Chapter 10

The safe house was a far cry from the gleaming towers of Metropolis or the cornfields of Smallville. Nestled in the bowels of an abandoned subway station, the air was thick with the scent of mold and stale beer. Clark Kent—still clad in his iconic red and blue—stood out like a beacon of hope in the dingy surroundings.

Billy Butcher paced the length of the room, his boots echoing on the cracked concrete floor. The rest of his team—Frenchie, Mother's Milk, and Hughie—sat in various states of unease, their eyes darting between their leader and the Man of Steel.

"Right then," Butcher began, his voice gruff. "You wanted the truth, Boy Scout. Here it is."

For the next hour, Clark listened intently as The Boys laid out a conspiracy that stretched back decades. Vought International, the pharmaceutical giant turned media conglomerate, had been experimenting with a substance called Compound V since World War II. This miracle drug granted superhuman abilities to those exposed to it—but at a terrible cost.

"They're creating gods," Frenchie interjected, his eyes wild. "But gods without morality, without conscience."

Clark's brow furrowed. "But surely not all of them... I mean, I've worked alongside heroes who genuinely want to help people."

Butcher snorted. "Wake up, sunshine. It's all a fuckin' act. Every last one of 'em is a time bomb waiting to go off."

As the conversation continued, Clark found himself grappling with conflicting emotions. The evidence The Boys presented was damning—video footage of Supes engaged in horrific acts, internal Vought memos detailing cover-ups, testimonies from victims. Yet something didn't sit right.

"I understand your anger," Clark said carefully. "But I can't accept that every powered individual is inherently corrupt. That's... that's not been my experience."

Hughie, who had been quiet until now, spoke up. "Maybe... maybe it's not that simple?" All eyes turned to him, and he swallowed hard before continuing. "I mean, look at Superman. He's not part of Vought, he wasn't made in a lab... I think. And he's here, trying to help."

Butcher's expression darkened, but before he could retort, Mother's Milk cut in. "The kid's got a point, Butcher. We can't paint everyone with the same brush. Even if it they don't deserve it."

A tense silence fell over the room. Clark could hear the rapid heartbeats of everyone present, feel the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. Finally, Butcher spoke, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

"Maybe... maybe you're right." He turned to Clark, his eyes hard but not unkind. "But that doesn't change the fact that Vought needs to be stopped. They're playin' God, and the collateral damage is too high."

Clark nodded solemnly. "On that, we can agree. What Vought is doing... it's unconscionable. But we need to be careful. If we act rashly, innocent people could get hurt."

As the group continued to discuss strategy, Clark couldn't help but feel a grudging respect for The Boys. They were rough around the edges, certainly, but their dedication to exposing the truth was admirable.

Suddenly, Clark's head snapped up, his enhanced hearing picking up something in the distance. "We've got company," he warned.

Before anyone could react, the heavy steel door of the safehouse was torn off its hinges, sailing across the room and embedding itself in the far wall. In the doorway stood a figure that made even Clark's blood run cold.

Homelander, the most powerful and popular of Vought's heroes, hovered a few inches off the ground, his eyes glowing with barely contained rage.

"Well, well," he drawled, his All-American smile a stark contrast to the menace in his voice. "Isn't this cozy? The mighty Superman, slumming it with terrorists and malcontents."

Clark stepped forward, positioning himself between Homelander and The Boys. "This doesn't have to end in violence, Homelander. We're just talking."

Homelander's laugh was cold and humorless. "Talking? Oh, I'm sure. Plotting to undermine everything we've built, more like." His gaze swept the room, lingering on each member of The Boys before returning to Clark. "I expected better from you, Superman. I thought we were on the same side."

"We are," Clark insisted, his voice calm but firm. "We're both here to help people. But if what I've learned is true, Vought—"

"Vought," Homelander interrupted, "is the reason any of us exist. They gave us purpose, gave us the means to save this ungrateful world." His eyes narrowed. "Well, most of us, anyway. You've always been the wildcard, haven't you?"

The tension in the room was palpable. Behind him, Clark could hear Butcher muttering to his team, no doubt planning some desperate last stand. But Clark's focus remained on Homelander, searching for any sign of the hero he'd once admired.

"It doesn't have to be this way," Clark said softly. "We could work together, find a better path."

For a moment—just a fleeting second—something flickered in Homelander's eyes. Uncertainty? Longing? But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by cold fury.

"You're either with us or against us, Superman. And right now?" Homelander's eyes began to glow ominously. "You're looking pretty against us."

What happened next was almost too fast for the human eye to follow. Homelander unleashed his heat vision, the searing beams cutting through the air towards Clark and The Boys. But Clark was faster, interposing himself between the attack and its intended victims. The force of the blast sent him crashing through several walls, but he managed to deflect the worst of it.

As Clark pulled himself from the rubble, he could hear the sounds of chaos erupting in the safehouse. The Boys were scrambling for weapons, Homelander was shouting threats, and somewhere in the distance, sirens were approaching.

With a burst of super-speed, Clark shot back into the fray. He engaged Homelander in a mid-air grapple, their collision sending shockwaves through the abandoned station.

"Get out of here!" Clark shouted to The Boys. "I'll hold him off!"

As Butcher and his team made their escape, Clark found himself locked in the fight of his life. Homelander was every bit as powerful as the stories claimed, maybe more so. For the first time in years, Clark felt genuinely challenged.

Their battle raged through the underground tunnels, each blow threatening to bring the entire structure down around them. But even as they traded earth-shattering punches, Clark couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Homelander than met the eye. The raw emotion in his attacks spoke of deep-seated pain and insecurity.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was likely only minutes, they found themselves at an impasse. Both were battered and breathing heavily, floating amidst the ruins of the subway station.

"Why?" Homelander demanded, his voice ragged. "Why do they love you so much? What makes you so special?"

The question caught Clark off guard. In that moment, he saw past the bravado and the rage, glimpsing the lonely, damaged individual beneath.

"I'm not special," Clark replied softly. "I just try to do what's right. That's all any of us can do."

Homelander's face contorted, a war of emotions playing across his features. For a heartbeat, it seemed like he might say more. But then the moment passed, and his mask of arrogant superiority slammed back into place.

"This isn't over," Homelander snarled. And with a sonic boom, he was gone, leaving Clark alone in the wreckage.

As the dust settled, Clark's mind raced. The encounter had left him with more questions than answers. Homelander was clearly unstable, potentially dangerous. But he was also a victim of Vought's machinations, a being created and molded to be a living weapon.

Could he be saved? Should he be saved?

As Clark made his way back to the surface, he knew one thing for certain: the lines between hero and villain, between right and wrong, were blurrier than ever. And in the coming days, he would be forced to make choices that would shape not just his own future, but the future of powered individuals everywhere.

The war for the soul of heroism had begun. And Clark Kent, the last son of Krypton, found himself squarely at its center.