so I'll be able to retrieve what I need easily. After that, I'll probably stay at the Clubhouse till I'm ready to call this place home. Anyways…"
He turns towards his sister.
"Random question: How's the Legend doing? I've been doing a lot of public appearances recently, so I haven't seen him in a while."
"HA! All the better fer ya! Recently, he's been pretty pissy with Vought o'er… 'creative differences.'"
"'Creative differences?' Like what?"
~ The Next Day ~
"NO! For the F*CKPTHEENTH time, NO! I REFUSE to make up some candy-ass cover-up for those morons Brontor and Heave-Ho!"
At Victory Comics HQ, the Legend is at his desk having his daily blowup with Vought over the phone. As he screams at the unfortunate caller, Margaret sits across from him filing her nails.
"… Well, tough sh*t! Maybe they shouldn't have started that bar fight in the first place! … EXCUSE ME?! Five bystanders f*cking hospitalized, and you call that a 'harmless scuffle?!' … Oh, YEAH?! Or else WHAAAT?! … OH?! Or you'll SUE me?! REALLY?! Well, GOOD LUCK trying to crack at my contract! A contract YOU cosigned by the way! … YEAH, F*CK YOU TOO!"
As the Legend angrily slams the phone, Margaret gives him a smirk.
"Feels grand, don'it? Bein' able ta sh*ttalk the V-f*cks signin' your checks?"
"HHH… Thanks to Professor J and Mrs. Moolah's lawyers. Nothing in the small print forcing me to go down on those corporate c*suckers. Anywho…"
He presents his latest work he finished right before the call.
"How's your old man looking?"
Margaret gleefully takes and admires the drawing: a portrait of her "DaDa" Uncle Nix.
"SQUUUEEE! It's perfect! Thank you so much!"
"Glad you like it! Though I still don't get how you don't have any photos of him. Especially since you spent more time together than Johnny Boy did with Mr. Wilson."
"Vought wouldn't let us take any. Didn't want any 'photographic evidence' goin'gainst me and Jon-Jon's future fantastical backstories…"
"A-HHNGH…"
The two turn and see Mr. Gristle in the office doorway.
"OHO! Trying to strong-arm me in person, EH?!"
"Hmph! Who am I…HHNGH… To try and argue with you,Oh Mighty Legend? No… I'm just here to introduce Victory Comic's newest co-leader…"
On cue, a haughty young woman with horn-rimmed glasses and an unsightly haircut struts into view.
"This is Piscella Peanders. Since you've been refusing to… HHNGH…'polish out' our unrulier supes, she will be handling their comics from this point onwards."
"Hope you don't mind sharing your office space, you old fart!"
"Heh-heh-HHNGH…"
As Mr. Gristle and Piscella arrogantly stroll away, the Legend trembles furiously with a reddening face and bulging eyes.
"HMPT… ERKT…. RRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-"
But before he can epically explode on the spot, Margaret pulls him into a gentle hug, instantly calming him down.
"RRrrrchkt- Hhhhh…."
"Y'alright?"
"… Hmh. Still kinda cross though. I mean, 'co-leader?!' I'm the motherf*cking Legend!"
"Yeah… But I've got somethin' that'll cheer ya right up!"
The old man perks up eagerly.
"Booze, smokes, or hookers?"
"Even better…"
~O~
"RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAA! EAT LEAD C*SUCKERS!"
"YEAH! YEAH! CHOKE ON THIS, YA SH*TS!"
Later that night in the warehouse, Margaret and the Legend are savagely assaulting several punching bags. Homemade punching bags adorned with headshots of their malefactors and filled with packets of fake blood.
While the Legend fires away with dual handguns, Margaret is hacking and slashing with her signature sword.
"YOU'RE RIGHT! THIS IS CATHARTIC! WHEN DID YOU COME UP WITH THIS?!"
"SOMETIME 'FORE ME LIL BROTHERS MADE THEIR DEBUT! HIYEEEE-"
Aggressively straddling a bag with the Vought logo, she casts aside her sword and starts tearing into it with her bare hands.
"-EEEEEEEAAAA-"
As Margaret lets loose with violent delight, the Legend stops shooting and stares at her speechlessly. Once she's completely annihilated her 'prey,' she unleashes a triumphant primal scream.
"AAAAAH-HA-HA-HA-HAAA!"
After a minute of heavy panting, Margaret looks down on herself, completely disheveled and covered in fake blood. Then… She sharply turns towards the Legend. An utterly dumbstruck Legend, ogling at her with silent admiration.
"Motherf*cker… You're gorgeous in red."
Margaret gazes back in shock…
"Hfh…. HFFH… C'MERE, you!
Then unexpectedly snatches him up and kisses him intensely.
The Legend is understandably stunned, especially when she doesn't break contact. And so – not one to deny a lady – he eagerly goes along with it.
As the two passionately embrace, Kevin and Jack enter the building, take one look at them, and quickly slip back outside.
"EURK! OH… F*cking GROSS, dude!"
The visibly disturbed Jack frantically stifles a gag.
"Homeboy's gonna FREAK when he finds out about this!"
"You mean… IF he finds out."
"Of course he's gonna-"
As Kevin wilily waggles his brow, Jack quickly catches on.
"…. 'IF'… 'If' is good…"
~O~
Meanwhile at the Seven Satellite, the Homelander's in a massive storeroom, browsing through the containers of the Seven's belongings.
It's taken him quite a while, but he's managed to locate the one carrying his essentials. But as he approaches it, he notices something unfamiliar lying beside it. Upon closer inspection, he sees that it's a briefcase branded with the Vought logo.
Curious what's inside, he pops it open and sees a large loaded folder, which he begins browsing through. Nothing unusual at first, with the topmost files being more recruit profiles and some business memos. But once he gets to the end of the pile, there're two peculiarly named projects that catch his attention. So he starts perusing them; and as he delves deeper into their contents, a renewed sense of outrage flares within him.
"Well, well, well!"
The Homelander jolts and sharply looks backwards, where Mr. Thistle is tapping his foot with crossed arms.
"Snooping around, eh?"
"… This… This is your briefcase?"
"M-hm."
"And these are your ideas?!"
"Yep. What about them?"
"Wh-What about th- OH, I'LL TELL YOU"
He storms towards the exec with the projects in hand.
"Starting with this one here... BELIEVE. 'An annual superhero expo specially held for evangelicals.'"
"You've got a problem with religion, Homelander?"
"No! Not with religion itself. What I DO have a problem with is how this event's purposely designed to exploit the religious! FAITH… is meant to be a source of comfort and inspiration!NOT utilized as a cheap tactic to guilt and swindle people out of their money!"
"Oh, how very profound! Just how Mister Wilson taught you, am I right?"
Miraculously, despite how much that particular remark angers him, Homelander just responds with a glower.
"Heh. Figures. Is that why you're so pissed? Because my 'sacrilegious' brainchild offended you so?"
"That's only half of it! Maybe even less, compared to THIS ATROCITY!"
Homelander furiously raises the second project to Mr. Thistle's face.
"HEROGASM! REALLY?!You're seriously proposing an all-out SEX and DRUG party?!THIS IS NOT -!"
"'Not what true superheroes do.' Blabbity-blah-blah."
Mr. Thistle snatches the projects back, dismissively shoves past him, repacks his briefcase...
"Have you forgotten already? Vought's supe venture has never been about 'true heroism'. So get with the program already, Golden Boy…"
Then closes it shut with a warning glance.
"If you know what's good for you."
And so the exec strolls off with the case in hand… Leaving the fuming Homelander alone to resentfully accept Vought's future plans, as usual.
Or at least that's how it would've played out, if – several minutes later – he didn't manage to pick up Mr. Thistle's muffled voice from afar. Curious again, he hones his enhanced hearing to listen in.
"… Anyways, I just finished my solo tour of the Seven Satellite, so I'll be back soon. … No, no. I'm still up here. … Hm? … Oh! There're over a hundred built-in phones scattered all around the HQ, like here in this hallway!"
Indeed there are, which explains why he can only hear the exec's voice clearly.
"… So, yeah! Looking forward to next week! Cause I've got a couple of ideas I'm sure the higher-ups are going to love. … Why wouldn't they? They've been impressed with everything I've put out so far! Like having those Bronze Ducklings aged up. Sure… There were some complications at first, but look how much it's paying off now!"
"… What?!"
"Hey, speaking of the Satellite, I've heard 'America's #1 Hero' wants another inspection done of the place. … Naahh! Shouldn't be a problem! Besides, we still need to get the security cameras online anyways. Might even be an opportunity to hide some in the ladies bathrooms! I'd love to get some money shots of Queen Sweet-Cheeks! MAN! What a piece of ass!"
At that moment, Homelander's heart stops beating for a second. Immediately after, his irate indignation grows into something he's never felt before… An indescribable cold rage dangerously consuming him.
"Heh heh heh… Right, then! See you at HQ!"
While he musters all his might to restrain himself, something at the corner of his eye catches his attention…
Mister Wilson's portable garden. The last remnant of his father, which Uncle Nix managed to save, care for, then arranged to pass onto him in New York. Incredibly the various floras are still vibrant as ever, growing healthily without the presence of a particular something:
Weeds.
Even after all these years, Jonathan still remembers that intense lesson in moral duality: How there are times the bad must die for the good to prosper. Hence why he's mostly accepted his sister's decision to fatally cull the worst criminals.
As for himself, he's personally never felt able to kill anyone, justifiably or not. But now… After everything Mr. Thistle's done and plans to do…
Activating his x-ray vision – another power he's recently discovered – he quickly pinpoints the exec. Alone, with no crewmembers nearby, and standing just a meter away from the stairwell Wesley nearly fell over.
"Perfect."
The Homelander takes flight for his target's location, soaring through the rooms and corridors, and soon has him in sight. Before Mr. Thistle can react, he's snatched up by the neck, causing him to drop his briefcase.
"HHK!"
As the exec futilely attempts to break free, he gawks in shocked disbelief at Homelander, fiercely glaring back at him.
"I know what you're thinking: 'Why now? After years of being beaten into submission, has the dog finally decided to bite back?'"
Homelander intensely furrows his brow...
"Well, here's why, Mr. Thistle. Aside from those… dirty little ideas of yours, you've done something no other from Vought ever has in my presence…"
Tightens his grip on the terrified exec…
"MAKE IT PERSONAL."
"NNNGGH!…"
And powerfully whiplashes his arm.
-SNAP!-
Seconds later, Mr. Thistle dangles limply in Homelander's grasp, his neck broken by the sheer force.
DEAD.
After Homelander scans the area for witnesses, he moves through the doorway onto the stairwell. Once he retrieves the two project files, he pushes the corpse and briefcase against the railing, re-bending it over and sending both down the well-hole.
With luck, the long drop and damaged railing should make the exec's demise look like an accident.
He then completely incinerates the proposals with his heat vision, blows the ashes away, and dusts off his hands with a satisfied smile.
"Happy landings, Mr. Thistle!"
And there he stands: Quite pleased over his first victory against Vought.
That is until – seconds later – the full gravity of the deed sinks in.
"HHH… H-H-H-H-HHH…"
Struck by an unanticipated surge of guilt, he drops to his knees and clutches his head in horror… Anguishing over having taken a life.
For it appears, despite how rotten that life was, Homelander ultimately doesn't have the heart to kill after all.
"Oh Lord…."
~ Author's Notes ~
So concludes another worldbuilding chapter. Further establishing Vought's destined supe empire, whilst detailing the sown seeds of corruption. But hopefully Homelander's first strike against his corporate overlords serves as a satisfying payoff. However, even with the blueprints for Herogasm and Believe destroyed, who's to say these two events won't somehow manifest in this AU?
Incidentally, for those of you freaking out about the sudden make-out session with the Legend, PLEASE NOTE: In this timeline, Queen Maeve was born in 1952. Meaning she's a grown woman now, and ripe for the canonical crack-shipping.