Chapter Text
ASHLEY BARRETT
Her morning had been average. No Supe scandals. No Deep-related HR violations. Maybe that was asking for too much.
Ashley's phone buzzed five times before she realized it wasn't a Slack ping, a reminder about The Deep's rebrand meeting, or another alert about Homelander tweeting something vaguely patriotic and unhinged.
It was worse.
Way, way worse.
She glanced at the notification and froze mid-step in the hallway, nearly colliding with a junior publicist who mumbled an apology before scurrying off. Ashley didn't notice. Her eyes were glued to her phone screen.
How Much Is a Human Life Worth?
Ashley clicked the link. The page loaded, black text on white.
How Much Is a Human Life Worth?: A Look at Superhero Settlements, Silence, and the Price of Grief
By Lark Kent
Investigative Reporter – Metropolitan Gazette
"Oh, fuck me."
Over the last week, I’ve combed through dozens of quietly settled “incidents” involving enhanced individuals—cases in which civilians were injured, killed, or simply vanished. In nearly every one, a familiar pattern emerges:
A “freak accident” makes the news for less than a week. A lawyer arrives. A check is cut. The grieving signs an NDA, and the story ends—if it ever began. The public hardly hears about the girl who stepped off a curb and was run through by a Supe with too much speed and not enough control.
Ashley's heart dropped. Her fingertips went numb. She started skimming faster. No names. No direct callouts. Not even a mention of Vought.
No direct accusations. No technical violations.
It was subtle. It was surgical. It was going to get this woman killed.
Ashley took off at a sprint down the hall, heels clacking like gunfire on the tile floor. She shoved open the door to her office, snatched her laptop off her desk, and started typing before she'd even sat down. Her inbox was a field of red flags and bold subject lines.
SUBJECT: URGENT — Article Alert
SUBJECT: PR CRISIS — "Human Life Worth" Piece Going Viral
SUBJECT: FLAGGED — Trending: Lark Kent
Someone had dumped the entire article into the PR shared folder with panic-highlighting:
Killer paragraph: Page 3, last section — NEON YELLOW
Ashley barely had to scroll to find it.
"We’ve been told to accept this. To believe it’s the price of protection.
But protection shouldn’t come with a death toll.
And silence isn’t safety.
It’s control."
Ashley closed her eyes. "Goddammit."
It was perfect. Just plausible deniability enough . Everyone would know who she meant. Vought had branded "We're here to protect you" on everything from bus stops to bottled water.
It was as subtle as a sniper rifle.
Worse than Maeve's DUI cover-up. Worse than The Deep's lawsuit from that junior marketing exec.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She snatched her headset and dialed Madelyn Stillwell's private line with shaking fingers.
"Come on, come on, pick up, pick up—"
Ring. Ring. Click.
"Stillwell." Calm. Crisp. Like always.
"It's Ashley. We've got a situation," she blurted, already clicking through her laptop to open her Vought legal protocols folder.
"I saw it."
Ashley blinked. "Wait—how? I only just-"
"She tagged Vought on Twitter. She's trending at number 6 already. Give it another five minutes, and I'm sure she'll be at number 4."
Ashley's stomach flipped. Great. Just fucking. Great.
"We need to release a statement. Neutral tone. Something about community care. Maybe loop in the Vought Victims Foundation, if we still fund that—"
"No."
Ashley's voice pitched up. "No? Mrs. Stillwell, we have to respond. The longer it sits, the more legit it gets—"
"Responding legitimizes it." Stillwell's voice stayed infuriatingly calm. "She didn't name us. We don't confirm what no one's proven. We're going to let Legal scare the hell out of her until she rescinds it."
Ashley pinched the bridge of her nose. "Understood." She was already opening the Legal folder. "Cease and desist?"
"Exactly."
Ashley was already typing. "I'll loop Legal. Do you need me to start a smear campaign?"
"No. Not yet. Stan wants her vetted before we move. She's too clean. No priors, no citations."
Ashley blinked. "And you think she's what?"
"A nuisance." There was finally some bite in Stillwell's voice. "She used to write puff pieces for us . Find out what changed. Who she's sleeping with. Where she drinks. The second she slips, we make it count."
Ashley nodded even though Stillwell couldn't see her. "Got it."
"And Ashley?"
"Yeah?"
"Flag the article for Homelander."
Ashley almost dropped her headset. "Wait—why? He's not even mentioned —"
"Which is exactly why he'll hate it. He won't care about the nuance. If he finds out about this article from someone else, it's going to be blood in the streets. Make it look like we're on top of it."
The line went dead.
Ashley swallowed hard and clicked into the internal alert system. Homelander's smiling headshot stared back at her from the top of the list of Supe's.
She selected his name.
FLAGGED: Potential interest to HL.
SUBJECT: Media Threat — Passive. We're handling it.
Part of her hoped she wasn't about to get this woman killed. He had lasered interns over less.
Ashley slumped back in her chair, watching the numbers climb on Twitter.
Thirty thousand retweets. Fifty thousand likes.
Lark Kent's name was everywhere.
Ashley opened a new document to draft a press statement anyway, even if they wouldn't use it. She always kept a Plan B.
And a Plan C.
And a flask of vodka in her desk drawer.
Just in case.