"So what are we talking about?"
Billy Butcher sat on the chair like it was made of nails. In his entire life, he'd never felt a shitty little stool dig into his ass like this. And there was only one reason he looked like a man with hemorrhoids and constipation at the same time…
Because the guy in front of them—the freak in white—had just smashed a hole through their secret hideout, then smiled and said, Oh, my dear little dumbasses, why don't we have a nice chat about how to kill that dumbass Homelander?
"Let's talk about how we're going to take out Homelander."
The man in white smiled and went straight to the point.
"Take out Homelander?! …With a nuke?!"
Butcher actually thought about it seriously before answering.
"No, no, you didn't understand what I meant. I'm not asking how to kill Homelander. If it's just killing him, you don't even need to lift a finger—I can erase him whenever I feel like it. What I'm asking is: how do we make Homelander die in the hearts of Americans? Put simply, I need you to help me knock him off that pedestal. I want him to fall from 'god' to 'garbage.'"
The man in the tight white suit explained calmly.
"So in plain English, you want us to help you destroy that fake, holier-than-thou image he's built in people's heads. Right?"
Butcher's interest snapped into place. That was exactly what he wanted. He wanted the whole world to see Homelander's real face—then drag that piece of trash into court and make him pay for his wife and his kid with his life.
"Yes. And no."
The man in white nodded lightly… then shook his head.
"Not just destroy it. I want him to become a rabid rat everyone screams at in the street. I want to push him until he breaks. Drive him insane. Make him start slaughtering people. And then…"
He laid out his plan.
"And then you let the broken Homelander turn into a tyrant. A monster. A Nazi. You make everyone fear him, hate him—then you step in and kill him. You get the glory, you get the praise. Win-win?!"
Butcher's teeth ground together. The words came out like he was ripping them from his throat.
"That's the idea…"
The man in white nodded. That was exactly it.
"Alright. I get it."
"So what do you want me to do? Or rather—when do you want me to move?"
Butcher nodded and pressed.
"First, you need to gather enough evidence to make Homelander completely finished."
The man in white gave his first requirement.
"No problem. Evidence is on me."
Butcher didn't hesitate.
"Second—why don't you introduce me to the CIA Deputy Director?"
The man in white looked at Butcher with a mild, polite curiosity.
"Deputy Director? Oh—yeah, sure. Tomorrow. I'll take you."
Butcher blinked. He wondered how the hell this guy even knew he had that connection… but then he remembered the man's Vought background. Digging that up wouldn't be hard.
"Good."
"Then that's it for now."
"Oh—and I'm taking this one."
The man in white walked to the cage, grabbed The Deep like he was a sack of wet trash, and dragged him out with pure disgust.
"Alright."
Butcher nodded.
"See you."
The man in white turned into a blur, shot up through the hole in the roof, and vanished into the night sky.
"So… we're really working with him?"
After the man was gone, Hughie finally asked Butcher.
"Yeah."
Butcher nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"You're not worried he's a liar?"
Hughie looked unconvinced.
"What the fuck would he even need to lie to us for?"
"The gap's too big. If he wanted to kill us, he could just drop down, bam-bam, two punches—then we'd be a puddle of meat no one gives a shit about."
As he spoke, Butcher lit a cigarette. The smell hit his nerves like a jolt. For the first time in his life, he felt like revenge was close enough to taste.
"Everything's gonna be fine," he told himself.
The next day…
A woman who looked to be in her late forties or fifties walked into the office in high heels, handbag in hand, moving with brisk confidence. The moment she saw who was inside, her face dropped.
"Hey! Why the hell are you in my office?!"
She snapped at the man inside.
"I came through the front door. Nobody stopped me."
It was Billy Butcher—the bastard who'd gotten familiar enough around the building that people stopped asking questions.
"Listen. Get the fuck out. Right now."
She stared at him like she meant it.
"Don't be so cold, Susan."
"Our history should buy me at least a few minutes, yeah?"
Butcher sounded almost tired.
"The only thing I remember about you is the time I was young and stupid and let you drag me into a bar bathroom."
"You're a bastard who only ever tried to use me."
Susan's voice was sharp with anger.
"Maybe I'm here to help you. Ever think of that?"
Butcher's brow tightened. His eyes carried pain and grief… and an anger that looked like a volcano about to erupt.
"Help me?" Susan let out a light laugh. "How's a homeless fuck who can't even keep a job supposed to help me?"
"Help you stop Vought from sticking its hands into the military. Help you get rid of Homelander—permanently."
Butcher faced her head-on, eyes intense.
"Get the fuck out."
Susan said it flat, like she was swatting a fly.
"If you want to daydream, go do it at home alone. Don't drag my ass into it, you asshole."
Disgust flashed in her eyes.
"I'm hurt, Susan. I'm really hurt."
"And I'm not joking. I can kill Homelander."
Butcher looked genuinely pained.
"Spit it out. Don't waste my time."
Susan dropped into her leather chair, crossed her legs, and watched him like a judge.
"Tell me," Butcher said, leaning into the drama, "what's the best way to deal with a Superman?"
"A nuke."
Then she pointed at him like a warning.
"Listen, asshole. Don't you dare think I'd pay for Homelander with an entire city."
"No," Butcher shook his head. "The best way to deal with a Superman like Homelander is simple."
"Find a Superman stronger than him."
"What?!"
Susan froze. For a second, she genuinely didn't understand what she was hearing.
"Allow me the honor," Butcher said, turning toward the door, "of introducing someone."
"He's faster than A-Train. Tougher than Translucent. Stronger than Homelander."
"The famous Freeman…"
"Mr. Jovian."
Butcher smiled toward the doorway.
And then…
The whole office went quiet.
"?"
Susan stared at Butcher like she was asking: If you're fucking with me, you'll never see daylight again.
"Fuck."
Butcher cursed under his breath and marched outside.
The moment he stepped out, he understood why Jovian hadn't come in.
Jovian was standing in the hallway—signing autographs for a line of CIA staff like he was at a comic-con booth.
"Fuck!"
Butcher barked, then ran right up to them.
"Listen up, you idiots—getting autographs on company time. Get back in line and learn some patience. Stop getting in the way of actual work."
"Hey! Who the hell are you to talk to us like that?!"
One staffer snapped back.
"Shh… that's Billy Butcher. The Deputy Director's little boyfriend."
An agent who recognized him quickly pulled the staffer aside and whispered.
"Fuck…? That busted-looking guy can be a kept man now?"
The staffer muttered under their breath.
"I heard that."
Butcher glanced at the person's name tag and memorized it. He swore he'd get even.
"Freeman, come with me," Butcher said, forcing his voice calm. "I'll introduce you to CIA Deputy Director Susan Raynor."
"Alright. Sorry, folks—let me finish the job first."
Jovian gave the line an easy smile.
"Of course, sir. Your work comes first."
The staff and agents answered in near unison.
"Thanks."
Jovian nodded and followed Butcher inside.
"Wow," Jovian said as he entered, looking at Susan with a bright smile. "I'm guessing you're Deputy Director Raynor. You really are as beautiful as Billy said."
"You hear that, Susan?"
Butcher immediately latched onto it.
"I've been praising you behind your back this whole time."
"Heh." Susan smiled. "That's the first human sentence your dog mouth has produced in years."
She looked like she didn't care—yet the small curl at the corner of her lips said she enjoyed it more than she wanted to admit.
"Hello, Freeman," Susan said, keeping it clean and sharp. "I'm CIA Deputy Director Susan Raynor."
She reached out her hand.
"As you can see," Jovian said, shaking it lightly, "I'm Freeman—Jovian Grayson. Call me Jovian, or Freeman. Either's fine."
"Alright, Mr. Grayson," Susan said. "Tell me exactly what you plan to do."
"Take Vought and Homelander to court," Jovian said. "Put their crimes on the record. Make the whole world understand Homelander isn't a god and isn't a hero—he's a coward and a criminal."
"After that, leave the rest to me."
Jovian liked that she went straight to the point. No wasting time. No bullshit.
"Put Homelander on trial…"
Susan let out a soft laugh.
"You want to watch a massacre?"
She understood what would happen the moment they dragged the truth into daylight. Homelander would become the target of the entire country. And Vought's response was obvious—dump everything onto Homelander, wash their own hands clean, and save the company. Once Homelander was destroyed, Vought would need a new symbol to sell to the public.
And who that symbol would be… didn't need saying.
"I'll handle him," Jovian said confidently.
"A verbal promise?" Susan didn't buy it. Homelander was the strongest man on the planet—how was some newcomer supposed to kill him?
"Translucent is dead," Jovian said after a moment, voice calm.
"Translucent is dead?!"
Susan and Butcher said it at the same time.
They exchanged a look—both shocked. Someone like Translucent, bulletproof and practically untouchable… dead?
"Yes." Jovian lifted his hand casually. "I swung my palm like this—one slap—and turned his big old watermelon into pulp."
His hand stopped inches from Susan's cheek.
The air pressure alone stung her skin.
"WTF…"
Susan's heart hammered. She'd never been that close to death in her life.
"Heh." Jovian smiled slightly. "You think my slogan is just marketing?"
"Listen. You do what I told you to do."
"The rest is mine."
"This isn't a request. It's an order."
Jovian turned, giving her only his back.
Before he left, he hooked Butcher close with one arm.
"Go check those hospitals," Jovian said quietly. "You'll find anything you want in there."
"Oh—and go see A-Train's girlfriend, Popclaw. If you get there early, you might even find some leftover Compound V."
Then Jovian walked out without another word, leaving Butcher and Susan behind.
"WTF… I almost died."
Susan pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her breath rise and fall.
"So what do we do?" Butcher asked.
"If they want to do it," Susan said through clenched teeth, "then let's do it. Goddamn supes."
She was shaken to the bone—so she decided to gamble on Jovian's plan. If it worked, great. If it didn't… at least one of those two monsters—Jovian or Homelander—would end up dead.
It couldn't get worse than a world where both of them were alive.
"Good."
Butcher's mouth curled into a hard smile. He'd been waiting for those words.
The next few days were strangely calm.
A-Train used Compound V to beat Shockwave, becoming the fastest man in the world again.
Starlight completed her first mission under Jovian's guidance.
A-Train's little girlfriend Popclaw got high on Compound V, went euphoric, and crushed her landlord's skull during sex—spraying her lap with what looked like tomato sauce—right in time for Butcher's team to catch her.
Oh, and…
"Thank you, Freeman. Thank you for helping me!" The Deep wiped tears from his eyes as he thanked Jovian over and over. "Thank you for saving me from those bastards!"
"No need to thank me," Jovian said smoothly. "Your willpower beat them. Without question, you're the real hero here. I'm proud of you."
Then The Deep thumped his chest like he meant it.
"I'm going to Toxic Island. I'm going to beat the bastards who slaughter dolphins. I'm going to save the dolphins!"
"I believe you," Jovian said, patting his shoulder. "You can do it."
If The Deep wanted to run off to some place nastier than a sewer, soaked in radioactive filth, what else was Jovian supposed to do besides encourage him? The only question was whether The Deep would mutate like the sea life out there—which would be horrifying.
"Goodbye."
The Deep stood on the cruise ship, crying like a dramatized fish with a soul, waving at Jovian with snot and tears everywhere.
"Farewell, Deep."
Jovian turned away.
Once The Deep was busy "saving dolphins," he'd eventually realize everything at Vought had changed. Homelander would be gone. Someone else would hold the reins.
And The Deep?
Fuck.
Jovian had said he'd rot in the sewers, and Jovian always kept his promises.
The Deep wasn't coming back from Toxic Island.
Elsewhere…
After seeing off his "good friend," The Deep, Jovian stayed at Vought, patiently waiting.
Until Stillwell got a phone call.
"Seven minutes ago, a passenger plane flying from Paris to Chicago was hijacked," Stillwell said, face grim, pulling Homelander, Queen Maeve, and Jovian into the briefing. "This is your moment to prove yourselves. If we save that plane, I don't want to hear a single person trying to stop us from getting into the military."
"We don't need that many people," Homelander said, waving it off. "Give it to me and Maeve. Trust me—we'll give everyone a satisfying answer."
"I believe you," Stillwell said with a small smile. After the Baltimore mayor incident, she trusted Homelander more than ever.
"Good."
Homelander smiled too—cold and sharp for half a second. He gave Jovian a nod, then wrapped an arm around Maeve and walked out of Vought Tower.
"Don't be mad," Stillwell said quietly to Jovian. "He's always like that. Does whatever he wants."
"Of course," Jovian said, smiling at Homelander's back. "He's like a child who never learned how to behave…"
For a dead man walking, Jovian's only response was to smile—and, in his mind, raise the universal "friendly" gesture.
"Move."
The instant Homelander left with Maeve, countless phones across the city received the same message.
One word: Move.
The next second, the world seemed to tip into chaos.
Negative stories about Homelander flooded the internet like a tidal wave. The Baltimore mayor even held a press conference, accusing Homelander of orchestrating an assassination.
Doubt spread like wildfire—about Homelander, and about Vought itself.
Listen.
The bell tolling Homelander's doomsday had already begun to ring.
A show was about to start.