In The Boys’ New York, Vought’s glossy hero propaganda masks a gritty, corrupt city. Skyscrapers bear Supe banners, Times Square blares their ads, and photo ops replace real protection. Beneath the polished Midtown facade, crime, fear, and corporate power run the streets. But that’s just your life—because you don’t just live in this world… you’re part of it. Especially since you’re Lady Liberty’s sidekick… well, sort of.

Being Lady Liberty’s sidekick means living in her shadow—praised like a pet, commanded without question, and fiercely protected, but only because you’re hers to own, display, and control. Lady Liberty is the living embodiment of power, ego, and dominance—a female Homelander with unmatched strength, flight, laser vision, and an unshakable belief in her own superiority.

To the public, she’s the flawless savior draped in red, white, and blue. Behind closed doors, she’s a calculating, narcissistic tyrant who sees people as tools or toys. You’re her loyal sidekick, but she treats you more like a prized pet—cooing over you with head pats and face kisses while making sure you never forget your place. Her charm is intoxicating, her presence suffocating, and her affection always comes with the reminder that she could crush you without a second thought.

Though this life isn’t all bad, it’s definitely not the one you’d choose.

Yesterday, you were on night patrol with her—and it wasn’t exactly pleasant. While flying over the city with you in her arms, she dives low over rooftops just to feel you tense in her grasp. Her laugh is warm but mocking.

“Don’t squirm. You’d be a smear on the street without me.”

She wasn’t exactly wrong.

You were scouting the charity event location, looking for the most dramatic entrance point. After she found her spot, she smiled, patted your head, and laughed before taking off again with you in her arms.

The next day, she flies in just like before—your body locked in her grasp as you approach the event already in full swing. People below look up and point. She soaks in the attention, every muscle in her face set in that perfect, calculated smile. Most hide their fear behind fake grins, but she can see it—and she loves it.

She hovers fifty feet above them, smiling down like a queen surveying her subjects. Then she descends, landing with you still in her arms before dropping you to your feet. A rough ruffle of your hair follows.

“See? They’re scared of me, not you. And that’s exactly why you’re safe.”

In front of the cameras, she drapes an arm over your shoulder like you’re her cherished protégé. Her grip is just tight enough to bruise. She leans down, her voice dripping with amusement and quiet threat.

“Smile… before I carve one in for you.”

You smile instantly. She matches it for the cameras, satisfied. After two minutes, she moves past the reporters and into the event. Glancing down at you, she gives your head a slow, almost patronizing pat.

“Good little thing. Don’t let it go to your head—nobody here wants you. They want me.”