The group pulled up behind the restaurant. They exit their vehicles and approach the back of Frenchie's van, retrieving equipment packed in metal boxes.

Then of course, there was the matter of moving Translucent.

Billy was dealing with that while Frenchie introduced Christina and Hughie to where they would keep him. Hughie retrieved the roll of tin foil he insisted they buy, working to tape up the ceiling above Translucent's cage.

When Trans was locked up, still unconscious, Billy watched by the threshold of a cramped room as the team hustled inside, Frenchie and Tina setting up generators to keep the cage electrified.

Neither Frenchie nor Tina would've done much of anything if Billy hadn't taken the time to prove that he was acting out of necessity rather than stupidity.

Evidently, he was getting this Hughie Campbell's help to bug the Seven's tower, the latter persuaded by the death of his girlfriend, Robin, at the hands of careless, remorseless supe: A-Train.

Trans must have discovered what Hughie was up to at the tower, with the advantage of being invisible and all, then he went after dear Hughie and attacked him.

Butcher stepped in; one thing led to another, there was a Seven in the trunk of his car that needed taking care of, considering he'd seen all their faces, and could not be allowed to leave.

"That stuff really blocks the chip's signal?" Frenchie asked. Hughie, who was stationed atop a small ladder, replied:

"Yeah, it's just R.F. Shielding Foil. You can get it at Fry's."

"You in tech intelligence?" Frenchie asked curiously.

"Uh, sales and installation," Hughie awkwardly replied. Frenchie and Tina shared a disbelieving look.

"Damn," Tina uttered.

"Told ya," Billy smirked. He seemed to think this was cool, which certainly wasn't the word Christina was thinking of.

"Uhh," groaned Translucent, evidently waking up. Everybody grows vigilant. "Oh, what the fuck?" Strang was an understatement when depicting how everyone felt hearing the air talk. "…Where am I?"

"Oi. Morning sunshine," Billy steps in and kneels down near the wolf-sized cage, peering within at nothing.

"You know who I am?" Trans's tone was condescending. Frenchie faces Tina and smirks, shrugging.

"Not sure," he mused. He faces Trans. "I know so many invisible assholes." Tina chuckles.

"You fucking amateurs!" Trans mocked, though a hint of fear was not untraceable in his voice. Electric sparks fly as he supposedly comes in contact with the cage's wires. Hughie jumps down from the ladder as Tina and Frenchie get to their feet.

"Fuck!" Trans screams. "What the FUCK?!"

"Ooh, mind them bars, son," Butcher drew as Hughie followed Tina and Frenchie out the door. "You'll only bullocks yourself again."

Billy steps over the generators and out. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," called Trans. "Uh, okay. What do you guys want? Money?"

"We don't want your fuckin' money," Butcher shut the heavy metal door on him.

XXX

"What do you think, Frenchie?" Billy asks when they're all out in the abandoned kitchen region. He peeled off his coat and threw it on the steel center table.

"You just dropped the Moby fucking Dick of problems on my plate. That's what I think," Frenchie mocked, pulling out a cigarette, looking to Christina with a face that implied he thought Billy was insane. She grinned, amused.

"Okay," Frenchie started, opting to think aloud. "He can re-order his carbon on his skin into metamaterial," he shut his eyes, sighing and leaning back against the counters. "It's hard as diamonds; it's nearly impossible to penetrate," he deduced, shaking his head.

Tina couldn't help the smirk. Hearing him talk this way again, so analytically, with the scientific nominations and all, it brought back a warmth of familiarity.

"Alright. How 'bout we suffocate 'em?" Butcher suggests.

"Some Dominicans already tried this, way back in 07," Frenchie shut down.

"And what happened?" Billy asked. Tina rolled up the sleeves of her red sweater, catching a glimpse of Hughie, pressed up against a counter, his eyes darting back and forth between Frenchie and Butcher as though in disbelief. Her brows furrowed inquisitively.

"They're all fucking dead," Frenchie grimly replied, re-attracting Tina's concentration. "That's what happened."

"Why don't we just increase the amps? Electrocute him to death," she offers. Everyone faces her. Frenchie shook his head.

"No, we've already hit him with enough to drop a water buffalo, and look," he gestured at the sealed door, then shrugged. "Might knock him out. Doesn't seem to kill him, huh? No, we need to pierce the skin somehow."

"Well, how the hell are we gonna do that?" Butcher irritably stated. He and Tina eyed Frenchie expectantly.

"…I don't know," was all he had to say.

"You're gonna kill him?" Hughie peeped up. They all looked to him, Butcher scoffing. Tina pinches the bridge of her nose.

"We didn't bring him here for a fuckin' happy meal," he states. Hughie exchanges wide-eyed glances at all of them.

"I don't-I thought we'd question him, or something. I don't know-You get a-You get ahold of someone this big…" he draws. Tina cocks a considerate brow.

"At Gitmo, we had to water-board Khalid Sheikh Mohammed 183 times, over six months…to get him to talk just once," replied Butcher. "Now we ain't got six months; I doubt we've even got six hours." Everyone tenses at that.

"…There are so many crazy things about what you just said," Hughie breathed. Frenchie faced Christina, who mouthed an exasperated 'wow' at him. His raised brows proved he was thinking the same thing.

Hughie's eyes were fixed strongly on Butcher's, needing to get his point through. "But right now, you're talking about randomly killing one of the most famous men on the planet. A goddamn national treasure. I mean…People tend to notice that kind of thing."

"I'm sorry," Tina steps up, hand held up and lips brandishing a smirk that was supposed to come off as friendly, yet seemed demeaning. "Hughie. What do you propose we do? Should we let him go?" she asks, tone clearly hinting at the opposite of what she'd said. She placed her palms flat on the table's cool surface, waiting. Hughie considered her words, mouth opening and closing in debate till all that came out was a:

"Well…"

"Let me tell you what'd happen," she talks for him. "He'll round up the rest of his gang, and come knocking on our doors. I mean. We did knock the crap out of him, multiple times," she grinned bizarrely. Frenchie chuckled. Hughie gulped, frightful of the truth behind her words.

Butcher steps up to him. "You can't get A-Train, if you're a greasy smear on the pavement," was his grand motivational statement.

"…I'm not a murder," Hughie argued.

"…That's alright," Butcher rounded him. "I am," he declared.

Hughie exhales in defeat.

XXXXX