When the news channel switched, Ethan's eyes sharpened.
For a split second, A-Train's face filled the screen before the feed shifted back to a polished corporate backdrop. Executives in tailored suits stood in a row, cameras flashing. At the center was the speedster himself, wearing the familiar blue uniform of The Seven.
"My deepest condolences go out to Robin Ward's family," A-Train said, lowering his head with rehearsed grief. "I was in pursuit of a bank robbery suspect. She stepped into the street, and I… I couldn't stop in time."
The words came smoothly, professionally packaged for maximum sympathy.
Ethan leaned back on the sofa and let out a quiet, dismissive breath.
Vought had done what it always did. Twist the narrative. Polish the lie until it gleamed. According to the broadcast, Robin had wandered into traffic. In reality, she had been standing safely on the sidewalk when a drug-enhanced speedster turned her into red mist.
An apology without responsibility was just another marketing move.
Ethan didn't care about A-Train's performance. What mattered was timing.
If nothing changed, Butcher would soon approach Hughie under the guise of federal authority. That meeting would lead to the bugging device, and that would draw out the Invisible Man.
That was the real prize.
—
Finding Butcher directly would have been difficult. Finding Hughie was not.
With a few key details given to Harris—Robin's death, A-Train's public apology, and the small electronics shop tied to Hughie—it didn't take long to narrow things down. The shop was easy to identify once the news cycle was taken into account.
When Ethan first stepped inside, it was empty. Hughie wasn't there.
He didn't rush.
If the timeline held, Hughie was already in contact with Butcher, who was posing as an FBI agent. Right now, Butcher was likely peeling back the illusion of heroism, dragging Hughie through the underbelly of the supe world.
The shift in worldview would not be gentle.
Hughie had once been a loyal fan of superhero merchandise. He had collected limited-edition A-Train figures and defended The Seven in online arguments. But the image of Robin's death—her body erased, leaving only severed arms—would not leave his mind.
And then the apology came.
A public statement that shifted blame onto her.
That was the breaking point.
When Butcher later led Hughie into a private club frequented by supes and exposed the crude behavior behind closed doors, the final cracks formed. Hughie saw the jokes. The casual talk. The complete lack of remorse.
"Oh, these hypocrites…" Hughie muttered under his breath, disbelief turning into anger.
Butcher watched him closely, satisfied.
He enjoyed moments like this. Enjoyed watching belief rot into hatred. One less civilian worshiping television idols.
"There aren't any heroes," Butcher had said flatly. "Just freaks with good PR."
When Hughie asked quietly, "Are they all like that? Even Homelander?" Butcher only shrugged.
"Homelander's different. Doesn't drink. Doesn't party. Never comes here. Practically a saint."
It was half sarcasm, half contempt.
Soon after, Butcher revealed his true objective. Hughie would accept hush money from Vought, but only if A-Train appeared in person to sign. Meanwhile, Butcher would plant a listening device inside the tower.
Hughie, shaken and furious, agreed.
He didn't realize he had just become a pawn.
—
Ethan waited.
He chose a coffee shop across from Hughie's store—one without visible security cameras—and took the same seat every day. He wore neutral clothes, a cap pulled low, posture relaxed.
He didn't need to change the plan. The original chain of events worked perfectly. Hughie and Butcher would stun the Invisible Man with electricity, discover his weakness, and load him into the trunk.
Ethan only needed to intercept at the right moment.
Days passed.
Then it happened.
From his seat, Ethan saw the store door suddenly burst open as if shoved by invisible hands. Hughie stumbled backward inside, performing a clumsy, terrified dance with empty air.
Across the street, Butcher sat in a black sedan, watching carefully.
He didn't expect the bug to give him strategic advantage. He just wanted a reaction. And he got one.
Hughie's exaggerated movements made it obvious: the Invisible Man had discovered the device and tracked him down.
Butcher's lips curled.
"So you took the bait," he muttered, slamming his foot on the accelerator.
The sedan roared forward.
The storefront exploded in shattered glass as the car crashed through the entrance and slammed violently into something unseen. The hood buckled against empty air.
A body-shaped outline flew backward, knocking over shelves before slamming onto the floor.
"Are you insane?" Hughie yelled, narrowly avoiding the vehicle. "You almost killed me!"
Butcher ignored him.
He stepped out, grabbed a crowbar from the back seat, and began striking the air where the fallen Invisible Man lay. Each hit landed with a solid, sickening impact.
The fight didn't last long. The Invisible Man was stronger than a normal person but not trained for direct combat without advantage.
Then Hughie remembered something from a television interview—the composition of the Invisible Man's skin.
He grabbed a frayed electrical cord, stripped the copper wire, and, with shaking hands, forced it against the Invisible Man's body.
A violent jolt followed.
A visible flash.
For a brief second, pale flesh appeared where the shock disrupted his camouflage. The Invisible Man convulsed and went limp.
The silence afterward felt unreal.
Hughie stared down at the unconscious body, breathing hard. His thoughts were scrambled. He moved mechanically as Butcher directed him.
Together, they lifted the limp supe and shoved him into the trunk.
Butcher closed it with a firm slam and turned toward the driver's side door.
That was when he stopped.
An unfamiliar man stood in front of him, phone raised casually.
On the screen was a clear photo: Butcher and Hughie hauling a bloodied Invisible Man into the trunk.
"I've been taking pictures since you drove through the window, Mr. Butcher," Ethan said calmly. "You wouldn't want tomorrow's headlines to feature this, would you?"
—
Butcher had blackmailed countless people in his life.
It was practically second nature.
But he had never expected to stand on the receiving end.
For a brief moment, he simply stared at the image on the phone. Then his gaze rose slowly to Ethan's face. His thick beard twitched, and a dangerous smile spread across his lips.
"So," he said lightly, "you're blackmailing me? Do you even understand what that means? Blackmailing a federal agent? If I were you, I'd hand over the phone."
Ethan's smile didn't change.
"Shouldn't you add 'former' before that title?"
Hughie blinked, confusion breaking through the fog in his head. He looked at Butcher, then back at Ethan.
"Former?" he asked. "What does that mean? You're not FBI?"
Doubt crept into his voice as the pieces began to shift in his mind.
....
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