When Catherine saw Homelander step into the intelligence department, she shot to her feet instinctively. The movement was automatic, the kind that came from knowing exactly how volatile he could be.
He placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her gently but firmly back into her chair.
"I heard you've got something for Madelyn," he said, voice calm but edged with something sharp beneath it. "You can tell me too. What's going on with Black Noir?"
He had been passing by when he caught a fragment of conversation about Noir's signal irregularities. That was enough to pull him inside.
Catherine swallowed. Madelyn had given her strict instructions—any unusual developments were to be reported to her first. After the Transoceanic Flight 37 disaster and the cleanup that followed, the last thing Madelyn wanted was Homelander improvising another solution.
The search narrative was still fragile. Public perception even more so. One wrong move could destabilize everything.
"This is what Madelyn asked me to do," Catherine said carefully.
Homelander's smile faded.
"I said," he repeated, the warmth draining from his face, "what's wrong with Black?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Catherine felt her heartbeat spike. She had seen this shift before—the narrowing of his eyes, the subtle tightening in his jaw. It was the warning sign before the explosion.
"There's an issue with his tracking signal," she said quickly. "His positioning data is… off."
"Off how?"
She turned her monitor toward him. A grid map filled the screen, green lines tracing movement patterns.
"His signal was normal until two days ago. Then it stopped moving across expected patrol routes and stayed in a small zone for several hours." She zoomed in. "This area."
Homelander leaned closer.
It was a rundown neighborhood. Industrial decay. Low-income housing.
"A slum," Catherine said. "He doesn't operate there. Not without a directive."
Homelander's mind ran back through the past forty-eight hours. He hadn't seen Noir. Hadn't heard from him. That alone was unusual.
"Any missions assigned?" he asked.
"No."
A flicker of unease crossed his face.
"Send me the coordinates."
"Already transferring."
He patted her shoulder again, forcing a thin smile. "Thanks for your help."
The moment he exited the building, he launched into the sky.
Within seconds, Manhattan blurred beneath him.
He arrived at the coordinates in under a minute, descending into a quiet street lined with worn-down apartments and boarded storefronts.
No sign of black tactical armor.
No sign of Noir.
Just a stray dog rooting through wilted vegetable scraps on the sidewalk.
Homelander hovered for a second, confused.
Then his eyes began to glow.
Twin beams of heat vision lanced downward, slicing through the dog's lower half. The animal's yelp was cut short as its body collapsed in smoking ruin.
He stepped forward, scanning.
Something metallic glinted near the carcass.
He bent down and pulled at the dog's collar.
Attached to it—crudely fixed—was a familiar device.
Black Noir's tracking chip.
And beneath it, scratched onto the metal backing, a line of text.
You found me! You're amazing, baby!
The smile disappeared from Homelander's face.
For a heartbeat, disbelief flickered there.
Then it twisted into something darker.
A deliberate mockery.
They had killed Noir. Removed his chip. Planted it on a dog like a joke.
It was a message.
"Fake squid…" he muttered under his breath, the insult coming out distorted by rising fury.
His eyes flared again.
The upper half of the dog disintegrated under another blast. The beams didn't stop there. They punched through the wooden door behind it—through drywall, through plaster—
—and through a little girl standing just inside the apartment.
She wore a bow in her hair.
Half her head slid away before the rest of her body crumpled.
There was a split second of stunned silence.
Then screaming.
A man and woman rushed into the hallway.
"What—"
"Shut your mouth," Homelander snapped.
The woman shrieked again.
"I said shut your mouth!"
Veins bulged along his forehead. His teeth were clenched so tight they creaked.
He usually exercised precision. Controlled output. He calibrated his lasers like a surgeon.
Not today.
The news of Noir's death had torn something open inside him.
The child had been collateral.
The parents would not be.
His gaze burned crimson once more.
The man's torso was pierced clean through, flesh melting inward before collapsing in a smoking heap. The woman exploded into a cloud of blood and tissue, red mist splattering across peeling wallpaper.
The apartment fell silent.
The anger didn't vanish—but it thinned, just enough.
Homelander lifted off the ground and rose into the sky again, leaving behind the carnage.
He had found no body. No attacker. Just a chip and a taunt.
That was enough.
He flew straight back to Vought Tower.
Madelyn Stillwell was in her office when he entered, seated on the sofa, breastfeeding her infant son.
He didn't knock.
He didn't acknowledge the intimacy of the scene.
A flicker of something—jealousy, hunger—passed across his eyes before he tossed the tracking chip onto her desk.
She calmly placed the baby back in his cradle before turning to examine it.
"What is this?" she asked evenly.
"Noir's tracker," he replied. "They pulled it out. Same people who took out Translucent. Now Noir too."
His voice trembled at the edges.
"In less than a month, we're down to five," he continued. "And we don't even know who they are."
He thought of the others.
Maeve—distant. Defiant.
The Deep—humiliated and sidelined.
A-Train—unreliable.
Starlight—public relations liability.
Noir had been the only one who never questioned him. Never resisted.
And now he was gone.
Madelyn studied the blood-specked chip.
Someone had dared to target the Seven directly.
It was reckless.
Or calculated.
"A-Train told me Noir was looking for a French national," she said carefully. "That name connects to an old black-ops group led by Grace Mallory."
Homelander's eyes narrowed.
"The retired deputy director."
He remembered her.
She had formed a task force to investigate Vought. Even him.
He had ordered Lamplighter to burn her alive.
Lamplighter had burned her grandchildren instead.
The result had been effective enough.
"We'll follow that thread," Madelyn said softly. "But right now, our priority is passing the military integration bill. That gives us leverage. Resources."
She stepped closer to him.
"Translucent and Noir matter. But you matter more."
She wrapped her arms around him, drawing him in.
"You're the most important asset Vought has."
Her hand moved slowly along his back, soothing, grounding.
Then lower.
Homelander's breathing shifted.
The rage dulled under something warmer.
—
Across the city, Harris sat alone in a dimly lit warehouse office, staring at his phone.
In a world filled with superheroes, he had survived more than a decade by knowing his place. Supes were disasters waiting to happen. Ordinary men broke easily under their hands.
Now he was trying to build something bigger.
An underground network. A business that didn't bow automatically to corporate-backed capes.
That ambition drew attention.
The Grizzlies had already been expanding in neighboring blocks. Their message had been blunt—leave the territory.
Harris had refused.
Then came the warning.
"Watch your ears and horse eyes tonight."
He hadn't fully understood it.
But he understood threat.
And the mention of something small.
Something invasive.
He exhaled slowly and checked the doors again.
He had a feeling tonight wouldn't be quiet.