Marvel : Homelander

After his heroics, Niklaus Vought made his way down to the basement of Vought Tower.

The sleek, pristine environment of the upper floors was left far behind as he descended into the darkness of his true domain.

Down here, in the cold, metallic labyrinth of machinery and experiments, lay the core of his hidden operations—his real work.

He passed by the pods filled with dissected Kree bodies floating in a preservation solution, remnants of his past endeavors.

Back in 1995, when the Captain marvel had been a prime target for others.

Niklaus had turned his attention to more immediate gains: capturing Kree soldiers for experimentation.

While the Tesseract slipped from his grasp, he'd considered it a minor setback.

He wasn't ready to utilise it 100%.

But one day, with the proper knowledge and technology, he would claim it.

For now, his focus was on something more achievable: Compound V.

Using the Kree physiology as a foundation, he worked to develop a new, rudimentary version of the compound.

He could have tested it on himself, but the risk was too high.

A reality-warping incident, one beyond his control, was the last thing he wanted.

His paranoia drove him to perfect his control over every part of the process.

Control, after all, created good product.

As he ventured deeper into the lab, his attention shifted to what lay beyond the Kree pods: his super-researchers.

These weren't ordinary scientists but convicts, gathered from the darkest corners of society.

Their crimes were so vile that their fates were sealed long before Niklaus got his hands on them.

They were monsters, but they had their uses.

Niklaus had meticulously reconstructed their minds, connecting them in a complex web of thought, forming a singular, organic supercomputer.

But he wasn't naive. He knew that something so dangerous could never be allowed to go rogue.

Each member of this hive mind was under his complete domination.

Every day, he asserted his control over them, reinforcing his dominance so that not a single thought slipped beyond his grasp.

They couldn't even rebel if they wanted to, with the four self-imploding chips implanted in their bodies, ensuring their compliance.

But that was just a safeguard—the true power lay in his constant mental domination.

Niklaus smirked as he approached the network.

Today, he had come to add another member to this twisted conglomerate of minds.

The government, blinded by the success and popularity of Vought, had turned a blind eye to its more sinister operations.

Vought's public image had skyrocketed, with Homelander—the hero they adored—helping cement their place at the top.

Cheap medication, improved healthcare, and a string of successful ventures had silenced most critics.

Those who dared speak out, those who challenged Vought's dominance, soon found themselves... absent.

Some developed sudden desires to take long vacations, and as fate would have it, they often met unfortunate accidents in places sadlt where even Homelander couldn't save them in time.

Coincidence, of course.

The government was happy.

Vought was thriving, and Niklaus's plans were unfolding perfectly.

Behind the scenes, he continued to build his empire—carefully, meticulously, always under his control.

"Welcome to the fold," Niklaus muttered as the newest member was connected to the network.

Another mind, another piece of the puzzle.

Soon, all the pieces would be in place, and then... then he would be unstoppable.

---

After completing his work in the basement, Niklaus phased through the tower's walls, silently making his way up to his private room.

The cold lights of Vought Tower flickered beneath him as he ascended, unseen and unheard, slipping through floors and ceilings like a ghost.

Reaching his room, he sighed and looked around at the opulent space Vought had provided him—everything a man could want, and yet it felt empty.

Instead of falling into bed as most people might after a day of "heroics," Niklaus grabbed his notebook from a drawer and sat at his desk.

Sleep never came easily to him, not when his mind was constantly churning, restless.

He began scribbling notes—half-formed ideas, fragments of plans, thoughts that wandered off into strange tangents.

The role of the hero was something he'd accepted, but never truly embraced. It felt more like an obligation, a costume he wore , rather than something that defined him.

Every time he saved someone or stopped some disaster, there was a growing sense of disconnect.

The cheers of the crowds, the admiration in their eyes—it meant nothing to him. Not really.

He was going through the motions.

Niklaus paused, tapping the pen against the page.

His hyperfixation on tasks had driven him here, hadn't it?

It had been the same in his previous life. He remembered high school—back when things had been fun, exciting.

He had friends, dreams, and childish ambitions.

But somewhere along the way, that all changed. He'd become obsessed with the idea of wealth and success, sacrificing everything else in pursuit of it. He'd burned himself out in the process.

And now? Now he was a "hero," with powers that could shake the world, and yet that same emptiness gnawed at him. Nothing felt real. Not the cheers, not the fear in his enemies' eyes, not even the satisfaction of power. It was all... hollow.

He scrawled something in the notebook—random lines and symbols, meaningless to anyone but him. Maybe it was a way to distract himself, or maybe it was just his way of coping with the growing void inside.

Niklaus leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling.

How long could he keep this up? How long before the disconnect became too much? The thought lingered as his eyes drifted back to the notebook.

For now, he would keep moving forward, keep doing what was expected of him. But deep down, the question remained: what happens when you lose yourself in the role you're playing?

And worse—what happens when you stop caring altogether?

Niklaus shook his head lightly as he put down the pen, chuckling to himself.

Maybe his mother was partially right.

His mother's voice echoed in his mind,

"You need to get a girl John, A woman completes a man."

She'd been saying that for years, ever since he dumped his last girlfriend.

That relationship had gone off the rails before it even started properly —Niklaus had noticed the subtle signs, the late replies, the distance.

He suspected she was either already cheating or was going to eventually.

Not that it really mattered to him; he had never been deeply invested.

But his mother? She had adored the girl.

Kept insisting she was the one who could "complete" him, whatever that meant.

Complete me?He smirked at the thought.

Niklaus never felt incomplete, not even when he'd severed ties with everyone who used to matter.

He had bigger things on his mind.

He was always fixating on something, some task, some project—just like in his previous life.

A life where he burned himself out chasing money and power until all the fun had been drained from it.

But even in that state he never felt Incomplete.

With a heavy sigh, Niklaus stood up from his desk.

He walked slowly, knowing all too well how dangerous his strength was, even at rest.

The floor beneath him creaked just a little enough to be heard by his super hearing, he could easily fold it like paper if he wasn't careful.

His movements were deliberate, measured—always in control.

Reaching for the shelf, his eyes landed on a familiar bottle.

Captain Morgan's rum. His father's favorite drink.

Niklaus had been just a kid, barely out of high school when the cancer took hold.

His father had been a proud man, stubborn.

When the diagnosis came, the treatments started draining the family's finances.

Instead of letting them struggle, his father had made the choice to stop taking medication.

It had been brutal. Niklaus watched him wither away, all the strength and fire gone, until he was just a shell of the man he once knew.

His father passed quietly and alome refusing to let himself be seen that way and cause his precious one's pain.

It was at the funeral where Niklaus took his first drink of this rum.

He could still remember the burn, the sharp sting in his throat, the way it numbed him for just a moment.

Now, he unscrewed the cap and took a long swig straight from the bottle.

The liquid was smooth, the taste familiar.

But it didn't have the same effect it used to.

Nothing really did. Not the alcohol, not the pain, not even the fleeting victories in his heroics.

It was all background noise to him for most of the time.

As he drank, he couldn't help but let his mind wander.

=========================

Stones and Reviews please