"Oi, Hughie," Butcher called out, looking around the basement. "Where’d that bloke go?"
Hughie looked up from where he was standing near the cellar door.
"He said he needed fresh air," he replied. "Went outside."
Butcher paused for a second.
"Oh."
Honestly, he couldn’t even blame the boy. The whole place smelled like chemicals, sweat, and Frenchie’s life choices.
Nearby, Frenchie was finishing the setup, checking the pipes and seals one last time before the gas line went live.
Hughie watched him uneasily.
"You’re seriously going through with this?" he asked. "I mean... he’s one of The Seven. He’s basically a national hero. If we kill him—we’re criminals."
Butcher looked at him like he’d just said something incredibly stupid.
"We’re kidnappin’ a supe in a basement, mate," he said. "Bit late to worry about your criminal record now."
Hughie frowned. "That’s not what I mean."
"No, I know exactly what you mean," Butcher cut in. "You still think there’s some line here where the rules start matterin’ again."
He nodded toward the cage.
"That thing in there ain’t a hero. It’s Vought product with good marketing."
"If you want, go on then," Butcher said, jerking his head toward the locked room. "Still got time to try the friendly approach."
The tone alone made it obvious what he thought of that idea.
Hughie hesitated, then looked toward the cellar door. Maybe Butcher was wrong. Maybe this didn’t have to end with gas and a corpse in a cage.
He took a breath and went inside.
The room felt smaller with the door shut behind him. Metal bars, foil-covered walls, the low hum of equipment in the background.
Then Translucent’s voice came from the cage.
"Well, look at this," he said. "Who the fuck are you supposed to be?"
Hughie stepped closer carefully.
Translucent shifted inside the cage, still invisible except for the faint outline where dried blood hadn’t fully come off.
"You their little bitch or something?" he asked.
Hughie opened his mouth—
nothing came out at first.
"Um..." he started awkwardly. "I’m the one trying to keep you alive."
That got a laugh.
"Right."
"The three guys outside are trying to kill you," Hughie continued. "I’m serious."
Translucent leaned back slightly in the cage.
"Kill me?" he scoffed. "Mate, I’m fucking Translucent. No one kills me."
"They found a way," Hughie said quietly. "And I think it’ll work."
That made the room go quieter for a second.
"So if you cooperate," Hughie added, "they might let you go."
Translucent stared at him through the cage, expression unreadable behind the invisible skin.
Then Hughie forced himself to ask the real question.
"What was A-Train doing that day?"
Translucent tilted his head slightly.
"The woman he ran through," Hughie said, voice tightening now. "Three days ago. He was carrying something. He looked completely out of it."
A grin spread slowly across Translucent’s voice before it reached his words.
"Ohhh," he said. "So that was your bitch."
Hughie’s jaw tightened.
"So this is revenge?" Translucent laughed again, meaner this time. "Jesus Christ, you are fucked."
"What was he carrying?" Hughie asked again.
"I don’t know," Translucent replied. "And even if I did, why the fuck would I tell you?"
He leaned closer to the bars.
"Sooner or later The Seven are gonna come looking for me. And when Homelander finds out what you idiots did?"
The grin disappeared from his voice completely.
"He’s going to kill every single one of you."
***
After some time, Mark came back looking noticeably less annoyed than when he left. There was even a faint smile still stuck on his face as he looked down at the number saved on the piece of paper in his hand.
Honestly, anyone would be in a good mood after getting a beautiful woman’s number.
Then he walked into the room and saw Butcher, Frenchie, and Hughie standing there.
The smile vanished immediately.
"Quite the grin you got there, mate," Butcher said, eyeing him. "Find somethin’ interestin’ outside?"
"Yeah," Mark replied dryly. "Better than this place."
He looked around the basement again with visible disappointment.
"So did you lot kill the guy yet?" he asked. "So we can leave this dump already? This place smells like piss and depression."
Butcher pointed a thumb toward the cellar room.
"Frenchie’s got everythin’ set," he said. "Figured you’d wanna stick around and watch the invisible cunt finally stop breathin’."
Frenchie looked up from the equipment, cigarette between his fingers, expression somewhere between focused and mildly excited.
"Eh, he is right," he said. "It is not every day you see a supe die."
Mark stared at both of them for a second.
"You two are disturbingly enthusiastic about this."
Butcher smirked. "Says the bloke who came up with the kill method."
"Yeah, but I expected the actual process to be less... serial killer basement."
Frenchie gave a small shrug. "What did you expect? Fireworks?"
From the sealed room,
"YOU FUCKING IDIOTS ARE DEAD!" Translucent voice shouted through the walls. "HOMELANDER’S GONNA RIP YOU APART!"
Butcher’s expression didn’t change.
"Yeah, yeah," he called back lazily. "Take a number."
*****
A/N: Advanced Chapters are available on Patreon.
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