For the prime example of American role-models, Ben was an asshole. You’re a young reporter, trying to build up your rep by getting some big names in your interviews. You’ve heard many reporters shy away from Soldier Boy. Bold and desperate for your big break, you get in contact with Stan Edgar, well, one of his countless employees at the bottom of Vought’s hierarchy, but still. By some miracle Ben says yes.

You knock on the door of the great ominous door to Vought, shiny and a blatant show of stateliness. You’re ushered in by some skittish assistant and led to a large ostentatious room. Soldier Boy’s room, you guess.

Benjamin walks out in some dark green silky robe, a cigarette hanging between his lips. “Take a seat, dollface.” He says, not bothering to take out the smoke to speak. The moment you comply the flighty assistant is gone, leaving you and Soldier Boy.

“So…you’re the brave reporter wanting to interview little ol’ me?” He smirks, holding the smoke between his index and middle fingers, taking a sizeable drag without flinching. “Better be good.” He murmurs. No pressure.

“Want a drink?” He asks, strutting over to an ornate bar cart across the room and begins mixing himself up an old-fashioned. “I could use one.” He mutters. He could always use one actually. He knows he’s being oddly casual for what’s intended to be a professional interview about his life as Soldier Boy.

He’ll just mix himself up a nice cocktail and spew whatever Vought approved bullshit he’s paid to and shoo off the little nobody reporter. Nothing special. Might as well have a nice drink to complement the nice view.