News spread fast that Superboy, a new superhero, had appeared in New York.
No one knew where he came from. Cell phone videos flooded the internet, short, shaky clips of him helping wherever he was needed and leaving before any TV station could arrive.
One video showed him flying out of a burning apartment building with a child in his arms. Another showed him helping an elderly man cross the street, smiling like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Unlike most supers when they debuted, there were no press conferences, no interviews, no staged rescues. Just action.
Some people began to wonder if this meant something more. Maybe a new beginning. Maybe the start of a different kind of hero.
The TV clicked off.
Stan Edgar turned slowly, his face calm but his eyes cold, and looked at Ryan, who stood near the wall with his arms relaxed at his sides.
"This," Stan said evenly, "is exactly what I wanted to avoid."
Ryan didn't move.
"You left without notice," Stan continued. "You carried out unauthorized actions. No television crews. No internet coordination. No proper debut. No interviews. And thanks to that, possibly millions of dollars in lost potential, because you decided to act on your own."
Ryan leaned his back against the wall, clearly uninterested.
"I don't care," he said. "If you want to put out a press release and tell the world I exist, fine. Do it. But I'm not going to stop helping people."
Stan watched him closely.
"I don't answer to anyone," Ryan went on. "I'm not doing interviews. I'm not smiling for cameras. I did what any decent human being would do. There are already more than enough supers giving interviews and posing for magazine covers."
Stan's tone hardened slightly.
"In case you've forgotten," he said, "I am the reason your mother is safe. Without me, Homelander could find her very easily."
Ryan straightened a little.
"Is that a threat ?" he asked.
Stan shook his head. "No. Just facts. What you choose to do with them is up to you."
Ryan walked forward and placed both hands flat on Stan's desk. The air felt heavier.
"My mother is the only reason I'm still in this tower," Ryan said calmly. "And the only reason I'm still having this conversation with you."
His eyes locked onto Stan's.
"I'm not Homelander. You can't control me like a ventriloquist puppet with your hand shoved up his ass. If you, or anyone, ever threatens my mother, my only family, I won't hesitate. I'll do whatever it takes to destroy them."
A pause.
"She's a guarantee," Ryan added. "For you. And for me."
Stan studied him in silence for a long moment.
"I believe this conversation is over," he said at last.
Ryan nodded slightly.
"Good," he replied. "Remember it. And don't ever think about threatening my family again."
A faint smile crossed his face.
"I'm faster than a thought."
In the next instant, Ryan was gone.
A violent rush of wind tore through the office, sending papers flying into the air. Documents scattered across the room as the windows rattled.
Stan Edgar closed his eyes for a brief second and took a slow, frustrated breath.
—---
Billy Butcher was in his hideout, sitting in the middle of the mess that already felt permanent.
Earlier that day, he had gone to the house.
The house where Homelander had taken him. Normal on the outside. A concrete cage underneath.
The place was real.
The backyard was still destroyed. Cracked ground, deep marks, like something had been torn out by force. The hidden entrance was open…and empty.
The entire Vought facility was gone.
No sign of Becca. Nothing.
Butcher came back to the hideout angry, that heavy kind of anger that doesn't explode, it just rots inside you. He dropped onto the old couch in front of the TV and turned on whatever channel was on.
Any garbage would do, just to stop thinking.
The Boys were scattered around the room.
"So ?" Hughie asked carefully. "How did it go ?"
Butcher didn't even look at him.
"Shut up," he said flatly.
Silence fell instantly. No one pushed it. Everyone understood: it hadn't gone well.
The TV kept playing, random news, until the tone changed.
"A new superhero has appeared today in New York…"
Butcher glanced up without much interest. Then the videos started.
Phone footage. A building on fire. A boy flying out with a child in his arms.
Another clip, helping an old man cross the street.
His body went stiff.
"No…" he muttered.
He stood up suddenly, so fast it startled everyone.
"What the hell ?" Frenchie asked.
Butcher pointed at the TV, his finger shaking with anger and shock.
"That kid," he said. "That kid is Becca's son."
The room exploded with voices.
"You can't be serious," Mother's Milk said right away.
"It is," Butcher snapped. "If anyone knows where she is… it's him."
"Butcher, listen," MM tried to stay calm. "A supe isn't trustworthy. Especially one Vought is hiding like this—"
Butcher turned on him, eyes full of rage.
"Go fuck yourself, MM."
The room went heavy.
"I don't care if he's a supe, a mutant, an alien, or whatever the hell he is," Butcher went on. "If that kid knows where Becca is, I'm going after him."
"That's insane," Hughie said. "Vought will be all over him. Homelander too."
Butcher let out a dry, humorless laugh.
"Good."
The argument grew. Everyone is talking at once. Warnings. Fear. Common sense trying to survive.
Butcher didn't hear any of it.
He grabbed his coat.
"Fuck all of you," he said, heading for the door. "I'm going after the kid. With you… or without you."
The door slammed shut.
The news kept playing images of Superboy flying over New York.
And for the first time in a long while, Billy Butcher felt something other than anger.
Hope.