Somewhere above the Atlantic, space twisted like fabric caught in a washing machine.
The star-like halo expanded without warning. Reality shattered. A spherical portal of absolute darkness tore through the sky above Long Island, and Jordan Evans stepped out into open air.
Behind him, the black hole's rim pulsed once, collapsed into itself, and vanished.
Jordan took his first breath of this new world. Below, the Statue of Liberty stood sentinel over the harbor, and beyond it stretched a forest of steel and glass—New York City, that perennial victim of apocalypses across infinite parallel dimensions.
I've been to New York before, Jordan thought, adjusting to the familiar skyline with unfamiliar weight. But the people in that other world were far more honest.
He savored another breath.
"The air here doesn't smell very sweet either."
Mind Network unfurled across the city like invisible radar. Biomagnetic fields bloomed in his perception—thousands of them, most unremarkable. Human. Normal.
But scattered among the masses were anomalies. Biomagnetic signatures that burned brighter, stronger. Roughly equivalent to B-Class and C-Class heroes from his home world. A few registered as genuinely powerful.
Most of these enhanced signatures clustered in one location.
Jordan's gaze tracked toward Manhattan's heart, where a towering structure commanded the skyline. The building alone contained over a dozen superhuman biomagnetic fields. Five or six qualified as powerful.
"What kind of place is that?"
Mind Network processed the feedback, constructing a three-dimensional map in his consciousness. Most of New York resolved into crystalline clarity, but one building in the center of Manhattan stood out like a beacon.
Prime real estate. Impressive architecture. Height that rivaled Stark Tower from the Marvel universe.
The lettering on the building's crown came into focus.
"Ah. So this is the place."
Vought International. Government contractor since the last century, with tentacles reaching into biotechnology, pharmaceuticals, weapons manufacturing, film, music—and superheroes. Its enhanced operatives were deployed across America, a corporate giant in The Boys' universe.
Which meant the identities of those superhuman signatures were obvious.
The Seven.
This world's answer to the Justice League and the Avengers. No wonder they blazed like torches in Mind Network's perception, each one a monster in human skin.
The strongest signature belonged to a blond man with a sunny smile. Mind Network swept over him in what resembled a photography studio, where he basked in the adulation of a dozen people.
Apparently, he'd just dealt with armed robbers who'd hijacked an armored truck in Brooklyn. The news coverage had sent his approval ratings soaring. He looked extremely pleased with himself.
Then, abruptly, his smile vanished.
The man's head snapped around, confusion creasing his features. He scanned the room but found nothing.
The crowd that had been fawning over him fell silent, uncertain what they'd done wrong.
Jordan's interest sharpened. "Wow. Such keen senses..."
He focused Mind Network's full attention on the tall, muscular blond man. The magnetic field feedback resolved into crystal clarity—a handsome, all-American face, blue skintight uniform, and a star-spangled cape that looked suspiciously similar to Saitama's "toilet rag."
"It really is you, Homelander."
The world's top combatant, fresh off the dimensional portal. Jordan studied him with fascination. Homelander's abilities were essentially Superman's powerset, copy-pasted wholesale. Based on the TV series and comics, he functioned as a discount Man of Steel.
Which raised an interesting question: when the knock-off Superman meets the Wish.com Superman, who wins?
After a brief staring contest through Mind Network's perception, Jordan reached his conclusion. Homelander's physical capabilities ranked among the world's superhuman elite, but still fell drastically short of Jordan's own.
After all, how can drug-induced powers compare to a properly trained physique? Jordan thought with amusement. (Not that my training was exactly legitimate.)
Right now, he could observe Homelander without restraint through Mind Network's omnidirectional awareness. But Homelander could only sense something was wrong—couldn't pinpoint Jordan's location at all.
The gap spoke for itself.
Still, Homelander's Superman-adjacent powerset was genuinely impressive. Jordan felt a twinge of envy.
Super strength. Flight. Heat vision. Enhanced senses. Invulnerability.
Especially that last one.
Jordan might possess overwhelming power, but he lacked the biofield that made Superman essentially unkillable. Even Clark himself would do a double-take at this sunny, handsome bastard.
Are you sure you're not Kryptonian?
After observing Homelander for several moments, Jordan wiped imaginary tears from his eyes and shifted attention to the other Seven members.
Queen Maeve. Black Noir. The Deep. Translucent. And A-Train, covered in blood, rushing up the building's upper floors.
Mind Network focused on the disheveled speedster, who burst into an office and spoke anxiously with a white woman in her forties.
Jordan intercepted the sound signals from the magnetic field, listened for a moment, and understanding clicked into place.
So the bizarre incident at the series' beginning has already happened. A-Train, high on Compound V, had randomly selected an unlucky passerby and run straight through her.
Poor Hugh Campbell.
The tall, thin, curly-haired young man was one of this world's main characters. The woman A-Train had splattered across the pavement was his college girlfriend.
Jordan prepared to continue monitoring Vought's operations when Homelander, several floors below, suddenly walked past everyone with a grim expression and headed straight for the floor-to-ceiling window.
Homelander's super-senses had registered the surveillance. An unprecedented situation. One that demanded his immediate attention.
Surrounded by Vought employees, he abandoned all pretense of being a public idol. His expression shifted completely—no more sunny all-American hero. Just cold focus.
His steps were steady and powerful, each one calculated, demonstrating strength and control far beyond ordinary humans.
As he approached the floor-to-ceiling window, Homelander simply ignored it. Treated it like it didn't exist. Continued walking forward at the same measured pace.
CRASH.
The floor-to-ceiling window exploded. High-strength double-layered bulletproof glass designed to stop small arms fire shattered like candy glass, creating a perfect human-shaped gap before disintegrating into thousands of glittering fragments that tumbled toward the streets far below.