Electric shadows - the_ABCs_that_never_end - The Boys (TV 2019) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: A Nameless Girl

Chapter Text

Billy Butcher's boots echoed like thunderclaps, a metallic symphony resonating through the dimly lit corridors of the Vought lab. Every step sent vibrations that seemed to scrape against the cold steel and concrete walls. His senses were on high alert, navigating the labyrinthine twists and turns of the facility with the precision of a predator closing in on its prey.

It was the dead of night, and Butcher, accompanied by Mother's Milk, embarked on a covert mission to infiltrate the lab. Stories of a sinister secret experiment had spurred them into this challenging journey. The air grew thick with tension as they delved deeper into the heart of the facility, the atmosphere taking a disturbing turn from the expected bustling activity of a facility this size.

MM’s voice, barely a whisper in the echoing silence, broke through the tension. "Hey, Butcher, you sure we're at the right place? This place looks like a ghost town."

“Oi, mate! I bloody well told ya’, if I said this is the place, this is the bleedin’ place, innit?” Butcher retorted with a huff, his eyes scanning the desolate corridors for any flicker of movement.

“It’s just so empty,” MM observed, his gaze sweeping the eerie surroundings.

“Well, you're spot on there. This place is emptier than a politician's promise. Ain't nobody lingerin' 'round 'ere unless they 'ave to. Vought's keepin' their distance from this sh*thole,” Butcher said, smirking at MM. “And you know what that means? Somethin''s brewin', somethin' real hush-hush. Mark my words, mate, secrets are the currency in this bleedin' joint.”

Silently threading through the facility's shadows, they stumbled upon a corridor drenched in an unsettling glow. The walls were lined with vacant cells, each door marked with ominous letters. Inside, stainless-steel tables stood adorned with eerie scientific contraptions, casting distorted shadows across the sterile surfaces. A palpable tension hung in the air, thick with the acrid scent of disinfectants interwoven with an undercurrent of fear, as if the very walls whispered unsettling secrets.

"What the hell are they doing in here?" MM's breath caught as he peered into one of the vacant cells. Swiftly, he moved towards a computer, sliding a drive into one of the ports with practiced efficiency, determined to siphon off every file while time allowed.

Butcher's gaze, in the meantime, fell upon cells labelled A, B, C, and so on. A cold chill ran down his spine as it dawned on him that the secrets of this place might not be for the faint of heart.

"I dunno’," Butcher huffed, his eyes fixed on the alarming array of equipment and medical paraphernalia within the cells. The air seemed to thicken with the weight of the unknown. It smelled like a hospital. It smelled like surgery and forced cleanliness. It smelled evil.

"What's the point of all these cells? Are they testing something on supes?" MM's gaze lingered on the stark labels.

“I ain’t so sure, mate, but I’m goin’ with my gut on this one, no mistake. You keep workin’ on the files. I’ll check this place out. There’s gotta be something here, I guarantee ya’. I’ll keep my eyes open for anything suspicious.” Billy moved away from MM, surveying the surroundings with a heightened sense of caution, his guard firmly in place. The unsettling atmosphere clung to him like an invisible shroud, amplifying the urgency of their mission.

As Butcher sauntered down the sterile corridor, casting a discerning eye into the dimly lit cells. The chill in the lab clung to the air, accentuated by the cold, uninviting glow of white lights that failed to impart even a hint of warmth. The walls and floors, painted in clinical white, exuded an unforgiving coldness. Crafted from unyielding metal, the tables stood as stark monuments to practical efficiency. In this desolate setting, devoid of any warmth or colour, humanity's absence echoed through the lab's lifeless confines.

As his eyes fell upon the cell labelled O, a searing rage ignited within Butcher's chest, fueled by the dreadful scene that unfolded before him. Strapped to the cold, clinical examination table was a figure, bound by wires and tubes that snaked from her body like grotesque lifelines, connecting her to an unseen and macabre experiment.

"MM, look," Butcher's voice cut through the sterile silence as he gestured toward the O cell, cautiously advancing towards it.

Inside, a girl of about twelve, her frail form covered in a tapestry of scars, met their gaze. She was bald, exposing a few sensors cruelly attached to her shaven head. Injection marks, surgery scars, and various wounds adorned her arms and legs like a catalogue of agony. Wires and tubes punctured her limbs, pumping an unknown concoction into her fragile body. The vital signs monitor echoed an anxious symphony, its beeping escalating in tandem with Butcher's grim observation.

This young supe had become a canvas for unspeakable experiments. Her eyes, brown and haunted, betrayed a chilling fusion of fear and resignation. She was the living embodiment of Vought's insidious machinations, a tragic testament to the collateral damage inflicted upon innocent souls. Butcher's guts twisted in response to the grotesque tableau laid out before him, the burning rage replaced by a cold, determined focus.

“She’s a f*cking kid,” Butcher growled, the words laced with an unbridled fury that echoed through the sterile air.

"Oh god," MM muttered, peering into the cramped room, locked eyes with the young girl on the table, her brown eyes wide with fear. The air hung heavy with the weight of her suffering, casting an oppressive pall over the onlookers. The unsettling image of the girl, a mere puppet in Vought's malevolent theatre, lingered in their minds, a haunting testament to the depths of cruelty humanity could descend to.

Butcher's jaw clenched with fiery determination, his resolve fueled by an impulsive surge of rage. Without hesitation, he unleashed a barrage of blows upon the unyielding keypad, each strike resonating with a deafening urgency. Alarms erupted in protest, merging with the escalating tempo of the girl's frantic heart rate. Butcher, undeterred, persisted until the door yielded to his relentless assault, sliding open to reveal the haunting reality within.

Butchers put down his crowbar, still cautiously looking at the girl. He entered with hands raised, assuring the frightened girl, "It's alright, darlin'. Look, I know you don't know me, and this situation looks fishy as all hell, but I'm not 'ere to do anythin' dodgy to ya.’ Can I get a bit closer to untie ya’?" His tone was unexpectedly gentle.

The girl, too terrified to speak, nodded slightly. Butcher, with deliberate care, released the cruel bonds that had held her captive. As the restraints fell away, she crumpled into his arms, trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and gratitude.

"Easy, love," he murmured, holding her gently. His face contorted with anger as he observed the myriad scars that adorned her fragile frame — the surgical marks, the saw welts on her wrists and ankles from years of cruel restraint, and the haunting bruises that marred her innocence. "It’s alright. Shhh, now, it’s fine. Everything’s gonna be okay." With an empathetic touch, he cradled her in his arms, delicately freeing her from the wires and tubes that had tethered her to a nightmarish existence. “It’s alright, kid, you’re gonna be fine. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

“We have to go!” MM exclaimed, hastily retrieving the drive now laden with copied files. Alarms blared, casting erratic flashes of light in the dimness.

Weak from the sedation that had kept her captive, the girl could manage only a few unsteady steps before collapsing back into Butcher's arms. "Well, that's not going to work, is it?" Butcher chuckled, lifting her gently. “Right, love, let’s get you out of ‘ere, shall we?”

Together with MM, they retraced their steps, defiant footsteps echoing against the oppressive grip of Vought. The alarms, a discordant symphony of urgency, heightened the urgency of their escape, each step resonating with a collective determination to break free from the clutches of the evil forces that had held the girl captive.

The escape unfolded amidst tension, alarms wailing in protest as they boldly defied the corporation's control. Butcher's mind raced, weaving plans to vanish before Vought's enforcers could descend upon them.

Upon reaching the waiting car, Butcher carefully placed her in the back seat while MM took the wheel and swiftly drove away from the haunting facility.

After passing the drive laden with stolen files to Butcher, MM shifted his attention to the road ahead. His fingers clenched the steering wheel with a tense grip, and the muscles in his jaw coiled with palpable strain as he deliberately avoided stealing glances at the girl in the backseat. The weight of the situation hung heavy on him, each passing moment intensifying the knot of unease in the pit of his stomach.

Remaining guarded and wary, the girl meticulously tracked their every move, her gaze a mosaic of shadows reflecting the lingering spectre of fear. The tension in her posture spoke volumes, her every muscle poised for defence as she grappled with the unsettling uncertainty of the situation. A delicate dance of apprehension and vulnerability played out in the depths of her eyes, casting a palpable layer of unease over her demeanour.

"Got a name?" Butcher inquired, swivelling in the passenger's seat to lock eyes with the girl in the back. His trademark crooked grin adorned his face, but a storm of emotions churned beneath the surface. Behind that gruff exterior, a flicker of curiosity and a hint of unexpected tenderness lurked in his gaze. His eyes, usually hardened, betrayed a subtle softening as he awaited her response, a complex mixture of skepticism and genuine interest playing on his features.

She shook her head, a subtle yet decisive motion, and her gaze, like a fleeting whisper, flickered to the laptop. There, Butcher was opening the files, a delicate dance of anticipation and curiosity reflected in her eyes as they traced the unfolding narrative on the illuminated screen.

"Well, we gotta call you something," Butcher mused, his attention momentarily diverting to the files before him. As his eyes traversed the array of information, one file seized his focus.

Operational Report: Subject O [208511525-O-LIVE].

The room in which the girl had been confined bore the unmistakable mark of the letter 'o,' signalling that this particular file held the key to unravelling her enigmatic past. With a decisive click, Butcher accessed the file, his fingers deftly scrolling through the digital pages that encapsulated the haunting narrative of the girl's ordeal. Each flicker of his eyes across the screen seemed to skim just the surface of the profound challenges she had faced. It was there, in stark letters, that the ID number imprinted itself on his consciousness: 208511525-O-LIVE.

O-LIVE.

The letters, suspended like a lingering whisper, held a mystique that ensnared Butcher's attention. In the pregnant pause that followed, he contemplated the essence of those characters as if they were a code to unlock the secrets of the girl's identity.

"How 'bout Olive?" Butcher proposed, his gaze shifting from the glowing screen to the girl in anticipation, searching her countenance for the subtlest tremors of reaction. The suggestion hung in the air, a delicate proposition laden with a sense of newfound identity and the potential for a fresh beginning.

"Really? Olive? You want to name her Olive?" MM interjected, glancing back at her through the rearview mirror.

"What? You got something against Popeye?" Butcher shot back.

“No, nothing, it’s just kinda a dated reference.” MM shrugged

“Olive Oyl is not dated!” Butcher said with a pointed look, “She’s timeless.”

"Olive," the girl said tentatively, testing the taste of her potential new name.

"She likes it!" Butcher laughed, clapping his hands. "Well, Olive, welcome to the outside world," he declared, turning to her once again.

Chapter 2: Operational Report: Subject 20 [208511525-O-LIVE]

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OPERATIONAL REPORT LAST UPDATED: 05/12/2013

SUBJECT IDENTIFICATION

I.D NUMBER: 208511525-O-LIVE

SEX: Female

DATE OF BIRTH: 11/15/2001

BIRTHPLACE: Vought Lab S34, New York City, NY.

PROGRAM: Subject [208511525-O-LIVE] is assigned to the experimental program 5876564378 [codenamed Operation Neurogenesis]

PARENTAL INFORMATION

MOTHER'S NAME: [REDACTED]

FATHER'S NAME: [REDACTED]

SIBLINGS: [REDACTED]

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Brown

BLOOD TYPE: O+

IDENTIFIABLE MARKINGS: Deliberate burn scarring on the abdomen of a Vought logo due to branding done after an attempt to escape restraints made by subject [208511525-O-LIVE].

POWER: Electrokinesis [Extremely Powerful]

MEDICAL SUPERVISION

PRIMARY PHYSICIAN: Dr. Samantha Miller

NEUROLOGIST: Dr. Benjamin Harris

CARDIOLOGIST: Dr. Olivia Rodriguez

PHYSICAL THERAPIST: Dr. Michael Campbell

NURSING STAFF: Nurse Sarah Turner

GENETICIST: Dr. Alexander White

PSYCHIATRIST: Dr. Eleanor Simmons

NUTRITIONIST: Dr. William Carter

RESEARCH SCIENTISTS: Dr. Rachel Anderson

SECURITY PERSONNEL: Security Officer James Mitchell

CLINICAL ASSESSMENT

BIOLOGICAL PROFILE: Genetic sequencing reveals a unique combination of genetic markers associated with heightened neuro-muscular coordination and enhanced electrokinetic potential. Additionally, preliminary analysis indicates an above-average metabolic rate, potentially contributing to increased energy levels.

NEUROLOGICAL ASSESSMENT: Neurological assessments indicate highly active brainwave patterns, particularly in cognitive processing and motor control regions. Neural activity exhibits efficient coordination, suggesting a natural predisposition to quick reflexes and adaptability. The prefrontal cortex displays advanced development for the age, indicating potential for strategic thinking and decision-making skills.

CARDIOVASCULAR STATUS: The subject's [208511525-O-LIVE] cardiovascular status is within normal ranges for a child her age. Resting heart rate is measured at 82 beats per minute, and blood pressure falls within healthy parameters. The cardiovascular system demonstrates resilience and adaptability, essential for the physical demands of the subject's [208511525-O-LIVE] electrokinetic abilities.

POWER ASSESSMENT

POWER MANIFESTATION: Electrokinesis [Extremely Powerful]

CONTROL AND STABILITY: The subject [208511525-O-LIVE] displays an innate capacity for control over her electrokinetic powers. During controlled experiments, she demonstrates the ability to modulate the intensity and direction of electrical discharges with precision. However, further training is recommended to enhance fine-tuned control, especially in high-stress situations. Ongoing assessments will monitor the development of her control and stability over time.

POTENTIAL RISKS: While the subject's [208511525-O-LIVE] electrokinetic abilities hold immense promise, identified risks include the potential for energy surges during moments of heightened emotional states. Emotional regulation and stress management strategies are recommended to mitigate the risk of unintentional power fluctuations. Additionally, the long-term effects of sustained electrokinetic activity on the subject's [208511525-O-LIVE] physiological and neurological well-being will be closely monitored to address any unforeseen complications.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE

MENTAL HEALTH STATUS:

OVERALL ASSESSMENT: Low

OBSERVATIONS: Indications of compromised mental well-being.

RECOMMENDATIONS: Immediate psychiatric evaluation and intervention are required.

EMOTIONAL STABILITY:

OVERALL ASSESSMENT: Low

OBSERVATIONS: Evident emotional fragility and instability.

RECOMMENDATIONS: Urgent psychological support and counselling are recommended.

CURRENT STATUS

CONDITION: Unfit for Seven [Exceeds parameters, the subject shows the potential risk to public perception of Homelander's strength. Designated test subject [208511525-O-LIVE] until physiological functions cease].

NOTES: extremely powerful, dangerous for staff and medical personnel to be around unless medically sedated.

Chapter 3: Neon Chaos

Chapter Text

Ten years later…

"You're going too fast on that thing," he scolded, the words tinged with a mix of concern and irritation. The wind whipped around Olive as she zipped through the labyrinth of streets, deftly weaving between cars and navigating the city's arteries.
The roar of Olive's sportbike motorcycle echoed through the night streets, the engine's growl blending with the city's ambient sounds. Through the earpiece, Butcher's voice cut through the urban symphony, gruff and impatient. "Gonna give me a f*cking heart attack," Butcher continued, his voice a constant presence in her ear, an anchor to the mission at hand.

"I'm more likely to crash if you keep distracting me," Olive retorted, her focus unwavering. Olive moved with purpose through the gritty underbelly of the city. Butcher had transformed her into a formidable soldier, and she wore her training like a second skin. The alleyways and dimly lit corners of the city held no intimidation for her; she was bred in darkness, raised in chaos, and forged in the crucible of Butcher's relentless training.

"Are you talking back to me?" he questioned. Butcher's voice crackled through the earpiece, the gruff tone carrying a hint of mock seriousness. Olive, however, paid no heed, her focus unbroken as she sped through the city streets with unwavering determination. "Oi, Bigfoot," Butcher persisted, his words echoing in her ear, "You heard what I said, didn't ya’? Slow the f*ck down. I can't afford to lose my best soldier to something as idiotic as an accident now, can I?" The urgency in Butcher's voice underscored his concern for Olive's safety, blending with the ever-present edge of irritation.

Olive gave in, reluctantly easing up on the throttle to spare Butcher's nerves. “Is that slow enough for you?” she asked.

"you’re gonna be the death of me, Bigfoot," Butcher grumbled, his frustration evident in the weight of his sigh. The raucous laughter from MM in the background of Butcher’s line only fueled Butcher's irritation, though it managed to elicit a wry smile from Olive.

Tonight's mission was clear – infiltrate a drug den run by supes with ties to Vought. The information was slim, but Butcher believed this location might hide valuable secrets.

Olive, an imposing presence beneath the city lights, stood tall and robust, embodying strength sculpted by years of relentless training. A cold, emotionless expression dominated her face, a stoic facade that seldom wavered, giving her an air of enigmatic detachment. She was known by many as Cryptid, embodied the whispers that painted her: a dangerous figure never caught on camera, a beast in human form.

She glided to a halt before the designated address, the mechanical purr of her bike fading into the night's stillness. "How many inside?" she inquired, dismounting with a fluid grace that belied her formidable presence. The helmet, concealing Her brown hair, braided with practical precision, was unclipped and lifted, revealing a face etched with purpose. Her eyes, keen and calculating, swept over the building's facade, absorbing details that would expedite her mission.

A subtle awareness tingled beneath her skin, an attunement to the unseen currents of the urban landscape. CCTV cameras observed her every move. Her acute sensitivity met their silent gaze. The pulse of electricity in the alley whispered secrets to her, guiding her senses to the wires clinging to brick walls and the rhythmic pulse of the cameras. With a practiced finesse, she eased her control over her powers, allowing the threads of her electrical charge to unfurl and dance. The serpentine currents slithered toward the cameras, a deadly ballet culminating in their sizzling demise.

Butcher's voice crackled through the communication line, an unspoken directive for discretion. "Not sure. Could be up to half a dozen, all supes, all connected to Vought. Just get rid of 'em all as quietly as possible and get out of there without anyone knowing you were ever there," he intoned, the sound of a lighter kindling a cigarette on his end punctuating the clandestine nature of their conversation.

The drug den, bathed in a sickly glow of dim, flickering neon lights, was a cavern of vice pulsating with the illicit heartbeat of forbidden transactions. The air hung heavy with the acrid scent of substances indulged, and the room throbbed with the rhythmic haze of intoxication. Olive, a spectral figure in the shadows, navigated the labyrinthine space with a predatory grace, her movements a whisper against the backdrop of frenzied revelry.

The room, a dilapidated cocoon of debauchery, housed a congregation of oblivious souls ensnared by the allure of illicit pleasures. Splotches of peeling paint adorned the walls, bearing witness to the degradation that had become an intrinsic part of the den's identity. Uneven floorboards creaked beneath the weight of haphazardly arranged furniture, the shabby remnants of lives consumed by addiction.

Eight people, two women and six men, were in the room, their eyes glazed over with the euphoria of their chosen indulgences, occupied the space. Some reclined on decrepit couches, their postures languid and indifferent, while others congregated in hushed clusters, exchanging furtive glances and muttered conversations. The atmosphere crackled with a volatile blend of tension and surrender.

Olive's form glided like a phantom through the shadowy pockets of the room, a silent harbinger of impending doom. The supes, their senses dulled by the co*cktail of power and substances coursing through their veins, remained blissfully unaware of the predator threading through their midst.

Olive, her senses attuned to the room's pulse, moved with calculated precision. Her keen eyes dissected the scene as she traversed the murky terrain, mapping out the vulnerabilities in the fabric of obliviousness that cloaked the supes.

The first target, a supe sprawled on a tattered couch, engrossed in the hallucinatory dance of chemical euphoria, became Olive’s initial point of contact. Swift and silent, she closed the distance, her footsteps masked by the cacophony of erratic beats emanating from a battered stereo. With a sudden surge of power, she sent her power shot through him, straight to his heart, and stopped it with ease, killing him with a mere touch.

Yet, amidst the haze of hallucinogens, one of the drugged-up supes stirred, their senses cutting through the fog to catch a glimpse of Olive concealed in the shadows. Locked in an unspoken exchange, their eyes met, and Olive sensed the impending disruption. She knew, even before the woman's scream tore through the air, that the remainder of her mission would unfold with a lot less subtlety than Butcher preferred. Nevertheless, the urgency of completing the task eclipsed the need for stealth; it was about achieving the objective at any cost.

As the woman's mouth parted in a scream, her accusatory finger pointing at the lurking figure of Olive, swift action ensued. With a decisive lunge, Olive unleashed a formidable combination of combat prowess and superhuman abilities. A mere flick of her wrist dispatched a charged jolt through the air, rendering another supe motionless, caught in the grip of instantaneous paralysis.

The final six, attempting to reach for their weapons, found themselves facing an unrelenting force. Cryptid. She was swift and precise. She extracted a knife from her belt, launching it with lethal accuracy into the neck of one supe. Blood began to seep through their desperate fingers as they clutched their neck, a futile attempt to stave off impending death.

In a seamless sequence, Olive swiftly transitioned to a pistol, dispatching two more with clean shots – one to the head, the other to the chest. With a final surge of power, she unleashed a forceful wave that sent the remaining four hurtling across the room. Bodies collided with the walls, crumpling into lifeless heaps, broken and defeated.

Surveying the room, Olive strained to hear through the lingering glitchy ringing in her ears. The aftermath of her power surge had rendered the communication device useless – a casualty of her own strength. "sh*t," she muttered under her breath, holstering her pistol and extracting the earpiece from her ear. Slipping it into her pocket, she approached the supe with the knife lodged in his neck.

Bending down, Olive retrieved the blade, wiping it on the man's shirt before smoothly sliding it back into the sheath on her belt. The room, once pulsating with chaos, now echoed in the aftermath of her calculated violence.

Olive surveyed the table, it's surface cluttered with scattered papers, trash, and syringes, remnants of the illicit activities that had unfolded in the messy room. Yet, one particular document drew her focus—an official file bearing the unmistakable Vought logo at the top, capturing her attention like a moth to a flame. She swiftly stowed the paper in her backpack, along with the few remaining bags of weed, co*ke, MDMA, heroin, and whatever drugs the supes had mixed into the perfect co*cktail of bad decisions and hallucinations, scattered across the table. Additionally, she confiscated their guns and knives, methodically removing the bullets from each firearm before stashing them in her bag.

Exiting the building, she delivered one final surge of power, frying any surviving tech that had endured her prior assault. After putting on her helmet, she mounted her bike, revved the engine, and sped away. As always, her only trace was the blood of those who stood in her way and the shattered remains of cameras left in her wake.

Chapter 4: Transcript: Experiment Neurological Assessment Report - Subject 305627890-A-LIVE

Chapter Text

TRANSCRIPT DETAILS

TITLE: Experiment Neurological Assessment Report - Subject 305627890-A-LIVE

DATE AND TIME: 10/15/2023 15:45 EST

LOCATION: Vought Research Facility Lab S34, Interview Room B

PARTICIPANTS: Dr. Veronica Kane (VK), Subject 305627890-A-LIVE (S30) [now 305627890-A-DECEASED]

[START OF PRE-EXPERIMENT TRANSCRIPT]

VK: Subject 30, take a seat.

S30: Uh, okay.

VK: We're moving forward with the neurological exam for the SPAC injection. Compliance is necessary. Do you understand?

S30: Yeah, I get it.

VK: Good. We're introducing a serum to enhance your abilities. There are possible side effects, but we're proceeding regardless. Any questions?

S30: What kind of side effects?

VK: Irrelevant. Proceeding is not optional. You're here for a purpose. Keep that in mind.

S30: Okay.

VK: Your current abilities are average. We're aiming to improve that. Non-compliance comes with consequences. Do we understand each other?

S30: Yeah, I get it.

VK: The serum may cause discomfort. Endure it for the sake of progress. Your concerns hold no weight. Emotional responses are unnecessary.

S30: I'm just a kid. This is messed up.

VK: Sentimentality is a hindrance. You're not here for comfort or understanding. You're a subject. Remember your place.

S30: I'm 13.

VK: Age is irrelevant, subject. You're a resource. Defiance will result in consequences. Punishment will be swift and severe.

S30: Okay, okay, I'll do it. Just don't hurt me.

VK: Your cooperation is expected. Pain is a small price for progress. Now, let's proceed with the neurological questions. Answer honestly.

S30: Sure.

VK: First, here's a pattern: 5, 10, 15. Now, what comes next?

S30: 20

VK: when did you eat last, and what was it?

S30: I don't know. It was a few hours ago. It was the porridge stuff they gave us.

VK: Good. Now, touch your nose with your index finger, first with your right hand, then with your left.

S30: Like this?

VK: Correct. Now, close your eyes. Can you feel me touching your index finger?

S30: Yeah.

VK: Finally, describe the last dream you remember.

S30: Um, I was flying over a city.

VK: Okay, you're fit for the test. The procedure begins shortly. Endure it silently. Do not hinder our progress again.

S30: Sure.

VK: This interaction is concluded. Await further instructions.

[END OF PRE-EXPERIMENT TRANSCRIPT]

[START OF POST-EXPERIMENT TRANSCRIPT]

VK: Subject 30, we need to conduct a post-experiment interview. Sit down.

S30: [illegable]

VK: We've observed the effects of the SPAC injection. Any unusual sensations or changes?

S30: My head... it hurts. And my thoughts are all messed up.

VK: Expected discomfort. Describe the changes in your abilities, if any.

S30: [slurring] I can't... I can't think…and…the people keep laughing at me. They keep laughing at me. You have to make them stop.

VK: we'll take care of it. Physical symptoms?

S30: [slurring] Nausea, dizziness. It's like my body's rebelling. I just want to go to sleep.

VK: How would you rate your emotional state?

S30: I'm scared. I can't control my emotions anymore. It's like a storm in my head. And they keep laughing at me!

VK: who's laughing at you

S30: [shouting] They're laughing! They're all laughing at me!

VK: you need to pull yourself together! We're shaping you into something greater. Endurance is key.

S30: This isn't right. I feel like I'm falling apart.

VK: This is a small price for progress.

S30: I can't... I can't do this anymore.

VK: You're not here to make decisions. Our goals define your purpose.

S30: Something's wrong. I can't breathe.

VK: Inconsequential. We proceed. Now, focus on the questions.

S30: No, please... I can't... [gasping]

VK: Subject 30, cease these theatrics. You are a resource. We need—

S30: [coughing] I can't breathe. It hurts.

VK: Subject, this is your final warning. [vital signs monitor blaring]

S30: [laboured breathing] I... [gasping]

VK: Subject 30, respond. Cease this immediately. An emergency medical team called.

S30: [vital signs monitor flatlining]

VK: code blue! Code Blue!- [cut out]

[END OF POST-EXPERIMENT TRANSCRIPT]

Chapter 5: A Glass in the Rain

Chapter Text

"Earpiece number 8 in the bin," Butcher declared, a growl underlying his words as Olive strode back into the safe house. His voice, rough and to the point, carried the weight of countless broken connections. "You're breaking them faster than we can make them." He chuckled, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Sorry," Olive responded, her tone carrying a mix of apology and defiance. She set the bag down, its contents a grim testament to the violence she had just unleashed. The night's mission lingered on her shoulders, the adrenaline still pulsing through her veins. "It's just you give me an electrical device to go on a mission where I'll be creating electrical surges, and sometimes it's hard to control where those surges go, and—"

"Olive, love, it's alright. I'll just get Hughie to replace the battery or somethin'," Butcher interrupted, his gruff reassurance cutting through her explanation. As she peeled off her leather jacket, a familiar routine unfolded, and Butcher's eyes scanned her for any sign of serious injuries, a silent check for her well-being.

Her gear was unscathed, confirming to Butcher that she was unharmed. The same black long-sleeved shirt and cargo pants, the same homemade utility vest, the same belt with the same holster and the same sheath for the same pistol and the same knife. The practical uniform of her nocturnal endeavours remained constant: no surprises, no fuss. The functional uniform clung to her like a second skin, symbolizing her transformation into Butcher's formidable soldier. It was more than clothing. It was armour worn for battle, not fashion.

"There's no battery in it," Hughie sighed, reaching out to take the broken earpiece from Olive. "She's the battery. I made it to tap into—and you're not listening." He sighed, shaking his head.

"Nope," Butcher dismissed Hughie with a wave, walking back into his makeshift office.

"How was this one, though?" Hughie inquired, his fingers deftly taking the damaged earpiece from Olive. "Was the sound quality any better?" He glanced up at her, his earnest blue eyes betraying a mix of curiosity and concern. Hughie's sandy-brown hair, slightly dishevelled from the night's activities, framed a face that wore the weight of their unconventional endeavours.

Olive shrugs, "seemed fine."

"But was it better than the last one?" Hughie asked.

"It seemed fine," Olive repeated with another nonchalant shrug. She bent to pick up the bag. "I don't know, maybe a little better. It wasn't as hard to control. Does that help?" she asked.

"Hmm, interesting," Hughie murmured, his eyes studying the damaged earpiece as he strolled toward the makeshift workbench. Tools and components scattered across the surface, an organized chaos mirrored The Boys' covert operations. The dim light caught the glint of metal, casting shadows on the worn table that bore the scars of countless equipment modifications.

Meanwhile, Olive navigated the common room of the safe house, her mission gear still holding echoes of the night's violence. Mother's Milk, methodically cleaning a firearm. Wordlessly, Olive handed him the weapons stolen from the drug den's supe-run operation. Their eyes met in a silent exchange that spoke volumes—recognition of a well-executed job. A subtle nod and a faint smile from MM acknowledged her efforts, reciprocated by a nod of gratitude from Olive.

Her next stop was Frenchie, stationed in a corner, engrossed in tinkering with a mysterious contraption. Olive tossed him the backpack laden with an assortment of stolen drugs. "Make sure Butcher gets his cut. I'm not getting chewed out because of you again," she instructed, her tone blending business and friendship.

Frenchie caught the bag effortlessly, his eyes lighting up as he calculated the potential profits. "Don't you worry. I'll turn this into a small fortune. Maybe even enough for a new sketchbook," he quipped, a mischievous grin on his lips as he looked back at Olive.

"Don't spend your cut on me; it'd be a waste," Olive swiftly interjected, her pragmatic nature surfacing.

"It's your birthday soon. It's not a waste," Frenchie insisted.

"Just don't. I can buy my own supplies," Olive asserted, looking away. "Where's Kimiko?"

"She's on a job; she'll be back soon," Frenchie replied, his fingers delving into the bag to sample some of the goods Olive had brought back.

"What job?" Olive inquired, peering into the bag. She grabbed the file and one of the weed bags, motioning to Frenchie, "Toss that into the stash for me," she instructed.

Frenchie nodded, taking the bag of weed. "Not sure, Butcher sent her on it," he shrugged.

Olive nodded. "I need to talk to Butcher."

"à tout à l'heure," Frenchie called after Olive as she walked away.

Lastly, she headed back towards Butcher's makeshift office. He was seated at a desk cluttered with papers, a faint scent of cigarette smoke wafting through the air. Olive placed the evidence of other labs on the desk, the communication transcripts a damning testament to Vought's continued experiments. Butcher looked up from the documents, his gaze meeting hers. "Another lab file?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Put it on the pile," Butcher directed, gesturing toward an ever-growing stack of files Olive had been collecting, each detailing Vought's heinous acts.

"Now, go clean up; you smell like a drug den," Butcher said playfully. Olive chuckled, appreciating the momentary levity, and exited his office, making her way toward the bathroom.

Chapter 6: Progenitor Serum 17-114 EXP51954

Chapter Text

EXPERIMENT RECORD

EXPERIMENT ID: EXP12345

SUBJECT ID: 208511525-O-LIVE

EXPERIMENT DATE: 05/20/2002

EXPERIMENT TIME: 14:00 EST

RESEARCH TEAM

LEAD RESEARCHER: Dr. Veronica Kane

ASSISTANT RESEARCHER: Dr. James Anderson

OBSERVING SCIENTIST: Dr. Samantha Miller

SUBJECT INFORMATION

SUBJECT ID: 208511525-O-LIVE

AGE: 6 months

SEX: Female

DATE OF BIRTH: 11/15/2001

MEDICAL HISTORY: No major health issues reported

EXPERIMENT DETAILS

EXPERIMENT TYPE: Genetic alteration procedure

OBJECTIVE: Evaluate the potential of an experimental gene-alteration procedure to enhance the natural healing ability of Subject 208511525-O-LIVE.

HYPOTHESIS: Progenitor Serum 17-114 will enhance the subject's natural healing ability.

PROCEDURE: Intravenous (IV) Serum Infusion via Peripheral Line Placement, Subject to 24-hour Continuous Monitoring.

EQUIPMENT USED: Advanced genetic sequencer, controlled environment chamber, administration equipment of Progenitor Serum 17-114 (50cc [1 dosage]), real-time polymerase chain reaction (PCR) machine for gene expression analysis, bioinformatics software for data analysis, high-resolution imaging system for cellular-level observation, multi-parameter vital signs monitor, continuous glucose monitoring system, flow cytometer for immune cell profiling, automated liquid handling system for precise serum dosage administration, and a sterile surgical suite for peripheral line placement.

OBSERVATIONS

PRE-EXPERIMENT CONDITION: The subject is in good physical health. No abnormalities noted

DURING EXPERIMENT OBSERVATIONS: No side effects were noted.

POST-EXPERIMENT CONDITION: Subject 208511525-O-LIVE exhibited the benefits of the serum and showed accelerated healing ability.

ANOMALIES: None

DATA RECORDING

BIOLOGICAL MEASUREMENTS: Standard heart rate (112 bpm) and increased cellular regeneration were observed.

NEUROLOGICAL READINGS: Efficient coordination in neural activity.

CARDIOVASCULAR READINGS: Healthy parameters maintained

RESULTS: SUCCESS

SUMMARY OF RESULTS: Progenitor Serum 17-114 successfully enhanced the natural healing ability of Subject 208511525-O-LIVE.

CONCLUSION: The experimental gene-alteration procedure using Progenitor Serum 17-114 on Subject 208511525-O-LIVE is successful.

FURTHER RECOMMENDATIONS: Further studies are recommended to assess long-term effects and potential applications.

Chapter 7: Veiling Reflections

Chapter Text

It takes Olive nearly five painstaking minutes to ensure that every inch of the mirror is effectively concealed with the towel, creating a blank canvas that allows her to step into the shower without facing her own reflection. As she sheds her gear, her gaze remains steadfastly fixed on the tiles beneath her, consciously averting her eyes from the roadmap of pain adorning her body. The long-sleeved shirt and pants are meticulously folded and placed on the counter beside her towel.

“Please let me go! Please, I’m scared!”

The echoes of her own sobs reverberate in her mind, the haunting memories of the horrors endured in the lab persisting despite the passage of time and the rigours of training.

Turning on the shower with one hand, she delicately pulls out the elastic holding her hair back, allowing her fingers to navigate through the long brown locks, gradually unravelling the braid. This braid is more than a practical measure to keep her hair away from her face; it's a symbol, a cherished memory.

Countless nights were spent with Butcher in an attempt to master the art of braiding. The hours that had grown her vocabulary from the air filled with muttered curses under his breath as he grappled with her rebellious hair. She had insisted many times that she could manage it herself, yet he stubbornly refused. The feeling of Butcher braiding, and brushing out, and re-braiding, and re-brushing out, and rerebraiding, eventually, he triumphed.

Stepping into the shower, she immerses herself in the soothing symphony of water meeting tiles, the warm water flowing down her body, and the familiar scent of shampoo enveloping her hair. Seeking refuge in these ordinary sensations, she wills herself to forget the painful past etched into her skin.

Her fingertips become reluctant storytellers, tracing the intricate tales etched on her body. The washcloth, now carrying a gentle lather of soap, dances over her scars, leaving behind delicate bubbles that cradle the remnants of her pain.

On her left shoulder blade, circular scars formed a haunting grid pattern, a tattoo of experimentation etched into her very being. The long, raised line on her lower back ascended her spine, adorned with the dots of stitches like a haunting melody of surgical intrusion.

Parallel scars on her forearms, souvenirs of cuffs that restrained her during agonizing tests, whispered of vulnerability endured. Irregular-shaped scars on her thighs bore witness to the relentless trials testing her enhanced healing capabilities.

Her knuckles bore small, circular scars, silent echoes of battles waged with bare hands as she fought not only to escape but merely to survive. Multiple scars on her ankles murmured tales of countless escape attempts, eternally etched into her journey for freedom.

But perhaps the most haunting was the raised burn scar on her abdomen, mimicking the Vought logo. As the water flowed over it, she shuddered, the scent of her own burning flesh a chilling reminder of what she endured.

“You were warned, Subject 20. We told you what would happen if you kept trying to escape. But you just had to disobey.”

She lifted her hand and squeezed the washcloth, watching the bubbles foam from the fabric and glide down her now clean skin. Like miniature celestial canvases, these soap bubbles catch the light and release a symphony of colours. A breathtaking dance of violet and blue, greens reminiscent of emerald forests, and the fiery embrace of reds and oranges. Each delicate orb mirrors the transient beauty of her healing journey, holding within it the fleeting hues of a captured sunrise and the whispers of a thousand rainbows.

She looked at the rainbows dripping down her skin and felt the warmth of the steam in her lungs. Her brain slowly returned to the present, and the scars became only markings on her skin once again. The memories willingly retreated to their accustomed place. A vault within her, under lock and key.

But something seemed to stick with her. As she continued her private ritual, Olive's mind shifted to the other kids in the lab, their pleas for freedom echoing in her ears. The vivid memories of their faces, contorted with fear, fueled a growing determination within her. No longer just a survivor, Olive felt a renewed purpose—to be their voice, their hope. With the water cascading over her, Olive made a silent vow to herself. She would stop Vought. She would free the others.

Chapter 8: Synthetic Performance-Enhancing Compound Injection EXP98765

Chapter Text

SYNTHETIC PERFORMANCE-ENHANCING COMPOUND INJECTION [SPAC]

EXPERIMENT RECORD

EXPERIMENT ID: EXP98765

SUBJECT ID: 208511525-O-LIVE

EXPERIMENT DATE: 12/07/2009

EXPERIMENT TIME: 10:00 EST

RESEARCH TEAM

LEAD RESEARCHER: Dr. Veronica Kane

ASSISTANT RESEARCHER: Dr. James Anderson

OBSERVING SCIENTIST: Dr. Samantha Miller

SUBJECT INFORMATION

SUBJECT ID: 208511525-O-LIVE

AGE: 8

SEX: Female

DATE OF BIRTH: 11/15/2001

MEDICAL HISTORY: Successful gene-alteration experiment with Progenitor Serum 17-114. No other major health issues were reported.

EXPERIMENT DETAILS

EXPERIMENT TYPE: Synthetic Performance-Enhancing Compound Injection [SPAC]

OBJECTIVE: Assess the enhancement potential of SPAC.

HYPOTHESIS: SPAC will enhance various aspects of physical performance in Subject 208511525-O-LIVE.

PROCEDURE: Intravenous (IV) Serum Infusion via Peripheral Line Placement, Subject to 21 days of continuous Monitoring.

EQUIPMENT USED: Advanced performance monitoring devices, controlled environment chamber, administration equipment of Synthetic Performance-Enhancing Compound Injection [SPAC] (100cc [1 dosage]), high-speed motion analysis cameras for kinematic assessment, force plates for ground reaction force measurement, electromyography (EMG) sensors for muscle activity analysis, oxygen consumption measurement apparatus for metabolic rate evaluation, lactate threshold analyzer for endurance assessment, dual-energy X-ray absorptiometry (DEXA) scanner for body composition analysis, echocardiogram machine for cardiovascular performance monitoring, spirometry device for respiratory function analysis, and a comprehensive biochemical analyzer for blood parameter assessment.

OBSERVATIONS

PRE-EXPERIMENT CONDITION: Subject in good physical health

DURING EXPERIMENT OBSERVATIONS: The subject experienced side effects, including seizures, intense pain (rated 10/10 by the subject), and vomiting (blood). Over the following three (3) weeks, height increased by four (4) inches, and muscle mass increased by 12%.

POST-EXPERIMENT CONDITION: Subject 208511525-O-LIVE received enhancement in various aspects of physical performance, including strength, speed, endurance, and coordination.

ANOMALIES: Side effects observed; further adjustment of the serum recommended

DATA RECORDING

BIOLOGICAL MEASUREMENTS: Increased heart rate, elevated metabolic rate

NEUROLOGICAL READINGS: Altered brainwave patterns during side effects

CARDIOVASCULAR READINGS: Increased cardiovascular endurance

RESULTS: PARTIAL SUCCESS

SUMMARY OF RESULTS: Subject 208511525-O-LIVE received enhancement in various aspects of physical performance through SPAC.

CONCLUSION: The experiment is deemed a partial success. Further adjustment of the serum is needed to minimize or eliminate side effects while maximizing capability.

FURTHER RECOMMENDATIONS: Conduct additional studies to refine SPAC for optimal performance enhancement.

Chapter 9: A Potential Favour

Chapter Text

After the warmth of the shower embraced her, Olive swiftly adorned herself in fresh attire, a sense of urgency propelling her steps toward Butcher's makeshift office. There was an itch in her mind, an unsettling resonance from the transcript of that young supe's interview, a reflection of her own tormented past.

This was her story etched in the ink of countless interviews, where threats and punishments danced in a vicious tango, leaving scars not just on the body but etching themselves into the very fabric of her being.

Butcher's domain unfolded before her as she entered, a sanctuary of chaos adorned with stacks of files, computers humming with secrets, and an evidence board illustrating the dark tapestry of Vought's malevolence. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air, a ghostly reminder of the battles waged within these walls.

"Twice in one night, love?" Butcher's voice cut through the air as Olive stepped into his domain. He sat behind a desk that bore witness to the weight of their mission, the evidence of their fight against Vought plastered across the wall like a damning mosaic.

"I just needed to talk to you," Olive replied, closing the door behind her, isolating the space for a conversation that held the shadows of urgency.

"What is it, Soldier?" Butcher's inquiry was calm, belying the gravity of Olive's unexpected visit. The smouldering end of a cigarette met its fate in an ashtray. His posture was relaxed yet perceptive. He understood the significance of her presence. A rare intrusion into their operations' heart meant the matter was nothing short of profound.

Olive hesitated, her thoughts lingering in a moment of emotional introspection. She paused, delicately weighing her words, a palpable unease coursing through her as she grappled with the vulnerability of discussing the intricate web of her past.

"Come on, 'Livie-girl, I ain't got all day," Butcher said with a reassuring nod.

Olive took a breath before she spoke. "Did you read the file I gave you tonight yet?" She asked

"Not yet, but I was meaning to tonight," Butcher replied, his curiosity piqued at Olive's insistence. He paused, taking the time to look her straight in the eye. "Why? Is it urgent?"

Olive pushed the file off the top of the stack and towards him, asking him to read it without words.

Butcher arched an eyebrow in perplexity, his rugged features etched with confusion at Olive's sudden insistence on him examining the file. Unfazed, he shrugged and picked up the dossier, his calloused fingers lingering over the cover as if deciphering its secrets before methodically opening it. The pages whispered as they turned under his scrutiny, his eyes swiftly traversing the information presented.

"Am I just supposed to know what this is?" he quizzically inquired, his gaze lifting to meet Olive's.

"There's more out there like me, kids, labs; Vought's still doing it," Olive disclosed, her words carrying the weight of revelation, spoken with a hushed urgency.

"Bloody hell…" Butcher muttered under his breath, returning his focus to the file. The revelation that Vought persisted in these abhorrent experiments, subjecting more children to the horrors she endured, sent a shiver down his spine.

"We have to stop it," Olive insisted, eyes locking onto Butcher's with unwavering determination.

"We're already in the thick of it with Homelander. We have no time for a side mission. But fine, I'll toss it over to Valerie. She'll likely know some sod who can deal with this rubbish." Butcher attempted to divert their attention to their ongoing mission.

"Butcher, please. I've never asked for a favour like this. We need to stop this," she implored, urgency cutting through the layers of reluctance. "I need to stop this."

Butcher sighed, his eyes lingering on the file, absorbing its grim contents, and contemplating the dark implications. The ID number, stark against the page, held a haunting truth. 305627890-A-DECEASED.

Deceased.

A child sacrificed.

Just to satiate Vought's insatiable hunger for power.

"Okay, we'll look into it," Butcher conceded, a solemn nod accompanying his decision as he carefully placed the file onto the growing stack on his desk. Olive nodded in gratitude, a silent understanding passing between them. The mission, born from a personal plea, now morphed into an urgent crusade against the atrocities committed by Vought.

"Thank you," she uttered softly.

Butcher waved a hand dismissively as Olive expressed her gratitude. "Ya, ya, don't go soft on me now," he retorted, a slight smile on his lips. "We'll need to do some more training for you so you can keep up," he added jokingly.

Olive nodded, her eyes drifting downward as she absentmindedly fiddled with the strings of her sweatpants.

Butcher, attuned to the subtle shifts in her demeanour, noticed the hesitation in her gaze and the unspoken weight in her movements. "Everythin' alright, love?" he asked, his voice softened with genuine concern.

"It's just bringing stuff up, you know," she sighed, looking away again. "I know exactly which lab they're in. I remember what it smells like and just the way they..." She halted, unwilling to delve further into the painful memories. "I just never want to see others go through what I went through." The vulnerability in her voice hinted at the emotional toll the mission was exacting on her, a reminder that beneath the hardened exterior, she was still grappling with the scars of her past.

Butcher nodded, his expression carrying a mix of understanding and resolve. "I get it, love, I really do," he said, acknowledging her internal struggles. He leaned forward, looking directly into her eyes. "But 'Livie-girl," he added, the nickname a testament to their bond, "you need to keep fighting. We're on the f*ckin' edge of nailing these c*nts. You can't freeze up now."

Olive gave another nod, soaking in his words of encouragement.

"And if we keep drillin' you, you'll rip Homelander's arse to f*ckin' pieces without breakin' a sweat." Butcher clapped his hands and flashed a grin. "Now, get to your bunk, 'cause I ain't playin' the alarm clock again tomorrow morning."

Olive chuckled and nodded. Getting up, she made her way to the door. "Later, Butcher."

"Goodnight, love," Butcher replied, returning to his tasks.

Chapter 10: Compound V EXP54321

Chapter Text

EXPERIMENT RECORD

EXPERIMENT ID: EXP54321

SUBJECT ID: 208511525-O-LIVE

EXPERIMENT DATE: 04/24/2012

EXPERIMENT TIME: 12:00 EST

RESEARCH TEAM

LEAD RESEARCHER: Dr. Veronica Kane

ASSISTANT RESEARCHER: Dr. James Anderson

OBSERVING SCIENTIST: Dr. Samantha Miller

SUBJECT INFORMATION

SUBJECT ID: 208511525-O-LIVE

AGE: 10

SEX: Female

DATE OF BIRTH: 11/15/2001

MEDICAL HISTORY: Previous successful gene-alteration experiments. No other major health issues reported

POWER MANIFESTATION: Electrokinesis [Extremely Powerful]

EXPERIMENT DETAILS

EXPERIMENT TYPE: Genetic alteration procedure

OBJECTIVE: Evaluate the efficacy of Compound V in augmenting human physiology and bestowing superhuman abilities beyond infancy, specifically in Subject 208511525-O-LIVE, aged ten (10) at the time of administration.

HYPOTHESIS: Compound V will bestow superhuman abilities to Subject 208511525-O-LIVE.

PROCEDURE: Intravenous (IV) serum infusion via peripheral line placement, subject to 24-hour Continuous Monitoring.

EQUIPMENT USED: Advanced genetic sequencer, controlled environment chamber, administration equipment of Compound V (350ml [1 dosage]), real-time polymerase chain reaction (PCR) machine for comprehensive gene expression profiling, next-generation sequencing platform for whole-genome analysis, high-resolution imaging system for cellular-level observation, flow cytometer for immune cell characterization, comprehensive metabolic analyzer for energy metabolism assessment, automated liquid handling system for precise Compound V dosage administration, multi-parameter vital signs monitor, continuous glucose monitoring system, and a state-of-the-art neurological monitoring unit for assessing cognitive enhancements.

OBSERVATIONS

PRE-EXPERIMENT CONDITION: Subject in good physical health

DURING EXPERIMENT OBSERVATIONS: The subject experienced side effects, including intense pain (rated 9/10 by the subject) and a three-day comatose state.

POST-EXPERIMENT CONDITION: Subject 208511525-O-LIVE acquired superhuman abilities.

ANOMALIES: Side effects observed, further refinement of the serum recommended

DATA RECORDING

BIOLOGICAL MEASUREMENTS: Increased heart rate during side effects, return to baseline post-coma

NEUROLOGICAL READINGS: Altered brainwave patterns during side effects

CARDIOVASCULAR READINGS: Elevated metabolic rate observed

POWER MANIFESTATION RECORD: Enhanced electrokinetic potential confirmed

RESULTS: PARTIAL SUCCESS

SUMMARY OF RESULTS: Subject 208511525-O-LIVE acquired superhuman abilities through Compound V.

CONCLUSION: The experiment is deemed a partial success. Further refinement of the serum is required to optimize outcomes in older subjects.

FURTHER RECOMMENDATIONS: Conduct additional studies to refine Compound V for optimal outcomes in subjects of varying ages.

Chapter 11: Silent Conversations

Chapter Text

The veil of night draped its shadows over the secure confines of their safe house as Kimiko wearily returned from her job. The day's weariness etched onto her features, visible to any observer. As she stepped into the common area, her eyes met Olive's in a subtle yet meaningful exchange.

Olive, a master of their unspoken dialogue, acknowledged Kimiko with a nod, a silent greeting that transcended the need for words. ‘Welcome back, how are you?’

Responding in kind, Kimiko reciprocated with a nod and a faint, weary smile. ‘fine, just tired.”

Olive's raised eyebrow. ‘tough job?

Another subtle nod and a slight eye roll from Kimiko greeted Olive's questioning gaze. Kimiko pulled off her jacket and kicked off her sneakers, walking towards Olive. ‘Ya, but I’ll be fine.’

Olive, always attuned to the unspoken rhythm between them, responded by tilting her head toward their shared room. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she mimed taking a drag from a joint, a playful suggestion hanging in the air. ‘You wanna get high?’

Kimiko's smile, a warmth that radiated through her exhaustion, mirrored the familiar expressions Olive had witnessed countless times in their shared history. The subtle shaking of her shoulders, a silent laughter that echoed through the room, evoked a sense of family born from shared experiences.

Both were products of experimentation, moulded into existence to amplify the power of others. Young girls were thrust into a world that sought to manipulate and exploit their innate abilities. Despite the darkness of their pasts, they had become formidable forces honed into killing machines executing Butcher's ruthless commands. Their similarities exceeded the scars etched on their bodies; they extended to the strength and resilience forged through trials that would break others.

Kimiko nodded, making her way toward their shared room. Olive emitted a quick, sharp whistle to grab Frenchie's attention. His eyes lifted from his equipment, a smile forming on his face as he approached Olive. He was heading towards her room when he saw her jerk her head for him to follow.

In the confines of the women's shared room, a sanctuary of familiarity, the trio gathered, each burdened by the weight of personal struggles and the lingering echoes of their turbulent pasts. Frenchie skillfully rolled the joint, a ritual that had become a comforting routine for them. As they passed the joint among themselves, the air in the room slowly transformed, laughter replacing stress and the haunting whispers of bygone experiences momentarily drowned out by the friendship of the present.

“Ah, if there’s one thing supes always have, it’s good weed,” Frenchie said, making Kimiko shake with laughter again and Olive smile as she looked down at her page. The sketch slowly coming alive.

Frenchie sprawled out on Kimiko's bed, and Olive and Kimiko huddled together on Olive's bed like a close-knit coven. Their room, though small, held a distinctive charm. The walls were adorned with a collage of posters curated by Kimiko and sketches by Olive, creating an eclectic tapestry that mirrored their shared experiences. The dimness of the room was accentuated by the soft glow from the open window, casting a play of shadows that highlighted the unique features of each occupant.

A battered stereo, a Butcher’s old one he gave Olive when she first got to the safe house, played a low melody that seamlessly blended with the laughter and conversations filling the room. A worn-out deck of cards lay scattered on a small table, remnants of countless nights spent bonding and finding solace in each other's company.

Despite the simplicity of the space, it emanated a warmth—a haven where the scars of their past seemed to fade, if only for a little while, in the camaraderie of shared laughter, the rhythm of the music, and the swirling smoke of their shared joint.

Olive's gaze shifted from the joint passed between Frenchie and Kimiko to her sketchpad. "Stay still. I need to draw your hands," she instructed, her fingers dancing over the paper to capture the essence of her Frenchie’s hands in the dim light.

The room's atmosphere was saturated with the pungent scent of the weed they used as a temporary escape from the weight of their memories. The smoke curled through the air, creating a haze that blurred the edges of reality. The soft glow from the open window played on the walls, casting shadows that added a touch of mystery to the small sanctuary they had created.

But as Butcher walked past, stopping when he saw the three still awake. He took a few steps back and stood in the doorway. “Oi, c*nts! What f*ck you doin' still up? I said go to bed f*ckin’ ages ago!”

Kimiko passed the joint to Olive, and Frenchie couldn't resist giving Butcher a cheeky smirk. "We're just having fun," Frenchie insisted, “just un petit bédo."

Butcher's stern expression immediately crushed any sense of festivity. "Frenchie, get the hell to your bunk, and you two," he pointed sharply at Kimiko and Olive, "Bed! Now!"

"Boo, no fun," Frenchie teased as he stood, strolling to the door to retreat to his room.

"No fun? I'll show you no bleeding fun the next time you talk back to me." Butcher shot Frenchie an angry look as he passed, making Kimiko laugh again.

Olive extinguished the joint in the ashtray, sharing a chuckle with Frenchie, and closed her sketchbook, signalling it was bedtime.

"Now, if the next time I walk past this door, you're not both tip-toeing through dreamland, I will not be happy," Butcher warned.

"Yes, sir," Olive responded with a slight chuckle, reaching to turn off the lamp.

She and Kimiko crawled into bed as Butcher nodded, and just before he left, a faint softening crossed his face. “G’night, girls," he said with an unexpected touch of fatherly warmth as he closed the door.

As Kimiko and Olive settled into their beds, the room embraced them in a cocoon of shadows and soft murmurs. The lingering scent of weed hung in the air, a faint echo of their temporary escape from reality. The dim light from the open window cast gentle shadows across the room, playing with the posters Kimiko had put up and the scattered sketches by Olive.

Their beds felt both comforting and worn, the surface moulded by countless nights of shared burdens and whispered confessions. The sheets cradled them like a haven, worn in just the right places. Olive's hand hung off the side of the bed, and her fingers traced the contours of her sketchbook, feeling the familiar texture of each page and the history etched into every line.

Kimiko lay in her bed, her breathing steady and rhythmic. The room seemed to pulse with quiet energy as if holding its breath in reverence for the peace they sought in slumber. The walls, adorned with posters and sketches, whispered stories of camaraderie and the battles fought within these confines.

The beds were positioned close enough for an outstretched hand to bridge the gap between them. Olive's bed, adorned with cool grey sheets and a comforting black blanket, occupied one side of the room. In contrast, Kimiko's bed boasted vibrant green sheets and an equally verdant blanket, creating a visual dichotomy within the shared space. The distinct colour schemes echoed the individual personalities of the room's occupants, intertwining to form a harmonious yet unique visual tapestry.

The open window invited a gentle breeze that stirred the curtains, creating a dance of shadows on the walls. Outside, the night wrapped the safe house in a blanket of stillness, broken only by the distant sounds of the city's heartbeat.

The extinguished lamp left the room in a soft gloom, allowing the residual glow from the city lights to paint subtle hues on the ceiling. Olive's eyes wandered over the room's artifacts — a half-finished sketch, a forgotten joint in the ashtray, and the faint outline of Kimiko in her bed.

The air in the room carried a sense of tranquillity, interrupted only by the muffled sounds from Butcher’s TV blasting late-night poker as he fell asleep. The creaks of the old floorboards, the distant hum of appliances, and the occasional murmur of voices created a lullaby, guiding Olive and Kimiko into the embrace of sleep.

As they drifted into the realm of dreams, the room held its breath, a silent witness to the peace they found in each other's company.

In the depths of slumber, Kimiko's dreams turned turbulent, a manifestation of the demons lingering in her mind's recesses. A sudden gasp and a thrash marked her awakening, her eyes wide with residual fear from the nightmare that had gripped her.

Olive, attuned to the signs of distress, stirred from her restless sleep. Without a word, she reached out to Kimiko, a silent reassurance that she wasn't alone. The gentle yet grounding touch spoke volumes of the unspoken bond they shared.

A familiar ritual unfolded in the shared room. Olive gently drew Kimiko from her bed to hers. It was an embrace of safety, an unspoken pact between two kindred spirits seeking refuge in each other's presence. Their bond transcended mere friendship; it echoed the profound connection of sisters, two souls navigating the tumultuous seas of life together.

"Easy, love, Shhh," Olive mumbled, holding Kimiko gently. "It’s alright. Everything’s going to be okay." Kimiko, her breaths still ragged from the remnants of the dream, found comfort in the presence of her friends. Olive's steady gaze met Kimiko's, a silent exchange transcending words. The tension in Kimiko's shoulders eased, and the storm within began to subside. “It’s alright, you’re going to be fine. No one will hurt you.” Olive whispered, holding Kimiko close.

In a quiet display of solidarity, Olive remained by Kimiko's side until the waves of distress entirely receded. No words were needed; their shared experiences painted a canvas of understanding. As the night continued, the trio, bound by more than circ*mstance, sought refuge in each other's company, finding strength in being there for one another.

In the sacred sanctuary of their room, Olive and Kimiko found solace not just in the physical closeness but in the unspoken language of shared suffering and survival. It was a nightly ritual, a testament to a sisterhood that transcended the scars of the past, a silent acknowledgment of the unique understanding only they could provide each other.

Chapter 12: Enhanced Durability Surgery EXP65432

Chapter Text

ENHANCED DURABILITY SURGERY

EXPERIMENT RECORD

EXPERIMENT ID: EXP65432

SUBJECT ID: 208511525-O-LIVE

EXPERIMENT DATE: 05/16/2012

EXPERIMENT TIME: 14:30 EST

RESEARCH TEAM

LEAD RESEARCHER: Dr. Veronica Kane

ASSISTANT RESEARCHER: Dr. James Anderson

LEAD SURGEON: Dr. Katherine Lewis

ASSISTANT SURGEON: Dr. James Anderson

OBSERVING PHYSICIAN: Dr. Samantha Miller

SUBJECT INFORMATION

SUBJECT ID: 208511525-O-LIVE

Age: 10

SEX: Female

DATE OF BIRTH: 11/15/2001

MEDICAL HISTORY: Previous successful gene-alteration experiments. Previous successful compound V administration. No other major health issues were reported.

POWER MANIFESTATION: Electrokinesis [Extremely Powerful].

EXPERIMENT DETAILS

EXPERIMENT TYPE: Surgical procedure.

OBJECTIVE: Assess durability enhancement through a surgical procedure.

HYPOTHESIS: Invasive surgery will result in increased durability in Subject 208511525-O-LIVE.

PROCEDURE: Invasive surgery on the lower back involving material and anatomy changes.

EQUIPMENT USED: Advanced surgical instruments, biocompatible materials, biomechanical spinal implant, computer-assisted surgical navigation system for precision guidance, high-definition endoscope for minimally invasive visualization, robotic-assisted surgical system for enhanced surgical dexterity, intraoperative imaging device for real-time anatomical assessment, biometric sensors for continuous physiological monitoring, advanced hemostatic agents for effective blood control, tissue regeneration stimulators, 3D printing technology for custom implant fabrication, postoperative monitoring devices for recovery assessment, and a comprehensive postoperative rehabilitation program tailored to enhance durability.

OBSERVATIONS

PRE-SURGERY CONDITION: Subject in good physical health.

DURING SURGERY OBSERVATIONS: Changes were noted in physical resistance, injury recovery rate, and overall durability.

POST-SURGERY CONDITION: Increased resistance to injuries, efficient recovery rate, and improved overall durability.

ANOMALIES: No adverse effects were observed

DATA RECORDING

BIOLOGICAL MEASUREMENTS: Improved physical resistance measurements

RECOVERY RATE RECORD: Enhanced efficiency in injury recovery

DURABILITY ASSESSMENT: Improved overall durability observed

RESULTS: SUCCESS

SUMMARY OF RESULTS: Subject 208511525-O-LIVE exhibited increased resistance to injuries, efficient recovery rate, and improved overall durability following the Enhanced Durability Surgery.

CONCLUSION: The experiment is deemed a success.

FURTHER RECOMMENDATIONS: Monitor long-term effects and conduct periodic assessments to ensure sustained benefits.

Chapter 13: The Light of Dawn

Chapter Text

The room was shrouded in the dim glow of early morning, the feeble light seeping through the partially drawn curtains and the clock ticking methodically towards 5 am. In this predawn stillness, Butcher, an early riser by nature, approached the shared quarters where Olive and Kimiko lay in slumber.

Their bodies remained close, holding onto each other with a firmness that conveyed a bond deeper than words, like sisters who sought solace in each other's presence. The touch was not tinged with romance but rather the unspoken assurance that the other was there, a tangible anchor against the world's uncertainties. The firm yet tender grip conveyed a sense of shared strength and a silent promise that they wouldn't let go, understanding that their connection transcended the need for spoken reassurances.

Equipped with a mischievous grin that hinted at mischief, Butcher knocked gently on the door, announcing his presence. The door creaked open slowly, revealing Butcher's silhouette against the dim backdrop of the early morning.

Reacting on pure instinct, Olive and Kimiko both leaped to their feet, each grabbing the nearest weapon within reach. Under Olive's mattress, a knife was swiftly retrieved, gleaming in the low light, held expertly in her hand. Her eyes glowed with an otherworldly intensity as she raised her free hand, summoning the crackling energy of her power. Her power makes the lights flicker.

Meanwhile, Kimiko smoothly transitioned into a fighting stance, her body poised for defence. Muscles tightened, and she focused on the potential threat, ready to act in defence of Olive. The room, once serene in its early morning hush, now hummed with the palpable energy of two warriors prepared for whatever unexpected challenge lay ahead.

Standing in the doorway, Butcher observed their reactions with a mixture of amusem*nt and familiarity. He recognized the reflexes honed by survival, the immediate response to a potential threat. It was a dance he had seen many times before.

Butcher burst into laughter, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "Easy there, ladies, easy!" His smirk deepened at their synchronized defensive reactions. “Just me, not some bloody supe or Vought goon coming to ruin your beauty sleep."

Olive and Kimiko exchanged a glance before visibly relaxing. The tension in the room dissipated, replaced by a groggy acknowledgment of their surroundings. Kimiko eased back onto her bed as Olive stretched and yawned, the adrenaline slowly fading, giving way to the fatigue of waking up so early. The early morning light painted soft hues on their faces as they settled into the familiar routine of another day.

"Christ, you two are more on guard than a pair of attack dogs," Butcher quipped, his amusem*nt evident. "Next time, I'll send Frenchie in first. Maybe you'll recognize him and spare me the adrenaline rush." He laughed at the unimpressed looks he got from Olive and Kimiko. “Chin up, lass. We got training to do.”

Olive sighed and stood up. “Why doesn't everyone else have to do training this early in the morning?” Olive grumbled as she shuffled over to the small, barely standing cabinet where she kept her clothes.

"Because I'm a sad*stic bastard with no regard for your sleep schedule," he said playfully. "Come on, you're not gonna get any better at using your powers by sleeping in. We've got Vought's dirty laundry to air, and I won't be the one who has to pick up your slack. Now get in gear, Soldier, or I'm gonna make you do push-ups in the rain."

“Oh god, it’s raining?” Olive asked.

“That’s 50 push-ups,” Butcher said as he walked down the hall. “And yes, it’s raining. Now chop chop!” Butcher closed the door to the small kitchen and began brewing coffee.

Kimiko laid back down as Olive started getting ready to train. “You’re a traitor,” Olive said with a chuckle as she saw Kimiko getting comfy again to return to bed.

Kimiko smirked and signed, ‘he ordered you, not me.’

Olive laughed, the sound echoing in the small room as she continued the process of getting dressed. She opted for layers of warmth, enveloping herself in a cozy hoodie and two long-sleeved shirts. The practicality of her outfit struck her as she considered the impending rain that threatened to drench her attire. Pulling on sweatpants, she anticipated the likelihood of them becoming caked in mud during their early morning training in the inclement weather.

Slipping on her boots and making her way to the kitchen, she steeled herself for whatever fresh hell Butcher had concocted for the sake of training.

Chapter 14: Restraint and Immobility Testing EXP78901

Chapter Text

RESTRAINT AND IMMOBILITY TESTING

EXPERIMENT RECORD

EXPERIMENT ID: EXP78901

SUBJECT ID: 208511525-O-LIVE

EXPERIMENT DATE: 01/05/2013 08:00 EST - 01/15/2013 18:00 EST

EXPERIMENT TIME: 08:00 EST - 18:00 EST

RESEARCH TEAM

LEAD RESEARCHER: Dr. Veronica Kane

ASSISTANT RESEARCHER: Dr. James Anderson

OBSERVING SCIENTIST: Dr. Samantha Miller

SUBJECT INFORMATION

SUBJECT ID: 208511525-O-LIVE

AGE: 11

SEX: Female

DATE OF BIRTH: 11/15/2001

MEDICAL HISTORY: Previous successful gene-alteration experiments. Previous successful compound V administration. Previous successful Enhanced Durability Surgery. No other major health issues were reported.

POWER MANIFESTATION: Electrokinesis [Extremely Powerful]

EXPERIMENT DETAILS

EXPERIMENT TYPE: Physiological and psychological resilience and durability assessment.

OBJECTIVE: Evaluate the effects of prolonged restraint and immobility on Subject 208511525-O-LIVE to assess the psychological and physical responses of the Super-abled.

HYPOTHESIS: Prolonged restraint will induce psychological and physiological responses indicative of heightened distress in Super-abled subjects.

PROCEDURE: Secure subject (208511525-O-LIVE) in restraints, limiting mobility for a predetermined period. Punishment was given with each attempt to escape restraints.

EQUIPMENT USED: Specialized restraints, heart rate monitor, stress hormone analysis tools, electroencephalogram (EEG) for brainwave monitoring, electromyography (EMG) for muscle activity assessment, galvanic skin response (GSR) sensors for measuring emotional arousal, respiratory rate monitor, blood pressure cuff, thermal imaging camera for temperature monitoring, audio surveillance equipment for vocal analysis, and cognitive performance assessment tools.

OBSERVATIONS

PRE-EXPERIMENT CONDITION: Subject in good physical and mental health

DURING EXPERIMENT OBSERVATIONS: Close monitoring revealed notable psychological distress, with the subject (208511525-O-LIVE) manifesting signs of heightened anxiety, evident through increased heart rate, accelerated breathing, loss of control of her abilities, and visible signs of emotional distress. Physiologically, stress-induced responses included muscle tension and a notable increase in cortisol levels. The subject attempted to escape restraints, displaying a combination of frustration and fear.

POST-EXPERIMENT CONDITION: The subject manifested symptoms indicative of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) subsequent to the experimental procedure.

DATA RECORDING

PSYCHOLOGICAL RESPONSES: Heightened anxiety, visible signs of emotional distress

PHYSIOLOGICAL RESPONSES: Increased heart rate, accelerated breathing, muscle tension, elevated cortisol levels

BEHAVIORAL RESPONSES: Attempts to escape restraints, frustration, fear, panic, and anger.

RESULTS: PARTIAL SUCCESS

SUMMARY OF RESULTS: Subject 208511525-O-LIVE exhibited heightened anxiety, increased heart rate, and signs of emotional distress during the Restraint and Immobility Testing.

CONCLUSION: The experiment is deemed a partial success. While the data obtained is pertinent, ethical considerations suggest limited use of prolonged restraint due to observed distress.

FURTHER RECOMMENDATIONS: Explore alternative methods to assess psychological and physical responses without inducing distress.

Chapter 15: Muddy Hands

Chapter Text

The school field transformed into a watery battlefield under the relentless assault of rain. Each droplet felt like a miniature explosion against Olive's skin as she sprinted through the sodden track. November's chill hung in the air, accentuating the dreary landscape—the skeletal branches of trees, barely any leaves left, silently witnessed Olive's perseverance.

Butcher, impervious to the elements, stood under the shelter of an umbrella, a stoic figure overseeing the storm. Rainwater shimmered on the track, reflecting the unyielding determination etched into Olive's eyes. Her rain-soaked hoodie clung to her form, and her breath materialized in clouds, a testament to the frigid conditions.

The cold rain intensified, soaking Olive to the bone. Her every step sent splashes of water cascading around her, creating a rhythm with the pounding rain. The landscape blurred as she sprinted, a dance of liquid veils and swirling shadows.

The weighted vest strapped to her shoulders became an anchor, pressing down with increasing force as rainwater saturated its fabric. The once-dry garment absorbed the downpour, growing heavier with each passing moment. The sensation of water running down her face merged with the beads of sweat, creating a symphony of determination amid the storm.

Despite the discomfort, Olive pressed on, embodying resilience against the elements. The rain-soaked track became a proving ground, a testament to her unyielding spirit in the face of the cold, unforgiving November rain.

"Keep those bloody legs moving, Soldier! We ain't got all f*ckin’ day!" Butcher barked over the sound of rain and thunder, his voice cutting through the downpour. Though drenched but resolute, Olive pushed her body to its limits, her boots splashing through puddles as she circled the track.

Still nice and dry under his umbrella, Butcher observed her with a critical eye. Despite his tough exterior, a soft spot for Olive emerged in the storm. His motivation, driven by the conviction that she held the key to stopping Homelander, spurred him to push her boundaries. The small stopwatch in his hand counted the seconds it took Olive to complete her run, his eyes darting between her and the stopwatch over and over again until she finished her run.

Olive's laboured breaths hung in the chilly air as she completed her soggy run, slowing to a stop before Butcher. "I hate the cold," she admitted, attempting to warm her chilled hands with each exhale.

Standing tall and stern, Butcher wasted no time in firing back. "What I hate is how you complain so f*ckin' much. All you ever say when we're done is how much you hate the training." He loomed over her, a scowl etched on his face. "I'll tell you what, if you don't like the training, don't do it. See how well you'll do facing off with c*nts like Homelander without it if you don't put in the work."

“Yes, sir.” Olive's gaze remained steady, absorbing his words without protest.

Butcher, unsatisfied, checked the stopwatch. "You were slow with your run today," he remarked, his disapproving look adding weight to the assessment. "10.43 seconds slower than yesterday."

“You’re counting the milliseconds?” she asked. “That seems a bit-”

Butcher's warning look stopped her before she continued.

"I'm just tired. It won't happen again," Olive responded, her commitment evident. She couldn't afford to fall below Butcher's expectations; the consequences of disappointment loomed.

“Tired?” Butcher scoffed. “Everyone’s f*ckin’ tired! We’re all working our f*ckin’ asses off! and guess what? We still do the training. If you’re tired now, what will you do when you’re in the field chasing down supes? Are you just gonna give up? No! You’ll keep running because you know that The Boys don’t give up when we’re tired!” He pointed at her, the gravity of his words sinking in. “You know that excuse won’t fly with me.”

"Yes, sir," Olive replied, her gaze dropping in shame, acknowledging her lapse.

“Good, now drop and give me 50,” Butcher commanded, motioning for her to do push-ups in the field, deliberately pointing away from the concrete track he was standing on. Without a word, she nodded and descended into the mud, the stoic expression reflecting the discipline Butcher had instilled in her.

But the mud, chilled to the bone, felt like shards of ice as it squelched between her fingers. Each push-up sent waves of burn through her protesting muscles, her hands and feet sinking deeper into the muck with every strained effort. The relentless repetition became a gruelling dance with the mud, a test of endurance in the unforgiving embrace of the cold, wet earth.

"Please let me out! I'm so cold! Please," she sobbed, the biting pain of frostbite on her feet intensifying with each tug at her restraints that kept her confined in the frigid room. The ice-cold metal dug into the welts on her wrists like knives.

"You were clearly informed that your begging would be ignored. Why do you persist in doing it?" Dr. Kane retorted with a cold, bordering-on-exasperated tone.

“Oi, love, keep yer head in the rain. Flashbacks won't get ya’ anywhere." Butcher commanded, his firm words acting as an anchor, pulling her back into the present, back to the rain, the cold, and the last few push-ups.

Olive quickly shook her head, attempting to cast off the lingering spectre of the memory. As she rose, she made a concerted effort to rid her hands of as much mud as possible.

Butcher, in a rare moment of concern breaking through his tough exterior, nodded. "better?" he inquired.

Olive responded with a nod, rubbing her hands together to chase away the chill as she braced herself for the next training phase.

Butcher shifted the focus of her training. “You’re going to shoot a lightning bolt through that goalpost. You’re not going to stop until I tell you so, you understand me?” he pointed to the goal post at the end of the field.

Olive nodded, her fingers cracking audibly as she flexed them to loosen up. She drew a deep breath, feeling the crackling energy building within her. As she extended her hands, a brilliant stream of lightning and electrical currents surged, arcing through the goalpost.

"Concentrate, Soldier. I want you to hold that lightning for as long as you can."

Determination etched across Olive's face, her narrowed eyes fixated on the electrifying display she commanded. The power flowed out of her like an eager force unleashed, a torrent of electricity surging from her fingertips. As much as she despised the cold and resented the early morning training, there was an undeniable satisfaction in releasing the pent-up energy within her. It felt as though all the dormant power that had accumulated within her during the night was finally liberated, bursting forth in a radiant display of her capabilities.

“Harder,” Butcher demanded, and Olive's lightning intensified, radiating a brighter glow as she pushed herself. “More!” Butcher's persistent urging caused the stream of power to surge even stronger. The rain intensified, becoming a chaotic symphony with the sizzling electricity in the air. Olive's hands quivered under the strain, her breath hitching with each passing moment.

Butcher, relentless in his pursuit, continued to drive her. "Keep it steady, lass. We need to see how much power you can truly unleash." The air crackled with energy as Olive's powers reached their peak. Trembling but resolute, she maintained the intense display. Butcher, undeterred, urged her to persist."Keep pushing!"

As minutes stretched into an eternity, Olive's strength waned. She fought relentlessly to maintain control, but the strain became too much. "I'm fading," Olive said, her voice weakening as her power drained, her vision beginning to tunnel.

"No, you're not!" Butcher yelled, determined to prevent her from giving up. "You've got more in you, Olive."

"I... I can't-" she panted, grimacing with the effort of sustaining the decisive surge. "I can't..."

"Olive, don't you dare stop that blast," Butcher growled through clenched teeth.

But Olive had reached the bottom of her well of power, her vision fading to black. With a final surge, the blast dissipated, and Olive's eyes rolled back as she collapsed into the mud with a squelchy thud.

“f*ckin’ hell, not again.” Butcher, stoic and unyielding, sighed. Butcher put down the umbrella and bent to check on Olive. It was a familiar routine. Olive overusing her powers and fainting. It happened enough that Butcher knew she’d wake in just a few seconds.

He waited patiently for Olive to regain consciousness, a silent acknowledgment that this was part of the process. In those moments, beneath the relentless rain, the softness in Butcher's gaze revealed itself—a mentor watching over his protégé, pushing her to harness the full extent of her formidable powers.

The dim, rain-drenched world returned to focus as Olive's eyelids fluttered open. Butcher, standing tall above her, waited patiently. "Welcome back, love. You went MIA again," he said, his gruff tone softened by a hint of concern.

"sh*t," Olive groaned, her fingers automatically reaching for her head. Mud clung to her skin, and she smeared it inadvertently across her face.

"It's alright. You can't push your limits unless you meet them," Butcher offered her a sturdy hand. He effortlessly pulled her up from the muddy ground as she grasped it. With the umbrella now shielding them from the persistent rain, Butcher's tone shifted to something more caring. "Why don't we finish up your training in the house?" he suggested with a chuckle.

A soft smile played on Olive's lips as she accepted the offer. "Yes, sir.”

Chapter 16: Prolonged Cold Exposure Test EXP92002

Chapter Text

EXPERIMENT RECORD

EXPERIMENT ID: EXP92002

SUBJECT ID: 208511525-O-LIVE

EXPERIMENT DATE: 07/14/2014

EXPERIMENT TIME: 16:00 EST

RESEARCH TEAM

LEAD RESEARCHER: Dr. Veronica Kane

ASSISTANT RESEARCHER: Dr. James Anderson

OBSERVING SCIENTIST: Dr. Samantha Miller

SUBJECT INFORMATION

SUBJECT ID: 208511525-O-LIVE

AGE: 12

SEX: Female

DATE OF BIRTH: 11/15/2001

MEDICAL HISTORY: Previous successful gene-alteration experiments

POWER MANIFESTATION: Electrokinesis [Extremely Powerful]

EXPERIMENT DETAILS

EXPERIMENT TYPE: Physiological and psychological resilience and durability assessment.

OBJECTIVE: Evaluate Subject 208511525-O-LIVE's physiological and psychological responses to prolonged exposure to cold temperatures. The goal is to understand her ability to withstand extreme environmental conditions and assess potential adaptations in her body's response to cold stress.

HYPOTHESIS: Subject 208511525-O-LIVE will exhibit enhanced resistance to cold stress due to potential genetic alterations.

PROCEDURE: Subject exposed to controlled, prolonged cold conditions for a predetermined period. Monitoring includes assessments of core body temperature, peripheral circulation, and overall response to cold stress.

EQUIPMENT USED: Advanced cold chamber with precise temperature control, thermal imaging camera for real-time monitoring of skin temperature, core body temperature monitoring devices, continuous vital signs monitor, advanced thermoregulatory monitoring sensors, a high-resolution imaging system for frostbite risk assessment, specialized cold-resistant clothing and gear, metabolic rate measurement apparatus, psychological assessment tools for evaluating mental resilience, and a comprehensive biochemical analyzer for blood parameter analysis related to cold exposure.

OBSERVATIONS

PRE-EXPERIMENT CONDITION: Subject in good physical and mental health

DURING EXPERIMENT OBSERVATIONS: Unfortunately, the subject experienced adverse effects during the prolonged cold exposure. Despite initial resilience, prolonged exposure led to frostbite development on her feet. The cold stress exceeded the anticipated limits, resulting in tissue damage and compromised circulation in the extremities.

POST-EXPERIMENT CONDITION: Subject treated for frostbite, with ongoing monitoring for recovery.

ANOMALIES: Frostbite development on subject's feet, unexpected tissue damage

DATA RECORDING

CORE BODY TEMPERATURE: Monitored throughout the experiment

PERIPHERAL CIRCULATION: Assessed for signs of compromised blood flow

RESPONSE TO COLD STRESS: Documented behavioural and physiological responses

RESULTS: FAILURE

SUMMARY OF RESULTS: The experiment resulted in a failure due to unforeseen complications, as evidenced by the occurrence of frostbite on the subject's feet. The adverse effects highlight limitations in her ability to withstand extended exposure to extreme cold.

CONCLUSION: Further investigations are required to determine the threshold for cold tolerance in Subject 208511525-O-LIVE and to develop appropriate safeguards to prevent frostbite in future experiments.

FURTHER RECOMMENDATIONS: Consideration of genetic factors influencing cold tolerance and exploration of potential interventions to enhance cold resistance in future experiments.

Chapter 17: Quiet Night

Chapter Text

On an unusually quiet night at the safe house, a rare reprieve from the usual bustle of missions, a sense of tranquillity enveloped the atmosphere. The team, usually immersed in the chaos of their work, found solace in the shared camaraderie that marked this brief respite.

The common room was a hub of activity, with every team member gathered. The TV droned on, broadcasting some late-night program that no one was particularly invested in. Beers passed from hand to hand, creating a fluid exchange of camaraderie. Conversations flowed effortlessly, a blend of laughter and shared moments filling the air. An uncommon air of contentment enveloped the room tonight, casting a rare spell of positivity over the entire team.

Amidst the dimly lit room, Olive perched on a well-worn couch, a sketchpad gracefully resting on her lap. The gentle scratching of charcoal against paper echoed through the space, weaving with the subtle hum of camaraderie. Her focus was an intense dance, capturing the intricate details of Hughie's face as he sat at his workbench trying to create a better communication device for her, a willing subject for her artistic endeavour.

Diligently engrossed in his task with the cutting-edge equipment, Hughie's leg tapped rhythmically, a habitual motion. His gaze seamlessly shifted between the intricate work before him and the unfolding portrait, unwittingly inspiring her artistic creativity.

Although Olive hadn't explicitly asked him to pose, Hughie noticed her capturing him on paper and decided to play along, offering a subtle smile. The room bore witness to the mesmerizing dance of creation—Olive manipulating charcoals with her fingers, smearing shadows across the paper. The black powder left traces on her fingertips, a visual testament to the immersive process unfolding.

In this tranquil interlude, the safe house felt alive with the hushed sounds of artistic creation and the unspoken bonds shared among The Boys.

While soldering wires together for the improvised communication device made from a jerry-rigged combination of a broken walkie-talkie and some knock-off air pods Frenchie’s boys had smuggled into the country, Hughie playfully interjected, "You know, I've wanted a mustache," casting his mischievous idea into the atmosphere like a lighthearted challenge.

Olive paused, her charcoal hovering above the sketchpad, as a playful exchange unfolded in the safe house's common room. The atmosphere was rare that night, a break from their relentless missions. The TV played a late-night program in the background, but the team was more engrossed in shared laughter and conversation. "A mustache, really?" she asked with a small smile.

His eyes sparkled with humour. "Yeah, why not? It might make me look a little less like a high schooler who hasn’t hit puberty yet. And we all know I can’t grow one for real."

“Petit Hughie with a moustache? I can’t even imagine it,” Frenchie said with a chuckle.

Olive responded with a smirk, "Like a Hulk Hogan mustache or like a Burt Reynolds mustache?"

“More like a Monopoly man mustache,” Hughie replied, his grin widening.

Rolling her eyes in mock exasperation, Olive returned to her sketching, her fingers deftly adding an exaggerated mustache to Hughie's portrait. "How’s that?."

Hughie burst into laughter, thoroughly entertained by the unexpected artistic collaboration. "You're a genius, Olive. Now, how about a monocle?" The room echoed with their laughter and the friendship that filled the air, making that rare night in the safe house memorable.

Olive chuckled at Hughie's antics, complying with his request by adding a whimsical monocle to the portrait. The room echoed with the shared laughter of teammates, a rare moment of lightness in their challenging lives.

"Olive, there's a new part of your training I've been meaning to have a word with you about," Butcher cut into their conversation. Olive looked up from her sketchpad, anticipation written across her face as she awaited further details. "We're starting escape training," Butcher continued, delivering the news with an air of casualness that belied the icy wave of fear coursing through Olive's veins.

A sharp intake of breath punctuated the room. The implication was clear. Escape training meant grappling with restraints, a prospect that sent shivers down Olive's spine.

The cold, unyielding metal cuffs encased her wrists and ankles, the hours she spent in agonizing immobility. Being trapped, unable to move even an inch, gripped her with an unrelenting fear. Her screams resonated until her lungs burned, each wail a desperate plea for release. The searing pain of her own flesh being branded, tears stinging raw cheeks, and the relentless punishments. Ten days trapped and tortured, a harrowing ordeal designed to unveil the depths of her endurance.

Kimiko's hand instinctively came to Olive's shoulder, shifting closer to her from where she sat beside her on the couch. Kimiko exchanged a concerned glance with Olive as the weight of Butcher's words settled in the room.

"I don't think—" Olive started, her face pale, the grip on her sketchbook turning her knuckles white.

“Soldier, I said we’re doing escape training. It’s not a negotiation. It’s an order.” Butcher shot Olive a firm look. "We're doing it. You can't freeze up when you're in restraints. What if you get captured? You’d be happy just to be stuck like a scared little rabbit until someone rescues you?" The words were a dagger to Olive's heart but were true nonetheless. “It’s for your own safety, Soldier.” Butcher remained as calm as ever, his voice steady as he explained the importance of escape training. “You got to be ready for anything out there, even if that means practicing a few tricks for getting free if you find yourself up sh*t’s creek without a paddle. We need to trust that you can handle it out there.” Butcher kept his eyes locked on to Olive’s.

Olive shook her head slightly, the motion almost invisible, her face retaining its pallor, resembling a sheet bleached by fear. "But I can't—" Her voice wavered, caught in an unspoken terror lurking beneath the surface. The mere thought of what awaited her in the escape training sent shivers down her spine, and her attempt to voice her hesitation was met with a tremor in her words. Yet, despite the silent plea in her eyes, she held back, unwilling to expose the depth of her vulnerability in front of Butcher and the rest of the team.

"She's not ready for that, Butcher," MM said, stepping in to try and help Olive.

"Bullsh*t," Butcher snapped back almost immediately. "kid’s been through a million and one things you couldn't imagine any c*nt going through, but when she says she can't handle being tied up for a few minutes, suddenly she’s some baby we’re all taking care of? When has she ever been right when it comes to what she can and can't do?" He looked back at Olive, his expression becoming more solemn as he saw her struggling to keep her composure. "We're doing this, Soldier. It's for your own good."

Olive swallowed hard, trying to keep her expression in line, trying not to show how terrified she was.

“What if she can’t get out? What if she freaks out? Are you going to let her out if she asks?” MM asked Butcher. Concern etched on his face. He’d been the one to treat Olive’s injuries when they rescued her from the Vought lab. He’d seen how badly she’d been hurt and didn’t want her to relive that.

“I’ll be in the room with her,” Butcher looked at Olive and continued, “This is what it takes to have a successful career in these times." His tone was stern, and his gaze steady. This was the reality they all had to face, a reality that did not tolerate weakness and would not hesitate at any cost.

Olive nodded, her lips pressed together in a thin line as she forced a semblance of agreement. Internally, emotions raged against the decision, pleading for her to resist. The instinct to defy, to protect herself from the looming dread of restraints, clashed with the trained discipline to follow Butcher's orders without question. It was a silent battle, fought behind a stoic facade that hid the turmoil within. The weight of compliance settled heavily on her shoulders, but she held her ground, showing a resolute exterior while grappling with the internal conflict that threatened to consume her.

Chapter 18: Enhanced Regenerative Assessment (ERA) EXP89023

Chapter Text

ENHANCED REGENERATIVE ASSESSMENT (ERA)

EXPERIMENT RECORD

EXPERIMENT ID: EXP89023

SUBJECT ID: 208511525-O-LIVE

EXPERIMENT DATE: 05/12/2013

EXPERIMENT TIME: 09:00 EST

RESEARCH TEAM

LEAD RESEARCHER: Dr. Veronica Kane

ASSISTANT RESEARCHER: Dr. James Anderson

OBSERVING SCIENTIST: Dr. Samantha Miller

SUBJECT INFORMATION

SUBJECT ID: 208511525-O-LIVE

AGE: 11

SEX: Female

DATE OF BIRTH: 11/15/2001

GENETIC MARKERS: Enhanced electrokinetic potential

MEDICAL HISTORY: Previous successful gene-alteration experiments. Previous successful compound V administration. Previous successful Enhanced Durability Surgery. No other major health issues were reported.

POWER MANIFESTATION: Electrokinesis [Extremely Powerful]

EXPERIMENT DETAILS

EXPERIMENT TYPE: Physiological and psychological resilience and durability assessment.

OBJECTIVE: Investigate the regenerative capabilities of Subject 208511525-O-LIVE by intentionally inducing injuries to various body regions. Observe the speed and quality of scar tissue formation as well as the overall healing process.

HYPOTHESIS: The subject's enhanced electrokinetic potential may contribute to an accelerated healing process.

PROCEDURE: Administer controlled incisions and injuries to designated body regions, ensuring a variety of irregular shapes to induce scar formation. Monitor the healing process over specified intervals.

EQUIPMENT USED: Precision surgical instruments for controlled incisions, wound imaging system for detailed visual documentation, high-resolution ultrasound for real-time tissue imaging, advanced wound closure materials, continuous vital signs monitor, tissue biopsy tools for histological analysis, specialized regenerative medicine supplements, biochemical analysis tools for assessing healing-related biomarkers, electrokinetic potential measurement apparatus, psychological resilience assessment tools, and a comprehensive rehabilitation program tailored to optimize the subject's recovery.

OBSERVATIONS

PRE-EXPERIMENT CONDITION: Subject in good physical and fair mental health

DURING EXPERIMENT OBSERVATIONS: Despite intentional injuries, the regenerative process did not proceed as anticipated. Scar formation exhibited irregularities, including prolonged healing times, hypertrophic scarring, and keloid formation. The subject also displayed heightened discomfort and pain sensitivity during the experiment.

POST-EXPERIMENT CONDITION: The subject manifested symptoms indicative of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) subsequent to the procedure.

ANOMALIES: Irregular-shaped scars formed inconsistently, and the healing process exhibited deviations from standard patterns.

DATA RECORDING

REGENERATIVE CAPABILITIES: Irregular-shaped scars, prolonged healing times, hypertrophic scarring, keloid formation

PAIN SENSITIVITY: Heightened discomfort and pain sensitivity observed

SCAR FORMATION: Inconsistent results, irregular-shaped scars

RESULTS: FAILURE

SUMMARY OF RESULTS: The experiment failed to achieve the desired outcome, as irregular-shaped scars formed inconsistently, and the healing process exhibited deviations from standard patterns. The observed discomfort and pain sensitivity raise ethical concerns.

CONCLUSION: The experiment is deemed a failure. It did not yield the expected results, highlighting limitations in the subject's regenerative capabilities under intentional injury conditions. Further investigation is required to understand the factors influencing the regenerative process and optimize outcomes.

FURTHER RECOMMENDATIONS: Explore alternative methods for assessing regenerative capabilities and address the observed irregularities in scar formation.

Chapter 19: Soldier

Chapter Text

The training room's dim light cast a foreboding atmosphere as Butcher's impatient voice echoed, "Christ, Olive, we haven't got all day!"

Olive stood just outside the room, her pallor accentuated by the trembling hands that belied her stoic expression. She breathed in shakily, turning to give Kimiko a look, ‘I can’t do this.’ Clenching her fists, she took a shaky step back, the weight of the challenge before her evident in her demeanour.

At her side, Kimiko intervened, grabbing Olive's hand to prevent her retreat. A silent exchange passed between them, Kimiko's gaze firm as she signed, 'You know he is right. You have to do this. You need to be able to get out. If Vought gets you and you are frozen, they will hurt you again.'

Doubt etched across Olive's face as she shook her head. ‘But what if I can’t?’

‘I’ll come and help you if you need me. You are not alone; I will be right outside.’ Kimiko smiled softly, reassuringly squeezing Olive's hand after she was done.

With a resolute nod and a deep breath, Olive gathered her courage and took the final strides into the dimly lit training room. Butcher's stern gaze awaited her, a silent challenge she felt compelled to confront. Unbeknownst to Olive, as the door closed behind her, Butcher discreetly secured the lock, effectively isolating her from the reassuring presence of Kimiko and the rest of the team. Alone in the room, a sense of vulnerability settled over Olive, amplifying the weight of the impending challenge before her.

Butcher's stern gaze remained fixed on Olive as she stood on the precipice of hesitation. Uncertainty flickered in her eyes as they darted between the imposing metal cuffs. “Let’s get a move on. This isn’t all we’re doing today,” Impatience laced Butcher's words, a weariness evident in his demeanour. To him, Olive's perceived reluctance to push herself harder had grown tiresome, prompting Butcher to take a drastic step to drive her to be the best she could be.

An undercurrent of fear quivered in Olive's voice as she sought reassurance. "You're going to let me go if it's too much, right?" The tremor in her words betrayed the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface.

Butcher, unyielding, rolled his eyes. "Soldier, don't question my authority. Now stop dragging this out."

Taking a shaky breath, Olive managed a nod, her compliance evident as she raised her wrist for him to apply the restraints. Butcher, swift and decisive, grabbed a pair of metal cuffs. With a cold determination, he approached Olive, the intent clear in his actions. Before she could react, he secured her wrists to the metal loop they had drilled into the wall. She blinked hard, trying to stay in the present.

The chilling echo of Olive's desperate plea reverberated through the cold, sterile lab. The harsh, fluorescent lights flickered ominously as she was forcibly dragged towards the unforgiving steel table. "No! Please, no! I'll be good, I promise!" Her desperate cries filled the sterile air, a haunting symphony of fear that seemed to linger in the metallic hum of the lab.

The callous lab technicians and imposing security personnel showed no mercy, their grip unyielding as Olive fought against the inevitable. Amidst her desperate struggles, the lead scientist, Dr.Kane, observed with a sad*stic smirk. "Resisting isn't going to do anything but make things harder for yourself," she sneered, her words cutting through the air like a sinister whisper, sealing her fate in the cold, clinical confines of the malevolent laboratory.

"You're not a kid anymore. You can't just rely on us." Butcher's voice sliced through the silence, devoid of sympathy. The weight of his words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the harsh reality she faced. "This is your ticket to breakin' through."

Instantly, fear clutched at Olive. The cold metal cuffs tightened around her wrists, a tangible representation of the challenge she couldn't escape. Her breath quickened, and an unsettling impending doom washed over her. Butcher, unmoved by her distress, stepped back, a silent observer of her reaction, leaving her alone to grapple with the unsettling journey ahead. She reached for the pin that Butcher had shown her how to hide in her sleeve as a tool to help her escape. She took the pin in her shaky hands and started trying to pick the lock, but her hands were trembling too much for her to feel what she was doing correctly.

"If you keep squirming, we're going to punish you," Dr. Mitchell’s voice cut through the air like a cruel command, each word a chilling threat that hung heavy in the sterile atmosphere. Olive's sobs provided a dissonant counterpoint to the cold, clinical ambiance of the lab, where cruelty and torment danced together in a macabre symphony.

As the seconds ticked by, Olive's mind plunged into a whirlwind of memories, the restraints triggering traumatic flashbacks. Visions of the Vought lab, the cold metal cuffs, the hours of immobility, and the torment played vividly in her mind. She closed her eyes, trying to think of anything else, trying desperately to focus on the lock she was trying to pick. But her mind kept circling back to the lab. The pin fell out of her trembling hands as she began to panic.

"We warned you," Dr.Kane said, a cold detachment in her voice as she motioned for the guard to advance. The air crackled with tension as Olive braced herself for what was to come. Searing pain enveloped her, the stench of burning flesh and the echoes of her own screams creating a nightmarish symphony. White-hot agony seared through her stomach, each moment stretching into an eternity of torment.

"I need out." Olive's voice trembled as she began pulling at the cuffs, her heart racing and the blood pulsing in her ears. She wasn’t thinking logically anymore; she was in pure survival mode now, and her whole body was screaming at her to get as far away as possible from the cuffs and any memory of the lab.

"No, you don't. You can escape," Butcher crossed his arms, an unyielding observer of Olive's escalating struggle. He recognized that the longer she fought against the restraints, the more challenging it would be for her to press on. She needed to comprehend that there was no easy way out. The genuine fear etched on Olive's face mirrored the intensity of the memories flooding her mind. Despite witnessing her anxiety, Butcher wasn't willing to offer an easy way out. "Olive, keep it together. Look for the pin, you almost had the lock open," he ordered, his stern tone demanding her focus in the face of overwhelming adversity.

"No, no, no. Let me out!" Olive's voice turned angrier, desperation creeping into her tone. "Butcher, f*cking let me out now!"

Butcher sensed the escalating panic within Olive, teetering on the edge of losing control in the unforgiving restraints. Despite knowing she possessed more strength than she was demonstrating, Butcher remained resolute, unwilling to yield easily. "No."

The initial anger morphed into crippling fear. Olive felt the walls closing in, her breaths shallow, and her thoughts scattered. Panic seized her, and her powers erupted uncontrollably. Electricity crackled in the air, sporadically illuminating the room in bursts. "Let me out!" she pleaded, tears streaming down her face. At that moment, she wasn't the soldier anymore; she was the scared little girl trapped in the darkness of her terror.

Outside the training room, the other members of The Boys were startled by the flashing lights that spilled from beneath the closed door. MM, Kimiko, and Hughie exchanged worried glances before rushing to the entrance, their concern growing with each passing second. However, Butcher had taken the drastic step of locking them out, leaving them powerless to intervene in Olive's distress.

“Use the fear! You can pick the lock; I showed you how, Olive!” Butcher's orders echoed, but Olive remained oblivious to his words. She was entangled in a whirlwind of sobs, gasps for breath, and desperate struggles against the unyielding restraints. Her screams cut through the air, creating a haunting symphony of pain and terror that sent shivers down the spines of the onlookers outside.

"Butcher, open the f*cking door!" MM bellowed, his hands gripping the handle as he tugged with all his strength, his eyes frantically scanning the small window on the door in search of any clues to Olive's well-being. The urgency in his voice mirrored the growing anxiety shared by Kimiko and Hughie as they tried to comprehend the nightmare unfolding within the confines of the training room.

“No! She can do this!” Butcher's voice cut through Olive's screams and pleas, his determination unwavering.

“Please let me out,” Olive sobbed, her cries growing more desperate with each passing moment. The room vibrated with the chaotic energy of her powers as she pleaded for release, her raw desperation filling the air.

Unable to endure Olive's torment any longer, Kimiko, with a fierce determination, channelled her powers toward the door. With one mighty kick, she shattered the barrier, the impact echoing through the room as the door splintered and finally gave way. The sudden stillness that followed was only broken by the lingering echoes of Olive's cries.

Kimiko surged into the room, urgency driving her movements. She knelt beside Olive, her eyes mirroring her pain for her distressed friend. Olive was sobbing, her body shaking as she tried to breathe. “Please let me out,” she cried, pleading with Kimiko now.

“What the f*ck is your problem?” MM's voice thundered at Butcher, his frustration boiling over as he grabbed Butcher’s collar, slamming him against the wall, demanding an explanation for this heartless tactic. "Why the hell did you do this, Butcher?"

“She’s not going to learn unless she faces it. She was fine. She would’ve gotten out if you gave her the chance,” Butcher retorted, his expression unyielding. "She needed to face it, MM. No room for weakness in this game."

"This isn't training; it's torture!" MM's shout reverberated through the room.

“She’s a f*cking soldier! She’s supposed to be strong! I’m not training c*nts just to go out and wait to be killed. I’m training soldiers!.” Butcher retorted, the tension escalating among everyone in the room.

"This isn't strength; it's cruelty," MM growled, a visible tension in his posture as if he was on the verge of attacking Butcher. The room pulsed with anger, fear, and panic, an explosive mix of emotions that hung thick in the air. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed if her powers were released more!”

Unapologetic, Butcher responded, "Sometimes you gotta be cruel to be kind. She'll thank me for it later."

As Kimiko swiftly used her strength to snap open the cuffs holding Olive, the room continued to flicker between the present and the haunting memories of Olive's past. The interplay of trauma and desperation unfolded, revealing the raw vulnerability beneath the tough exterior that Olive had crafted to survive in a world filled with darkness.

Olive, now released from the restraints, gasped for air, her body shaking with the aftermath of the ordeal. She desperately grabbed onto Kimiko. Her body was still shaking like a leaf. The room stood as a battleground, emotions and tensions lingering in the air.

Amid MM's heated exchange with Butcher, Kimiko rose from kneeling beside Olive. With a gentle touch, she supported Olive as she stood, guiding her away from the tumultuous scene in the training room. As they made their way out, Kimiko offered a steadying presence, a silent reassurance that spoke louder than words.

Through the hallway, away from the escalating confrontation, Kimiko led Olive to the solace of their shared room. Each step carried them further from the chaos, allowing the echoes of MM's anger to fade into the background gradually. The moment's weight lingered in the air, but Kimiko remained a constant pillar of support for Olive, a steadfast companion steering her away from a situation she had never wished to be in.

Chapter 20: Elusive Electric Vigilante "Crytid" Strikes Fear into Criminals While Defying Capture

Chapter Text

In the unfolding chronicles of vigilantism within our city, the shadowy and formidable figure known as "Crytid" persists in instilling terror among criminals. Recent reports suggest that Crytid, a mysterious woman rumoured to possess remarkable electrical abilities, remains an elusive force for justice, skillfully evading all attempts at identification.

"Crytid's ability to evade capture is unlike anything we've encountered. It's as if she has mastered the art of disappearing in plain sight. Our officers are trained to handle a variety of situations, but Crytid presents a unique challenge that pushes the boundaries of our understanding." - NYPD Press Officer Tarik Sheppard.

Eyewitness accounts consistently depict Crytid as a towering and commanding figure. Her strength is matched only by her unparalleled ability to elude capture. Law enforcement agencies, both The Seven and local police, find themselves ensnared in an ongoing cat-and-mouse game with this mysterious vigilante. Despite exhaustive efforts, Crytid consistently slips through their grasp, leaving behind only a trail of unanswered questions and broken security cameras.

"While Crytid's intentions may align with justice, her actions raise serious legal concerns. The fact that she operates above the law, unchecked, poses a potential threat to the principles our legal system upholds. We need to carefully consider the balance between vigilantism and due process." - Criminal Defense Attorney James Harrington

Speculation about Crytid's affiliation with the vigilante group "The Boys," led by the notorious Billy Butcher, adds an intriguing layer to the mystery. The apparent alliance hints at a broader agenda, yet the specifics remain veiled in secrecy. Vought, the corporate juggernaut behind The Seven, maintains an enigmatic silence concerning the activities of both Crytid and The Boys.

In response to mounting inquiries, Homelander, the formidable leader of The Seven, expressed frustration over the relentless pursuit of Crytid. "We're actively looking for her (Crytid)," Homelander stated. "However, our efforts are hindered by the fact that surveillance cameras in the areas she operates are often rendered useless by her powers. It's like trying to find a needle in a haystack without a magnet."

Eyewitnesses and victims alike share tales of Crytid's interventions in criminal activities, deploying her unique powers to incapacitate wrongdoers. The absence of any discernible ideology or motive adds an extra layer of mystery to her actions.

“People talk about superheroes, but Crytid is something else entirely. I saw her once, and it was like watching a living storm. Lightning crackled, and the bad guys went down. We need more like her, unafraid to stand up for what's right.” - NYC Resident Eliza Gonzales.

The city remains on edge as the elusive Crytid continues her unwavering pursuit of justice. Authorities grapple with the daunting challenge of capturing a vigilante who operates seemingly beyond the bounds of the law. With each passing incident, citizens are left to ponder the true nature of this electric enigma and its connection to The Boys. As the city holds its breath, the legend of Crytid only grows, shrouded in the electrifying mystery of her existence.

Chapter 21: Safe Haven

Chapter Text

In the haven of their shared room, Kimiko and Olive sought refuge from the storm of emotions outside. The heavy door swung shut, sealing them away from the clamour of heated disputes that lingered in the air. The room embraced them in a cocoon of stillness, starkly contrasting the chaos they had left behind. The room echoed with the only sound—Olive's desperate gasps for breath, a haunting cadence reverberating through the air.

Kimiko, attuned to their unspoken language, gently guided Olive to the bed. The peaceful exchange of glances conveyed a mutual understanding that transcended words. Still quivering from the recent ordeal, Olive assumed a protective posture, curling into a ball with her head cradled on Kimiko's stomach.

It felt like an eternity since Olive had last unravelled like this, and Kimiko had stupidly harboured a fleeting hope that Olive might’ve been finished with having panic attacks. Yet, the harsh reality of their work, the shared burdens, and the unpredictable nature of their lives made such optimism bittersweet. Another breakdown was a certainty they both carried in the depths of their hearts.

The room seemed to hold its breath, granting them a sacred space to confront the emotional upheaval that clung to Olive's trembling form. The muted glow of the bedside lamp cast a soft illumination, revealing the vulnerability etched on Olive's features. Kimiko's chest's subtle rise and fall provided a comforting rhythm, a lifeline in the quiet aftermath.

Kimiko's fingers traced soothing patterns through Olive's hair, a silent lullaby to quell the remnants of the storm within. In the stillness, the room became a sanctuary, a haven where the two navigated the tumult of their shared existence.

As the tremors of fear gradually subsided, the sobs cascaded from Olive, intensifying in speed and intensity. Her grip on Kimiko's shirt remained unyielding as her body convulsed with each sob, folding in on itself like a dying star collapsing into its gravity.

A sense of security washed over her as Olive listened to the soothing sounds of Kimiko's digestion. The quiet gurgling and steady rhythm of her heart. The simple act of being close to her sister became an anchor in the storm. After an agonizing stretch of time, Olive succeeded in quelling the torrent of sobs. The tears, once streaming, now traced silent paths down her cheeks, leaving glistening trails in their wake. "I can’t keep doing this," Olive admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, “I can’t listen to him anymore.” the vulnerability in her words reflected the raw emotions still lingering. This wasn’t the first time Butcher had done something like this. “I f*cking hate it.”

Kimiko continued her soothing touch, a silent acknowledgment of Olive's pain. In the intimate confines of their room, the unspoken bond between the sisters carried a weight that transcended words. Olive's initially strained and erratic breaths gradually steadied as the panic subsided.

Time seemed to stretch in the tranquil bubble they had created, Kimiko providing a comforting presence while Olive navigated the aftermath of the traumatic experience. Eventually, the panic loosened its grip, and Olive's breathing returned to a more regular cadence. The storm within Olive quieted, leaving behind a sense of exhaustion.

Her mind felt as fragile as paper as if the slightest disturbance could shred her composure, plunging her back into the depths of terror. Olive slowly rolled off Kimiko's stomach, turning to face the ceiling. Her eyes were drawn to the peeling paint and exposed wires, a stark reflection of the dingy and oppressive atmosphere that permeated their room. The decaying walls and neglected infrastructure formed a bleak backdrop.

Kimiko shifted, aligning herself beside Olive. A sigh escaped her lips as she looked up at their ceiling. The weight of the world settles back on their shoulders.

Olive turned to look at her, ready to interpret Kimiko’s signs if needed.

Yet, Kimiko maintained her silence, a palpable acknowledgment of the unspoken reality they both faced. There were no comforting words to offer. No words could soothe the weight of their burdens, neither the ongoing challenges of their work nor the fresh scars left by their latest traumatic encounter. Despite the shared resentment for their circ*mstances, the two women were entangled in an insidious cycle within The Boys.

Regardless of their disdain, an inescapable force bound them to their roles. Butcher's persuasive rhetoric, coupled with the relentless demands of their unforgiving circ*mstances, conspired to keep them tethered to the toxic cycle, compelling obedience even against their better judgment.

The cycle continued a toxic ballet orchestrated by Butcher and perpetuated by all members, including themselves. Each step drew them further into the shadows. Kimiko's silence resonated with the unspoken truth lingering in the room—an acknowledgment that they were bound to remain despite their distaste for the situation. Butcher's persuasive words would inevitably resurface, coercing them into compliance, and they would again follow orders.

Olive shifted her gaze back to the ceiling, a renewed lump forming in her throat. The vice grip of loyalty tightened, pulling her deeper underwater. Seeking solace, she clasped Kimiko's hand, holding on as they always did when the weight became too much.

Trapped in a web of loyalty and danger, Olive and Kimiko faced a daunting reality. The question lingered silently between them. Where could they possibly go? As two supe killers, their names whispered in hushed tones throughout the city, the prospect of escape seemed like an impossible dream. The city itself had painted them as fugitives, their images etched in the minds of those who sought to bring them to justice.

The outside world offered no sanctuary; instead, it loomed as a vast, unforgiving landscape, each shadow hiding potential threats. Every street and alleyway bore the weight of their notoriety, making the city a dangerous labyrinth where escape was a distant illusion. The fear of being hunted and pursued by those deemed threats only tightened the shackles of their involuntary allegiance to The Boys.

Olive's grip on Kimiko's hand tightened, not just for comfort but as a tangible reminder of the bond that tied them together in this dangerous dance. The unspoken truth echoed through the dimly lit room—they were trapped, not just physically but within the confines of their own choices, shackled by the consequences of a life they couldn't quickly abandon.

But as Kimikos squeezed back, Olive felt a little better.

At least she was not alone.

Chapter 22: Subject: Urgent: Addressing Cryptid Situation

Chapter Text

Subject: Urgent: Addressing Cryptid Situation

From: Stan Edgar <Stan [emailprotected]>

To: Me <[emailprotected]>

CC: [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected].

Sent: November 17, 2023, 10:15 AM

Location: Inbox

Homelander,

It has come to my attention that the presence of a vigilante that goes by ‘Cryptid’ has caused significant disruptions to our operations, and it is imperative that we address this matter promptly. The public perception of Vought’s and The Seven’s strength and control is at stake, and we cannot afford any more instances that make us appear vulnerable.

Cryptid's actions are undermining our efforts to maintain order and control. The recent incidents involving her have attracted unwanted attention and speculation. It is in the best interest of Vought and The Seven that you take decisive action to neutralize this threat and demonstrate our ability to handle such situations.

We expect a detailed plan from you outlining how you intend to deal with Cryptid. The public needs to see a swift and effective resolution. Remember, our reputation and the success of The Seven are at the forefront of this matter.

Failure to address this issue promptly and effectively may have consequences for your standing within The Seven and Vought as a whole.

Best regards,

Stan Edgar

Subject: Re: Urgent: Addressing Cryptid Situation

From: Me <[emailprotected]>

To: Stan Edgar <Stan [emailprotected]>

CC: [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected].

Sent: November 17, 2023, 11:54 AM

Location: Inbox

Mr.Edgar,

Understood. I will personally ensure that Cryptid is dealt with swiftly and effectively. Rest assured, I'll take the necessary steps to bring this situation under control.

You can count on me to uphold Vought's reputation and maintain the integrity of The Seven.

Best regards,

Homelander.

Subject: Re: Urgent: Addressing Cryptid Situation

From: Stan Edgar <Stan [emailprotected]>

To: Me <[emailprotected]>

CC: [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected].

Sent: November 17, 2023, 2:24 PM

Location: Inbox

Homelander,

We expect nothing short of immediate and decisive action on your part. The recent events involving Cryptid have made us all look like incompetent fools. This is your responsibility, and we trust that you can handle it.

Remember, you are the face of The Seven, and the public needs to see a display of strength, not a bumbling display of inadequacy. Our reputation is on the line, and we won't tolerate any more shortcomings.

Get this done, Homelander. Failure is not an option.

Stan Edgar

Subject: Re: Urgent: Addressing Cryptid Situation

From: Me <[emailprotected]>

To: Stan Edgar <Stan [emailprotected]>

CC: [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected].

Sent: November 17, 2023, 2:47 PM

Location: Inbox

Stan,

I'm well aware of the gravity of the situation and rest assured, I'll take care of Cryptid. You can trust me to handle this with only the finesse and power I possess.

But let's not forget who's really in charge here. The Seven and Vought owe their success to my abilities. A little gratitude wouldn't hurt.

Best regards,

Homelander

Subject: Urgent: Addressing Cryptid Situation

From: Stan Edgar <Stan [emailprotected]>

To: Me <[emailprotected]>

CC: [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected].

Sent: November 17, 2023, 3:06 PM

Location: Inbox

Homelander,

Respect is earned, not given. It's time you remember that. The recent events have exposed your vulnerabilities; frankly, I am not impressed. You were supposed to be the epitome of strength and power, yet a mere girl is making you and the company look feeble.

We expect results, not empty promises. Get Cryptid under control, and do it quickly. Your reputation and the reputation of Vought depend on it.

And it’s Mr.Edgar. I am your superior, and I expect to be addressed as such.

Stan Edgar

Subject: Re: Urgent: Addressing Cryptid Situation

From: Me <[emailprotected]>

To: Stan Edgar <Stan [emailprotected]>

CC: [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected].

Sent: November 17, 2023, 3:10 PM

Location: Inbox

How dare you question my abilities? I singlehandedly crafted The Seven and Vought into the powerhouses they are today. Your complete lack of appreciation is utterly mind-boggling. I'll handle Crytid in my own way and on my own timeline, and you'll witness the results soon enough.

Don't forget who you're addressing. I'm not someone to be challenged, Stan. The nerve you have to doubt me is absolutely ridiculous.

Chapter 23: Fearless

Chapter Text

The quiet aftermath of Olive's emotional upheaval enveloped the room like a protective cocoon. The air held a solemn stillness, disturbed only by the soft exhales of Olive as she lay on the bed, her gaze meandering across the patterns on the ceiling. Kimiko, a steadfast presence, sat nearby, an unspoken pillar of support in the lingering aftermath of the panic that had seized Olive's soul.

The door creaked open, ushering in Butcher with his characteristic swagger. A smirk danced on his lips as he scanned the room. "Well, well, looks like the dynamic duo is having a cozy moment ‘ere," he quipped, the teasing tone hanging like a dissonant melody. His eyes, however, swiftly detected the change in Olive's demeanour.

Olive spared him a glance, her eyes a canvas of weariness, the usual fire dimmed to a mere flicker. "Just shut up, Butcher," she replied, her gaze returning to the ceiling as if seeking solace in its neutral expanse.

Kimiko's glare, a silent and potent expression of her protective instincts, could have carved steel. If looks could manifest into physical force, Butcher might have been reduced to a pile of ash on the floor. Her eyes, however, held a steely resolve, silently warning him against making light of the recent ordeal.

The room seemed to absorb the tension, the walls standing as stoic witnesses to the unspoken dynamics. The air carried the weight of unsaid words and lingering emotions, a palpable reminder of the recent storm that had torn through Olive's composure.

Butcher, recognizing the shift in the atmosphere, tempered his usual bravado. His eyes flickered between Olive and Kimiko, acknowledging a boundary he shouldn't cross in this delicate moment. The silence persisted, punctuated only by the subtle echoes of Olive's breaths, each a testament to the residual tension lingering in the room. Butcher, undeterred by the subdued atmosphere, couldn't resist hinting at his usual brashness. "Oi, what's crawled up your arse? Tough training, not your thing?" he asked, a sly smirk on his lips. His attempt at banter, however, was met with a heavy silence from Olive, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, unresponsive to his usual provocations.

Kimiko's eyes narrowed, a silent warning for Butcher to tread carefully. The room seemed to hold its breath, caught in the delicate balance between tension and restraint. The air crackled with unspoken words, and Butcher, for once, felt the weight of the sombre atmosphere.

Butcher, attempting to break through the thick atmosphere, used one of Olive's many nicknames. "Come on, Bigfoot, I'm just here to check on ya', make sure I didn't mess you up too bad, ya' know?" he said, a faint attempt at humour to lighten the mood.

Olive, however, remained unresponsive, glaring at him with a mixture of exhaustion and frustration. "Don't pretend like you care."

Butcher, undeterred, gestured toward Kimiko. "Kimiko, go to the common room. I need a minute with Olive," he commanded. Kimiko started to shake her head, but Butcher cut her off with a sharp “out. Now.”

Kimiko hesitated, glancing concerned at Olive, who reassured her that she would be ok on her own. With one more glare at Butcher, she left the room.

Once Kimiko exited the room, Butcher's demeanour shifted, his posture stiffening as he stepped closer. "Alright, what's eating at you, ‘Livie-girl?" he inquired, his tone more serious, acknowledging the need for a genuine conversation.

She shot him a sharp look. "Don't call me that. And you know damn well what's wrong."

His eyes held a trace of remorse as he sighed, a heavy acknowledgment of the weight of the situation. "Look, I went hard on you, maybe too hard, but it's for your good. Tough love, Olive."

"Save it, Butcher. You lied to me. You said you'd stop if I needed to stop, and you didn't," Olive said, her voice tinged with frustration and disappointment. She turned her head away, refusing to meet his gaze as if avoiding eye contact could shield her from the complexities of their strained relationship. The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with unspoken tension, their conflicting emotions creating an invisible barrier between them.

Butcher sighed heavily and settled onto Kimiko's bed. "Olive, did I ever mention that I was petrified of heights at your age?" His gruff voice softened, carrying the weight of a confession.

Olive turned to look at him, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes.

"And when I was training for SAS, they made us rappel down this training wall. It was about three stories high, made of wood, not a super scary-looking thing from the bottom. But when I got to the top and looked down off the ledge, I froze. I refused to do it. I was sh*tting bricks just thinking about it," he confessed, a hint of vulnerability slipping into his tone. A weary chuckle escaped him, a bitter acknowledgment of his past fears. "But my commanding officer threatened to kick me out of training, and a few of the higher-ranking cadets were more than happy to push me off the ledge."

Olive’s eyes widened a bit.

His gaze dropped, memories flashing through his mind. The room held a lingering quiet as Butcher delved into a part of his past he rarely shared. The air seemed charged with unspoken emotions, creating an atmosphere that demanded empathy and understanding.

"But it was one of the scariest things I can remember happening. But I made it down the wall," he continued, his gaze distant, lost in the echoes of his past. He nodded solemnly. "And then they made me do it over and over and over until I could hop right off that ledge without breaking a sweat."

Olive listened, the room filled with the weight of Butcher's history, his vulnerability laid bare. "So you're not afraid of heights anymore?" she asked, a note of curiosity in her voice.

"f*ck no,” he laughed, “I'm still scared. I'm terrified," Butcher admitted with a wry smile. "Can't look out a window if we're more than five floors up without getting that icy feeling in my stomach. But I'm brave enough to get the job done." His eyes met hers, and the atmosphere in the room seemed to thicken with unspoken tension.

"I don't need you to be fearless; none of us are. We're all scared all the time. Scared of losing, scared of pain, scared of Homelander. f*ck, heaven knows how scared Hughie gets when there’s a spider in the shower.” Butcher said, laughing a little harder at the memory. Olive also chuckled. “But I need you to be brave, Olive. Can't have you freezing up when it matters," he added, his voice carrying a mixture of concern and a gruff form of care.

The room hung in a heavy silence, each word from Butcher settling in the air as Olive grappled with the weight of his admission. She traced patterns on the blankets with her restless hands, her gaze fixed on the fabric as if searching for answers.

"You talk like you think you're doing me a favour?" she finally said, her voice blending frustration and vulnerability.

Butcher met her eyes with a sincerity that cut through the tension. "I'm doing what needs to be done. We're in a world where fear can get you killed. I can't afford to watch you freeze up."

Olive's expression softened, a complex mix of emotions playing across her features. "You could've asked, Butcher. You didn't need to lie."

“Technically, I didn’t lie; I just said I'd be in the room with you. I never said—" Butcher paused when he caught her pointed look. "Okay, if I finish that sentence, I’ll become a lightning rod, so I'm just going to pretend I didn’t say it," he conceded with a chuckle. "I'm sorry."

A subtle easing of tension ran through Olive's shoulders. "Just don't do it again, okay?"

“You know I can’t promise I won’t, but I will give you more warning next time. Does that sound fair?” Butcher asked, a tacit acknowledgment of the delicate truce forming between them.

Olive nodded, her fingers continuing to fiddle with the blanket on her bed. Butcher's hand gently landed on her shoulder, a gesture of both reassurance and encouragement.

“‘Livie-girl, when I push you to do something you think you can’t, it’s not because I need you to do more," he explained, his gaze steady on hers. "It’s because I know you can do more.”

In that rare moment of vulnerability and praise, the weight of their complicated relationship was briefly set aside. Olive forgave Butcher for the millionth time. And the cycle had repeated itself.

Chapter 24: Olive's Bloody Bday Pancakes

Chapter Text

Ingredients:

• 1 cup of that bloody plain flour
• 2 tablespoons of caster sugar
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon of sodding bicarbonate of soda
• A pinch of salt (don't be daft and forget it)
• 3/4 cup of buttermilk
• 1/4 cup of milk (proper cow's milk, none of that fancy stuff)
• 1 bloody large egg
• 2 tablespoons of unsalted butter, melted
• 1 teaspoon of vanilla extract (yeah, that posh stuff)
• 1/2 cup of blueberries (fresh or frozen)
• Maple syrup, butter, and whipped cream for serving
• Optional: Sprinkles, if you fancy it

Instructions:

• Mix the Dry Rubbish:
• Chuck all that dry crap into a bowl. You know what I mean – the flour, sugar, baking powder, bicarbonate of soda, and a pinch of salt.
• Wet Stuff Mixing:
• In another bowl, stir together the buttermilk, milk, egg, melted butter, and vanilla extract. Get on with it.
• Gentle Combining:
• Pour the wet stuff into the dry crap and give it a gentle mix. But don't get carried away, Hughie! Keep it lumpy, for crying out loud.
• Blueberries Business:
• Shove the blueberries in there if you don't know how to fold them in, Google it. I'm not holding your hand through this.
• Pan Action:
• Heat up a pan and cook those little buggers until they're golden brown. And don't you dare burn them, Hughie! I'm watching.
• Serving Nonsense:
• Dish them out with syrup, butter, and whipped cream. Olive likes three, and she wants a smiley face with the cream. Yeah, she'll say it's for kids, but who cares.

Now get on with it, and don't muck it up! Olive's birthday pancakes won't make themselves.

Chapter 25: Cigarettes and Soda

Chapter Text

The team huddled in the cramped safe house, surrounded by dim, flickering lights that cast long shadows on the weathered walls. The kitchen, their makeshift meeting room, held a worn-out table at its center. The table, a relic from the building's previous life, bore the scars of countless strategic discussions and far more games of Pinfinger than any of them would admit.

The scratched and stained surface served as a canvas for the current mission. Blueprints and maps sprawled across it, overlapping with boxes of take-out containers. The remnants of a hasty meal were evident, with crumpled napkins and half-empty cups of coffee, beer, and soda scattered amidst the strategic documents.

The de facto leader, Butcher, occupied one end of the table, his ashtray taking a prominent place beside the blueprints. Trails of smoke spiralled upward, lingering in the air, adding to the gritty atmosphere of the room—the smell of cigarettes mingled with the faint aroma of leftover food.

Around the table, the team found their seats. Hughie, with his tech gadgets, nestled into a corner, surrounded by his array of devices. MM, the towering presence, sat calmly, ready to exert strength when needed. Frenchie sat beside Butcher, flicking his cigarette ash into the ashtray.

Olive and Kimiko sat side by side. The contrast of their personalities is reflected in how they occupy the space – Olive, with her focus on the blueprints, and Kimiko, ever watchful and alert.

The room, aside from the table and its scattered contents, held a faded calendar on the wall, its pages curled at the edges. A flickering fluorescent light above added a sense of unreliability to the ambiance. The creaking sound of the door, barely hanging onto its hinges, hinted at the age and neglect of their temporary refuge.

"Alright, c*nts," Butcher's voice sliced through the air, his eyes methodically scanning the gathered faces. His signature smirk adorned his face, a combination of confidence and cunning that marked the initiation of their tactical endeavours. The wheels in his head turned, and he settled into his element – orchestrating a mission.

"We've got ourselves a little Vought lab to break into," Butcher declared, his words echoing in the confined space. The team leaned in, attentive to the gravity of the task. "Our goal? Grab as much f*ckin' evidence as we can get our grubby little hands on, stuff that'll make those corporate bastards squirm when it hits the headlines."

Olive sat beside Kimiko, the two sharing a knowing glance that spoke volumes about their experiences. They had navigated the treacherous terrain of numerous missions together, developing an unspoken language of trust and understanding. As Butcher continued to outline the plan, assigning roles and detailing each member's responsibilities, the room became a stage for the unfolding drama of their dangerous undertaking.

"Frenchie, you're on servers. MM, you'll be our muscle. Hughie, keep an eye on the perimeter," Butcher assigned roles with military precision, his gaze moving from one member to the next. "Olive and Kimiko, you two will get us in the building. Silent and deadly. Think you can handle that?"

Olive nodded in acknowledgment, her gaze meeting Kimiko's in a swift, understanding exchange. Kimiko signed to Olive, 'he speaks like we do not do the same thing every job.' Their silent communication, a testament to the depth of their connection, conveyed a shared history of missions and challenges.

Olive, ever the translator between Kimiko's signed language and the spoken word, smiled and shook her head. "She said yes," Olive translated, elbowing Kimiko playfully.

Butcher, satisfied with the team's readiness, moved on to the details of their approach. "We'll be going in through the northeast fire escape. That is also where Hughie will be keeping watch in the van." butcher pointed at the door on the blueprints. "Kimiko and Olive will go in first. Their job is to take out every security guard in the security office. Once you're in there, I want Olive to fry every security camera in the building. I want it to go dark."

Olive nodded.

"Once the rest of us inside, we split up. Frenchie, dig into their servers. MM, make sure nobody interrupts him. Hughie, keep watch outside. Alert us if there's trouble. Kimiko, you head straight for the offices. I want ID cards, personnel files, and anything that will tie as many vought c*nts to that lab as possible. Olive, you're with me. We're going to the labs, we'll grab anything that looks damning. We leak that to the press, and Vought's gonna be in for a rough ride."

As the planning continued, Olive couldn't help but feel a surge of harmony with her teammates. Despite the often tumultuous nature of their work, these moments of strategizing brought a sense of unity and purpose.

In the tense atmosphere of the planning session, Kimiko leaned toward Olive, her hands signing, 'You ready?' Olive responded with a determined smile. "You speak like I don't do the same thing every job," she whispered with a chuckle, prompting a light elbow from Kimiko.

Butcher's gaze swept across the assembled team, his eyes holding a weighty seriousness. "We have two weeks to prepare for this. I don't want any mistakes," he emphasized, the room absorbing the gravity of his words. The worn-out table, a makeshift war room, witnessed the unfolding strategy.

"We're taking down the c*nts at Vought piece by motherf*cking piece, and this is gonna be one big f*cking piece," Butcher declared, his tone leaving no room for doubt. The gravity of their mission hung in the air, an unspoken understanding that they were collectively on the brink of a significant confrontation.

The team exchanged glances, a mixture of determination and resolve in their eyes. The dim light overhead cast shadows, accentuating the contours of their expressions. As Butcher continued to outline the plan, the room became a crucible for the shared purpose that bound The Boys together—a purpose fueled by a collective desire to dismantle the oppressive force that was Vought.

Chapter 26: Project Electrosuppression Device: Design Proposal

Chapter Text

Project Electrosuppression Device: Design Proposal

Objective:

The primary objective of the Electrosuppression Device (ESD) is to neutralize and nullify the electric powers exhibited by individuals with supernatural abilities. The device aims to efficiently and rapidly drain the electrical energy generated by the targeted individual, rendering them incapacitated and effectively suppressing their powers. This proposal outlines the design specifications, features, and potential applications of the Electrosuppression Device.

Design Overview:

• Power Drain Mechanism:
• The ESD employs an advanced power drain mechanism, utilizing cutting-edge technology to rapidly absorb and dissipate electrical energy. This mechanism is designed to be more efficient than the energy production capacity of the targeted individual, ensuring a swift nullification of their powers.
• Sedation Functionality:
• In addition to power nullification, the ESD incorporates a sedation feature. This function administers a controlled release of neuroinhibitors, inducing a state of temporary sedation in the targeted individual. This ensures compliance and minimizes potential threats during power suppression.
• Versatile Deployment:
• The ESD is designed for versatile deployment, suitable for fixed installations and portable field units. Its compact size and modular structure allow easy integration into various military operations, facilities, and emergency response scenarios.
• Adaptive Targeting System:
• The device is equipped with an adaptive targeting system that identifies and tracks individuals with electric powers. The ESD uses advanced sensors and artificial intelligence algorithms to ensure precise and accurate targeting, minimizing the risk of collateral damage.

Secure Remote Operation:

The ESD can be operated remotely, providing a secure and controlled means of power suppression. Remote operation allows for strategic deployment in situations where direct physical access to the device may be challenging.

Safety Protocols:

The device includes fail-safe mechanisms and safety protocols to prevent misuse or unintended consequences. Comprehensive testing ensures the ESD is effective against targeted individuals while minimizing potential harm to non-targets.

Potential Applications:

Military Operations:

Integration into military operations to neutralize adversaries with electric powers.

Security Installations:

Deployment in high-security facilities to counteract potential threats from individuals with supernatural abilities.

Emergency Response:

Utilization by law enforcement and emergency response teams during crises involving powered individuals.

Research and Containment:

Application in research facilities for the safe containment and study of individuals with electric powers.

Conclusion:

The Electrosuppression Device represents a groundbreaking solution to counteract individuals with electric powers. Its innovative design and advanced features position the ESD as a versatile and effective tool for military and security applications. Rigorous testing and adherence to ethical guidelines underscore the commitment to responsible deployment and pursuing a safer, more secure world.

Chapter 27: Been Thinkin'

Chapter Text

In the waning days leading up to the mission, the safe house transformed into a realm of muted shadows. The soft glow of a lone porch light cast its radiance upon the wooden floor, creating pools of light and shadow that danced in rhythmic patterns. Olive occupied the porch, an enigmatic figure perched upon the steps, her silhouette a portrait of contemplation and quiet turmoil.

The air, thick with anticipation, hung like a shroud around the safe house, each member of The Boys feeling the gravity of the imminent mission. The atmosphere resonated with an unspoken tension, a palpable weight that permeated the night.

Olive, lost in her thoughts, absentmindedly traced her fingers over the contours of her knuckles, a gentle caress as if seeking solace in the familiarity of her touch. Every line and crease on her hand became a silent canvas for introspection. The repetitive motion spoke volumes about the storm raging within her.

Unbeknownst to Olive, the porch door creaked open, and Butcher emerged from the shadows, the subtle cadence of his approach masked by the ambient night sounds. He made his way to Olive, his presence only registering when he settled with a gruff noise on the porch steps beside her.

“You’re getting old,” she said with a small smile. “I can hear your joints popping as you walk.”

"Oi, watch it, Bigfoot. You’re lucky I even let you sit out here with half the city lookin’ for you." Butcher retorted with a chuckle. He shifted the weight of his years with a bemused acknowledgment. "I'm surprised you're not in your room with Kimiko," he added, the words slipping out in a hushed tone.

"Can't sleep," Olive confessed with a sigh, her gaze fixed on the vast expanse of the night. It was a clear night, the winter’s approach coming far quicker than Butcher and Olive wished, leaving the night cold and dark.

Butcher, undeterred, lowered himself onto the porch steps, his posture relaxed as he cast a sidelong glance at Olive. "What's eatin' at you, 'Livie-girl?" he inquired, his tone carrying a blend of curiosity and concern. He pulled out a cigarette, the metallic glint of the lighter briefly illuminating the darkness before he flicked it to life. The trail of smoke spiralled into the night air, joining the shadows that enveloped the safe house porch.

Olive hesitated, the turmoil of her internal thoughts reflected in the depth of her eyes. "I've been thinking," she began slowly, her words measured.

"'Bout what?" Butcher prompted a silent invitation for her to unravel the thoughts lingering in her mind's quiet corners.

“About Pratt,” Olive replied, her gaze still lost in the nocturnal abyss.

"Who the f*ck is Pratt?" Butcher's confusion etched across his face. "If this is some lad you’re shagging, ‘Livie, I don’t want to know," he added, shaking his head and cringing at the thought.

“No,” Olive chuckled, the sound delicate and fleeting. "It's an art school," she uttered quietly as if sharing a secret with the night.

“You’ve been thinking about art school?” Butcher scoffed, the gruffness returning to his tone, but the subtle undertones of curiosity remained.

"It’s not just an arts school. It’s the Pratt School of Design. And I’ve just been thinking about it. Going to school, maybe tryin' to live a normal life, you know?" Olive's voice carried a hint of longing, a desire for a life untouched by the constant chaos of The Boys. They have some illustration programs that look pretty cool. I don’t know. I was just thinking maybe it’s time I did my own thing.”

Butcher's brow furrowed, a mixture of confusion and concern etched on his face. "Your own thing? What the hell are you on about, 'Livie?"

She took a deep breath, the words escaping like a sigh. "I don't want to be Cryptid forever, Butcher. I'm tired of fighting all the time. I just want to live my life."

Butcher’s expression hardened as he absorbed Olive’s words. He stared at her for a few seconds before finally responding. His voice edged with a bit of anger and irritation. “But who else is gonna stand up to corrupt politicians and supes gone rogue? You’re one of the best vigilantes in the damn country, Olive.” He stood up, looming over the petite woman. “And you wanna quit?”

“I mean,” she shrugged, “I don’t want to be doing this forever,” she sighed again, her gaze dropping.

“Yeah, neither do I, Olive. I wish I didn’t have to keep fighting all the damn time,” Butcher growled, clearly unsatisfied with her answer. "You think this is about wantin' or not wantin', love? Once we put an end to Homelander, you can do whatever the f*ck you please. But right now, you're stuck here because I've been training you for this."

There was a moment of silence, the weight of Butcher's words sinking in.

“I can’t just be a weapon forever,” Olive said, her voice cutting through the quiet night. The soft glow of the porch light cast shadows on her face, revealing the conflict in her eyes.

Butcher's anger intensified at Olive’s sudden inflection, his features tightening in response. He leaned back, his posture stiffening. “And what else are you gonna do, Olive?” His tone grew hostile, the frustration in his voice evident. “Do you know anything else? How to do anything besides fight?”

As Olive felt the weight of his words, she straightened her back, a glimmer of defiance in her eyes. “I can draw,” she said, her voice holding a trace of vulnerability beneath the layers of determination.

“You can draw?” Butcher scoffed, the skepticism evident in his tone. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Well, get the woman a prize. She can paint a pretty picture.” His sarcastic clap echoed in the night, the tension between them thickening. “You're a supe olive. The only reason you and Kimiko are here is to help us stop homelander.”

Olive felt a sharp pang of hurt, a silent acknowledgment of the harsh reality she faced. The weight of her words lingered in the air. She had been moulded into a weapon, a tool for The Boys' relentless fight against the supes, her physical restraints replaced by ones that seemed even more challenging to break, and the stark realization left her feeling trapped in a role she was growing weary of. With a heavy sigh, she turned her gaze back into the night, the shadows dancing across her face, reflecting the internal struggle within her.

Butcher, sensing the tension between them, broke the silence sternly. "Look, 'Livie, I'm not sayin' this to be a c*nt. It's just the way it is. Once Homelander's gone, you can walk away. We never have to speak again if you don’t want to. You can go to your little art school and do whatever the f*ck you want. But your only purpose right now is to kill that f*cking c*nt with the cape."

Olive nodded, her features arranged in a mask of understanding that concealed the turmoil. The air around them thickened with unspoken emotions, accentuating the difficulty both faced in addressing their internal struggles. In the hushed atmosphere of the night, Olive grappled with the weight of her training and the uncertainty of her future, a battle she preferred to keep to herself rather than risk the potentially explosive consequences of confrontation.

She rose abruptly, her chair scraping against the porch floor. "Yeah, I get it," she muttered, moving swiftly back into the safe house before Butcher could insist she stay. Olive hurried to her room, gently opening the door to avoid waking Kimiko, and slipped inside.

As she settled into bed, she directed her gaze at the familiar ceiling that had witnessed half of her life, Kimiko’s steady breathing filling the room. Butcher's words resonated in her mind. The sting of hearing them lingered in her heart, casting a shadow over her thoughts.

Chapter 28: Subject: Re: Request for More information.

Chapter Text

From: Shayna Lindent <[emailprotected]>

To: Me <[emailprotected]>

Subject: Re: Request for More information.

Sent: November 20, 2023, 9:38 AM

Location: Trash (November 20, 2023, 11:45 PM)

Dear Mr.Smith,

Warm greetings from the Pratt Institute of Design! We sincerely appreciate your keen interest in our institution and dedication to exploring educational opportunities for your daughter, Olive.

In response to your inquiry about our programs, the Pratt Institute of Design takes pride in offering a diverse range of artistic disciplines, including painting, sculpture, digital arts, and performance arts. Our institution is committed to nurturing creativity and fostering individual talents, as evidenced by our comprehensive and varied curriculum.

Regarding the inclusivity of diverse students, the Pratt Institute of Design is devoted to embracing diversity and providing an environment that welcomes students with unique abilities. We recognize the enriching perspectives such students bring to our artistic community. If Olive has specific needs or requires accommodations, we are more than willing to engage in a discussion to create a supportive and tailored learning environment suited to her requirements.

To facilitate a more personalized response for Olive, please share additional details about her artistic background, interests, and any specific inquiries about our programs. Additionally, we invite you and Olive to schedule a campus visit, providing an opportunity to immerse yourselves in the vibrant and inspiring atmosphere at the Pratt Institute of Design.

Feel free to respond to this email with any further questions or to provide additional information about Olive. Our admissions team is committed to guiding both of you through every step of the application process.

Thank you for considering the Pratt Institute of Design. We eagerly anticipate the possibility of welcoming Olive into our dynamic and creative community.

Best Regards,

Shayna Lindent

Admissions Office

Pratt Institute of Design

Brooklyn, NY

Chapter 29: The Things

Chapter Text

In the last few hours leading up to the mission, the atmosphere in the safe house was charged with a mix of tension and anticipation. The familiar sounds of preparation echoed through the space.

Hughie efficiently distributed the earpieces, each a crucial element in their upcoming mission. As Frenchie reached for one of them, Hughie intervened, swiftly identifying a specific earpiece. "No. That's Olive's," Hughie declared, snatching the altered earpiece from Frenchie's grasp. A dismissive remark from Frenchie followed, asserting that the earpieces were identical. However, Hughie's response was sharp and decisive. "They're not the same thing," Hughie retorted, preventing Frenchie from taking the earpiece. His actions and tone conveyed a sense of urgency and meticulous attention to detail, emphasizing the significance of each piece of equipment in their operation. “Unless you have powers, use a regular one,” he said, a little more relaxed, handing Frenchie one of the normal ones.

Kimiko rummaged through the closet, her hands swiftly moving among pairs of sneakers in search of the appropriate footwear. Meanwhile, Frenchie and MM found themselves embroiled in a spirited debate, their discussion animated as they deliberated over the selection and arrangement of their weapons. The room buzzed with activity, each member engrossed in their specific preparations for the impending mission.

Amidst the organized chaos, the heart of the storm remained calm, focused on an unexpected ritual.

Olive took her place at the table, a temporary refuge from the frenzy surrounding them. Butcher stood behind her, an unspoken understanding passing between them. As the comb glided through Olive's long locks, Butcher couldn't help but remark, "Your hair's getting too long," a rare chuckle escaping him. Though unnecessary in practical terms, Olive had been able to braid it herself for years, but even though she was an adult, it was a per-mission ritual. It is more of a preparation and a moment of pause before the chaos of the mission.

“It looks better than when I was bald,” Olive attempted a lighthearted joke about her hair, a shadow of the conversation's weight from a few nights before lingered in her voice.

Nevertheless, Butcher remained focused on his task, taking a surprisingly gentle approach as he settled behind her. His fingers moved with practiced skill, weaving through Olive's hair with a rhythmic precision. The soft sound of the comb gliding through the strands created a momentary calm amidst the clamour of Frenchie and MM's lively debate.

In this intimate moment, the air carried a subtle tension, a blend of unspoken emotions swirling around the room. Butcher, though typically gruff, seemed attuned to Olive's weariness. As they slipped through his fingers, the strands of her hair became a conduit for a silent understanding between them. The soothing touch served as a brief respite, a quiet acknowledgment of their challenges and each member's weight in the face of the upcoming mission. "You look knackered, 'Livie," he observed, fingers dancing through her hair.

"I'm fine," Olive quickly responded, a reflex honed through years of concealing her emotions.

“You don’t look fine, ‘Livie-girl,” Butcher said quietly, his tone still gentle. Butcher paused momentarily at the feeling of her hair in his hands. The texture was so different from his own, yet there was some strange comfort in running his fingers through Olive’s hair. The familiar feeling he’s been feeling over the years of braiding it.

In the labyrinth of memories, Butcher recalled the delicate tendrils of time when she emerged from the lab's shadows. A symphony of countless hours, where she sought refuge beneath the shelter of her bed, yearning for the sanctuary of safety. In the nocturnal tapestry, myriad nights unfolded, each echoing with the haunting cadence of her screams and the erratic dance of flashing lights. Yet, as the celestial clock ticked, a metamorphosis unfurled. The nightmares persisted, persistent echoes of the past, but their once-piercing intensity dulled. In the crucible of adversity, Olive blossomed, evolving not just into a person but a radiant spirit too exquisite for the realm of The Boys. Butcher reminisced about witnessing Olive's journey, a tapestry woven with threads of resilience. He observed her mastery of ASL, a bridge to understanding Kimiko's silent language. At 15, he marvelled as she outmaneuvered MM in a sparring ballet. Sketchbook after sketchbook bore witness to Olive's artistic prowess, each stroke a testament to the flourishing soul that had transcended the shadows of her past.

"After this mission, I reckon you've earned yourself a few days off," Butcher murmured, his voice a gentle breeze amidst the storm of preparations.

Caught off guard by the unexpected offer, Olive turned slightly, her gaze meeting Butcher's eyes. "Days off?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Butcher said with a chuckle, “Look forward. I can’t see what I'm f*ckin’ doing,” he said, turning Olive’s head back to face away so he could finish the braid.

“You sure about that?" Olive asked cautiously, not wanting to get her hopes up.

With a nod, Butcher continued braiding, nearly done. "Yeah, ‘Livie. You could take a breather.”

Olive smiled, the idea of a break a much-needed release of pressure. “That sounds good,” she said quietly.

“You could sleep in, get some rest. Stuff like that,” Butcher suggested, wrapping the hair tie around the bottom of the braid to secure it in place. “We could spend some time together, maybe catch up a little,” he suggested. The slightest hint of nervousness was in his voice, his tough guy mask slipping for just a second. “Go to that art store you keep banging on about, get yourself some new charcoals or whatever the hell you artists need."

A small, genuine smile played on Olive's lips, illuminated by the soft glow of the porch light. She couldn't help but appreciate the unexpected warmth in Butcher's usually gruff demeanour. "Thanks, Butcher," she said, her voice carrying a glimmer of gratitude. "That actually sounds nice. A break sounds like heaven right now."

Butcher tightened the hair tie at the end of the braid, securing it in place. "Well, you've earned it, 'Livie-girl," he grumbled, but there was a flicker of approval in his eyes. "After this bloody mission, we all deserve a bit of peace. And, uh, maybe I can use the time to teach you more of those fancy moves." He added the last part with a smirk, attempting to inject a touch of fun into the conversation.

Olive chuckled. The tension of the upcoming mission momentarily lifted. "Sure, Butcher. I'm looking forward to it." The prospect of a few days away from the constant struggle brought a sense of relief.

"But you still gotta get through this mission first, alright?" Butcher added cautiously, giving her a firm look.

"Yes, sir." Olive nodded, her smile still lingering as a glimmer of determination sparkled in her eyes.

"Now go get ready," Butcher instructed, patting her shoulder gruffly. "I want you at the top of your game."

Chapter 30: Operation_TitPunch_Transcript.docx

Chapter Text

[beginning of transcript]

B: All right, ears up, c*nts. Check-in so we can move out.

M: Testing.

H: Yeah, I hear you.

F: How do I sound, petit-Hughie?

H: Clear as a bell.

O: Hell-

[Glitchy feedback]

B: Take it easy, ‘Livie. No need to blow out our eardrums.

O: Sorry. Check, check. Can you hear me?

H: Loud and clear. You're good.

F: Why are we recording this?

H: Just experimenting with something.

B: He's trying to be all tech-savvy.

H: Butcher, I swear to-

[Glitchy feedback]

B: Olive. (Warning tone)

O: It’s just the quickest way to shut you all up.

K: [Rustling noise] (kimiko talking in ASL)

O: Kimiko says she feels left out and targeted. (Chuckling)

B: Yeah, we might not have thought this through all the way. Well, too late now. Let’s get on with it. Olive, Kimiko, go in.

[Sound of Olive and Kimiko getting out of the van]

O: (Talking to Kimiko) yeah, I told you it was cold.

O: (Talking to Kimiko) Here, you can have my gloves.

B: This isn’t dress-up; get in the building.

O: You heard him; stop wasting time and take them. [Rustling]

[Rustling as Olive and Kimiko break in]

B: You in?

O: (Whispering) We’re in the building, not to security yet.

F: Could you speed it up a bit? This van is turning into an oven with all of Hughie’s tech crap.

H: This tech crap is-

M: Shut up.

O: going in.

[sound of shouting]

[sound of fighting]

O: ow! Your mother-

[Glitchy feedback]

O: we’re clear. Cameras and alarms are disabled.

B: ‘Alright, ‘Livie?

O: fine, one of them got me in the chest.

B: oh, a right tit punch. That’s good hurt

O: (holding back laughter) Butcher.

B: what? I'm sympathizing. Tit punches hurt.

O: stop. (chuckling)

M: can we please not talk about Olive’s chest?

B: we were discussing it punches, not Olive’s ti-

[Glitchy feedback]

H: Olive, shut you up again

O: Tit is now officially on the list of words Butcher’s not allowed to say.

B: ugh, I’m being censored! It’s like f*cking handcuffs!

M: can we just focus on the mission?

B: right, let’s get a move on.

[sound of the team leaving and going into the lab]

[end of transmission]

Chapter 31: Frozen in the Past

Chapter Text

Olive's deft hand glided a key card over the lab's reader, and the doors whispered open with a pneumatic hiss. Stepping into the sterile space, Butcher and Olive surveyed the lab, the clinical atmosphere heightened by the hum of electronic equipment. Despite her best efforts, Olive felt the memories tugging at the edges of her consciousness, the mental dam straining against the flood of haunting recollections.

With a decisive point, Butcher assigned tasks, "You check down there, I'll search the computers." Following Butcher's directive, Olive proceeded down the hallway, her footsteps echoing faintly in the sterile environment. However, as she approached a window offering a glimpse into a segregated room, a sudden, chilling paralysis took hold.

Frozen in place, she stared through the glass, the scene beyond triggering a torrent of memories she fought desperately to suppress. The room, once a sterile haven, now felt like a chamber of horrors, and the fragile walls of Olive's mental defences threatened to crumble with each passing second.

“You guys find anything?” Butcher said while looking through the computers, coping with everything he could into the drive.

“It’s like a gold mine,” MM said over the lines.

“We’re going to bury these scum bags six feet under using their shovels,” Butcher snickered as he copied more and more files.

Her movements ceased, and time seemed to stretch as Olive's gaze fixated on the unsettling sight beyond the glass. The room, with its cold, clinical interior, triggered an avalanche of suppressed memories, each image a haunting echo of her traumatic past. The air in the lab became dense with the weight of Olive's internal struggle, frozen in the grip of a past she wished desperately to forget.

The surgical table.

The metal surgical table.

The stainless steel, meticulously sterilized table she’d last seen in her nightmares.

It wasn't that it was a particularly scary table.

She'd seen so many.

But that table.

With straps where her ankles and wrists would be.

But not anymore.

Because it was too small.

Too short.

Too small.

Only a child would fit on that table.

“Please let me go! Please, I’m scared!”

A child.

A child strapped down.

A child screaming.

A child begging for help.

Begging for help, but no one listening.

“You were warned, Subject 20. We told you what would happen if you kept trying to escape. But you just had to disobey.”

No one helping her.

They were too busy.

"Please let me out! I'm so cold! Please," she sobbed, the biting pain of frostbite on her feet intensifying with each tug at her restraints that kept her confined in the frigid room. The ice-cold metal dug into the welts on her wrists like knives.

"You were clearly informed that your begging would be ignored. Why do you persist in doing it?" Dr. Rodriguez retorted with a cold, bordering-on-exasperated tone.

Too busy cutting into her.

The cold, unyielding metal cuffs encased her wrists and ankles, the hours she spent in agonizing immobility. Being trapped, unable to move even an inch, gripped her with an unrelenting fear. Her screams resonated until her lungs burned, each wail a desperate plea for release. The searing pain of her own flesh being branded, tears stinging raw cheeks, and the relentless punishments. Ten days trapped and tortured, a harrowing ordeal designed to unveil the depths of her endurance.

Injecting her.

The chilling echo of Olive's desperate plea reverberated through the cold, sterile lab. The harsh, fluorescent lights flickered ominously as she was forcibly dragged towards the unforgiving steel table. "No! Please, no! I'll be good, I promise!" Her desperate cries filled the sterile air, a haunting symphony of fear that seemed to linger in the metallic hum of the lab.

The callous lab technicians and imposing security personnel showed no mercy, their grip unyielding as Olive fought against the inevitable. Amidst her desperate struggles, the lead scientist, Dr. Mitchell, observed with a sad*stic smirk. "Resisting isn't going to do anything but make things harder for yourself," she sneered, her words cutting through the air like a sinister whisper, sealing her fate in the cold, clinical confines of the malevolent laboratory.

Sedating her.

"If you keep squirming, we're going to punish you," Dr. Mitchell’s voice cut through the air like a cruel command, each word a chilling threat that hung heavy in the sterile atmosphere. Olive's sobs provided a dissonant counterpoint to the cold, clinical ambiance of the lab, where cruelty and torment danced together in a macabre symphony.

Hurting her.

"We warned you," Dr. Mitchell said, a cold detachment in his voice as he motioned for the guard to advance. The air crackled with tension as Olive braced herself for what was to come. Searing pain enveloped her, the stench of burning flesh and the echoes of her own screams creating a nightmarish symphony. White-hot agony seared through her stomach, each moment stretching into an eternity of torment.

In the cold, sterile air of the lab, the memories clawed at the edges of Olive's consciousness, threatening to engulf her in the chilling darkness of the past. Each detail of the table echoed with the screams and pleas she could never forget, triggering a cascade of emotions that paralyzed her in the present. The weight of the trauma pressed down, leaving her trapped in the harrowing echoes of a time when she was powerless and alone.

“Butcher," she gasped, her breath escaping in shaky whispers. "Butcher." Her voice gained a fraction more volume, yet it was a mere whimper, a desperate attempt to anchor herself in reality. Despite her efforts, she felt herself slipping away, losing focus on the tangible world around her. Panic swelled within, threatening to engulf her.

As her distress intensified, the lights in the lab began to flicker and flash erratically. The electrical currents seemed to pulsate, echoing the rhythmic drip of blood she vividly remembered from the edge of the surgical table.

"What's happening?" Frenchie's voice crackled through the earpieces, a note of confusion colouring his inquiry as he observed the unpredictable electrical activity. "What's Olive doing?"

"Olive?" MM questioned, his voice distorted by the glitching comms. "Olive, do you copy?"

Butcher's attention snapped upward. His gaze fixated on Olive amid the flickering lights and malfunctioning computers. "Livie-girl? You alright?" he inquired, concern etching his tone.

Olive's gaze remained fixated on the petite surgical table beyond the window, her eyes dilating as if desperately attempting to elude the haunting images replaying in her mind. The confines of the room seemed to constrict, the air saturated with the unmistakable scent of antiseptic that triggered memories she wished were buried deep within.

The surgical table within the room mirrored the ominous one from her recurring nightmares, each breath Olive took manifesting in rapid, shallow gasps. The ambient sounds of machinery and distant voices merged into an indistinct hum, reality warping as the present intertwined with the visceral echoes of her traumatic past.

"Uh, Butcher, you need to calm her down. The servers are starting to overheat," Frenchie's voice grew urgent, a note of concern threading through his words.

"Oh sh*t! f*ck! There's a fire!" MM's tone shifted to one of panic. "Everybody get out of the building now!"

A blaring alarm shattered the eerie silence, its shrill sound reverberating through the corridor like a discordant symphony. Olive instinctively flinched, her eyes darting around the dimly lit passageway, desperately searching for the source of the sudden cacophony. However, as her gaze inadvertently fell back upon the dreaded surgical table, she found herself trapped once again by the cruel tendrils of haunting nightmares.

"Olive!" Butcher's voice thundered through the lab, a desperate plea to sever the chains of traumatic memories. "Olive! I swear to f*cking god, snap out of it!" he bellowed, urgency propelling him to her side. Hastening over, he seized her shoulders, his hands then cradling her face, coaxing her gaze away from the nightmarish tableau. His words, a lifeline, sliced through the haze. "Olive, look at me," he urged, his voice cutting through the turmoil. "You're here with me. You're safe."

Initially trapped by the window, her eyes gradually shifted to meet Butcher's concerned gaze. The panic in her eyes began to recede, replaced by a flicker of recognition, though shadows of fear still lingered. Olive's trembling hands reached out, clasping Butcher's arms as if seeking an anchor in the storm of her memories. “I can’t-”

“No! Yes, you can. Stop doubting yourself!!” Butcher interjected sharply. “We’re leaving now, so you are not allowed to freeze until you get back in that f*cking van, and we’re driving away from this hell hole, you understand me?” he patted her cheek gently, ensuring her connection to the present.

Olive nodded, but Butcher was already guiding her towards the door. “At least we got the intel. And hey, maybe this will burn this f*cking place to the-”

The intercom crackled to life, a robotic voice intoning, "Fire detected in the server room. Isolating lab to prevent research damage." With a hiss and a heart-dropping click, the glass lab doors slid shut, imprisoning them within the burning confines of the research facility.

“f*ck,” Butcher muttered, fixated on the sealed doors.

“f*ck,” Olive echoed, both grappling with the grim reality of being trapped in a burning building.

Chapter 32: Vought Lab S34 Subject Death Records

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Chapter 33: Stumbling Through Smoke

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“You two better not still be in that lab!” The air in the lab crackled with urgency as the fiery chaos outside mirrored the escalating tension within. MM's voice echoed through their earpieces, a stark reminder that time was running out. Yet, trapped inside the lab, Butcher and Olive found themselves ensnared by the unyielding grip of the sealed doors.

“We’re working on it!” The lab stool swung through the air once more, a futile attempt to shatter the unyielding glass that separated them from freedom. The lab stool rebounded off the bulletproof barrier, mocking their desperate efforts. The flickering emergency lights cast an eerie dance of shadows across Butcher's face, the determined lines etched with frustration as he grappled with the severity of their predicament.

“The building is burning down! You have to get out!” The shrill urgency of Hughie's voice pierced through the chaos, a stark reminder that the flames outside were drawing closer, consuming the building in a relentless inferno. Panic saturated his words, mirroring the escalating fear that gripped them all.

"Thanks for the f*cking update," Butcher snapped, his words tinged with angry sarcasm as the lab stool swung through the air once more, its impact against the unyielding glass a futile attempt to break free. The flames danced just beyond, a fiery menace closing on the trapped duo. Butcher's determined gaze bore into Olive, a silent plea for a solution. "Livie, you need to get us out of here."

Olive, still trembling from the harrowing encounter with her past, felt the weight of the situation pressing down on her. She tried to keep her breathing steady. “I don’t think I can, it’s an automatic lock, I’ve only broke into-”

"Olive, if you say the word 'can't' to me one more f*cking time, I will lose my f*cking mind," Butcher growled, his voice a low rumble of impatience. "You are going to get us out of here or die trying. Do you understand me?" The intensity of his words hung in the air, a stark command pushing Olive to confront the challenge before them.

Olive flinched at the sharp edge of Butcher's aggression, her thoughts still tangled in the harrowing memories that had recently ensnared her. Despite the lingering unease, she nodded shakily. "Yes, sir," she responded instinctively, channelling a blend of respect and authority that defined her relationship with Butcher. She focused on the electronic lock, an imposing barrier that sealed their fate within the inferno.

As she extended her hands towards the lock, the air around her crackled with palpable energy, manifesting the unique power she wielded. The ambient hum of electricity responded eagerly to her command as if the very essence of the lab's wiring acknowledged her presence. In her mind's eye, Olive envisioned the lock, navigating the labyrinth of signals with the precision of a masterful hacker. Each power surge resonated with a surge of confidence, a symphony of electric currents conducting her abilities with finesse.

It was a dance, a choreography of her will against the stubborn resistance of the locking mechanism. Despite the lingering trauma, Olive embraced the rush of control, a momentary escape from the haunting memories that sought to tether her. The electronic lock became a canvas for her prowess, and she felt a surge of exhilaration as her unique abilities gracefully wove through the intricate web of signals, coaxing the lock to yield to her command.

Butcher had likened it to hacking into the matrix back when Olive was just a kid, casually changing TV channels with a flick of her wrist. It used to feel like a playful manipulation of the world around her, a child's game in the vast playground of her abilities. However, in the current chaos of the burning lab, it was an entirely different experience. Now, the stakes were higher, and the system seemed to resist her intrusion with a newfound ferocity.

The pulsating currents of electricity under her command collided with the intricate defences of the electronic lock, creating a visceral clash akin to a battle in a digital arena. Each surge of power she directed was met with a formidable counterforce, as if the system had grown sentient and now fought back against her attempts to breach its security. The echoes of Butcher's past descriptions resonated in her mind, the playful analogies replaced by the harsh reality of a struggle against a resistant and unforgiving adversary.

Despite the resistance, Olive's determination surged like the electric currents she commanded. The once whimsical notion of "hacking the matrix" had evolved into a gritty confrontation, a test of wills between her and the inanimate barrier that held their escape in its digital grip. As the lab burned around them, Olive was entwined in a high-stakes dance with the system, determined to emerge victorious and break free from the fiery confines that threatened to consume them.

Butcher observed with concern and anticipation as Olive's eyes ignited with an ethereal glow, casting an otherworldly luminescence in the tension-filled room. The air crackled with an electric charge as Olive immersed herself in the intricacies of the door's digital security system. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, evidence of the intense effort she exerted against the stubborn resistance of the electronic lock.

"Come on, Livie, you can do it," Butcher encouraged, his gaze unwavering as he witnessed the flickering dance of lights surrounding them. The urgency in his voice underscored the critical nature of their situation, the weight of impending disaster pressing upon them as Olive battled the digital defences that held them captive.

The room crackled with an electric intensity, each second stretching like a taut wire vibrating with potential. Olive's teeth clenched, determination etched on her face as she channelled her focus through the charged atmosphere. The air seemed to shimmer with otherworldly energy, as if every molecule held its breath in anticipation.

With a burst of energy that seemed to surge from the core of her being, Olive's unique abilities took command. The electronic lock yielded to her will, and the lab doors slid open, revealing a chaotic panorama beyond. Now a surreal dreamscape, the corridor was cloaked in a thick, swirling haze of acrid smoke, illuminated by the erratic dance of flickering emergency lights. The distant wail of sirens echoed through the labyrinthine structure, an urgent symphony heralding the impending arrival of the emergency response.

As the doors parted, the outside world unfolded like a pandemonium painting. The emergency lights cast long, distorted shadows that danced with the smoke, creating an otherworldly tableau. Once a faint melody, the distant sirens now crescendoed into a cacophony of urgency. The air, thick with the scent of burning electronics and charred remnants, carried the weight of the impending danger.

"Atta girl, I knew you could f*cking do it," Butcher wasted no time. He grabbed Olive's arm, urging her forward.

But to Olive, the room was spinning. Her vision and consciousness began to fade with the overuse of her powers. She reached for the wall, trying to steady herself. The aftermath of channelling such immense energy left her feeling drained and disoriented. The urgency of their situation pressed upon her like a lead weight, every step forward a struggle against the weariness that crept into her bones.

The thick and suffocating smoke made it difficult for her to breathe fully. Olive's lungs burned, and the acrid air only intensified her sense of weakness. "I need to sit down," she breathed, her voice strained and her body heavy and unsteady. The urgency of escape collided with her powers' toll on her, creating a disorienting blend of fatigue and determination.

The aftermath of Olive's intense power usage left distinct markings on her hands, resembling intricate, branching patterns akin to the aftermath of a lightning strike. Delicate yet pronounced, the markings across her skin were a testament to her raw power. The faint glow of residual energy lingered, casting an otherworldly hue on the fading marks—a visual reminder of the immense strain she had endured. The web-like imprints spoke to both the beauty and the inherent danger of the electricity coursing through her, a physical manifestation of the toll her abilities took on her body, a testament to the electrifying force she commanded.

"No, no, no, up you get." Butcher's grip on Olive tightened, his frustration palpable as he pulled her back up. The heat was unbearable, and the acrid smoke stung their eyes.

As they stumbled towards the exit, the roaring flames painted a vivid backdrop to their narrow escape from the burning lab. Coughing and breathless, Olive and Butcher emerged into the cool night air. The lab, now a roaring inferno behind them, cast a fiery glow on their faces. They rushed to the van; desperation was evident in every step, and the rest of the team waited anxiously.

"f*cking drive!" Butcher's voice erupted with anger, his voice husky from the smoke, his frustration fueled by the chaos around them, directing his urgency at Hughie.

Hughie complied without hesitation, and they sped off through the streets.

In the back of the van, Olive, now safe but drained from the ordeal, let herself fade out of consciousness. Her head fell to rest on Kimiko's shoulder, a small moment of respite amidst the chaotic aftermath. The jagged echoes of overused power painted bruised constellations and lightning strikes, snaking up her fingers and hands in a cosmic ballet of power.

Chapter 34: Unprecedented Blaze Engulfs Vought Lab in Night of Chaos

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In a riveting and unexpected turn of events, a Vought Corporation research facility found itself at the center of a cataclysmic incident last night, plunging the public into a sea of uncertainty and fueling a cascade of inquiries from authorities. The incident, unfolding at the ungodly hour of 2 am, witnessed a colossal firestorm erupting within the ostensibly impenetrable walls of the high-security facility. Emergency services grappled with the raging inferno as whispers and accusations began circulating within certain media circles, ominously pointing towards The Boys, a controversial vigilante group known for their tumultuous relationship with Vought.

Witnesses within proximity reported sudden power fluctuations, accompanied by ominous billows of smoke and towering flames that painted the night sky in a fiery hue. Despite the clandestine nature of the laboratory's operations, conjectures about the motivations behind the attack have taken root in public discourse. Unconfirmed reports suggest sightings of Billy Butcher, the conspicuous face of The Boys, alongside the elusive vigilante known as Cryptid. Strikingly, all security cameras and systems were rendered non-operational and vandalized, further fanning the flames of suspicion surrounding Cryptid's potential involvement.

The Boys, notorious for their ventures on the peripheries of legality, share a turbulent history with Vought, including accusations of vigilantism and interference in the corporation's superhero initiatives. Observers argue that this incident marks an alarming escalation in their ongoing conflict with the formidable conglomerate.

Local law enforcement, bolstered by the presence of The Seven, is engaged in a meticulous operation to secure the compromised site and amass critical evidence. In a press release, Homelander voiced his concerns, branding Cryptid's actions as nothing short of terrorism and underscoring the urgency of bringing her to justice.

"Cryptid has enjoyed an undue sense of invincibility for far too long. Her actions have crossed a line, transcending mere confrontations with drug dealers and criminals. This is an outright act of terrorism. She needs to be apprehended, and The Seven will ensure that she is." - Homelander.

As discussions surrounding accountability and responsibility reach a fever pitch, public sentiment remains sharply divided. The ongoing controversy enveloping The Boys and their purported involvement in the assault adds an extra layer of intrigue to an unfolding mystery. With the investigation still in its nascent stages, the populace eagerly anticipates official statements and tangible evidence to unravel the enigma behind this unprecedented assault on a Vought facility. The air is charged with anticipation as the city awaits the revelation of the true culprits behind this tumultuous event.

Chapter 35: Louder Than You

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As they got back into the safe house and the weight of the chaotic turn of the mission settled on their shoulders, the victory of reaching the intel faded into the background.

Butcher's frustration, simmering beneath the surface, finally erupted in a fiery outburst when they returned to the base. The air was tense as he unleashed a barrage of angry words, frustration and genuine concern, weaving into a tumultuous storm. Caught in the crossfire, Olive felt his anger scorching her. “Soldier! At attention now!’” he shouted.

Olive flinched at his shouting. Butcher hadn’t made her stand at attention since she was 17, yet the punishment was still in her muscle memory as she stood in the military pose. “Yes, sir,” she said, hiding her still trembling hands.

“Are you really going to make her do this?” MM asked with a sigh.

“If that’s what it takes, yes. I’m trying to get through to her, not babysit her.” Butcher turns back to face Olive, giving her a withering look. “I’m not playing around here, Olive. You’re not a child, you know that?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, not daring to take her eyes off his, not daring to move a muscle.

“Then why are you acting like one!?” butcher shouts in her face. The safe house was tense and chaotic following the failed mission. Butcher’s rage and irritation were palpable, causing the energy in the entire building to become thick and foreboding. Butcher glares at Olive, his face a mask of fury as he approaches her and grabs her by the arms. He hisses, his anger growing with each word. “Your freeze-ups almost cost us everything!”

She flinched again as he jerked her forward. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice coming out in the small way it only did with Butcher.

Butcher's grip on Olive tightened, his frustration evident in the lines etched on his face. "Sorry isn't going to cut it, Olive!" he barked, his tone sharp enough to slice through the air. The room seemed to shrink, the tension thickening with each passing moment.

“You think this is some game, do you? Lives are at stake, and you're staring at a f*cking table like it does tricks!” Butcher's words carried the weight of his disappointment, each syllable laced with frustration. MM watched silently, his expression a mix of concern and weariness.

“Butcher, relax,” Frenchie interjected, attempting to diffuse the escalating confrontation. “We got the intel. It’s not that big of a-”

“You’re going to look at me and tell me nearly getting us killed isn’t a big deal?” Buther growled, turning on Frenchie.

“No, I'm just-”

“Keep your damn mouth shut. If I wanted your f*cking opinion, I’d f*cking ask for it.” Butcher got in Frenchie’s face, “‘Till then, shut the f*ck up and stop defending a pathetic excuse for a soldier.”

Frenchie went quiet, glancing at Olive, whose gaze dropped to the floor with the harsh words, and as Buther turned on her again, she felt the pain of his words sink even deeper.

“She’s not just a soldier; she’s a kid doing her best,” MM tried to cut in. But Butcher's ire was focused solely on Olive, his temper a raging storm.

"She was on a mission, and she failed." Butcher stalked toward her, every step vibrating with anger. "She let the whole team down," he growled, his expression cold and ruthless. "And she can't just hide and cry about it now." Butcher's voice rose, echoing through the room. Olive flinched at each word, the truth of his accusations cutting deeper than any physical wound.

“that back there was f*cking unacceptable!" Butcher continued, his tone lowering to a dangerous growl. "You think you can just freeze when things get tough? That someone will always come and save you? This isn't a f*cking fairy tale, Olive. Lives are on the line, and we can't afford to be your weakness!"

Olive's trembling intensified as Butcher's anger seemed to reach its peak. She dared to meet his eyes, pleading for understanding. "Butcher, I’m-"

"Don't 'Butcher' me!" he spat, cutting her off. “Saying my name isn’t gonna get you out of anything.”

“I wasn’t trying to-”

"Bullsh*t." Butcher snarled. “You can’t expect me to pick up the pieces whenever you break down! I’m not your dad!” Butcher continued to shout.

The harshness of Butcher's words hung in the air, a bitter truth that Olive struggled to accept. Hurt and angered by his brutal dismissal, she stepped back, her gaze hardening. "You don’t have to be someone’s dad to care about them," she shot back, her voice a mix of defiance and hurt.

“And why would I care about some supe?” Butcher said, his words full of venom. The whole team went quiet. Olive looked at Butcher with a mix of shock and pain. "You're just a mutt we found in a cage and decided to let you out. Remember that. A stray we took in out of pity. You're nothing but a supe."

“Butcher-" Olive's voice trembled, the sting of tears already welling in her eyes.

Butcher's face, contorted with anger, delivered a ruthless blow with his biting and unforgiving retort, his voice dripping with ridicule. "You're just a stray, Olive. Don't forget your place."

The words cut into her heart like a series of relentless strikes, leaving her momentarily speechless. A lump formed in her throat, the pain making it too unbearable to articulate a response. The room blurred through the veil of her tears, and she took a shaky step backward, trying to distance herself from the verbal assault.

She couldn't find her voice. The lump in her throat expanded, suffocating any words she might have spoken in defence. A trembling hand reached up to wipe away the first tear that escaped, only to be swiftly followed by more. The weight of Butcher's disdain and dismissal pressed heavily on her shoulders, and she felt an urgent need to escape.

So she did.

Turning on her heel, Olive walked towards the door. Kimiko reached out to offer comfort, but Olive shook her head, denying solace. With a determined stride, she grabbed her helmet and keys, her escape plan forming in her mind. The tears streamed down her face, leaving a trail of anguish in their wake, and Butcher's cruel words hung in the air like a haunting melody.

Butcher's eyes followed Olive as she walked away, his anger still smouldering. "Where the hell do you think you're going, huh? You're not walking away from this!" he called after her, the words laced with frustration. But Olive continued, her steps steady and unwavering.

Ignoring his shouts, Olive grabbed her helmet and keys, pushed open the door and stepped out into the cool night air. The safe house's heavy door closed behind her with a dull thud, muffling the chaotic atmosphere inside. Olive took a deep breath, the crisp air filling her lungs as she tried to shake off the weight of Butcher's words.

Butcher stormed after her, his voice reaching a crescendo. "I'm not done talking to you, goddamn it!"

Olive didn't turn back, didn't acknowledge him. She kept walking, her jaw clenched as she walked towards her bike, determined to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the safe house. The distant sound of traffic and the city's low hum replaced the tension in the air behind her.

“Olive! Listen to me!” Butcher’s voice echoed across the street, the sound of his boots on the pavement growing louder and louder as he made his way over to her. “I’m not done talking to you,” he said, his tone still sharp as a razor blade. “Don’t you dare walk away. We’re not done here.”

Olive finally turned to face him, her eyes red from the tears but hardened with resolve. "we are done," she said, her voice steady despite the emotional storm within. "I don't need this," she said as she put on her helmet, pulling away from him and getting on her motorcycle.

Butcher's face contorted with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "You don't get to decide when we're done talking, you little-"

Olive cut him off by kicking her bike into gear.

With a roar, the machine came alive, the noise drowning out Butcher's words. "Oh, you're gonna play the victim now?" Butcher scoffed. "You need to face the consequences of your actions."

Olive flipped down the face shield, ignoring his words. And with that, she drove off, leaving Butcher standing there, seething with anger.

Back inside the safe house, the rest of the team exchanged uneasy glances. Hughie tried to speak up, "Maybe we should give her some space, let her cool off."

Butcher, still fuming, shot him a glare. "This isn't about cooling off. This is about her realizing the consequences of her actions."

“This is a new low,” MM says as he walks towards his room. “Even for you.” he shakes his head.

Butcher just watches as MM leaves, the rest of the team slowly following after him, feeling their disapproval and his shame sink in deeper.

Chapter 36: https://www.supenet.com/LunarEcho

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Chapter 37: Stretched Streetlights

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Olive tore through the city streets on her motorcycle, the engine's roar serving as a brief respite from the haunting echoes of Butcher's biting words. Tears mingled with the rush of wind flowing through the small cracks in her old battered helmet, the streetlights blurring into streaks of colour as she pushed the bike faster, as if trying to escape the anguish that clung to her like a persistent shadow.

The wind's furious dance around her provided a momentary distraction, drowning out the cacophony of the city's discontent with its own angry symphony. Yet, despite the outward rush, Olive's internal storm raged. The city lights, distant and indifferent, flickered like distant stars, offering no comfort to her troubled mind.

In the heart of the night, the rhythmic hum of her motorcycle transformed into a desperate cadence, a futile attempt to silence the painful thoughts echoing in her head. Each twist and turn through the labyrinthine streets mirrored the tumult of her emotions, the anger and hurt propelling her forward, away from the source of her pain.

As the cityscape unfolded around her, doubt and self-reflection crept in during the quieter moments between the blaring horns and angry drivers. The wounds inflicted by Butcher's words cut deep, leaving Olive navigating the maze of her own thoughts, desperately seeking solace that remained elusive in the relentless pursuit of the night.

The concrete jungle stretched before her, its towering structures intimidating and indifferent. The glow of neon signs cast a surreal hue over the scene, further distorting the boundary between reality and the disorienting maze of Olive's emotions. The cold air bit at her exposed skin, a sharp reminder of the raw vulnerability she felt.

As the city unfolded its sprawling expanse, Olive's motorcycle became both a vessel and a shield. The rhythmic purr of the engine became a steadfast companion, drowning out the internal turmoil but unable to dispel the weight of the emotions that clung to her like a heavy cloak.

In the midst of the metropolitan chaos, Olive's journey through the city took on a symbolic resonance. The winding streets reflected the twists and turns of her internal struggle, a desperate attempt to outrun the shadows cast by Butcher's harsh judgments. The tears on her cheeks, invisible in the night, were like liquid echoes of the emotional storm within.

Yet, with every passing moment, Olive's resolve solidified. Once a mere blur, the distant lights became beacons of potential escape. Despite its indifferent facade, the city offered the promise of anonymity and a chance to confront the turmoil within her.

As the motorcycle cut through the night, Olive's thoughts became a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. The anger that fueled her speed gave way to the hurt that lingered, creating a symphony of discordant feelings. The concrete jungle held both the trap and the escape, and Olive, in her quest for solace, rode on through the night.

The rhythm of Olive's motorcycle, a fleeting refuge from her turbulent thoughts, was abruptly shattered as Homelander descended from the night sky, a formidable presence landing directly in her bike's path. Panic gripped Olive, and her instincts kicked in, forcing her to slam the brakes and skid to an abrupt stop. The sudden halt threw her off balance, and she struggled to dismount the motorcycle with any semblance of grace.

Rolling off the bike just before it could collide with Homelander, Olive felt the harsh bite of the road against her leather jacket, the asphalt tearing at the fabric like a relentless cheese grater. As she hit the ground, the engine's roar diminished to a muted echo, replaced by the impending confrontation with the formidable superhero.

Homelander, disdain etched on his face, callously kicked the bike aside as if it were a mere pebble in his path. His sneer deepened as he regarded Olive. "You’ve been a tough rat to catch, Cryptid." His condescending tone only fueled the frustration that simmered beneath Olive's surface. To make matters worse, Black Noir and The Deep emerged around the corner, effectively blocking any potential escape routes.

Tensing her jaw, Olive moved swiftly, standing and backing up desperately to avoid unnecessary conflict. She pulled off her helmet, holding it up with one hand as she raised the other in a sign of surrender. Her mind raced, and the practiced lie slipped effortlessly from her tongue. "You've got the wrong person. I'm just on my way home from work."

The dim glow of the streetlights highlighted the tension in the air as Homelander took a menacing step forward. Olive mirrored his movement with her own step backwards, her teeth clenched, hoping against hope that reason might prevail over brute force. The city's nocturnal symphony played on, indifferent to the impending clash between the super-powered adversaries.

Homelander's smirk widened as he revelled in the confrontation, relishing the challenge before him. "Do you think I’m an idiot?” he asked with a self-assured smirk. With deliberate steps, he advanced, and Olive, her instincts sharp, mirrored his movements with a wary backward step.

“Dude, I just said I wasn’t Crypid,” Olive said, doing her best to sound believable.

“Don’t f*cking lie to me!” Homelander shouts, pointing at her. “And don’t you dare call me dude!” Homelanders sneered. He stepped forward again. “You’re coming with me.” Homelander's words dripped with arrogance, his entitlement evident in every syllable.

Olive was aware of Black Noir and The Deep moving closer behind her. “I’m not going anywhere.” She put her helmet in front of her and prepared for a fight.

“I’m losing my f*cking patients!” Homelander shouts.

“So am I.” Olive's snarl punctuated the air as she hurled her helmet at Homelander with unbridled fury, the projectile hurtling through the space between them like a missile. Quick to react, Homelander knocked it aside, but before he could fully regain his composure, Olive was already on the offensive.

In the dimly lit alley, fists meeting flesh reverberated like thunder. Olive's relentless assault on Homelander was a raw power and determination symphony. Every punch she threw was a declaration, a testament to her refusal to be underestimated or overpowered.

Caught off guard by the unexpected resistance, Homelander snarled in frustration, retaliating with force. "It’s adorable you think you’re anything more than a walking battery!" Each word dripped with condescension, an attempt to undermine her spirit and remind her of the vast power differential that separated them.

“You talk too f*cking much,” Olive's response was visceral, a guttural growl as she summoned another wave of electricity. The crackling energy surged toward Homelander.

The explosive burst of energy crashed against Homelander's chest, a dazzling display of power that sent him stumbling backward. Quickly recovering, he caught himself against a nearby wall, his face contorting into an enraged scowl. Black Noir moved forward to get involved in the fight, but Homelander growled, “Get back now!” while he pointed at Black Noir, “She’s mine!’ The electrical current seemed to fuel Homelander's fury, and like a charging bull, he lunged toward Olive, determined to assert his dominance.

The impact of his charge sent Olive crashing into a wall, her body crumpling down as she tried to catch her breath, the wall knocked out of her lungs. Homelander, undeterred, pressed on, his anger radiating in every decisive move. He pushed his foot onto her chest, pressing hard enough to threaten to crush her ribs. Homelander smiled as he looked down at her, savouring the sight of her struggling against him.

Fueled by adrenaline and determination, Olive reached out, grabbing Homelander's leg and unleashing a surge of electricity. The muscles spasmed uncontrollably, and Homelander buckled under the unexpected assault. Seizing the opportunity, Olive rolled away and sprang back to her feet, giving him no time to recover. Her eyes glowed brighter as she sent another blast of power at him and punched him as hard as possible. The double blow sends Homelander flying down the ally, landing by Black Noir and Deep’s feet.

Homelander, gritting his teeth, nodded to The Deep, who produced a mysterious device that caught Olive's attention. The unpredictable nature of the fight took an intriguing turn, leaving Olive on edge.

"You think you’re somebody?" Homelander hissed, rising to his feet with a jaw clenched so tight it seemed on the verge of shattering. "You think you can get the better of me?" His eyes blazed with unbridled rage, setting the stage for a clash of titans, each with their own arsenal of powers and a thirst for victory.

The Deep activated the device, a sinister mechanism designed to nullify Olive's formidable powers. The once-vibrant streetlights flickered and dimmed as the machine greedily absorbed the surrounding electricity, and Olive could feel the very essence of her abilities being drained from her body like a relentless leech. Panic surged within her as she desperately attempted to summon her powers, but to her dismay, there was nothing—no spark, no flicker of the energy that had always been her constant companion.

Caught off guard by the abrupt and debilitating loss of her powers, Olive stumbled backward, her senses thrown into disarray, and her body weakened by the vacuum left by the absence of her extraordinary abilities. Each step felt like an arduous journey as her strength waned, the once-surge of energy now replaced by an oppressive vulnerability.

"What the hell did you do?" she exclaimed, the harsh reality of the device's impact hitting her with full force. Once confident and purposeful, her movements were now clumsy and heavy with the exhaustion setting in, and the self-assuredness she had moments ago vanished like a fleeting shadow. Desperation flickered in her eyes as she attempted to retreat, but Homelander, sensing victory, pursued her relentlessly.

"You're nothing, a weak little lab rat with no idea who she belongs to," he taunted, relishing in the perceived triumph that the power-dampening device had afforded him.

The draining effect continued to sap Olive's strength with each passing second. Despite her clenched teeth and defiant spirit, she stumbled, weakened, and slowly faded. "This isn't over," she vowed, her hand reaching instinctively for her knife, the flames of determination still burning brightly in her eyes despite the overwhelming odds.

"This was never a contest," Homelander said arrogantly. In a swift and dismissive motion, Homelander knocked the knife out of her hands as if swatting away an inconsequential insect, simultaneously sending her sprawling to the ground. She crumpled as if under the influence of a potent drug, fighting against the encroaching tunnel vision and the oppressive heaviness in her muscles. Every attempt to rise was met with stubborn resistance, and she was reduced to crawling away in a desperate attempt to escape.

"You piece of sh*t,” Olive uttered through gritted teeth, summoning every ounce of determination she could muster to stay conscious. "I'm not giving up." With a final, desperate attempt to push herself up, she strained against the overwhelming weakness that gripped her body. However, Homelander's boot swiftly descended, delivering a punishing kick that sent her back to the unforgiving ground.

"I told you it wasn't going to be a contest." Homelander stepped over her wounded body, his foot pressing firmly against her chest to restrain her from rising. He paused, relishing her feeble efforts to regain her strength, a smirk plastered across his face. "And you..." he continued, staring down at Olive's defiant eyes, "You are nothing." he mused as his foot pressed harder against her chest, preventing her breathing with the weight of his body.

Homelander's laughter echoed through the air, a cruel symphony that accompanied Olive's fading consciousness. "It's over, Olive," Homelander said arrogantly, watching her weak, helpless struggles with a twisted grin. "I've won." As the life drained from Olive's eyes, Homelander's boot remained pressed against her, his cruel smile growing wider with each passing second. Olive's mind got weaker and weaker as she succumbed to the relentless drain on her powers, plunging into the abyss of unconsciousness.

Chapter 38: Truth Watch Unmasking Cryptid – Hero or Villain?

Chapter Text

🔍 Breaking: Cryptid Caught in the Web of Vought Conspiracies?

Hey fellow truth-seekers, ShadowWatcher137 here with some mind-blowing intel straight from the heart of the conspiracy jungle. 🕵️ Rumors have been swirling that Vought has caught the elusive Cryptid.

For those out of the loop, Cryptid is the mysterious supe vigilante that has been skirting the edges of Vought's radar for months. Reports suggest she's got powers that could make even Homelander himself twitchy. 👀 But what's she been doing? And why is Vought suddenly taking an interest?

Multiple eyewitness accounts report Cryptid engaged in a heated confrontation with none other than Homelander himself! 🤯 What's even more mind-boggling is that The Deep and Homelander used some kind of power-draining device on her. What is Vought so afraid of that they're resorting to these extreme measures?

Conspiracy theorists, assemble! Let's brainstorm on what's really going down. Some suggest that Cryptid might be the missing puzzle piece in Vought's grand plan. Others argue she's a rogue experiment, a wild card Vought wants to keep under control. What's your take on this cryptic Cryptid situation?

Could this be the beginning of Vought's grand reveal? Are they about to unmask their own creation? Or is Cryptid fighting against the corrupt empire, trying to bring their secrets crashing down? The chess pieces are moving, and we need all hands on deck to decrypt this unfolding saga.

Drop your wildest theories, insider info, or links to other Cryptid sightings below. We're all in this together, exposing the truth one conspiracy at a time. Stay vigilant, comrades! 👁️🔍 #CryptidExposed #VoughtConspiracy #TruthUnveiled

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Chapter 39: Broken Slowly

Chapter Text

Olive gradually emerged from the shadows of unconsciousness, finding herself nestled in the heart of a harshly illuminated, sterile laboratory. The stark contrast between the clinical environment and the recent battlefield chaos was jarring. The lab seemed to breathe with a cold, artificial precision, its unforgiving brightness casting shadows that danced ominously on the sterile surfaces.

The malevolent device, an ominous creation designed to siphon her powers, continued its relentless assault—the censors attached to her skin, plugging her in like a sick human outlet. The humming machinery reverberated through the room, creating an atmosphere of palpable tension. A dull ache persisted, a pervasive reminder of the formidable power she once commanded, now diminished and held captive.

As her awareness deepened, the initial panic of being restrained gripped Olive. The cold embrace of the restraints on her wrists and ankles served as an unwelcome testament to her vulnerability. Slowly, the contours of the lab took shape, revealing a tableau of high-tech equipment and cold, metallic surfaces. The air carried the weight of scientific precision, amplifying the eerie ambiance surrounding her.

Homelander, an imposing figure of unchecked power, loomed in the room with arrogant authority. His presence seemed to saturate the sterile environment, the artificial lighting accentuating the cold calculation in his eyes. A sinister smirk played on his lips as he scrolled through Olive’s phone.

In this clinical and unforgiving setting, Olive found herself at the mercy of both the draining device and the capricious whims of Homelander. The clash between the sterile laboratory aesthetics and the palpable tension in the air created an unsettling backdrop for the unfolding confrontation, a battle against physical restraints and the encroaching darkness that threatened to consume her resilience.

"I don't need you to be fearless; none of us are. We're all scared all the time. Scared of losing, scared of pain, scared of Homelander. f*ck, heaven knows how scared Hughie gets when there’s a spider in the shower. But I need you to be brave, Olive. ‘Can't have you freezing up when it matters,"

Olive drew in a shaky breath, fighting against the tendrils of panic that threatened to coil around her consciousness. The oppressive atmosphere in the room seemed to tighten its grip, squeezing the air out of her lungs. Desperation clawed at her, but she clung to the flickering embers of strength within, summoning the essence of Butcher to bolster her resolve. This moment transcended fear; it was a battle for her survival, and she refused to succumb to the encroaching darkness. This is a time that mattered, and she would be damned if she froze now.

As her senses fully returned, she focused on Homelander, the embodiment of malice and unchecked power. His voice, dripping with a toxic co*cktail of amusem*nt and disdain, cut through the sterile air of the laboratory. "Who knew the mysterious vigilante, Cryptid, would have such an innocent name?" he stepped toward Olive, showing her he was looking through her texts with Butcher. "Olive,” he moved to where Black Noir stood a second ago, testing the name, “so soft-sounding.”

Olive met his gaze with a glare that spoke volumes of her hatred and disgust for the sad*stic supe before her. The intensity in her eyes burned like smouldering embers, reflecting the fiery defiance that simmered within. The room seemed to warp and contort, shadows dancing in macabre celebration as the confrontation unfolded.

The stark lighting accentuated the harsh lines on Homelander's face, casting eerie shadows that flickered with each malevolent word he uttered. The air crackled with tension, the cold sterility of the laboratory amplifying the psychological warfare being waged upon Olive's psyche.

In the face of this nightmarish scenario, she clung to the mental image of Butcher, channelling his unyielding strength and determination. The amalgamation of Butcher's resilience and indomitable spirit became a shield against the encroaching horror, a defiant stand in the face of Homelander's sad*stic glee.

Homelander's smirk persisted, an unsettling blend of arrogance and amusem*nt etched on his face. "And that adorable little nickname, it's almost too precious," he remarked sarcastically, his words laced with a veiled threat. The ominous presence of Black Noir and The Deep behind him added a layer of menace to the tense atmosphere. “Isn’t it ‘Livie-girl”

Olive felt his words slice deeper than they should have. “Don’t call me that,” she said quickly. Only one person was allowed to call her that, which was undoubtedly not Homelander.

Homelander smirked as he heard her attempt to be assertive. "Oh, I’ll call you whatever the f*ck I want,” Homelander replied. "And there's nothing you can do about it. Because we're playing by my rules now, 'Livie-Girl. Don't you understand that yet?"

“If there’s nothing I can do, turn off that f*cking machine,” Olive says harshly, motioning with a nod of her head to the machine stopping her electrical powers.

"Oh, I don't think so." Homelander chuckled, amused by her attempt at bravado. "Do you know why you’re still alive, or do you need me to spell that out for you, too?" Homelander inquired, the condescension in his tone sending a chill down Olive's spine.

In response, Olive mustered a defiant glare, her eyes burning with a fierce determination. "f*cking coward." she spat out, her voice a raspy whisper that cut through the oppressive silence of the lab.

Homelander's chilling chuckle reverberated through the sterile lab, each sinister note intensifying the ominous atmosphere. Like a dark melody, the sound sent shivers down Olive's spine, intensifying the fear that gripped her. "Stubborn to the end, huh? I admire that in a supe," he remarked with an unsettling blend of amusem*nt and disdain.

Approaching with slow, deliberate steps, Homelander's figure cast a looming shadow over Olive. His crystal-clear intent hung in the air like an impending storm. "Well, here’s what's gonna happen," he declared, his voice a cold proclamation of the upcoming horrors. "We're going to keep you in this lab, ask you a few simple questions…" The vague nature of those tests fueled Olive's imagination, her mind conjuring nightmarish scenarios that added to the growing dread.

His words continued each sentence with a calculated drop of venom. "After I find out what I want, maybe I’ll kill you... maybe... I don’t know yet..." The uncertainty in Homelander's tone played on Olive's fear of the unknown, leaving her trapped in a nightmarish limbo where death became a twisted lottery. His sad*stic smirk, a nasty glint in his eyes, hinted at the perverse pleasure he derived from the torment he inflicted.

"Maybe we could let The Deep have fun with you first..." Homelander added with a nonchalant shrug as if discussing the most casual activities. The suggestion hung in the air like a toxic cloud, the sheer depravity of the proposition amplifying the horror. The dreadful idea of The Deep, with his brand of twisted entertainment, sent a wave of dread crashing over Olive.

Fuelled by a surge of rage, Olive jerked against her restraints, a futile attempt to strike back at the approaching nightmare. The metallic clinks of the restraints echoed her struggle. Each sound was a reminder of the physical and psychological prison that Homelander was constructing around her.

Homelander's smirk widened in cruel amusem*nt, a macabre display of satisfaction at the sight of Olive's futile resistance. "Look at this one... trying to fight... I love it when they fight." His voice, a sinister melody, echoed through the sterile confines of the lab. With predatory grace, he moved closer, circling the head of the table where Olive lay restrained. Like a shark sizing up its prey, his eyes glinted with malice.

"Keep fighting, I like a challenge... I'll make sure not to break you right away... but it will happen eventually..." Homelander's taunting words, delivered with a sad*stic relish, hung in the air like a death sentence. He leaned in, his proximity suffocating, and whispered into Olive's ear with a perverse invitation. "We can get started anytime you like; just say the word...."

“f*ck you!” Olive spat, defiance fueling her every word as she pulled against the unforgiving restraints. The futile struggle only seemed to amuse Homelander further, his smile growing as if revelling in her resistance.

Homelander, not content with mere verbal torment, took hold of Olive's face with one hand, forcing her to meet his chilling gaze. "The harder you fight... the better it is for me," he murmured, his words casting a chilling pall over her skin, though she refused to let the fear show. "I have all day to play with you. You're mine... I can do whatever I want to you..." The ominous promise hung in the air, an unspoken threat that Olive knew she couldn't escape.

"You don't scare me," Olive declared defiantly, her voice slicing through the tense air in the lab. Of course, it was a lie, but she could pretend it was true enough to make the words sound real.

Homelander's eyes, initially masked with amusem*nt, transformed into pools of darkness, his anger radiating an unsettling energy. His jaw clenched, and a palpable tension filled the room. "Where's Butcher?" he demanded, the ominous edge in his tone intensifying with his rising fury.

A cold smile played on Olive's lips, a glint of defiance in her eyes. Shifting her gaze, she looked up at the lab ceiling, and a chuckle escaped her. She had no intention of uttering a single word. The silence that followed her laughter magnified the ominous atmosphere, accentuating the chilling presence of Homelander.

Homelander seized Olive by her hair, his grip cruel and painful as he twisted it in his hand. The intensity of his demand reverberated through the sterile walls of the lab. "WHERE IS BUTCHER?" he roared, his tone escalating in volume and menace. His fingers tightened their vice-like hold, a silent threat lingering in the air. A brief pause followed a momentary break as Homelander took a deep breath, attempting to rein in anger within him.

Now controlled but no less menacing, his voice cut through the air like a razor. "Where. Is. Butcher?" he repeated, the words dripping with a quiet yet palpable threat. His unyielding gaze bore into Olive's, unwavering and penetrating, observing her every move, every breath, every involuntary twitch.

Despite the physical pain, Olive's defiant smile only widened. "He's not scared of you either. Neither is the rest of the boys. We can see who you are," she taunted, her words delivered with an audacious confidence that only seemed to stoke the simmering anger in Homelander's eyes. The unsettling silence that followed hung heavy in the air, the tension between captor and captive escalating with each passing moment.

Homelander's icy stare narrowed, and the vice-like grip on Olive's hair intensified. "You don't know me," he declared, his tone remaining eerily even and controlled, with only a subtle edge of menace creeping in. "You have no idea what I'm capable of," he stated flatly, the underlying threat hanging heavily in the air. Suddenly, the tension in his hand relaxed, and he released Olive's hair, a calculated move designed to keep her on edge.

"Hold her still..." he commanded with a wave towards Black Noir, who was more than happy to comply with the order. His muscled figure lumbered to Olive, pinning her shoulders tightly against the table. The force of his grip caused Olive to grimace in pain, the sensation of the metal restraints on her wrists an acute reminder of her vulnerability.

However, Olive remained defiant, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, the smirk on her lips undeterred, even after the slight grimace. She was no stranger to pain, having navigated its treacherous terrain throughout her life. Pain was an old companion, a shadow she knew well and could confront with unwavering resilience.

Homelander's eyes darkened again, a flicker of frustration breaking through his calm and controlled composure. "Hold her down harder, Noir. I want to see her struggle. It's fun when they struggle." The sad*stic gleam in Homelander's eyes made the order as perverse as it was precise. Black Noir complied, tightening his grip on Olive, pinning her shoulders to the table inhumanely, her shoulder blades digging into the metal table painfully.

As Black Noir held her down, Olive gritted her teeth, preparing herself for the impending storm. The air in the lab thickened with an oppressive sense of dread as Homelander's methods unfolded. His approach was nothing short of brutal, an unyielding onslaught meticulously designed to shatter Olive's resolve. Each bone broken seemed like a cruel symphony of agony, only to witness them heal within seconds. Searing cuts into her flesh served as a gruesome canvas for the macabre dance of her rapid regeneration, an ability that only fueled Homelander's growing rage.

The excruciating pain surged through her, each torment meticulously crafted to extract information about Butcher and the Boys. Yet, despite the unrelenting agony, Olive clung tenaciously to her silence, a steadfast refusal to succumb to the sad*stic whims of her captors.

Homelander continued his assault, the escalating intensity of his interrogation fueling his sad*stic delight. Olive grunted, her teeth locked in a tight grimace as she endured the unrelenting torture. Olive tried to suppress a cry of pain, her eyes beginning to well up as his pain intensified. Homelander's rage continued to grow, and his demeanour became increasingly menacing. Olive clung to the pain, her healing abilities allowing her to endure a level of torment that would’ve crippled anyone else.

"This could be so easy if you weren’t so difficult," he taunted, his voice a cruel melody against the backdrop of Olive's torment. "Just tell us where they are, and it can all end." he waved Black Noir off, coming to stand closer to Olive’s face again.

Through gritted teeth, Olive managed a weak, defiant chuckle. Her teeth coated with the red of her blood, her eyes still firey with determination. “I can do this for hours.”

Homelander's facade wavered. Humiliated by Olive's relentless defiance, Homelander snapped. His grin turned into a twisted sneer. "Oh, I know," he said, his eyes glowing slightly red with his rising anger. Olive’s defiance sparked Homelander's desire for dominance, his maliciousness growing with each moment. "I've got all day to do this, to make this hurt." he leaned close to her face. “Just give in to me. Save yourself all this trouble. You know I’ll win eventually.”

Olive took advantage of him being so close and head-butted him as hard as she could, jerking against the restraints again to try and hit him.

The hit caught him by surprise, and Homelander took a step away for a moment, his hand coming up to his nose instinctively. He was taken aback for a moment, but his rage immediately grew back, and it took him only an instant to recover. His smirk dropped away. His eye twitched, the vein in his forehead beginning to bulge. "You little bitch," Homelander spat, his eyes narrowing, his lip curling with rage.

“f*ck you!” Olive shouted back, her anger fueling her. “You f*cking c*nt! Pathetic little coward!” she struggled against the cuffs, “I’ll kill you! You’re nothing!”

Without another thought, Homelander grabbed Olive by her hair, using his grip to hold her in place as he loomed over her. "Oh, you would, would you?" he asked softly, smiling at the challenge in her tone. "You think you can kill me? You're barely more than a child. An ignorant little girl."

“Do you know who the f*ck I am?” Olive growled back. “Do you even know why I was born?”

"Oh, I know exactly what you are," Homelander replied, the smirk on his face turning dark and cruel. "You're a weapon. That's all you'll ever be. A toy designed to make Vought money. You're nothing more than a science experiment."

Black Noir’s head tilted slightly, looking at Homelander for a moment before looking back at the wall like he was. But Homelander was too focused on Olive to notice.

Olive’s jaw hardened as she glared at him, his insults again finding their mark. “Screw you,” she said between her teeth.

Homelander laughed at the response, his face twisting into a mocking smile. "What, did I touch a nerve? Are you trying to prove that you're more than just a 'science experiment'? Oh, 'Livie-Girl, you're not even smart enough to know what a real challenge looks like. How could you hope to take on an actual threat, let alone me?"

Olive looked away, trying not to let his words hurt her. But as she adverted her eyes, Homelander knew he had found the crack in her armour.

When she didn't reply, Homelander decided to push things further, his grin growing wider with satisfaction as he leaned in again, his face inches from hers. "Oh, you're giving up that quickly?" Homelander asked, his tongue sliding between his teeth with a malicious grin. "How sad. I thought you had a bit more fight than that, 'Livie-Girl. Guess not."

“Don’t f*cking call me that!” Olive snarled, fighting to get out of the cuffs.

Homelander grabbed her throat, pushing her back down onto the table, cutting off her airway. "I'll call you whatever I want!" Homelander hissed, leaning closer so his breath hit her face. "Or would you like me to call you something else? What about 'daddy's little girl'?” he chuckled, the words so sickening and fitting.

Olive gasped for breath, sneering as she looked at Homelander.

Homelander could see the hatred boiling in Olive's eyes, and he had to suppress a delighted laugh. "Is daddy's little girl angry?" he asked, his tone full of scorn, the rage she was showing exciting him. “Butcher never loved you? Is that the problem? Poor, poor olive, abandoned, even by the person who uses her like a f*cking weapon.”

“Shut up,” Olive choked out, still trying to breathe, but Homelander squeezed her throat harder. She tried to hide it, but it was clear that Homlander’s words were hurting her far more than any of the other torture.

Homelander felt her struggle, saw how she was trying to avoid eye contact and knew his words were having an effect, which only made him press closer. "Butcher should've put you down like the dog you are," he whispered in her ear, his hot breath hitting her skin, "The second he realized he couldn’t control you. I bet he wishes he had…”

Olive felt the sting of tears in her eyes. “Stop,” she tried to keep her voice even, but it was getting harder and harder.

Homelander's rage was growing, his fingers tightening around her neck as her weakness fueled him. "Maybe he just wanted a real child... not a superhuman like us. A real kid he could raise to be loyal to him. Not some weapon. A real girl who wouldn't ever let him down..." he whispered with a sickening satisfaction.

She gasped for breath, but Homelander could see the tears in her eyes. And he knew she was so close to finally breaking.

"But... he could never have that, could he?" Homelander continued, his eyes burning into hers, savouring every second of her struggle. "He ended up with nothing but... you. Just a science experiment, barely even human. A freak. A mistake. A... disappointment."

“You’re a monster,” she whimpered, the tears in her eyes finally overflowing and streaming down her cheeks.

Homelander let her throat go, stepping away and smiling. He had finally broken her. "You're right..." Homelander said softly, relishing her misery and watching her cry, "I'm a monster.” Homalander turned away. “Noir, let’s go give old Billy Butcher a call. Deep, stay here and make sure our little mutt doesn’t get free.”

Leaving the room with a sinister swish of his cape, Homelander declared, 'I'm a monster.' As he and Black Noir exited, the lingering echoes of Olive's silent tears served as haunting evidence of the darkness that had enveloped the sterile laboratory.

Chapter 40: Olive to Butcher Texts (Phone Number 14)

Chapter Text

November 23, 2023, 9:38 PM

Come get food

9:38 PM

I’m not hungry, i already ate

9:39 PM

Not enough

MM made that soup you like

Now come out of your room before I pour it through the cracks in your door

9:39 PM

Ok, I'm coming

9:39 PM

November 24, 2023, 4:45 PM

Have you seen my sketchbook?

4:45 PM

November 24, 2023, 9:05 PM

Why the f*ck would I know where your sketchbook is?

9:05 PM

I found it.

I asked you forever ago.

9:10 PM

And I’ve been f*cking busy

9:22 PM

November 25, 2023, 8:27PM

Hair time

Bring a brush

And one of those things

8:27PM

Things?

8:27PM

The things livie

You know what im taking about

8:27PM

You gotta help me out a little more

I have no idea what you’re talking about

8:27PM

THE THINGS!

The things that you put to hold the braid

The black things

8:27PM

Hair ties?

8:28PM

Same f*cking thing

You know what i meant

Just f*cking get out here!

8:28PM

November 26, 2023, 1:10AM

I’ll leave the door unlocked for when you’re done your little temper tantrum

1:10AM

Missed call - 1:12AM

November 26, 2023, 3:07AM

Where the hell are you?

I know i was a little harsh but it’s been hours livie

3:07AM

Missed call

3:07AM

Missed call

3:08AM

November 26, 2023, 3:45AM

Livie girl I made a right mess of things im bloody sorry

Just come back here so we can move past it

3:45AM

Missesd call

3:45AM

Missesd call

3:46AM

Answer the f*cking phone bigfoot!

3:46AM

Missesd call

3:48AM

I was bloody furious, but it's no excuse. Where are you?

3:52AM

Please tell me you didn't fry your phone again we just got you this one

3:58AM

Missesd call

3:59AM

Olive there was a motorcycle crash downtown

if you do not text me back im going to kill you

4:02AM

Missesd call

4:03AM

Olive this aint a f*cking joke

Need to know your all right

just bloody answer

4:05AM

Missesd call

4:06AM

Missesd call

4:07AM

Missesd call

4:08AM

Missesd call

4:09AM

Chapter 41: Dead or Alive

Chapter Text

The morning sun struggled to cast its weak glow over the Boys' safe house, its feeble rays barely managing to penetrate the thick tension lingering in the air. As Butcher stirred from an uneasy sleep, the anchor of guilt weighed heavily on him, a consequence of the harsh words he had unleashed the day before.

Opening his eyes to the dimly lit common room, the shadows under his eyes spoke of a restless night spent in an armchair, a silent vigil for Olive's return. The anticipation and worry hung heavily in the air, and his gaze desperately sought out the familiar signs of her presence—her shoes by the entrance, her jacket on the hook, keys or helmet neatly arranged—but they were noticeably absent.

Realization struck cruelly; Olive hadn't returned. The unease that had settled over him during the night now tightened into a knot of worry and guilt. He cursed himself for the bitter words spoken in the heat of the moment, acknowledging the anger that had overshadowed his genuine concern for her.

The safe house, once filled with the echoes of their banter, now stood in deafening silence. Butcher replayed their last conversation, each word a barb digging into his conscience. The guilt was an oppressive burden, and he couldn't shake the nagging thought that he might have pushed Olive away when she needed support.

Listening intently for the familiar sounds that defined the safe house's rhythm, he was met with an unsettling silence. The absence of Olive's energy left a void echoing with the ghosts of their last exchange. Her laughter, the routine sounds of cleaning firearms, and the comforting hum of the old radio—all conspicuously absent.

His steps echoed through the empty halls as he searched for any sign of her return, a gnawing worry tightening his chest. Passing by her room, the absence of her presence was a stark reminder of the void he had unwittingly contributed to. Kimiko clung to Olive's blankets to shield herself from nightmares induced by the sudden void.

Butcher's phone, abandoned on a nearby table, displayed unanswered calls and messages from the night before, yet not a single response from Olive. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders, and he knew he had to find her—not just for the mission but to mend the fractures their argument had caused.

With a heavy sigh, Butcher picked up his phone, his mind racing with worry, guilt, and determination. The upcoming day's events loomed, but for now, he focused on finding Olive and rectifying the bitter aftertaste left by their heated exchange in the morning air. The weight of guilt pressed down on Butcher as he braced himself for the task ahead, a blend of denial and worry fueling his conflicted emotions.

As Butcher weighed his options for the next move, the shrill ring of his phone shattered the calm air. When he saw Olive’s name on the caller ID, he grabbed the phone as fast as he could, but an ominous intuition gnawed at him, whispering that something dreadful had unfolded. A surge of icy dread coursed him, a suspicion that Olive was in trouble.

Butcher's heart pounded relentlessly as he cautiously answered the call. A bone-chilling unease seized him when he discerned someone else's breathing on the other end of the line. "Olive? 'Livie-girl, are you hurt? Where are you?" His tone conveyed a mix of worry and guilt, the unsettling realization that she was in distress, causing his stomach to churn.

Dread pooled in Butcher's stomach as he heard the other voice on the other end dripping with a sinister calm. As Butcher clutched the phone, every word from Homelander's lips felt like a chilling gust, stirring a whirlwind of worry and guilt within him. The desperate sound of Olive's now screams in agony in the background intensified his unease, and he couldn't shake the gnawing fear that he was responsible for putting her in this dangerous situation.

“'Livie-girl' is with me." Homelander taunted, the arrogance in his tone evident. “She's just… well… I'm having a little fun before I decide what exactly I want to do with her,” he spoke mockingly.

Butcher’s heart drops into his stomach in an instant. He was still trying to process Homelander's words, struggling to maintain his composure. He gripped his phone harder. As he thought about her in such pain, he felt the heat of rage inside him rising, threatening to overtake him. When Homelander spoke again, Butcher could only manage to let out a strangled shout. "What have you done to her?" His voice trembled angrily, and he tried to fight his growing frustration. He sounded as furious as he was horrified.

Homelander gave a cackling laugh and enjoyed hearing Butcher's frantic tone. “What have I done?" Homelander exclaimed, dripping with sarcasm, "Just having a little fun… She wasn’t answering my questions, so Black Noir and I loosened her tongue," He added, his tone growing more mocking.

Butcher's blood boils as Homelander's voice echoes over the phone, every word fueling the fire inside him. He can't believe how Homelander sees Olive as nothing more than a plaything, someone he can do whatever he wants to. Homelander is mocking him and enjoying it, and Butcher wants to reach through the phone and strangle him. He suddenly fears what Homelander's "little fun" entails. "What have you done to her, you fu-"

“Oh, calm down. You’re so dramatic.” The homelander spoke like he was scolding a child. "She's fine… well, mostly fine," Homelander teased, taking pleasure in inflicting discomfort on Butcher. "She's just having a little trouble speaking right now…” a sad*stic laugh followed the remark as he took delight in Butcher's concern for Olive.

“She's a kid, you sick bastard!" Butcher shouts, trying to keep his rage in check and stay levelheaded enough to make a plan.

“A kid?” Homelander scoffed “Oh, please, she's got to be over 20.” his condescending tone making his response seem like a cruel joke. “She's not some innocent girl, Butcher. She has powers which have made her just as dangerous as the rest of you. She can deal with a little rough and tumble. Besides…” he paused for effect, his words dripping with sad*stic glee, “She can take it. She can heal.”

Butcher listens closely to Homelander’s voice, his rage growing deeper with every word he speaks. “What do you want?” Butcher growls, letting his frustration and anger seep into his tone.

“Well, Butcher— I gotta say, I’m kind of surprised, actually. I didn’t expect you to answer my call. You know, the whole point of me kidnapping Olive was to put a stop to this all this Cryptid Bullsh*t, and if figured getting an advantage on you was just a bonus… but here you are talking to me. You’re breaking all your own rules for this kid! I guess when it comes to ‘Livie-girl, there is nothing you won’t do. She must be something special.”

Butcher freezes in place, unable to hide the truth that Homelander is highlighting. His guilt was mounting higher as he realized that Homelander was right. If anything happened to Olive, it would be on Butcher, and he wouldn't be able to live with himself. He had let his hatred for Homelander and Supes blind him to what Olive meant to him and that he was willing to do anything for her. In his anger at Homelander, he forgot that Olive's safety always mattered the most.

"You don’t have to be someone’s dad to care about them,”

“And why would I care about some supe?”

Butcher's mind drifts back to the harsh words he uttered to Olive last night. The pain in his heart grows every time this memory surfaces. He couldn't believe he had told her he didn't care about her. When she tried to get his help, he threw her words back in her face like they meant nothing to him. He's the one who made this situation possible, and he can't bear to think that she may have felt abandoned in those moments of terror. Finally, he growled, “Just tell me what you want,” angrily, trying not to show that Homelander had affected him.

“Now, now. Let’s not be hasty. I want to take my time with this. I want to take the time to really savour it and make sure that everything is just... perfect.” Homelander replied, his voice deceptively smooth "I want the Vought files you stole from the lab you burned down and delivered to me by the end of the day. In exchange, your precious rat goes free."

Butcher lets out a sharp exhalation as he hears Homelander’s cruel words. “And if I refuse?” Butcher knows the answer, but he’s hoping for some loophole Homelander might have missed.

“If you refuse?” Homelander's laughter erupts over the line, his words a menacing whisper as he replies, “ No, no, no, no, no, no, You won't refuse. Because if you refuse, I will tear her skin off inch by pretty little inch, and then I will peal the muscle off her bones, strip by strip. I will slowly and painfully take her apart piece by piece... I will take my time... let you hear her screams over the phone... and when I end up with nothing more than a small pile of pieces on my table… I’ll dump what’s left on your doorstep." Homelander pauses, "I'll let you see exactly what you did to her..." Homelander chuckles in sad*stic enjoyment. “And you'd never be able to forgive yourself... or anyone else, either, would you, Butcher? you’re always talking about protecting the world from supes like me. Funny thing is, you couldn't prevent me from snatching your precious little girl, could you? Now that I've got her, it seems she needs you. And trust me, she needs you... desperately.”

With his words, Butcher finally lost the grip on his anger, and his rage found its mark as he made homelander’s threat seem like nothing with one of his own.

“Listen ‘ere, c*nt” Butcher growled, his voice dripping with barely contained rage. "You can shove your pathetic demands straight up your filthy arse. Because I will hunt you down. I will go to every godforsaken lab in this f*cking cesspool of a city. Every single f*cking person standing in my way will learn exactly what they teach you in the special forces. I'll paint this f*cking city red with their blood, and the trail will lead straight to you." Butcher’s voice was more than a threat. It was a promise. “And if I find even a bloody hair out of place on her f*cking head, I will make what you just described look like a happy f*cking fairy tail. And after I’ve put your head on a f*cking stake right in front of Vought tower, every media outlet, every reporter, every single f*cking person in this state will get a copy of every file I have on you.”

"And what if I killed her? Right now." Homelander asked smugly

The thought that if Homelander kills Olive before he can reach her is suddenly chilling him to the core. In a sudden surge of fear, Butcher’s rage intensifies in a way he couldn’t imagine. “Don’t you fu-“ Butcher can’t complete the threat as Homelander interrupts him.

“Don’t what? You think you can threaten me, and I’ll back down? Well, what if I do kill her? That’s it, that’s the end of her. What will you do then? What can you do? Nothing. Nothing but sit there and weep. You’ll never forgive yourself. And the world would be better off without a pathetic loser like you in it.” A chilling chuckle echoed through the phone. "You always did have a way with words, Butcher. But I don’t think you understand. I have power here, not you. I have your best soldier’s life in my hands. If I want her dead, she dies." His tone was still even and controlled, but it bore a hint of cruelty beneath. "If you want a fight, that’s fine with me, but remember, time is ticking, and I wouldn't want anything unfortunate to happen to our little girl.”

Butcher was quiet for a long time but finally he growled “Fine.” Butcher's voice barely sounded human. “But so help me, god, if you hurt her-”

“Oh, I already have.” Homelander pauses for added effect before giving Butcher the lab location. “See you soon.”

The call ended, leaving Butcher seething with anger. With a primal roar, he hurled the phone across the room, the crash against the wall echoing the turmoil in his soul. "f*ck!" he shouted, his anger exploding from him.

In a surge of raw fury, he drove his fist into the nearest wall, the force creating a jagged hole as plaster and wood splintered under the impact.

Butcher stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, the remnants of his rage dissipating into a heavy, smoldering anger. The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with the intensity of his emotions. He turned away from the damaged wall, striding to the worn-out couch.

Sinking onto the couch, he put his head in his hands, his broad shoulders slumping with the weight of the situation.

"So, you gonna give him the files?" MM's inquiry cut through the tense air, and Butcher glanced up to find him standing in the doorway.

Taking several deep breaths to compose himself, Butcher responded to MM's question. "Yeah," his voice remained steady, a thin veneer over the lingering bitterness and anger. The sense of helplessness in this situation gnawed at him, but Butcher refused to back down. There was no way he'd allow Olive to face the horrors she had just endured. He'd do whatever it took to ensure her safety.

"Even though you and her almost died trying to get them?" MM probed.

"What else am I supposed to do, MM? Leave her with that..." Butcher's disdain for Homelander momentarily eclipsed the self-loathing stemming from their argument the previous night. "Monster?"

Olive needed his protection, and MM, of all people, should understand that. Right now, Butcher couldn't think of anyone he cared more about protecting. "I saved her once; I'm going to do it again," Butcher declared, his tone growing severe.

MM smiled approvingly and nodded. "Glad you finally came to your senses. Let’s go get her," he said, heading off to collect his weapons.

"Cheeky f*cker," Butcher chuckled, shaking his head. Standing, he began to gather the rest of the Boys. The weight of guilt gnawed at him, and Butcher knew he couldn't let their last conversation be the end. All he could feel now was rage—a pure, animalistic, protective rage.

Butcher wouldn’t stop until he got 'Livie back.

Chapter 42: Homelander Promo Video Voice over script version 4.6

Chapter Text

In a world where the American dream meets unparalleled heroism, one figure stands as the beacon of our nation's pride.

Homelander, the unwavering defender of the American way, commands attention within the hallowed halls of Vought Tower. As the fearless leader of The Seven, he epitomizes the essence of American heroism with unparalleled strength and dedication.

Watch as he soars through the skies, wings outstretched against the star-spangled banner—a faithful guardian of liberty. Homelanders' watchful eyes, fueled by the colours red, white, and blue, pierce through the darkness to safeguard the cherished values defining the American way of life.

In these turbulent times, Homelander remains an unyielding shield against forces threatening our freedom. His might extends beyond physical prowess; it delves into the very core of American ideals, uniting citizens from sea to shining sea under the banner of justice and liberty.

But it doesn't end there. Beyond the battlefield, Homelander's benevolence echoes the generosity America is known for. From heartland to metropolis, he dedicates himself to rebuilding communities and ensuring the prosperity of our homeland.

Homelander is not just a protector; he is a symbol of upliftment and empowerment, embodying the essence of the American dream. As the face of Vought, he stands tall—a living embodiment of the American spirit, inspiring us to reach for the stars and strive for greatness.

In times of uncertainty, find solace in knowing that Homelander, our guardian, watches over us, securing the American way of life for this generation and those yet to come. Join hands in a chorus of patriotism, celebrating the heroism of Homelander—a reflection of the red, white, and blue that unites us all. As we face challenges, draw strength from the assurance that Homelander stands as a beacon, guiding us toward a future where the American dream continues to shine brightly.

Chapter 43: Overload

Chapter Text

As Homelander and Black Noir exited the room, Olive took a moment to collect herself, the adrenaline from the recent events slowly subsiding. She turned her attention to the Deep, who seemed uncomfortable under her gaze. An idea struck her. She needed a way out, and he might be her ticket.

"You're the Deep, right?" she asked, trying to engage him in conversation, feigning casual interest.

"Yeah, that's right," he responded cautiously.

"You got, like, a real name?" Olive inquired, attempting to keep her tone non-threatening.

"I'm not supposed to tell you," he replied, narrowing his eyes. After a brief pause, he reluctantly added, "Kevin."

Turning her attention to the machine hindering her powers, Olive smoothly transitioned the conversation. "How do you put up with him, Kevin?" she asked, acknowledging the challenging dynamics within The Seven.

Initially surprised by the conversation, the Deep stammered, "Well, you know, it's... he's The Homelander." He shrugged. "You start to get used to it after a while."

Curious and sly, Olive skillfully redirected the dialogue, doing her best to get The Deep comfortable enough to tell her what she needed. "So, you've been in the ocean?"

"Of course. I mean, I'm the Deep, right? I've seen almost everything in there. Well, I mean, it's massive, so I haven't seen every place, but otherwise, yeah," he replied with a self-satisfied grin.

"Is it hard to fight underwater?" she inquired, playing into his ego.

"Oh, God, yeah. It's… it's like fighting with, um, you know, you ever try to punch in a dream, it's like that—like a wet dream... or something, I don't know. It's hard, it's awkward, things don't move like they're supposed to," he explained, giving Olive a glimpse into the unique struggles of underwater combat.

"So, you must be the strongest member of The Seven if you can fight underwater," Olive observed, further inflating his ego.

"Well, yeah, I guess so. I mean, like, you know, I don’t know about 'strongest'; you got Homelander and Noir, they’re… you know, pretty strong, too. But yeah, I can lift cars underwater and stuff, so I guess I’m pretty strong," he admitted, basking in the opportunity to highlight his strengths. He was falling straight into her manipulation trap.

"And you must be super smart to talk to all those fish," Olive added, stroking The Deep's ego even more.

"Well, um, yeah, that’s the thing, too. I mean, there’s a… a lot more nuance to talking with sea creatures than you’d think. You gotta watch out for regional dialects, and, uh, body language, even cultural distinctions," he explained, revealing a somewhat humorous aspect of his underwater communication skills.

As Olive shifted the conversation toward the machine that inhibited her powers, she nodded toward it, acknowledging his involvement. "So, you must've been the one to make that device, right?"

"Oh, yeah, that’s… uh, that’s me. Well, actually, it was Vought's design. A team of researchers developed it, but… yes, I refined the idea," he claimed, attempting to sound humble while exaggerating his role. "I made that. I invented that thing, uh… I don’t mean to brag, but, uh, it’s actually a pretty impressive gadget. I mean, a… a little more energy-intensive than I originally thought, but…" The Deep tried to sound cooler, unknowingly playing into Olive's strategy.

"So, how does it work?" she asked, maintaining an air of casual curiosity.

"Well, uh, it interferes with the electrical impulses in your brain that produce your powers. You know, like it sucks up the energy before you can use it, so you’re just constantly too low to actually use it," he explained.

"So, like a reverse battery?" Olive injected a small smile into her question, further manipulating him.

"Yeah, that’s exactly what it… it… is. Wait, why are you asking me?" the Deep's tone shifted to caution as he realized he might have revealed too much.

"Because I’m not dying here," Olive replied firmly, closing her eyes and focusing on her breathing, deliberately slowing it down. The room now swirled with the undertow of her manipulation, a game masterfully played to exploit The Deep's unwitting cooperation.

She needed to produce an extraordinary amount of power to beagle to manipulate that machine, which required pushing her limits to the brink. She needed to achieve this feat without succumbing to the exhaustion that often followed such displays of her abilities. Olive was well aware of a risky but effective method she could employ to elevate her powers to an unprecedented level, even though she dreaded the toll it would take on her.

"Olive, if you say the word 'can't' to me one more f*cking time, I will lose my f*cking mind," Butcher growled, his voice a low rumble of impatience. "You are going to get us out of here or die trying. Do you understand me?"

Olive was resolute, knowing she needed to take matters into her own hands. The stakes were high, and the oppressive confines of the lab fueled her determination. A growing sense of panic etched across his face as the Deep observed her actions. “What are you doing?” But Olive paid him no heed.

She closed her eyes and immersed herself in the vivid imagery of the lab's constraints. The sterile walls seemed to press against her from all sides, creating a suffocating sense of confinement. Instead of recoiling from the impending panic, Olive embraced it, inviting the sensation to wash over her. The pit of her stomach churned with unease, yet she saw it as a necessary means to an end.

With each passing second, the mental landscape of the lab became more vivid in her mind. The oppressive walls closed in. A relentless force mirrored her pressure. Like an insistent tide, panic crept through her, an unwelcome but essential companion. Yet, Olive welcomed it, allowing the emotion to swell within her.

In the depth of her mental struggle, a profound determination emerged. The erratic nature of her powers mirrored the tumult of emotions within her. Once a sterile environment, the room transformed into a battleground of willpower, where Olive faced the challenge head-on.

The chilling echo of Olive's desperate plea reverberated through the cold, sterile lab. The harsh, fluorescent lights flickered ominously as she was forcibly dragged towards the unforgiving steel table. "No! Please, no! I'll be good, I promise!" Her desperate cries filled the sterile air, a haunting symphony of fear that seemed to linger in the metallic hum of the lab.

The callous lab technicians and imposing security personnel showed no mercy, their grip unyielding as Olive fought against the inevitable. Amidst her desperate struggles, the lead scientist, Dr.Kane, observed with a sad*stic smirk. "Resisting isn't going to do anything but make things harder for yourself," she sneered, her words cutting through the air like a sinister whisper, sealing her fate in the cold, clinical confines of the malevolent laboratory.

The device continued its insidious work, greedily siphoning more power from her. Unaware of the impending shift in dynamics, it unwittingly played into Olive's hands—or, more accurately, her mind.

"If you keep squirming, we're going to punish you," Dr. Kane’s voice cut through the air like a cruel command, each word a chilling threat that hung heavy in the sterile atmosphere. Olive's sobs provided a dissonant counterpoint to the cold, clinical ambiance of the lab, where cruelty and torment danced together in a macabre symphony.

"We warned you," Dr.Kane said, a cold detachment in her voice as she motioned for the guard to advance. The air crackled with tension as Olive braced herself for what was to come. Searing pain enveloped her, the stench of burning flesh and the echoes of her own screams creating a nightmarish symphony. White-hot agony seared through her stomach, each moment stretching into an eternity of torment.

“And why would I care about some supe?” Butcher said, his words full of venom. The whole team went quiet. Olive looked at Butcher with a mix of shock and pain. "You're just a mutt we found in a cage and decided to let you out. Remember that. A stray we took in out of pity. You're nothing but a supe."

"Oh, I know exactly what you are," Homelander replied, the smirk on his face turning dark and cruel. "You're a weapon. That's all you'll ever be. A toy designed to make Vought money. You're nothing more than a science experiment."

"Is daddy's little girl angry?" he asked, his tone full of scorn, the rage she was showing actually exciting him. “Butcher never loved you? Is that the problem? Poor, poor olive, abandoned, even by the person who uses her like a f*cking weapon.”

"Butcher should've put you down like a dog," he whispered in her ear, his hot breath hitting her skin, "The second he realized he couldn’t control you. I bet he wishes he had…”

"Maybe he just wanted a real child... not a superhuman like us. A real kid he could raise to be loyal to him. Not some weapon. A real girl who wouldn't ever let him down..." he whispered with a sickening satisfaction.

"But... he could never have that, could he?" Homelander continued, his eyes burning into hers, savouring every second of her struggle. "He ended up with nothing but... you. Just a science experiment, barely even human. A freak. A mistake. A... disappointment."

With an abrupt surge of raw power, Olive unleashed a torrent of electricity, a luminous cascade that engulfed the suppressive device in a dazzling display of energy. In the recesses of her consciousness, Olive visualized the machine's struggle, navigating the intricate labyrinth of signals like a cosmic dance. Each pulsating power surge resonated with newfound confidence, a symphony of electric currents that conducted her abilities with unparalleled finesse, far surpassing any previous attempt to manipulate her extraordinary gift.

It was akin to scratching at an impenetrable brick wall. The machine fought back, attempting to halt Olive's assault, greedily absorbing her power like a relentless sponge. Undeterred, Olive persisted, her determination bolstered by an embrace of fear, an embrace that transformed the once-intimidating labyrinth into a canvas for her electrifying prowess.

Her breath quickened, and a grimace of effort adorned her face as she navigated the intricate web of signals. Her unique abilities gracefully interwove with the signals in a surge of exhilaration, coaxing the machine to undergo a dramatic reversal of its intended function. With one final surge, the signal was received, setting the machine's internal mechanisms into a whirlwind of accelerated activity.

The stolen power that the machine had voraciously consumed from Olive surged back, flooding her with an overwhelming sense of pure power Olive had never felt before. Sensing the impending change, the Deep moved closer to the machine, only to freeze as the whirring sound intensified beyond expectation, signalling the triumphant return of Olive's formidable powers. The air crackled with an electric charge, and the once-suppressive device now hummed with an unwitting acknowledgment of its own impending demise.

The resounding symphony of malfunction reverberated through the lab, an ear-piercing crescendo that heralded Olive's newfound power, a force unparalleled in her experience. Her eyes slowly opened, aglow with an intense, burning blue, as electricity crackled with unrestrained vigour between her fingertips. The atmosphere quivered with the tangible energy that surrounded her.

"Unlock me," she commanded, the resonance of her words carrying an unmistakable threat.

The Deep, caught in a vortex of fear and confusion, fumbled with the restraints. As the cacophony of malfunction persisted, Olive's powers surged uncontrollably, an electrifying dance that manifested an aura of raw, unbridled power. Realizing the imminent loss of control, The Deep took a nervous step back, his eyes widening with awe and trepidation.

With a casual grace, Olive stood, the crackling electricity playing a symphony of empowerment as she flexed her newfound might. She turned towards the cell door, the fabric of reality bending to her will. As she departed, the door slid closed behind her, the electronic lock erupting into a dazzling display of sparks, sealing The Deep inside his confined cell.

Chapter 44: Subject: Re: Urgent: Addressing Cryptid Situation

Chapter Text

Subject: Re: Urgent: Addressing Cryptid Situation

From: Me <[emailprotected]>

To: Stan Edgar <Stan [emailprotected]>

CC: [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected].

Sent: November 26, 2023, 3:32AM

Location: Sent

Stan,

I assume you've torn yourself away from whatever mundane task you were doing to read this. We've secured Cryptid, and I suggest you refrain from stepping in and ruining things up as usual. I'll be expecting your presence at the meeting tomorrow to discuss how we can salvage your lacklustre plans.

Homelander

Subject: Re: Urgent: Addressing Cryptid Situation

From: Stan Edgar <Stan [emailprotected]>

To: Me <[emailprotected]>

CC: [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected], [emailprotected].

Sent: November 26, 2023, 11:34AM

Location: Inbox

Homelander,

Your keen insight is, as always, appreciated. I'm thrilled to hear about Cryptid’s acquisition, and I look forward to being enlightened by your profound wisdom during our meeting tomorrow at 10 AM. Please do try to comport yourself with some semblance of professionalism, if that's within your capabilities.

Regards,

Stan Edgar

Chapter 45: Handoff

Chapter Text

The night air thickened with a palpable sense of dread as Butcher and the other Boys stealthily approached the lab where Homelander held Olive captive. The building, seemingly shrunken in the moonlit darkness, stood on the city's desolate outskirts, casting an ominous silhouette against the night. Butcher's clenched jaw bore the burden of worry and unwavering determination etched into the furrows of his face. The plan is ostensibly simple – trade the files for Olive.

Leading the ominous procession through the lobby, the Boys flanked Butcher, each one armed to the teeth, ready for the impending showdown. The upper floors exhaled noxious desperation. Butcher knew the dangerous game he had to play, at least for the moment.

The lavish conference room awaited a sinister stage for the impending confrontation. Homelander, in command, gestured them to enter. Butcher found him perched at the head of an imposing table, a nasty smirk curving his lips. Black Noir, a silent harbinger of doom, stood at attention nearby, his presence casting a shadow darker than the night itself.

As Butcher settled into a seat, his heart reverberated with thunderous beats. He met Homelander's gaze, a chilling encounter that sent shivers down his spine. The realization of willingly entangling himself in this perilous situation gnawed Butcher's resolve. Yet, the paramount concern remained: Olive's safety. For now, he buried his anger and hatred toward Homelander, reserving them for a reckoning to come. It was imperative to keep the Supe calm to avert further harm from befalling Olive. Butcher, a master of concealing turmoil, kicked his feet up on the table, projecting a façade of calm amidst the encroaching darkness.

Homelander, the embodiment of menace, reclined in his seat, hands steepled behind his head. His eyes, fixated on Butcher's simmering rage, betrayed a sad*stic satisfaction. "Well, well, Butcher. Finally decided to play ball?" Homelander's mockery echoed through the room, a vicious tone saturating the air with arrogance.

The atmosphere thickened with an unnerving tension as Homelander revelled in the spectacle of Butcher's compliance. The smirk on his face widened, feeding on the dread that danced in Butcher's eyes. The malevolence lurking beneath Homelander's calm demeanour was enough to send chills down the spine of even the most seasoned warrior.

Butcher's fury surged, a storm threatening to breach the carefully constructed walls of composure. His knuckles, white with the force of his grip on the chair's armrests, betrayed the storm raging within him. The air seemed to recoil from the intensity of his seething anger, a volatile energy hanging in the room like a gathering storm.

Aware that the delicate balance teetered on the edge, Butcher fought to tether his rage, recognizing that one misstep could plunge them into an abyss of irreparable consequences. "Cut the sh*t, Homelander. Where's Olive?" His words, delivered with an unwavering composure, masked the storm of emotions beneath. His eyes, fierce and unyielding, bore into Homelander's, a desperate attempt to maintain control in the face of escalating provocation.

Homelander, a maestro orchestrating chaos, reclined in his chair, savouring the chaos he'd unleashed. His smirk, a malevolent punctuation to every word, lingered like a phantom in the room. "The Deep’s keeping her company," he drawled, the words dripping with insinuation and veiled menace. His voice, a calculated blend of mockery and threat, echoed through the charged atmosphere. "You'll get her back when I have what I want."

A flicker of disdain flashed in Butcher's eyes at the mere mention of The Deep. The collective memory of The Boys, a tapestry of shared horrors, resurfaced. The Deep's dark history with women was etched into their collective consciousness, and now, he had Olive within his sinister grasp. The realization fueled Butcher's anger, an inferno threatening to consume him, yet he clung to the tenuous reins of restraint. At this moment, securing Olive's safety precedes the seething vengeance that pulsed within him. "You'll get what I have once I get Olive back," Butcher declared, his voice a low growl, a promise wrapped in a threat that lingered in the charged air like a storm about to break.

Homelander's smirk widened at Butcher’s defiance, relishing his turmoil. "Now, now ‘Billy,' you don't have any leverage here," he taunted, his voice dripping with condescension. With a casual crossing of his legs, Homelander exuded a confidence that sent shivers down the spine. "Right now, I’m the one with the advantage. So, we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way." Laced with a sinister undertone, his words hung like a dark omen. Leaning forward in his seat, Homelander's smirk transformed into a predatory grin. "The choice is yours. It really is that simple, Butcher."

Butcher’s gaze remained locked on Homelander’s, the air pulsating with an ominous energy. The weight of the impending decision bore down on Butcher, and his self-control was tested in the crucible of this high-stakes confrontation. Every word held the potential to tip the scales, and Butcher grappled with the gravity of the situation.

A deep breath, a fleeting moment of respite, as Butcher sought to rein in the storm of emotions within. "Alright," he conceded, his voice a mask of stoicism, betraying none of the tumult within him. "Let’s do this… the easy way."

As Butcher extended his hand towards the drive of files, the room flickered with uncertainty. The lights danced in erratic patterns, casting ominous shadows across the lavish conference room. A sudden blare of alarms shattered the facade of control, reverberating through the tower like an impending storm. Homelander's once-smug expression contorted into a scowl, the unexpected events disrupting his plans.

The atmosphere shifted, charged with an unsettling tension as the blaring alarms underscored the gravity of Olive's escape. The power dynamics teetered on the edge of chaos, and Butcher, now holding a fragment of leverage, felt a surge of determination amid the encroaching storm. The room, once a stage for Homelander's dominance, became a battleground where unforeseen forces clashed, and the outcome hung in suspense.

Before anyone could blink, the Deep's voice came through the speakers, shattering the tense air like a sonic boom. "Uh, Homelander..."

"Deep? What the hell's going on?" Homelander snapped, pivoting away from Butcher and barking into his earpiece.

"Olive got free," Deep admitted, his voice tinged with embarrassment.

"What?!" Homelander thundered. “Are you f*cking joking right now” his voice was a deadly whisper now.

"She trapped me in the cell-" Deep's words glitched into a discordant ring, lights flickering and alarms blaring.

“seems like you’re a precious little rat’s gotten free.” Homelander's scowl deepened as the realization dawned on him that his leverage was slipping away. "Noir," he barked, "get her back, now!"

The silent and deadly figure of Black Noir moved with a swift nod, disappearing in pursuit of Olive. The room was quiet as the team braced for the impending clash.

The electrifying tension in the room crackled as Butcher, now fully aware of the chaos unfolding, couldn't contain his frustration any longer. He slammed his hands on the table, the echo cutting through the sirens wailing around them. "This deal is off," he declared, his voice a thunderous proclamation that reverberated through the lavish conference room.

The Boys, already on edge, shifted into a battle-ready formation, their determination unwavering. Butcher's eyes locked onto Homelander, a steely resolve replacing any semblance of cooperation. The room buzzed with an energy of rebellion as the alarms persisted, their blare matching the escalating stakes of the confrontation.

Homelander, his plans crumbling before him, rose from his seat. The red glow in his eyes intensified, a dangerous warning that a storm was about to be unleashed. "You'll regret this," he seethed, his words dripping with venom, a promise of impending chaos.

Undeterred by the looming threat, Butcher shot back with a defiant glare. "Add it to the list," he spat, his jaw clenched in determination. The air between them crackled with animosity, the impending clash palpable.

As the alarms continued their cacophony, Homelander prepared for battle, his eyes blazing with an otherworldly intensity. The room seemed to shrink as the two forces squared off, the outcome hanging in the balance.

The Boys, standing united, were ready for whatever may come. Butcher's mind raced with the urgency of Olive's escape, a renewed determination replacing any semblance of cooperation with the despised Supe standing before him.

Chapter 46: https://www.supenet.com/TheSeven

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Unleash the Power of Justice with The Seven!

🌟 Defenders of Peace and Guardians of Truth!

In a world teetering on the edge of chaos, The Seven stand tall as the beacon of hope, defending the innocent from the clutches of darkness. These extraordinary heroes embody the ideals of justice, courage, and sacrifice, making them the ultimate force for good.

🦸‍♂️ Homelander: The Invincible Leader

Witness the unwavering strength and indomitable will of Homelander, the fearless leader of The Seven. His superhuman abilities and strategic brilliance ensure that justice prevails against any threat that dares to challenge the peace.

💥 Starlight: The Dazzling Beacon of Light

Starlight, with her luminous powers, radiates hope and inspiration. Her dedication to using her abilities for the greater good is a shining example for all aspiring heroes. She brings a dazzling light to the darkest corners of the world.

⚡ A-Train: The Speedster Dynamo

Blink, and you might miss A-Train in action! This speedster dynamo zooms through danger, putting a stop to crime before it even has a chance. With lightning-fast reflexes, A-Train ensures that justice is swift and unstoppable.

🔥 Queen Maeve: The Indomitable Protector

Maeve, the fierce and indomitable warrior, stands as a stalwart defender of the weak. Her unparalleled strength and unyielding resolve make her an unstoppable force against any adversary who threatens the innocent.

🤖 Black Noir: The Silent Shadow

Master of stealth and the art of combat, Black Noir is the enigmatic guardian who lurks in the shadows, ready to strike down any evildoer with deadly precision. His mysterious nature adds an air of intrigue to The Seven's heroic roster.

🔍 The Deep: The Aquatic Avenger

Beneath the waves, The Deep patrols the oceans, safeguarding marine life and keeping maritime threats at bay. With control over aquatic forces, he ensures that justice extends to every corner of the Earth.

🌈 Diversity in Unity: A Team for Everyone

The Seven represent a diverse and inclusive team, showcasing that true strength comes from unity. Together, they break barriers and prove that heroes can come from all walks of life, inspiring a generation to believe in a better tomorrow.

Join the movement! Embrace The Seven and stand with the champions of justice as they continue to make the world a safer place for all! 🌟 #TheSeven #HeroesAmongUs #JusticePrevails

Chapter 47: Unspoken Bond

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Olive's gaze sharpened as she rounded the corner, and there, standing sentinel in front of the exit door, was Black Noir. The imposing figure clad in black exuded an air of silent determination. His mask concealed any trace of humanity, rendering his expressions inscrutable. Yet, Olive couldn't resist attempting to pierce through the enigma.

Attempting to meet Noir's gaze, she stared into the abyss of his masked eyes. "You're too good for this team," she declared, assuming a defensive stance. "Join us, The Boys. Be more than a weapon; be a person."

Noir stood before Olive, his expression hidden by his mask. He was silent as he stood there, not responding to her offer or accusation. His presence was intimidating as if he was waiting for the right moment to strike. He remained still, not making any sudden movements or actions. Olive couldn't tell what he was thinking, his emotions hidden behind his mask.

Slowly advancing, he studied Olive's posture, analyzing her readiness. Black Noir raised his right arm, his fist closing into a tight, firm grip. His suit muffled the soft whirring noise as he activated his wrist blade. This simple motion was enough to send Olive's heart rate skyrocketing and her skin crawling with what was to come. The anticipation of combat tightened her grasp on her dagger, ready for the impending clash. Her gaze was fixed on Black Noir, intent on identifying any slight movement that would give her a clue about his first move. Black noir took up his stance. The dimly lit corridors of Vought Lab echoed with the impending clash between Olive and Black Noir. The air crackled with tension as their footsteps reverberated against the sterile walls.

The initial clash erupted in a whirlwind of energy, bathed in the erratic flickering of dim lights. Olive's charged attacks crackled through the air, colliding with the calculated strikes of Black Noir. The confrontation unfolded like a choreographed ballet of power, a mesmerizing dance where lightning and shadows intertwined. The surroundings resonated with the symphony of crackling energy and the occasional clash of their formidable weapons.

In her relentless pursuit to bridge the emotional chasm between them, Olive pressed on, attempting to communicate amid the chaotic ballet. "Who are you?" she grunted, her question punctuating the relentless exchange of blows.

Black Noir, an enigmatic force, remained stoically silent. Instead, he focused on the intricate dance of combat—repelling her strikes, analyzing her every move. The confrontation transcended mere physicality; it evolved into a battle of intellect. Black Noir skillfully deflected attacks, employing a blend of dodges, parries, and intermittent counters with his forearm. Every move was a calculated step, a strategic assessment of his opponent's strengths and weaknesses.

Locked in this intense duel, they studied each other with unwavering focus, eyes locked in a silent exchange of determination. Neither held a decisive advantage; it was a standoff of equals, a dance on the precipice of uncertainty. As they continued their intricate ballet, the air crackled with tension, each moving closer to unravelling the mysteries that bound them.

With no verbal response, Olive swiftly switched to a different mode of communication, her hands fluidly expressing the question in American Sign Language, ‘Who are you?’

Black Noir's vigilant eyes followed the subtle movements, and for a fleeting moment, he remained silent. However, a slight adjustment in his right hand revealed a response, his fingers contracting to sign, 'Black Noir.'

'Not Supe name,' Olive urgently signed, desperation evident in her eyes. 'Your name? I want to know your name.' She persisted, seeking a connection beyond the confines of their relentless battle.

But Black Noir just went back to the fight. The battle intensified as Black Noir elevated his tactics, the sounds of their exchange interrupted by the distinctive clang of metal against metal. It was evident that Black Noir's wrist blades posed a formidable threat to Olive's flesh.

As the skirmish unfolded, Black Noir gained momentum, gradually pushing Olive back toward the hall of labs. The clash reached a crescendo when a swift kick from Black Noir connected with Olive's abdomen. She soared backward, colliding with a wall, the impact sending her sliding down to the ground with a resounding grunt. The battle had shifted, and Black Noir now held the upper hand, the relentless dance of combat tipping in his favour.

A ferocious kick landed squarely on Olive's abdomen, propelling her through the air until she collided with the unforgiving wall. The impact reverberated through her body as she slid down, hitting the ground with a resounding grunt. Black Noir grabbed her, pulling her up and against the wall. His blade coming to her throat.

Olive's focus was unwavering. Her eyes, burning with determination, locked onto Black Noir's concealed visage. She was sneering, struggling to get away even with his blade pushing against her flesh.

But something caught Black Noir’s attention.

The injection scars nestled in the crook of Olive's neck from the countless sedatives she had been drugged with in her childhood. In the dim, flickering light of the lab's hallway, they emerged as delicate imprints, subtle yet captivating to Black Noir's discerning eyes. Despite their faintness, they didn't elude his keen perception.

"What?" Olive queried, a sense of disquiet settling over her as Black Noir abruptly halted.

Black Noir's head tilted inquisitively, his gaze delicately tracing the contours of her scars. A blade on his free hand's wrist retracted, and he gently grazed the scar with feather-light precision. The fabric of his glove danced against Olive's skin, a sensation that caused her breath to hitch in response.

"What're you doing?" she murmured, her voice a breathy whisper, caught in the intricate dance between the dim ambient light and the silent exploration of her scars.

He delicately withdrew, leaving Olive's throat untouched. Black Noir's demeanour remained stoic, his expression veiled by the faceless cowl. The silence grew weighty, enveloping them in a contemplative stillness as they faced each other, attempting to decipher the unspoken thoughts lingering in the air.

His intense gaze shifted towards the lab behind her, and a subtle falter crossed his countenance in that fleeting moment. The pause, albeit brief, resonated with unspoken depth—a glimpse of vulnerability, a fracture in the formidable facade of Black Noir.

In that heartbeat of uncertainty, Olive grasped the truth. She recognized the hesitation and deliberate avoidance of facing the lab's direction because she had perfected that art of avoidance. It was a shared experience of being a subject, a lab rat, a child that was nothing but a tool.

This revelation echoed through the charged air between them, forging an unexpected connection in the unspoken understanding of shared pain and vulnerability.

Black Noir, the enigmatic warrior, bore the scars of experimentation just as Olive did. The realization sparked a new intensity in Olive's eyes as she prepared to unveil the common thread that bound them, turning the tide of the battle into a clash of shared destinies.

"Which room?" Olive asked in barely more than a whisper. Her eyes met Black Noir with a profound understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the shared trauma that bound them in a unique brotherhood.

Noir, true to his stoic nature, didn't speak a word. His mask betrayed no emotions, yet Olive sensed a silent exchange of understanding, a connection that transcended words. It was as if two pieces of a shattered puzzle were finding their way back to each other, forming a cohesive whole. The battle between them momentarily ceased in that suspended moment, replaced by an unspoken pact of respect.

Locked in a gaze, they stood in a precarious equilibrium, the air thick with anticipation, reminiscent of the charged calm before a thunderstorm. Black Noir, seemingly unmoved, finally broke the silence by lifting his hand, signing a single letter, 'L.'

Olive reciprocated with a nod, signing back 'O.' The exchange of letters became a bridge, a subtle language that united them amid the chaos. Despite the intense battle around them, a silent understanding had been forged, an unspoken accord that defied the masks they wore.

Black Noir gave a quick nod, the unspoken connection between them now finding expression in shared understanding. As they locked eyes, a silent dialogue unfolded.

"Do they know?" Stevie's hushed inquiry about the Seven hung in the air, a question that resonated with both Black Noir and Olive. In the pregnant pause that followed, words were unnecessary as each discerned the unspoken query within the other's gaze.

A different emotion surfaced, manifesting as a subtle shake of Black Noir's head. The movement carried a nuanced expression, a trace of sorrow or perhaps frustration seeping through the impassive mask. The ongoing fight momentarily faded into the background as their silent communication deepened.

Their shared gaze lingered for several heartbeats, the unspoken connection evolving into a silent conversation. Still tentative in his communication, Black Noir signed again, his hand moving with a deliberateness that betrayed a lingering reluctance. 'Cameras?' he asked with his hands.

Olive's response was swift, her hands conveying assurance. 'No, all broken.' In this exchange, the broken cameras mirrored the fractures in their shared history, forming a bond that transcended words.

Black Noir appeared to wrestle with a decision, a prolonged moment of contemplation etched on his masked visage. Eventually, he signed, 'We are even,' and entered the lab behind Olive.

Olive observed his actions, her hands expressing her bewilderment. 'Why?' she signed, her fingers moving slowly as she questioned his sudden change of heart. 'Why let me go? I don't understand.'

Slowly, Black Noir turned to face Olive, a prolonged silence enveloping the space between them. His gaze fixated on her and held an intensity that spoke volumes. In seconds, his countenance shifted, the enigmatic mask concealing a complex array of emotions. Whatever he felt, it was evident that a profound shift had occurred. Finally, after an extended pause, his clenched fists relaxed, and he raised his arm, signing deliberately. 'They are different. They do not know me. They do not know my past,' Black Noir's hands moved with purpose as the lab door sealed him inside. 'Me and you, we are the same, we are both the same.'

On the other side of the glass, Stevie watched, her mind racing with the gravity of Black Noir's unexpected actions. The moment was frozen in time, a window into a new reality. They were two sides of the same oppressed coin, two souls who shared the same pain. A unique bond, both masked and revealed, the two of them, for the first time, knew what it meant to be understood.

'Butcher is fighting Homelander,' Black Noir signed, and Olive's heart nearly stopped. 'He will need help.' The urgency in his signs resonated, setting in motion a chain of events that would propel Olive into a new chapter of the unfolding conflict.

'He came for me?' Olive's shock was palpable as she questioned Black Noir. In response, he nodded, confirming Butcher's unexpected intervention. 'I will not tell Homelander about this, I promise. He will never know what you did,' Olive reassured him, her commitment unwavering.

'Never again, you will not get another chance, do you understand?' Black Noir continued to sign, his gestures firm and resolute.

Olive nodded in acknowledgment, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thank you," she expressed verbally, her sincerity echoing in her voice.

'Fry the lock when you leave,' Black Noir signed, punctuating the directive with a final nod. Following his instructions, Olive unleashed a surge of electricity, the lock exploding in a shower of sparks. Despite preparing to depart, she maintained eye contact with Black Noir through the glass.

'Think about what I said. If you need a new team, come to me. If you need anything, find me, and I will help you, ok?' Olive's plea hung in the air, a genuine offer extended to the mysterious figure on the other side.

For a moment, Black Noir appeared to ponder her words. Eventually, he nodded with a hint of enthusiasm, the subtle emotion playing out on his masked face. 'You and me,' he signed again, 'same.'

'The Same,' Olive signed in agreement once more before gracefully backing away. Her destination was the hall where Homelander and The Boys clashed in a fierce battle.

Black Noir watched her retreat, his hand gripping his blades as if preparing for another fight. In a swift and unexpected move, he stabbed one of the blades into his own thigh, tearing at his muscle—a calculated act to create the appearance that Olive had beaten him, providing him with a cover. The enigmatic warrior had made his choice, and the aftermath of their encounter would leave ripples in the ongoing conflict.

Chapter 48: Breaking News: Vought Laboratories Under Attack

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Good evening, I'm Samantha Kensington, and we bring you this urgent interruption to your regular programming for a critical update. Breaking news just in! A smaller offshoot lab owned by Vought International is currently under attack. Reports are flooding in about a daring assault on the facility, creating an atmosphere of tension and uncertainty.

Vought Laboratories, renowned for its cutting-edge research and development, is facing a significant security breach. The nature of the assailants remains unclear at this time, although first responders are indicating a potential involvement of The Boys.

Outside the lab, police sirens wail as law enforcement rushes to the scene. A perimeter is being established to secure the area, and officers are preparing for an unknown threat within the facility. However, with three members of The Seven inside, the police on the scene cannot directly intervene. Citizens are advised to remain indoors as the situation unfolds and urged to stay tuned for updates.

We'll continue to provide live updates as this situation develops. Stay tuned for the latest information on this unprecedented breach at Vought Laboratories. Your safety is our top priority, and we'll keep you informed every step of the way.

Chapter 49: At What Cost?

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The battle between Homelander and Butcher and The Boys had gone to what Butcher could only describe as sh*t. Chaos reigned in the heart of Vought Lab as the ferocious battle between Homelander, Butcher, and The Boys escalated into a full-blown war.

Their weapons proved laughably ineffective against the superhero they dared to challenge. And they were mostly all desperately ducked behind cover as Homelander's sheer strength and powers seemed overwhelming.

Butcher, however, found himself locked in a grim dance with Homelander. The smirk on Homelander's face only fueled Butcher's determination as they clashed in a storm of blows. Each strike from Homelander sent Butcher sprawling, a mere pawn in the hands of a god-like adversary. "I told you that you’d regret this," Homelander sneered, his words dripping with arrogance.

The relentless assault left Butcher battered and bloodied, grunting with each bone-crushing impact. Blood trickled down his face, a testament to the unmatched power of Homelander. But as Butcher struggled to stay on his feet, a glimmer of defiance flickered in his eyes.

Meanwhile, Frenchie, fueled by desperation, darted from cover and unleashed a barrage of bullets at Homelander. The projectiles struck with force, only to bounce off Homelander's chest as if made of rubber.

Homelander, smirking, just kicked the table that was once at the center of the room at Frenchie. The vast, heavy boardroom table flew and crashed into Frenchie, pinning him down, the gun flying out of Frenchie’s hands as he hit the wall with a loud crash.

Amid the chaos of the battle, Butcher struggled to maintain his composure, determined to keep the focus on the mission at hand. With a deep breath, Butcher's adrenaline soared, and he renewed his efforts in the fight with Homelander. The two warriors clashed blow after blow, the fury of their battle threatening to level the entire room. With blood dripping from his face, Butcher fought back with anger, landing only a few blows before succumbing to Homelander's might.

Homelander continued to hold the upper hand, beating Butcher back with a smirk on his lips, his confidence unyielding. Homelander laughed with delight at the impact of his strikes, his tone dripping with arrogance and malice. "What's the matter? Tired already? I've barely broken a sweat.'" he taunted. "Need a hand getting back up?" He walked toward Butcher, kicking him in the stomach and throwing him back to the ground. Then he moved to stand over Butcher, looming like a terrifying predator. "The truth is, Butcher, I'm a supe, and you're a pathetic, puny man. I can hear that heart of yours pounding away in your chest. It's practically screaming at me."

For a moment, Butcher’s mind blanked. The pain was overwhelming. Every bone in his body screamed in agony. Blood continued to gush from his wounds, and each new blow left Butcher weaker and more exhausted. Despite the odds, with the taste of blood in his mouth, Butcher mustered up whatever strength he had gone to fight on, pushing himself back up to standing, determined to keep fighting for Olive.

“Stay down, Butcher!” MM shouted as he tried to get Frenchie out from under the table. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

"Not a f*ckin’ chance," Butcher said, his voice growing hoarse from the struggle just to stay conscious. Gritting his teeth, Butcher slowly rose to his feet, each step a painful labour of love, his wounds threatening to bring him down with each step. His anger and determination, however, spurred him forward as he stared at Homelander with a rage-fueled gaze. As he tried to regain some focus despite the pain, he locked his gaze on Homelander. "I'm not done yet," Butcher snarled through gritted teeth at Homelander. With a final push, he stood on shaky legs as he tried to shake off the effects of Homelander's relentless blows.

Homelander was amused, entertained by Butcher’s determination. “Oh, good lord,” he jeered. "You’re one stubborn bastard, that's for sure." Homelander snickered, but his amusem*nt turned to anger once more as he looked straight at Butcher. "But you're going to die," He added angrily, stepping forward now, his grin widening as he took it all in. "And I can't WAIT to see the look on your face when you do." He darted forward, grabbing Butcher's throat with one hand and picking him up off the floor as he raised his laser vision in the air. His eyes were as cold as ice. “Any last words for ‘Livie-Girl?” Homelander mocked, his tone dripping with malice and amusem*nt.

Butcher gasped for air, his lungs burning as Homelander's grip tightened around his neck. The pain was growing ever worse as he struggled to speak, his strength fading with every moment. He tried to summon up some sort of witty retort, some way to hurt Homelander, but he couldn't find the words. His mind was blank.

"Oh, nothing to say?" He continued mockingly, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he squeezed Butcher's neck and slowly lifted him off the ground. "Come on, Butcher. Show me how much you love your 'Livie-girl." His tone was cruel, a slight smirk still on his face. "Show me who you are... or I'll decide for you." With those words, he stared intently into Butcher's eyes, seemingly daring him to act. Butcher's mind was blank, the pain of his wounds slowly overtaking his determination.

But just as Homelander prepared for the final, decisive strike against Butcher, a sudden blast of energy smashed through the wall, knocking the powerful superhero off his feet. Butcher fell to the ground, gasping for breath.

Through the dust of the smashed wall, Olive’s eyes glowed electric blue, ablaze with intensity, her powers amplified to an unprecedented level. The anger and determination surged within her, turning her abilities into an unstoppable force. The air crackled with warning as she stepped into the room.

Butcher's eyes widened in surprise as he saw Olive's attack. The force of her blast took them all by surprise. Butcher struggled to his feet, using the cover of Olive's attack to find his footing. He took a deep breath, starting to feel his strength returning.

Homelander hit the ground, staring up at Olive with a look of surprise and shock. “What?” he breathed, stunned by the sudden onslaught of energy. As his head cleared, Homelander realized Olive was standing before him, her power fully activated to a level it had never been before, all the energy they’d been sucking out of her for hours now at her control like she’d been shot up with enough power to take her from dangerous to a genuine threat. He felt a wave of fear wash over his body. "No…no, no, no, Black Noir was supposed to get you back in that f*cking cage!" Homelander growled, recovering from the surprise attack. “Why do you have to be so difficult!?” Homer shouted as he stood.

But Olive wasn't backing down; she stood her ground. As she called her powers to her, the lights above them burst into showers of sparks from just how much sheer power was coming out of Olive. "when I told you I would kill you, I wasn’t lying," Olive snarled, her voice carrying a newfound strength. She stepped into the room, barely even looking at Butcher and the rest of The Boys; all her attention and rage focused on Homelander.

"No… no, you don’t understand," he hissed, Homelander's rage-filled eyes bloodshot as she sneered at Olive. "I’M THE HOMELANDER!" His face was filled with rage and frustration as his laser vision glowed brighter. "You stupid, stupid, stupid girl. Do you have to ruin everything?!" Homelander shouted, now growing increasingly unstable and irrational. "Why can't you just do what you're told?! You think you can challenge me?" Homelander sneered, his arrogance undeterred. “YOU’RE NOTHING!”

Olive growled, letting out a roar of rage as she lunged forward. With a deafening thunderclap, Olive unleashed her powers on Homelander, her eyes blazing. She was a force to behold. Her abilities turned up to a level beyond their combined understanding. The rage and determination burned within her, driving her forward, and she wouldn’t let anything stand in her way.

The blast of power slammed into Homelander, sending him crashing into the remnants of the wall. The force of Olive's attack left him momentarily stunned. But Olive wasn't finished; she advanced with purpose, her eyes blazing with a fierce determination.

Still recovering from Homelander’s attack, Butcher watched in awe as Olive took charge of the situation. He knew this was their chance, the opening they needed to turn the tide of the battle. He joined the fray with renewed urgency, grabbing Frenchie’s weapon and firing shots at Homelander to keep him off balance.

Homelander, infuriated and disoriented, shot forward, flying towards Olive, smashing her through a wall. The glass and concrete crushed beneath the force of the blow. He threw her to the ground. As Homelander’s eyes glowed red, his laser vision preparing to fire, Olive tapped into her newfound strength. She convened a surge of energy around her, creating a shimmering shield that absorbed the incoming onslaught from Homelander's lasers. The air crackled with electricity as she harnessed the power within her.

"What? What is this?!" Homelander shouted, now seeing his laser beam absorb against a translucent barrier. He continued to shoot toward Olive, firing repeatedly in hopes of overwhelming her, but each beam of his was absorbed against the shield. "What is this?!" he shouted again, his eyes gleaming red in rage.

The clash between their powers sent shockwaves through the room, the force of their confrontation shattering the remaining walls and scattering debris in all directions. The air echoed with the thunderous clash of titanic forces, the fabric of reality bending under the strain of their incredible abilities.

Butcher, seizing the opportunity, fired shots at Homelander, his weapon punctuating the chaotic symphony of destruction. The bullets, imbued with a sense of desperation, struck Homelander, forcing him to divert his attention from Olive. Frenchie, freed from beneath the table, joined the assault, Him, Kimiko, and MM firing their weapon with precision.

Standing amidst the upheaval of power, Olive took a deep breath, channelling her anger into a focused energy beam. With a primal scream, she unleashed a devastating blast that caught Homelander off guard. The force of the attack sent him crashing through the remnants of yet another room in the lab.

But Homelander, true to his nature, recovered swiftly. Rising from the debris, his eyes burned with a renewed fury. "You think this changes anything?" he spat, his voice laced with disdain. "You're just a pawn. A pawn that needs to be put back in her place!"

Undeterred, Olive pressed forward, her powers swirling around her like a storm. The room became a battleground of energy, with Olive's electrifying attacks and Homelander's devastating laser vision clashing in a dazzling display of power.

Butcher, MM, Kimiko, and Frenchie fought alongside Olive, and their every action was strategically coordinated to keep Homelander on the defensive. The tide of the battle began to turn, with every shot, every surge of energy, pushing Homelander to the brink.

As the chaos reached its crescendo, Butcher, with a roar, lunged at Homelander, delivering a powerful blow that sent the superhero staggering. It was a moment of vulnerability, a crack in Homelander's unyielding facade.

Olive, seizing the opportunity, unleashed her powers with unprecedented force. The energy surged around her, merging into a blinding torrent that enveloped Homelander. The room quaked under the strain, and Homelander found himself overwhelmed for the first time.

The final blast sent Homelander hurtling through the lab, crashing through walls until he fell to the ground. The impact left him sprawled on the ground, dazed and battered. The once-mighty Homelander now lay unconscious.

However, the immense strain on Olive's powers became evident. The constant surge of energy she unleashed took its toll on her.

Olive crumpled amidst the debris, a cascade of blood streaming from her nose and mouth. In a gut-wrenching twist, she convulsed and retched violently, expelling a sickening spray of blood-tinged vomit onto the shattered ground, staining the dusty rubble around her. She teetered on the edge of consciousness, a realm she had recently departed but was now distantly removed from. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, each inhalation a laborious effort as the weight of exhaustion bore down on her.

Amid the wreckage, Olive winced and contorted in pain, her electricity-burned hands pressing into the unforgiving ground. With a tiny whimper escaping her lips, she summoned the strength to push herself back into a standing position. Leaning on the shattered walls for support, she stumbled towards Homelander, determination etched across her battered face as she readied herself to complete the task at hand.

Yet, Butcher's realization struck like a thunderbolt in that poignant moment. Witnessing Olive's resilience and the imminent deployment of the tremendous power required to defeat Homelander, he discerned the brutal truth. The potency she sought to wield in her pursuit of justice could be her undoing. The Butcher grasped the precariousness of the situation, recognizing that such an extraordinary exertion of power could not only eradicate their formidable foe but also exact a toll on Olive herself—one from which she might never recover.

Butcher, fueled by sheer determination and pushing through the waves of pain that rippled through his battered body, limped towards Olive. The air seemed to bear witness to the aftermath of the intense battle, crackling with residual energy, and the room held the scars of the fierce clash that had just unfolded. It was a testament to the magnitude of the struggle that had taken place within those four walls. Butcher, haunted by the echoes of combat, knew he had to step in before Olive propelled herself past the point of no return.

"Livie, stop!" Butcher's stern and commanding voice sliced through the lingering haze of battle. He reached Olive just as she was poised to deliver the final blow to the fallen Homelander. "That's enough. You can't keep going like this."

Olive turned to him, her eyes still ablaze with the remnants of her formidable power. "I have to end this," she declared, her voice carrying the weight of anger and pain.

Butcher shook his head, frustration and deep concern etched on his bloodied face. "I get it, love. I do. But this ain't the way. Look at yourself. You're burnin' up. If you use that much power, you ain't going to walk away from this.”

Olive's gaze hardened, her determination unwavering. "He needs to die. You said he needs to die. You told me to do this."

Butcher shook his head once more. "There's justice, and there's suicide. You're strong, but you need time to recover. We'll find a way to bring him down without you sacrificin' yourself. I can't lose you, Livie. I just can't."

"I have to do this!" Olive's voice trembled with a co*cktail of pain, emotion, and exhaustion, the weight of her purpose bearing down on her. "This is what I'm supposed to do. This is the only reason I'm here, the only thing I'm meant for!"

Butcher felt a sharp pang in his chest, a visceral response to the turmoil in her words. He took a deep breath, grappling with the struggle to articulate the depth of his emotions. "No, Livie, you're meant for more than just killing caped c*nts with god complexes. You're not just a weapon." Recognizing the inadequacy of mere words, Butcher stepped closer until he was at eye level with Olive. "Livie, I've lost people. People I cared about. People I loved. I can't go through that again. I can't go through losing you. You're not just a means to an end. You're-you’re-” he struggled to find the right words “you’re someone I care about, dammit."

A heavy silence hung in the air, the weight of Butcher's sentiments settling between them. In the depths of Olive's eyes, Butcher could discern the internal battle between duty and the growing realization of the toll it exacted.

"I can't lose you, Livie," Butcher reiterated, his voice now softer, carrying an unusual vulnerability. "Let's finish this together, but not at the cost of you. We'll find another way. I promise."

Olive finally met Butcher's gaze, her eyes reflecting a blend of exhaustion and gratitude. Once resonating with the clash of powers, the room descended into an uneasy stillness as Olive's unwavering resolve began to waver.

With a heavy sigh, Olive nodded, the remnants of her formidable power slowly dissipating. Butcher, a mix of relief and continued concern etched on his face, wrapped an arm around her shoulder, supporting her weakened form. The profound connection between them, forged in the crucible of shared trials, now stood as a testament to the fragile but enduring bonds that tied them together.

Together, they turned away from the unconscious Homelander, leaving the shattered remains of the Vought Lab behind. The Boys gathered around them, a resilient band bound by the crucible of conflict. The battle was won, but the cost was evident in the blood and bruises that adorned their bodies.

Chapter 50: Vought Incident Report

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VOUGHT INCIDENT REPORT

DOCUMENT SUMMARY

DATE: November 27, 2023, 18:00 EST.

LOCATION: Vought Lab S45, New York City, NY.

REPORTED BY: Agent Sandra Reynolds

INCIDENT SUMMARY:

On November 27, 2023, at 18:00 EST, a significant incident occurred at the Vought Lab involving unauthorized entry by individuals identified as The Boys. The primary focus of their actions appeared to be directed towards Homelander. The breach triggered security protocols, prompting Vought security personnel to respond immediately.

INCIDENT DETAILS:

1. ENGAGEMENT WITH HOMELANDER: The unauthorized individuals engaged in a violent confrontation with Homelander within Vought Lab. The battle resulted in extensive damage to the facility, including but not limited to shattered walls, structural collapses, and the destruction of equipment.
2. PROJECTILE DAMAGE: The assailants utilized conventional firearms and advanced weaponry against Homelander. Despite the limited effectiveness of the weaponry against the superhuman abilities of Homelander, it contributed to collateral damage within the facility.
3. PRISONER ESCAPE: A critical turning point occurred when a previously contained subject exhibited a sudden and unprecedented amplification of her superhuman abilities. This event led to a substantial increase in the destruction scale, compromising the lab's integrity.
4. POWER CLASH: The ensuing battle involved a clash of superhuman abilities between Homelander and the escaped subject, causing shockwaves, structural instability, and the destruction of Vought Lab's infrastructure.

INJURIES AND CASUALTIES:

1. HOMELANDER: Rendered unconscious during the engagement. Currently under Vought medical evaluation.
2. BLACK NOIR: stab wound in the thigh by an escaped prisoner.
3. THE DEEP: No reported physical injuries. Claims to have received severe psychological trauma from prisoners' manipulation.
4. VOUGHT PERSONNEL: No injuries were reported among Vought personnel. Evacuation procedures were successfully implemented.

RECOMMENDATIONS:

1. FACILITY REPAIR: Immediate assessment and repair of structural damage to Vought Lab S45 are recommended to restore operational capabilities.
2. SECURITY REVIEW: Reevaluate and enhance security protocols to prevent unauthorized access and potential breaches by superpowered individuals.
3. SUBJECT CONTAINMENT: Review containment measures for superpowered subjects, especially those exhibiting unpredictable power surges.

CONCLUSION:

The incident underscores the vulnerability of Vought Lab to external threats, necessitating a comprehensive review of security and containment measures. The immediate focus should be facility repair and medical evaluations for all involved parties. Further investigations may be required to determine the circ*mstances leading to amplifying the escaped subject’s powers.

This report is subject to further updates and investigation findings.

Chapter 51: Found

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The return to the safe house unfolded in a shroud of silence, the vehicle transporting The Boys accompanied by an air of weariness that clung to Olive. The urban landscape slid past like a dream, the city's lights blurring as Hughie skillfully guided the van through the labyrinth of streets still swarming with police activity. Butcher occupied the front seat, occasionally glancing toward Olive, who occupied a subdued space in the backseat alongside Kimiko. They leaned on each other in their shared quietude, physical and emotional exhaustion etched on their faces.

Olive's gaze, fixed on the passing scenery, mirrored the duality of her emotions – a symphony of weariness and relief played out in the depths of her eyes. Each blink seemed to carry the weight of the recent battle, and the lines on her face told a silent tale of its toll on her. Her eyes, usually vibrant with energy, now held a subdued glow, a testament to the intense ordeal she had just weathered.

As the van navigated the city's arteries, the backdrop of police lights flashing against the windows added an eerie ambiance to the journey. Butcher's glances conveyed an unspoken understanding of the challenges Olive had faced. Kimiko, seated beside her, provided a silent yet comforting presence, the bond between them evident in how they leaned on each other, seeking solace in shared fatigue.

Olive's posture spoke volumes – a delicate balance between physical exhaustion and the quiet satisfaction of a battle endured. The subtle movements of her hands, brushing away an errant strand of hair or adjusting her posture, betrayed the lingering tension beneath the surface. The stillness within the van was filled with the echoes of a conflict still resonating in Olive's being.

As the team arrived at the safe house, a dimly lit sanctuary from the chaos outside, a collective weariness enveloped them. The air within was thick with the potent scent of blood, mingling with the lingering traces of sweat and adrenaline that clung to the atmosphere. Under Butcher's guidance, the team settled into the common room, each member finding their designated space in a choreography of fatigue and routine.

The room bore the aftermath of their battles – a disarray of scattered weapons, evidence of a struggle that had unfolded within its confines. The collective exhaustion of The Boys hung in the air like an invisible weight, a silent testament to the trials they had endured.

In the subdued atmosphere, routines born of familiarity unfolded. The common room transformed into an impromptu medical bay, the process of self-restoration commencing. First aid kits exchanged hands, filling the air with the sharp scent of rubbing alcohol and the rustle of bandages. Frenchie and Kimiko, seasoned in the art of treating wounds, tended to each other silently, acknowledging the camaraderie that bound them. Even MM, typically stoic about nursing his injuries, allowed Hughie to lend a helping hand.

Amidst the orchestrated symphony of recovery, Butcher assumed a role both familiar and tinged with concern. Guiding Olive to a chair in the common room, he cast a watchful eye over her, the concern palpable in his gaze. As he carefully examined her burns and cuts, his unspoken worry painted a poignant picture against the backdrop of their shared struggle.

However, Olive remained absorbed in her thoughts, her gaze fixed on the ground. Despite Butcher's reassurance that she had fulfilled her duty and should not have pursued Homelander to the end, she felt a sense of failure. The unfinished task gnawed at her, a perceived lapse in her commitment that weighed heavily on her conscience. In the stillness of the safe house, where the echoes of their recent battles lingered, Olive grappled with the complexities of success and failure, her internal struggle concealed beneath a veil of silence.

"Stay still," Butcher murmured, his voice a quiet command. With a deft hand, he applied a quick dab of alcohol to one of the more severe gashes on Olive's arm. She winced, though she managed to conceal most of her pain. "Better?" Butcher asked, glancing up to Olive’s eyes, his tone soft, carrying an undercurrent of sincerity.

"I'm not made of glass," Olive retorted, her gaze fixed on the ground.

Butcher grunted, his attention now shifting to the burns on her hands. "Doesn't mean I won't treat you like you are." His hands moved methodically, expertly wrapping bandages around Olive's burnt and bloodied hands. Throughout the process, his gaze remained low, mirroring her contemplative posture.

"I failed again," Olive confessed her voice nearly a whisper, the weight of her perceived shortcomings heavy in the air.

Butcher chose not to acknowledge the comment directly, concentrating on wrapping Olive's burnt and bloodied hands in bandages. He kept his gaze low as well. "It happens," he responded gruffly, focusing on the practicalities of their shared struggle.

"I put us all in this position. I nearly got you killed," Olive continued, her eyes seeking his in a plea for understanding. "You should be mad; you should be yelling at me."

Butcher turned to meet her gaze, his eyes intense and serious. His voice was low yet stern when he spoke, a deliberate choice to counteract the turmoil in Olive's mind. "Don't," he said, the single word carrying the weight of an unspoken understanding.

Olive stopped, looking back at the ground.

Butcher continued to bandage her wounds. Once he was finished, he sighed, still looking at the ground. "I didn't come and get you because you failed," he said, looking at her. "I came to get you because you needed me. The same way I needed you when you saved me tonight. And I wasn’t about to let Homelander kill you because we had a little argument." The room was quiet as the other boys tended to their wounds. Butcher could feel the wear and tear all around him, from his battle-bruised body to Olive in front of him. She looked tired, hurt, and defeated. "Olive, what you did tonight…” Butcher paused, looking for the right words. “It was incredible.”

Olive looked up, shocked that he had said that.

“We needed you to do that,” he explained. “Without your power, there's no way we could have won.” Butcher looked around the room, the wounds on the other boys making it abundantly clear. “What you did tonight saved our lives. Without you, I don't know if we would be alive. So don’t start with all that pity party bullsh*t. We’re all too tired for it.”

Olive smiled slightly, looking down again.

Butcher turned to face her, giving her a small smile as well. With that, he stood and gave her a slight pat on the head. "Just relax, you saved our lives, you deserve it," he said.

A sombre camaraderie settled over the room as the team worked on each other. The wounds were physical, but the shared experience of the battle had left its mark on each member of The Boys. Though physically drained, Olive felt a strange warmth in being surrounded by people who had become her family.

Once the immediate first aid was administered, they stayed gathered in the common room. The atmosphere was heavy with fatigue, but a sense of accomplishment lingered beneath it all. Butcher grabbed a few beers from the fridge, passing them around as the team settled into a tired silence.

Olive, nursing her own drink, looked around at The Boys' faces.

Kimiko was sitting beside her. She sipped her beer just as slowly as Olive. Kimiko looked tired, too, but she was smiling, watching Frenchie tell a story as he rolled a joint. Hughie sits at his workstation, making more earpieces for Olive as always. The sketch Olive had done of Hughie with a mustache tapped up on the wall in front of Hughie’s makeshift station.

And Butcher and MM were arguing about the infomercial on the TV. The pointless argument over something so stupid, but both are too stubborn to let it go.

For the first time, Olive felt a sense of belonging that went beyond the mission. She wasn't just a weapon, a means to an end. She was part of a family, a team that had faced the worst and come out the other side. The weight of her past felt a little lighter.

Butcher caught Olive staring at them all, smiling softly, raising his beer in a silent toast. His gaze was warm, a rare vulnerability that spoke volumes. Butcher nodded at her silently, acknowledging that she was more than the monster.

Olive, smiling faintly, raised her beer. A quiet understanding passed between them. In that moment, surrounded by a makeshift family, Olive felt a sense of freedom. She could live as a person, not a monster, and The Boys were there to ensure she knew it.

The common room, battered and bruised like its occupants, became a sanctuary where wounds were tended, and the bonds of an unconventional family grew stronger in the aftermath of the storm they had weathered together.

Chapter 52: Vought International Faces Shocking Allegations of Unethical Experiment

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In a groundbreaking revelation that has sent shockwaves through the superhero community, Vought International, the multi-billion dollar conglomerate responsible for creating and managing the world's most renowned superheroes, is now embroiled in a scandal involving alleged unethical experiments.

An anonymous source, widely suspected to be the elusive figure known as Cryptid, has leaked a substantial amount of classified information that peels back the layers of Vought's operations, exposing a dark underbelly. The leaked documents meticulously detail a series of inhumane experiments conducted on individuals with superhuman abilities, raising profound questions about the ethics and morality of Vought's practices.

The experiments, as outlined in the leaked documents, delve into the exploitation of subjects with enhanced abilities for the development of new compounds and drugs. Shockingly, it appears that these experiments were not only conducted without the subjects' consent but also involved potentially life-threatening procedures.

Government authorities, human rights organizations, and the superhero oversight committee have expressed deep concern over the allegations. A joint investigation is being launched to meticulously examine the evidence and determine the extent of Vought's involvement in these controversial experiments.

The leaked information has ignited public outrage, prompting protests to erupt outside Vought headquarters in various cities. Social media platforms have been inundated with calls for accountability and justice, with the hashtag #VoughtScandal trending globally.

Vought International, in an official statement, has vehemently denied any wrongdoing. They assert that the leaked documents are fabricated and part of a malicious attempt to tarnish their reputation. However, the mounting evidence and the gravity of the allegations suggest that overcoming this challenge may prove significant for Vought.

The whereabouts of Cryptid, the presumed whistleblower, remain unknown. Speculation surrounding her involvement has intensified due to her conspicuous absence from any appearance for the past year. Cryptid, once a fairly active vigilante, has seemingly vanished, fueling rumors of her connection to the leak.

As the investigation unfolds, the world awaits with bated breath for the truth to emerge. The outcome of this scandal could reshape the landscape of the superhero industry, forcing a reevaluation of the ethics surrounding the creation and management of superhuman abilities. The implications of these revelations are vast, and the fallout may extend beyond Vought International to impact the entire superhero community. The unraveling events hold the potential to redefine the superhero narrative and usher in an era of increased scrutiny and accountability.

Chapter 53: Epilogue

Chapter Text

The morning sun cast a warm glow over the city as Butcher and Olive stepped out of the safe house. Olive shot him a puzzled look as they walked towards his car, her curiosity growing as they got in and Butcher started driving.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” she asked with a chuckle. Butcher, however, remained tight-lipped, a mischievous glint in his eye.

After a short drive, they arrived at a nondescript building. Butcher led her up a flight of stairs, stopping in front of a worn-out apartment door. He turned to her, a half-smile playing on his lips.

"What's all this about, Butcher?" Olive asked, her brow furrowed.

Butcher just grinned as he unlocked the door. He opened the door, revealing a small, somewhat dingy apartment. It wasn't luxurious, but it had a certain charm to it. Olive took in the sight, still puzzled.

"Butcher, what—"

"I got it for you," Butcher interrupted. “Well, you technically got it for you; all those stolen drugs saved you up a good lot of cash.” gesturing to the apartment. "It's not much, but I figured you could use a place of your own."

Olive was stunned into silence. Her eyes flickered between Butcher and the apartment, trying to process the unexpected turn of events.

The apartment, though modest and somewhat worn, held a unique charm within its simplicity. Sunlight streamed through the tattered curtains, casting a warm glow that illuminated the room's empty spaces. The walls, adorned with the scars of past residents, whispered tales of lives lived within those weathered confines. The creaky wooden floorboards, worn down by the passage of time, carried the echoes of countless footsteps. The furniture, mismatched and well-loved, stood as a testament to resilience. Despite the humble surroundings, the natural light that flooded through the windows transformed the apartment into a haven. The sunlight danced across the faded surfaces, infusing the space with a quiet serenity that seemed to embrace every corner. It was a place where imperfections told stories and the simplicity of the setting held a timeless allure, inviting Olive to make it her own.

Butcher scratched the back of his head, a rare display of nervousness. "Look, it doesn't mean you're off The Boys or anything. You're still one of us. But I know you can't keep doin' this forever. I care more about you being happy now. Got it?"

Olive couldn't find the words. Her eyes welled up with tears, a mix of surprise and overwhelming gratitude.

Butcher shifted uncomfortably, his gruff exterior faltering as he continued, "I mean, I know it's not Pratt or anything, but there's an art store a couple of doors down. Thought maybe you could work there or somethin'. I dunno." He paused, the emotional weight of the moment settling in. "I'll miss havin' you on the team, Olive. I know it's not the same as Pratt, and the furniture is all f*cked up, but you deserve your own space and your own life..."

He trailed off, not finishing the thought. Olive, however, knew exactly what he meant. The unspoken acknowledgment of the unconventional family they had become and the realization that life could be more than the relentless pursuit of vengeance.

Butcher, growing more uneasy by the second, finally blurted out, "Well, what do you think? I'm kinda freakin' out here."

Olive turned to him, tears streaming down her face, but there was a radiant joy in her eyes. She threw her arms around Butcher, hugging him tightly. Her voice choked with emotion, managed to find the words. "I love it," she whispered into his chest as she hugged him.

Butcher, relieved beyond measure, couldn't help but smile. "Good. 'Cause I want you to be happy, Olive."

In that small, humble apartment, surrounded by the city's hustle and bustle, Olive felt a profound sense of belonging and warmth. The unlikely bond she shared with Butcher and The Boys had transcended the chaos of their past. Life in the outside world, it seemed, had more to offer than she ever dared to imagine.