John blinked open his eyes to the sterile white glow of a laboratory ceiling. Even as a newborn, his mind screamed with clarity.
This wasn't a dream. This wasn't heaven or hell. It was worse.
It was real.
He wasn't supposed to be here. He remembered dying—his final moments etched in his memory like a scar. A runaway truck barreling down a wet road. A stray cat frozen in fear. He'd jumped forward instinctively, sacrificing himself without thinking. The impact, the searing pain, and then... nothing.
Until now.
He was no longer in his old body. He felt smaller, lighter, and yet his mind was intact. A child's body with an adult's soul. A cruel cosmic joke. The irony didn't escape him.
They called him John. The same name he'd had before. But they didn't know who he really was. They never would.
They didn't even see him as human.
His earliest memories were of glass walls, harsh lights, and the cold touch of steel instruments. Tubes and wires. Scientists in lab coats observing him like a rare animal. The room had no toys, no warmth, no love. Only cameras in every corner. No one ever entered without full-body hazard suits. To them, he was a bio-weapon. An asset. A project.
He learned to read their body language, their tones, even before he learned the alphabet.
"This is Subject HL-001," said one male voice in a clipped tone, always from behind glass. "The prototype. The baseline. Estimated potential: limitless."
Homelander. A name he would come to know all too well.
But he wasn't him. Not really. Not the version the world feared. Not the monster Vought wanted to create.
John had seen The Boys in his old life. He knew the timeline. The characters. The corporate manipulation. The horror behind the heroics.
But this world was real. And he was trapped in it.
So he adapted.
At first, he didn't speak. Let them think he was simple. Harmless. It gave him time to watch. To learn.
He recognized Dr. Elizabeth Park early on. Young, ambitious, with hollow eyes and a rehearsed smile. She was his primary handler. She spoke to him like he was five, even when he was two.
"Good morning, John," she would say every day through the speaker. "Did you sleep well?"
He would nod.
"Are you ready for your checkup?"
Another nod.
She never asked how he felt. Never asked what he wanted. Because she didn't care.
None of them did.
It wasn't until he turned five that everything changed.
That day had started like any other. More tests. More blood samples. More empty reassurances.
And then, the shimmer happened.
At first, it was like a flicker of static in the corner of his containment chamber. Like the edge of a dream trying to push through reality.
He turned toward it, eyes wide.
Something emerged.
A small, orange creature stepped out, wobbling slightly. It had big eyes, a flaming tail, and tiny claws.
"Char…mander?" it chirped, tilting its head.
John's heart stopped.
He knew that voice. That face. That warmth.
"No way," he whispered. "You're… real?"
Charmander walked up to him without hesitation, its little claws clicking on the tile. It looked up at him, eyes full of trust, and gently nudged his arm.
And just like that, something deep inside John unraveled. A knot of loneliness and fear began to untie.
He knelt and wrapped his arms around the little creature. It purred in his arms, curling its tail away from his skin to avoid burning him.
"Charmander," he said again, in awe. "You're really here."
For the first time in this cold, calculated world, he felt something real. Not synthetic affection. Not fake smiles.
Connection.
Then came the alarms.
The red lights flashed across the ceiling. Sirens wailed. Voices shouted.
"Unknown entity detected in HL-001's containment cell!"
"What is that thing? Is it part of his powers?"
"Get armed containment down there now!"
The door hissed open. Two armed guards stepped in, rifles raised.
"Step away from the creature!"
John didn't move.
Charmander flared. Its eyes narrowed, flame on its tail roaring to life.
One of the guards took a step forward. "This is your last warning!"
Charmander opened its mouth—and fired.
A blast of flame engulfed the room. The guards ducked, but the floor melted beneath their boots. The walls scorched black. Alarms screamed louder.
The guards retreated immediately.
From behind the safety glass, Dr. Park stared in horror.
"This isn't a projection," she whispered. "It's real."
The next 48 hours were chaos.
They tried everything—scans, probes, observation—but they couldn't identify Charmander's origin. It didn't show up on cameras until it had fully manifested. Its DNA didn't match any Earth species. Its flame wasn't chemical—it was something more.
But it wouldn't leave John's side. Not even for food.
When they tried to isolate John again, Charmander growled so fiercely the control room windows vibrated.
Vought was divided.
"This is a breach of control," said one executive. "Terminate the creature. Erase the footage."
"You want to kill the one thing that makes HL-001 stand out?" said another. "Are you mad? This could be the most marketable Supe in our history."
"They're animals," Park argued. "Unpredictable."
"They're adorable, Elizabeth," the marketing director replied. "Do you have any idea what kind of money this could mean?"
Focus groups loved Charmander. Ratings spiked during John's controlled media footage. Viewers referred to the fire lizard as "Blaze," even though John never called it that.
John saw it all.
He saw how quickly fear turned into greed.
So he leaned into it. He smiled for the cameras. He hugged Charmander during interviews. He let them think he was bonding the way they wanted.
But in his heart, he knew. Charmander wasn't a tool.
He was family.
Dr. Park increased conditioning efforts.
"You want to make us proud, don't you, John?" she asked softly.
He tilted his head innocently. "Of course, Doctor."
Inside, he was screaming.
That night, curled up in his narrow bed, Charmander resting beside him like a living heater, he whispered, "We'll get out of here someday. You and me. And whoever else finds us."
Charmander purred and curled tighter against him.
But it wasn't just the scientists who noticed. Cameras picked up something strange.
In the recording of Charmander's appearance, there was a flicker—just before it stepped out. A ripple in space. As if the laws of reality had bent for a moment.
John watched the footage secretly one night while the lab systems rebooted.
A portal.
These weren't hallucinations. These weren't psychic constructs.
They were real.
He lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, hand resting on Charmander's warm back.
His power wasn't just brute strength and laser vision.
It was something far more impossible.
He could summon Pokémon.
From where, he didn't know. From a dimension? Another reality? Maybe even a game world brought to life.
But they were coming.
And he would protect them.
Not just from the world.
But from Vought.
[End of Chapter 1 — To be continued in Chapter 2: Fire and Water]