The city felt alive. Not in a warm, welcoming way, but like a predator watching from the shadows, waiting for its next victim. Rain slicked the streets, turning them into mirrors that reflected the harsh glow of neon signs and the occasional headlights of passing cars. I wandered through it all, keeping my head low and my hands shoved deep into my pockets, hoping no one would notice the occasional spark still flickering around my fingertips.
The fake memories the god had planted in my head played on a loop, and the more I thought about them, the harder it was to separate them from reality. According to my supposed history, I was a failed Vought experiment—one of their many attempts to create a Supe with powers they could control. It hadn't worked. I'd gone rogue, disappeared, erased from their records as if I'd never existed.
But it was all a lie. I wasn't a Supe. I wasn't even from this world. And yet, here I was, pretending to be someone I wasn't, in a world that already felt like it was ready to crush me.
I didn't know where I was going—just that staying in one place didn't seem like a good idea. My clothes were damp and clung to my skin uncomfortably, but I kept moving, letting the city's noise drown out the questions swirling in my head. Who were those guys in the alley? How did they know who I was—or who they thought I was? And how long until someone bigger, someone worse, came after me?
I didn't have answers, but I couldn't afford to dwell on them. Not now.
I turned a corner, my senses tingling as I passed an old diner. The sign above the door read Maggie's Eats, and the warm light spilling out onto the wet pavement was strangely inviting. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since… well, since I woke up here.
With a sigh, I pushed open the door, the bell above it jingling softly. The smell of coffee and greasy food hit me immediately, and my stomach growled again, louder this time. A few patrons sat scattered at booths and stools, their faces buried in plates or mugs. No one paid me any attention as I slid into a booth near the back.
The waitress, an older woman with tired eyes and a kind smile, walked over with a notepad in hand. "What'll it be, hon?"
"Uh, burger and fries," I said, glancing at the menu. "And coffee. Black."
She nodded, jotting it down. "Coming right up."
As she walked away, I leaned back in the booth, letting the warmth of the diner seep into me. For the first time since waking up in that alley, I felt a small sense of calm. It didn't last long.
The door jingled again, and I glanced up instinctively. A man walked in, his presence immediately setting me on edge. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a rough face and a look in his eyes that screamed trouble. He scanned the room, his gaze landing on me for a fraction of a second before moving on. My heart skipped a beat.
He wasn't alone. Another man followed him, shorter but wiry, with dark hair pulled back into a bun and a mischievous smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. They exchanged a few words I couldn't hear before the taller man nodded toward me. Great. Just what I needed.
I tensed as they approached, my fingers itching with the urge to let the sparks fly again. But I forced myself to stay calm. They didn't look like Supes—not the flashy, Vought-polished kind, anyway. But that didn't mean they weren't dangerous.
The taller man stopped at the edge of my booth, crossing his arms as he stared down at me. "Mind if we join you, sunshine?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
I hesitated, glancing between him and the other guy. The one with the bun gave me a grin that felt more like a warning. "Sure," I said finally, my voice steady despite the tension in my chest.
They slid into the booth, the taller man sitting across from me while the other guy leaned against the edge of the table. For a moment, none of us said anything, and the silence felt heavier than it should have.
"You've been busy," the taller man said finally, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Lighting up alleys and sending Supes running scared. That's not exactly the kind of thing that goes unnoticed."
I frowned, my mind racing. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't play dumb," he said, leaning forward. "You've got power. And that makes you a problem."
Before I could respond, the other guy spoke up, his tone lighter but no less serious. "What my friend here means is, power tends to attract attention. The wrong kind, most of the time. Lucky for you, we're the right kind."
I glanced between them, suspicion bubbling to the surface. "Who are you?"
The taller man smirked. "Name's Butcher. This is Frenchie. We're the ones who deal with Supes like you."
"I'm not a Supe," I said quickly, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Butcher's smirk widened, but there was no humor in it. "Right. And I'm the bloody queen of England."
Frenchie chuckled, shaking his head. "Look, kid. We don't care where you came from or what your story is. What we care about is what you can do—and who's after you because of it."
I stared at them, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts. These were The Boys. I'd seen the videos, the stories about them taking on Vought and their army of Supes. They were dangerous, unpredictable, but they weren't the bad guys—not entirely. If anyone could help me figure out what was going on, it was them.
"What do you want from me?" I asked cautiously.
Butcher leaned back in the booth, his smirk fading into a more serious expression. "For now? Nothing. But you've stirred the pot, sunshine. And when the shit hits the fan, you're gonna need people who know how to clean it up."
Frenchie nodded, his grin softening into something almost genuine. "Stick with us, mon ami. We'll keep you alive. For now."
I didn't trust them—not fully. But I didn't have a lot of options, either. And something told me that being on my own in this world wasn't going to cut it.
"Fine," I said finally. "I'll hear you out."
Butcher's smirk returned, colder this time. "Smart lad. Welcome to the team."