In a secluded alley, the group found the Wolf Girl curled up in a shadowed corner, hunched over a crinkled bag of potato chips she had clearly stolen from somewhere nearby.
The girl—disheveled, blood still dried across her clothes and hands—sat cross-legged against the brick wall, eating with intense focus. Each bite seemed precious, as if she were savoring a rare delicacy instead of junk food scavenged from a convenience store.
The scrape of footsteps at the mouth of the alley made her freeze.
She slowly lowered the bag. Through strands of matted hair hanging over her face, her eyes lifted, sharp and wary. Several dark silhouettes had appeared at the alley entrance.
Her body arched instantly, muscles tightening like a coiled spring. She looked less like a frightened girl and more like a predator about to strike.
As Ethan stepped forward, a savage glint flared in her eyes. With a guttural roar, she launched herself at him.
Her long fingernails gleamed under the dim streetlight, stained a dark crimson from earlier killings.
Boom.
The feral figure shot toward Ethan with explosive speed—then stopped mid-charge.
A hand like iron clamped around her throat.
In the next instant, Ethan slammed her straight into the pavement.
The impact detonated through the alley. Street bricks shattered beneath her body, the ground caving inward as cracks spider-webbed outward in widening circles.
The rest of the team, still lingering near the alley entrance, stared in stunned silence. They had heard rumors of Ethan's strength. This was the first time they had seen it unleashed up close.
Pinned to the cratered pavement, Kimiko felt something far heavier than physical force. It was oppression—raw and absolute.
She rebounded instantly. Her body snapped upright, sprinted up the wall, and kicked off with violent momentum. Her claws slashed toward Ethan's throat.
Clang.
A crisp metallic sound rang through the alley.
Her claws struck his skin—and failed.
Ethan turned his head slightly, a mocking smile curving his lips. He drove a single punch forward.
Kimiko flew backward like a cannonball and smashed into the brick wall. The masonry splintered, fractures spreading rapidly from the point of impact.
When she peeled herself from the wall, her instincts had already made the calculation. She could not hurt him.
She turned and bolted.
Ethan followed, crossing half the street in a blur. Kimiko halted abruptly—only to feel his hand seize her throat again.
He drove her into the asphalt.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Each impact thundered through the street, making The Boys' hearts pound as they rushed closer.
Even so, her regenerative abilities kept her functional. The damage was brutal, but survivable.
Ethan decided to end it efficiently.
He aimed for her heart.
"Oh, oh—shit! Don't hurt her!" Frenchie shouted as they burst into the street.
Ethan narrowed his eyes and glanced at him. "You disagree?"
"You shouldn't kill her. She looks innocent."
"Innocent?" Ethan's smile sharpened. "You know she was trained as a killing machine by a militant organization. She's got more innocent blood on her hands than you do."
"She might have been forced!"
"Oh? So 'forced' erases everything?" Ethan's voice turned cold. "If that word fixes it all, maybe I can start using it too."
"Damn it, can't you just let her go?!"
Frenchie's voice cracked with urgency. Something about her had struck him deeply. In her, he saw himself—years ago, manipulated and coerced into becoming a weapon, his hands stained red under Nina's control.
Mallory had pulled him out of that hell.
"But she can't be—"
Ethan's grin widened.
His hand plunged into Kimiko's chest.
Then he crushed.
Bone and tissue ruptured beneath his grip.
"Oh damn it! You lunatic!"
Frenchie roared, drawing his pistol and aiming it straight at Ethan's back.
"Calm down," Butcher snapped, restraining him before he could do something irreversible.
Ethan glanced at them over his shoulder, expression unchanged.
"Do you know why I don't like getting too involved with you?" he said calmly. "Because some of you have this bizarre overflow of kindness. A killer drenched in blood suddenly wants redemption through someone else."
He withdrew his hand.
"Halfway through the carnage, you decide you want to play saint. Don't you find that ridiculous?"
Turning slightly, he looked at Mother's Milk with something almost resembling sympathy. "I feel for you. Working with someone who might abandon the plan at any second."
Among them, Mother's Milk was the most consistent—focused, disciplined, unwilling to waver.
The others were chaos. One moment ready to burn Vought to the ground, the next drowning in guilt and compassion.
Mother's Milk exhaled heavily. "Yeah," he muttered. "You're not wrong."
He didn't like Ethan's ruthlessness. But he couldn't deny the logic.
Kimiko had already killed multiple people. If left unchecked, she would kill again. They had unleashed her. Cleaning up the consequences was their responsibility.
"Damn," Mother's Milk muttered under his breath.
Before the argument could continue, they noticed movement at the far end of the street.
Vought personnel.
The Boys immediately dragged Frenchie into a side alley.
Several Vought operatives had spotted Ethan—and more importantly, Kimiko's body on the ground.
She was a smuggled asset. If the CIA or FBI uncovered Vought's involvement in importing enhanced "terrorists," the fallout would be catastrophic.
The solution was simple.
Eliminate witnesses.
A-Train had already begun searching once he realized she had escaped. Orders were clear.
Ethan sensed something off the moment he saw them. Without acknowledging their presence, he hoisted Kimiko's body and walked deeper into the alley.
The operatives assumed they remained unnoticed. They followed cautiously, whispering into comm devices, signaling A-Train.
Their pistols would barely inconvenience a superhuman. They needed backup.
Ethan turned a corner and disappeared.
Thinking they were losing him, the operatives hurried forward.
They rounded the corner—
—and froze.
Ethan had set Kimiko down.
He stood waiting.
Watching them with a calm, almost amused expression.
An uneasy chill crept up their spines.
"Fire!"
Instinct took over. They drew their pistols and unleashed a barrage at once.
Bullets struck Ethan's body.
They flattened.
One after another, the rounds compressed harmlessly against his skin, dropping to the pavement with light metallic clinks.
The sound was strangely crisp.
Almost pleasant.
Like something tapping directly against their hearts.
"Who is this guy?"
"I don't know—he's not on Vought's registry!"
None of them wanted to face a superhuman who could tank gunfire without flinching.
As Ethan stepped toward them, the five Vought operatives began trembling.
Their submachine guns roared, unleashing a relentless storm of bullets.