"Why not just threaten him with a couple of photos from the Secret Nest? Even tabloid reporters know that much."
"The man is helping Vought run drug trials on children," Jude said. "There's no chivalry owed. Don't tell me your moral standards have suddenly developed an upper floor."
"No, it's just—" Frenchie paused. "We always sort of thought you were one of the good ones."
"I am one of the good ones." Jude picked up his coat. "I just have a flexible interpretation of the floor."
The aftermath of dinner left every horizontal surface in the workshop occupied. Butcher lay on the long couch with his boots still on, staring at the ceiling. M.M. slouched in the armchair, his head tipped back. Frenchie took up the short couch with a cushion pulled over his face. Sherry sat on the floor, leaning against the base of the couch. Yomogi draped herself across the back of the armchair, settling in to stay.
Nobody spoke.
Jude was zipping his jacket when Kimiko's phone chirped from the table. A synthesized voice read her text out loud in measured, robotic syllables.
"I have lived in France for many years," the voice said. "But this is the first time I have ever eaten French food this good."
Frenchie lifted the cushion. He looked at Kimiko, who sat cross-legged near the table with the phone in her lap, and then looked at Jude.
"She thinks it's French," Frenchie said.
"I'm not going to correct her," Jude said. He turned his attention back to Frenchie. "You've been smoking for years and you're a trained chemist. You couldn't tell I added anything to that food. That should tell you something."
Frenchie dropped the cushion back over his face.
Jude moved toward the door. "Skip the public event for Samaritan's Embrace. Get someone to take a few photos and a short video of Ezekiel at the Secret Nest. Send him an email with a selection attached. He'll respond. Vought's digital security is poor. They can't trace an email back to me."
"I really don't want to go into that club myself anyway," Frenchie said, his voice muffled by the cushion.
"Smart," Butcher said from the couch, keeping his eyes closed.
"As for the Shining Light Liberation Army," Jude continued, "I'm going to find whoever survived in that basement before Vought cleans it up. If Kimiko's brother can be found, those guards are the lead."
Kimiko sat up straight. She typed quickly.
"I want to come," her phone said.
"You can't." Jude faced her. "Your infiltration skills aren't at the required level. If you came face-to-face with those members—" He stopped. "You might not be able to keep it together. You know that."
Kimiko stared at him. She typed again.
"I know," the phone said.
She set the device down in her lap. Her expression stayed flat, but her fingers dug into the edge of the phone case.
Jude opened the door and left.
With the workshop quiet again, Frenchie grabbed the remote and turned on the television.
"—tonight's showdown between two of the fastest beings alive. A-Train, The Eight veteran, defends against the rising challenger Shockwave. Superman, the team's newest addition, is here to show his support. The match begins in one hour—"
The screen switched to a behind-the-scenes camera. Concrete walls, bright lights, and the muffled roar of the crowd overhead marked the staging area beneath the track. Clark walked toward A-Train, who was stretching against the far wall.
M.M. leaned forward in his chair.
The broadcast cut to an isolated microphone feed.
"Stop using those stimulants."
Clark spoke quietly, treating the sentence like a simple, established fact. "Stay as far away from them as possible. They aren't doing what you think they are."
A-Train stopped his stretch. He forced his face into a neutral mask.
"Superman. I don't know what you're talking about, but I'd advise you to watch your words. We might be teammates, but you don't get a pass for bad jokes."
"I'm not joking. I mean it exactly as I said it." Clark stood his ground. "I have X-ray vision. I can see inside your blood vessels. I can see your heart. I know you've been dosing regularly for the past several weeks. I know you think it's helping, but you are wrong."
A-Train stood up straight. His jaw locked.
"I'm warning you. What I do with my body is my business. Don't think that because you have raw power you get to weigh in on my career. And don't forget, Homelander is my teammate too. He isn't less capable than you."
"This isn't about Homelander," Clark said. "I'm not here to enforce anything. I am giving you advice."
He watched A-Train.
"You grew up in a family that understood running. Your brother trained with you when you were young. Every morning, every track, every drill. You worked harder than most professional athletes. Controlled diet. Every training variable documented and optimized. You came out of a neighborhood where a lot of paths end badly, and you became one of the most recognizable athletes in the country. You earned more than most people see in a lifetime."
A-Train stopped shifting his weight. His eyes narrowed, locked on Clark's face.
"None of that was Compound V," Clark said. "That was you. Your brother dragging you out every morning before the sun was up. Your decision to keep doing it. Your work."
Clark paused.
"Even without the powers, you would still be a runner."
The practiced, professional smile A-Train used for the cameras faded completely.
Clark waited.
"You know a track athlete's principles," Clark said. "You lived them your whole career. It isn't about hormones. It isn't about using something to get ahead of everyone else. It isn't about injecting performance-enhancing substances, getting the result, and soaking up the applause while the crowd thinks they watched something real."
"I told you to stop talking." A-Train clenched his fists. His media-trained cadence was gone.
"You are already a very good track athlete," Clark said. "Don't let your life's work get ruined by a competition that doesn't matter in the long run. Even if you lose today, you are still a great athlete. If you use the compound, you become a cheater. That isn't the same thing."
"But I can win."
A-Train's voice cracked. His eyes reddened.
"But I can win this."
Clark's focus shifted, the rigid intensity of his stare softening.
"Who did you beat?" Clark asked. "Did you beat yourself? Did you run the best race your body can actually run and find out what that is? Or did you just need to finish ahead of Shockwave?"
A-Train stared at the floor.
"Your heart has already started to enlarge," Clark said. "I can see it. If you keep injecting, you end up like every athlete who refused to accept their decline. You die of a cardiac event in your forties, or you lose the ability to exercise at all. That is not the worst case. That is your current trajectory."
A-Train said nothing.
"That thing is erasing your life," Clark said. "And you are using it to erase your own soul."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing takes time, coffee, and a lot of love.If you'd like to support my work, join me at [email protected]/GoldenGaruda
You'll get early access to over 50 chapters, selection on new series, and the satisfaction of knowing your support directly fuels more stories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~