บท 11: Chapter 11
The van screeched to a halt in a dimly lit alleyway, its tires smoking from the hasty getaway. Billy Butcher killed the engine, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he tried to process what had just transpired. The rest of The Boys sat in stunned silence, the adrenaline of their narrow escape slowly giving way to a mixture of fear and disbelief.
Hughie was the first to break the silence. "Holy shit," he breathed, his voice trembling. "That... that was Homelander. The Homelander. And Superman just... just..."
"Saved our arses," Butcher finished, his tone a complex mixture of grudging respect and lingering suspicion. "Bloody Boy Scout actually came through."
Frenchie leaned forward, his eyes wide. "But what now, eh? Homelander knows about us, about the safehouse. We are, how you say, fucked, non?"
Mother's Milk shook his head, ever the voice of reason. "We stick to the plan. We've got enough evidence to start making some real noise. Vought can't cover up everything forever."
As The Boys debated their next move, across the city, a very different scene was unfolding in the luxurious penthouse suite of Vought Tower.
Homelander paced like a caged animal, his cape billowing behind him with each agitated turn. Madelyn Stillwell watched him warily, her usual composure slipping in the face of his barely contained rage.
"He was working with them, Madelyn," Homelander snarled. "Superman, the great American hero, conspiring with terrorists!"
Madelyn's voice was soothing, placating. "John, please. We don't know the full story. Superman has always been... independent. But he's not our enemy."
Homelander whirled on her, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Isn't he? He refuses to join Vought, operates outside our control, and now this?" He gestured wildly. "He's a threat, Madelyn. To everything we've built."
As Madelyn tried to calm the increasingly unstable hero, neither of them noticed the small news alert popping up on the muted television screen behind them. A commercial airliner had lost power over the Atlantic, plummeting towards certain doom.
Miles away, Clark Kent's super-hearing picked up the panicked calls for help. Without hesitation, he shot into the sky, a red and blue streak racing towards the stricken aircraft.
The scene that greeted him was one of absolute chaos. The massive plane was in freefall, smoke trailing from its failed engines. Inside, passengers screamed and prayed, believing these to be their final moments.
Clark's mind raced, calculating trajectories and forces. Simply catching the plane could tear it apart. He needed to slow its descent gradually, to distribute the force evenly.
With precision born of years of experience, Clark positioned himself beneath the aircraft. He started with the tail section, using his flight to provide lift and stabilize the plane's attitude. Slowly, carefully, he worked his way forward, his hands pressing against the fuselage as he exerted more and more force to counter the plane's momentum.
Inside the cabin, passengers gasped as they felt the unmistakable sensation of deceleration. Through the windows, some caught glimpses of a familiar red cape.
"It's Superman!" The cry went up, hope replacing terror as the plane's descent slowed to a manageable glide.
With meticulous care, Clark guided the crippled airliner towards the nearest suitable landing site – a long stretch of coastal highway that had been rapidly cleared by local authorities. As they neared the ground, he shifted his position, now supporting the plane's entire weight to ensure a soft touchdown.
The landing was bumpy but controlled. As soon as the plane came to a stop, emergency slides deployed and passengers began evacuating. Clark flew to the doors, assisting those who needed help and using his x-ray vision to ensure no one was left behind.
As the last passengers disembarked, a cheer went up from the gathered crowd. Phones captured video of Superman standing atop the wing, his cape fluttering in the sea breeze, the very image of heroism.
But Clark's mind was already elsewhere. His enhanced hearing had picked up a news report that chilled him to the bone. Another plane, this one over the Midwest, had suffered a similar fate. But its outcome had been tragically different.
Eyewitness reports described a horrific scene. Homelander had arrived on the scene, but instead of saving the plane, he had... abandoned it. Left hundreds to die because he couldn't figure out how to safely land the aircraft.
The contrast couldn't have been starker. As Clark dealt with the aftermath of his rescue, fielding questions from grateful passengers and coordinating with emergency services, his thoughts turned to the lives lost in that other crash. Lives that could have been saved.
.....
...
.....
Miles away, in their makeshift hideout, The Boys watched the dual news reports in stunned silence. The split-screen showed Superman's triumphant rescue alongside the grim details of the Midwest tragedy.
"Fucking hell," Butcher muttered, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Maybe the Boy Scout isn't all talk after all."
Hughie nodded slowly. "It's like... it's like night and day. Superman actually saved those people. Homelander just... left them to die."
The implications hung heavy in the air. This was more than just a difference in ability or technique. It was a fundamental divergence in what it meant to be a hero.
As the news cycle continued to churn, dissecting every aspect of the two incidents, the seeds of change were being sown in the public consciousness. Questions were being asked, comparisons drawn. Why could Superman save a plane when Homelander couldn't? What did this say about Vought's premier hero?
In Vought Tower, Madelyn Stillwell watched the reports with growing alarm. She could already sense the shift in public opinion, the potential PR nightmare looming on the horizon. And Homelander... his reaction to this perceived humiliation could be catastrophic.
As night fell over the city, the events of the day had set in motion a chain reaction that would reshape the landscape of heroism in America. The lines were being drawn, allegiances tested, and the true nature of what it meant to be a hero was being questioned on a national scale.
For Clark Kent, floating high above the city and listening to the world below, the weight of responsibility felt heavier than ever. He had saved hundreds of lives today, but he knew that this was just the beginning. The coming conflict would test not just his powers, but his principles.
And as he turned his gaze towards Vought Tower, where he knew Homelander was likely seething with rage and jealousy, Clark steeled himself for the battles to come. Both physical and moral.
The world was changing. The age of unquestioning hero worship was coming to an end. And in its place, a new era of accountability and genuine heroism was dawning.
The question remained: who would rise to meet this new challenge? And who would fall in the face of it?
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