The Boys: Viltrumite Bloodline Panel

When injustice becomes law, resistance becomes duty.

~ Thomas Jefferson

_____

Forty-eight hours later.

Vought Tower.

All the major American media outlets were there.

Edgar sat in the center, his face caught between a scowl and something that almost looked like satisfaction.

He was pissed because Hillel had dragged Vought’s other two big stars, Homelander and Maeve, into the whole mess.

They had killed without hesitation.

Among the dead were congressmen, a former Secretary of Defense, military brass, top-tier businessmen...

This was a massive fucking incident.

CNN, FOX, NBC, ABC, CBS, Vought News Network—every channel was broadcasting live at the same time.

Even the Super Bowl never got this kind of coverage.

The full roster of The Seven was on stage, even Lamplighter, who had been stuck guarding the gate at Sage Grove Center, got hauled out for the photo op.

Hillel stood dead center, in the brightest spotlight.

Originally he was supposed to share that spot with Homelander.

But Edgar had made the call: the benefits stay with Vought, the glory goes to The Guardian, and nobody else needs to get their hands dirty or risk catching the scandal.

The press conference started.

Hillel didn’t speak right away. On the big screens on either side, raw footage from the rescue on the island in Rhode Island was rolling.

Every reporter in the room held their breath, eyes locked on every frame.

No edits. No cuts. Even the part where Hillel chopped a congressman’s head clean off played out in full.

Only the worst shots involving the kids got a little softened.

The reporters were already losing their shit, cursing God out loud.

By the time the footage ended, the whole room was still in shock. Nobody could believe these images came from America—the land of freedom, beauty, wealth, democracy, justice, and the rule of law.

Hillel tapped the microphone three times.

The room went dead quiet.

"All eyes on me!"

Every head turned.

"Three days ago, my team and I found three hundred and forty people held captive on a private island in the Caribbean."

"More than half of them were kids."

"You’ve all seen it. Those images are the proof."

Hillel looked every single person in the eye.

"They were locked up underground like animals. Beaten, raped, sold off like property."

"Some had their organs cut out and sold to rich bastards who needed transplants. Others got used up and tossed straight into the incinerator."

"Not even ashes left behind."

"And the ones doing all this weren’t some random street scum."

"They were the chairman of the Church of the Collective, a world-famous philanthropist! Federal judges who sat on the bench and decided people’s fates with a single word."

"They were our state senators, politicians who could end up in the White House one day! And our retired generals, the soldiers who swore to give their loyalty, honor, and lives to America!"

"They! Are the most respectable people in this country."

Every time Hillel paused, it felt like he was winding up for the next punch.

"A few days ago, some people were calling me scum, a butcher, an executioner, a fascist in a superhero suit."

"Why?"

"Because I said once that a terrorist’s life isn’t worth as much as a World War II veteran’s!"

"I know how those liberals are spinning their bullshit behind my back, trying to paint me as the bad guy. They think my words destroyed the so-called spirit of the free constitution!"

"Natural rights, equality for everyone—by what right do I get to judge evil? Isn’t this just power that sits above the law?"

"Some even say I’m raping the public’s brains!"

"What a fucking joke! I’d rather get caught on camera picking up ten big-titted white girls at a nightclub in one night than waste my time fucking with everyone’s heads!"

"But—"

Hillel smiled for a second, then his face went hard again. He tapped the table lightly with his finger.

"...But right here in front of you, there’s a whole group of people who are actually raping the public’s brains!"

"They take taxpayer money, soak up all the glory, use the law like a shield, and stomp all over three hundred million Americans while they do this shit..."

"What shit?"

"They rape kids in basements, then turn around and tell us we have to protect America’s future!"

"They cut out the organs of the young and stick them into their own bodies, just so they can dodge the natural process of getting old."

"They use charitable funds to build underground prisons, committing acts of the devil, yet they preach to you and me about the Lord’s morality! Oh, Father! Please forgive my sins!"

Hillel used exaggerated gestures, like he was putting on a farce.

But nobody laughed.

"These are the people!"

Hillel’s voice kept rising.

"These are the people!"

"They lecture me about the value of life, they lecture me about the law, they lecture me about power, and they cite the Fifth Amendment of the Constitution to justify their crimes!"

"When I first set foot on this land of freedom, someone told me this is the law, this is so-called procedural justice, this is... the spirit of the American Constitution!"

"My late grandfather came from Poland, his English wasn’t great, alas, it looks like my English isn’t great either, so could someone please translate for me!? What... the hell... is a free constitution!?"

The room went completely silent.

Only the red lights on the cameras kept flashing.

Reporters forgot to hold their microphones; some dropped them on the floor with a loud clatter.

But not a single person moved.

They were all soaking in the furious hero.

What bullshit justice, what bullshit law, what bullshit freedom—it was all shit.

Hillel gave them a moment to process.

He didn’t wait for questions and kept going.

This time his voice dropped, slower and heavier.

"If the Constitution protects people like this, if procedural justice means these bastards walk free thanks to shyster lawyers..."

"If equality for all means a congressman who rapes a kid and the kid he raped have the exact same rights..."

"Then we don’t want that kind of equality!"

Anger started showing on Hillel’s face. It was a performance he’d planned.

This was the right moment to look angry.

Because it wasn’t just him who was angry—the people watching on TV needed to feel it too.

They should be feeling it.

Hillel stared straight into the camera, like a furious king coming down to earth, rage and ferocity written all over him.

"Congress!"

"I know you people in your suits, sitting in air-conditioned rooms, the ones who actually control millions of dollars... you’re using taxpayer money to sip coffee, drink fine wine, and smoke cigars while you discuss..."

"...whether supes need to be regulated, and what kind of weapons we need to keep these unstable elements in check!"

"But I’m telling you right now..."

Hillel pointed straight at the camera, like he was pointing at someone real on the other side.

"You are the ones who actually need regulating!"

"Because your colleagues are out there raping kids on an island in the Caribbean, harvesting young organs in basements, and building a living hell on earth in the name of God!"

"And you.. did you even know about any of this?"

"If you did, what did you do? Look the other way? Ignore it? Save your own skin?"

"If you didn’t, then what the fuck gives you the right to sit in those seats? Holding the power of life and death over God’s green earth!"

____

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