Chapter 18

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Chapter 18

The sound of knocking could be heard throughout the warehouse, alerting everyone to the imminent arrival of a visitor. The members of The Boys halted their activities, each standing in anticipation, their eyes darted towards the entrance of the warehouse. They all instinctively reached for a weapon in case of the possibility of it being hostile.

"All of you calm your fucking tits!" Butcher ordered them as he walked to the door. "This one with me!"

Hearing this some of them relaxed while others remained alert with hands still on their weapons. The warehouse door creaked open, casting a slender thread of daylight into the gloomy interior.

The silhouette of a nervous figure slowly etched itself on the floor and Hughie stepped in, his eyes reflecting the uncertainty and resolve that clutched at his heart.

His palms were slick with sweat, the papers he clutched in his hands dampening with every passing second. The room was deathly silent, all eyes upon him now. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe.

"Butcher," he croaked out, trying to conceal his jittery nerves behind a facade of calm.

Butcher approached him slowly, facing Hughie with a hard gaze.

"Well then, lad," he drawled out slowly crossing his arms over his chest, "I hope you thought about this nice and long because there is no turning back after this."

Hughie nodded, his throat too dry for words, but he forced the words out.

"I know what I'm doing," he said, a firm confidence cutting through the slight tremble in his voice. He held up the papers for Butcher to take.

The burly man gave a curt nod, accepting the documents. His eyes skimmed over them meticulously as Hughie watched with an anticipatory curiosity brewing in his expression.

One by one, expressions softened, shoulders relaxed, and hands withdrew from hidden weapons. Relief was evident in their faces as they retreated back to their interrupted tasks without another word.

Butcher finished reading and glanced up at Hughie, his expression unreadable.

"Well then," he said gruffly after a moment of contemplation, "Suppose I got some explaining to do."

The documents were placed carefully on a nearby table and Hughie felt a surge of relief.

"Butcher, I don't need any explanations," Hughie replied, his voice echoing hollowly in the large expanse of the warehouse, his voice sounding so small. "I'm just here to give you the information you need, nothing more and nothing less."

"Look," Butcher sighed, running a hand through his hair as he considered his next words carefully. "You've made a decision to join this fight with us. That's no light matter, and you need to be fully informed less you fuck up and get turn into a red paste on the floor."

Hughie eyed him warily, swallowing the rising anxiety that pooled at the pit of his stomach. He nodded slowly, mentally bracing himself for what was to come.

"We are a team called The Boys and we work for the Government to…"

A heavy silence etched itself in the warehouse as Butcher began explaining who they were and what they do. As Butcher's words flowed into the stillness of the room, Hughie felt as if he was being submerged into an abyss of bleak darkness, but he remained rooted in his resolve to go through with this.

While Butcher was talking to Hughie, Mallory took a look at the papers Hughie brought and nodded her head in satisfaction. It was new information that they weren't able to get, but thanks to Hughie they now have detailed reports of the company's activities, reports on certain heroes, and even a few names they hadn't heard before.

After what felt like hours, Butcher finally finished his explanation. Hughie was left to digest everything he had heard, his heart pounding in his chest as he looked around at the group whose ranks he had decided to join.

The faces staring back at him were worn and weary but unbroken; each one of them had seen their fair share of horrors, and each carried an unquenchable thirst for payback.

Hughie thought back to the folder Butcher gave to him, filled with information about a popular hero who everyone loved. A hero who, in reality, was nothing but a cold-blooded murderer and drug addict the complete opposite of what his public image suggested.

The contents of the folder had left him numb, filled with a growing sense of dread. The content of the folder given to him by Butcher left him puke out most of his lunch in the toilet, making Robin become worried about him when she heard him puking his guts out in their shared bathroom.

"While the information you gave is good, it's still not enough." Mallory interrupted his thoughts, her tone solemn as she carefully laid down the documents that Hughie had brought over. "There is something missing here."

Hughie was drawn out of his thoughts, his eyes darting to Mallory who was now standing and pacing around the room.

"And what might that be?" Butcher asked, his voice gruff but attentive.

"Homelander," Mallory replied in a hushed whisper, the very air seemed to vibrate with tension. She paused for a moment, letting the weight of the name sink in before she continued.

"There isn't any information on him, non what's so ever," she said, shaking her head slightly. "It's as if he doesn't exist outside of television screens."

Butcher ran a hand over his stubbled chin, his eyes flickering with an unreadable expression as he surveyed the papers once more.

Mallory resumed her pacing, her mind working like a well-oiled machine as she started formulating possible ways to gather information. She turned to Hughie, observing how he was looking at her with a confused expression when she mentioned Homelander.

"W-Why would you need information on John? I-I mean yeah, the other heroes are pieces of shit but that doesn't mean he's like them! He's a true hero!" Hughie stammered, his eyes wide and filled with fervent disbelief. He paused a moment, swallowed hard, and continued, "He...he saved my life once."

Mallory halted her pacing, turning slowly to regard Hughie with a scrutinizing gaze. Briefly, her lips curled into a thoughtful frown before she gently shook her head.

"That's the problem, Mr. Campbell," she began, folding her arms across her chest and leaning back against a dilapidated table strewn with maps and empty coffee cups. "The public image of Homelander...John, as you call him is impeccable. Almost too much so."

Hughie's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, unsure of where Mallory was driving at.

"The man has been in the spotlight for years," she said, drumming her thick fingers on the table next to the scattered papers. "But we know next to nothing about his past or the corpses he might be hiding in his closet, and he is the one that Vought treats as their golden hen. They would be more than willing to erase anything that would go against their cash cow's image."

"But he's…" Hughie trailed off, his mind reeling as he tried to comprehend their words. He opened his mouth to protest further but the steely look in Butcher's eyes made him swallow them down. He felt a chill creeping up his spine, his heart hammering against his rib cage.

"Think about it," Mallory urged softly, her gaze never wavering from his face, drilling into him like a laser beam. "When's the last time you saw anything about him that didn't feel like carefully curated PR?"

Hughie blinked at her words, suddenly seeing her point.

His mind whirred as he tried to recall a time when Homelander was anything other than a beacon of hope, the embodiment of all things good and heroic. He remembered the numerous times he had watched Homelander on television, fighting crimes and saving lives, always ending with his trademark smile that seemed to light up the screen.

The more Hughie thought about it, the more he realized, every public appearance was too perfect, too well-managed. It was as though someone had crafted an unblemished image of him and projected it for the world to see.

"Consider this," Grace continued, her voice cutting through Hughie's thoughts. "Supes aren't like you and me. They've got powers that would make your head spin, powers that come with... temptations. And who's to say Homelander's any different?"

Hughie stared at Butcher hoping for him to come in and defend John, but he did nothing but remain silent and continue to watch from the sideline.

"If what you're saying is true..." Hughie began hesitantly. "What do we do?"

A deep sigh escaped her lips as she leaned forward, hands clasped together, a picture of grim resolve etched across her face.

"We take them down," she said simply. "We expose them for what they really are."

"But... what if you're wrong?" Hughie's voice was barely a whisper, his eyes scanning the room helplessly as if seeking escape from the heavy burden that Mallory seemed to have casually dumped on him.

"What if I'm not?" Mallory retorted sharply, she straightened up, her silhouette casting a long shadow in the dimly lit room.

Without another word, she picked up her dented coffee mug and walked out of the room, leaving Butcher and Hughie in a heavy silence.

They exchanged glances, each assessing the other's reaction. Butcher's usual scowl was replaced with a grim set of his mouth. Hughie could see the shadows of doubt lurking in his eyes struggling between what they knew about Homelander and what Mallory had just proposed.

Finally, after an eternity of silence, Hughie stirred.

"Do you think she's right?" He asked cautiously, his voice barely above a whisper as he met Butcher's gaze.

The older man turned slowly to face Hughie and took a deep breath, he let out a sigh through pursed lips before answering.

"I don't think so," Butcher admitted grudgingly, he ran a tired hand over his stubbled face before bringing his intense gaze back to meet Hughie's happy smile.

"Then you can tell her th-"

"But I don't think Mallory cares if he is or not."

Hughie's smile faltered, replaced with a stunned expression. He hadn't expected Butcher to say that.

"W-What do you mean?" He stammered, his mind churning.

Butcher's gaze was steady on him. "The question isn't whether he's innocent or guilty,"

Hughie frowned, not understanding where Butcher was going with this.

"It's about control," Butcher continued, his eyes burning with an intense fire. "The Supes, Vought… and John. They have power, and they use it however they want without anyone to check them."

Hughie blinked as realization dawned.

It wasn't just about Homelander being a potential enemy, it was about the unchecked power that these entities wielded over the world.

His mind raced back to the heartbreaking information in the folder he had brought to Mallory. The kind of gross misconduct that could only take place when those with power were left unchecked.

"But…" he started, then hesitated, unsure how to phrase his thoughts. "Isn't that what we're doing? Trying to keep them in check?"

Butcher let out a dry chuckle.

"Yeah, you could say that," he admitted, raking a hand through his hair and turning away from Hughie to stare at the scattered papers on the table once more. "But like I told you Hughie, we work for the government, and they hate not being in control. And it just so happens what they can't control happen to be pieces of shits and puts them in a better light."

Hughie's mind spun, feeling as if he had been pitched headlong into the deep end of murky waters. He stared blankly at Butcher, then at the scattered papers on the table once more, each document a testament to a world far more complex and darker than he'd ever imagined.

An awkward silence encased them. The tension seemed to rise with each passing heartbeat. It was a monstrous, living thing in the room - almost tangible and definitely suffocating. Hughie could feel its clammy tendrils curling around him, squeezing the air from his lungs.

Wanting to disperse it, he sputtered out an unexpected random fact.

"D-Did you know Black Noir shares a birthday with Homelander?"

Butcher looked at him with confusion filling his eyes, he had no idea what the hell he was talking about.

"I-I looked it up?" Hughie said quickly, eager to share information and distract them both from their grim reality.

Butcher, taken aback by Hughie's trivial revelation, raised an eyebrow as he turned towards him. His intense gaze softened a bit, a corner of his mouth twitching into what might've passed for a smirk.

"Is that so?" He queried, leaning back in his chair, eyeing Hughie with an amused expression. "And what am I meant to do with that information, Hughie?"

Hughie gulped, struggling to maintain some semblance of composure.

"I, er... thought it was interesting," he replied weakly, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

Butcher let out an unexpected chuckle, a fleeting moment of amusement overshadowing his normally stern demeanor. It was like seeing the sun peek through on a stormy day - brief and almost unbearably bright.

"You're an odd one..." Butcher said shaking his head, yet there was no malice in his words, just a bemused disbelief.

"Thanks," he replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and allowing himself a small smile of relief.