Far off, someone was watching.
Butcher wasn't the type to trust anyone, especially a supe, and his instinct always told him that a supe-on-supe conversation usually ends poorly for the humans nearby.
Yet, the runt had actually done it. Three minutes. The Big Cunt had cycled through his entire play, from the plastic "hero" smile to the glowing-red "I'll erase you" stare. He'd even gone for the throat, a classic Homelander move, but then he'd stopped.
"Look at the bold little runt. He's actually doing it. He's rattling him."
Frenchie had already prepared the failsafe explosives in his hideout. The moment he saw Homelander sniffing their way, the explosives would go out, luring Homelander away and giving them time to escape without cleaning up the mess from Translucent popping out like a balloon.
"What could a homeless stray possibly have to say to keep that temperamental bastard from turning him into a charcoal briquette for this long?" He started to wonder if the "stray" he picked up was much more dangerous, or much more talkative, than he realized.
"Well, I guess we'll never" The words died in Butcher's throat, strangled by a sight so unholy it made every other "diabolical" thing he'd ever seen look like a Sunday school picnic.
On the roof, the power dynamic hadn't just shifted; it had inverted into something sick. Homelander, the golden god of the Seven, stood over the runt. He'd forced the boy to his knees.
Butcher watched, frozen, as Homelander slowly peeled back one of those pristine, gold-trimmed gloves. The "Hero of America" brought his own thumb to his mouth and bit down.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Butcher whispered. "Fucking sick bastards."
On the roof, Aldrich's entire being was in a state of intense happiness, elation, and well-being as the taste of the blood poured into his mouth and under his tongue.
He grabbed Homelander's hand as tightly as he could, desperate for every drop of pure, perfected DNA he could get.
"Get off me!" Homelander snarled, a look of visceral loathing crossing his face. He jerked his arm back, the force of the movement sending Aldrich tumbling across the gravel like a discarded ragdoll.
The purity and power of the blood were so high they pushed Aldrich's body to the extreme. The surge physically forced out all the remaining toxins and filth from Great Wide Wonder, making him double over and vomit all that was left.
"Absolutely revolting." Homelander looked away, repulsed by Aldrich's entire being. He was the most pathetic Supe he had ever seen. Thankfully, the cancer seemed to still be there; he would have liked to heal the boy, but if he ever healed someone, he wanted it to be grand, glorious, and someone worthy, not this insolent, wretched creature he couldn't wait to crush.
"You got what you wanted. It didn't work out." Homelander growled, his eyes beginning to shimmer with heat. "Now, tell me where they are before I lose my patience."
Aldrich stayed on all fours for a moment, chest heaving. He slowly pushed himself up to his knees, wiped his mouth, and looked up. A wide smile split his face.
"Sure," Aldrich answered. He reached up, stretching his hand toward Homelander.
"What?" Homelander asked, confused and irritated to the extreme.
"Well, As I said I still haven't learned how to fly. And we only have six minutes left before time runs out."
Homelander looked at the outstretched hand like its an insult. He'd never felt a more violent urge to just let go, to fly up to thirty thousand feet and drop this wretched, vomit-stained parasite into the gears of a jet engine.
"You want me to carry you?" Homelander's voice was a low, dangerous vibration.
"Unless you want to find your friend in pieces," Aldrich said, his smile never wavering.
Homelander reached down, and snatched Aldrich by the collar of his rags, hoisting him up like a bag of wet trash. As they took off, the wind whipped around them, but Homelander wasn't thinking about the kid. He was thinking about Translucent.
He was going to find him, yes, but there would be a price. The humiliation of the "ass-bomb," the fact that a member of the Seven had been bagged by a "British guy" and a "Frenchie", it was an embarrassment to the brand. He decided right then that Translucent was going back to the Tower for a world of pain. If he was going to make Homelander bleed for a homeless brat, he was going to pay it back in chunks.
"Which way, you little shit?" Homelander barked over the roar of the wind.
"Toward the docks," Aldrich said, pointing toward the Atlantic. "They're in an old industrial block near the water. But you won't see them from up here. They were smart. The whole room is zinc-coated. They used it to mask themselves and Translucent."
Homelander's jaw tightened. Zinc. The one blind spot. It made sense, it was the only way they could have stayed hidden this long.
"Drop me here," Aldrich said as they hovered over a pier jutting out into the black water.
Homelander landed with a heavy thud, dropping Aldrich onto the ground. He looked around, his eyes scanning the rusted metal and concrete. "Where? I don't see anything."
Aldrich took a few steps toward the edge of the pier, the water churning violently below. He turned back to Homelander, his face calm, almost serene.
"Wait a moment," Aldrich said.
Homelander tilted his head, focusing his ears, straining to catch the sound of a heartbeat or a muffled shout through the supposed zinc walls. "I don't hear a goddamn thing"
"Do you think someone who can shove C4 down Translucent's ass is an amateur?" Aldrich's voice was cold. "You think they're just going to leave a door wide open for you to fly through? It's a bunker. The main access is under the water and back exit with a submerged hatch. They're sitting in a zinc room ten feet under the ground."
Homelander paused, the heat in his eyes flickering. It made a sick kind of sense. It explained the silence. It explained why his X-ray vision was hitting a wall.
"There's a manual release hatch here somewhere on the pier," Aldrich continued, pacing toward the edge of the pier. "I need you to create some ruckus. Blow something up. Smash a container. If they hear you coming from above, they'll hide in the zinc room. While they're distracted by the noise, I can slip into the water, find the hatch, and open it from the inside."
"Fine," Homelander hissed, his cape snapping in the wind. "Get in there. Open the door. And if you're lying to me, boy, I'll boil this entire harbor with you in it."
"Just make it loud," Aldrich said.
He didn't wait for a reply. He stepped off the edge of the pier, his small frame disappearing into the black waves.
Homelander didn't hesitate. He rose ten feet into the air, his fists clenched, and slammed a fist into the nearest shipping container. The metal shrieked and buckled, the sound echoing across the docks like a cannon blast.
The sound instantly attracted the attention of nearby workers and civilians alike. When they saw Homelander, they were confused, but more than that, they were happy and curious to see him there smashing containers.
Homelander hovered in mid-air, the red glow in his eyes snapping off as he plastered on his "World's Greatest Hero" mask. He beamed down at them, a picture-perfect image of calm authority.
"Everyone, please! For your own safety, stay back!" he projected, his voice booming with that practiced, comforting warmth. "We have reason to believe a cell of dangerous terrorists is holding Translucent nearby. I'm going to bring him home, but I need you to give me room to work."
The crowd ignited. The prospect of being first-hand witnesses to a Seven-level rescue sent them into a frenzy. Within minutes, the quiet industrial zone was a circus. Smart-phones were pulled out, the livestreams began to trend, and news vans started racing toward the docks.
Homelander stood there, chest out, cape catching the wind. He looked like a masterpiece.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.