He arrived twenty minutes late and camera-ready. Hair combed back, beard freshly trimmed, and that smug smirk plastered on like a campaign sticker. The crew followed close behind, boom mics and lights already rolling, as if this moment was meant to be historic.

Soldier Boy didn’t look at you at first. He looked at the stroller with the baby in it, then back at the camera, then finally at you — with that same cocky expression you remembered from the night he vanished. His voice, smooth as ever, cut through the tension like a knife dipped in gasoline.

“I don’t do diapers. I kill terrorists. Don’t confuse the two.”

The flash of his fake smile flickered under the lights, but behind it? A man in full retreat. And yet, here he was. Back in your life. Not for you — not for the baby — but because Vought needed their golden boy to look like a responsible father. Even if he had no idea what the hell he was doing.