The spatial rift closed.
Starlight stood inside an underground base, surrounded by concrete walls and metal piping.
More than twenty monitors lined the walls, displaying surveillance feeds: Vought Tower, the White House, and several places she didn't recognize.
Levi's clone operated a holographic console at the center. Benjamin stood three steps behind him, motionless.
"Where is this?" Starlight asked.
"A base. Equipped with shielding systems," the clone replied without looking up. "Satellites can't detect it."
Starlight walked toward the screens. One of them showed footage of The Boys—Butcher cleaning his gun, Hughie typing at a keyboard, the others checking their gear.
"You're monitoring them?"
"Protecting them," the clone said calmly. "I can't track them at all times. Sometimes, technology is useful."
Starlight stared at the screen, words forming on her lips before she swallowed them back. She knew that without this man, Butcher and the others might already be dead.
The clone shut off the projection and turned around.
"Sit. We need to talk about what comes next."
Starlight didn't move.
"You want to build a new order," she said, "where all superpowered individuals obey you—like Benjamin."
"Not exactly." The clone pulled up a document. "I want a system. Register all superhumans, assess threat levels, assign roles. The strong protect the weak. The weak fulfill their functions. Those who break the rules are eliminated."
Starlight took a step back.
"How is that any different from Vought?"
"Vought treats superhumans as products. I treat them as tools." The clone met her gaze. "Tools belong where they're needed—not running wild."
"You're talking about people!" Starlight's voice rose. "Who gave you the right to decide their fate?"
"Because I have the power to," he said evenly. "And I'll use it to do what's right."
Starlight clenched her fists, light flickering in her palms. She wanted to argue—but couldn't find the words.
Everything he said, he believed. Not hypocrisy—just absolute conviction.
That made him more dangerous than Vought.
Vought's executives knew they were doing evil, so they hid it.
This man didn't think he was doing evil at all.
He had no reason to hide.
The clone waved his hand, switching to another feed. In an abandoned warehouse, Butcher and Hughie were inspecting equipment.
Inside a black case lay over a dozen cylindrical devices, glowing faintly blue.
"Watch closely."
He activated the comm.
"Target: A-Train. Currently on Fifth Avenue, Manhattan. Just left a nightclub. Ten minutes prep time."
Butcher looked up and nodded. He grabbed two devices, stuffing them into his coat. Hughie slung a laptop bag over his shoulder. Frenchie picked up a crossbow. The three climbed into a modified truck.
Starlight's heart began to race.
"You're sending them after A-Train? Now?"
"Perfect timing." The clone switched the feed. A-Train, in casual clothes and sunglasses, was laughing with two women. "He just took a dose of Compound V enhancer. It peaks in thirty minutes—but for the first ten, his neural response slows."
The truck stopped at a corner. The team split up. Hughie set up equipment on a nearby rooftop. Frenchie blended into the crowd. Butcher walked straight toward A-Train.
A-Train sensed something and turned—but Butcher was already in front of him.
A flash of blue light.
The cylindrical device activated, releasing an electromagnetic pulse. A-Train's body stiffened. His knees buckled. The Compound V in his system was suppressed—his speed gone, his strength weakened.
Butcher's fist slammed into his face.
A-Train crashed to the ground, blood spraying from his nose. The crowd screamed and scattered.
He tried to get up—but a bolt from Frenchie's crossbow struck his leg. The tip detonated, injecting a sedative. His movements slowed to a crawl.
Butcher straddled him, fists raining down.
"Remember Robin?"
"You laughed when you ran through her."
"Still laughing now?"
Each sentence came with another punch. A-Train's face swelled grotesquely. Teeth shattered. His eye socket split, blood covering his face.
Starlight turned her head away.
"Don't look away," the clone's voice said beside her.
She clenched her jaw and forced herself to watch.
When Butcher was done, he stood up and pulled out a USB drive, raising it high.
"This contains A-Train's crimes over the past five years! Robin wasn't the only one—there were thirteen others! Every time, Vought paid it off and kept him as a hero!"
From the rooftop, Hughie projected the data onto nearby buildings.
Footage of A-Train running through victims. Audio recordings of Vought executives discussing hush money. Thirteen autopsy reports.
The crowd erupted. Phones came out. Calls were made. Some people even rushed forward to kick A-Train.
Butcher turned and left. Hughie and Frenchie withdrew. The truck disappeared.
The entire operation took less than five minutes.
Starlight collapsed into a chair, hands trembling. She had seen superhuman battles, Vought's schemes—but never something this precise.
"This is what I want," the clone said, shutting off the screens. "Not destruction—purging. Cutting away the rot."
"But…" Starlight looked up. "You've turned Butcher and the others into killers."
"They already were. I just gave them tools—and a target."
She tried to argue, but the words stuck. Butcher's hatred was real. A-Train's crimes were real.
Without the clone, that justice might never have come.
But was this right?
A communicator beeped.
The clone answered. Benjamin's voice came through.
"We found Queen Maeve."
"Bring her in."
The call ended. The clone looked at Starlight.
"Maeve is the only one in the Seven with a conscience. She knows Vought's darkness. She knows Homelander's madness. But she chose silence. Now she has two options: join me—or keep hiding until Homelander or what's left of Vought eliminates her."
Starlight stood up.
"You can't force her."
"I could. But I won't," the clone said. "I'm giving her a choice."
Twenty minutes later, a spatial rift opened.
Benjamin stepped through, carrying Queen Maeve.
Her armor was damaged, her face bruised. She struggled—but Benjamin's grip was like iron.
He tossed her to the ground.
Maeve pushed herself up, retreating against the wall. When she saw the clone, fear flashed in her eyes.
"Who are you?"
"That doesn't matter. What matters is the opportunity I'm offering."
Maeve let out a cold laugh. "What kind of opportunity? To be your dog?"
"Something like that. But this 'dog' gets to survive—and maybe do something meaningful."
He gestured. The screens lit up.
Homelander hovered above the White House, arms crossed, looking down at the military and reporters below.
"The world needs a real leader—not weak politicians. I'm giving you seventy-two hours. Hand over power. Accept the new order. Or I'll take it myself."
His voice echoed across the globe.
Maeve's face turned pale.
"He's gone insane."
"He always was. Vought kept him contained. Now that Vought's gone, he's completely unrestrained."
Maeve looked up at the clone.
"You want me to fight him?"
"No." He shook his head. "I want you on the right side. When he falls, you'll be there. The world needs to see that superhumans aren't invincible—and not all of them stand against humanity."
Maeve fell silent for a few seconds, then nodded.
She understood. Like Starlight, she had been pulled into something unavoidable.
The clone turned to Starlight.
"Do you understand now? This system is rotten to the core. Vought hides it with lies. Homelander rules with violence. The result is the same—the ordinary people suffer."
Starlight bit her lip. She looked at Homelander on the screen, then at Maeve, then remembered Butcher's operation.
Her beliefs were colliding violently.
If not this… was there a better way?
All screens flickered simultaneously. A breaking news alert took over.
The anchor's voice trembled:
"Breaking news—Homelander has just arrived above the White House. He is demanding to speak with the President. He claims to be the world's savior and the only order. If humanity refuses to submit, he will treat the entire nation as an enemy."
The feed switched.
Homelander floated in the air, heat vision blazing, carving scorched lines into the lawn. Secret Service agents aimed their weapons—but none dared fire. The President stood behind bulletproof glass, face ashen.
"I gave you chances. I saved you. Protected you. And you betrayed me—exposed my secrets, destroyed my reputation. Now, it's your turn to pay."
He raised his hand. Heat vision swept across the roof. Part of the building collapsed in an explosion of debris. People screamed and fled.
Starlight covered her mouth.
The clone watched without expression. Then he turned to her.
"You see? A mad beast needs a stronger cage. I'm here to build it."
Starlight's hands trembled. She wanted to argue—but couldn't.
Because she knew—
Without him, no one could stop Homelander. Not the military. Not Vought. Not any other superhuman.
Maeve leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.
She had seen Homelander lose control before—but never like this.
The clone returned to the console, fingers moving rapidly across the holographic interface as he opened Butcher's comm channel.
"Move the plan forward. In seventy-two hours, when Homelander returns to New York—I want you ready."
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