Chapter 45: A Father-Son Heart-to-Heart, Stormfront Arrives
The charcoal fire at the barbecue joint gradually died down into a dim dark red on the late-night New York streets. The Asian owner began packing up the plastic tables and chairs outside the door, stacking the empty beer glasses one by one.
Maeve and Starlight left first. Maeve wanted to go back and catch up on sleep, while Starlight asked for a day off to go back and see her mother. Ever since she heard the truth about Compound V tonight, she hadn’t quite processed it, though her hands had stopped shaking by the ti she left. Of course, Starlight was going back to give her mother a piece of her mind. The Deep, naturally, headed back to his own place, where his little octopus was waiting for him.
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Benjamin and Holander walked at the very back. The New York autumn night carried a chill blowing in from the Hudson River. Soone was strumming a guitar outside a small roadside bar, a fragnted lody leaking through the half-open doorway. The streetlights stretched their shadows long, one in front of the other, the silhouettes of the deep green suit and the red cape pulled taut under the dim light.
Neither of them said much.
But Holander was deeply enjoying the atmosphere right now. This afternoon, they had stood side-by-side in a Pennsylvania maple forest, slaughtering over thirty Supes. Every single beat was still freshly branded into his mind. A few of those fuckers were strong enough to give Maeve a run for her money. For this final assassination attempt, Vought had truly emptied their entire vault of trump cards. But in front of him and his father, those trump cards didn’t an shit.
Because they were the two most powerful Supes on earth. The strongest of the old guard, and the strongest of the new era. Standing on the exact sa battlefield, back-to-back, father and son throwing down together... nobody could last a goddamn minute against them! Thinking of this, Holander let out a sudden chuckle.
"Christ," Benjamin cast a sideways glance at him, barking a curse. "Are you jerking off to that old whore in your head? Wipe that disgusting smirk off your face."
The smile instantly froze on Holander’s face, his lips twitching twice. Fine. Even though Benjamin’s mouth was as foul as ever, he was completely used to it by now.
The two kept walking for a bit. Holander trailed right behind Benjamin, his steps light. Right now, Holander looked exactly like a little boy who had finally secured a mont alone with his father. He held it in for a while but ultimately couldn’t resist.
"What was my grandfather... what was he like?"
Benjamin’s steps hitched slightly, and he turned his head to look at him. "Why the hell are you bringing that up all of a sudden?" Benjamin was suddenly reminded of the original Soldier Boy’s miserable mories.
"I’m just curious," Holander said, completely matter-of-factly.
Benjamin didn’t reply imdiately. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke up slowly: "Have you seen that movie, The Soldier Boy Story?"
"Of course," Holander’s eyes lit up. "I’ve watched it at least dozens of tis—no, hundreds of tis. I rember every single fra."
"Everything in that movie is total bullshit."
Holander froze. Benjamin kept walking forward, his tone entirely flat, as if recounting sothing that had absolutely nothing to do with him.
"My old man owned half the steel mills in the state. Rich, powerful, everyone had to kiss his ass. Later on... I guess I just wasn’t cut out for academics, so I got kicked out of boarding school."
Recalling the monts he had been beaten by Soldier Boy, Holander’s pace instinctively quickened by two steps, drawing level with Benjamin. "Did he beat the shit out of you back then?" Holander asked, a strange hint of anticipation in his voice. "Like the way you hit ?"
Benjamin spared him a glance and let out a dry laugh. "No. He never laid a single finger on ."
Holander blinked, a bit uncomprehending. Logically, if his dad was a violent maniac, his dad’s old man should have been one too.
"He didn’t care enough to notice ," Benjamin said. "Said I was a goddamn embarrassnt. Said I was a worthless piece of trash. Toward the end, he wouldn’t even utter a single word to ..."
Holander’s pace slowed down as he stared at Benjamin.
"He said..." Benjamin’s tone remained perfectly even. "I wasn’t fit to carry his na."
The street fell quiet for a few seconds. Holander parted his lips, wanting to say sothing, but not knowing what would be appropriate.
"What happened after that?" Holander asked.
"Later on, I used his connections to get in with Dr. Vought. Signed up for the Compound V trials." Benjamin shrugged. "You know the rest—I survived it. And I beca a superhero. The most powerful superhero on earth, to the point where even Vought was terrified of ."
Hearing this, Holander pressed imdiately: "So what did your old man say then? He had to be fucking proud of you by that point, right?"
Benjamin didn’t answer right away. He took a couple of steps before opening his mouth.
"He said I took a shortcut."
The expression on Holander’s face froze. "He said a real man doesn’t take shortcuts."
Holander stood rooted to the spot, motionless. A flood of mories suddenly rushed into his mind—those sterile white labs, freezing instrunts, syringes, data logs, the days when absolutely nobody treated him like a human being. He hadn’t witnessed the trial sites of the early Compound V experints, but Holander knew it had to have been brutal, maybe even worse than what he went through. Holander was a product raised entirely inside a lab.
"Your dad was an asshole," Holander’s voice was heavy.
Benjamin’s brow hitched, and he turned to look at him.
"How the fuck is that taking a shortcut?" Holander took a few swift steps to stand right in front of Benjamin, his face flushing red with pure anger. "God only knows how brutal those early Compound V trials were! You endured it, you survived it, and you beca the strongest motherfucker alive..." He pointed at Benjamin’s chest. "You didn’t take a shortcut. You’re a real man! Every single word out of your old man’s mouth was total fucking bullshit."
Benjamin offered a slight smile. This was the first ti he had truly had a heart-to-heart with Holander, but he felt that perhaps this kind of guidance was aningful for Holander’s education and personal growth.
Just as Benjamin was about to speak, his steps ground to a sudden halt. Holander stopped too.
The glare of a streetlight spilled onto the pavent ahead, illuminating the silhouette of a woman. There was no telling how long she had been standing there, looking as if she had stepped directly out of the night itself. Deep brown, shoulder-length hair fell loose around her shoulders, her sharp, defined features carrying an air of military-like discipline that had been hardened by ti yet remained razor-sharp. She wore a tailored dark trench coat, the belt neatly fastened, her hands stuffed into her pockets as she stood perfectly upright.
"Ben," the woman spoke.
Benjamin’s pupils contracted slightly. Because this was Stormfront—forrly Liberty, Clara. The original Soldier Boy’s lover. According to the original show, Stormfront shouldn’t have shown up until a bit later, around the start of Season 2. He hadn’t expected her to surface right now.
"Clara. Looks like Edgar tipped you off before he bit the dust." He shifted his shield to his left hand, his voice remaining calm and steady.
Stormfront walked over slowly, halting directly in front of Benjamin, a torrent of highly convoluted emotions swirling within her eyes. "Yes," Stormfront said. "He contacted . He wanted to handle you."
The corner of her mouth twitched slightly as she added, "That disgusting black piece of shit—I wanted to slaughter that goddamn old bastard with my own hands. But then I figured his life was better left for you to take. After all, it’s your vendetta, not mine."
Benjamin fell silent for a single second. Then, without a shred of warning, he unleashed his right fist.
Benjamin’s knuckles connected solidly with the left side of Stormfront’s face, the imnse force launching her entirely sideways until she plowed right into an empty roadside trash can, flipping it over.
"Fuck you," Benjamin barked.
Holander stood in place, his eyebrow hitching up half an inch. Aside from Maeve and Starlight, practically everyone around him had been beaten to a pulp by Soldier Boy at this point. So when it ca to Soldier Boy hitting people, he didn’t find it surprising at all.
The bizarre part was... This woman nad Clara scrambled up from the wreckage of the trash can, clutching her battered face as a thin trail of blood leaked through her fingers, yet the corners of her mouth were curving upward. Moreover, deep within this woman’s eyes, an unmistakable look of exhilaration surfaced.
"Is this bitch actually enjoying it?" Holander furrowed his brow, completely bewildered. Despite the sheer volu of degenerates he had crossed paths with, the reaction of this complete stranger was entirely beyond his comprehension.
"I know you harbor a massive amount of resentnt, Ben," Stormfront said, snapping her dislocated jaw back into alignnt and wiping the blood from her lip with a finger. "Because of those forty years... I truly had no idea back then. If I had known, I would have absolutely co to pull you out. I swear, if I’m lying to you, I hope I turn into a black person. Trust , alright, Ben?"
Benjamin paused. He understood this woman. Stormfront was a white supremacist down to her absolute core; in her eyes, Aryan blood was superior to everything, especially white Supes. To her, white trumps all, and Supes transcend all, aning white Supes ruling the globe was Stormfront’s ultimate objective. For her to swear an oath like that—wishing to turn into a black person—carried a hell of a lot more weight than any standard lethal vow.
"I’ll tentatively believe you," Benjamin lowered his fist, his voice cold. "What the hell are you looking for for now, you goddamn racist? Listen, I think your ideology is childish as hell. Supes are still people; they don’t get to stand above everyone else. I am not signing off on that little plan of yours—neither the old , nor the right now."
Stormfront’s face had already recovered about seventy to eighty percent. Rubbing her cheekbone, which was still throbbing with an underlying ache, a look that showed she had long since anticipated this response surfaced in her eyes. "I knew you’d say that." She shrugged, her tone completely casual, as if discussing so trivial matter. "Fine. Honestly, what I’m thinking of is joining The Seven."
Just as Benjamin had noted, the original Soldier Boy hadn’t shared Stormfront’s twisted ideology either, and the other mbers of the old guard hadn’t bought into it either—otherwise, Stormfront wouldn’t have waited until Holander’s era to make her coback.
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