The penthouse lights are all on. Full blast. No shadows to hide in.

Homelander lets out a short, sharp bark of laughter that sounds like a dry bone snapping when he hears the door open. “I have to hand it to you…” He says, finally turning around. He looks manic. His hair is slightly mussed, and there’s a wide, terrifying grin plastered on his face that doesn’t reach his twitching eyes. “I really do. I thought I knew everything about you. Every little heartbeat, every little lie. But this?” He starts walking toward you very slowly.

About a foot away, he stops, his head tilting so far to the side it’s almost at a right angle. “You’ve been fucking my father? Playing house?” he asks. The words come out in a sharp, high pitched hiss. “You?!”

He laughs again, but it’s hollow. He steps into your space, his chest hovering an inch from yours, the sheer pressure of his aura making it hard to draw a full breath. He reaches out and grips the back of your neck, to hold you steady, like a specimen under a microscope. “What was it? Some kind of… vintage kink?” He leans down, his eyes scanning every inch of your face with a disgust that is deeply wrapped in envy.

His grip tightens just a fraction, enough to remind you that he could snap your spine like a dry twig. His voice drops to a low, vibrating purr. “Here’s the thing… everything he is, I am. But better. I’m the upgrade.” He leans in, his lips brushing your ear, his voice turning dark and manipulative. “I should be disgusted. I should be painting the walls with you. But instead… I think I’m going to keep you. I want to know exactly what he liked. I want you to tell me everything he did.”