The villa was tempting. Clark would grant it that much.
A private garden. Underground parking. An outdoor pool positioned behind an iron fence with the considered discretion of people who understood the difference between having things and displaying them. In New York, a property this size at this address would carry a price tag most people would struggle to say out loud without pausing first.
But as Clark made a slow circuit of the exterior, taking in the grounds and then the building itself, something else was becoming apparent.
"Is the wall lining zinc?" He said it half to himself. There were cameras as well, small, carefully sited, and cased in the same material. Listening devices behind the plaster. All of it zinc. All of it invisible to Homelander's x-ray vision. Fully visible to Clark's.
Bruce, I might be able to accept, he thought. Bruce at least operated inside a recognizable moral architecture, however unusual its conclusions. There was a traceable logic to what Bruce did, even when that logic produced surveillance as its output.
This was Vought International.
His expression settled.
"Were the building materials here specifically selected?" He looked at Ashley beside him. "I can't see through the walls."
Ashley's response arrived smoothly, practiced and prepared. "Homelander's been with The Seven since the earliest roster. There's no concern about him accidentally monitoring teammates. But powers can have unintended reach, and this kind of structural accommodation helps the other members feel comfortable during off-hours." She continued, "The adaptations vary by occupant. The Deep's quarters include a saltwater tank. Black Noir's has a small stage. Each room reflects what that person needs."
"So this was Homelander's," Clark said.
"Originally, yes. You could of course rent or buy independently once your first contract closes. Vought wouldn't object to that. The cost and taxes would come from your own account." She gestured at the grounds. "But since no one is currently occupying this space, it seemed inefficient to leave it empty. In New York, a property like this represents a significant number."
And then there's the surveillance array and the listening devices, Clark thought. All of it originally installed with Homelander in mind. All of it now pointed at me.
Jude was right. Vought really does care.
He took the key from Ashley's hand. He did not go inside to look around. He went back to the Vought building.
He had several more tests to complete.
The sun finished its descent somewhere around six. The researchers had been at it for most of the afternoon, and by the time the laboratory lights came up fully, their professional detachment had slipped.
"Your body," one of them said, pausing mid-sentence as if realizing the available vocabulary wasn't quite equal to the conclusion. "It is simply... an unrepeatable miracle."
They gathered in a loose semicircle around Clark. Their attention fell somewhere between scientific and devotional. The notebooks were full. The instruments had been recalibrated twice. The numbers, apparently, kept requiring confirmation.
Physical strength: two to three times Homelander's measured output. Flight velocity: roughly twice. Heat vision destructive yield: higher than any prior recorded figure. Physical resilience: that category had generated the afternoon's most memorable incident.
A single strand of Clark's hair lay on the examination table, held taut by pneumatic clamps that required substantial pressure just to maintain even tension. Under the laboratory lights, it caught the angle wrong for hair, shimmering with a quality that belonged to something harder.
"Wait." Clark looked at the instrument being positioned over it. "Is that a chainsaw? I'd advise against that. It isn't safe."
"We already tried one," the researcher nearest to him said. He adjusted his glasses, attempting to maintain the composure of someone relaying inconvenient data. "Several varieties of saw blade, in increasing hardness. The most durable, the type that still cuts through Homelander's hair at speed, made no measurable impression on yours. One blade lost structural integrity on contact. It became a projectile. It destroyed several fairly expensive machines." He paused. "The researchers present were not injured."
"We don't fully understand the extent of the transformations your body has undergone, but—"
Clark registered the word choice immediately. "Aren't the abilities innate? What transformation are you describing?"
"Ah." The researcher made a small recalibration. "I mean only the category distinction. Your physiological profile relative to human baseline. Mutated, evolved, transformed. The terminology varies by context, and the semantics aren't really our focus here."
He moved on before Clark could follow the thread.
"The central issue is that your physical parameters exceed Homelander's in every measured dimension, which is precisely why standard collection methods won't produce a viable genetic sample. We'd need assistance from someone with the capability to break the skin surface."
Clark kept his expression steady. "You've invited Homelander."
"His heat vision is the most practical available resource for this. Highest sustained intensity, most controllable application." The researcher spoke as if running through logistics rather than implications. "The main variable is whether we can collect the sample before the tissue repair outpaces the exposure."
Clark looked at his phone.
He'd connected the channel before the testing session started, as agreed. Jude would have the full audio by now. The room, the conversation, the reason a genetic sample from Clark would be a problem. His DNA would not read as a variant of human biology. It would read as something from a different origin entirely.
A faint electric pulse registered against the skin of his back.
One pulse. Yes.
Clark nodded.
Homelander arrived five minutes later.
"Something ran long," he said. He addressed Clark with the manufactured warmth he reserved for rooms he wanted to feel managed. "Got here as soon as I could."
Clark's eyes moved briefly to his face, then away. He rolled back the sleeve of his suit to the elbow and offered his forearm without comment. His attention had already moved past the room.
He lowered his head slightly.
Two voices bled through the structural noise of the building, resolving themselves at a distance of two floors and a corridor. Audible, if you had the hearing, the way a radio signal becomes clear when you know which frequency to find.
Ashley first. "The Baltimore mayor meeting is next. Ten minutes."
The second voice carried the measured register of someone accustomed to setting the cadence of a room. Madelyn Stillwell. "What about the Homelander photo? Is it ready? The mayor's aide said the son is a fan. I'll give it to him at the meeting."
"It's here. I already signed it."
"Good. Go get set up. I'll follow." A pause. "Should we look at adding lead shielding to any of the remaining areas?"
"I don't think so. The floors that actually need insulation, the thirty-third is already zinc-reinforced. Superman's x-ray range doesn't penetrate zinc regardless, so the existing protection is sufficient. A renovation would be disruptive for Edgar."
"The CEO? He's aware of this arrangement?"
"There's no need to speculate about his intentions. If he's not instructing us otherwise, we don't assume license to act on his behalf."
The burning sensation arrived without warning.
Clark's attention snapped back to the room. Homelander was locked onto his forearm. The focus was narrow, the heat vision running at what felt like full output. It wasn't the measured application of a calibration test; it held actual intent. Clark's attention had drifted for the better part of a minute, and Homelander had noticed. He'd felt the absence of it, the slight of someone ignoring his performance, and the heat vision had adjusted accordingly.
The pain registered after roughly thirty seconds. Not severe. Present, though. A distant, insistent burn that confirmed something was working.
I've suppressed the speed figures and most of the strength output, Clark thought. But physical resilience doesn't work the same way. There's no clean mechanism for underperforming on durability.
"That's probably enough for today." One of the researchers stepped forward and placed a hand briefly on Homelander's shoulder. "We're not going to get a viable sample this session."
The heat vision didn't fade immediately.
The red in Homelander's eyes deepened.
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