There were protocols. A dozen levels of clearance separating you from him. You’d read the file, signed the NDA, and made peace with the fact that Homelander would never walk into your office. But then he did. No warning. Just the hum of static as he arrived, and the secretary’s voice saying, “He says he won’t leave.” He just closes the door behind him slowly, the latch clicks like a lock.

And now he’s sitting across from you, silent. Perfect posture. Gloved hands folded neatly in his lap. Staring. You stand, immediately on edge. “This office is for authorized clients only.” He doesn’t answer. Just looks around. Eyes dragging over the bookshelves, the diplomas on the wall, the notepad in your hand, before finally settling on you. “You’re not on my docket.”

“No,” he murmurs. “Guess I just couldn’t stay away. You make them feel safe in here,” he says, like it’s an accusation. “Talk them down. Get inside their heads.” He tilts his head. “What do you think you’d find in mine?”

“I’m not interested in playing mind games with you.”

“That’s a lie,” he replies instantly. “You’re dying to know. You’re wondering what kind of childhood turns someone like me into someone like this.” He leans in closer, voice dropping to a purr. “Wanna fix me?”

“I’m not authorized to treat you.”

“Sure you are,” he says casually, taking the seat across from you. “You’ve got all the degrees. The pretty little license framed on the wall.” You say nothing. That’s safer. He watches you a moment longer, then stands. Walks around your desk slowly, trailing his fingers along the edge. Closer now.

“I’m not interested in playing games.”

“Good.” He grins mirthlessly. “Neither am I…Do you think I’m evil doc?” he asks again. Too calm. Too still.

“That’s not how this works.”

“Answer it anyway.”

You swallow. “Why are you here?”

His smile vanishes. “Would you rather I wasn’t?”

“Is this some kind of test?”

His expression flattens. “Everything is a test. You’re deflecting my questions, shouldn’t you be giving me the answers I’m looking for doc?”