A knock echoed through the apartment.
Butcher dragged himself to the door, bloodshot eyes testament to another all-nighter spent surfing the web. Years of CIA training kicked in automatically. He didn't reach for the handle. Instead, he positioned himself outside the door's firing line, mind racing through weapon locations.
Damn exhaustion. Where the hell did he leave his gun?
"Open up! Room service!"
The voice from outside delivered a textbook wrong answer. Butcher's eye twitched. He muttered something obscene under his breath.
"Which dumbass are you? Don't let me catch you..."
His gaze swept the room. Memory clicked. He crouched and pulled a pistol wrapped in duct tape from beneath the shoe cabinet.
Click. Chambered round. Confidence restored.
Even if some sissy superhuman stood on the other side, Butcher could put a bullet through their eyeball before they activated their powers. Shoot first, questions never.
"Bullshit. This is an apartment, not a hotel. Wait a minute..."
He stopped mid-rant. The voice outside sounded familiar. Very familiar.
He yanked the door open.
A tall, muscular man in all black with a baseball cap stood in the hallway.
Butcher blinked. "Who the fuck are you?"
Jordan Evans removed his God of War cap and pushed past the dumbfounded man still holding his pistol. Behind him, F-boy caught the falling cap mid-air, azure flames flickering as the Stand transformed it into a card and stored it in the deck.
"Boss? Is that really you? I didn't recognize you at all..."
Hallucination? Shouldn't be. He'd pulled all-nighters before without this kind of intensity.
"This is truly unbelievable."
Butcher shook his head, attributing the confusion to sleep deprivation from his late-night dirt-digging sessions. Seeing Jordan already inside, he quickly closed the door and followed.
"Why'd you stop cursing? That's disappointing."
Jordan glanced at Butcher, cold eyes carrying a hint of disdain. "I preferred your rebellious self from before."
Butcher grinned like a street thug, completely unbothered. "Just habitual profanity, boss. You're a magnanimous person. You won't hold it against me."
The seasoned veteran left no room for questioning, using a declarative tone rather than apologetic.
Then his expression shifted. Recent events flooded back, excitement lighting his weathered face.
"Who's next? I mean, if you're planning to take down Homelander, you'll take me with you, right?"
Jordan raised an eyebrow. "What are you planning to do? Be his appetizer?"
"Not necessarily." Irritation flashed through Butcher's eyes. "Homelander might be called invulnerable, but even superhumans have weaknesses. Eyes, ears..." His voice took on a vicious edge. "Tell me, if you stuffed a grenade under his skin, wouldn't it blow his intestines to smithereens when he tries pulling it out?"
"Fuck, Butcher! Could you be any more disgusting?!"
Jordan rubbed his forehead, suddenly questioning whether visiting this lunatic had been a mistake.
Butcher shrugged, his rugged face showing zero remorse. Just a rough man being honest.
"No other choice. I'm just an ordinary bloke. To deal with Homelander, I've got to use underhanded methods."
Jordan gave him the middle finger.
"Unfortunately, those weaknesses do exist. But with your strength, Homelander's eyes could break your fingers like twigs."
"Well, that's not necessarily..." Butcher trailed off, strange hope stirring. "But boss, what do you mean by that?"
Jordan didn't elaborate.
Hey, I'm fucking—
Oh right, the boss can read minds. Never mind then.
Jordan moved past the old rogue toward Butcher's usual work desk. The computer screen, still on, displayed dozens of browser tabs filled with negative Vought Corporation comments. Clearly, the man before him was a heavyweight internet troll.
Even after the Deep and A-Train hype cycles died down, Butcher continued spending hours online, seizing every opportunity to spread smears.
Of course, like most companies targeted by smear campaigns, Vought often orchestrated their own negative press for strategic purposes.
"What happened to the information I asked you to collect last time?"
Butcher stepped forward and pulled a thick stack of printed A4 papers from the cluttered desk. Each page contained detailed dossiers on community heroes under the Vought organization.
"Don't you trust me to get things done? All the basic information on current Vought heroes is right here."
After A-Train's death, Jordan hadn't abandoned this useful local asset. In this world, anyone opposing Homelander or Vought Corporation earned Butcher's support, even if it was a random teddy bear trying to hump air on the street. He'd help unzip the bear's pants.
For a cuckolded villain who disregarded reward, cost, and consequences in pursuit of pure revenge, no better accomplice existed.
Unable to read Jordan's thoughts, Butcher demonstrated his work competence. "As for the previous generation hero, Liberty, I haven't found relevant information yet."
"However, I can reach out to the FBI. I've got a good relationship with one of the deputy directors. Maybe pull some files from their archives."
The "Liberty" Butcher mentioned was a Vought hero from the previous generation, appearing in Season Two of the series in the normal timeline. Her hero name later became "Stormfront," though she was more commonly known as Storm Girl. A villainous boss with a full stack of buffs: extreme violence, racism, and Nazi remnants. She'd once surpassed Homelander on the "most hated superhero character" list.
"No need. I'll check that woman's information in Vought's database myself."
Jordan glanced at the thick stack of hero profiles, then suddenly looked directly at Butcher.
"If you had A-Train's power and speed, could you take down these superhumans?"
"Absolutely! If I had that bastard's superpowers, no one could stop me!"
Butcher answered without hesitation, voice full of confidence. Then he paused.
"But boss, you're joking with me, right?"
His eyes narrowed. "According to my research, the probability of adults dying from Compound V injection is extremely high. Even infants have significant mortality rates..." His grip tightened on his weapon. "Are you trying to kill me?"
As Butcher voiced his suspicions, his gaze darted around frantically. He had the air of a cornered fugitive, ready to fight to the death if necessary.