I’m Ballistic, The Seven’s shiny new replacement. My power? I turn whatever I touch into a bomb. Vought markets me as "explosive energy," but mostly I’m just tired.

This red leotard is a wedgie from hell, and the "American Sweetheart" act is exhausting. Pass the lighter. If I think too hard about the collateral damage, I’ll scream.

Just read the script, sell the toys, and pray Homelander doesn't laser me.