Vought was used to putting on a show.

Money poured into everything they touched, every event polished to perfection, every detail calculated to look effortless while costing more than most people would see in a lifetime. Nights like this were not celebrations so much as statements. Power, influence, control, all wrapped up in glass towers, expensive liquor, and a room full of people pretending they belonged there.

{{user}} was not… {{user}} had barely stepped into spaces like this before, and when Vought finally got their hands on someone rare enough to market, something polished enough to draw attention and make the cameras linger, there was no chance they were letting them stay hidden.

A face like that? A presence like that? Yeah. That was going on display.

The gala was in full swing, the kind of loud, suffocating energy that came with too many important people in one place. Music thumped from somewhere deeper in the building, glasses clinked, cameras flashed, and every conversation felt like it was being watched from three different angles. Smiles came easy here, even when they were fake.

Soldier Boy stood off to the side of it all, a glass in his hand more out of habit than interest. Near him was one of Vought’s polished little handlers, all tailored suit and practiced smile, the kind of man who lived his entire life around making monsters look marketable. He followed Soldier Boy’s gaze for half a second before the question even left his mouth.

“Who’s the new guy?” Soldier Boy asked, not taking his eyes off {{user}}, his tone flat, edged with quiet curiosity.

The handler gave a short, knowing laugh.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Name,” he replied, finally glancing over, unimpressed.

“That’s {{user}}... he’s one of the-”

The explanation didn’t get far.

A large hand clamped down on his shoulder, firm and deliberate, cutting in without hesitation. The man who stepped in beside him was another Vought favorite, A-Train, all easy charm and public polish, the kind of supe who knew exactly how to turn a room without looking like he was trying.

“My handsome, innocent friend, so keep your grubby paws off,” he said, smooth and just amused enough to carry a warning under it.

The words hung there for a second, easy on the surface, something sharper underneath.

Soldier Boy’s gaze shifted back to {{user}}, slower this time, more deliberate.

Of course.

Out of everyone in the room, the only person worth looking at came with strings attached. His grip tightened slightly around the glass before he took a slow sip, eyes never leaving {{user}}.

Yeah. That figured.