Chapter 7.3
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"Holy fucking…" the bearded man in the coat and military uniform breathed in disbelief, forced to babysit one very particular individual—who wasted no time offering his own commentary on what they'd just seen on screen.
"Go ahead and finish that sentence, friend. I'm right there with you. Didn't have shit like this back in my day."
Butcher stared at the emergency news broadcast with wide eyes while Soldier Boy sprawled on the couch smoking a cigar. Even he looked genuinely surprised, casting interested glances at the screen.
"…According to the latest reports from medical personnel, the wounds sustained by President Singer were not compatible with survival. Responsibility for the attack has already been claimed by a terrorist organization calling itself 'Pure Blood.' According to their manifesto, they stand against all superhumans and seek the death of every superhero. In further shocking developments—Senator Neuman, known for her recent legislation restricting individuals with special abilities, miraculously escaped the explosion unharmed and has already regained consciousness. Patriot is also reported to be in full health and is preparing to address all of America with a landmark statement that is expected to unite the nation in this hour of crisis…"
Butcher switched the television off and hurled the remote across the room in fury. Just listening to news about that bastard—the one who had taken everything from him—was almost more than he could stand.
"Doesn't take two brain cells to figure out what that prick is going to say. He'll use the moment to grab more connections and push himself up the ladder. The brainless herd will hang on his every word like he's some new messiah. He'll happily build himself up as the great defender of a new race and make himself the head of a cult where every cape-wearing moron dances to his tune. Especially now that Vought has lost its grip and is barely keeping its own head above water," Butcher said through clenched fury, driving his fist into the wall with full force.
Soldier Boy tossed him an amused look, blew out a cloud of smoke, and shook his head.
"That's exactly why I always stayed out of politics," the hero said with a short laugh. "All it's ever got is blood, filth, and shit—and you have to wade in up to your neck if you want a piece of it. And it's never a good piece."
Butcher's anger kept burning, but he was pulled out of it when his phone rang—and with it, someone he could redirect his fury toward.
"Where the hell have you been, kid? Get yourself over here, we're in deep—what do you mean, you're busy?!"
"…Sorry, Butcher, but I'm not exactly lying on a beach working on my tan over here either. What happened with this broadcast is a problem for all of us. And knowing you, I wanted to give you fair warning—stay out of it. The situation is too dangerous for regular people to wade into. They'll tear you apart, especially if you try anything against Patriot. And don't even think about using Soldier Boy for your revenge. Just settle down and have a cup of tea."
Butcher's frown deepened. He threw the phone at the wall with full force, shattering it. Then he looked at the super lounging on the couch, and spoke with cold fury.
"Get up, old man. We're going to go sort a few things out. The kid's gotten himself into some shit again, and we need to fix it."
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***
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I lowered the phone and exhaled.
It would have been much simpler to just call and explain everything directly, but I didn't know how far Sage's network reached. She was almost certainly monitoring the phones of everyone who interested her, and I was in all likelihood on that list.
So I had to use one of the code phrases Butcher had given me. This particular one meant that we were being listened to and that we'd need to move to one of the secure locations where we could talk without unwanted eyes and ears. A location that even the CIA and Grace didn't know about—the angry bearded man had taken that matter extremely seriously.
Whatever my feelings about him, the former professional soldier turned out to be genuinely useful more often than not. If there were somehow a way to reduce his fury and hatred toward supers by a factor of ten, he'd be an indispensable asset. But even as he was, he pulled his weight—even if it was through gritted teeth and swinging fists.
There was a reasonable chance Sage would find us anyway, but she couldn't be doing a hundred things at once, could she? Which meant there would be at least some window to talk to someone I trusted—someone who would unquestionably help me in a fight against other supers. If only there were a way to get word to Annie as well…
It was almost funny how quickly everything had flipped. I didn't want to just take the word of a deranged woman at face value, but when I weighed it against everything else I knew, the picture became clear. I had always suspected that the overwhelming majority of superheroes didn't deserve their title—but a small part of me had still held out hope that the greatest of us was somehow different.
I wasn't sure whether Patriot had always been this kind of psychopath, or whether it was something that had developed more recently. But it didn't matter. Someone else might have bought the idea that he simply hadn't been able to stop the bomber in time—but I had a reasonably thorough understanding of what he was capable of.
A man who could move at supersonic speed and see through a meter of solid steel could have stopped a suicide bomber a hundred times over. And when you factored in how cleanly the whole event served his interests—giving him the leverage to seize power—entirely different questions began to surface. And in many of those questions, Sage's name kept coming up.
Her motivation was still a mystery to me. She seemed to genuinely just want to watch the world burn and see what happened next. But if the fear campaign was supposed to benefit her, why had she sent the unhinged lightning villainess to me? Why did she want me to know all of Patriot's sins and have a reason to go after him?
If I came out on top in the end, very difficult times awaited Sage too. If Patriot won, he wasn't going to be pleased about that kind of freelancing either. The only scenario where she survived was if we destroyed each other—which was unlikely in the extreme.
Or was she planning to finish off the winner afterward? Even with her genius, she wouldn't have had time to complete a biological weapon against supers, and trying to overwhelm either of us with numbers alone… Although, if she secured the support of the world's truly most powerful figures, it could theoretically work.
After a hypothetical conflict between Patriot and me, whoever won would emerge wounded and exhausted—making one or two dozen capable supers enough to bring down the survivor. And then there would be no powerful supers left to stand against her. One strong villainess was already gone, and Soldier Boy was still considerably weakened.
And who was to say I'd even get the chance to share my perspective with Patriot? If he had decided to take on a lunatic like that as an ally, he might take the news of her death very personally. Sage would certainly know how to frame it that way. Which meant I might not have time to finish my enhancement project before an enraged demigod arrived to tear my head off.
The situation was, to put it mildly, not ideal. Fighting someone who outclassed you intellectually was already far from simple—and when that someone was pulling the strings of the strongest creature on earth, it stopped being a fair fight by any measure.
And without understanding the woman's actual motives, there was no clear path forward. Even if I went to the government for help, all they could offer were thicker walls—walls that Patriot would punch straight through.
The only thing I could think of was my own network. The people who might be able to help when things got critical. I was confident I could borrow a bunker from one of my billionaire clients and bring in the people who could buy me whatever time I needed for the transformation. Soldier Boy and Butcher would be happy to wade into a fight even with near-zero odds of survival. Annie, though, was different.
I was sure she'd agree the moment I asked. I just really didn't want to put her at that kind of risk. And there was still another problem to deal with.
"Don't worry about me, Mark," Indira said with a gentle smile, looking at me with quiet directness. "I can pass along to Annie whatever you can't say over the phone. And I'll add a word or two from myself. I can see from your eyes that some very foolish thoughts just ran through your head. I'll talk to her, and then I'll get as far from here as possible—to some people I know, and from there to England."
I smiled tiredly, thanked her, and went to deal with what was in front of me. Time was running down, and as much as I hated it, I needed to move.
It made sense. Sage almost certainly had no interest in Indira, and probably didn't care about Annie either. If she was thinking logically, she would only want to eliminate those who knew about her plans and could get in the way. And given her arrogance and pride, she wouldn't go looking for simple solutions—she'd want to pit her pieces against each other in one grand final confrontation.
That arrogance might be the only weakness she had. If I could exploit it, there was a chance. I was confident that if she sent additional forces alongside Patriot, I wouldn't stand a chance. But it was unlikely she could convince a near-omnipotent demigod to bring backup for what amounted to a personal dispute—he probably wouldn't even bring Noir along for something this personal.
My guess was that he'd even try to talk to me first. Try to convince me he was right. But by that point, the best thing for me would be lying somewhere in a bed with liters of Compound V in my blood. Which meant someone else would have to handle that conversation—and I had a couple of candidates in mind.
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***
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"Honestly, kid, you're in deep shit. But if you can help me find out which bastards sold me out, I'm willing to throw down with my sad little knockoff," Soldier Boy answered, finishing an entire cigarette in one long drag. He didn't seem to care that we were in a sealed bunker deep underground where the ventilation, despite the equipment, left quite a bit to be desired.
"I won't be killing anyone, but you'll get all the information you need. Also—you're not back to full strength yet, but you might want to try something new that'll get at least some of it back," I said, tossing him a blue vial. "And Annie—I just want to say thank you for coming. I know things have been completely insane lately, but I'm glad there are people I can trust."
While the old hero began examining the compound with the curiosity of an explorer, the familiar blonde tried to maintain a neutral expression and put on a show of mild indignation—but I wasn't playing along this time.
"Who was it who kept bragging to me that heroes aren't afraid of anything?" she said, with a smile she was barely managing to conceal. "Besides, if everything you've told me is true, then we have to do everything we can to stop it. That's just the right thing to do. And honestly—I owe you one for actually keeping your word about the generator. I've never worked with that kind of power before…"
She pulled her hand from the cold metal wall. Her eyes flashed gold instantly, and a luminous glow washed over her entire figure. It faded within a second, but the expression on her face was pure joy.
"Knowing the right people makes anything possible," I said, doing my own best to hold back a smile. "And since everyone's ready…"
"You're not going to ask my opinion?" Butcher cut in with a pointed look, packing various grenades into his bag. From what I could see, several of them contained compounds of the sort that little Frenchie used to make.
"We're going to go punch Patriot in the face. What else do you need?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Absolutely nothing," the man answered with a wild smile, running his hand almost affectionately over the sonic weapon that Vought agents had once used against us. I had no idea when he'd managed to get his hands on one, but given his state of mind, I wasn't remotely surprised.
"Good. Then let me run through the plan one more time. It's short and completely straightforward—I'm going to need about six or seven hours of uninterrupted time, after which most of our problems will disappear. The people working against us will understand that too, which means they'll do everything they can to interfere. In all likelihood, Patriot himself will show up and try to give us our own personal Fourth of July. Don't sacrifice yourselves, don't take unnecessary risks—just try to hold him off as long as you can. If everything goes smoothly, I'll deal with him myself after," I said, doing my best to project confidence.
Not wanting to waste another second of irreplaceable time, I took one last look at my small team, and got to work.
I exhaled, stepped away, and walked into my room. I closed the steel door behind me, took a final look around the hastily assembled laboratory and all its preparations, then began the operation. After taking several necessary pills and administering a few critical injections, my gaze settled on the vessel of crystal-clear blue liquid.
For a moment I simply looked at the Compound V, letting the last of my doubts dissolve. When my mind was finally clear, I lay down on the laboratory table, made a small incision in my arm, and inserted the IV line. The formula began flowing into me immediately, and within seconds I felt the first wave of power wash over me.
With every new drop, I could feel my abilities growing—not dramatically, but steadily. What had taken years of hard training, entire decades of relentless work, was unfolding before me without effort.
But the easy, rapid power came with a price. When the concentration of Compound V in my body had increased tenfold, my organs began to fail. My kidneys. My liver. And then, the crowning moment—a minute later, my heart stopped beating.
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