"I'm Annie," she said, extending her hand.
Ethan took it. "Ethan Corvin."
The silence between them settled into something more comfortable than before.
"So," Annie said, studying him, "doctor or therapist?"
Ethan blinked. "What gave you that idea?"
"The whole calm advice thing. You seem weirdly prepared for this kind of conversation."
"That's disappointing. I was hoping I came across as mysterious."
That got a small laugh out of her — genuine, not polite. The kind she didn't hand out easily anymore.
"So what do you actually do?"
"I live," Ethan said.
She gave him a flat look. "Besides that."
"Problem solver. I deal with things other people can't."
"That's incredibly vague."
"Intentionally."
Annie studied him for a moment.
"What kind of problems?"
Ethan thought about it. "All kinds. Doesn't really matter where I go — they find me anyway."
He said it the way someone describes bad weather. Inevitable, mildly annoying, completely out of their control. "At this point I'm fairly convinced it's a curse."
Annie looked at him. "That sounds exhausting."
"It has its moments."
"Would you mind giving me your number?" Annie said. "Or should we talk a little longer before you ask for it?" Talking to him felt genuinely calm, which was strange enough on its own.
"I'd actually like to give you mine, but I lost my phone recently," Ethan said. Not entirely a lie — he had one, but he doubted it would work in this world.
"Give me yours though. I have a good memory."
Annie looked at him for a moment, then recited her number. Ethan filed it away without writing anything down.
"I'm genuinely lucky right now," he said. "Not many people have Starlight's personal number."
Annie went still. "How do you know that?"
She had become one of the Seven yesterday. Yesterday. The official announcement hadn't even fully circulated yet.
"I told you I have a good memory," Ethan said. "It works better when I'm paying attention, and I've been paying attention since i sat down."
After Annie left, Ethan watched her disappear down the path before shoving his hands into his pockets.
First impression had gone well. Now it was time to deal with the fish creep.
***
Inside Vought Tower, The Deep was annoyed.
The new girl had run away before he could properly explain how things worked around here. Sure, she looked uncomfortable, but new members were always nervous around The Seven. She would get over it. Eventually.
He leaned back in his chair, convincing himself the situation wasn't as bad as it looked.
Then he heard laughter. Inside the room.
"Jesus Christ, you are pathetic."
The Deep shot up from his chair. "What the fuck?" His eyes darted around the office. Nobody. The room was completely empty. "Who's there?"
"You actually thought that was going to work?"
He spun around. "Show yourself!"
"So that's the plan? Sexually harass the new teammate until she likes you back? Brilliant strategy."
The Deep's face darkened. "Listen, asshole—"
"No, seriously. How many times has that actually worked for you?"
"Who the fuck are you?"
"Someone with standards."
The Deep looked around again. No cameras, no hidden people, no explanation.
Then something grabbed him.
He was just suddenly airborne, slammed into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster.
"What the—"
Before he could finish, he was yanked free and whipped across the room like a wet towel. He clipped the desk, bounced off the bookshelf, and hit the opposite wall shoulder-first.
"AGH — what the FUCK—"
Then the ceiling.
WHAM.
"—NNGH—"
Then the floor.
He lay completely still for several seconds, cheek pressed against the carpet, every single part of him filing a formal complaint simultaneously.
"...ow," he managed.
Slowly, painfully, he tried to push himself upright. His arms shook. His vision swam. One of his shoes had somehow come off during the process.
Blood-red mist began gathering in front of him, pulling itself together from nothing, condensing into a shape. A torso. Arms. A face. And finally, two eyes that were entirely, completely red.
"What the..." The Deep's voice came out much quieter than intended. "...what are you?"
He grabbed the edge of the desk and hauled himself halfway up.
The figure looked at him. Then calmly, without any visible effort or particular interest, lifted one leg and drove a kick directly into his groin.
CRACK.
The Deep's eyes crossed.
"...nnnGHHH."
He slid back down the desk in slow motion and returned to the floor, curling into a shape roughly resembling a shrimp.
"You should've just stuck to the ocean if you wanted company," the figure said pleasantly. "Not like that's new territory for you."
The Deep's eye twitched. "What did you just—"
"The fish, Deep. Everyone knows about the fish."
"THAT WAS ONE TIME—"
"Fuck the fish," the figure said, and started laughing. Genuinely, delightedly laughing.
The Deep's face turned an impressive shade of red. He was one of The Seven. One of the most powerful supes on the planet. He grabbed the desk and hauled himself upright with what remained of his dignity.
"I swear to God when I get my hands on you I'm going to—"
The kick caught him clean across the face.
CRACK.
He hit the wall. Slid down it. Left a dent.
He sat there blinking slowly, one eye slightly less focused than the other.
The figure crouched down to his eye level, red eyes completely calm.
"Here's how this works. Fuck the fish all you want — genuinely not my problem, the ocean's a big place." The voice stayed pleasant. Almost cheerful.
"But if I ever hear about you pulling that same garbage on another woman — teammate, civilian, anyone — I will personally make sure you end up filleted, seasoned, and sold at a fish market."
A pause.
"By the pound."
The Deep stared at him. "...you wouldn't."
The red eyes didn't blink. "What makes you think I wouldn't? I've done some genuinely insane things. This barely qualifies as an inconvenience."
The Deep felt something bad forming in his stomach. The stranger sounded completely serious — no hesitation, no hint of a joke, nothing. Just a smile.
Then he disappeared.
The office went quiet.
The Deep stood there for a long moment before eventually dragging himself toward the door. Part of him wanted to convince himself it had been a hallucination. The rest of him knew better.
He stepped into the corridor and immediately spotted Homelander walking in the opposite direction. Relief crossed his face — at least there was someone else here.
"Homelander, I need to tell you—"
Homelander glanced over. His gaze dropped. His expression shifted from mild acknowledgment into something that could only be described as pure, unfiltered disgust. He turned around and walked away without a single word.
The Deep froze. Then looked down at himself.
His costume was completely wet.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!" he screamed, the sound echoing down the entire corridor.
***
A/N: And on Patreon, The Boys arc started.
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