Opening Scene: The Media Turns Against Superman
The sun rose sluggishly over the city, casting a pale, sickly light across the sprawling metropolis. Morning had come, but it brought no warmth, no sense of renewal. Instead, it felt like just another day in a city that had forgotten how to hope.
In the corner of a dimly lit café, a group of regulars sat hunched over their steaming cups of coffee, their faces cast in the eerie glow of phone screens. The headlines were all the same: Superman's face, captured in mid-flight, frozen above a burning building, with ominous text flashing across the screen.
"Who is this rogue hero?"
"Unregulated, unaccountable, unstoppable: Is Superman a danger to society?"
"New supe operating outside Vought's control—what's his endgame?"
The TV mounted above the counter droned on, the news anchors repeating the same talking points that had dominated the airwaves for the last 24 hours.
"This new supe, who calls himself Superman, has been spotted in multiple locations across the city, seemingly going out of his way to help civilians," the anchor said, her voice carrying a rehearsed tone of concern. "But the question remains—who is he? And why is he operating outside the oversight of Vought International, the organization responsible for ensuring the safety and accountability of our heroes?"
The camera cut to a panel of pundits, each wearing the kind of serious expression reserved for talking about national crises.
"Look, I'm not saying he's a bad guy," one pundit began, his tone dripping with condescension. "But the fact is, we have a system in place. A system that works. The Seven are heroes because they operate within a framework that ensures they're not going rogue. This Superman? We don't know who he answers to, if anyone. That makes him a threat."
Another pundit, a woman with slicked-back hair and a pinched expression, chimed in. "Exactly. This city doesn't need vigilantes. We need heroes we can trust, heroes who are accountable to the people. Vought provides that oversight. If we let this Superman continue operating without regulation, what's to stop other supes from doing the same?"
Across the café, people were nodding along, murmuring in agreement. The seed of doubt had been planted, and it was already taking root.
One of the patrons, a grizzled man in his mid-fifties, shook his head as he scrolled through the news feed on his phone. "I don't trust him," he muttered, loud enough for the rest of the table to hear. "These supes… they're all the same. Even the ones who act like they're above it all."
A younger man sitting across from him nodded, setting down his cup of coffee with a heavy thud. "Yeah. I mean, come on. Flying around, saving people, not taking credit? That's just weird. What's his angle?"
The older man grunted in agreement. "Nobody does anything for free. Especially not a supe."
Superman hovered silently above the city, listening to the conversations below. His enhanced hearing picked up every word, every whisper of doubt and suspicion. It was the same everywhere he went—people questioning his motives, speculating about why he was here, and more importantly, who he was working for.
They think I'm one of them, Superman thought, his chest tightening with frustration. They think I'm just another product of Vought.
He had faced skepticism before, even outright hostility in some parts of the world. But this was different. In his world, people wanted to believe in heroes. They needed to believe in them. Here, the very idea of a selfless hero was treated like a joke, an impossibility.
Superman looked down at the streets below, watching as people went about their day, oblivious to the fact that their entire perception of heroism had been shaped by a corporation with a stranglehold on the truth.
They don't trust me because they don't know what real heroes are anymore, Superman realized, the thought hitting him like a punch to the gut. They've been lied to for so long that they don't even know what the truth looks like.
He knew he couldn't blame them for their mistrust. This world had conditioned them to see heroes as something to be feared, controlled, commodified. Vought had created an empire by turning heroism into a brand, a product to be sold to the highest bidder. And in doing so, they had destroyed any hope of real, genuine heroism being recognized for what it was.
But I won't give up, Superman vowed silently, his fists clenching at his sides. I'll keep showing them what a real hero looks like. No matter what Vought throws at me.
His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice cutting through the din of the city below.
"Superman, can you hear me?"
It was Starlight.
Scene 2: Starlight's Desperation
Superman landed softly on the rooftop where he had first encountered Starlight. She was already waiting for him, her back to him as she gazed out over the city. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, and even from a distance, Superman could sense the tension radiating off her.
"Thank you for coming," she said without turning around, her voice quieter than it had been the last time they spoke.
Superman stepped closer, his cape swirling in the evening breeze as he joined her at the edge of the roof. "What's going on, Starlight?"
She let out a long breath, still not meeting his gaze. "I… I don't know. I just needed to talk to someone. Someone who isn't part of all this."
Superman frowned, sensing the conflict in her voice. "You mean Vought."
Starlight nodded, her jaw clenched. "Yeah. Vought. The Seven. All of it."
For a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of the silence pressing down on them both. Superman watched her carefully, waiting for her to continue. He could see the turmoil in her eyes, the way her body was tense, as if she were carrying a burden too heavy for her to bear.
"When I was growing up," Starlight began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I believed in heroes. I really believed in them. I thought they were supposed to be the best of us. I thought they were supposed to make the world better."
She finally turned to face him, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and anger. "But then I joined The Seven, and I realized that everything I believed in was a lie."
Superman's heart ached at the pain in her voice. He had seen this before—good people who had been crushed by the weight of a corrupt system, people who had once believed in something greater only to have that belief shattered.
"I thought I could change things," Starlight continued, her voice trembling. "I thought maybe if I worked from the inside, I could make a difference. But it's all too big. Vought controls everything. They control us."
Superman's expression hardened. He had seen enough of this world to know that Starlight was telling the truth. Vought wasn't just a company—it was a machine, and it was designed to keep people like Starlight in line, to crush anyone who dared to step out of bounds.
"You don't have to be part of it," Superman said softly, his voice filled with quiet conviction. "You can walk away. You can be the hero you were meant to be."
Starlight shook her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It's not that simple. If I go against Vought, they'll destroy me. They'll destroy everything I care about."
Superman took a deep breath, his gaze steady. "I know it's hard. But you're stronger than you think. You have the power to make a difference."
Starlight looked away, her jaw tight with frustration. "You don't understand. This world… it's not like where you come from. Here, people don't believe in heroes. Not anymore. And if they do, it's because Vought tells them who to believe in."
Superman stepped closer, his voice firm but gentle. "Then we change that. We show them what real heroes look like."
Starlight's eyes met his, and for a moment, he saw a flicker of hope there. But it was quickly extinguished by the weight of her fear.
"You don't get it," she whispered. "If Homelander sees you as a threat…"
She didn't finish the sentence, but Superman understood what she was trying to say. Homelander wasn't just the leader of The Seven—he was Vought's enforcer, the embodiment of their control over the world. And if Homelander decided that Superman was a threat to that control, the consequences would be catastrophic.
"I'm not afraid of Homelander," Superman said quietly, though he knew that the conflict between them was inevitable.
Starlight shook her head, her expression filled with a sadness that cut deep. "You should be."
Scene 3: Homelander's Warning
Night had fallen by the time Superman took to the skies again. The city below was a sea of lights, but the glow felt cold, distant—like the warmth had been drained out of everything. Superman soared above it all, his mind racing with everything Starlight had told him.
He knew the world he was in now. He understood the depth of the corruption, the stranglehold Vought had on the people's perception of heroism. But what weighed on his mind the most was the shadow that loomed over everything: Homelander.
Superman had never met him, but the stories he had heard from Starlight, from the people of the city, painted a picture of a man who was more than just powerful—he was feared. And fear, Superman knew, was often the most dangerous weapon.
As he flew through the night sky, Superman's senses picked up something. A presence. He stopped, turning sharply to find another figure hovering in the distance, watching him.
It was Homelander.
Superman held his ground, his eyes narrowing as Homelander floated closer, his red, white, and blue suit cutting a sharp figure against the dark sky. Homelander's smile was fixed in place, but there was no warmth in it—only a thin veneer of control, masking something far more dangerous beneath the surface.
"So," Homelander said casually, his voice carrying easily over the distance between them. "You're the new guy."
Superman didn't respond immediately, his gaze steady as he took in the sight of The Seven's leader. He had seen arrogance before, but Homelander carried himself with a level of entitlement that went beyond anything Superman had ever encountered.
"And you must be Homelander," Superman replied, his tone calm but firm.
Homelander's smile widened slightly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You've been making a lot of noise, you know that? People are talking. And I've gotta say, it's not every day a supe just shows up out of nowhere and starts playing hero. That's my job."
Superman crossed his arms, his cape fluttering in the wind. "I'm not here to compete with you. I'm here to help people."
Homelander chuckled, though the sound was devoid of any real humor. "Help, huh? Is that what you call it? Flying around, saving people, not even sticking around for the cameras? What's your angle, pal? You trying to make me look bad?"
Superman's expression remained steady, his voice unwavering. "I'm not interested in making anyone look bad. I'm only interested in doing what's right."
Homelander's eyes darkened, the smile finally slipping from his face. "Here's the thing, buddy. You're stepping on my turf. People in this city? They look to me. I'm the one they trust. I'm the one they love."
Superman didn't flinch, his resolve unshaken. "They don't love you, Homelander. They fear you."
For a moment, Homelander's mask slipped, and Superman saw the anger flicker in his eyes. But it was quickly replaced by a cold, calculated expression.
"You don't belong here," Homelander said, his voice low and dangerous. "This is my world. And if you keep this up, you're going to regret it."
Superman didn't move, his eyes locked on Homelander's. "I won't stop doing what's right. Not for you, not for Vought, not for anyone."
Homelander stared at him for a long moment, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. Finally, he smirked, though there was no humor in it.
"Suit yourself," Homelander said, his voice laced with menace. "But don't say I didn't warn you."
With that, Homelander turned and flew off into the night, leaving Superman alone in the sky, the weight of the confrontation hanging heavily in the air.
Superman watched him go, knowing that this was only the beginning. The real battle hadn't started yet, but it was coming. And when it did, it wouldn't just be a fight for power—it would be a fight for the soul of this world.
Superman clenched his fists, his determination hardening. He wouldn't back down. Not now. Not ever.
Scene 4: Vought's Escalation
The boardroom at Vought Tower was filled with the hum of anxious conversation. Executives sat around the long, polished table, each one wearing a mask of composure that barely concealed the tension simmering beneath the surface. The footage of Superman and Homelander's rooftop confrontation had already been delivered to Madelyn Stillwell, and now the entire team was waiting for her reaction.
Madelyn sat at the head of the table, her fingers steepled in front of her as she watched the footage play on the large screen at the far end of the room. The scene was tense: Superman standing his ground, refusing to back down in the face of Homelander's threats. It was clear to everyone in the room that this new supe wasn't going to fall in line, and that posed a problem.
Stillwell's expression was unreadable as the footage ended, the room falling into a heavy silence. She let the quiet hang for a moment before turning to Ashley Barrett, who sat nervously at the opposite end of the table.
"Ashley," Stillwell said calmly, "what's the current public perception of Superman?"
Ashley fumbled with her tablet, scrolling through social media analytics and news reports as quickly as she could. "Uh, well… there's still a lot of confusion. People are intrigued by him, but the narrative we've been pushing—that he's a rogue supe, operating without oversight—is starting to take hold."
Stillwell raised an eyebrow. "Starting?"
Ashley swallowed hard. "It's not as strong as we'd like it to be. A lot of people are still on the fence. Some are even… admiring him."
Madelyn's eyes darkened slightly. "Admiring him?"
Ashley nodded, her fingers trembling as she scrolled through the data. "Yes. They're saying things like… well, that he's different from The Seven. That he's not in it for the fame or the money. They're starting to question whether Vought is really doing what's best for the people."
The room fell into an uneasy silence as the weight of Ashley's words settled over the executives. This wasn't just about controlling a rogue supe anymore. If the public started to turn against Vought—if they began to believe that real heroes existed outside the corporation's control—the entire system could unravel.
"That's unacceptable," Stillwell said coldly, her eyes narrowing as she fixed her gaze on Ashley. "We can't afford to let people believe in him. We've spent years crafting the narrative of what heroism is supposed to be. Superman is an existential threat to that narrative."
One of the senior executives, a man with graying hair and a permanent scowl, spoke up, his voice filled with apprehension. "What do we do about Homelander? He's not exactly subtle, and if he decides to take matters into his own hands, it could get messy."
Stillwell leaned back in her chair, her gaze turning calculating. "We'll deal with Homelander. For now, we need to focus on shifting public opinion. If we can't control Superman directly, we'll control how people see him."
Ashley hesitated before speaking. "We've already started with the smear campaign—planting stories about the dangers of unregulated supes. But it's not enough. People are still watching him. They're waiting to see what he'll do next."
"Then we'll give them something to fear," Stillwell replied, her voice calm but with an edge of finality. "We'll stage an incident. Something that makes it clear Superman can't be trusted. Something that shows the world how dangerous he really is."
The room went silent as the weight of Stillwell's plan settled in. Staging an incident wasn't uncommon for Vought—they had done it before, subtly manipulating events to keep their heroes in the public's good graces. But this time, the stakes were higher. Superman wasn't just a rogue supe. He was a symbol of something far more dangerous: hope.
Stillwell's eyes flickered toward one of the executives seated near the door. "Reach out to the crisis management team. Have them put together a scenario. I want it to look real, and I want it to happen soon."
The executive nodded quickly, scribbling down notes as the rest of the room sat in tense silence.
As the meeting ended, Stillwell lingered in the boardroom, her gaze fixed on the screen where Superman's image was still frozen in place. He was strong, confident, unyielding. But she knew that even the strongest symbols could be broken—if you applied the right pressure.
Scene 5: Starlight's Decision
Starlight sat alone in her apartment, staring at the small, framed photograph on her nightstand. It was a picture of her as a little girl, beaming with pride as she wore a homemade superhero costume. Her mother had taken the picture the day Starlight had told her she wanted to be a hero, to join The Seven and make the world a better place.
I wanted to change things, she thought, her heart aching as she looked at her younger self. I wanted to help people.
But now, as she sat in the dimly lit apartment, the weight of her disillusionment pressed down on her like a heavy blanket. The Seven wasn't what she had thought it would be. The people she had idolized—Homelander, Maeve, A-Train—they weren't heroes. They were products, just like her. And every day, she felt herself slipping further away from the person she had once been.
The encounter with Superman had shaken her. He wasn't like the others. He wasn't like Homelander or The Deep, or even Maeve. Superman was something else entirely—someone who believed in doing good simply because it was the right thing to do. And that terrified her, because it reminded her of the person she had once been, before Vought had sunk its claws into her life.
Maybe there's still time, Starlight thought, her mind racing as she considered her options. Maybe I can still be the hero I wanted to be.
But the fear crept in just as quickly. Vought was too powerful. They controlled everything—her life, her career, her image. If she stepped out of line, if she aligned herself with Superman, they would destroy her. They would make sure the public saw her as a traitor, just like they were doing to him.
And then there was Homelander.
Starlight shuddered at the thought of him. She had seen what he was capable of. She had seen the way he looked at people—the way he looked at her—like they were nothing more than pawns in his game. Homelander didn't just follow Vought's orders; he thrived on the power they gave him. And if he saw her as a threat…
He'll kill me, she realized, the thought chilling her to the core. Or worse.
But even as the fear threatened to overwhelm her, Starlight couldn't shake the image of Superman standing in front of her, his voice calm but resolute as he told her she could still make a difference.
"You don't have to be part of it," he had said. "You can walk away. You can be the hero you were meant to be."
The words echoed in her mind, filling her with a flicker of something she hadn't felt in a long time—hope.
Maybe I can do it, she thought, her heart racing. Maybe if I stand with him, we can change things.
But the fear was still there, gnawing at the edges of her resolve. If she stood with Superman, she would be declaring war on Vought. She would be going against everything they had built, everything they had made her into.
But isn't that what I want? she asked herself, her mind racing. Isn't that why I became a hero in the first place?
Starlight stood up, her hands trembling as she paced across the room. She had to make a decision. She couldn't sit on the fence forever, pretending that things could stay the same. Vought was already tightening its grip on her life, on the lives of everyone around her. And Superman… he was the first person who had made her believe that things could be different.
I can't keep living like this, she thought, her resolve hardening. I have to do something. I have to take a stand.
Her decision made, Starlight grabbed her phone and dialed a number she hadn't used in weeks—Superman's number. He had given it to her after their last meeting, in case she ever needed him.
The phone rang twice before a familiar voice answered.
"Starlight?" Superman's voice was calm, reassuring.
"I'm in," she said, her voice trembling slightly but filled with determination. "I'm ready to stand with you."
Scene 6: Superman's Impact Begins to Grow
Superman stood at the edge of a rooftop, gazing out over the city as the first light of dawn broke over the horizon. The air was still, the streets below quiet in the early morning hours. But Superman could feel the undercurrent of tension running through the city. Vought was watching him, waiting for him to make a move. And now, with Starlight on his side, the stakes had been raised.
He had known from the beginning that this wouldn't be easy. Changing the way people saw heroes in this world, breaking Vought's hold on the narrative—it was a monumental task. But Superman had never shied away from a challenge, and he wasn't about to start now.
One life at a time, he reminded himself. One act of kindness, one moment of hope.
As he stood in the early morning light, Superman's super-hearing picked up the faint sound of a commotion several blocks away. A car accident, a woman's panicked screams, the sound of breaking glass.
Without hesitation, Superman flew into action, streaking through the sky toward the source of the noise. Within moments, he arrived at the scene: a car had swerved off the road and crashed into the side of a building, the driver trapped inside as smoke billowed from the engine.
Superman landed beside the wreckage, his eyes scanning the scene for any sign of further danger. The woman inside the car was unconscious, slumped over the steering wheel, her face pale and bloodied. Without wasting a second, Superman ripped the door off its hinges and carefully pulled the woman from the wreckage.
He laid her down gently on the grass, checking her pulse and breathing. She was alive, but barely. Superman's eyes flickered toward the approaching ambulance, its sirens wailing in the distance.
As the paramedics arrived and took over, Superman stood back, watching as they worked to stabilize the woman. He could hear their murmurs of disbelief, their quiet conversations as they glanced in his direction.
"Is that him? The new guy?"
"Yeah, I think so. Superman, right?"
"I heard he's been saving people all over the city. And not just for the cameras."
Superman smiled softly to himself. It's working, he thought. They're starting to believe.
He didn't need to stay for the accolades, didn't need the validation of the people around him. But hearing them speak, hearing the faint glimmer of hope in their voices—it was enough. It was a small victory, but in a world like this, even the smallest victories mattered.
As he prepared to leave, Superman's eyes caught the gaze of one of the paramedics. The man stared at him for a moment, his expression a mixture of confusion and awe.
"Why are you doing this?" the paramedic asked quietly. "Why help us? You're not with Vought. You're not getting paid for this. So why?"
Superman's smile widened slightly, his voice calm and steady as he replied. "Because it's the right thing to do."
The paramedic blinked, clearly taken aback by the simplicity of the answer. For a moment, he seemed to struggle with the concept, as if it was something he hadn't considered in years.
"Thank you," the paramedic said finally, his voice filled with quiet gratitude.
Superman nodded once before lifting into the air, disappearing into the early morning sky as the city below began to wake.
One life at a time, he reminded himself. That's how you change the world.
Scene 7: Vought's Manufactured Crisis
Inside Vought Tower, the air was thick with tension as the executives filed into the boardroom, each carrying an underlying sense of apprehension. The stakes had never been higher. Superman's presence was spreading—one small act of heroism at a time, he was dismantling the carefully constructed narrative that Vought had cultivated over the years. The people were beginning to talk. Worse, some of them were starting to hope.
That was unacceptable.
Madelyn Stillwell stood at the head of the room, arms crossed, her expression icy as she surveyed the gathered team. Ashley Barrett sat closest to her, her eyes flickering nervously from her tablet to Stillwell, clearly waiting for the meeting to begin.
Stillwell finally spoke, her voice sharp and cutting through the room like a knife. "It's clear that Superman isn't going away anytime soon. He's making an impact. Small, for now, but growing. People are beginning to question our heroes. They're beginning to wonder if real heroes exist outside our control."
She glanced at the wall screen where news footage from the latest incident played on repeat. Superman pulling an unconscious woman from a burning wreckage, saving her life without a word, and then disappearing into the sky. The headlines were tentative but worrisome. "Superman: The Hero We Deserve?" "A True Hero?" "Not All Heroes Wear Vought."
Stillwell's jaw tightened. The damage wasn't extensive yet, but it was spreading.
"We have to accelerate the plan," Stillwell continued. "We need to give the public a reason to turn against him before he becomes too deeply entrenched in their hearts and minds. What do we have?"
One of the senior executives, a man named Langley, cleared his throat, nervously adjusting his tie. "We've initiated a few subtle measures—media whispers about potential collateral damage from his rescues, suggestions that he's acting recklessly by not coordinating with local authorities. But... it's not sticking. People are starting to romanticize him, calling him a 'classic hero.' It's frustratingly... nostalgic."
Stillwell narrowed her eyes. "We need something bigger. Something undeniable. If we can't tarnish his image through innuendo, we'll manufacture an incident. A crisis that only our heroes can handle—something where Superman becomes a liability."
Ashley hesitated before speaking. "We've begun work on a staged disaster, just as you instructed. Our crisis team has been brainstorming scenarios. We need something that feels real but controllable. Something we can pull off without too many moving parts."
"Moving parts are fine," Stillwell said coolly. "We have enough control to manage that. But the disaster has to be believable and severe enough to make Superman look like a threat. What are our options?"
Ashley glanced down at her tablet, pulling up the relevant files. "We're looking at a few possibilities. A chemical plant explosion near the edge of the city could be staged, perhaps with civilians in danger. We could plant the narrative that Superman's interference worsened the situation, leading to collateral damage. Another option is a potential hostage situation, where we stage a terrorist attack—"
"No." Stillwell cut her off, her voice calm but absolute. "That's too predictable. We need something that fits the narrative we're trying to create. Superman needs to be seen as unpredictable. He's too powerful, too unchecked. We need something that plays into people's fear of his raw strength."
Langley spoke up again, his voice low and calculated. "We could escalate the plant explosion—make it radioactive. A nuclear scare would amplify the narrative of Superman being too powerful and too dangerous to trust. If we hint that his powers could inadvertently cause a meltdown or radiation leak, people might start to see him as a walking WMD."
The room fell silent for a moment as the weight of Langley's suggestion settled over the table.
Stillwell tilted her head slightly, her eyes glinting with a cold satisfaction. "That's better. If we can make the public believe that Superman, with all his good intentions, could accidentally cause a catastrophic event, they'll begin to fear him. Fear is a far more potent motivator than admiration."
Ashley swallowed hard, nodding as she made notes on her tablet. "We'll need to coordinate closely with The Seven. They'll have to be the ones to 'save the day' when Superman supposedly loses control."
"Exactly," Stillwell said with a faint smile. "It's time we reminded the world why The Seven are their heroes—and why Superman isn't."
Scene 8: Maeve's Dilemma
Inside the dimly lit bar, Queen Maeve sat hunched over a glass of whiskey, her fingers tracing the rim of the glass absentmindedly. The low hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses filled the room, but Maeve wasn't really listening. Her mind was elsewhere.
The encounter with Superman had been gnawing at her for days. She hadn't met him yet—not in person—but she had heard the stories. The whispers. The murmurs of something different, something... real. And that bothered her.
For years, Maeve had played her part in The Seven, wearing the mask of the brave, noble warrior, the queen of heroes. But that mask had long since become a prison. Behind it, she was tired. Broken. She had seen too much of Vought's corruption, too much of Homelander's cruelty. She had done too many things she wished she could forget.
Superman represented everything she had once believed in—everything she had once tried to be. And that terrified her, because it reminded her of what she had lost.
The door to the bar creaked open, and Maeve's eyes flickered toward the entrance. She wasn't surprised to see Starlight standing there, her face etched with tension. Maeve had been expecting her.
"Can I sit?" Starlight asked hesitantly, glancing around the bar before focusing on Maeve.
Maeve waved her hand dismissively. "Sure. Sit. Drink. Whatever."
Starlight slid into the seat across from Maeve, her eyes scanning the older woman's face for any sign of what she might be thinking. Maeve's expression was unreadable, but there was a weariness in her eyes that Starlight recognized.
"I talked to him," Starlight said quietly.
Maeve raised an eyebrow. "Superman?"
Starlight nodded. "Yeah. I think... I think he might be the real deal, Maeve."
Maeve let out a bitter laugh, taking a long sip of her whiskey. "The real deal, huh? What does that even mean anymore?"
"It means he's not like us," Starlight said, her voice filled with quiet conviction. "He doesn't care about fame, or money, or Vought's approval. He just wants to help people. And he's not afraid of Homelander."
Maeve's eyes flickered with something—something Starlight couldn't quite place. "Not afraid of Homelander? That's either incredibly brave... or incredibly stupid."
"Maybe it's both," Starlight replied, leaning forward slightly. "But don't you see? That's what makes him different. He's not playing their game. He's not part of the system."
Maeve stared into her glass for a long moment, her expression hard to read. Finally, she let out a heavy sigh. "You're young, Annie. You still think things can change. But I've been in this too long. I've seen too much. It's not that simple."
"It could be," Starlight pressed, her voice filled with quiet urgency. "If we stand with him, if we stop playing Vought's game, maybe we can actually make a difference."
Maeve's eyes hardened, and she set her glass down on the table with a soft thud. "You don't get it. If you go against Vought, if you go against Homelander... you're done. There's no coming back from that. They'll ruin you. Or worse."
Starlight shook her head, her voice trembling slightly but filled with determination. "I don't care. I can't keep pretending, Maeve. I can't keep living like this, knowing that we're part of the problem."
Maeve looked at her for a long moment, her gaze softening slightly. "You're brave, Annie. Braver than I ever was."
"Then come with me," Starlight said quietly, her eyes pleading. "Help me stand with him."
Maeve's jaw clenched, and for a moment, it looked as though she might say yes. But then, just as quickly, the moment passed. Maeve shook her head, her expression hardening once again. "I can't. I've made my choices, and now I have to live with them."
Starlight's heart sank, but she nodded, understanding the weight of what Maeve was saying.
"I'll keep fighting," Starlight said softly. "For both of us."
Maeve watched her for a moment longer, then downed the rest of her whiskey in one gulp. "Good luck, kid. You're going to need it."
Scene 9: The Battle for the City Begins
Superman hovered above the city, his cape billowing in the wind as he watched the skyline. The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the buildings, but the city itself felt restless. He could sense the unease growing in the people below, the whispers of doubt, the fear that Vought had carefully cultivated.
But he could also sense something else—something new. A flicker of hope, faint but growing. People were starting to question the narrative they had been fed for so long. They were starting to wonder if there was more to heroism than what Vought had sold them.
Superman wasn't naïve. He knew this fight wouldn't be won overnight. But it was starting. Slowly, one person at a time, the people were beginning to see the truth.
And now, with Starlight on his side, he wasn't fighting alone.
He turned his gaze toward Vought Tower in the distance, his eyes narrowing slightly. He knew that the corporation wasn't going to sit idly by while he challenged their control. They would push back, hard. And the manufactured crisis they were planning—it was coming. He could feel it in the air.
But Superman wasn't afraid. He had faced greater threats before, and he knew that the strength of a hero wasn't measured by the powers they wielded, but by the convictions they held.
No matter what Vought threw at him, no matter what Homelander did, Superman would stand his ground. He would show this world what a real hero looked like.
And he wouldn't back down.
Not now. Not ever.