On a busy city street, Butcher walked past a newsstand. "One Daily Bugle, please."
The headline showed a photo of Homelander sending a man in a suit of armor flying into the sky.
The title read: "Train's Brother Wreaks Havoc, Punished by Homelander."
Butcher snorted in contempt, then glanced across the street at a bar. He lit a cigarette, took a few drags, and flicked the half-smoked stick to the ground, grinding it out with his heel.
"Damn it, might as well."
He crushed the cigarette with a few more stomps and crossed the street, newspaper in hand.
Moments later, Butcher stepped into the bar. The air was thick with a mix of sweat, alcohol, and smoke. A woman was working the pole in the corner, while a group of junkies huddled in the shadows, getting high.
"This world's a mess," Butcher muttered, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. "But I like it."
He made his way to the bar and ordered a "Depth Charge." Just as the bartender handed him his drink, a voice called out, "Get him another whiskey on me."
Butcher raised his head, eyeing the bespectacled man sitting beside him. "And you are?"
"Names are just labels. They don't matter much, don't you think, Mr. Butcher?" The man adjusted his glasses and sat down next to him. "I'm glad you reached out. This is a promising start."
Butcher took a swig of his drink, his eyes sharp. "Cut the crap. You said you had something that could take down those Supes. If that's a lie, I'll carve up your pretty face and make sure a few blokes have their way with your warm insides."
The man didn't flinch, merely placing his glasses back on. "Come with me."
Finishing both the "Depth Charge" and the whiskey in one gulp, Butcher followed him. They pushed through the packed dance floor, weaving through a hallway full of men and women pressed against each other, and finally stepped into the alley behind the bar.
A truck was parked there.
The man made a quick phone call, and the truck's cargo doors slid open, cold, pale light spilling out.
He nodded toward the truck. "The power you're looking for is in there."
Butcher chuckled darkly. "If you're screwing with me, I'll find your mother and make her scream my name."
The man laughed. "Mr. Butcher, you've got quite the appetite. But trust me, I wouldn't lie. We don't have that kind of time."
Butcher sneered but stepped into the truck, heading toward the back.
Inside, there were wires running along the walls, leading to a table cluttered with various instruments. But what caught his attention was the massive suit of black and gold armor in front of him, gleaming in the low light.
"This is Overlord 5. Powered by a miniature nuclear reactor with built-in radiation shielding to ensure the safety of the user."
"It's equipped with a jet propulsion system for short-distance flight and enhanced climbing ability."
"For weapons, it has twin rapid-fire machine guns in the arms, shoulder-mounted guided missiles, a foldable aviation-grade mini-cannon, and a laser cutter powered directly by the reactor."
"Simply put, even the most uncoordinated idiot could take down a Supe with this."
The bespectacled man strolled over, explaining in detail.
Butcher narrowed his eyes, then shook his head. "This isn't something I could afford."
The man smiled. "I'm not asking you to buy it. I'll give it to you, along with maintenance and testing services."
"There's just one condition."
"Help us kill Homelander."
Butcher chuckled. "With a weapon like this, why don't you just do it yourselves?"
The man kept smiling. "We have our reasons. You don't need to know the details. What do you say?"
Butcher gave a slight nod. "Fair enough."
"But..."
Butcher shook his head. "I don't like being someone's pawn."
He turned to leave the truck.
The man didn't stop him, but his voice trailed after him. "How long are you willing to wait, Mr. Butcher? Another few years? Another eight?"
"If you don't take our help, you'll never kill Homelander."
"Or maybe you'd prefer to accept his offer? Take the million dollars and rebuild your life with your wife?"
Butcher froze in his tracks, fury simmering in his eyes.
---
At The Seven's tower.
In the command room, Homelander was browsing the new items in his system store.
[Overlord 3: Night Raid]
Description: The upgraded version of the Overlord armor. With a smaller, more ergonomic design, enhanced by AI-assisted targeting and optimized for nighttime operations.
Specifications: Height 2.05 meters, weight 4.6 tons, powered by an arc reactor (Gen-2), includes night vision, sniper mode, stealth mode, tungsten-steel tactical blade, modular sniper equipment, mini jet thrusters, and laser cutting gun.
Price: 40 Dull Proficiency Essences
Homelander closed the store window.
Though this new armor seemed more practical than the last one, his verdict remained the same: useless.
He currently had 45 Proficiency Essences. Five more, and he could purchase the [NK Gene Modification Serum], which was essentially a controlled version of Compound V.
Once he had the serum, he could give Angelina a shot, and boom—he'd have another superhuman under his command.
However, he wasn't planning to make Angelina part of The Seven. No, he had other plans for her—building her into his own secret weapon, outside of Vought's knowledge.
Just then, the door to the command room opened.
Vought's CEO, Edgar, stepped in, followed by The Deep and a blonde girl.
Starlight, Annie.
Homelander narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze landing on Edgar.
Edgar smiled. "The Deep mentioned you had some plans."
The Deep immediately stiffened, glancing nervously at Homelander before retreating slightly behind Edgar.
Edgar chuckled, "Don't blame The Deep. I asked him about you, and he shared out of respect."
Homelander smiled coldly at The Deep. "Is that so?"
The Deep quickly nodded. "Y-Yes, boss."
Homelander's grin widened, but he let it go. Instead, he turned his attention to the blonde girl. "And who is this?"
"This is Miss Annie. She goes by the name Starlight." Edgar stepped forward, sitting casually on the table. "I think her abilities and public image could help boost The Seven's popularity."
Homelander looked at Edgar, expression sharpening. "If I remember correctly, I made it clear that from now on, I call the shots for The Seven."
"I'm aware," Edgar said, spreading his hands. "Which is why I've established a Seven Reserve Team—a backup squad to support The Seven when needed. Annie here is the first recruit, and she'll serve as its leader."
"She won't interfere with any of your decisions. All I ask is that she be allowed to observe, to learn."
Edgar's voice dropped to a lower tone. "Do me this favor. Without this, it would be difficult to justify things to the board."
"You want The Seven to continue receiving Vought's financial backing, don't you?"
Homelander chuckled, lowering his own voice. "I have a condition."
"I have a... friend. I want her to learn from you, to be trained in managing a company, even a corporation."
"What do you say?"
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