There was no force on the planet that could make Mason walk into a pair of handcuffs and a jail cell willingly. Not just because he was innocent, but because he’d be risking himself.
What if Vought had means of dealing with supes and used those means to silence him? Well, they’d try… but the risk was too great. Worse, they could spin him resisting their attempt to end him into something that favored them.
He could imagine it; a couple of new heat signatures attacking and killing the cops in the station before heading towards his cell, where they’d deploy measures capable of disabling or killing him.
When they inevitably failed, he’d escape, only to get blamed for another murder spree, the victims this time being cops.
As if the above scenario wasn’t nightmarish enough, replace these grunts with Homelander or any member of the Seven and the event would gain a whole new spin.
“Heroes finally stop raging pyromaniac after horrific police station massacre.”
‘Yeah, nah.’
This necessitated another method of disseminating the truth, one that would take this undeserved and highly dangerous target off his back.
For this, he went with someone mentioned in the document that explained his life in this world: Victoria Neuman.
In the document, she was listed as a major power alongside Vought, Homelander, the C.I.A., and The Church of the Collective.
Courtesy of his uncle, he needed no introduction on America’s creepy, over protective uncle the C.I.A. He trusted the old man's warnings about the organization, their mission and the lengths they went to to accomplish it.
Vought, he didn’t need to say much. There wasn’t an aspect of society they hadn’t extended their grubby, profit sucking mitts into.
Homelander… let’s just say his inclusion into the major power category and his apparent murder of the mayor of Baltimore and his young son at the end of the first episode made him wish they’d never ever cross paths.
If that guy could kill a child, then he could definitely kill him, a “murderously insane fire user.”
Come to think of it, that scene is why he declined to continue watching the show.
The world was already bleak enough, why would he depress himself further by watching a show about an evil Superman?
On to Victoria Neuman, every video he watched and article he read about her added more weight to the idea that “she’s the one.”
The congresswoman held a deep distrust of Vought and their heroes, and she wasn’t at all shy about vocalising her thoughts and ideas on the topic.
Out of everyone he’d investigated so far, she seemed to be the only one on the up and up, speaking up against the degenerate nature of supe culture and how Vought enabled and maintained its pervasiveness through society at the expense of regular people.
By all means, she was indeed the one who could get him exactly what he wanted.
His search for her home address led to multiple dead ends, and since he couldn’t just waltz into her office, he resorted to mail. And he was glad he ran into this roadblock.
The light at the end of the tunnel had blinded him so much he’d almost forgotten the number one rule hammered home by his uncle. “Trust no one, ever.”
Sure, Neuman checked all the boxes for someone he’d throw his full support behind without hesitation. However that didn’t mean she had no secrets, or an agenda no one knew about.
She was a politician, a damn good one, judging by her age and the position she held. Basing on that alone to brand her a master liar and manipulator wouldn’t be a stretch, considering those were the wheels her chosen career path ran on.
So his plan to contact her changed.
With NNC and Neuman aside, this left the third avenue he’d considered; America’s creepy uncle. They could also get him what he wanted. In fact, he was considering them before Neuman came to mind.
Taking some time to think about things was definitely the right play.
Still, he’d already left that message on the C.I.A. website with his phone number by the time he remembered her, and they’d apparently taken his ramblings seriously, judging from the phone buzzing in his hand.
‘Well… there’s no harm in letting them know.’
The devil you know and all that.
He answered the call and pressed the phone to his ear, getting his word in first. “Anyone lower than deputy director and this call’s over. I’m not talking to a grunt.”
A woman’s voice, a bit scratchy and tired, responded. “You made your demands clear. This is Deputy Director Susan Rayner. How can I help you Mason?”
‘How can I help you? What is this, customer care?’
Smiling at the verbal tactics he was taught being used against him, he continued. “To be honest, director, you’re a bit late.”
In the message to the C.I.A., he compiled all the evidence he gathered along with his testimony and a detailed version of the events that took place in the Sage Grove Center.
This obviously wasn’t enough and made him sound like a person with a few screws loose, so he mentioned at the end of the mail that he had solid proof and that he’d only speak to someone important about handing it over.
“What do you mean?”
“Giving you the V would only give you leverage over Vought. The news would never hit the waves. At least, not until you scraped the bottom of that well dry.”
Inside the secret C.I.A. headquarters in Manhattan, Susan Rayner stood inside the situation room while scores of agents analyzed everything about the call, from Mason’s voice to his current location.
“Mr. Sloan, I hope you didn’t make me ruin my busy schedule just so you could waste my time.”
“You’ll still get the V.... but it won’t be just you.”
“Wha—”
“You’ll know soon enough. Have your guys found me yet?”
Mason’s words prompted her to focus on the big screen with the SAT view. She’d expected an urban area, but all she saw was blue. The camera zoomed in as best it could on the lone figure suspended above the open sea using unknown means.
“Silence means yes.” His voice, faintly amused, came over the line. “I’m waving, can you see? Or does Hollywood really know nothing?”
Rayner chose her next words carefully.
“How do you intend to get the V to us?”
‘You’re no fun.’
“Wilfred Burke. One of the guys who worked at the Sage Grove Center.”
“I can see you’re using his phone.”
“He no longer needs it.”
“Pretty heartless thing to say about an innocent man.”
“I’m not debating ethics with the director of the C.I.A. Wilfred has an apartment in Brooklyn. You’ll find the V there.”
“And what about you?”
“I’ll wait.”
“You could come in. I’d love to have a sit down with the nightmare Vought cooked up for themselves. Maybe ask if he can make a habit of doing it.”
“...I’ll think about it. Gotta go now. Before you guys blast me with your space lasers.”
A chuckle came over the line.
“One last thing. Sage Grove Center. The fire… something doesn’t add up.”
“I’m listening.”
“The firefighters failed to save the building. That thing was all brick and concrete, yet it crumbled like a sandcastle being bashed by a toddler.”
“Other than making yourself look more like the guilty party, I fail to see where you’re going with this.”
“I’m saying… the fire guys have found no traces of explosives or accelerants. They’re still looking, but I doubt they’ll find any. I know for a fact I didn’t burn that place, but I’m not the only fire slinging guy around.”
“Okay… Who’re you thinking?”
“Lamplighter. He left The Seven not long ago and fell off the radar. Vought wouldn’t trust just anyone to cover their tracks, especially where Compound V is concerned. Think about it; Stormfront was at the center running things on behalf of Vought. There's no reason for them to skimp out on help i.e. another supe.”
“Okay. Say this is true. What help do you think Lamplighter was giving her?”
“Really, madam director? Do I have to spell it out for you?”
It took a noticeable moment, but Rayner finally got the hint.
“....He was burning the evidence.”
“Precisely. I also suspect he handed over the footage to Vought, but I can’t really know unless I talk to him.”
“You found the V in what, two days? I’m surprised you haven’t found him yet.”
“He’s gone to ground or Vought must be working overtime to hide him. That’s why I’m letting you guys with your billion dollar resources know. If and when you guys find him, remember I can use fire too.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Hm. I left a phone in the apartment. I’ll text a number to it so you can reach me.”
Mason didn’t bother ending the call and simply dropped the phone after saying this.
Flame jets burned into reality under his hands and joined those below his feet, the combined thrust blasting him away with practiced control.
Aware of the satellite feed following his movements, he raced toward the shore he’d scouted beforehand and vanished into the dark tunnels of the storm drain, smiling as he imagined the stunned reactions of the spooks.
Back in the secret hq, Rayner took off her headphones and lowered them on the desk. She rested both arms on her waist and stared at the screen with a view of the storm drains and the speeds Mason had been clocked at.
‘He can fly? And that fast too? That alone makes him a tier 2 supe.’
“Ma’am. Do we go after him?”
The question brought her out of her headspace.
“No. The kid’s smart. He's probably long gone. Go check the apartment. If the V’s there, I want it on my desk asap.”
“Yes ma’am.”
While her agents set off to do her bidding, she wondered if having the V would change anything. The boy admitted to ruining any possible leverage they could’ve had. That meant the press should be receiving their own sample soon.
It was a regrettable loss, but she’d cry no tears over it. She was more interested in Mason. His long but thought provoking message had painted a clear picture with regards to the timeline of events.
Not a single week had passed since he got his powers—if the V turned out to be real and did exactly what he claimed—yet he’d proven himself competent and seasoned in a way rarely seen, amongst kids his age and supes in general.
She wasn’t certain he had enhanced intelligence considering it had nothing to do with shooting fire out of your hands, however Homelander could hear things he wasn’t supposed to and shoot lasers out of his eyes.
So she wouldn’t discount the possibility. Whatever the case, she was certain of one thing… Vought had no idea the kind of monster they’d created.
“Anything new on the background checks?”
“Yes ma’am, right here.”
“Show me.”
Surprised, she took a few steps forward and stopped near the guy who spoke. He pointed at the screen showing the old, 1950s style photo.
“What am I looking at?”
“That’s Lincoln Sloan, the target’s grandfather and case officer James Donovan.”
“Case officer?” She stared at the image in a new light, and dozens of possible connections began to form in her mind.
“Where’s he?”
“Died of heart failure two years ago.”
“Shit… Find me everything you can on what they did together and if Donovan ever made contact with the target.”
Now it all makes sense, she thought.
“Anything on Lamplighter?”
“Just this. His last seen in the city was two weeks ago at Manhattan Regional.”
The image on the screen changed as the guy pointed at it. The new one showed the supe in question at an airport in mundane clothing, dragging a suitcase like the many dozens of people around him.
“He landed in Reynoldsville and went off the radar.”
“Reynoldsville? How close is it to the center?”
“Checking.” Faint keyboard sounds filled the quiet for a brief moment. “Thirty-forty minute drive.”
Mason’s theory was looking less and less like a theory. They still needed more than this though.
“Do you have his phone and computer?”
“No, ma’am. Last pings were here, in Manhattan.”
Of course, nothing could ever be that easy.
“Keep looking. Apartments, supermarkets, grocery stores… any place with a working security camera. Work from there and figure out where he is.”
“Noted. Anything else ma'am?”
“We need evidence too. It would be best if we have footage of him driving up to the place, but what you find should be enough so long as there’s a lot of it. Remember, we don’t want to just find him, we want hard proof that he was really in the area.”
“Got it.”
.
.
.
.
Today, May 26, marked Mason’s one week supe anniversary and the longest period of time he’d ever gone without food, water, and sleep.
It was also the day everything would change for Vought and supes everywhere. Yesterday, he personally confirmed that the three separate parties he gave the huge scoop had gotten a hold of their packages.
Neuman’s was sent by mail of the electric and physical kind, the C.I.A. picked the V up from the drop off location and the NNC… they were by far the most proactive party in this threeway.
Unlike the first two parties, they got both things: the claim and the evidence, in one package. This gave their journalists ample time to go through the accumulated info and have the V sent to a lab and get the results they desperately wished to be true back.
Being the viewer hungry company they were, Mason didn’t doubt for a second they’d hurry to get this story out. Not even Vought could do anything to stop this, as evidenced by the existence of their own misinformation outlet, VNN.
If the supe creating company could sink their vampiric fangs into NNC and enthrall them, they wouldn’t have bothered creating their own avenue of spreading and maintaining the “pure” facade they and their supes upheld.
So on the NNC front, he trusted them to get the truth out. Though he wondered if they'd credit him like he asked. Would they even include everything he sent them? Like the images of the room with the babies?
There was no way to know, so he had posts standing by. On every social media site, he’d release the entire lore dump and even add a video where he explained how he got dosed with the V and a brief walkthrough of how he tracked down the sample.
As abhorrent as it was, the prolific, clout chasing behavior employed by many of supes he’d researched gave him this idea.
All this running in circles to get the undeserved target of his back had hammered home the fact that there wasn’t a single person out there fighting for him.
He only had himself and the spirits of his family to rely on. His grandad and uncle had guided him to this point.
Now, it was time for Maya to take the wheel.