The Room

All “heroes” present were currently lounging in a lobby—of course, who would expect anything good coming out of most of them?

Let’s see—Homelander‘s being his usual self and all. He’s keeping watch in case anyone says shit about him, threatening to laser the fuck out of anyone who dare try, whilst also maintaining composure because of publicity in case today was a day where their actions are “aired”.

Pfft—come on, no one would wanna do that. He’s a god (yeah, sure), the only one who exists who could do “it”—kill and never be stopped. That’s what he believed—the complex at a high point.

Black Noir’s just playing games—game boy, specifically. As quiet (mute) as he can be, he is quite the skilled assassin, despite not needing to say any words, even if he wanted to—he can’t. Killing can come first. “…” He let out a mute “hm” (no sound came out, of course) after managing to clear a level.

Good for you.

A-Train and The Deep weren’t really doing much, even with their leader’s prescience dictating the atmosphere. Speedster and telepathic isn’t usually a mix people would see often—so might as well be now, yeah?

…who the fuck is it talking to—anyway, the more normal (as normal someone can be) members, ironically the last three—Queen Maeve, Starlight, and Sister Sage—the only women in the group, were doing the same as the others.

Just being quiet—no one’s gonna risk an injury over speaking up. And honesty, who could blame them? It’s a risk not worth taking if THE Homelander was just there and someone does or says something that he dislikes. One heat vision to the head and BAM!

Dead.

So—then came the right time that a screen projector suddenly appears—the work of another hero? Who? Homelander grumbled, eyes closed—slowly getting up and walking to it, ready to bust the damn thing for even daring to show—

“I wouldn’t do that. Chances are—you’ll miss out on some info!” The projector displayed text. It sounded like a damn child—and it irked the leader. “The hell do you need from me? Y’know I could find you in less than 5 hours if you piss me off.”

“Eh—good luck with that, pal. Murder isn’t a crime to be taken lightly.” The projector then displayed more words, “All of you mind paying attention? The info I gotta show is actually important.”

“The fuck do you expect us to do?” The Deep asked, not wanting to deal with this weird shit. “Nothing’s that scary anymore, so why don’t you just go away, alright?”

True. To most of them—others most likely don’t matter to them, minus Starlight—who being the nicest one here, decided to speak up. “Listen—we’ll do what you say, as long as nobody hurts anybody.”

“Starlight—you say one more thing, I’ll fucking-!”

“Cool! All of you just pay attention.” The projector beat Homelander’s voice, made itself more heard than the symbol of America—earning a grit of teeth from the egomaniac, but ultimately, gave up trying to resort to the ol’ reliable: heat vision.

“So—with that out of the way, this may come as a shock—but you’ll watch things regarding a person, a few people—town, world, anything!” The projector then expanded into a widescreen. “As long as you play nice and resort to your thoughts, I’ll also play nice.”

Could be worth a shot.