Frenchie still wore that easy, almost amused smile as he leaned back against the table. "Since you've decided to surprise me today," he said lightly, "what exactly are you looking for now?"
Butcher reached into his coat and pulled out a photograph. He slid it across the table. The image showed the charred remains of a building that looked disturbingly like a medical facility. The structure had collapsed inward, blackened beams jutting up like broken ribs.
"I need you to dig into this place," Butcher said. "Find out who worked there. Staff, security, patients. All of it."
Frenchie squinted at the photo and took a drag from his cigarette. "A psychiatric hospital? You're investigating mental health now?"
Butcher rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Vought was quietly funding it. Off the books. And then it exploded. Too convenient. I want to know what really happened."
"Where is it?"
Butcher gave him a look. "You seriously didn't hear about this?"
Frenchie shrugged. "I haven't been tracking Vought lately."
Butcher's lips curled into a faint smile. "Lamplighter died there."
Frenchie's expression changed instantly. His eyes lit up with sharp interest. He had never forgiven Lamplighter for what happened years ago. Hearing that the man was dead stirred something dark and electric inside him.
"Tell me where it is," Frenchie said immediately. "I want to see it myself."
Butcher leaned back. "Deep inside Sage Grove."
The room fell quiet for a moment.
—
Vice President's Office, Vought Tower.
Homelander stood in front of Madelyn Stillwell with a tight jaw and barely restrained frustration. He had overheard her call with the mayor of Baltimore and discovered that the mayor had been blackmailing her over information about Compound V. So he had handled it the only way he knew how—he intervened mid-flight and created a small "incident" on the mayor's return trip.
He had expected praise.
Instead, The Deep had discovered laser residue on the wreckage and reported it. And now Madelyn was scolding him.
"I was helping you," Homelander said, his voice carrying a wounded edge.
"I know you were," Madelyn replied calmly, stepping closer. "You always want to protect me. But timing matters. Optics matter."
Her tone was soft, controlled, almost maternal. She understood him better than anyone. Raised in laboratories, engineered without affection, Homelander craved validation in ways he barely understood himself. Beneath the overwhelming power was an emotionally stunted man who needed constant reassurance.
She placed a hand against his chest and spoke gently. "Tonight is important. Half the Senate Appropriations Committee will be there. I need you smiling. I need you shining. All-American hope. Can you do that for me?"
His posture softened. He nodded.
Bringing superheroes into the Department of Defense had been her long-term objective. Contracts. Federal funding. Permanent military integration. That was the real battlefield.
Ten minutes later, Homelander left her office visibly satisfied.
Moments after that, Rodney, head of Vought Security Operations, entered.
"Any updates on Subject 58?" Madelyn asked immediately.
Rodney shook his head. "No confirmed sightings. After Wilson's failed operation, he disappeared. We checked his previous residence before Sage Grove. Nothing."
"No damage reports? No disturbances?"
"None."
Rodney had reviewed the file repeatedly. The report described Subject 58 as unstable, emotionally volatile, diagnosed with severe bipolar disorder prior to Compound V exposure. In theory, someone like that would leave a trail—violence, destruction, unpredictable outbursts.
But there had been nothing.
Madelyn rubbed her temple. "Keep searching. And if there's even a whisper, I want to know. I don't need another Pennsylvania."
She had no intention of unleashing Homelander on a blind search. It would waste his time and risk collateral damage. His presence was better used politically right now.
Her gaze drifted to the file on her desk. The photograph on the first page showed a young man whose features aligned with Eastern European aesthetics—sharp lines, striking symmetry.
An idea sparked.
"Rodney," she said slowly, "do you think he's beyond communication?"
Rodney frowned. "He destroyed Sage Grove. He killed our people. He's unstable."
"Or," Madelyn countered, "perhaps Compound V corrected more than we thought."
Rodney stared at her in disbelief.
Vought had always struggled to penetrate the European market in a meaningful way. They lacked a face that resonated. A representative who could bridge cultural expectations while still serving corporate interests.
"This could be an opportunity," she continued. "We've never truly opened Eastern Europe. If he's viable, that's a door."
"He slaughtered security personnel," Rodney said through clenched teeth. "You want to put him in a cape?"
"That was your failure," Madelyn snapped coldly. "If you locate him, attempt communication. Offer incentives. If necessary, compensation for families will be doubled. Bonuses for success."
"Madelyn—"
"If you can't handle it, I'll find someone who can."
Rodney understood the message.
He left the office flushed with anger, but by the time he stepped into the elevator, his expression had shifted. Calculation replaced frustration. Profit mattered more than pride.
—
Meanwhile, Ethan Pierce was studying a different kind of opportunity.
Inside the safe house, Harris laid a folder on the table. "Ironclad," he said. "Used to be a second-tier patrol hero under Vought. Popularity dropped. Contract terminated."
Harris flipped open the file. "Since then, he's been doing freelance muscle work for a dockside gang called the Grizzlies."
Ethan reviewed the documents carefully.
Before this, Harris would never have touched intelligence involving former superheroes. But a stack of cash had conveniently reshaped his priorities.
"Still tied to Vought?" Ethan asked without looking up.
"Not anymore," Harris replied. "Vought cuts loose anything that stops generating revenue. Once Ironclad's market value dipped, they erased him."
That was precisely the type Ethan wanted.
Not A-list heroes. Not public icons. Those disappearances triggered investigations. He needed low-visibility assets. Individuals whose absence could be written off.
Unlock progress required escalation, but not recklessness.
He wanted to reach a threshold where he could face Vought head-on.
Harris then pulled out a separate phone. "You also asked for this," he said, handing it over. "High-follower livestream account. Purchased through a third party. Clean trail."
He hesitated. "I still don't understand why you need a following."
Ethan turned the phone over in his hand, examining it. "Insurance," he said simply. "The more eyes watching, the harder it is for things to disappear quietly."
He didn't elaborate further.
....
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