…
"Wait."
"That weakling in the cape—don't tell me that's the Homelander you were talking about?"
On a busy street, Leon pointed at a massive Homelander billboard and glanced back at Butcher and the others.
"That's him," Butcher replied with a lazy sway of his shoulders. "After Vought declared you dead, he became the new you."
Leon let out a low chuckle as if he'd just heard the greatest joke in the world. He raised a finger and tapped it lightly against Butcher's hooked nose.
"Watch your wording, mate."
"I am Vought's embodiment."
"No one replaces me."
"No one."
With that, Leon turned and strode off decisively in a random direction.
Butcher and the others exchanged glances—smiles spreading across their faces.
They didn't care where Leon was going.
They just needed to follow.
The more Soldier Boy despised Homelander—
The better for them.
…
Simply "opening the box" had nearly wiped out The Boys.
That lesson made them far more cautious around Leon.
Fortunately—
As long as they didn't provoke him, he seemed… reasonable.
Which, honestly, made sense.
Leon thought to himself:
I'm not insane.
Even the original Soldier Boy, for all his flaws, was at least someone who honored agreements.
That discovery filled Butcher with renewed confidence.
When it came to killing Homelander—
He now felt ninety percent certain.
Because events had accelerated compared to the original timeline, Hughie's Temp V hadn't fully worn off yet. A normal hospital would raise questions.
So Butcher rented out a large private suite in a rundown hotel for Hughie's recovery.
Leon's room was right next door.
Inside Hughie's Room
The Boys resembled a wounded wolf pack—
Licking their injuries under the looming shadow of a lion.
"Ow—!"
"Frenchie, did you secretly take something again?!"
Mother's Milk hissed in pain as Frenchie, hands trembling like a man with Parkinson's, tried to extract a bullet from his arm with tweezers.
"I did," Frenchie admitted sheepishly. "But only a little. It numbs the pain."
He gestured with pinched fingers—just this much.
Then suddenly—
He shoved the tweezers in deeper.
"F***!"
Mother's Milk swore violently.
When Frenchie pulled out not just the bullet but a chunk of flesh—
Mother's Milk's eyes rolled back.
He passed out.
Half from pain.
Half from rage.
Across the room, Butcher sat shirtless by the window, keeping watch outside while applying ointment to a severe burn wound stretching from his left shoulder down to his right abdomen.
He wrapped himself tightly in white bandages.
Hughie lay motionless on the only double bed, breathing shallow but stable.
Thanks to Temp V, he possessed minor regenerative capabilities alongside enhanced strength and teleportation.
He would survive.
Leaning casually against the doorway—
Leon toyed with his Infinite Desert Eagle, spinning it lazily in his palm.
He looked at them with open skepticism.
"You lot have really been going toe-to-toe with Homelander this whole time?"
"I might need to reconsider working with you."
"Trust me," Butcher replied confidently, now dressed again. "No one knows those bastards better than we do. And no one's more willing to fight them."
"You were betrayed by the rest of Payback before the Soviets captured you."
"Gunpowder's dead. I killed him. Don't thank me."
"Termite's gone. Swatto's long dead."
"But Crimson Countess. The TNT Twins. Mindstorm. Black Noir."
"They're alive."
"I'll find them."
"And I'll let you kill them yourself."
"That's my sincerity."
"And in return," Butcher added calmly, "we'd like to add one more name to your revenge list."
"Homelander?" Leon asked.
"Exactly."
"Why him?"
"Because you're not the only one who wants revenge."
Leon raised a brow, wagging a finger at Butcher.
"Listen, mate. I could find them myself."
"But if you're helping—don't make me wait too long."
"My patience isn't endless."
"Pleasure working with you," Butcher said, extending his hand.
Leon didn't take it.
"Not done yet."
Butcher's eyes narrowed.
"What now?"
Leon exhaled theatrically.
"I've been locked in that lab for decades."
"Decades without so much as touching a woman."
His tone carried exaggerated grievance.
"Butcher…"
"You see where I'm going with this, yeah?"
Leon gave him a knowing look between men.
"I need a woman," Leon said plainly. "Beautiful. Strong. Healthy."
"To remind me what it feels like to be a man."
Butcher's jaw tightened slightly.
He understood.
Any man deprived that long—
Especially one this powerful—
Would want release.
The fact that Leon was even asking politely was, frankly, restraint.
"What are your standards?" Butcher asked flatly.
"Beautiful. Strong. Healthy."
Butcher fell silent.
Ordinary civilians were out of the question.
Given Leon's strength—
A normal person could be seriously hurt.
A durability-enhanced Supe would be safer.
He mentally scanned possibilities.
Then—
A troubling realization surfaced.
There was someone.
An auxiliary ally.
She fit the criteria.
But—
She was involved with someone close.
Was it worth crossing that line?
Butcher weighed the options.
For the greater goal—
For killing Homelander—
Perhaps sacrifices had to be made.
Still…
That was a mate's girl.
He'd need Leon to kill a few extra Supes for this one.
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