In the basement, Butcher looked down at the trigger Frenchie had handed him, turning it over between his fingers before glancing toward the room where Translucent was being held.
"So you're tellin' me you've shoved the bomb up the invisible cunt's arse?" he asked.
Frenchie took a drag from his cigarette and shrugged.
"His skin is practically indestructible. Bullets do nothing. Knives do nothing. Electricity only keeps him under control."
He tapped the side of his head.
"But his insides? Those are still human."
A slow grin spread across Butcher's face. "So that's the trick."
"That's the trick."
Neither man said anything for a moment. Then Butcher started laughing — not nervously, not with relief. The kind of laugh that meant he was enjoying himself far too much.
"Frenchie, mate," he said, shaking his head, "that is absolutely fuckin' diabolical."
Frenchie looked oddly pleased. "I know."
Hughie stared at both of them.
Most people would think about guns, poison, knives, maybe fire. Frenchie had skipped every normal possibility and gone straight to something no sane person would ever consider.
"Umm..." He hesitated. "Are we really going to kill him? He's still one of the Seven. A national hero."
Butcher looked at him as if he'd said something unbelievably stupid.
"The invisible cunt who spends his free time peepin' on women, threatens civilians for fun, and works for the same company that covered up your girlfriend gettin' turned into red mist?"
Hughie flinched. Robin came to mind immediately. The apology. The settlement. The way Vought had treated her death like a paperwork issue.
Butcher saw the hesitation. "That's what I thought."
Frenchie exhaled a stream of smoke. "Besides, if he gets out of that cage, he will try to kill us."
"Not try," Butcher corrected. "The moment that invisible prick gets loose, we're all dead."
Hughie glanced toward the holding room. The supe wasn't some comic-book hero.
He'd already learned that — with A-Train, with Vought, with every ugly piece of truth Butcher had dragged into the light. Still, the idea of killing a member of the Seven felt unreal.
Butcher seemed to read exactly what he was thinking.
"Welcome to the real world, Hughie. The capes ain't heroes. They're just arseholes with better public relations."
The three of them headed toward the holding room.
By the time they reached the cage, Translucent still invisible had pulled himself together. The moment he saw them enter, he pushed himself off the floor.
"Where did that white-haired scum go?" His eyes darted around the room. "Where is he?"
Butcher frowned. "White-haired scum?"
"The freak who was just here!" Translucent pointed outside the cage. "He was standing right there!"
Frenchie and Hughie looked around. The room was empty.
Butcher stared at Translucent for several seconds before a grin spread across his face.
"Bloody hell. The electricity's finally fried your brain."
"He was real!"
"Course he was."
Translucent slammed both hands against the bars.
"An invisible bloke locked in a cage is tellin' me about a mysterious white-haired ghost," said Butcher. "Do you have any idea how mental that sounds?"
"He wasn't a ghost. He's a fucking inhuman thing."
"Like what?"
Translucent immediately regretted opening his mouth. There was no chance he was explaining that conversation. Not after the humiliation. "Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Forget it."
"No, no, mate. You've got my attention now." Butcher stepped closer. "Did he know about Vought? The Seven?" A pause. "The fact you're a peeping Tom invisible cunt?"
Translucent froze. Butcher's grin widened instantly.
"OHHH."
"Shut up."
"Did the spooky white-haired bloke hurt your feelings?"
"Fuck you."
"Frenchie, I think our invisible friend got bullied by an imaginary man."
Frenchie shrugged. "Perhaps the imaginary man had a point."
"FUCK BOTH OF YOU!"
The outburst echoed through the room. Then Butcher looked down at the trigger, turning it over slowly. Translucent's eyes locked onto it immediately.
"What the fuck is that?"
"While you were busy runnin' your mouth, Frenchie got creative." Butcher held it up. "You've got a bomb up your arse, mate."
The color drained from Translucent's face. For a second he simply stared, then forced out a laugh.
"You're bluffing."
Nobody responded. The laugh died in his throat.
"You people are out of your fucking minds. Homelander is going to tear this building apart—"
"Maybe." Butcher casually spun the trigger. "But that's later. Right now you're the one with a bomb up your arse."
His thumb drifted toward the button. The threat about Homelander vanished instantly.
"Wait — wait." Translucent stumbled back until his shoulders hit the far side of the cage. "Just listen. Put it down for one second and listen."
Butcher paused. Not out of mercy. Out of curiosity.
"I have money." The words came fast. "Vought pays me more than you'll see in ten lifetimes. Cash, transfers, whatever you want — name a number and I'll double it. Triple it."
"Contacts inside Vought. Names, schedules, security rotations. Classified files. Access codes. Things you could never get any other way. Isn't that what you want? I can hand you everything you need to bring the whole company down."
Butcher studied him. Translucent mistook the silence for interest.
"Whatever any of you want — money, information, women, connections. All of it. I'll give up everything. The Seven, Vought, all of it." His voice cracked slightly. "Just put it down."
"You'd sell out your teammates," Butcher said. "Just like that."
"Yes. No hesitation. Just put it down."
Butcher nodded slowly, as though genuinely considering it. He looked down at the trigger. Then back at Translucent.
***
A/N: And on Patreon, The Boys arc started.
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