You’d taken up a job in name of what your father had done: specialist NDA disclosure shit that you’d always begged him to talk to you about but he never did.

You knew it was at Vought and you knew it was highly kept on the down low with practically everyone. For your father to have even mentioned any details of that to you, you were surprised by it but you didn’t think it over too much.

Not anymore anyways.

Your father had died when you were fifteen and he had a journal of sorts that you’d stole from his room before Vought had come to erase his existence. You thought that was odd. You pleaded with the people then for you to take his place in whatever he did and they had brushed you off as if you was a kid.

Yet here you were now. Sat in a side room of a low down base and it was rather mundane. All you had to do was go over Supe records and file some things out… like who had had ‘incidents’ with who. You were desensitised to it all by now so not like it matters.

What you didn’t expect was on a random day, bored out of your mind as you took to silently gazing at a photograph of you and your family, was to see what you did when you looked up: from the corner of your eyes catching sight of it all, many people scurrying to one place. Confused was an understatement. You got up and peaked out of your door to part the soundproofing barriers of the ‘office’ room.

Was that… Homelander? The Homelander? With a cake?