Homelander paced slowly across the conference room, hands clasped behind his back, eyes drifting again and again to the metal box on the floor.
"Let's wait," he said lightly. "Let's wait for Ms. Madelyn."
A few moments later, heels clicked down the hallway. Madelyn Stillwell stepped inside, composed as always, her expression carrying polite curiosity.
"I got your message," she said smoothly. "What's the surprise?"
She didn't particularly enjoy surprises, especially not from Homelander. His impulses often created more problems than they solved. Still, she smiled. Managing him meant indulging him.
"It's a delightful surprise," Homelander replied with unsettling cheer. He gestured toward The Deep. "A very helpful dolphin found something at the bottom of the harbor. Go on. Show her."
The Deep stepped forward, visibly uneasy. He knelt and flipped open the metal lid.
Inside sat a heavy black plastic bag. Dark stains soaked through it. When he peeled it back, mangled organs and strips of translucent flesh came into view, glistening under the conference room lights.
Madelyn recoiled instinctively, her composure cracking for the first time. "My God…" Her eyes fixed on the faintly transparent fragments. "Is that… is that Translucent?"
A-Train felt his throat tighten.
Translucent had been missing for days. At first, everyone assumed he was on one of his usual binges—drinking, partying, disappearing. But as time passed and no trace surfaced, concern had grown.
They'd searched.
They'd found nothing.
And now this.
A-Train swallowed hard, staring at the ruined remains in the box. A strange chill crept along his spine, as if something unseen were staring back at him from inside the metal container.
Homelander watched Madelyn's reaction with open satisfaction.
"And you still think we don't have a problem?" he asked softly. "He's been gone for days. This is what we find."
Madelyn steadied herself, forcing her breathing under control. "How did they pierce his skin?" she demanded. "It's nearly indestructible. What kind of lunatics are we dealing with?"
Homelander's smile faded into something sharper.
"Not lunatics. Smart people. Very smart." He tapped the side of the box. "They knew there are materials I can't see through. Zinc. Clever, right?"
He straightened.
"They knew we'd eventually recover the body. This isn't just murder. It's a message. They're buying time."
Madelyn narrowed her eyes. "Why do you say that?"
Homelander pointed to the inside of the lid.
Madelyn leaned closer and read the words scrawled there in thick black marker.
Coming for you.
Her expression hardened.
"Whoever did this," Homelander said quietly, "just declared war."
Silence filled the room.
Madelyn inhaled slowly, already calculating consequences. "I'll have security investigate immediately," she said. "But this cannot go public. Not now."
The proposal to integrate superheroes into the national defense system was already in the voting stage. If news broke that a member of The Seven had been kidnapped and murdered, it could derail everything.
And beyond politics, there were profits. Translucent had endorsements, merchandise, film contracts. Announcing his death would trigger market instability Vought could not afford.
"This stays internal," she concluded.
Homelander held her gaze, then gave a small nod.
Within the hour, directives rippled through the tower like drumbeats.
Homelander left the conference room and walked into Madelyn's office without knocking.
The Deep, still rattled, muttered something about needing to "clear his head" and disappeared to call his marine companions.
A-Train headed straight for the intelligence department, tension tightening his shoulders. He met with Black Noir in silence, handing over a printed still frame captured from his girlfriend's home security footage.
It didn't take long.
Trevor from intelligence slid a file across the desk, eyebrows raised. "This guy's got thirty-four listed addresses and at least a dozen aliases. Who the hell is he?"
A-Train flipped through the pages. The sheer number of identities surprised even him.
"Someone we're interested in," he said casually.
Trevor frowned. "Since when do you run your own investigations?"
"That's none of your business."
A-Train's ribs still ached faintly when he inhaled too deeply. He remembered the alley. The impact. The eyes.
"Check something else," he added. "Any supe on record with extreme durability and laser vision?"
Trevor blinked. "Laser vision? That's… specific."
A-Train hesitated. The guy had been dark-skinned in the soot and smoke. That was what stuck in his mind.
"There's no registered supe matching that description," Trevor replied after a moment. "Madelyn did flag someone—male, light skin, possible mental instability, eye-based energy projection. That's it."
A-Train frowned.
That didn't line up.
He closed the file and walked out without another word, memorizing one of the listed addresses before handing the folder to Black Noir.
"Appreciate the help," he muttered.
Elsewhere in the city, Ethan had already relocated.
Even if A-Train hadn't gotten a clear look at him, it wasn't worth the risk. He'd packed up and moved into a new apartment across town.
As he finished setting up, a thought struck him.
Timeline.
If events were unfolding the way he remembered, Vought would trace Frenchie through the hidden camera in the stuffed toy at the girlfriend's apartment. Black Noir would be dispatched.
Noir was strong. Skilled. Brutal.
But he wasn't fast like A-Train.
Ethan considered it for a moment, then picked up his phone and called Butcher.
The Boys were already moving.
Through the shipping information on the Compound V syringe and a contact lead, they'd traced deliveries back to a charity front. Further digging revealed that Compound V was being distributed worldwide under the guise of vaccines.
The latest shipment had gone to Mercy Hospital's neonatal intensive care unit.
They were on their way.
Butcher answered on the third ring, steering one-handed. "Make it quick, mate. Bit busy."
"I need every address Frenchie's ever used," Ethan said bluntly.
Butcher glanced sideways at Frenchie. "What'd he do to you? Planning a street fight? He won't survive that."
"His identity's compromised," Ethan replied. "Black Noir is coming."
Butcher's grin faded slightly. He looked at Frenchie again.
Frenchie frowned. "What?"
"Our friend says you're burned," Butcher said. "Noir's on the way."
Frenchie scoffed. "And he knows this how? That bloke just slaughtered a supe in cold blood."
"Believe it or don't," Ethan said calmly. "Your call."
Butcher exhaled. "We'll talk later."
The line went dead.
Ethan lowered the phone and shook his head.
He'd done his part.
If Frenchie refused to move, that was on him.
In the car, the woman in the back seat—Mother's Milk—leaned forward. "He doesn't make things up. If Frenchie's exposed, are we exposed?"
Butcher tightened his grip on the wheel. "No idea. First things first. Let's get to that hospital."
They pulled up outside Mercy Hospital. The neon sign buzzed faintly.
Butcher stepped out, flashing a crooked grin. "Showtime."
Just as they started toward the entrance, Frenchie's phone rang.
He checked the screen and frowned. "Sherry?"
He answered.
Her voice came through sharp and urgent. "They're here. They found you. Black Noir is outside my apartment."
Frenchie froze.
Moments earlier, he'd dismissed the warning.
Now his pulse spiked.
"Which apartment?" he demanded. "Do they know the others?"
"If they found this one, they'll find everything," she replied before hanging up.
Frenchie stared at the dark screen.
Butcher studied him. "Well?"
"I've been exposed," Frenchie said slowly. "But… they're only after me?"
Confusion and dread twisted together in his expression. He couldn't figure out where he'd slipped.
Butcher handed him his phone with a sly look. "Send the address."
He'd already guessed what Ethan intended.
And frankly, he didn't mind watching Black Noir run into something unexpected.