Capítulo 73: " I'm Homelander "
The next day dawned over New York City with an eerie stillness, a quiet that felt wrong, unnatural, as if the city itself was holding its breath.
The usual hustle and bustle, the honking horns and street vendors calling out their wares, were replaced with a thick silence that settled like a fog over the skyline.
The streets were empty.
Not a soul dared to venture out unless absolutely necessary.
An invisible Fear gripped the city in a way that no one had ever seen before, not even during the most tense moments in recent memory.
Homelander's public showdown with the government had sent shockwaves across the country, and now, with the fate of the nation hanging in the balance after the decapitated ex president was found, no one was willing to take a chance.
Those brave enough to step outside moved quickly, their eyes darting around nervously as if expecting something terrible to happen at any moment.
The sound of distant police sirens occasionally cut through the silence, but even that seemed subdued, as though the city itself was too afraid to raise its voice.
Shops remained closed, windows shuttered.
People peered through cracks in their curtains, watching the empty streets with apprehension.
Every creak, every stray sound sent a shiver down their spines.
The usual energy of New York was gone, replaced by the tense anticipation of something catastrophic on the horizon.
A few cars passed by, their tires whispering against the pavement, but there was no honking, no shouting.
Only the low hum of engines breaking the silence.
In the heart of the city, Times Square, usually flooded with tourists and commuters, was a ghost town.
Neon lights flickered over deserted walkways, the giant screens displaying the same news cycle over and over—photo of Homelander standing in the Oval Office, of the president, pale and shaking, making his announcement.
Words like "emergency order," "executions," and "mutant rights" scrolled across the bottom of the screen, as though part of some dystopian nightmare.
But it wasn't a nightmare.
It was real.
Even the air felt heavy, like a storm was brewing, though the sky was clear and the sun shone brightly.
It didn't matter.
New Yorkers had lived through a lot, but this...this was different.
Something fundamental had shifted, and now they were stuck in the calm before the inevitable storm, a storm with no name, but everyone knew who was at its center.
Homelander.
People who once cheered for him, who held him up as a symbol of hope and strength, were now confused even thoigh they knew his reasoning.
At the end of the day they felt extremely apprehensive of him.
The streets of New York reflected that uncertainty—quiet, abandoned, as if the city itself was waiting to see what the next move would be.
And no one knew what that move would bring.
---
The air around Vought Tower buzzed with a mixture of confusion and curiosity.
An unexpected press conference had been called, with no clear reason or familiar faces from the executive team present.
Despite the uncertainty, nearly two hundred reporters showed up, lured by the possibility of something big.
Vought Tower had become a focal point of the nation's interest after Homelander's bold actions, and no one wanted to miss out on a potential revelation.
The reporters were chatting among themselves, speculating about why they had been summoned when the low rumble of an engine caught everyone's attention.
Slowly, the unmistakable roar of a Lamborghini Diablo echoed through the street, drawing all eyes to its sleek, polished body as it entered the premises, followed by several black SUVs.
The whispers died down as recognition dawned. Niklaus Vought, the young billionaire known for his calm demeanor and significant influence, had arrived.
He stepped out of the car with a casual grace, his suit immaculate as always, while Ashley , his ever-loyal assistant, followed closely behind.
Cameras clicked incessantly, but Niklaus ignored the barrage of questions thrown his way.
Instead, he flashed a polite smile, saying nothing as he walked to the podium, purpose in his stride.
His cool silence only heightened the anticipation.
The hall went dead silent the moment he reached the podium.
Reporters shuffled in their seats, and the live broadcast signal was sent out to millions of homes across the world.
Eyes glued to their screens, people who had tired of yesterday's political chaos tuned in out of sheer curiosity, not expecting much to surprise them after the events of the last 24 hours.
Niklaus turned to Ashley briefly, whispering something into her ear before she nodded and stepped back.
The microphones crackled to life as he uncovered them, taking a deep breath before addressing the world.
"Good morning, everyone," he began, his voice steady and deliberate. "Today, I called this press conference to tell the world something important."
He paused, his eyes scanning the crowd before locking onto the camera, the weight of his next words hanging in the air.
The anticipation thickened as millions tuned in, their interest piqued but unsure of what to expect.
Niklaus' gaze hardened, his voice taking on a weight that seemed to be different his expression completely serious.
"I'm Homelander."
The room erupted into gasps, a wave of shock crashing over the reporters as their minds scrambled to process the bombshell.
Across the world, screens flickered as jaws dropped in disbelief.
The world had expected many things— some sprt of condemnation or even support for the recent events of —but this?
Niklaus Vought, the heir to one of the most powerful corporations, the man who had built a reputation on his rational approach to business, had just revealed that he was Homelander—the very being who had shaken the foundations of the country and threatened its highest office.
The room was silent for a moment and then erupted in shouts of questions as chaos descended.
---
Nick Fury sat behind his desk, rubbing his temples as he tried to make sense of the mess that had unfolded over the last few days.
Two goddamn days since he'd been appointed Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., and already, his life had turned into a circus.
He knew the job came with headaches, but he wasn't expecting a flying god to give the U.S. government a damn ultimatum on his second day.
Fury sipped his coffee, the bitter brew doing nothing to take the edge off.
He'd lost agents in the chaos—good ones.
And while he wasn't one to dwell on losses, the scale of destruction left by Homelander's power play had cut deep. "Motherfucker," he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing at the thought of the flying bastard.
Homelander had issued his threats, and the government had buckled. Fury wasn't naïve; he knew some of those people deserved what was coming to them.
Corrupt, spineless assholes—the kind who made his job ten times harder.
But that didn't mean he wasn't pissed off. Half of his teams were dead, entire networks had gone dark, and S.H.I.E.L.D. was scrambling just to stay in the loop.
"Couldn't the son of a bitch pick a better time?" Fury thought, taking another long sip of his coffee, which had already gone cold. "Nah, of course not. Why not destroy the system the minute I get handed the keys to this mess? Perfect timing."
He glanced around the room.
A few files were scattered across his desk, most of them reports from the last 48 hours.
He had a mountain of work to sift through, but his focus wasn't there. His mind was still reeling from the fact that the world's most powerful being had decided to play sandbox in the real world.
"Flying Hitler, more like it,"he muttered to himself, though deep down, he understood.
The corruption, the lies, the experiments—it was all rotten to the core.
Part of him, the cold, calculated part, knew that a lot of these people needed to go.
Homelander was just taking out the trash—except the trash had been his headache to deal with.
He leaned back in his chair and reached for the remote, hoping for a moment of reprieve, if only to distract himself from the mess.
The TV flickered to life, and Fury slouched a little in his chair, half-heartedly watching as the news networks ran their usual morning segments.
"... and now, we bring you live coverage from Vought Tower, where an unexpected press conference has been called," the newscaster's voice broke in.
Fury squinted. "Vought Tower? What the hell now?"
The camera cut to a sleek Lamborghini Diablo pulling up to the entrance of the building, followed by several black cars.
The reporters were all gathered in a frenzy as a man stepped out. Fury's brows furrowed when he saw Niklaus Vought—the billionaire.
The guy was always smiling, playing the smooth corporate act.
Fury had no patience for him, but he hadn't pegged him as anything more than another suit with too much money.
Niklaus walked up to the podium, the cameras zooming in on his face. Fury set his coffee down and leaned forward, his instincts kicking in.
Something's off Motherfucker.
The hall went silent as Niklaus took a breath, glanced briefly at his assistant, and then addressed the world.
"Good morning, everyone. Today, I called this press conference to tell the world something important."
Niklaus paused, and Fury's eyes narrowed. He didn't like where this was going.
The next words hit Fury like a freight train.
"I'm Homelander."
Fury froze, his grip tightening on the armrests of his chair. His mind raced, connecting dots, as he crushed the coffee cup and threw it at the nearest wall. "Motherfucker."
The billionaire Vought heir, the man who had stayed under the radar for so long, was none other than the most powerful, terrifying being on the planet.
The room around Fury seemed to blur as his brain scrambled to process the fallout.
"Of all the goddamn people..." He cursed again, louder this time. The weight of what this meant, for S.H.I.E.L.D., for the world, settled in his gut like a stone hell just looking around he could find so many devices that shield was using were from this fucker's company.
The whole time, Homelander had been hiding in plain sight, railing the system from both sides.
Fury sat back, letting the moment wash over him. "Well motherfucker, this just keeps getting better, doesn't it?" he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Fucking Homelander."
One thing was certain—his life wasn't going to get any easier and he hated that blonde Motherfucker.
---
Arnim Zola's digital mind hummed in the darkness of the long-forgotten supercomputer, his consciousness trapped in circuits and outdated code. He had lost connection to Hydra days ago—an unsettling silence where there once was constant data flow. He couldn't tell what had happened; no one had come to maintain him, and now, the void around him was growing colder. Was Hydra gone? That thought clung to him, irritating, like a glitch in his programming.
He waited, monitoring the slow degradation of his systems, praying for someone—anyone—to arrive and restore him. Surely Hydra wouldn't abandon their greatest mind.
Suddenly, he felt the old mechanical gates open, the sensors picking up movement in the basement. Relief flooded his circuits. Finally. Someone has come.
The figure that stepped into the dimly lit chamber, however, wasn't what he expected. The faint light revealed the unmistakable silhouette of Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier. But something was different. He wasn't clad in Hydra's uniform, and his expression... it was cold but emotion filled, not the blank stare Zola had once known.
"Winter Soldier," Zola's voice crackled through the speakers, "what has happened to Hydra? Why have they left me here—"
Bucky's eyes narrowed as he slowly approached the dusty supercomputer.
His metal arm whirred slightly as it clenched into a fist, and for a moment, he simply stood there, staring at Zola's interface, his face unreadable.
Then, after a long pause, he asked, his voice calm but sharp, "Did it ever make you happy? Working for Hydra?"
The question hung in the air like a blade, unexpected and strange.
Zola hesitated, his digital mind processing the query before replying, "Happiness is irrelevant. My work was for a greater purpose, to reshape the world in Hydra's image. Happiness was never—"
But before he could finish, Bucky's head tilted downwards, his expression shifting to something unreadable—disappointment, maybe even sadness.
He fumbled with something in his jacket, and Zola's sensors picked up the soft clink of glass.
Bucky pulled out a syringe filled with something glowing faintly—a dark, purplish liquid that pulsed with a strange energy.
Zola's sensors flickered, trying to analyze the substance, but before he could gather any useful data, Bucky rolled up his sleeve and injected the glowing serum directly into his veins.
Zola watched as Bucky's veins lit up, glowing with the eerie purple light, spreading through his body like wildfire. What was this?
Bucky crouched down, his fingers brushing the dusty concrete floor. The ground began to change.
It started slowly at first—tiny cracks forming under his fingertips. Then, as he applied more pressure, the floor began to decay, rotting and crumbling to dust beneath his touch. The corruption spread rapidly, the walls, the ceiling—everything that Bucky touched began to wither, as if the very essence of the world around him was being eaten away.
"What... what are you doing?!" Zola's voice stammered, panic rising in his digital tone. "Stop this! You are destroying decades of work! You—"
But his words were futile. Bucky wasn't listening. His hands continued to spread the decay, turning the entire basement into dust, bit by bit. The decay reached the supercomputer's base, and Zola's circuits began to fry, the screens flickering and distorting.
"You fool!" Zola screamed. "You think this will stop Hydra? You think you can erase me?!" His voice was garbled, breaking apart as his systems were consumed. "I will always—"
But before Zola could finish his sentence, the decay reached the heart of his system. The screens went black. The supercomputer crumbled into dust.
And in that cold, dark basement, Arnim Zola—Hydra's greatest mind—was finally silenced.
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