Lower Manhattan, Vought Temporary Command Center.
Starlight sat alone in an empty conference room, three screens set up in front of her.
Her eyes were fixed on the blurred figure in the center screen as her fingers tapped rapidly across the keyboard.
The surveillance footage rewound—from the ruins, to the alley, to earlier timestamps. She examined every frame carefully.
Nothing.
The man had appeared out of thin air—and vanished just as suddenly. The only thing he left behind was that sentence:
Only living heroes can change anything.
Starlight rubbed her eyes and switched to the energy monitoring system. A string of data popped up on the screen.
In the past six hours, seventeen abnormal energy fluctuations had been detected in Lower Manhattan. Sixteen had been confirmed as caused by Homelander.
There was one more.
The coordinates pointed to eastern Brooklyn—an abandoned industrial street. Time stamp: 3:27 AM, half an hour after she was rescued.
Unknown energy type. Intensity far exceeding Compound V standards.
She stood up and grabbed her jacket.
"Where are you going?"
Queen Maeve pushed the door open.
"Following a lead."
"What lead?"
"The one who saved me."
Maeve frowned.
"That person's origin is unknown. His strength is unknown. Homelander is still out there destroying things—you should stay here."
"And wait for the military to send more jets to die?"
Starlight turned around.
"He subdued Homelander in three seconds. Three seconds. If he's willing to help, we might have a chance to stop this."
"And if he isn't?"
Starlight fell silent.
Maeve stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"I get that you want to do something. But you can't place your hopes on a stranger. We don't know what he wants—or if he's even more dangerous than Homelander."
"I know he won't kill me."
Starlight said.
"Otherwise, he would've done it already."
"That only means he doesn't want to kill you right now."
Starlight looked at her—then suddenly smiled.
"Are you worried about me… or worried he'll become a new threat?"
Maeve didn't answer.
"Take a communicator," she said. "If anything happens, contact me immediately."
---
Eastern Brooklyn, abandoned industrial street.
Starlight stood outside a factory, holding a detector. The readings on the screen spiked continuously, pointing toward a rusted iron door ahead.
She pushed it open. Darkness swallowed the interior. Her palm lit up with golden light, barely illuminating a few meters ahead. The concrete floor was littered with broken glass and scrap parts.
The detector's beeping grew sharper.
She walked to the end of the corridor. A brick wall blocked her path—but the device showed the energy source was behind it.
She pressed her hand against the wall. It felt warm.
That wasn't right. Brick should be cold.
Stepping back, she gathered light energy in both hands. A white beam blasted forward, shattering the bricks and revealing a metal door.
No handle—just a fingerprint scanner. The screen glowed red: Access Denied.
Gritting her teeth, she fired another beam. The scanner exploded, leaving a fist-sized hole.
Alarms blared.
She forced the deformed metal door open and descended the stairs.
Sublevel three.
The air smelled of disinfectant and machine oil. Sealed chamber doors lined both sides of the corridor, each marked with numbers and warning signs.
At the far end stood a door twice the size of the others.
Its warning sign was red: High-Risk Experimental Subject—Do Not Approach.
The alarm was coming from inside.
She stepped forward—
"I wouldn't touch that door."
Starlight spun around, light energy gathering in her palm.
Hang stood at the other end of the corridor, hands in his coat pockets.
"It's you."
She didn't lower her guard.
"What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you."
Hang walked over, his gaze landing on the chamber door.
Starlight flushed slightly at his tone, then frowned. "Then why not wait inside?"
"Because what's inside is more troublesome than Homelander."
He placed a hand on the door. The Law of Alchemy unfolded in his palm—golden runes spreading along the seams, seeping into the internal machinery.
A few seconds later, he opened his eyes.
"The cryo-system stopped twenty-three minutes ago. Internal temperature is now minus fifteen degrees. At this rate, whatever's inside will wake up in seven minutes."
"What is it?"
"One of the sources of Compound V."
Hang turned to her.
"Codename: Soldier Boy. One of Vought's first-generation super soldiers, created seventy years ago."
Starlight froze.
"First generation? I thought Homelander was the first."
"He's just the first one they successfully controlled. Before him, there were countless experiments. Most died. Only three survived. Two were dismantled for research—to extract Compound V's core components."
"And the third?"
Hang pointed at the door.
"Right behind this. Too powerful to control, so they froze him—planning to thaw him when their technology improved. Then Homelander came along, and this one was forgotten."
Starlight stared at the door, her palms sweating.
"How strong is he?"
"Three times stronger than Homelander."
Hang said calmly.
"And completely irrational. Pure instinct and rage. Once he wakes up, he'll kill everything in sight."
A loud bang came from inside.
The entire corridor trembled.
"We have to stop him from getting out."
Starlight gathered light in her hands.
"That's not happening," Hang said, glancing at the temperature display. "The backup power failed after the London grid collapse. The system's dead. Unless you can fix it in six minutes."
"Then teleport him away—like you did with me."
"Not possible. Spatial transfer requires a stable life signature. He's in a semi-frozen state—unstable. Force it, and he might split in half. And if the energy inside him detonates… well."
"Then what do we do?"
Hang didn't answer. His eyes remained fixed on the door, the Law of Alchemy rapidly analyzing the energy structure within.
Compound V had been in Soldier Boy's body for seventy years—far more primitive, far more unstable than Homelander's version.
Those purple patterns weren't just on the skin—they ran deep into the bone marrow, fused with his genetic chain.
This was Vought's earliest alchemical creation. Crude. Violent. Uncontrolled. But terrifyingly pure.
Hang pressed his hand against the door again. This time, the runes didn't just analyze—they intervened.
They seeped into the chamber, along the cryo-tubes, reaching Soldier Boy's body.
He could feel it—the violent energy awakening. Like a beast imprisoned for seventy years, yearning for freedom, hating everything.
"What are you doing?" Starlight asked.
"Adding a failsafe. Even if he wakes up, he won't go berserk immediately."
The impacts inside grew more violent. The metal began to deform. The temperature display rose to minus five degrees. Red alarms flashed nonstop.
Hang closed his eyes, constructing an energy anchor inside Soldier Boy's body.
Not suppression—guidance.
He was giving that rampaging power an outlet.
Three minutes later, he opened his eyes and withdrew his hand.
"Done?" Starlight asked.
"For now. It'll hold for ten minutes. After that, if he's still out of control, the anchor will fail."
"What can you do in ten minutes?"
Hang smirked slightly.
"Did I ever say I couldn't beat him? Ten minutes is enough for me to pin him to the ground dozens of times."
The chamber door exploded.
Not from outside—but from within.
A three-ton slab of metal was blown off its hinges and slammed into the opposite wall.
A figure stepped out of the cryo chamber.
No—a monster.
Over two meters tall, muscles grotesquely swollen, purple veins writhing beneath his skin like living things. Unlike Homelander's fine patterns, these were thick, bulging cords stretching across his entire body.
Soldier Boy opened his eyes.
Cloudy gray-white. No focus.
He let out a beast-like growl, breath forming white mist in the air.
Starlight instinctively stepped back.
Soldier Boy turned toward her. A flicker of red flashed in his eyes. He raised his hand—dark red energy surged from his palm.
Not precise like heat vision—but raw, indiscriminate radiation.
Metal doors along the corridor began to melt. Concrete walls cracked and blackened.
Starlight unleashed her strongest light beam, trying to counter it.
Useless.
The energies collided—hers was instantly deflected. The backlash sent her stumbling into the wall.
Soldier Boy advanced. Each step shook the ground. The temperature in the corridor climbed past forty degrees.
Hang didn't move.
His eyes were fixed on the energy structure within Soldier Boy, the Law of Alchemy racing through calculations.
This—was the essence of Compound V.
Not the refined version. Not the stabilized formula.
But the raw product of alchemy:
Life for power. Sanity for destruction.
Soldier Boy wasn't human anymore. He was a living alchemical matrix—every vein a conduit, every breath a conversion of life energy.
Hang saw both the foundation of this world's power system—and its flaw.
Compound V granted power, but devoured humanity.
Homelander retained some sanity due to later refinements.
But Soldier Boy—first generation—had none.
He was a walking bomb.
Soldier Boy stopped in front of Hang, staring at him. A low growl rumbled in his throat.
Hang raised his hand. Golden runes lit up his palm.
Through the energy anchor, the Law of Alchemy resonated with the purple patterns inside Soldier Boy. He began dissecting the system from within—seeking its core principle.
Soldier Boy froze.
The purple glow flickered. His energy destabilized.
He roared in pain, clutching his head as his entire body trembled.
Starlight saw her chance.
She gathered all her remaining power, forming her strongest beam—ready to strike.
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