Supes shared no telepathic frequency or hidden channel to locate one another. Vought, however, had created a functional equivalent through its comprehensive database. Every registered supe was on file. While Translucent had not memorized every dossier, he knew one fundamental truth: any supe with real power either worked for Vought or was under strict surveillance. The ones who slipped through the cracks were minor, isolated, and cautious. Aside from Superman, he had never seen a supe with the ability and the nerve to actively oppose the corporation.
So when he had imagined the forces behind this conspiracy, he expected familiar faces—the high-tier registered supes. The logic was simple: the dangerous ones were cataloged, and the cataloged ones were known, so any real resistance would feature people he recognized.
Instead, the basement held only two men and no hidden exits.
The realization brought a mixture of relief and confusion. Relief, because Jude's file contained no supe designation, and Butcher's immediate reaction to a threat was to draw a firearm—the response of a man whose maximum capability was a bullet. An actual supe would have relied on their own power. Confusion, because he still did not know when Jude had spotted him, or why Jude had led him into a dead-end basement instead of running. Jude was clearly intelligent. He had to know that a basement with a single exit was a terrible place to trap a bulletproof supe.
Unless Jude had not done this for his own benefit.
The stairs remained directly behind him. He had checked twice to ensure the path was clear. Superman had flown away from the bar; Translucent had heard the men talking about the sky and Homelander. He doubted Clark could pinpoint a specific Manhattan basement from that altitude and distance. Translucent held every tactical advantage.
He waited for the iodine to dry on his skin, then allowed his body to partially rematerialize—not to full opacity, but enough to project a visible face and silhouette. He gave them a target to look at.
"I don't know how you found me," he said. "But attacking me here was a mistake. Did you think invisibility was my only trick, or that three nine-millimeter rounds would stop me?"
"No," Jude said. "Vought's file on you lists your ability as carbon structural rearrangement. Your skin alters its molecular density. That makes you invisible, bulletproof, and likely immune to fire and acid. Among the Seven, Homelander is probably the only one with a tougher exterior."
Translucent paused. "So you're just going to give up?"
"I'm saying all you have is durable skin," Jude replied. "The rest of your attributes are just baseline supe physical strength."
"Baseline is more than enough to turn two ordinary men into a medical emergency." Translucent checked behind him again—the stairs were clear—before facing the room. "I won't kill you yet. I need to know what secrets you're keeping about Superman and Vought. Then we'll see."
"Damn it." Butcher spoke from the far side of the room, his voice tight with frustration. He stared at Jude. "Do you ever check for a tail before walking into a safehouse?"
"I knew the moment I left the bar," Jude said. "I knew it was Translucent. That's exactly why I came to find you."
The basement went quiet.
Butcher pieced the timeline together. Jude had known the entire time and had guided a Vought operative straight to his doorstep.
"You absolute bastard," Butcher said, his voice dropping into hard recognition. "You set me up."
"Where I come from, free things always cost the most." Jude turned to Butcher, his expression perfectly calm. "You rejected my first offer, so the secondary terms took effect. Here is the reality: Translucent has seen your face and knows where you hide. He already texted this address to someone—likely Homelander. You have two choices now. Option one: you work with me, and we break Vought. Option two: Vought comes here and breaks you."
He let the threat hang in the air.
"And as I told you before—my first offer is always the best one."
For the first time in a life spent surviving impossible situations, Billy Butcher found no words savage enough to match his anger. He stared at Jude's unbothered smile. He tried to formulate a response, but nothing he could say would alter the trap he was in.
He had been outmaneuvered twice the same man. A person might overlook one mistake, but two consecutive failures left a scar.
"Comfortable down there?" Translucent asked. "You two seem remarkably relaxed for a pair of normies trapped in a basement."
The air in the corner shifted.
Butcher felt the displacement of mass—the sudden rush of air moving faster than a normal body could manage. Instinct took over, and he snapped the crowbar up to guard his face.
The impact vibrated violently up his arms, feeling like iron striking a reinforced steel girder. Sparks flew. The skin meeting the metal was as hard as advertised, and the crowbar did nothing but numb Butcher's palms from the shockwave.
"A little weak," Translucent said.
A heavy backhand caught Butcher square in the torso. It was a compact, immediate display of supe strength, delivered with enough force to drive all the air from Butcher's lungs. He slammed back into the wall, the taste of copper rising in his throat.
He refused to drop.
Butcher crossed his forearms to block the next punch, putting every pound of his weight into the brace. The fist stalled against his arms for a few seconds before breaking through. It was just enough time.
Butcher lunged forward, driving his forehead straight into Translucent's face.
The impact made a wet, heavy crack that echoed through the small room.
Translucent's vision blurred. A deep, vibrating numbness spread through his skull. It was not typical pain, but a profound disorientation that reduced the next few moments to a blur of motion. He realized dimly that Butcher had tackled him to the floor. Fists rained down on his face in a rapid sequence. His skin held, his carbon structure remained intact, but the brain beneath the shell was vulnerable. The collective force of Butcher's punches was rattling his skull at a depth his powers could not protect.
Then Translucent fought back.
The brawl devolved into mindless, brutal violence. Strategy vanished as both men poured raw physical desperation into every blow. Blood—mostly Butcher's—splattered across both of them, soaking Butcher's shirt and coating Translucent's chest. The only blood Translucent lost came from his mouth; a fist had caught him while his jaw was open, bypassing his hardened skin.
Through the blood and swelling, Butcher's mouth twisted into a jagged grin.
"You certainly earned that name," Jude noted from the wall, where he had remained motionless since the fighting started.
The punch that finally dropped Butcher carried no more weight than the ones before it. It was simply the inevitable result of accumulated trauma—the limits of human endurance failing against supe physical mass. Butcher hit the concrete and stayed down, his body spent.
Translucent straightened up, chest heaving. This was the reality of the gap between them. One man lay bleeding on the floor, while he stood over him with nothing worse than a missing tooth.
He faced Jude.
"Now for you." He advanced slowly, his face smeared with enough blood to map his invisible features. "Why didn't you help him?"
He had kept an eye on Jude throughout the struggle. Jude had not moved, made no attempt to flank him, and had not reached for a weapon. He had simply stood by and watched. The passivity was more unsettling than an attack.
"I've dealt with people like Butcher before," Jude said, stepping forward. He reached down, pulled his shirt off in one fluid motion, and tossed it to the side. "They don't know how to cooperate until they've been broken. I needed to let him lose first."
He kept coming.
"Now, I'm going to break every bone in your body."
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