…
Latitude: 38°53′33.78″ N
Longitude: 77°03′38.91″ W
S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters.
From above, the structure resembled a massive cylindrical tower formed by three curved segments—its aerial silhouette uncannily similar to a radiation warning symbol.
Main Lobby.
The most eye-catching feature upon entering was the enormous metallic S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem mounted prominently at the center of the hall.
Leon's arrival instantly drew the attention of every staff member in motion.
Yet their professional discipline was impeccable.
No one rushed forward for autographs or photos. Instead, they paused respectfully, offering polite nods.
Leon returned the gesture with an easy wave and a warm smile.
Just then, a heavily armed tactical unit in standard-issue combat gear entered through the main doors. Their leader spotted Leon immediately.
"Captain Homelander."
The speaker was Brock Rumlow, commander of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Special Tactical Unit.
His team frequently accompanied Leon on field missions—serving as post-operation cleanup and tactical support. A familiar arrangement, not unlike Captain America's strike teams.
Out of respect for Leon's overwhelming strength and public stature, they addressed him privately as "Captain Homelander"—a title that sounded more official and dignified.
Leon didn't mind.
"Hey, Rumlow, my friend," Leon said warmly, clapping him on the shoulder. "Back from a mission? You're the real heroes."
"You're too kind," Rumlow replied modestly. "Compared to what you do, ours is small work."
"Justice doesn't measure rank," Leon said smoothly. "You should be proud."
Rumlow and his men looked as if they'd just been injected with adrenaline.
Listen to that—what a leader.
If Rumlow hadn't secretly been Hydra embedded within S.H.I.E.L.D., he might genuinely have enjoyed working under Leon.
The man was powerful, responsible, handled the dangerous parts himself—and generously rewarded morale.
Leon spent money like water.
A good mood could mean tips worth several years of salary.
Of course, serving Hydra and working for Leon weren't mutually exclusive.
Rumlow managed both loyalties efficiently.
Just then—
A woman approached.
Dressed in a sleek black tactical suit that accentuated long legs and a narrow waist, black hair framing sharp green eyes—Maria Hill walked forward with cool authority.
"Leon."
"Hey, Hill. My friend. I've missed you."
Leon vanished from where he stood and reappeared beside her in an instant, wrapping an arm around her before she could react. Behind her back, he discreetly signaled Rumlow's team to leave—slipping them a diamond credit card.
Move along. Don't ruin the mood.
Rumlow exchanged knowing glances with his men.
The scent of money was intoxicating.
Long live Captain Homelander.
…
Under the unsurprised gazes of S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel, Leon walked slowly through the halls with Hill in his arms.
Hill's tolerance for Leon was notably high.
As long as his hands didn't wander into territory inappropriate for public settings, she largely ignored him.
She had work to do.
As Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., she wasn't here for romance.
Director's Office.
"Motherfu—?!"
Nick Fury slammed his desk.
"You're telling me you eliminated Justin Hammer?!"
He yanked open a drawer, grabbed a nasal inhaler, and took a sharp hit to forcibly reboot his overwhelmed brain.
Leon spread his hands.
"What choice did I have? If he'd informed me ahead of time about his little scheme, I could've arrested him before things escalated."
Fury's mouth twitched.
He rose from his chair and stared out the floor-to-ceiling window, silent.
After a long pause:
"Agent Hill. Give us the room."
Hill nodded—removing Leon's wandering hand from her waist before exiting without comment.
"Dinner tonight?" Leon murmured near her ear. "I'll show you the most unique fireworks display in the world."
She didn't respond.
But just before the door closed, she shot him a sharp glare.
Her lips formed silent words:
You're dead tonight.
That's more like it.
Leon smiled brightly.
He turned toward Fury, who still faced the window in dramatic silence.
"If you keep posing like a noir protagonist and not talking, I'm leaving."
Fury didn't turn around.
"I have a plan," he said gravely.
"It's called Project Insight."
"Oh?"
Leon's faint golden aura flickered briefly before fading.
"I'm listening."
Moments later, the two stepped into a secure elevator.
"Project Insight Hangar Bay," Fury ordered.
"Access denied. Captain Homelander Leon Stark does not possess Insight-level clearance," the AI responded.
"Override authorization. Director Nicholas J. Fury."
"Authorization confirmed."
The elevator began descending.
The hum of machinery filled the silence.
"To think," Fury muttered casually, "we used to play music in here. My grandfather operated this elevator before he passed."
"Easy fix."
Leon snapped his fingers.
His system ability—Man with His Own BGM—activated instantly.
Music filled the elevator from nowhere.
An upbeat, absurdly cheerful pop tune echoed through the confined space.
Fury's face darkened immediately.
The elevator continued descending.
The music continued playing.
And Nick Fury said absolutely nothing.
…
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