Sepsis 6.2
The words of Homelander and the strange woman sounded unusual, but the logic behind them was impossible to dismiss. Even if supes still looked like ordinary people on the surface, and all our powers came from a test tube, the difference was still real. One step separated a human from a supe — but that step was through a wall.
And with every passing day, I found myself growing more worried about the fate of superhumans. I simply didn't believe that governments around the world — governments whose power rested on a monopoly of violence — would ever allow walking bombs and living tanks to exist freely, capable of dismantling those governments without much effort. People are terrified of losing power, and even more terrified of dying, which means they'll go to extraordinary lengths to prevent both.
Homelander, Soldier Boy, and even I could wipe out an entire Congress in a single day working alone — and that was without even getting into telepaths. Brain Storm, the most powerful telepath on the planet, still hadn't been found by anyone, which said quite a lot. Either someone had captured him and was using him for their own purposes, or everyone who'd ever met him was currently drooling on the floor somewhere. And there were dozens like him, if not hundreds.
I couldn't help thinking about my own safety as well. I was a healer unlike any other in existence, which meant I would always be at risk of being kidnapped, or having the people I cared about threatened as leverage to make me perform on demand. I'd turn any attackers into ground meat, of course. But enough bodies can overwhelm anyone.
So the idea Homelander was pitching — unite, and stand against power-hungry politicians — didn't sound as unreasonable as it might have otherwise. Because that kind of confrontation didn't have to end in a bloodbath. With Neuman in the picture, the right laws could be lobbied through Congress: regulations governing the lives of supes, and protections guaranteeing our rights and freedoms.
Objectively speaking, I stood to gain from this. Building real capital through a deal like this would put me near the top of the power structure. It would be my chance to finally do something about all the shameful things heroes were involved in, and to push the lives of every superhuman in a better direction. And working alongside Homelander and the Seven would provide about as much security as anyone could ask for — for me and for the people I cared about.
Still, something nagged at me. Homelander was the greatest hero on Earth, someone who spent the majority of his time saving others. But this Sage unsettled me. There was something in her eyes. Like watching a panther that was one breath away from lunging and tearing me apart.
"If I agree — what exactly would the actions to help supes actually look like?" I asked, watching both of them carefully for any reaction. To be fair, they hadn't said a single false word to me during the entire conversation.
Homelander smiled and pushed his coffee cup aside. He glanced briefly at Sage and she returned a small nod.
"First things first — we plan to strike at Vought's covert projects and purge all the rot from the company. All the garbage that's poisoning our home and exploiting our kind to fatten their own wallets and bank accounts. I'll continue recruiting worthy individuals, and we'll work on cleaning the corporation of the filth that thinks about their own pockets instead of actually helping people. Dear Sage has already committed to helping with that," the man said, while the woman lightly raised her glass in our direction to confirm.
"But you'll have one of the central roles in this whole performance," Sage continued. "Godolkin is sitting on some of Vought's filthiest secrets, and along with them, the most dangerous products of their technology. I've managed to gain partial access to their databases, but everything truly sensitive — with the actual physical samples — is buried deep underground in a heavily guarded, closed-off system. All you'd need to do is insert a device into a computer connected to it. There's only one such computer with surface access, and it's in Brink's office." She set a black USB drive on the table.
"Think of it as your trial run," the blond man said with a smirk. "Pull it off, and you're in the Seven. We stage a scene — passing the torch from the old guard to the new — do something touching with Translucent for the world to see, and then you take your place beside us. The Lamplighter slot has already been filled by my new advisor, but the best play would be to introduce both of you at once. The new Seven will be the herald of a new world."
Homelander was persuasive — there was no denying it, and the charisma was genuine. And the offer itself was genuinely good. The Seven. Brink had promised to make me part of it in three or four years. Though I doubted he'd ever factored in handing over his dirty secrets as the price of admission.
Funny enough, I was almost certain he would have approved of that kind of initiative from me. His ambition had always burned brighter in him than any concern for his own comfort.
"I can't give you an answer right now. I need time to think it through. But…" I set the folder with Indira's reports on the table. "If Godolkin is hiding secrets like this one, then I think it's worth verifying. A week at most. I can bring you the drive by then."
"All you need to do is plug it in and I'll have full control over their entire system," Sage replied, amusement flickering behind her eyes. "And I wouldn't recommend trying to scan my code for viruses or attempting to reverse-engineer it. You won't find anything either way. You'll just waste your time."
Homelander rolled his eyes and exhaled quietly when she said that, but didn't respond. I understood the feeling — every supe had their particular quirks and abilities, but few of them showed off the way she did. And what was interesting was that while the woman had stayed completely composed throughout the entire conversation, in moments like this one — moments of open boasting — she lit up with the brightest emotions, her heart beating noticeably faster.
One more thing pushed me toward agreeing, and it had everything to do with her brain. The gray matter in that woman's head was operating at a level that was simply extraordinary. Blood was flowing into it in volumes far beyond normal, and at a velocity that suggested it was running near its absolute limit.
But what gave it away entirely was that every region was active simultaneously. Her entire brain seemed accelerated, enhanced beyond the ordinary human baseline — to the point where even a superhuman body was struggling to sustain it. Combine that with the dozen reminders she'd dropped throughout the conversation about just how much smarter she was than everyone in the room, and my most dangerous theories were confirmed.
Telepaths were frightening enemies. Among the most dangerous and lethal in this world. But there was a class of superhuman that surpassed even them. Supes with superhuman intellect.
I thought through what the existence of a person like that could lead to, and none of it went anywhere good. Intelligence was a far more dangerous weapon than lasers or super-strength.
Against the ability to predict your enemies several moves ahead and command allies better than any human general ever could, even I would be helpless. A superhuman genius could collapse entire economies and nations — ordinary people stood no chance at all.
And if you factored in that she now had Homelander standing beside her…
It became genuinely unclear who was actually in charge among the two sitting across from me. Homelander — or the woman who had convinced the blond man of her superiority? Against that combination, very possibly nothing in the world could hold out. And why would I fight an unstoppable force when their terms suited me perfectly well?
***
After my conversation with the two heroes, I was already in a taxi heading back to the CIA base when my phone rang again. I picked up immediately.
"Mark, are you all right?" Indira's voice came through first, tight with worry.
Either she was the greatest actress on Earth, capable of projecting that kind of raw emotion on command — or she was genuinely frightened for me. Honestly, I leaned toward the second. Though I always had to keep in mind that care and concern could take very strange and unexpected shapes.
"I'm fine. What I'm more interested in is how you're doing, and what's actually been going on over there."
"I… I'm all right, Mark." Her voice gave something away now — it was too nervous, too unsteady. "Too much is happening, too fast. Vought is going through massive changes. The company is effectively being torn in two and no one knows what comes next. There's a lot we need to talk about, so get here as soon as you can — I'm sending you the address now. The corporation has eyes and ears everywhere, so be careful." A pause. "I love you."
She got through it quickly and hung up. A moment later, coordinates came through from an unknown number. A quick check confirmed the location was somewhere in the middle of nowhere, well outside the city.
I let out a long breath and dialed the number I'd gotten at the very last minute.
"Annie — I'm afraid I'm going to be tied up longer than I thought."
***
"…It's fine, we're managing. Soldier Boy looks well, and, um, he's being quite… energetic."
Annie was speaking quietly into the phone, sitting awkwardly on the couch with a direct line of sight to Soldier Boy, who was eating from five plates simultaneously. And doing so loudly — chewing with his mouth open, attacking the food like a man who hadn't seen a real meal in years.
He bit into a slice of apple pie and practically moaned, closed his eyes, and sank back in his chair.
"Finally. Actual fucking food." He finished the entire pie in about ten seconds, then moved on to the next pastry, different filling this time.
While he ate, he had the television on and was occasionally exchanging words with the bearded man who'd brought him here. And their conversation was something else entirely.
"Seriously, is that supposed to be a man?" he said, pointing a chicken leg at a baby food commercial. The ad featured a Black man clearly playing the role of a stay-at-home dad while his wife worked. A man born in the 1920s had opinions about new trends. "I've seen women who could send him flying with a single slap."
"I'm right there with you, mate," Butcher replied, not taking his eyes off the hero for a second, tracking his every move. Soldier Boy didn't seem to notice or care. He was fully absorbed in the twin tasks of eating and processing information about the new world he'd woken up in.
Annie had always wanted to be a real hero, and she'd genuinely idolized Soldier Boy as a kid. But this was not what she'd imagined when she pictured meeting her childhood hero. Part of her wanted to just get up and go home — but duty kept her rooted to the spot. If she couldn't handle these two, what kind of hero career was she even imagining?
And she couldn't forget about the stranger who still hadn't come around. When he did, he would need someone there — someone capable of helping him and being a steady presence. That was exactly why Annie had become a hero in the first place.
"Back in my day everyone behaved like they were supposed to." Soldier Boy shook his head. "Men were men, and women knew their place. And everyone was happy. Five, six kids per family, not like now." He reached under his chair and produced a two-liter can of beer, which he opened with a single tap of one finger. He started drinking through the hole he'd made. "And where did all this insistence on parading every color of the rainbow come from? I'm not a racist — me and Cosby had plenty of good times back in the day, but—"
Annie admitted to herself, reluctantly, that fighting armed men was significantly easier than this.
***
I ended up having to switch taxis, since the first driver refused to go anywhere near the middle of nowhere. The drive out took over an hour and a half, and every attempt I made to find any information about the location came up empty. As far as anyone was concerned, nothing had ever existed there except forest.
Even getting close was a challenge — there was no real road leading in. I had the taxi drop me at the tree line and continued on foot. I left the driver a couple hundred evergreens to wait for me and be ready to move on short notice.
I wasn't oblivious to how this looked. It looked like a trap. A very well-designed one, at that — out here, Vought could throw essentially unlimited hired muscle at me without worrying about cameras or witnesses. They could even send supes out here on the corporation's orders.
With those odds, even I would have a serious problem on my hands. Vought didn't know the full range of what I was capable of and almost certainly underestimated me — but that only went so far.
Still, the closer I got, the more clearly I felt two presences about six hundred meters ahead. A girl, maybe fourteen years old, and one who had some kind of ability — along with Indira herself.
That was interesting.
When I got close enough to see it, the building turned out to be a classic two-story wooden cabin — the kind people rented to escape the city for a few days. There were thousands of them. This one was unremarkable in every way. Which was precisely what bothered me most. Too ordinary for something sitting in such a strange location.
I moved closer and tried to see through the windows, but every one of them was covered with curtains. Listening proved more useful — I picked up footsteps, breathing, a heartbeat.
"Good afternoon! You must be Mark? Indira said you'd be coming soon! My name is Kate — it's so nice to meet you!"
Before I could reach for the door, it swung open from the inside. A teenage girl with long blond hair and blue eyes stood in the doorway, smiling up at me. She delivered the whole greeting as though she'd rehearsed it, then extended her hand toward me in a welcoming gesture.
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