Chapter Text
James Harris, better known as Badger, was a living legend—a Supe forged in the fires of history. He'd fought in every major American war, from the blood-soaked fields of the Civil War to the jungles of Vietnam. Though his face bore the timeless youth of a man in his mid-thirties, his soul carried the weight of centuries.
He was the original, the prototype whose DNA had birthed Compound V, spawning legends like Soldier Boy, Black Noir, and his old squad, Payback. From there, it rippled out to an entire generation of modern Supes. Badger liked to tell himself it had made the world better, that donating his essence had been a noble act. But the commercialization of heroes gnawed at him—the way it inflated egos and turned saviors into brands.
Still, he pressed on, captaining Vanguard, the elite team at the pinnacle of Vought's superhero hierarchy. At least there, he could still do some real good. Today promised to shake things up. Stan Edgar, the latest in a long line of slick corporate overlords Badger had outlasted, had summoned him for a "critical discussion."
"Ah, James. Welcome. Have a seat."
Edgar's greeting was warm, his posture exuding calculated respect for the ancient Supe. Badger settled into the plush chair, lighting a thick Cuban cigar and drawing in a deep, smoky breath.
"What's on your mind, Stan?"
Edgar eased into the seat across from him, his eyes sharp behind that perpetual mask of composure.
"We have a few matters to discuss, my friend. The board and I have finalized some decisions regarding our superhero program."
He paused, leaning forward slightly.
"We're ready to unveil our newest... asset to the public. And we want you to be the one to introduce him to America."
The word "asset" hit Badger like a sour note. He'd seen Vought treat people like products before, but this felt off.
"Asset? What the hell are you talking about?"
Edgar smiled thinly, unfazed.
"His name is John, but he'll go by Homelander. He's the pinnacle of what Compound V can achieve—the strongest being we've ever created. He's the future of our heroes, James. Tailor-made for the spotlight."
There it was: the corporate greed Badger despised, bubbling up like oil from a cracked well.
"And where do I fit into this shiny new future? You planning to sideline me? Put me out to pasture? Not happening."
Edgar raised a placating hand.
"Relax, James. You're irreplaceable—our most valuable hero, the most famous man in American history. No one's pushing you aside."
His tone shifted to persuasion.
"This is about evolution. Homelander embodies the American dream: strength, patriotism, invincibility. Who better to usher him in than you? America's greatest could pass the torch—or at least share the flame."
Badger had mentored plenty of Supes over the decades; this wasn't new territory. But something about Edgar's pitch felt too rehearsed, too eager.
"You want me to take him under my wing? Train him up?"
"Precisely,"
Edgar replied, nodding.
"So, are you in?"
Badger exhaled a plume of smoke, eyeing the CEO.
"I want to meet him first. How soon can you make that happen?"
Edgar's smile widened as he rose and crossed to his desk, pressing the intercom button.
"Miss Turner, send John in."
He turned back to Badger, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"The boy's a huge fan of yours, James. Be kind—he's got potential."
Badger grunted in acknowledgment, stubbing out his cigar as the door swung open. In stepped Homelander: a towering figure at six feet, with slicked-back blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and a nervous energy that clashed with his imposing frame.
His suit was a masterpiece of Vought design—deep blue fabric accented with gold, red gloves clenched at his sides, and a cape draped like the Stars and Stripes itself. He looked every bit the all-American idol, but his gaze locked on Badger with wide-eyed awe.
"Homelander, welcome,"
Edgar said, extending a hand and seamlessly taking charge.
"Mr. Edgar, sir,"
Homelander replied, shaking it firmly, though his eyes never strayed from Badger.
"I believe Mr. Harris needs no introduction,"
Edgar continued smoothly. Homelander shook his head, then stepped forward, offering his hand.
"No, sir. He doesn't."
His voice was steady, but the tremor in his grip betrayed his excitement. Badger clasped the young Supe's hand in a firm, unyielding shake.
"Pleasure to meet you, son." Homelander's eyes lit up like a kid meeting his hero. "The pleasure's all mine, sir. It's an honor."
Edgar beamed, placing a hand on each man's shoulder.
"Excellent. Now that introductions are out of the way, let's talk details. Tomorrow's July 4th—the perfect stage for Homelander's debut. We'll hold a press conference in Washington, and you, James, will make the introduction."
As they settled onto the couch, Edgar pulled out a sleek tablet, projecting holographic slides of the event layout onto the coffee table between them.
"We've scripted a narrative: You start with a nod to your storied past, the wars you've won, the heroes you've inspired. Then, you pivot to the future—how Homelander represents the next evolution, built from the best of us."
Badger leaned back, crossing his arms.
"Built from the best, huh? You mean from me."
He shot a glance at Homelander, who was sitting ramrod straight, hanging on every word.
"Kid, you know what that means? My blood's in your veins, in a manner of speaking. Makes us kin, I suppose."
Homelander nodded eagerly, his blue eyes gleaming.
"I do, sir. I've studied everything about you—Gettysburg, Normandy, even that classified op in 'Nam. You're the reason I... well, exist. I want to make you proud. Make America proud."
Edgar interjected smoothly, steering the conversation.
"Exactly. The press will eat it up: Mentor and protégé, old guard meets new. We'll have fireworks—make it a spectacle. James, you'll say something like, 'In my time, I've seen heroes rise and fall, but today, I introduce the one who'll soar higher than any before.'"
Badger chuckled dryly, the sound like gravel under boots.
"Sounds a bit flowery for my taste, Stan. I'm no poet. But fine, I'll play ball. Just tell me, kid—what can you do? What's your edge?"
Homelander straightened further, if that was possible, his cape shifting with a whisper.
"Flight, super strength, heat vision, enhanced senses... invulnerability. They say I'm unbreakable."
He paused, then added with a hint of vulnerability,
"But I want to learn from you. How to lead, how to fight for what's right—not just win battles, but win hearts." Edgar nodded approvingly. "See? He's got the spirit. This partnership will boost Vanguard's profile, draw in new sponsorships. It's a win-win."
Badger studied Homelander, searching those earnest eyes for cracks. The kid seemed genuine, but Vought had a way of twisting purity into something sharper.
"Alright, son. We'll see what you're made of. But remember: Power's easy. Control? That's the real war."
As Edgar dove into logistics—stage cues, media Q&A prep—Badger couldn't shake the unease coiling in his gut. This wasn't just about a new face; it was the dawn of something bigger, something that could reshape Vought—and America—in ways he might live to regret. But for now, he played along, watching the eager young Supe across from him.