Marvel System In The Boys

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Here's the new chapter.

The night air carried a certain tension, like the calm before a storm. Derek found himself standing outside the grandiose venue for Vought's annual gala, his hands fidgeting with the uncomfortable cuffs of his tuxedo jacket. He could already feel the sweat forming on the back of his neck, the weight of the suit pressing down on him like armor. It wasn't the kind of armor he was used to, though. This was a façade—something designed to make him blend in among the elite, the powerful. And frankly, Derek hated it.

"This thing's choking me," Derek muttered under his breath, tugging at his bowtie as if it were a noose.

Valerie, standing beside him in a sleek, black dress that hugged her figure like it was tailor-made, glanced over with an amused smile. Her long auburn hair was styled in elegant waves, and the slight shimmer of her eyeshadow caught the light from the ornate chandeliers hanging above the entrance. She looked every bit the part of someone who belonged here.

"Stop fussing," she said, flicking his hand away from the bowtie. "You look fine. If anything, you clean up better than I expected."

"Yeah, well, I feel like an idiot," Derek grumbled. "This place makes me itch. I'm not cut out for these... fancy scenes."

Valerie's smile widened. "Don't worry, you're doing just fine. Just keep that charming personality of yours on a leash for the night. No sudden outbursts. We're here to listen, not get ourselves killed."

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Charming? That's a first."

"Don't get used to it," Valerie shot back, already walking ahead toward the entrance.

They approached the towering glass doors, and the doorman barely glanced at them before opening the way inside. As they stepped through, the air changed instantly. It was warmer, heavier with the scent of expensive cologne, perfume, and champagne. The ballroom was stunning—a shimmering expanse of marble floors, golden accents, and high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers that looked like they could blind you if the light hit them just right. Everything about this place screamed money and power.

Derek felt out of place, like a wolf in sheep's clothing. But Valerie? She fit in so effortlessly that Derek had to remind himself they were here on a mission. She moved with grace, offering polite smiles to people who eyed her as they passed, while Derek did his best not to draw attention. He caught glimpses of familiar faces—businessmen, politicians, even a few Supes in their public-friendly costumes.

"This place is a nightmare," Derek muttered as they made their way through the crowd. "Do these people have any idea what's really going on out there?"

Valerie shot him a look. "Shhh. Eyes on the prize. Remember, we need information. The more we blend in, the better chance we have of hearing something useful."

Derek rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He had to admit, Valerie knew what she was doing. She had them both dressed to the nines, and they were gliding through the room like they belonged there. Derek scanned the faces around him, feeling the ever-present hum of danger beneath the surface. These were powerful people. Dangerous people. If they had any inkling of who he really was, things would go south fast.

"Champagne, sir? Ma'am?" A waiter appeared with a tray of flutes, offering them a glass each.

Valerie accepted hers with a dazzling smile. Derek, though, shook his head. "No thanks. I'm driving," he quipped.

Valerie rolled her eyes again. "Lighten up," she said under her breath, then turned back to the crowd. "Now, look around. Try to spot anyone who seems... off. We're not the only ones playing a game here."

Derek scanned the room, taking in the sea of suits, gowns, and masks of polite conversation. Everyone seemed to be putting on a show, but there were certain figures that stood out. He noticed a group of businessmen near the back, talking in hushed tones, their eyes darting around suspiciously. A woman in a glittering silver dress kept glancing at her phone, looking increasingly agitated. But then Derek's gaze shifted toward the stage at the far end of the room, and that's when he saw him.

Homelander.

Standing tall, poised like a lion about to address his pride, Homelander exuded a kind of confidence that bordered on godly. His iconic red, white, and blue uniform gleamed under the lights, his cape draped behind him with a dramatic flourish. His smile—charming to the public—held an edge of menace, like he was daring anyone to challenge him. Derek's stomach twisted.

"There he is," Derek muttered, nodding toward the stage. "The golden boy himself."

Valerie's eyes followed his line of sight, and she exhaled softly. "Homelander," she said. "The one man you definitely don't want to piss off in a room full of his fans."

Derek clenched his jaw. He'd heard enough about Homelander to know the man was far from the beacon of hope Vought painted him as. The guy was dangerous—unpredictable, egotistical, and ruthless. Derek could feel the simmering anger beneath his skin, but he tried to push it down.

"We need to stay focused," Valerie whispered, leaning closer to Derek as they found a spot near the edge of the crowd. "We're here for information. Let's just get what we need and get out."

Derek nodded, though his eyes never left Homelander. The Supe was making his way up the stage now, his presence commanding attention as the crowd hushed. All eyes were on him as he adjusted the microphone, flashing his dazzling smile to the audience. Then, his voice boomed over the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Homelander began, his tone warm, like he was addressing old friends. "Thank you all for being here tonight. It's an honor to stand before you, to represent the finest heroes this world has ever known."

Derek bit back a scoff. Heroes. Sure.

"We live in uncertain times," Homelander continued. "The threats we face aren't just from foreign enemies, but from those among us who think they can challenge the order—challenge the peace we've worked so hard to maintain. Vought has always been at the forefront of protecting America, of ensuring our safety and prosperity. And I'm proud to say, we're stronger than ever."

There was a round of applause, but Derek felt his fists clenching involuntarily. The arrogance in Homelander's voice was palpable, dripping with entitlement. He wasn't just talking about Vought's power—he was talking about his own. The way he carried himself, like he was invincible, grated on Derek's nerves.

"And let's not forget," Homelander said, his smile never faltering, "that there are those out there who think they can stand against us. People who believe they're... special. But they're not. They're delusional. And when they push too far, we remind them who's really in control."

Derek's vision blurred with rage. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, his blood boiling as Homelander's words sunk in. This wasn't just a speech. It was a veiled threat—a warning to anyone who dared to oppose him, anyone who thought they could challenge the status quo.

Valerie, sensing the shift in Derek's demeanor, placed a hand on his arm. "Hey," she whispered urgently. "Stay calm."

But it was too late. The words were out before Derek could stop them.

"Yeah? And who the hell's going to remind *you* who's in control?" Derek shouted, his voice cutting through the crowd like a knife.

The room fell silent.

All eyes turned toward Derek, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to freeze. Homelander's smile faltered, just for a second, as he locked eyes with Derek. Then, slowly, deliberately, Homelander's expression changed. His eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into something far more sinister.

"What did you say?" Homelander asked, his voice dangerously low.

Valerie's grip on Derek's arm tightened, but Derek didn't back down. The anger, the frustration, the powerlessness he had felt for so long—it all bubbled up in that moment.

"You heard me," Derek said, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at his gut. "You're just a glorified bully with a god complex."

The crowd collectively gasped, and for a moment, Derek thought he might have pushed too far. Homelander's eyes flashed with something dark, something murderous, but his smile remained plastered on his face.

"Brave words," Homelander said, stepping down from the stage, his gaze never leaving Derek. "But bravery often gets people killed."

The tension in the room was suffocating. Homelander moved closer, the crowd parting for him as if he were a predator stalking his prey. Derek could feel Valerie pulling at his sleeve, trying to get him to move, but his feet were glued to the spot.

And then Homelander was right in front of him, his presence overwhelming. He leaned in, his voice a deadly whisper.

"You've got some guts, I'll give you that," Homelander said, his hand gripping Derek's shoulder with enough pressure to make him wince. "But let me give you a little advice, hero. Keep your mouth shut... or I'll shut it for you."

Derek's heart pounded in his chest, each thud resonating with the adrenaline that flooded his veins. Homelander's grip on his shoulder tightened, and for a brief second, Derek considered throwing a punch—letting his rage explode, powers and all, right here in front of everyone. But then he felt Valerie's fingers digging into his sleeve, her silent plea for him to hold back, to not turn this into a massacre.

Homelander's gaze bored into him, cold and unforgiving. The man might have looked like a hero to the public, but up close, Derek could see the monster lurking beneath the surface. The power was intoxicating for Homelander, that much was clear, and the satisfaction of breaking people just for fun was painted across his smug face.

"I'll keep that in mind," Derek said through gritted teeth, forcing a smile that he hoped looked more confident than it felt. He had to play it smart—right now, it wasn't about fighting, it was about surviving this encounter.

Homelander's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, a flicker of something malicious in them. "Good," he finally said, his voice still low but now filled with a terrifying calm. "Enjoy the party... while you still can."

With that, he released Derek's shoulder, turning back to the crowd as if nothing had happened. The tension in the room dissipated slightly as Homelander plastered his charming smile back on, addressing the crowd with the same false warmth he'd started with.

Derek exhaled, his muscles unclenching as he stepped back. Valerie tugged at his arm, guiding him out of the main ballroom toward a quieter corner where they wouldn't be overheard.

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?" Valerie hissed the moment they were out of earshot. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and anger. "You almost got yourself killed in front of everyone!"

Derek leaned against the wall, his head still swimming from the encounter. "I couldn't help it," he muttered. "He's—he's everything I hate about people like him. I couldn't just stand there and listen to that bullshit."

Valerie shook her head, running a hand through her hair. "I get it, believe me. But you need to be smarter. You're not ready to take him on, Derek. Not yet."

Derek clenched his fists, the frustration bubbling back up. She was right, of course. He wasn't ready. Not for someone like Homelander. But the anger—his disgust for everything Homelander represented—was hard to swallow.

"Look," Valerie softened her tone, "we're in enemy territory. You can't lose your cool like that, especially not with someone like him. We came here for information, remember? Not to pick a fight we can't win."

Derek nodded, though his jaw was still tight. "Yeah, I know."

Valerie let out a breath. "Okay, good. Now, we need to lay low for the rest of the night. Homelander's going to be watching you like a hawk now. If we stay too long, things are only going to get worse."

Derek ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. He knew they should leave, but a part of him wanted to stay—wanted to find out more about what Vought was up to. They were close to something, he could feel it. But pushing further could be dangerous, especially with Homelander now on edge.

"Alright," Derek finally said, "we'll leave. But we need to figure out what's going on here. This whole gala... it's more than just a PR stunt. Something's off."

Valerie nodded. "Agreed. We'll dig deeper later. But for now, let's get the hell out of here before you really piss off the wrong person."

With that, they began to weave through the crowd, Derek keeping his head low as they made their way toward the exit. He could still feel the weight of Homelander's gaze on him, even though the Supe had returned to his speech. But as they reached the door, Derek couldn't shake the feeling that this was far from over.

Homelander wouldn't forget what had happened tonight.

And neither would Derek.

Derek and Valerie moved swiftly through the crowd, their presence now more of a disturbance than a part of the gala. Whispers followed them, eyes darted their way and then quickly looked elsewhere. Even though the room was still alive with music, laughter, and clinking champagne glasses, an invisible barrier seemed to form around them. People were avoiding them, giving them wide-eyed glances filled with suspicion and fear.

The aftermath of Derek's outburst at Homelander had clearly spread fast. Even though the altercation had been brief, it was enough to change the entire atmosphere surrounding them. It didn't help that Homelander's cool demeanor had likely scared everyone into submission, making sure no one came to their defense or tried to get involved.

Valerie glanced around, her expression tight as she whispered under her breath, "I think we've overstayed our welcome."

Derek could feel the weight of the stares, the tension in the air growing thicker by the second. "No kidding," he muttered, his gaze darting toward the exits. "We need to get out of here before someone decides to do more than just give us dirty looks."

Just as they were about to make a break for the door, a voice from behind called out, "Leaving already?"

Derek froze, recognizing the cool, confident tone. He turned slowly, half-expecting to see Homelander again, but instead, he found a different figure approaching them—tall, lean, with a cocky smile and piercing blue eyes that practically sparkled in the dim light of the gala.

"Eric Lark," the man introduced himself, holding out a hand as though they hadn't just been involved in a near-death confrontation moments ago. "You must be Derek Storm. And Valerie, of course. Lovely to meet you both."

Valerie shot Derek a questioning look, but he shrugged it off. Whoever this guy was, he didn't seem as openly dangerous as Homelander. Yet there was something unsettling about the way he carried himself—like he was used to being in control, even when chaos reigned around him.

"Yeah," Derek replied cautiously, not taking the offered hand. "And you are?"

Eric didn't seem bothered by Derek's cold response. His smile widened as he dropped his hand back to his side. "Someone who's very interested in what just went down between you and the golden boy over there."

Derek tensed at the mention of Homelander. "Look, if you're here to stir up trouble—"

"Stir up trouble?" Eric interrupted, chuckling lightly. "No, no, you've got the wrong idea. I'm not here to cause any problems. In fact, I'm here to help."

Valerie folded her arms, her skepticism clear. "And why should we trust you?"

Eric tilted his head slightly, his smile never faltering. "You shouldn't. Not yet. But let's just say I have some... interests that align with yours. And, after watching that little show earlier, I'm thinking we could be useful to each other."

Derek narrowed his eyes, trying to get a read on the guy. "You seem awfully calm for someone who just watched me almost get vaporized by Homelander."

Eric shrugged casually. "Let's just say I've seen worse. Besides, it's not like he was really going to do anything here. Too many eyes on him. He's a coward when it comes to public relations—he'd never risk his image by killing someone at an event like this."

There was a sharpness in Eric's voice, a barely concealed disdain for the supes that Derek found intriguing. He clearly had a history with them, or at the very least, he wasn't afraid to speak openly about their flaws. That alone made him stand out in a room full of people who were either terrified of Vought or too in awe of the supes to question anything.

Valerie wasn't convinced, though. "You still haven't answered why you care. Why approach us?"

Eric's eyes flickered with amusement as he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Because I know people when I see them. People who are going to do things. You don't strike me as the type to just sit back and let things happen. You're going to make waves, whether you like it or not. And I want to be there when it happens."

Derek studied him closely, trying to determine if this was some kind of setup. The man was slick, too confident, too at ease for someone supposedly on their side. But at the same time, there was something about him that felt genuine—a raw ambition that mirrored Derek's own frustration with the status quo.

"I'm guessing you know more about us than we do about you," Derek said, testing the waters.

Eric's grin returned, sharp and calculated. "A little. Enough to know you're not exactly best friends with Vought. And if that's the case, then we have a lot in common."

Valerie still looked unconvinced, her gaze flickering between Derek and Eric. "And what is it you want from us? We're not exactly looking for partners right now."

Eric straightened up, his smile fading slightly as he adopted a more serious tone. "What I want is simple: Vought is a disease. It's eating away at everything, controlling more than you realize. I want to tear it down. But I can't do it alone. And after watching what just went down with you and Homelander, I'd say you're looking for a way to even the playing field."

Derek couldn't argue with that. The more he learned about Vought, the more he hated everything they stood for. But teaming up with a complete stranger, especially one as smooth and calculated as Eric, was a risk.

"We've got our own plan," Derek said cautiously, "and we don't really trust anyone who just shows up out of nowhere offering help."

Eric nodded as if he expected that response. "Fair enough. But keep this in mind—Vought has eyes everywhere. You're in their crosshairs now, thanks to that little outburst. Homelander doesn't forget, and he doesn't forgive. You're going to need all the help you can get."

Valerie shifted uncomfortably, clearly torn between the sense of danger Eric was radiating and the reality that he might be right. Derek could feel it too—the weight of Homelander's gaze still burned at the back of his mind, like a predator waiting for its moment to strike.

Eric glanced around the room, noting how the crowd still kept its distance from them. "This isn't the place to talk business, anyway. Too many people, too many eyes. But think about it." He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to Derek. "When you're ready to make a real move, you know where to find me."

Derek stared at the card, his fingers brushing over the embossed name: *Eric Lark, Founder of Lark Industries.* Below the name was a phone number and an address—simple, unassuming, but with an air of mystery that made Derek's gut churn with uncertainty.

"We'll be in touch," Derek said, not fully committing but not rejecting the offer either.

Eric gave them one last knowing smile before slipping back into the crowd, disappearing among the throngs of guests as if he had never been there.

Valerie watched him go, her brow furrowed. "Do you really think we can trust him?"

"I don't know," Derek admitted, pocketing the card. "But something tells me we're going to need him sooner. "

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