The Vought Archives were located in the sub basent, three levels below the parking garage. It was a labyrinth of filing cabinets containing the dirty laundry of seventy years of corporate malfeasance.
Holander tore the steel door off its hinges.
He moved through the aisles with super speed, a blur of blue and red. He used his X-ray vision, scanning through the tal drawers, reading the labels on the folders at the speed of light.
1978... 1979... 1980.
He found the section.
Project: Chariot.
He ripped the drawer open, tal screeching. He grabbed a handful of files, his hands shaking.
He rifled through them, tossing papers into the air. Budget reports. Chemical analysis. Test subject fatalities.
And then he found it.
A single docunt stamped TOP SECRET.
Subject: Genetic Donor Protocol.
Donor: Benjamin.
Codena: Soldier Boy.
Recipient Sample: Batch 4 Alpha.
Result: Viable Embryo. Subject designation: John.
It was signed by Jonah Vogelbaum.
Holander stared at the paper. The ink was faded, but the truth was indelible.
"John," he whispered.
He wasn’t a test tube baby. He was a son. He had a father. A father who was the greatest hero who had ever lived.
A father who was alive.
He dropped the paper.
Vogelbaum knew. Edgar knew.
They had lied to him. For his entire life. They had deprived him of the one thing he had craved more than anything else: a family.
And there was one other person who had been around back then. One person who had served with Soldier Boy. One person who was still here, in the tower, playing the loyal dog.
Holander’s eyes began to glow.
...
The quarters of The Seven were quiet.
In his private room, Black Noir sat at a small Japanese whetstone, sharpening a combat knife.
Shhhk.
Shhhk.
Shhhk.
The rhythmic sound was ditative.
Two beams of intense red heat sliced through the lock and the hinges and the door fell inward with a heavy crash.
Holander stepped into the room.
His face was a mask of eerie calm, but the air around him vibrated with a terrifying pressure.
Black Noir set the knife down and stood up, turning to face his leader. He tilted his head slightly, a silent question.
"You know what I realized?" Holander asked, his voice soft.
He began to circle Noir, moving slowly, studying the masked figure like a predator inspecting a trapped animal.
"You’re the only one who doesn’t lie to ," Holander said. "Everyone else. They all lie. They all have their agendas. They all wear masks."
He stopped behind Noir, leaning in close.
"But not you. You wear a mask, sure. But underneath it? You’re loyal. You don’t speak, so you can’t lie."
Noir stood still, his posture relaxed, accepting the praise. He nodded once.
Holander walked back around to face him. He smiled. He reached out and patted Noir on the shoulder. The impact was harder than a friendly pat should be.
"You’re the only one I can trust," Holander said. "Aren’t you?"
Black Noir raised his hand slowly. He gave a thumbs up.
Holander laughed. "See? You’ve always been there. Standing in the back. Watching."
"So tell about Soldier Boy," he said. "You were on his team. What was he like?"
Noir paused. He seed to hesitate. Then, he reached for a notepad on his desk. He scribbled a single word and held it up.
BAD.
Holander stared at the word. "Bad," he repeated. "Co on. Nobody is all bad. He was a hero."
Noir shook his head. He wrote again, underlining the word.
BAD.
"He is my father," Holander said.
The words hung in the air.
Noir wasn’t surprised.
"I didn’t believe him at first," Holander whispered, stepping closer. "I ripped apart the company archives. And it’s true..."
Holander looked into the black lenses of Noir’s mask.
"You knew," Holander said.
Noir remained silent.
"You knew," Holander shouted, his voice cracking. "You knew I had a father out there! Alive! This whole ti!"
Tears began to well up in Holander’s eyes.
"You lied to ," he whispered, his voice trembling with a child’s heartbreak. "My whole life. The one thing... the one thing I needed most. A family. Soone who could understand. And you kept it from ."
Noir took a step back. He raised his hands in a placating gesture. He picked up the pen again, writing frantically.
MUST KILL HIM.
Holander looked at the note. He laughed, a sobbing sound.
"I’m not sure I want to," Holander said. "It’s funny, you know? Everyone thinks of you as this unreadable Sphinx. A mystery. But not ."
Holander activated his X-ray vision. He looked through the black fabric of the mask.
"I see through that mask," Holander whispered. "I an literally. I can see your face. I can see the battle scars. That crooked smile of yours. I know when you’re happy. I know when you’re sad. I know when you’re telling the truth."
He leaned in, his nose almost touching the mask.
"And I know when you’re afraid."
Noir dropped the notepad. He tensed, his body preparing for combat.
"Did you know?" Holander asked, tears streaming down his face. "Did you know he was my father?"
Noir stared at him.
"Fuck," Holander sobbed. "Fuck! Why didn’t you tell ?"
Holander drove his fist forward with the crushing force of a hydraulic piston.
SQUELCH.
Holander’s fist punched through the Kevlar of Noir’s suit. It punched through the skin, the muscle, the intestines and the spine. It exited out the other side of Noir’s back, coated in dark blood and viscera.
Noir gasped. He looked down at the arm embedded in his gut. He looked up at Holander.
Holander was crying openly now, his face twisted in a rictus of grief and rage.
"You were the only one," Holander wept. "You were supposed to be my friend."
He ripped his arm back.
Noir collapsed. He fell to his knees, clutching the gaping, ruinous hole in his stomach. Blood poured out onto the floor, pooling around his boots.
He looked up at Holander one last ti. He reached out a shaking hand, perhaps for help, perhaps for forgiveness.
Holander stepped back, looking at the blood on his glove. He looked at the dying man who had been a silent fixture in his life for twenty years.
Noir slumped forward. His head hit the floor. He twitched once and then he was still.
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