On three metal chairs, Butcher, Hughie, and Frenchie sat tied tight with their own ropes. The pain ripping through their bodies and the mess in their heads left them too fucked up to think straight.
In front of them on the cluttered table sat a syringe. Under the dim light it glowed with an eerie blue shine that screamed pure temptation.
That glowing blue looked like ghost fire straight from hell, or maybe the fastest ladder to heaven.
Hughie's eyes swam with confusion and a hungry little spark he couldn't hide. In his head, the memory hit him again—his girlfriend Robin getting smashed by A-Train, turning into a red mist right in front of him.
That helpless feeling, watching the woman he loved disappear into nothing, still chewed on his guts like poison. "If… if I'd had power back then… if I could've been like those fucking supes…"
Frenchie's eyes kept twitching. The guy lived for chemistry and explosives, so this miracle drug that could rewrite a human body lit up every scientific itch he had. But underneath the curiosity sat plain old fear of what the hell it might do to him.
He wanted to take it, but he also didn't want to get destroyed by the side effects.
Butcher's reaction was the worst.
Pure, ugly revenge burned in his stare. His heavy breathing cut through the silent underground room like a saw.
Power.
If he could just get that power…
If he could rip apart those fake-ass "superheroes" with his own hands—especially that phony piece of shit Homelander he hated more than anything—he'd pay any fucking price.
He almost snapped right then. Every muscle screamed to break the ropes, lunge for the syringe, and slam that blue shit straight into his veins.
But the cold scrap of sanity he'd earned from years of surviving hell kept his raging beast of a heart on a short leash.
He lifted his head. Bloodshot eyes locked onto the mysterious man dressed as Vought security standing in front of them. Through clenched teeth he forced out the words.
"Everything has a hidden cost. Why the hell are you helping us? You planning to use us as lab rats?"
Ryan looked at the three "rats" and their different reactions. A cold sneer curled inside his head, silent and sharp.
Lab rats? Half right.
If it wasn't for the fact that after you shoot up Compound V you might cook up some useful abilities I can steal for myself, who the fuck would waste time playing revenge games with ants like you?
Of course he kept those real thoughts locked away.
A "sincere" smile spread across his face. He opened his hands in a harmless shrug and spoke through the electronically altered, gender-neutral voice.
"Don't be nervous, my friends. Like I said, we've got a common enemy—Vought. Enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?"
"Is it really that simple?" Butcher kept staring hard at him. He could smell the bullshit hidden under the words.
He pushed harder. "Supes get the drug when they're kids. What happens if adults like us inject it now?"
Ryan's smile didn't budge, but his next words dropped the temperature in the underground room by ten degrees.
"Power always comes with a price."
He said it casually, like he was talking about the weather.
"Shooting it at your age can give you serious power. Maybe even enough to hang with some of The Seven. But in return… your lifespan gets cut short."
He raised a finger and wiggled it.
"Ten years. Five years. Who knows? Every time you use your powers, you're burning what little life you've got left."
"This is a one-way ticket. Once you get on, there's no getting off."
Those words hit like a bucket of ice-cold dirty water mixed with razor-sharp ice chunks. The fire that had just started burning in the three men's chests got slammed out instantly.
Frenchie and Hughie's eyes filled with the clear urge to back the fuck out.
Trade your life for power just to get revenge? The price was way too steep.
They still wanted to live. They still wanted to see the sun come up tomorrow.
Ryan read their faces and knew it was time for the real show.
The soft temptation was over. Now came the cold, surgical mind-fuck.
He zeroed in on the weakest link first.
Hughie.
His voice dripped with perfectly measured pity, the kind of arrogant, god-like contempt for pathetic humans.
"Hughie Campbell."
He said the name softly. Hughie's whole body jerked like he'd been electrocuted.
"When your girlfriend died, she exploded like a fucking ketchup packet. Blood and guts everywhere. Sss~ Not even one whole bone left. You just stood there, powerless, screaming like a useless piece of shit."
Ryan's voice dropped to freezing.
"Now revenge is sitting right in front of you and you're hesitating because you're scared to die."
"If you won't sacrifice shit, then she died for nothing. Died like a worthless joke. And you? You'll keep living as the same cowardly, spineless fuck until you rot of old age, huh? Every time you close your eyes, you'll see her getting smashed into red mist all over again."
"No! Shut the fuck up!"
Hughie's eyes went blood-red. He thrashed wildly against the ropes, staring at Ryan like he wanted to rip his throat out with his teeth.
Ryan ignored him completely and shifted his gaze to Butcher.
His tone turned playful, like a cat batting a half-dead mouse between its paws.
"Billy Butcher. I know you're different from these two."
"Your one and only real goal is Homelander."
Butcher's heart slammed hard in his chest.
"By the way," Ryan's voice carried a nasty little smirk. "Remember that superpowered kid you two ran into in the alley earlier? The one who kicked your asses? Guess who he is."
Butcher's heart lurched. A ridiculous, stubborn thought clawed its way up.
Ryan kept hammering, each word smashing into Butcher's sanity like a sledgehammer.
"He's the kid your missing wife Becca had with Homelander."
Boom!!!
Butcher's brain went white.
The last thread of control snapped clean in two.
"What the fuck did you just say?!"
He thrashed like a madman, the heavy iron chair screeching and groaning under him as it scraped across the floor.
He roared like a wounded animal, voice raw and feral.
"Impossible! That's fucking impossible!"
"Becca… where is she?! Tell me! Where the fuck is she?!"
Ryan just smiled, watching the whole meltdown like it was the funniest joke he'd seen all year. He didn't answer a single question.
Finally he turned to the last one—Frenchie. The guy had gone ghost-white and was trying to shrink into his own skin.
Ryan's voice went flat, cold, and brutally matter-of-fact.
"As for you, Frenchie. With real power, your dirty little underground business could grow a lot bigger. A lot safer too."
"You can build way stronger weapons, take down bigger threats, and stack a shit-ton more cash."
"Of course, you can always say no, and then…"
Ryan let the silence hang for a beat. "You die right here. After all, who the fuck asked you to get dragged into this mess by these two idiots?"
"Death or getting stronger. Those are your only two options."
Frenchie's face went dead gray. He shot a venomous glare at the raging Butcher and the broken Hughie beside him.
After smashing their mental defenses to pieces with words, Ryan knew the game was over.
He reached out slowly and picked up the Compound V syringe from the table. That eerie blue glow still pulsed under the dim light.
He stepped right in front of the three bound men and looked down at them.
The cold, indifferent mask of a Vought security guard slid back onto his face.
His voice came out slow, heavy, and impossible to argue with—like a god handing down final judgment.
"Looks like you boys are having trouble deciding. So I'll make it easy for you."
"Whether you refuse or agree…"
He lifted the syringe. The sharp needle caught the light, flashing with a freezing, bone-deep chill in the dim underground room.
"You're taking this shit today."