"Imperator," James called out.
He was clean-shaven now, smelling remarkably nice and looking well-fed, though he was still fundamentally, undeniably ugly.
He called out to Cerberus, who was currently lying on his back, staring blankly up at the warehouse ceiling.
"What?" Cerberus muttered, not even bothering to tilt his head.
"There is someone here seeking a meeting."
"Audience, James. It's an audience," Cerberus corrected, his voice dripping with lazy irritation. "How many times do I have to say that to you? Just send him in. This is so fucking boring."
Soon, a man in a long black coat and an ugly face, accompanied by an ugly beard, walked in.
"James." Cerberus called out.
"Yes, Imperator?"
"Leave us."
"Yes"
Butcher watched the ugly bastard walk out before turning his full attention back to Cerberus. Looking at him, Butcher was almost entirely sure this kid was another one of Homelander's secret bastards.
The facial structure was there, but this one had a distinctly erratic, unpredictable vibe to him. If the first runt, Aldrich, was completely insane, Butcher thought, who was to say the rest of them weren't?
"Right then," Butcher started, flashing that wolfish grin of his as he flicked open a cheap leather wallet. "Imperator, is it? Bloody hell, they're handing out royal titles in cereal boxes these days. Name's Butcher. Billy Butcher, FBI. Mind if we have a little chat, sunshine? Got a few questions about your local neighborhood activities."
Cerberus didn't even look at him. "No, you're not."
"Excuse me?"
"You're not with the FBI, and your name isn't Billy. That's a nickname," Cerberus said, finally shifting his gaze directly to him. "Your name is William Butcher, and you're a wanted terrorist. Did you really come all the way here betting that I don't watch the news? How are you even walking around here? How haven't you been arrested yet?"
"Well, bloody hell," Butcher said, leaning his weight casually against a stack of nearby barrels. "Look at you. Got a proper brain between those ears after all. Most of you supes can't read the back of a soup can without a team of corporate nannies helping you out, let alone the evening news. I'm impressed, mate. Truly."
"I've got more than a brain, mate," Cerberus said, rolling his head to the side with a lazy, mocking grin. "I've got yours. You're only here because you think my father is Homelander. And let me guess the rest of that plan of yours, you wanted to grab me by the shoulders, point me at the sky, and say, 'Sic 'em.' Am I warm?"
"A fucking mind reader. Alright, sunshine, let's skip the foreplay. Your brother, homeless little runt, you probably didn't even know the bastard existed, tried to take a swing at your old man. Got himself wiped out on live tv by his own bloody flesh and blood. Now, I'm looking at you, sitting in a right state in a filthy warehouse, playing king of the castle with the local ugly gits. So tell me... do you want a proper, bloody shot at the bastard, or what?"
"Hmmmm," Cerberus hummed from his perch, casually swinging his legs back and forth. "What a completely stupid question. Of course not. Why the hell would I want that? I still want to climb Mount Everest, I haven't even had sex yet... Plus, even if I wanted to, it's completely useless. Vanguard is right there next to him, holding the vanguard."
"Vanguard. Yeah," Butcher countered. "The golden boy standing right at the big cunt's right hand. You think that makes him untouchable, do you? See, that's where you're looking at it all wrong, sunshine. Homelander doesn't do 'partners.' He doesn't do equals. Right now, Vanguard thinks he's special because he's the only little prince in the kingdom. He thinks he's got the monopoly on daddy's twisted bloody affection. I have a plan to tear that all down. Just come with me."
"By the gods, you're so fascinatingly blind. This world is just so completely doomed," Cerberus suddenly whined, burying his face in his hands. "You're so blind, William. So very, very blind, and so hopelessly far off the mark it's actually tragic. You never stood a chance. This is so unjust. So boring."
"Boring, is it?" Butcher said softly. "Yeah, I suppose sitting in a damp warehouse playing king of the garbage heap feels pretty safe. You think because the big cunt hasn't knocked on your door yet, you're invisible. You think you can just coast along, climb your little mountain, get your leg over, and live happily ever after.
But see, you're forgetting how Vought operates, sunshine. They tracked down Vanguard. It took 'em a couple of years, but they dug up Aldrich, too. There's a paper trail, mate. Sooner or later, their computers are gonna spit out your name. And when Vanguard finds out there's another little prince who could threaten his throne?."
"Ugh, it's cold... so very cold," Cerberus whined, his voice muffled by his hands. "It is just freezing how completely, utterly blind you are."
"Right, then spit it out, you clever little prick," Butcher growled. "If you're so bloody smart, stop talking in circles and just spit it out. What am I missing?"
"I can't," Cerberus said. "I literally, figuratively, physically can't say it. I am physically incapable of telling you. Which is a bloody tragedy, really... because you have absolutely no idea how hysterically, catastrophically blind and stupid you sound to me right now."
"Right," Butcher muttered. "So you're just gonna sit there and play riddles."
"It's a shame, really," Cerberus sighed, leaning back and casually kicking his heels against the ground again. "I told you I wanted to climb Everest, right? Well, that's just a warmup. My real dream trip is a bit further out. Red sand, two moons, total desolation."
He looked up, giving Butcher a small, lazy smile.
"Honestly, I give this place a thousand years or way less before it looks exactly like it. If I were you, I'd start looking into buying a space suit and maybe a good bunker."