I'm The Homelander And I Can Do Whatever The--Wait, what?

He awoke in an unusual circumstance.

In an enclosed room, white on all sides and cushioned. He felt like he was...in a cage. Somehow he could see behind the cushions, and behind them was reinforced metal panels. Then he saw beyond those. Into a facility where people raced around, dressed in white lab coats...yet they looked so slow to him. Like they were moving through thick water.

Slowly, he stood up and yet he stumbled. His limbs felt so short and unwieldy but also strong. As he tried to catch himself from falling, he found himself impacting the wall of his cage. The cushioning ripped apart under the force, the metal panel denting ever so slightly.

It didn't hurt.

Looking to his hands, confused, his saw the hands of a child. Looking down further he saw the body of a child. Blond hair, messy and unkempt, fell over his eyes and he reached up for a strand, pulling it taut so he could see it in better detail. He could see it in such detail it was like he was holding it under the highest quality microscope, and as such he could definitely tell it was gold-like blond unlike the dark brown he was used to.

Memories trickled in through the back of his head, like a lead from a computer had been plugged into his head and was downloading information into him. He saw the life of the body he was in. A child with superpowers, practically tortured to see the limits of the powers themselves.

Beaten by other powered individuals under the guise of training. Electrocuted with amounts far surpassing the lethal limits for normal people. Forced to put his hand into an industrial forge to see his heat resistance. Locked in a room that slowly had the oxygen percentage lowered to see if he could withstand higher altitudes. Locked in the same room which became a vacuum to see if he could survive space. No love. No compassion. No leniency. Just cold, calculating indifference like he was a lab rat for their experiments and nothing more.

The man turned boy dropped to his knees, hands holding his head as he gave a scream of pain. All that torture...he experienced it a second time, mentally, and all at once. He felt his eyes burn and then a release as his vision became tinted red.

The pain lasted for minutes that felt like days but it did finally pass and he knew who he was, where he was and the world he was in. Not even seconds after the pain stopped and he regarded the charred cushioning below his gaze along with the molten metal plating, the door to his cage swung open and two men rushed in, dressed in black armor. They forced him to the ground by his neck and even as he resisted with his deceptively powerful body, he couldn't move under their superior strength. After a short moment of resisting, the boy felt something cold on his neck and then everything went black.

. . .

"Why did you try and destroy your room, John?" an older man asked, his hair thinning toward the front and receding but his eyes filled with an inquisitive light, like he was ever curious about everything.

John, the man turned boy through mysterious circumstance, met the older man's eyes and answered, "I wasn't."

The man seemed surprised by both John's answer and the fact he met his gaze but he frowned at the former, leaning forward toward the bulletproof glass between them, "You weren't? John, you tried to burn a hole through the bottom of your room."

"My head hurt," John replied, unblinking, "And then that stuff came out my eyes."

The man blinked while John continued looking unblinking at him, a sense of unnerving unease spreading through the man's chest as he looked into the boy's bright blue eyes, "...Your head hurt?" he asked for reaffirmation which the boy gave in the form of a nod. "Does it hurt anymore?" he asked and John shook his head, still just staring at the man, but the man pushed through his unease and continued as he pulled out a notepad, "Where did it hurt? And did you do anything to cause it?"

"No, it just started in the back of my head. It's gone now though," John answered, finally breaking his gaze away from the man and looking around the room. He could see the multitude of soldiers just outside the room but the two that caught his attention most were the two who first burst into his room before.

One of them he remembered from his new memories. This was his fighting 'tutor'. A giant man with muscles on top of his muscles. The second was much shorter with a more average physique, yet he was wearing gloves that looked rubber-like...the feeling he felt before blacking out was like that of the feeling he felt during the electrocution testing. The former man had strength befitting his size and then some. The man with the rubber gloves no doubt had electric-based powers of some sort centered around his hands.

John felt the outside world slow down as he thought about who he was and where he was.

He was a young Homelander from the series 'The Boys'. He was currently in a Vought International Facility aka a horrible situation to suddenly be thrust into.

The first thought to cross his mind was to try and escape. But he shut that down. Escape how? They knew his powers, knew how to counter them and had other superpowered people on hand to subdue him should the need arise. Even passive aggressively resisting Vought wouldn't play in his favour - they'd be able to punish him however they wanted. If, hypothetically, John could escape he'd still be hunted down like a dog for years until his powers grew enough for a frontal confrontation. He was six-years-old, if his memories served him right, which meant he had at least twelve years until physical maturity and therefore his power's maturity as well.

His best bet right now was to play along. Be the poster boy they wanted. 'Use Vought for their resources, their 'training' until I can break free. Even reaching physical maturity wouldn't be capable of that, so I need to be patient and wait while playing the part,' John thought to himself, less than a second having passed throughout his entire thought process.

The man on the other side of the glass, unaware of the young boy's thoughts, finished writing whatever he was writing on his notepad before he pressed a button. Then in walked a squad of soldiers with the two powered individuals from before leading them.

The bigger man was holding two pairs of cuffs, each of them thick and durable-looking. Probably heavy too.

"Follow them out of the room and to a temporary residence, please John," the man said before standing up and straightening out the creases in his suit, "You'll be required to visit the medical ward later today as well, to see if they can find the cause for your headache."

John nodded and stood, holding out his wrists for the cuffs. The bigger man seemed surprised by the action and John knew why - the previous John, the one from before he merged with him, was far from compliant with stuff like this - but he put the cuffs on nonetheless. Then he did the same for John's ankles as well. The soldiers all had their fingers on the trigger and looked tensed, ready to shoot at any sudden movements. He didn't know if he was bulletproof yet so he decided to keep his movements calm and slow as he walked through the encirclement in the room, with each of the powered men on either side.

The weights were as he suspected - heavy as all hell. Even for his advanced physiology. He was guided along the white, antiseptic halls of the facility by his captors and before long he arrived at an identical door to the one to his previous cage. The insides were the exact same as well. He walked in while the rest stayed outside and sat on the bed.

He weighed his cuffed hands up and down a little, trying to gauge the weight but realised his old sensibilities were ruining the process. To him, they felt like they weighed about 30lbs a piece but he knew he couldn't measure anything by normal means anymore. Instead of 30lbs, these cuffs probably weighed 3000lbs a piece. John restrained a scoff at his situation - he'd been a police officer just a little while ago, heading to his niece's birthday party and now...now he was a child super weapon.

John couldn't believe his absolutely shit luck. Why couldn't he have been transmigrated as Superman or something? Even Omni Man or Invincible would've been preferable.

. . .

It'd been seven years since John merged with the previous John and took over the mantle of the body he was now in. Seven years of living with super powers had been...different. But definitely not easy. Vought had upped their experiments as he got older, as his powers grew but they couldn't hurt him any longer. Ever since he reached 12-years-old, their surgical tools stopped being able to cut his skin no matter how high-tech they were. Their state-of-the-art scalpels and cutting tools broke against his skin now, and their other tests no longer hurt him.

His hand can resist the highest temperatures, he can withstand a vacuum with no trouble and hold his breath indefinitely, electricity can barely even faze him which is when John realized something: The original Homelander hadn't tapped into even a tenth of his full power.

John trained his powers and when he reached the limits of what he was capable, he pushed the boundary further. After all, his powers were physical. His physical effort therefore lead to better physical results. As such, he realised his powers were much more than he thought they were. His heat vision wasn't just a weapon of brute force, used to bisect things in half through maximum heat and maximum intensity - it could be used with finesse like a scalpel. Same goes for his x-ray vision. The original Homelander couldn't see through Zinc because his x-ray vision is low photon x-ray but John had discovered he could amp up the photons to high photon if he concentrated enough and those could only be stopped by lead.

His physical strength was also more than what was on the tin, so to speak, as he could project it.

Homelander in the original series couldn't use his strength mid-air because of a lack of leverage, but John discovered he could use something akin to tactile telekinesis if he concentrated. And that was when he first discovered it. Now he could use it as easily as he blinked his eyes.

It all led John to believe the original met his limits and never tried to push them. He got complacent with his supposed superiority and never reached for more.

John was different. He pushed himself at every level and in every way.

And he was still pushing himself now.

"Hrrmph!" John pushed the weight above him, his chest, arms, shoulders and back straining as he pushed in a herculean motion. Even his legs strained to hold himself up straight under the weight now put on them. The bar, connected to high-tech weight equipment, groaned lightly but it held and slowly but surely rose and rose until he was fully extended in a overhead press position. He released a breath and lowered the bar before repeating the process, again and again. He'd been doing this for the last hour, the weight steadily increasing from just below his limit to truly pushing the upper peak of what he could do and then a little bit beyond.

John knew he could push his limits and bounce back just fine after a bit of rest. His body was nigh invulnerable but when it was injured, it healed at an impressive rate. Which meant a few torn muscles from going beyond his limit wasn't as debilitating as it was in ordinary people.

He'd been working out since the early morning and it was currently noon, meaning he'd been doing his exercises for six or so hours. Yet he still had energy to go on. The only problem with his superhuman physique is actually pushing it to it's limit in terms of stamina - his muscles barely produce any fatigue toxins, meaning he can go on and on and on for hours on end. Even when it comes to sleep, he only sleeps for an hour, and most of his time is spent learning or training.

All because of two reasons. One, he's a perfectionist. John can't handle not being the best version of himself. Two, because he needs overwhelming power to bring Vought to it's knees.

Normally, using Vought facilities to gain that power would be bad. He'd basically be showing his enemies his limits, his abilities and give them time to think up counters to them. But that's where John's other plans come into play.

He basically plays the perfect boy scout, taking inspiration from the big boy scout from DC himself. His powers are basically a copy of the Man of Steel's, so why not emulate him in other ways to benefit himself. As such, Vought thinks John is just a kid who wants to help people, hates killing and fighting

and wants nothing more than to be a superhero.

It wasn't even hard to fool them. Dozens of egghead scientists and company officials and all it took was a few years of wide smiles and happy eyes to get them to think he was a naive child. John wants to thank his experience as an undercover cop in his previous life for his success but honestly, it's more likely they're all just looking down on him because of his age. Everyone speaks to him like he's half-deaf, with an IQ of 69 and a very little grasp of English.

'But I shouldn't complain. They're just making the job easier,' John thought, grunting and huffing once again as he pressed the bar fully above his head just as he heard a voice behind him.

"Working as hard as ever, huh, John?" a youthful voice said and John let the bar down as he turned to see someone in the same situation as him. She was a year older than him with auburn brown hair and dark eyes - she was pretty but still had that all-too youthful look to her that most teens have signalling her age despite her apparent physical development. She was tall for a girl her age, which is 14 for reference, and had an athletic physique like that of a dancer or a track and field athlete. John smiled at her appearance in the training room and the girl looked to the console not too far off from her before she gave a whistle, "150 tonnes, John? Guess puberty really is hitting you, huh?" she joked.

John gave a slight chuckle, his voice cracking a little as he did so - damned puberty - and he stretched his arms up and behind his head, interlocking his fingers, "That and the fact I train a lot, yeah. More than you, anyway," he ribbed her back, causing her smile to widen ever so slightly.

This girl, is Queen Maeve. Or at least, she will be in the future. Right now, she's just Maggie. John's only friend in the Vought facility and the only person in the world who he suspects can understand his plight even if she was given Compound V when she was a toddler and not a fetus like himself. She still went through the experiments like him nonetheless.

"Mhmm," Maggie nodded at John's reply, her humming sounding an awful lot like 'If you wanna believe that, sure' in terms of meaning but it was all in good fun, so he didn't bother replying and instead levelled a questioning look her way. "We've been called for an," Maggie through up her hands and used her fingers like quotation marks, " 'Impromptu' training session. I was sent over here to get you seeing as you're obsessed with lifting weights."

At first you may think this is too lenient. Letting a fourteen-year-old hormonal kid wander the facility on their own? Sounds like a security risk, right? Well, it is. But it's also a way to give the illusion of freewill and control to us.

John saw through it like any adult would but Maggie hadn't and neither could he tell her - who knows if Vought would overhear it and then his entire facade over the last years would crumble away.

"Alright then," he said before wiping his forehead of the sweat that had gathered there, "Weird they want a session out of nowhere. Got any idea on what brought it on, Maggie?" John asked, a slight unease deep in his gut. All he got in answer was a shrug and a shake of the head from her, which didn't necessarily lessen his unease. Picking up a nearby towel - one with an obviously placed Vought international brand on it - John wiped up whatever sweat he hadn't gotten the first time and even now, the slight soreness of his muscles was quickly disappearing.

Maggie turned and went on her way to the training room, John following after her.

Despite the nigh-identical corridors and unlabelled doors and rooms, having lived in the facility for the entirety of their lives in it meant that John and Maggie easily maneuvered the facility. Arriving in the training room, they saw the giant of a man who was their combat tutor. He regarded both of the teens with an apathetic look, yet lingered a little longer than usual before barked some orders.

"You!" he pointed at John before flicking his finger off to the side and to an observation room with a one-way mirror, "Get in the box. We're doing one-on-one's today. Higher ups want a progress report on your combat ability."

John gave him a look before looking to Maggie and then nodding, turning toward the observation box and walking toward it. This wasn't an irregular occurrence and they usually had these 'progress reports' separately...but something about the sudden nature of the test irked John. Something wasn't right. This all felt off.

Entering the box, John saw half a dozen scientists sitting in front of consoles with data running across them all and all different kinds of angles of both Maggie and the tutor.

There was no sound in the room outside of the tapping on keyboards, the breathing of the scientists and their hearts beating away in their chests. But John could still hear the both of them. The tutor was informing Maggie on what was about to happen.

"I'm going to play the part of a villain, yeah?" he spoke in a voice he must've thought was gentle but his deep, booming voice sounded like rocks being crushed in a mill, "You're the hero. This is a live fight, so injuries are going to happen. Injuries of all kinds. Are you ready, Margaret?" his scarred face twisted in a snarl-like smile and John narrowed his eyes, having an idea who ordered this test and why it was so out of nowhere.

Maggie nodded, her enthusiasm clear and a determined expression on her face. John looked at her and wondered how she was able to act so...energetic despite her circumstances. She'd always been like this for as long as he could remember and he couldn't help but admire her yet also pity her naivety.

The fight started soon after. It was a normal fight between either of them and the tutor. With the tutor easily keeping the lead and basically playing with Maggie to see her limits.

Yet he underestimated her.

Like John had thought before, their powers are physical. Not magical. Which meant they grew with the person as they grew physically. But there was one other factor - the amount of Compound V used to turn them into a powered individual. The tutor was an above average supe* who'd been turned with an above average amount of the chemical, yes, but Maggie was of a different breed in that sense. The earlier someone gets injected with Compound V, the stronger they are because the younger you are the more changes the compound can enact. Also the purity of the compound and the amount also determines the overall potential of the supe.

(*Supe being slang for superhero, obviously.)

Maggie has the advantage in all categories.

So, despite her much younger age, difference in height and muscle mass, Maggie caught him off guard with a leg sweep and a following axe kick that put him down on his ass. The tutor's expression froze and John heard the tapping of keyboards intensify. The tutor smiled his same snarl-like smile and stood up while Maggie looked overjoyed at the sudden change in the fight.

The tutor laughed before getting up. Then he slapped Maggie so hard a shockwave rattled through the training room, through the window and into the observation room.

Maggie dropped to the floor, her face bloodied and more blood pouring from her mouth.

"All of you, turn off the monitors and get the fuck out. Now," the tutor said and without hesitation, everyone in the room other than John got up and began leaving. Without even waiting, the tutor reached for his belt buckle and John gave a sigh before walking to the door leading to the training room.

John knew he wasn't a good guy. While his powers were a copy-paste of Superman's, he didn't have the morality of the farm boy. He was a police officer, yes, but not a rookie who'd just got on the job. He'd seen the harshness of reality. Murderers who killed their own parents. People who'd raped younger family members or family friends. Sex traffickers. He'd seen the so-call irrefutable law fail and people get out on technicalities or just have exceptional lawyers, which had led to thoughts about just killing criminals who he knew were guilty - anyone who had thoughts like that, anyone who nearly enacted thoughts like that...well, they weren't exactly as morally good as the boy scout. What they are, are normal people.

One thing he'd never stand by and do nothing against, however, is crime he knew he could stop. Regardless of his morals or cynicism.

The door he tried to open crumpled under his strength, popping off it's hinges and then falling to the ground after he let it go.

And John absolutely despised rapists.

"What are you doing out of the box, you little shit? Fuck off with the rest of them and come back when I call you back," the tutor scowled over at John but the young blond didn't react, just walking up to the giant man with a calm gait despite the anger in his chest. Maggie was a child in his head--a child who he saw as a younger sister of sorts.

'Like hell I'm gonna let a rapist go. Especially one going after Maggie,' John felt his eyes beginning to burn up, an early sign of his heat vision but he held it back. When he got close enough, he looked up at the man and despite being much taller than the average 13-year-old, John was still dwarfed by the man in front of him. Yet he felt no fear. "What are you doing?" he asked with a neutral face, a slight frown tugging at his lips.

"This is still a live test, you little prick. You think a villain wouldn't take advantage of Margaret if they got the chance? She's a very beautiful girl. I'm just showing her the consequences of letting her guard down," the tutor gave sickening justifications for his actions and John felt a shiver of disgust run up his spine, making him physically cringe at the vocab gymnastics the tutor was going through.

"Are you fucking brain dead?" John asked and was immediately responded with by a backhand.

The previous John never beat this man until he'd reached maturity. Why? Because he constantly went at the man in a strength-on-strength fight.

But while John's main power is his incredible physical strength, that wasn't all he had. John was the whole superhero package, and that included super speed. The fact that A-Train was scared of Homelander implies he knows Homelander would be able to catch him and kill him despite his title as 'Fastest Man In The World'. And during all of the new John's spars with the tutor after merging with the original John, he'd been just trying to learn everything he could. Which meant limiting himself to just strength.

Now, however, John didn't hold back his speed. He dodged the backhand with laughable ease and walked to the tutors side.

Then he lifted his foot and slammed it into the side of the tutor's knee. The speed and strength behind the stomp easily snapped the tutor's knee sideways because, after all, even as a supe the tutor was still a human and had all the anatomical weak points as a human. All it took was someone of similar strength to take advantage of those weak points.

He dropped to his uninjured knee, holding the broken one as he let out a cry of pain. John looked to his side, gazing at the tutor from the corner of his eye. Which is when he realised he had no idea what the man's name was. But then again...

'I don't need to know the name of a cunt.'

John let go of the control over his anger and let it flow out of his eyes in a super precise, super intense beam of heat. It cut through the man's ultra-durable skin and bone like a metal knife through wet paper mache before melting his brain. Once the screaming stopped, John stopped the beam from exiting his eyes, the previous blue eyes now a glowing red. The tutor dropped to the floor, a smoking hole in the side of his head.

Turning to Maggie, he held out a hand. The teen girl was frozen in fear, obviously aware at what was about to happen to her, her legs seemingly having turned to rubber after the blow to the face/chin. Shakily, she grabbed the hand and John pulled her up and then into a hug.

All the while looking down on the dead corpse he'd created.

'Good-fucking-riddance.'