THE BOYS: The Wrong Main Character

Mark picked up the microphone inside the security office and pressed the broadcast button. His voice echoed through every floor of the building.

"Alright, everyone, please put down your phones and don’t try contacting the police, Vought, the Seven, or anybody else."

The conversations across the newsroom gradually died down. Most people looked around in confusion. Some still thought it was a prank.

"Because for the next few minutes, this building is under my control. You people already gave me a wonderful name — the Devil. If any of you decide to do something stupid, I don’t mind proving that the name isn’t inaccurate."

Nobody laughed. The destroyed section of concrete outside had already convinced most of them that this was serious.

"If someone contacts the authorities or tries to bring the Seven here, I will level this entire building before they arrive. So do yourselves a favor and don’t test whether I’m bluffing."

A heavy silence settled over the offices. Several employees slowly put their phones back onto their desks. Others simply froze.

"I don’t need much from you," Mark continued. "One live broadcast setup, a camera crew, and a few minutes of airtime. After that, I’m leaving, and everyone goes home safely."

"Don’t try to escape, don’t try to be a hero, cooperate and do your jobs — and this ends peacefully. Ignore that advice and, well... you already know what happens."

On the top floor, the station director watched the security footage from his office. The damaged entrance. The unconscious guards. The man in the hoodie standing calmly in the middle of it all. He picked up the internal phone.

"Give him whatever he wants. And nobody calls the police, Vought, or the Seven."

The people in the room looked at him in disbelief. "Sir —"

"No arguments. If that lunatic means what he says and brings the building down, we’re all dead. We can replace equipment. We can’t replace people."

The decision spread through the building within minutes. Nobody resisted.

Soon, Mark got exactly what he wanted. A live studio. Working cameras. A host who looked considerably more frightened than she wanted to admit.

While technicians prepared the broadcast, Mark stood near a large fish tank at the end of the room, quietly humming to himself. The host adjusted her microphone and gathered enough courage to speak.

"Umm... may I ask why you’ve come here today?"

Mark didn’t even turn around. "Let’s start the live broadcast first. Then we can talk."

The host immediately looked toward the control room. The director gave a silent nod — whatever this man wanted to say, it was better to let him say it and leave than find out what happened if they refused.

The producer counted down with trembling fingers. "Five... four... three..."

The red light above the main camera turned on.

"We’re live," the host said quietly.

Mark turned away from the fish tank and faced the camera.

"Hello, everyone. This is your friendly neighborhood villain, the Devil. Personally, I don’t like the title very much, but who am I to argue with public opinion?" He glanced toward the host. "Isn’t that right?"

The host forced an awkward smile. "I... I suppose the public did choose the name."

"Exactly. Democracy in action."

The woman had no idea whether she was expected to laugh, agree, or remain silent, so she settled for saying nothing.

Mark pulled a chair closer and sat down as if attending an ordinary interview rather than holding an entire news station hostage.

"Now, before people start panicking, let me make one thing clear. I didn’t come here to kill anyone, destroy anything, or start a war with Vought today."

"I only needed a live broadcast because some information deserves to be heard directly rather than filtered through public relations departments and corporate lawyers."

The host swallowed. "And... what information is that?"

"Patience. We just went live. It would be rude to skip the introduction and jump straight to the important part."

Behind the cameras, nobody moved. Across the country, viewers who had tuned in expecting the morning news were instead looking at the masked figure known as the Devil calmly addressing the nation from a commandeered television studio.

"So, my first question to the public is simple," Mark said. "What do you people think about superheroes?"

The host cleared her throat, taking a moment to realize he genuinely expected an answer. "Well... most people see them as heroes. People who protect others. Symbols of hope, I suppose."

Mark nodded. "That’s the standard answer." He leaned back in his chair. "People grow up believing that some individuals are simply born different. Stronger, faster, better. Chosen by fate, chosen by God, or just lucky enough to be special."

"And honestly, I understand why people think that way. If someone saves your life, you don’t stop to ask complicated questions. You thank them and move on." He looked toward the camera.

"But what if the foundation of that belief is wrong? What if everything you’ve been told about superheroes since childhood isn’t true?"

The host swallowed. "Are you saying you know something the public doesn’t?"

"That," he said calmly, "is exactly why I needed a live broadcast."

He looked back into the camera. "Superheroes started appearing around the time of the Second World War."

"Why then? If they were truly chosen by God to protect humanity, why didn’t they appear earlier? Why not during every other war, famine, and disaster in human history? Did God suddenly decide that people had become too evil? Did Heaven finally send down its champions after thousands of years?"

The studio remained completely silent.

The host swallowed before answering. "Well... many people see superheroes as blessings. They believe these gifts come from God and that these individuals were chosen to help others."

Mark shook his head. "And that’s where you’re wrong."

He reached into his jacket and placed a small blue vial on the table. The camera immediately focused on it.

"Superheroes are not born. They are made."

The host stared at the vial. "What is that?"

"A chemical called Compound V," Mark said. "Every story about divine gifts, destiny, and chosen heroes is bullshit. Vought created superheroes with this."

The words hung in the air. Nobody in the studio moved. The technicians behind the cameras simply stared. Across the country, millions of viewers watched in complete disbelief — the small blue vial on the table suddenly carrying a weight far greater than anyone could have imagined.

A/N : There will be Minor crossover and the next world is Jujutsu Kaisen

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A/N: Advanced Chapters are available on Patreon.

👉 /Mark841

Currently, 22 advanced Chapters are available