Chapter 17

The night air crackled with tension as Superman hovered above the Vought convoy, his enhanced vision piercing through the darkness. Below, a fleet of unmarked trucks wound their way through the empty streets of industrial New Jersey, their cargo holds filled with enough Compound V to create an army of unstable superhumans.

"All units in position," Frenchie's voice crackled through the earpiece Clark had reluctantly agreed to wear. "Awaiting your signal, mon ami."

Clark took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. "Remember the plan. We stop the convoy, secure the Compound V, and gather evidence. No unnecessary violence."

Butcher's gruff laugh cut through the comm channel. "Christ, you really are a Boy Scout, aren't you? Fine, we'll play it your way. For now."

With a burst of speed, Superman descended on the lead truck, landing on its hood with enough force to crumple the metal but not endanger the driver. The convoy screeched to a halt, horns blaring and tires squealing.

"Now!" Clark shouted, and chaos erupted.

The Boys emerged from their hiding spots, Frenchie's carefully placed explosives disabling the trucks' engines in synchronized blasts. Mother's Milk and Hughie moved to subdue the drivers, while Butcher charged towards the armed Vought security detail that poured out of the escort vehicles.

Clark was everywhere at once, a blur of red and blue. He disarmed guards with precision, crushed weapons into useless lumps, and intercepted bullets meant for The Boys. But even as he fought, he could feel the disapproval radiating from Butcher.

"Fucking hell, Superman!" Butcher roared as he grappled with a guard. "Stop pussyfooting around and put these cunts down for good!"

Clark gritted his teeth, ignoring the taunt. He spotted a guard taking aim at Hughie's exposed back and moved, faster than thought. The guard found himself disarmed and zip-tied before he could even register Superman's presence.

"Thanks," Hughie gasped, wide-eyed. "That was... wow."

As the dust settled and the last of the Vought personnel were subdued, Clark surveyed the scene. No fatalities, minimal injuries. The Compound V was secure, and Frenchie was already hacking into the convoy's onboard computers, downloading a treasure trove of incriminating data.

"Look what we have here," a familiar voice drawled from above. "Isn't this cozy?"

Clark's heart sank as he looked up to see Homelander floating above them, his cape billowing dramatically in the night breeze. The leader of The Seven wore his trademark smirk, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Enough of this," Clark called out, positioning himself between Homelander and The Boys. "It's over. We have what we need to expose Vought's entire operation."

Homelander's smirk widened. "Oh, Superman. You naive, apple-cheeked farmboy." That made Clark's heart skip a beat, does he know.... "Do you really think Vought can be taken down by something as quaint as evidence? We own the media, the politicians, the entire fucking system."

"Then we'll tear that system down," Butcher snarled, stepping up beside Clark. "Brick by bloody brick if we have to."

For a moment, Homelander's mask of amusement slipped, revealing a flicker of genuine anger. "You know, I've been patient with you, Superman. I thought maybe we could come to an understanding. But this? Consorting with terrorists? That's crossing a line."

Clark stood his ground, meeting Homelander's gaze unflinchingly. "The only terrorist here is Vought, experimenting on innocent people, creating unstable supes for profit." Clark's eyes narrowed once again. "I know about the compound-V and terrorist, Homelander..."

Homelander's eyes flared red, heat vision barely held in check. "You have no idea what you're dealing with, you inbred fuck. This is so much bigger than your black-and-white morality. But since you insist on playing the hero..." He gestured expansively. "Have at it. Just remember, if Vought goes down, so do I. And I'll have nothing to lose..."

With a sonic boom that shattered nearby windows, Homelander shot into the sky, leaving behind a wake of questions and unease.

In the tense silence that followed, Butcher turned to Clark, his expression unreadable. "What did you do to him after you saved our asses at that warehouse? He didn't even try to kill us all... scared of you ain't he?"

Clark nodded grimly. "Scared enough, but..." He hesitated, a decision crystallizing in his mind. "There's something I need to do first. Something I should have done a long time ago. Be safe."

With a sonic boom, Superman blasted away. Leaving Butcher and the crew alone.

'He really does care'. Butcher thought, still looking at where Superman had taken off from.

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Hours later, as the first light of dawn painted the Kansas sky, Clark stood before a weathered old barn on the outskirts of Smallville. His parents watched from the porch, concern etched on their faces.

"Are you sure about this, son?" Jonathan Kent called out. "Once you open that ship, there's no going back."

Clark turned to his adoptive father, managing a small smile. "I'm sure, Pa. With everything that's happening, I need to know where I came from. Who I really am."

With a deep breath, Clark entered the barn. There, hidden beneath years of accumulated farm equipment and childhood memories, lay the ship that had carried him across the stars. Its sleek, alien design stood in stark contrast to the rustic surroundings.

As Clark approached, the ship hummed to life, responding to his presence. A hologram flickered into existence – a man with Clark's jawline and eyes, wearing robes emblazoned with a familiar 'S' symbol.

"Kal-El, my son," the hologram spoke, its voice filled with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "If you are seeing this, then the time has come for you to learn the truth of your heritage, and the great responsibility that comes with it."

Clark listened, his heart pounding, as the hologram of Jor-El revealed the history of Krypton, its destruction, and the hopes pinned on its last son. With each revelation, Clark felt the weight of his destiny settling more firmly on his shoulders.

As the hologram faded, Clark stood alone in the barn, his mind reeling. He was the last son of Krypton, sent to Earth not just to survive, but to lead, to inspire hope in a world that desperately needed it.

His eyes fell upon a previously hidden compartment in the ship, now glowing with a soft, pulsating light. As if drawn by an unseen force, Clark approached and placed his hand on the smooth, alien metal. The compartment slid open with a whisper, revealing a suit unlike anything he had ever seen.

Clark lifted the suit reverently, marveling at its construction. The fabric was a deep, vibrant blue that seemed to shimmer with an inner light, interwoven with bold red accents that traced its contours. It was incredibly light yet radiated strength and durability.

At the center of the chest, the familiar 'S' shield stood out proudly, larger and more dynamic than his current emblem. Its edges were trimmed with a thin, metallic gold that caught the light, adding a touch of otherworldly regality.

The cape, a rich crimson that seemed to flow like liquid, was secured by golden clasps at the shoulders. As Clark ran his hands over it, he could feel the incredible strength woven into its lightweight material.

The gauntlets and boots were a matching red, streamlined yet reinforced. Clark could sense the advanced technology integrated into them, promising enhanced control and protection. A sleek utility belt completed the ensemble, its buckle bearing a miniature version of the 'S' shield.

As Clark donned the suit, he felt a surge of power and purpose. The high collar stood proud, edged with gold, framing his face with an air of authority. The entire suit seemed to mold to his body, becoming a second skin that amplified his already formidable abilities.

Standing there, clad in the legacy of Krypton and the promise of Earth's future, Clark Kent truly became Superman. He was no longer just a farm boy playing hero – he was the bridge between two worlds, destined to inspire hope and lead by example.

With a deep breath, Clark stepped out of the barn, the rising sun casting a golden glow on his new suit. His parents gasped in awe, tears welling in Martha's eyes.

"Oh, Clark," she whispered, "you look..."

"Like the hero this world needs," Jonathan finished, his voice thick with emotion.

Clark embraced them both, drawing strength from their unwavering support. "Whatever comes next," he said, his voice filled with newfound determination, "I'm ready to face it. For Krypton, for Earth, for all of us."

As Superman took to the skies, his new cape billowing majestically behind him, he was unaware of the ripples his actions were causing in the highest echelons of power.

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In a sleek, minimalist office atop Vought Tower, Stan Edgar stared at a holographic display, his usually impassive face etched with genuine concern. Before him floated the complete genetic profile of Clark Kent, along with a detailed history of his medical records.

"This can't be right," Edgar muttered, his fingers dancing across the display, running simulation after simulation. "Run it again!"

But each test came back with the same impossible result. Clark Kent had never received an injection of Compound V. His powers, his very existence, were completely outside the realm of Vought's carefully controlled superhuman program.

For the first time in decades, Stan Edgar felt a chill of fear run down his spine. He had built an empire on the assumption that all superhumans were created and controlled by Vought. Superman's existence threatened to topple that empire in an instant.

"Sir?" his assistant's voice crackled through the intercom. "The board is waiting for your quarterly report."

Edgar took a deep breath, composing himself. "Tell them I'll be there shortly," he replied, his voice betraying none of the turmoil within.

As he straightened his tie and prepared to face the board, Stan Edgar's mind raced with the implications of his discovery. Superman was an unknown variable, a wild card that could upset the delicate balance of power Vought had cultivated for generations.

For the first time, the man who had always held all the cards realized he was facing an opponent he couldn't control. And that made Superman the most dangerous being on the planet.