Chapter 14: Hunting Grounds
POV: Ben
The warehouse district in Newark at 3 AM looks like every crime movie cliché, except the criminals here can bench-press cars and the victims bleed neon from failed Compound V experiments—and Ben's shadows are practically vibrating with anticipation after three days of forced dormancy.
Industrial lighting casts long shadows between buildings that smell of motor oil and desperate chemistry, while The Boys position themselves around a warehouse that intelligence suggests houses human trafficking with superhuman complications. Ben's danger sense reads the building like a tactical manual written in violence and pharmaceutical desperation.
"Forty-seven enhanced signatures inside. Mixture of guards, victims, and management. Perfect feeding ground for shadows that have been hungry too long."
[COMPOUND V DETECTION: HEAVY CONCENTRATION]
[ESTIMATED THREATS: 12 COMBAT-CAPABLE SUPES]
[ESTIMATED VICTIMS: 35 NON-COMBATANTS]
[PRIMARY TARGET: TRAFFIC KING - LEVEL 15 METAL MANIPULATION VARIANT]
Butcher's briefing had been clinical in its brutality—Traffic King runs enhanced individuals through prostitution and underground fighting, using combination of pharmaceutical dependency and physical intimidation to maintain control over Supes too damaged or desperate to resist. The kind of operation that exists because normal law enforcement can't handle enhanced criminals, and enhanced law enforcement protects enhanced criminals.
"Remember," Butcher warns while checking weapons that probably aren't legal in any jurisdiction that matters, "these aren't normal victims. Half of them could tear your head off if they weren't pumped full of compliance drugs. The other half want to tear your head off because you're interrupting their next fix."
Ben nods while his shadows writhe beneath his skin like caged predators that have been promised fresh meat. Popclaw's echo practically purrs with anticipation, her loyalty meter climbing from starvation-level 61% to a healthier 68% just from proximity to potential violence.
"They can feel it. Combat approaching, blood about to be spilled, fresh corpses to potentially extract. This is what they need—not just violence, but violence they can participate in."
"What's the play?" M.M. asks while studying building schematics that probably came from sources Hughie doesn't want to know about.
"Front and back simultaneously," Butcher explains with the satisfaction of someone who's planned enough raids to know which variables matter. "M.M. and Frenchie take the loading dock, I go through the front with Hughie for distraction. Ben..."
Butcher's eyes narrow as he studies Ben with the particular assessment reserved for weapons of uncertain reliability. "You get to prove yourself. Side entrance, work your way up to management. See if your mysterious skill set is as useful as you claim."
"Test. He's testing whether I'm an asset or liability under combat conditions. Perfect opportunity to reveal capabilities without exposing the extraction mechanics."
"I won't let you down," Ben promises, meaning it in ways that would probably disturb them if they understood the full implications.
The warehouse interior smells of pharmaceutical desperation and industrial chemistry, fluorescent lights buzzing over spaces that have been converted into something between prison and brothel. Ben's shadows manifest the moment he's alone, their forms more solid and coordinated than they've ever been in combat situations.
"Finally. Finally we get to hunt again."
Popclaw's shadow leads the assault, her enhanced strength and density manipulation turning warehouse guards into abstract art painted in primary colors. The guards are enhanced—low-level strength and speed variants—but they're facing coordinated attack from multiple supernatural predators working in perfect synchronization.
Ezekiel's echo strangles three targets simultaneously, elastic limbs extending through impossible angles to apply pressure that enhanced durability can't overcome. Gill's shadow drowns a speedster in a water cooler, aquatic abilities turning ordinary fixtures into tactical weapons.
Juice Box's shadow—weakest of Ben's collection—focuses on crowd control, his basic enhanced strength sufficient to keep guard reinforcements from flanking the coordinated assault.
Ben watches his army work with cold satisfaction that tastes like copper and tactical efficiency. This is what extraction gets him—not just stolen abilities, but coordinated violence applied by entities that remember how to kill but have forgotten how to hesitate.
"Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. They're not just obeying commands—they're thinking tactically, adapting to threats, working together like they've been training for years instead of extracted individually."
[SHADOW LOYALTY RESTORED]
[POPCLAW: 84% | EZEKIEL: 87% | GILL: 89% | JUICE BOX: 91%]
[SHADOWS RESPONDING OPTIMALLY TO COMBAT DEPLOYMENT]
The basement reveals what Ben expected and hoped never to see—cages filled with young Supes whose abilities have been turned against them through chemistry and systematic abuse. Enhanced individuals barely eighteen years old, their powers causing constant pain from botched Compound V injections and withdrawal cycles designed to maintain compliance.
M.M.'s voice carries through their communications equipment with the particular strain that comes from seeing institutional cruelty disguised as business management. "Jesus Christ. We need to call authorities, get these kids medical attention."
"Authorities that work for Vought?" Ben's response carries bitter accuracy while he studies potential extraction targets among the victims. "These kids are evidence of crimes that implicate judges and prosecutors. They'll disappear into the system that created them."
"Some of them are dying anyway. Terminal Compound V poisoning, massive organ failure, neural damage that enhanced healing can't repair. Mercy killing might be..."
A girl who can't be older than seventeen looks up from a cage that reeks of chemical dependency and broken promises. Her ability—acid generation—has turned her tears into weapons that melt her own face, creating wounds that heal incorrectly and reopen constantly.
"Please," she whispers through vocal cords that have been damaged by her own defensive chemistry. "Make it stop. I can't... it hurts so much, and they keep injecting more V, and I can't control what my body does anymore."
Ben stares at suffering that enhanced abilities have transformed into something beyond normal human comprehension. Her enhanced healing keeps her alive despite acid that would kill normal humans, creating endless cycles of damage and repair that amount to torture designed by pharmaceutical incompetence.
"Extraction wouldn't work—System requires combat-viable subjects, and she's been destroyed by chemistry rather than combat. But I could end her suffering..."
"Ben." M.M.'s voice carries warning about lines that shouldn't be crossed even during missions that require crossing other lines. "We don't execute victims."
"Even victims who beg for death?" Ben's voice carries genuine moral conflict while Popclaw's shadow positions herself behind the girl's cage. "Even victims whose abilities have been turned into weapons against themselves?"
The question hangs in basement air thick with pharmaceutical desperation and institutional cruelty. When Ben gives the signal, Popclaw's shadow reaches through cage bars and snaps the girl's neck with enhanced strength applied to cervical vertebrae that enhanced durability can't protect.
The mercy killing is instant and silent. The girl's suffering ends between one heartbeat and the next, but when Ben whispers "ARISE," the System rejects the extraction with digital disappointment.
[EXTRACTION FAILED: SUBJECT LACKS COMBAT VIABILITY]
[NON-COMBATANT DEATHS PROVIDE NO EXPERIENCE VALUE]
[RECOMMENDATION: FOCUS ON VIABLE TARGETS]
The rejection surprises Ben with its intensity—not disappointment about lost power, but genuine guilt about killing someone for resources that turned out to be unavailable. He'd ended her suffering, but he'd also calculated potential gain while doing it.
"Monster. That makes me a monster. I was planning to extract her even while granting mercy. Using her death as resource collection disguised as humanitarian action."
Traffic King's office occupies the warehouse's upper level, where metal from dozens of vehicles has been arranged into defensive positions that turn the space into automotive sculpture designed for maximum tactical advantage. The Supe himself—built like someone who's spent years moving heavy objects with his mind rather than his body—studies security monitors that show his operation being systematically dismantled by coordinated assault.
"Level 15. Strong enough to be dangerous, weak enough to be manageable. And his ability—metal manipulation—would complement my collection perfectly."
When Traffic King realizes he's under attack, his response transforms the warehouse into mechanical chaos. Car doors become shields, engine parts become projectiles, and the building's metal framework groans under telekinetic stress that makes the air taste of ozone and industrial lubricant.
Ben coordinates his shadows with tactical precision that surprises him with its sophistication. Ezekiel's echo provides distraction through elastic misdirection, while Gill's shadow uses sprinkler systems to create electrical hazards that force Traffic King to ground his metal projectiles. Popclaw's shadow flanks through density manipulation that lets her phase through walls, and Juice Box provides direct assault that draws attention away from Ben's approach.
The fight destroys the office and most of the upper level, metallic debris raining down like industrial hail while Traffic King demonstrates why telekinetic abilities make their users dangerous even when outnumbered. But coordination defeats raw power when applied with sufficient tactical intelligence.
Traffic King falls with his own car door impaling him through the chest, telekinetic abilities meaningless when your concentration has been shattered by coordinated assault from multiple supernatural predators.
Ben approaches the dying Supe while his shadows form a protective circle, their loyalty meters reading maximum satisfaction from successful combat deployment. When he places his hand on Traffic King's chest and whispers "ARISE," the extraction proceeds with mechanical efficiency that feels almost anticlimactic after the violence required to achieve it.
[TARGET ELIMINATED]
[EXPERIENCE GAINED: 1,500 XP]
[LEVEL ADVANCEMENT: 7 → 8]
[SHADOW EXTRACTION SUCCESSFUL]
[SHADOW QUALITY: UNCOMMON]
[POWER RETENTION: 42%]
[NEW ABILITIES: METAL MANIPULATION, VEHICLE CONTROL]
[MANIFESTATION DURATION: 12 MINUTES]
The Boys arrive to find Ben standing over Traffic King's corpse while shadows that shouldn't exist disperse into normal darkness. Butcher's expression carries the particular assessment reserved for weapons that have proven more dangerous than advertised.
"Exposed. Completely exposed. No way to explain the shadows, the coordination, the fact that I just performed open extraction in front of witnesses."
"Well, well," Butcher says with satisfaction that tastes like vindication mixed with professional paranoia. "I bloody knew you were a Supe."
The accusation hangs in the air like smoke from weapons that have been fired in anger. Ben doesn't deny it—couldn't deny it even if he wanted to, given what they've just witnessed. Instead, he meets Butcher's gaze with steady intensity that carries its own kind of authority.
"I hunt them. I don't protect them." Ben's voice carries the particular certainty that comes from knowing exactly where you stand on questions that matter. "Choose."
Butcher studies Ben's face while the rest of The Boys process implications of fighting alongside someone whose abilities they've fundamentally misunderstood. When he speaks, his voice carries the pragmatic calculation of someone who's learned to evaluate allies based on usefulness rather than honesty.
"Fair enough. Question is, what else are you hiding? And can we trust you when it matters?"
"Trust. They're offering alliance despite deception, partnership despite the fact that I've been lying about fundamental aspects of my nature. That's either incredibly naive or incredibly pragmatic."
"You can trust me to kill the right people," Ben says, meaning it more than they realize. "Everything else is operational details."
The warehouse raid's aftermath requires cleanup that speaks of experience with evidence disposal and witness management. Ben participates with calculated efficiency while his five shadows whisper satisfaction about successful combat deployment and growing tactical capabilities.
[QUEST COMPLETE: BUILDING AN ARMY (5/5 SHADOWS COLLECTED)]
[NEW QUEST UNLOCKED: SHADOW COORDINATION MASTERY]
[CURRENT SHADOW LOYALTY: 95%+ ALL UNITS]
[WARNING: BUTCHER SUSPICION LEVEL INCREASED]
[RECOMMEND: CAREFUL RELATIONSHIP MANAGEMENT]
The Boys retreat in tense silence, Ben's secret exposed but his allegiance proven in blood and violence that left forty-seven enhanced criminals dead and thirty-five victims free to find new ways to be exploited by systems designed to profit from their abilities.
Ben sits in the van surrounded by teammates who've learned he's been lying about everything fundamental while his shadows form protective circles that only he can see. Traffic King's abilities settle into his nervous system like cold metal finding its designated places, adding telekinetic metal manipulation to his growing arsenal of stolen powers.
"Five shadows. Army complete. Each extraction making me stronger, each lie making relationships more complicated, each revelation forcing choices between honesty and operational security."
Outside the van's windows, Newark's industrial wasteland passes like a judgment on cities that have learned to profit from human misery disguised as economic necessity. Somewhere in that maze of warehouses and abandoned dreams, other Traffic Kings run other operations that turn enhanced abilities into profitable exploitation.
Ben closes his eyes and feels his shadows settling into dormancy, finally fed but somehow hungrier than ever—and wonders if he's created monsters or just revealed the monsters that were always there, waiting for permission to hunt.
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