Day One.
"S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Secret Spending: Five Hundred Billion Dollars a Year… to Build a 'Yo-Yo'?"
Skye detonated the first bombshell.
She leaked an encrypted S.H.I.E.L.D. budget document—one packed with bizarre line items and code names: Project T.A.H.I.T.I., Centipede Program, and dozens more that sounded less like defense initiatives and more like sci-fi horror concepts.
The public exploded.
"Five hundred billion dollars?! I can't even afford health insurance!"
"What the hell is T.A.H.I.T.I.—a vacation resort?!"
-----
Day Two.
"Project Insight: S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Global Surveillance Network Exposed!"
Skye punched into a Helicarrier data vault.
She didn't get the core algorithm—but she didn't need it.
She published the blueprints, the scope, the intent.
Three Helicarriers. Orbital railguns. One million targets eliminated within sixty seconds.
The internet went nuclear.
"This isn't protection—this is fascism!"
"They're building Nazi death platforms!"
Within hours, the American Civil Liberties Union filed suit against S.H.I.E.L.D. in federal court.
-----
Day Three.
Skye stopped dumping files.
Instead, she posted one image on the front page of The Bugle, now fully under Vought Media.
A black-and-white photograph.
Old. War-era.
A man with round glasses and a hollow, predatory stare.
Arnim Zola.
Then came the receipts.
1947—Swiss bank transfer to a dormant account. Original holder: Dr. Arnim Zola.
1985—Black-budget funding approved for the Siberian "Winter Soldier" Program.
-----
Helicarrier — Command Bridge
BANG!
Nick Fury's fist smashed into the console.
His single eye was colder than it had ever been.
"Director!" Maria Hill looked pale. "Everything's on fire. The World Security Council is demanding Project Insight be dismantled immediately. The Pentagon is grilling us alive. Congress—"
"Coulson."
"Yes, sir."
"Find the hacker. Skye. Whatever it takes."
Coulson hesitated.
"Sir… we can't. She's gone. Every trace—scrubbed. It's like she evaporated."
Fury exhaled slowly.
"…Vought."
S.H.I.E.L.D., in Chaos
What followed wasn't an investigation.
It was a civil war.
Fury's loyal agents tore through archives, desperately trying to understand what Zola and the Winter Soldier really were.
Meanwhile, the Hydra agents embedded inside S.H.I.E.L.D. went into full panic mode.
"They know about Zola's accounts!"
"The Winter Soldier is compromised—delete Barnes from every database!"
"Pierce wants this accelerated—NOW!"
Two sets of emergency orders flooded internal channels, contradicting each other at every turn.
Information warfare erupted inside the world's most secretive intelligence agency.
And Alexander Pierce realized the truth.
Project Insight's algorithm was Zola's design.
If analysts outside S.H.I.E.L.D. got their hands on it—
They wouldn't just see surveillance patterns.
They'd see Hydra's ideology encoded in math.
"…Damn it."
Pierce picked up his secure line.
"Recall STRIKE. Immediately."
-----
Stark Tower — Top Floor
Antony lounged in a massive hot tub, silk robe half-open, a glass of '82 Happiness in hand.
Before him, an enormous screen split into a dozen live feeds.
CNN. FOX. MSNBC.
Every channel screamed the same words.
"THE S.H.I.E.L.D. CRISIS."
"…President Ellis has expressed grave concern and ordered an independent inquiry—"
"…global security councils demand immediate accountability—"
"…the Tide organization claims this is only the first wave—"
Ashley stepped forward, tablet in hand.
"As predicted, sir. All sampling teams have been recalled. Our sources inside S.H.I.E.L.D. confirm they're desperately searching for Skye."
"They don't have time to bother you anymore."
Antony raised his glass toward the city skyline.
"Good."
"Let them stop trying to steal my hair."
"Ashley."
"Yes, sir?"
"Tell Marketing—the movie can move up."
"Homelander: Origin."
"Global premiere."
Time Skip
Los Angeles.
TCL Theatre.
Traffic within five miles had completely collapsed.
Over one hundred thousand fans flooded the Walk of Fame, waving American flags and glowing Homelander signs.
"Homelander! Homelander! We love you!"
"Homelander! Homelander! We love you!"
"I LOVE STEVE! I LOVE STEVE!" an elderly man shouted before being gently—but firmly—tossed into a warm trash container for his own safety.
"Oh my God, this is insane!" an entertainment reporter screamed into her mic. "I've never seen anything like this!"
"LOOK—IT'S IRON MAN!"
"TONY STARK HIMSELF!"
"And Captain America! Steve Rogers!"
"The Avengers are here?! Are they here to support Homelander?!"
The crowd went feral.
Tony Stark descended in his newly assembled Mark-33 Silver Centurion, faceplate sliding open as he waved.
"…Damn it," Tony muttered to Steve. "I feel like the opening act."
"Smile, Tony," Steve said calmly in a tailored suit. "We're here to support."
"Support? I want to punch that gel-covered smile."
"Quiet," Natasha said behind them, dressed in a sleek black gown.
"What?"
"Look up."
…
BOOM—!!!
The crowd's scream shattered the night.
Searchlights snapped skyward.
A blue streak ripped through the clouds, dragging an ionized shock ring behind it.
Antony descended like a falling god.
BOOM!
He landed on the red carpet in the classic Homelander pose—one knee down, fists on hips.
As he slowly raised his head, blue eyes blazing beneath the lights, every camera on Earth locked onto him.
The world went silent.
For three seconds.
Then—
"HOMELANDER—!!!"
"HOMELANDER!!!"
Antony stood, the eagle emblem on his chest gleaming.
He spread his arms wide, bathing in worship.
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Yes… yes…
This is it.
This is what I deserve.
He took the microphone.
"Hey! I love you all!"
The street exploded.
"ONE MORE THING!"
"Tell me—who's the real hero?!"
"YOU ARE!! HOMELANDER!!"
"No."
Antony smiled.
"You are."
The screams nearly tore the city apart.