Stan Edgar did not look up from his tablet when the doors opened. The ambient hum of the Vought Tower executive suite was broken only by the sharp, anxious clip of heels on polished marble.
Sitting across from one another at the monolithic glass table were two people who rarely breathed the same air: Director Vance, the tight-lipped administrator of the Red River Institute, and Marcus Vance, a cynical, heavily paid private investigator from Vought's primary off-the-books intelligence firm."He has no paper trail," Edgar began, his voice a low, terrifyingly calm cadence that immediately silenced the room. He finally set the tablet down, revealing a grainy, frame-by-frame security capture of a man vanishing into thin air during a bank heist. "No birth certificate matching the biometrics. No medical records. No Vought-issued tracking chip."Director Vance cleared her throat, her hands tightly clasped. "Mr. Edgar, we are auditing our nursery logs from fifteen years ago. If this was a clerical error during the Stillwell era transition—""I am not interested in your administrative incompetence, Director," Edgar interrupted softly, his eyes locking onto her. "I am interested in containment. Vought's narrative relies on the illusion of divine selection, or at the very least, corporate oversight. A rogue asset capable of bypassing physical reality with zero corporate leash is an unacceptable variable."He slid a sleek, matte-black dossier across the glass toward the private detective."Marcus. Your agency will bypass standard corporate channels. Treat him as a Red River escapee who has spent a decade learning how to hide from us. He is likely resentful, highly unstable, and exceptionally dangerous to our current military lobbying efforts."The detective flipped open the folder, glancing at the empty spaces where a Vought corporate ID number should have been. "And when we find him? Dead or alive?""Alive, if his nervous system can be safely suppressed," Edgar said, standing up to look out over the sprawling skyline of New York City. "Our scientists at Sage Grove would benefit greatly from studying the genetic mechanics of localized displacement. But if he resists..."Edgar turned back, his expression entirely devoid of warmth. "...ensure there is nothing left of him to teleport."
They swiftly left, quietly thinking in their heads how to find a teleporter. He was seen across the San Antonio District in 9 separate buildings within a hour.
They have men on the ground attempting to find any genetic material given simply searching for matching faces and figures across America is simply a waste of time.
They have found 7 potential candidates, however 4 were ruled out via time discrepancy. 3 are being investigated yet it seems they are innocent. Regardless we must test there blood for traces of Compound V, force is a necessary measure.
Homelander overheard the conversation and scoffed. Her eyes however darkened, teleportation has far more use to America than a weapon. She distained Edgar however some faint fear stopped her her.
Fucking Ants.
Meanwhile Mark had finally made it to Las Vegas. He stood on the same street as his old home, unfortunately the old brick hotel wasn't there but instead a high class strip club.
Depressing but it did bring back memories. He sighed and searched for a movie theater or a mall.
He felt like a douche having fucked her on the first day without taking her on a date. This isn't like the cosplay convention one night stand's, she is long time partner and more importantly he wants to stay on her good side.
[Attrack Vaught's Gaze]
+Silver Ticket
[Attract Homelander's Hatred]
+Gold Ticket
Fuck. Alright, leaving america after the date.
Carter had already robbed a couple banks this laying low for would help for a minute.
100 million dollars in cash stolen across 40 banks.
He always wanted to visit Japan in the first place. He wasn't scared of being turned into meat pulp, not all.
His hand trembled as he vanished.