Chapter 29 – From Russia with Love(Sakha Republic, Northern Siberia, Russia - June 24th, 2022)
The cold was biblical.
That was the only way Hughie could describe it as he stepped out of the truck they'd stolen forty miles back. The wind cut through his thermal gear like it was tissue paper, and he could feel his lungs protesting with each breath of the frigid air. The landscape was endless white in every direction, broken only by the dark smudge of the mountain ahead where their target was buried.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered, his teeth already chattering.
"Beautiful, no?" Frenchie said without any warmth in his voice. He was checking his equipment one more time, his breath coming out in white plumes that crystallized almost instantly. "Land of ice, terrible decisions, and worse vodka."
"Should've stayed in New York," MM said, scanning the horizon through high-powered binoculars. His massive frame was bundled in layers that made him look like a bear. "Facility's about two klicks north. Built into the mountainside like Mallory said. But it's not abandoned."
"Shit," Butcher spat. He looked terrible—pale, sweating despite the cold, with a tremor in his hands he couldn't quite hide. Hughie had noticed him getting progressively worse over the past few days, but the man refused to acknowledge it. "How many?"
"Can't tell from here. But there's heat signatures. Active patrols. This place is operational."
Diana stood apart from them, arms crossed, her enhanced eyes fixed on the distant facility. Unlike the rest of them, she wore only her regular gear with a heavy coat. The cold seemed not to bother her at all.
"At least a dozen guards that I can see," she said. "Probably more inside. Modern weapons. Military discipline. This isn't some skeleton crew watching a museum piece. This is an active installation."
"Fantastic," Hughie said. "Anyone want to reconsider breaking into an active Russian military black site?"
"Bit late for cold feet, Petit Hughie," Frenchie said, though his smile was strained. "We are here. We finish this, oui?"
Kimiko was already moving, checking her weapons. She'd been silent the entire journey—well, more silent than usual. There was something in her eyes that Hughie recognized. Determination. But also fear. This place, or one like it, had been where Vought had done terrible things to her. Where they'd turned her into a weapon.
"Right," Butcher said, shouldering his pack. "MM, you're overwatch. Diana, you're on point. The rest of us move quiet, get what we came for, and fuck off before the Russians even know we were here."
"And if we can't stay quiet?" MM asked.
"Then we get loud," Butcher replied. "But let's try to avoid World War Three, yeah?"
They began the approach, moving slowly across the frozen wasteland. The wind was their ally, covering any sound they made, but it was also brutal. Hughie lost his footing more than once on hidden ice, each time caught by either Frenchie or Diana before he could fall.
It took nearly an hour to reach the facility's perimeter. The guards were professionals—rotating patrols, overlapping fields of fire, no obvious blind spots. Getting inside wasn't going to be easy.
"There," Diana whispered, pointing to a service entrance on the eastern side. "Two guards, but they're on a thirty-minute rotation. We'll have ninety seconds when they change positions."
"Ninety seconds to get through a locked door?" Hughie said. "That's not a lot of time."
"Then we'd better not waste any," Butcher replied.
They waited. The cold seeped deeper, making Hughie's extremities go numb. He tried to imagine what the facility would be like inside. Hopefully warmer. Hopefully with answers about whatever BCL Red was. Hopefully with a way to stop Homelander that didn't involve Clark having to kill his own... whatever Homelander was to him.
The guards moved. For exactly ninety seconds, the entrance was unwatched.
"Go," Diana breathed.
They ran. Hughie's legs pumped, his lungs burning from the frigid air. They reached the entrance—a reinforced steel door built flush with the mountain—and pressed themselves against the wall. Frenchie immediately went to work on the lock, his tools clicking softly.
"Thirty seconds," MM's voice crackled through their comms.
"Merde," Frenchie muttered. "This is more sophisticated than I thought. Military grade. It needs time—"
"Twenty seconds."
Hughie could hear footsteps now. Getting closer. The guards were talking to each other in Russian, their voices carrying in the still air.
"Ten seconds."
"Almost... almost..." Frenchie's frozen fingers fumbled with his tools. "There!"
The lock clicked. Butcher pulled the door open just enough for them to slip through, then eased it shut behind them. On the other side, the guards walked past, their conversation continuing uninterrupted.
Everyone released a held breath.
"Okay," Butcher said. "We're in."
The interior was nothing like Hughie expected. Instead of the decrepit Cold War relic he'd imagined, the corridor they found themselves in was pristine. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. The floor was clean, recently mopped. Doors lined both sides, each marked with Cyrillic labels Hughie couldn't read.
This wasn't some abandoned facility. This was active. Very active.
They moved carefully, Diana taking point with her enhanced senses. More than once she held up a hand and they froze as footsteps approached. Twice they had to duck into side rooms as guards passed by, pressing themselves against walls as their hearts hammered.
The facility was a labyrinth. Identical white corridors branching in all directions. They descended deeper, following the vague layout from Mallory's decades-old maps, though it was clear the facility had been massively expanded since then.
"This way," Diana whispered, pointing down a corridor that sloped downward. "I can hear something. Machinery. And... something else."
They followed her down, down, down. The temperature was dropping again despite being underground. And there was a smell—chemical, sterile, wrong.
They passed doors marked with radiation warnings in Russian. Then more doors. More warnings. Whatever was down here, it was serious.
"Wait," Hughie whispered. "Do you hear that?"
Everyone stopped. There it was—a sound so faint Hughie almost thought he'd imagined it.
Whimpering. An animal whimpering.
"Hughie, we don't have time for this," Butcher said.
"There's something alive down there," Hughie replied, already moving toward the sound. It was coming from a side corridor.
"Petit Hughie, no—" Frenchie started.
But Hughie was already pushing open a door. The room beyond made his stomach turn.
Cages. Dozens of them. Most contained decomposed remains—rats, rabbits, what might have been a small primate. All dead. All showing signs of horrific experimentation.
But in a cage at the far end, something was moving.
A dog. A white Siberian Husky with brilliant blue eyes. It was emaciated, its ribs visible through matted fur. But it was alive. And when it saw Hughie, its tail gave a weak wag.
"Oh buddy," Hughie breathed, moving to the cage. "What did they do to you?"
"Hughie, we need to leave," Diana said from the doorway. "Now."
"I can't leave him," Hughie said. The lock on the cage was old, frozen. He pulled at it, but it wouldn't budge. "I can't just—"
"Move," Diana said. She gripped the lock and pulled, her enhanced strength making short work of it. "Take him and let's go."
Hughie scooped up the dog. It was lighter than it should have been, weak and malnourished. The animal pressed against him, and for just a moment—so brief Hughie almost missed it—its feet left the ground. Just an inch. Just for a second.
Then it dropped back down, exhausted.
"Did that dog just float?" Butcher asked.
"Later," Diana said firmly. "We need to keep moving."
They continued deeper, past more rooms filled with equipment Hughie didn't recognize. Medical equipment. Testing equipment. Things that looked scientific and things that looked like torture devices.
Then Diana stopped at a door. It was larger than the others, reinforced, with multiple locks. Frost was forming on the thick industrial glass window despite being inside.
"In here," she said. "Whatever they're doing, the heart of it is in here."
Frenchie examined the lock. "This is... sophisticated. Military biometric scanner, keypad encryption. This will take time."
"How much time?" Butcher asked.
"Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen."
"We don't have fifteen minutes," MM's voice crackled through the comm. "Guard rotation in five. And I'm seeing increased activity. They know something's wrong."
"Then work faster," Butcher growled.
The minutes crawled by. Hughie held the dog close, feeling its heartbeat gradually slow as it calmed. The animal seemed to trust him completely, which only made the guilt worse. What had they done to this creature?
"Almost... got it..." Frenchie's tools clicked. "There!"
The door hissed open, releasing a blast of cold air that made even Diana flinch. The room beyond was massive—the size of a warehouse. And it was clearly the facility's core.
The first thing Hughie noticed was the temperature. It was below freezing. The second thing was the lights. Not harsh fluorescents, but softer, stranger lights. Green lights.
Coming from rocks.
They were everywhere. In containment units lining the walls, dozens of them glowing with a sickly green light that made Hughie's skin crawl just looking at them.
"What the hell are those?" MM asked through the comm.
"I don't know," Diana said, but her voice was strained. "But they're making me feel... wrong."
"Me too," Kimiko signed, which Frenchie translated. She looked pale, holding her stomach.
"Everyone stay away from them," Butcher ordered, though his voice was weak, and he was sweating despite the cold.
The center of the room was dominated by workstations covered in equipment and papers. And beyond them, in the very center, was a chamber. Cylindrical, massive, filled with clear liquid that reflected the green light.
There was someone in it.
"Mon Dieu," Frenchie breathed.
They moved closer. The chamber was clearly cryogenic, with tubes and wires running in and out. Monitors displayed vital signs that meant nothing to Hughie.
But the man inside—there was no mistaking who it resembled.
The face was similar to Homelander's. Same strong jaw, same features. But older, harder. The hair was dark, not blond. And the suit was different—dark green and brown with an eagle emblem on the chest.
"Soldier Boy," Butcher whispered, his face white. "Holy fuck. That's Soldier Boy. He's alive."
"Mallory said the Soviets took his body," Diana said, circling the chamber. "But this isn't a corpse. He's in suspended animation."
"Why?" Hughie asked. "Why keep him alive?"
"Look at this," Diana interrupted, pulling documents from a nearby workstation. Papers covered in Russian text with complex diagrams. Medical photographs that made Hughie's stomach turn—images of Soldier Boy strapped to tables, his chest split open, electrodes attached to exposed tissue. "I need to translate."
She began reading, her expression shifting from curiosity to confusion to horror.
"What does it say?" Butcher demanded.
"It's a project file. Проект Кадмус. Project Cadmus." Diana's voice was shaking. "Started in 1984, after they captured him. Last updated... six months ago."
"What kind of project?"
Diana read silently for a moment, her face growing paler. "They experimented on him. For years. Exposure to those green rocks combined with chemical agents, genetic manipulation, forced cellular regeneration while keeping him conscious." Her voice cracked. "They tortured him. Systematically. Trying to weaponize him."
"Weaponize him how?" Frenchie asked.
"They discovered his body began producing an unknown form of radiation after prolonged exposure to the rocks. It emanates from his chest cavity—they document measuring it, trying to understand it, but..." Diana flipped through more pages. "They don't know what it does. Just that it exists. That it's dangerous. That it killed three researchers when he had an episode in 1987."
"An episode?" MM asked through the comm.
"He wakes up sometimes. The cryo doesn't always hold him. When he does, he's... unstable. Violent. They have to gas him, put him back under." Diana's hands were shaking. "They've been studying this radiation for decades, but they can't figure out its purpose. Just that it's there. That he's become something... other."
"Jesus Christ," MM breathed through the comm.
"They tried to replicate it. Every experiment failed. He's unique. Too dangerous to use, too valuable to destroy, so they keep him here. Frozen. A weapon they're too afraid to deploy."
The alarm blared before anyone could respond.
Red lights flooded the room. A computerized voice spoke rapid Russian on repeat.
"Fuck!" Butcher yelled. "They know we're here!"
"Armed response heading your way!" MM shouted through the comm. "At least twelve men! Ninety seconds!"
"Which way out?" Hughie yelled, clutching the dog.
"There!" Diana pointed to an exit on the far side. "Move!"
They ran. Behind them, Hughie could hear boots pounding metal floors, shouting in Russian, weapons being readied.
They almost made it.
The guards burst through the door just as they reached the far exit. Hughie saw them—twelve men in tactical gear, assault rifles raised, shouting commands in Russian.
The first shots rang out.
Diana moved with superhuman speed, putting herself between the guards and the team. Bullets sparked off her bracelets. Kimiko launched herself at the nearest guard with lethal precision.
But there were too many. Trained. Professional. Coordinated.
A guard threw something—a flashbang. It detonated with blinding light and deafening sound. Hughie stumbled, his vision swimming, clutching the dog to his chest.
When his sight cleared, chaos had erupted. Kimiko was fighting three guards. Diana had engaged four more. But the guards had body armor, weapons designed for superhuman threats.
And one guard—panicking or following protocol, Hughie couldn't tell—fired at the chamber's control panel.
Sparks flew. Alarms changed pitch. The liquid in the chamber began to drain.
"Oh no," Hughie breathed.
The tubes disconnected. Monitors went from steady readings to frantic beeping. The glass retracted into the floor.
Soldier Boy's eyes opened.
At first, nothing. He just floated as the liquid drained, eyes unfocused, confused. Then his feet touched the chamber floor.
He drew in his first breath in forty years.
The sound he made wasn't human. It was a roar—rage, confusion, pain all mixed together. Every guard froze, turning to look at him.
Soldier Boy looked at his hands. At the guards. At the glowing green rocks around the room. His face twisted with recognition and horror.
Then he lunged at the nearest guard with inhuman speed, grabbing the man by the throat and hurling him across the room like a ragdoll. The guard hit a concrete wall with a sickening crunch.
"Soldier Boy!" Diana called out, stepping forward with her hands raised. "We're not your enemy! We're here to—"
He turned to her, and there was no recognition in his eyes. No sanity. Just decades of torture and rage looking for a target.
He charged.
Diana met him head-on, catching his first punch with her bracers. The impact sent a shockwave through the room, cracking the floor beneath them.
"Get out!" she screamed at the others. "GO!"
Kimiko signed something quick and sharp. Frenchie translated: "She's staying."
"Kimiko, no—" Frenchie started.
But Kimiko was already moving, flanking Soldier Boy while Diana kept his attention. They moved in perfect coordination—Diana absorbing his brutal strikes while Kimiko attacked from the sides, precise and lethal.
The remaining guards opened fire. Bullets ricocheted off Diana's bracers, and Kimiko moved too fast to hit, but Soldier Boy just walked through the gunfire like it was rain. He grabbed a guard's rifle, crushed it in his hand, then used the bent metal to club another guard unconscious.
"We need to help them!" Hughie shouted.
"They can handle it!" Butcher grabbed his arm. "We need to—"
Soldier Boy's chest began to glow.
It started as a faint luminescence beneath his suit, then grew brighter, more intense. Green light seeped through the fabric like blood through a bandage.
Diana saw it. Her eyes widened. "Everyone DOWN!"
Hughie dropped, covering the dog with his body. But Diana didn't run. She put herself between Soldier Boy and the exit where Butcher and Frenchie stood frozen.
The beam erupted.
It wasn't like an energy blast from Homelander. This was something else entirely—a wave of dark green radiation that rippled through the air like heat shimmer, distorting everything it touched.
It hit Diana square in the chest.
Her scream was primal, agonized. Not from impact, but from something deeper, more fundamental. She flew backward, crashing into equipment hard enough to crumple reinforced steel.
The beam swept across the room like a searchlight. A guard caught in it simply exploded—not from force, but from something internal, his body unable to withstand whatever that radiation did.
Then it hit Kimiko.
She'd been mid-strike, her fist driving toward Soldier Boy's kidney. The beam caught her side, and she froze. Just stopped, mid-motion, her face contorting in confusion and pain.
Then she dropped, hitting the ground hard and not getting up.
The beam cut off. Soldier Boy stumbled, his chest still glowing but dimming. He looked around with wild, unfocused eyes—at the dead guards, at Diana's crumpled form, at Kimiko lying motionless.
Then he ran. Not toward them, but away—crashing through a reinforced door like cardboard, his footsteps echoing as he disappeared into the facility's depths.
The surviving guards stared at the destroyed doorway for a heartbeat. Then one shouted orders in Russian, and they ran after him, leaving the team behind in the wreckage.
"Diana!" Hughie crawled to where she'd fallen. She was conscious but barely, eyes unfocused, blood trickling from her nose. "Diana, talk to me!"
"Can't... feel..." she slurred. Her hand reached up, trying to grab his arm, but her fingers were weak, trembling. "Everything's... wrong. So weak..."
Her eyes rolled back. Unconscious.
"Kimiko!" Frenchie reached her, cradling her head with shaking hands. "Kimiko, please! Please wake up!"
She was breathing. Conscious even, eyes open and staring at the ceiling. But there was something in those eyes Hughie had never seen before.
Fear.
Pure, absolute terror.
Frenchie tried to help her sit up. She gasped—actually gasped, a sound Hughie had never heard her make—and her face went white with pain.
He pulled his hand back. It was covered in blood from where he'd grabbed her arm.
Kimiko looked at her arm. At the dark bruise forming there, spreading like spilled ink under her skin.
Kimiko never bruised.
Kimiko never bled from something so minor.
Kimiko always healed.
"No," Frenchie whispered. His voice broke. "No, no, no, this cannot be—"
Kimiko tried to sign something, but her hands were shaking too much. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps—pain, Hughie realized. She was in pain and her body didn't know how to process it.
"We need to move," Butcher said. His voice was strained, mechanical. "This place will be crawling with more guards in minutes. And Soldier Boy's loose. We need to leave. Now."
"Diana can't walk," Hughie said, checking her pulse. Strong, but her breathing was shallow. "And Kimiko—"
"I'll carry Diana," Butcher said, already moving toward her. "Frenchie, you got Kimiko. Hughie, keep that dog. Let's go."
"We didn't get what we came for," MM said through the comm, his voice tight. "No BCL Red. No weapon."
"We found something worse," Butcher replied, carefully lifting Diana. She was deadweight in his arms, her head lolling. "We found out what happens when you piss off a walking weapon of mass destruction. That'll have to be enough. Where's extraction?"
"North exit. But Butcher, there are guards everywhere. You can't fight your way out. Not carrying them."
Butcher looked at his hands. Looked at Diana unconscious in his arms. Looked at Frenchie struggling to lift Kimiko, who whimpered—actually whimpered—with every movement.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial of green liquid.
"What is that?" Frenchie asked, his voice sharp with suspicion.
Butcher didn't answer. He put the vial in his mouth and bit down, swallowing glass and liquid together.
"Butcher, what did you—" Frenchie started.
Then Butcher's body convulsed.
Green light spread through his veins like wildfire, visible beneath his skin. His muscles spasmed, bulging. Steam rose off his body despite the cold. The floor cracked beneath his feet.
Everyone stared in horror as Butcher dropped to his knees, Diana still in his arms. His body twisted, changing, becoming something more.
When it stopped—maybe five seconds, maybe thirty—Butcher stood. But he looked different. Bigger. Stronger. His veins were still glowing faintly green, pulsing with unnatural light. His eyes had changed too, pupils dilated to near-black.
"What the fuck?" MM's voice exploded through the comm. "Butcher, what the fuck did you just take?"
"Hughie, grab Diana," Butcher said, his voice distorted, deeper, resonating in a way that wasn't quite human. "I'll clear a path."
"Butcher, what was that?" Frenchie demanded, still cradling Kimiko. "What did you take?"
"Something that'll keep us alive. Now move!"
Hughie lifted Diana, surprised at how easy it was. Adrenaline, he told himself. Just adrenaline giving him strength.
Except it wasn't just adrenaline. Because he could feel it now—the tingling in his legs, the warmth spreading through his body. The vial he'd stolen from Butcher three days ago, hidden in his pack. The one he'd injected himself with in the truck before they'd entered the facility, hands shaking, knowing Butcher would never approve.
The Temp V was kicking in.
"Hughie?" Frenchie was staring at him. At how easily he'd lifted Diana. "Hughie, your eyes—they're glowing. Mon Dieu, they're glowing!"
"What?" MM's voice was dangerously quiet through the comm. "HUGHIE TOO? Both of you took that shit?"
"Later!" Hughie said, his voice coming out stronger than ever before. The world looked sharper somehow. He could hear things—guards shouting three corridors away, alarms blaring throughout the facility, the rapid beating of Frenchie's panicked heart. "We need to move! NOW!"
Butcher was already gone, a blur of enhanced speed. They followed the sounds of his passage—impacts, screams, bodies hitting floors with bone-breaking force. When they caught up, guards were scattered like bowling pins, unconscious or worse.
"Jesus Christ, Butcher," MM breathed through the comm. "You didn't have to—"
"They were armed and shooting," Butcher replied, his voice still wrong. "I made a choice."
They burst out of the facility into the frozen wasteland. MM was there with the truck, engine running, his face a mask of barely controlled fury.
"GET IN!" he roared.
They piled in without order or care. Diana was still unconscious. Kimiko was conscious but clearly in agony, tears streaming down her face as every bump and jostle sent fresh waves of pain through her unprepared nervous system.
The dog pressed against Hughie, whimpering.
"GO!" Butcher yelled.
The truck lurched forward, tires spinning on ice before finding purchase. Behind them, guards poured out of the facility like ants from a kicked hill, but they were already too far away for effective fire.
It was only when they were five miles down the road that MM spoke.
"Both of you?" His voice was quiet. Deadly quiet. The kind of quiet that preceded violence. "Both of you took that shit?"
"MM—" Hughie started.
"I didn't know the kid had it," Butcher said, his voice returning to something closer to normal as the Temp V began to wear off. "Must've lifted it from me."
"I don't CARE who took what!" MM slammed the steering wheel hard enough to crack it. "That stuff is POISON! It's KILLING you! And you just—you just—" He couldn't finish, his hands white-knuckled on the wheel.
A groan from the back cut him off. Diana was waking up.
"What..." she mumbled, her voice slurred. "What happened?"
"Soldier Boy," Hughie said, still holding her steady. "His beam hit you. You've been out for twenty minutes. How do you feel?"
"Like I got hit by a train." Diana tried to sit up. Her face went pale, then green. "I'm going to be sick."
Hughie barely got a bag to her in time. She retched violently, her entire body shaking.
"I feel... wrong," she gasped between heaves. "So weak. And I can't hear anything. Not like before. Everything's muffled, distant." She tried to listen, to use her enhanced hearing. Nothing. "My powers. Oh God. My powers are gone."
"Mine too," Kimiko signed weakly, her hands shaking with the effort. Each movement clearly caused her pain. "Can't heal. It hurts. Everything hurts so much. How do you live like this?"
"How long?" Diana asked, her voice rising with panic. "How long until they come back?"
No one answered.
"HOW LONG?" she screamed.
"We don't know," Butcher said quietly. "The documents... they mentioned the radiation. That it exists. But they don't know what it does. We just found out."
"Then we get those documents," Diana said, trying to sound commanding but her voice cracked. "We find out. We fix this."
"The documents are back at the facility," MM said. "Which is now on the highest alert possible."
"Then we find another copy. Project Cadmus. Russian military. There have to be—" Diana stopped, her hand going to her mouth. She was going to be sick again.
"We need to get to a safe house," Butcher said. "Regroup. Get them stable. Then we figure out next steps."
The truck went silent except for the engine, the wind, and Diana's occasional retching.
In Hughie's arms, the dog whimpered, pressing its face into his chest.
"It's okay, boy," Hughie whispered, even though nothing about this was okay.
None of it was okay.
(Safe House - Outskirts of Yakutsk, Russia - June 25th, 2022)
The safe house was a shithole.
That was MM's professional assessment as they pulled up to the decrepit building on the edge of the city. It was one of Diana's contacts—someone from her past who owed her a favor. The kind of place that didn't ask questions and didn't keep records.
Perfect for people who'd just broken into a Russian military installation and released a walking nightmare.
Inside was barely better than outside. One large room with a few cots, a bathroom that looked like a health hazard, and a kitchen that consisted of a hot plate and a mini fridge that might have been older than MM.
But it was warm. And it was safe. For now.
Diana was on one of the cots, awake but barely. The color still hadn't returned to her face. Every few minutes she'd try to do something—stand up, lift a water bottle—and fail. The realization that her powers were gone was hitting her again and again, each time like a fresh wound.
"I can't even open a bottle," she said, her voice hollow. "I can't... I'm useless."
"You're not useless," Hughie said from where he sat with the dog. "You're hurt. There's a difference."
"Is there?" Diana laughed bitterly. "Without my powers, what am I? Just another person. Weak. Vulnerable. Mortal."
Kimiko was worse. She lay on another cot, and the pain was clearly agonizing. Every breath seemed to hurt. Every movement was careful, measured, like she was afraid of breaking herself. Frenchie had found ancient painkillers in the bathroom cabinet, but they barely seemed to touch her suffering.
"We need to get them to a hospital," Frenchie said, pacing the room like a caged animal. "They need real medical attention. Diana is one thing, but Kimiko—she's never felt pain like this before. Her body doesn't know how to handle it. Look at her!"
Kimiko lay curled on her side, tears streaming silently down her face. She tried to sign something, but her hands shook too much.
"We can't," MM said from his position at the window. "We're in Russia. We just hit a black site. Every intelligence service in the country is looking for us. We show up at a hospital, we're dead or in a Russian prison within the hour."
"Then what do we do?" Frenchie's voice cracked. "Just let them suffer?"
"We get them out of the country," Butcher said. He sat on the floor, his back against the wall, looking more exhausted than Hughie had ever seen him. The Temp V had worn off hours ago, leaving him hollow and shaking. "Diana's got contacts. We use them. Get to a border, then out of Russia entirely. Then we can get them proper help."
"And how long will that take?" Frenchie demanded. "Days? A week? Look at her, Butcher! She's in agony!"
"As long as it takes," Butcher replied, his voice flat.
Hughie was sitting in the corner, the white dog curled in his lap. The animal had barely left his side since they'd escaped, and Hughie had to admit, the presence was comforting. The dog seemed to sense his distress, pressing close and occasionally licking his hand.
His own hands were shaking. The Temp V crash was hitting him hard—nausea, weakness, a pounding headache that felt like his skull was trying to split open.
"What are we going to tell Lois?" Hughie asked quietly. "We promised we'd come back with a weapon to stop Homelander. Instead, we let Soldier Boy loose, got Diana and Kimiko hurt, and..." He looked at his hands. "And we used that stuff. The Temp V."
"Temp V," MM repeated, turning from the window. His face was carved from stone. "So it has a name. How long have you been using it, Butcher? And don't you dare lie to me."
Butcher was silent for a long moment. "Few months. Since March."
"March," MM said flatly. "Since March. And where'd you get it?"
"Sam Lane gave it to me. Said it was experimental. Said it might give us an edge against Vought."
"Sam Lane," MM's voice was dangerously quiet. "Lois's father. The general who runs black ops and doesn't give a single shit who gets hurt in the process. That Sam Lane."
"The very same."
"And you didn't think to mention this to anyone?" MM's voice was rising now. "You didn't think we should know you were juicing yourself with experimental super drugs?"
"It was my choice," Butcher replied.
"Like hell it was!" MM moved away from the window, his fists clenched. "You're part of a team, Butcher! Your choices affect all of us! And now Hughie's taken it too—"
"I made that choice myself," Hughie interrupted. "I stole it from Butcher. He didn't know. I took it because..." He trailed off, trying to find words. "Because I was scared. Because I didn't want to be the weak one anymore. Because I wanted to be able to protect people instead of always needing protection."
"And how do you feel now?" MM asked, his voice softening slightly despite his anger.
Hughie thought about it. About the rush of power he'd felt—the clarity, the strength, the feeling of invincibility. But also about the crash afterward, the hollow feeling, the way his hands were trembling so badly he could barely hold his water bottle.
"Like shit," he admitted. "Like absolute shit."
"Good," MM said. "Because that's what it does to you. It poisons you from the inside. And if you keep using it, it'll kill you. Both of you."
The room fell silent except for Kimiko's occasional pained whimpers.
"How long?" Diana's voice was weak from her cot. "The beam. It took our powers. How long until they come back?"
Everyone turned to look at her.
"What?" Frenchie asked.
"The documents said the radiation exists. That they've measured it. But they don't know what it does." Diana tried again to sit up, managed it this time, though she looked like she might pass out from the effort. "So there must be theories. Projections. Something. Was the exposure brief? Sustained? Will we heal?"
No one had an answer.
"We need those documents," Hughie spoke up, his eyes glancing at Diana; he could swear her hair was greyer than it had been only a few hours ago.
"We can't go back," Butcher responded. He had managed to stop his hand shaking, but only barely and even then, he had to keep it in a fist to do that. "We will look for the files later, if it was ther,e then some wanker Russian General will have a copy. At the moment, we need to get out of Russia."
"Any idea how we do that, with the FSB, Russian Army and basically everyone else looking for us?" MM asked, crossing his arms as he stared at Butcher, a look of barely concealed disgust on his face.
"Yeah, I do," Butcher grunted back as he reached into a bag and took out a secure satellite phone. "And I fucking hate it."
Butcher typed in a number that he had clearly memorised, but it also clearly made him sick if the deep scowl on his face was anything to go by. The room was silent for a good few minutes as Butcher just stood still waiting for the phone to connect, his scowl deepening the longer it rang for.
"You there?" Butcher asked when he heard the phone finally connect, but was only greeted by silence.
"What do you need?" Everyone froze and looked at each other as the voice of Sam Lane "Did you find the weapon?"
"You know dam well it wasn't a fucking weapon," Butcher spat out before taking a deep breath, knowing he needed to stay calm as this was the only way out they had. "We need extraction, it all went shit, and our exit plan is fucked."
"Where are you?" Sam Lane asked, his calm, emotionless voice was making Butcher's blood boil, but he could swallow his anger for the moment,
"Some frozen shithole called Yakutsk," Butcher managed to respond without letting his anger enter his voice. "We have two injured they need medical attention."
There was an audible silence for a few minutes as Butcher just listened to a muffled voice, typing and moving paper on the other end of the line. His eyes turned to Hughie, who was stroking the dog he had saved, his eyes looking at the starved creature whose eyes only briefly flicked up to his before returning to stare at nothing.
"Understood, there is an airport in a village east of the city, Magan Airport," Sam Lane finally replied, his voice a little more on edge than before and Butcher could hear the tension in his voice "Be there in exactly 3 hours 12 minutes, you'll meet a man named Janos Prohaska, he will fly you out. He'll only wait 20 minutes, after that you're on your own"
Before waiting for a response, Butcher heard the line go dead and just grimaced as he dropped the phone and smashed it under his foot before looking at the room.
"Frenchie, go steal us a fucking car," Butcher sighed as he moved off looking like he was grabbing his things but in truth was looking a place to be sick out of sight, at the temp V burned itself inside of him "And let's out of this fucking shithole"
(League Headwauters - Los Angeles, California - June 29th, 2022)
Annie stood on the roof of the repurposed warehouse that Clark had converted into the League's New York base of operations, her phone pressed to her ear as she watched the sun begin its descent over New York. She'd called Alex three times now, and each call had gone straight to voicemail. She was in New York in an effort to get the plan moving forward, something Alex had agreed to help her with, but he was running late, very late.
"Come on, pick up," she muttered, hitting redial again.
This time, he answered. "Annie, hey, sorry. Was in the middle of something."
"Where are you?" She could hear wind in the background, the distant sound of traffic. "You were supposed to be here an hour ago for the patrol briefing."
"Yeah, about that..." Alex's voice was strained. "I'm actually in New York. Got a call from Groundhawk about a situation. Thought I'd check it out before bothering you or—"
"What situation?" Annie's grip tightened on the phone. "Alex, what's going on?"
"There's an apartment building in Hell's Kitchen. Completely levelled. Not collapsed—levelled. Like someone took a giant eraser to it." He paused, and Annie could hear a tension in his voice that made her stomach sink. "And Annie, there's something else. People are getting sick. Not from the building collapse. From something else."
Annie's stomach dropped. "I'm on my way. Don't go inside until I get there."
"Too late for that," Alex said, and she could hear the grimace in his voice. "I'm already—shit, hold on."
The line went dead.
"Alex? ALEX?" Annie pulled the phone away, staring at it. No signal. She tried calling back. Nothing.
"Fuck."
She didn't bother with the stairs. She simply launched herself into the air, her light powers allowing her to descend to the ground safely. She made a beeline to the private jet that was waiting on a nearby runway, it was Clark's personal one but he had said anyone was free to use it for League business, it's not like he needed it for himself. The flight from LA to New York would normally take over 5 hours, but she gave the pilot a no uncertain look that told her she would get there a lot quicker. However, one thought kept pounding in her head.
Clark, where the hell are you?
The thought came unbidden, followed by a wave of worry that made her chest tight. He'd been gone for days. No calls. No messages. Just... gone. After that press conference with Kara and Stan Edgar, he'd vanished. Even Lois didn't know where he was, and that scared Annie more than she wanted to admit.
Because if Lois didn't know where her husband was, then something was very, very wrong.
(Hell's Kitchen, Manhattan - Minutes Later)
Annie touched down on the street outside what had once been a residential building. She had run and leapt through the streets after touching down, causing more than a few people to look at her in shock and take photos of her. The building was just... gone. A perfect square of empty space where a twelve-story structure had stood that morning. The surrounding buildings had slight brun marks on them, their walls a little damaged. It looked like someone had taken a knife and simply cut the building out of reality.
"Holy shit," she breathed.
"Starlight!" Groundhawk's voice drew her attention. The hammer-handed hero was stumbling toward her, his face pale and sweating despite the evening chill. "Thank god. We need—we need to—"
He doubled over, retching.
"Jesus, are you okay?" Annie moved to help him, worried that his rehab was failing and that he was drunk on the scene but he held up a hand.
"Don't. Something's wrong here. Something in the air. I've never felt anything like it." He looked up at her, and Annie saw genuine fear in his eyes. "Alex is still in there. So are three of the Super Dupers. They went to look for survivors but—"
A scream cut him off. High-pitched, terrified, definitely Joy.
Annie didn't think. She just ran into the empty space where the building had been, her light powers flaring to illuminate the settling dust. The ground was scorched, blackened. Debris lay scattered, but not in the pattern of a normal collapse. Everything was pushed outward, as if from a central explosion.
And in the center, kneeling in the ash and rubble, was Alex.
"Alex!" Annie called out, but he didn't respond. He was staring at something in his hands, his face slack with horror.
As she got closer, she saw what he was holding.
A costume piece. Bright yellow and red. Part of Joy's uniform.
"Annie," Alex's voice was hollow. "I think... I think I found them."
He gestured weakly to his left. Annie followed his gaze and immediately wished she hadn't.
The Super Dupers. At least, what was left of them. Their bodies were scattered across the blast site, but that wasn't what made Annie's stomach heave. It was the way they looked. Like they'd been... burned. Not by fire. By something else. Something that had eaten through their enhanced flesh like acid.
"What... what could do this?" Annie heard her own voice, distant and small.
"Not what," a new voice sounded out behind them. "Who?"
Annie spun around to find a figure standing at the edge of the blast site. A man, but there was something wrong about him. He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing what looked to be scavenged clothes, which were mismatched and looked like he had grabbed whatever he could. His skin was pale, almost grey, he also looked rough he had an unkempt beard, and his hair looked like he hadn't washed it in decades. When he moved, he left a faint trail of green light in the air.
"Who the hell are you?" Annie demanded, her hands already glowing, as she spun to face the man.
The man winced as if he had a constant headache, as he looked at the scene, a look of disbelief, regret and disgust on his face.
"I just woke up; I used to come here, years ago I just This wasn't my fault. There was this music I was just looking for…." The man looked around as if he was in a state of shock himself but he was too articulate for Annie to fully believe it "I was just trying to leave, when this fat fucking idiot came up to me, him and this black fella, I just…It wasn't my fault, thier bitch attacked me."
He took a step forward, and Annie felt it then. A wave of wrongness that made her skin crawl and her stomach turn. It was like standing too close to a microwave, that prickling sensation of invisible radiation.
"Alex, run!" She shouted, turning her head to make sure that Alex was following her orders.
But Alex was already on the ground, his body convulsing. The green glow around the stranger intensified, and Annie felt her own strength begin to fade. Her light flickered. Died.
"What... what are you doing?" She gasped, falling to one knee, as she felt bile building up in her throat and her blood started to boil.
"Nothing personal, sweetheart," The man said, his voice distorting. There was something wrong with his chest. Something glowing beneath his baggy shirt and hoodie. "I'm just looking for some people. This was a mistake. And I can't let people lose faith in their greatest hero because a retard, a bitch and a carpet bagger stuck their nose in where it didn't belong."
The glow intensified. Annie screamed.
And then, impossibly, the pressure stopped.
Annie looked up through tears to see a figure standing between her and the stranger. Tall. Muscular. Cape billowing in a wind that didn't exist.
"Clark," she sobbed with relief.
But Superman didn't look at her. His eyes were fixed on the stranger, and there was something in his expression Annie had never seen before. Clark's skin was sickly green, worse than Alex's and hers; he was also, for the first time to her eyes, sweating.
"Who are you?" Clark managed to sound authoritative as he stood up to his full height, having placed Annie gently on the ground, she could see the tension in his shoulders..
"Name's Ben. But you might know me better as Soldier Boy" Clark didn't like the smile on the now named face "Well, well. If it isn't the Boy Scout himself. I've seen your picture, you look like a pussy son in that cape and tight. Tell me something, Superman. You know where I can find the sons of bitchs who put me in that Russian hell?"
"I don't know what you are on about, what russian hell?" Clark's eyes widened fractionally as he looked at the man's face recognition steeping in. "You're supposed to be dead."
"Yeah, well. Death's not as permanent as people think." Soldier Boy tilted his head, studying Clark. "You're strong. I can feel it. But let me tell you something I learned in that facility. There's strong, and then there's strong. And I'm fucking Soilder Boy"
His chest began to glow brighter.
"Clark, move!" Annie tried to shout, but her voice came out as a whisper.
Clark didn't move. He planted his feet, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and waited. The beam erupted from Soldier Boy's chest in a wave of sickly green energy. It slammed into Clark like a freight train, and for the first time in her life, Annie watched Superman be pushed back. Not just pushed. Driven back, his feet digging trenches in the ground as he was forced backwards by the sheer power of the blast.
The beam cut off. Soldier Boy was panting, his chest still glowing. "Impressive. Most would be paste by now."
Clark lowered his arms. His costume was scorched, smoking. But he was standing albiet he looked like hell and Annie saw blood dripping down his sorched burned forearms. "I'm not most."
"No," Soldier Boy agreed. "You're not. Which means you might actually survive long enough to tell me where I can find the people who did this to me."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Clark said, his voice starting to come out in pants as he sucked in air trying to cool down as he began to sweat more. "But you need to stop. Now. Before anyone else gets hurt."
"Hurt? You want to talk about hurt? I've been hurt for forty years. Poked. Prodded. Tested. Tortured. By the Russians. All because some bastards on my own team sold me out." Soldier Boy laughed as he gestured to the devastation around them. It was a harsh, bitter sound as his face twisted into something ugly. "Payback. That's what they called themselves. Well, I'm here to collect."
"Payback is disbanded," Clark said carefully. "Thier retired or dead."
"Well, shit some are getting off too easy, I'll just have to make the others really pay to make up the difference" Soldier Boy spat, although he sounded confident Clark saw the man too was looking uneasy as he swayed a little. "But there's one I'm really interested in. Black Noir. You know where I can find him?"
Clark's expression flickered. Just for a moment. But it was enough.
"You do know," Soldier Boy said, his smile returning; however, his voice was panting now as sweat started to form on his brow, as the light in his chest dimmed. "Good, we will catch up but I think that was enough fun for one day."
With that, Soldier Boy turned and walked away. He was stumbling a little, but he was looking more steady the future. He moved away from the building, and the longer his chest wasn't glowing anymore. Annie half expected to see Clark rush into the man's retreating figure but Clark just stood still for a few moments before he collapsed onto one knee and threw up on the ground. It was a black sludge, and it was the last thing she saw before she slipped out of consciousness.
(Stan Edgar's Office- Penthouse Level - Same Time)
Ryan sat cross-legged on the floor of Stan Edgar's or Zod's office, he guessed, a holographic display floating in front of him. Kryptonian text scrolled past at a pace that would have given most humans a headache, but Ryan absorbed it easily, his enhanced cognition processing the information as fast as it appeared.
"The Science Guild was responsible for maintaining Krypton's technological superiority," Kelor Kara's personal AI female voice narrated from the display. "Under the leadership of the House of El, they developed faster-than-light travel, trans-dimensional research, and countless innovations that benefited all Kryptonian society."
Ryan frowned, pausing the playback with a gesture. "Kelor, can I ask you something?"
"Of course, young master."
"This... mission. The one Kal-El's father created. Was it... was it worth it? All the people who died on Krypton. All the people on Earth who've died because of Compound V." He looked down at his hands. "Was saving the survivors worth all that?"
Kelor was silent for a moment, processing. "That is a philosophical question I am not equipped to answer definitively. However, I can provide you with Jor-El's own words on the subject."
The hologram changed, showing a recording of Clark's biological father. Jor-El looked tired, his face lined with stress, but his eyes held a determination that reminded Ryan of Clark.
"If you are watching this, then both the mission and I have failed," Jor-El began, tiredness was clear in voice but there was a resolve there as well. "The mission was never about saving Krypton. It was about saving our people. Our culture. Our knowledge. But never at the cost of another world's people. Never at the cost of innocents."
Jor-El leaned forward, as if he could see through time to the person watching.
"It was why we selected earth, its strategic unimportance and limited development mean no other power will be interested in it. Making it the perfect staging ground for the mission. Even the human race is….undeveloped and violent so no random anthropological study groups will be present. However, I will stress that this does not make us superior to the humans, no species or culture has a right to claim dominance over another, the universe is infinite and beyond even our understanding. Every culture, every person has value and the potential to become better."
Ryan watched as Jor-El's eyes stared into his, as if this wasn't a recording meant for a random lucky survivor of their doomed world, it was like the man was standing in front of him. Ryan could feel Jor-El's words touch something inside of him a part he was only just becoming aware of.
"If the mission requires innocent blood, then abandon it. Let Krypton die as it was meant to. Do not let our survival be purchased with the suffering of others. That is not the Krypton I wish to preserve. Remember the highest ideals of our people are founded in one simple truth, all life is precious. Roa's light guide you"
The message ended. Ryan sat in silence, processing.
"Kelor," he said slowly. "Does General Zod know about this message?"
"I believe so. This message was accessed two hundred and fifty five times by General Zod, since Kara's pod was recovered from human control. And once by Kara since her full recovery" Kelor responded "However, the General explained to Kara that this message was only meant to be played if the mission was impossible to be completed, which is currently not the case."
"But, he didn't know that when he first accessed this. Which means..." Ryan trailed off, his mind racing as he stared at the holographic display that was paused mid-lesson. "Which means Zod isn't following Jor-El's mission. He's following his own."
"That would be a logical conclusion."
Ryan stood up abruptly. "I need to talk to Kara."
He found her on the penthouse balcony, staring out over the city. She'd changed out of her costume into something more casual, though she still wore the pendant Zod had given her. The wind whipped her long blonde hair around her face, but she didn't seem to notice.
"Kara?" Ryan approached carefully, he still couldn't bring himself to call her grandmother as Zod insisted he did, it was just too weird, she looked younger than his mom had. "Can we talk?"
She turned, and Ryan was surprised to see tears on her cheeks. "Ryan. Yes. Of course."
"Are you okay?"
"I..." Kara wiped her eyes, looking embarrassed. "I am not certain. Since arriving on this world, I have felt... conflicted. The General is a good man. An honourable man. But sometimes, when I look at this city, at these people..." She gestured to New York below them. "I wonder if we have the right to leave them to die."
"Die?" Ryan's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
"I mean….." Kara looked at him, and in her eyes, Ryan saw genuine distress. "The plan. Once we retrieve the survivors from the Phantom Zone and leave Earth. Kelor estimates that without change, humans will be extinct in less than a hundred years, maybe two hundred. All a result of…of a lack of understanding and simple care"
"And you... You're okay with that?" Ryan asked, he looked out at the city too.
He was feeling so conflicted now, when Zod had offered him a fresh start with people that would never do what Homelander did he had jumped at it. He had been tired of watching the world praise a murderer, tired of watching Clark save everyone and it make no difference to anything. Since his powers kicked in, he could taste the pollution in the air, see the atmosphere become poisoned, and watch as the Ozone layer burned away, and all he could hear with his new powers? People complaining about petty things, saying horrible things, praising superheroes and just ignoring that the world was on fire around them.,
"NO!" Kara's response was immediate and fierce. "No, I am not okay with that. But the General, he says, this is the only way. That humanity will never change cannot change. That they are already destroying their own world through greed and shortsightedness, so what difference could we make?"
She turned back to the city, her shoulders slumping. "And part of me wants to believe him. Because I miss home, Ryan. I miss my family. My mother is alive, somewhere in the Phantom Zone, waiting for us to rescue her. How can I abandon her? How can I choose these strangers over my own blood?"
Ryan moved to stand beside her. "Because it's not about choosing strangers over family. It's about choosing what's right over what's easy."
Kara looked at him, surprise on her face.
"Clark told me that once," Ryan continued. "When I was struggling with my powers. He said that having power means making hard choices. And the hardest choice is sometimes choosing to do the right thing even when it hurts. Even when it means losing something you love."
"You are very wise for one so young," Kara said softly.
"I'm not wise. I'm scared." Ryan admitted. "I'm scared that I made the easy choice. Clark once told me that I didn't have to be a hero, that he believed that it was my choice, that using my powers to save people wasn't an obligation, that I didn't have to do it. That I could have a normal life if I wanted it,"
Kara frowned, her eyes narrowing at Ryan; his words didn't sound like something she expected Kal-El to say. Everything she had learnt about her cousin suggested he would say the opposite. That people with power had a moral obligation to help that they must help that standing by whilst disasters happened made you just as guilty as if you had caused it yourself. However, Ryan just let out a small chuckle as he looked at her seeing the confusion there, he guessed he had probably looked the same as well.
"I didn't get either. I didn't really until just now, either, because it is a choice, Clark didn't tell me not to help people, but that it was my choice. Because it should be, it should be a choice, but it should be a simple one. You should want to help; you should just choose to help. Because if you force people to help then…..then no one will because…..because it will end up just being a job that you expected someone to do…and that person will expect you to praise them…..It has to be your choice."
He turned to face her fully, Kara was shocked as for a moment she didn't see her father who Ryan and Homelander resembled. Nor even did she see Kal-El's righteousness or Jor-El, who had been a towering figure of certainty in her life. No, she was seeing Ryan, as if he had just aged a full decade before, as if in that moment he was a grown man full of conviction and certainty all his own.
"Kara, I found the message. From Jor-El. He said that if the mission required innocent blood, it should be abandoned. That saving Krypton wasn't worth destroying another world."
"I know" Kara's eyes widened, and her voice was quiet as she responded looking into her grandson's eyes. "But that was meant for….".
"It means Zod's plan...this plan. It's not what Clark's father wanted. It's something else."
Kara was quiet for a long moment, staring out over the city. Then she reached up and grasped the pendant around her spoke softly, her voice almost lost to the wind as she stared at the pendant.
"My uncle gave me this. When I left Krypton. It contains the Zone Index—the key to finding everyone in the Phantom Zone. But he also told me something else when he gave it back to me when I woke up. He said, 'Guard this with your life, Kara. We must do what is necessary to save our people. Remember your oath'"
"Your oath?" Ryan asked, he knew what she had sworn because it was part of his studies but he wanted Kara to tell him.
"The one I swore when I joined the military guild, I swore to protect, to defend and to uphold our people and our people's ideals no matter what." Kara ran a thumb across the pendant with her eyes looking at her reflection, trying to see herself again. "Ideals only mean something if you hold onto them no matter what, even in the face of extinction."
"So what are you going to do?" Ryan asked, his question caused Kara to look up at him her eyes staring into his.
"Make a choice,"