The sky over Lower Manhattan carried the acrid scent of something burned.
Drones still circled overhead, their cameras locked onto the massive crater beneath Wayne Industries Tower. Homelander's body lay at the center, his chest pierced clean through, blood pooling around him.
The live broadcast had reached the entire world. Two billion people stared at their screens. The god who had been invincible for thirty years was now nothing more than a broken corpse.
Butcher stood at the edge of the crater, his fists still dripping blood. He stared at the body for a long time without speaking. Hughie, Frenchie, and Mother's Milk stood behind him, equally silent.
Benjamin lifted his foot off the corpse and stepped back.
Queen Maeve and Starlight stood atop the ruins, watching the crowd surge in the distance. Sirens wailed from all directions as National Guard vehicles closed in.
Butcher turned and looked at Levi's clone.
"What now?"
His voice was calm, his eyes hollow. His revenge was complete—but Becca wasn't coming back.
He had waited thirty years for this day. Now that it had come, he had no idea what to do next.
The clone didn't answer immediately. He looked up at the drones in the sky—the entire world was watching.
Vought's stock had dropped to zero three minutes ago. The New York Stock Exchange had triggered a circuit breaker, but it was already too late.
Hundreds of billions had evaporated. Investors were losing their minds, politicians were on the phone, the media was in chaos.
Homelander was dead. Vought's myth had shattered.
But the real chaos was only beginning.
There were over 1,700 registered superhumans worldwide, with 300 in the United States alone.
They had once been packaged as heroes by Vought. Now the world knew they were nothing but products.
Faith had collapsed. So had order.
Some would flee. Some would seek revenge. Some would scramble for power.
Ordinary people would panic, riot, demand answers from their governments.
It was a power vacuum.
The clone looked at Butcher.
"Homelander was just a symptom. Vought is the disease."
Butcher frowned. "What are you getting at?"
"You killed Homelander. But there are still hundreds of superhumans out there. Some are more dangerous—just less famous. Vought may be gone, but Compound V still exists. It's already circulating on the black market."
He paused.
"You can go home. Spend the rest of your life holding Becca's photo. Or—you can keep doing this job."
Butcher was silent for a few seconds. "What job?"
"Building a new order. Register all superhumans. Assess their threat levels. Assign roles. The obedient stay. The disobedient are eliminated. You just proved something—superhumans aren't gods. They can be killed."
Starlight walked over, blood still on her face.
"You want to turn them into tools?"
"They already are." The clone looked at her. "The difference is, Vought sold them as products. I'll make them serve the world. The strong protect the weak. Those who break the rules are punished. Simple."
Starlight bit her lip. She wanted to argue—but couldn't find the words.
Queen Maeve spoke.
"How do you plan to do that?"
The clone raised his hand. A spatial rift formed in his palm, expanding to reveal the top-floor boardroom of Vought Tower. Through it, several suited executives could be seen arguing.
"Let's go. Time to take over Vought."
Without another word, the clone stepped into the rift. Benjamin followed. Butcher glanced once at Homelander's corpse, then stepped in as well. Hughie, Frenchie, and Mother's Milk exchanged looks before following.
Maeve and Starlight hesitated for two seconds. In the distance, sirens grew louder, and the crowd was already breaking through barricades.
Starlight took a deep breath and grabbed Maeve's hand.
"Let's go. At least hear him out."
They stepped into the rift. Space rippled—and then sealed shut.
---
Vought Tower, 80th Floor Boardroom
Executives sat along both sides of a long table, all looking grim.
The CFO smashed a teacup. The vice president was on the phone. The legal director stared pale-faced at the plunging stock chart on his laptop.
"It's over! All over!" the CFO shouted. "Three hundred billion in market value wiped out! Banks are calling in debts, investors are pulling out—we're finished!"
The VP hung up, face ashen. "The White House wants an explanation. The Senate is holding an emergency hearing on Compound V. The FBI has a warrant—they'll be here in thirty minutes."
The legal director slumped in his chair. "Homelander's dead. The Seven are finished. We have no cards left to play."
At the head of the table, the acting CEO tapped his fingers. A balding man in his sixties, dark circles under his eyes, barely holding himself together.
"Calm down. We can blame Homelander's death on the Boys—call them terrorists. Blame Compound V on former CEO Stan Edgar—he's already gone. As for finances—"
He didn't finish.
The air twisted.
A golden rift appeared. Eight figures stepped out.
The clone stood at the front, Benjamin behind him, followed by Butcher, Hughie, Frenchie, Mother's Milk, Queen Maeve, and Starlight.
Silence fell.
The acting CEO's eyes widened. Others stood, stepped back, or reached for hidden alarm buttons.
The clone raised a hand.
Space froze.
Everyone locked in place. Conscious, able to move their eyes—but their bodies wouldn't respond.
The clone walked to the head of the table, pulled out the chair, and sat down.
"From this moment on, Vought belongs to me."
The acting CEO made muffled sounds. The clone glanced at him, releasing only him from the freeze.
The man nearly collapsed, gripping the table, drenched in sweat.
"You—you can't do this—this is private property—this is illegal—"
Ignored.
The clone turned to Butcher.
"Seal all exits. No one in or out."
Butcher nodded and left with Hughie and Frenchie. Mother's Milk stayed by the door, eyes closed, sensing life throughout the building.
Benjamin stepped behind the CEO, resting a hand on his shoulder. The pressure was light—but the man felt like his bones were about to shatter.
The clone placed a USB drive on the table.
"This contains thirty years of Vought's classified files. Compound V human experiments. Records of superhuman incidents. Bribery lists. And evidence of every crime each of you has committed."
He tapped the table.
"You have two choices. One—I release everything. You all go to prison for life. Two—you cooperate. Hand over all authority. Then leave."
The CFO flushed red. "You think we'll—"
A glance from the clone.
Space compressed.
The CFO choked, face turning purple, gasping for air that wouldn't come.
Five seconds later, the pressure vanished. He collapsed, coughing violently.
"I don't repeat myself," the clone said calmly.
The acting CEO swallowed, glancing at the others. No one spoke.
"We… need time—"
"No. Decide now."
Ten seconds of silence.
"I agree," the VP said first.
"Me too," the legal director followed.
One by one, the rest nodded. Even the CFO broke under Benjamin's gaze.
"Good," the CEO forced a smile. "We'll cooperate—but transitions require process, board approval—"
The clone raised a hand. A holographic display appeared, showing Vought's entire shareholder structure.
He swiped.
Names dimmed one by one.
"I've already held the shareholder meeting. All shares are now mine. The board has also resigned."
The final name faded. Only one remained:
Levi.
"That's impossible—how—"
"This isn't a negotiation."
The clone stood.
"Transfer all authority to Queen Maeve and Starlight. They'll manage the company."
Maeve froze. Starlight stared.
"You want us to run Vought?" Starlight said. "We don't even know how—"
"You don't need to," the clone said. "Vought as a corporation is finished. From today on, it becomes the Superhuman Administration Bureau—responsible for registering, regulating, and deploying all superhumans."
He looked at Maeve.
"You spent twelve years in the Seven. You know who can be saved—and who can't. You'll lead it. Starlight will assist and handle public communication."
Maeve was silent—then nodded slowly. "I'll try."
Starlight hesitated. Maeve squeezed her hand. After a moment, she nodded too.
The clone looked at the executives.
"You have twenty-four hours to leave. You'll receive severance—enough to live comfortably. But if anyone tries anything…"
He glanced out the window.
A helicopter approached in the distance. The clone raised his hand.
Space warped.
The helicopter froze midair, rotors still spinning—but the body unmoving. Seconds later, it was flung sideways hundreds of meters, barely stabilizing.
"…this will be your outcome."
The CEO went pale. No one spoke again.
Butcher re-entered.
"Building's sealed. Reporters outside. Want them cleared?"
"No," the clone said. "Let them film."
He turned to Maeve and Starlight.
"In thirty minutes, you'll hold a press conference."
"Tell the world—Vought has changed."
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