I used to sit at the top of the food chain. Crowds of people chanted my name. Everyone knew my face, my name, my purpose. For most of my existence I was told I was special. I knew I was special.

And now?

I weaved through the streets of New York City like a rat in a maze; I kept my head down, hood pulled up, and my sun glasses snug against the bridge of my nose. No one noticed me. Their shoulders shoved passed me as if I were just another New Yorker late for a meeting or rushing about needlessly as if there weren't enough hours in the day.

My life was taken from me, figuratively speaking. I was actually a kind of immortal, so I was harder to kill than I looked now: the slight framed woman huddled in the corner of a subway box in an attempt to avoid attention.

But He knew how to cast a blow worse than death, He always had and I should have known better.

Now, I aimed to turn the tables.

I ascended onto the surface street where the loud, boisterous language around me shifted from English to a myriad of Chinese dialects. Of course I could speak Chinese, but the shift was a scent upon the air and it encapsulated the vibrations of the city street.

Finally, I found the little tech shop under the faded yellow awning. My very presence here highlighted a difference between me and Him. I could find out things that He could not, simply because I could abide the give in 'give and take'. I could use honey as well as a stick. Despite our mirrored origins, somehow we differed at our core.

I knocked on the scuffed glass. Despite the years worth of fingerprints and sun spots, my superior eyesight found the smallest clear-spot and I gleaned straight through to the back of the shop, through granules of dust and other particles that littered the store (making you want to think twice about going inside at all).

Finally, a man appeared at the door and with a dismissive wave he ordered, "We're not open. Go away."

"I'm not here to shop," I said simply, hoping I wouldn't have to make this situation more than it had to be - but I was desperate.

He stared at me hard, "Go, now!" He said. I then heard the tell-tale click of a gun cocking.

"Look, please just open the door." I repeated, exasperated. I didn't want to draw attention to us and the longer I stood here the more people might look — and having to force the door open would potentially cause a catastrophe I could little afford.

"Oi! Bugger off we ain't buying your girl scout cookies or your jumped up religion, on ya go!" Another voice sounded before the man himself appeared. He was dark and rugged, sauntering down the aisle under a flickering fluorescent. This was Billy Butcher — I knew him well...through intel. We'd never had the official pleasure. However, he was the man of the hour: the very man I'd come to find.

"Billy I think you should open this door," I said again. He paused at the use of his name and came to replace the sentry on the other side of the glass pane.

"Who are you?" He asked. I knew I had seconds to convince him to let me in without a fight.

"I'm someone who can help," I replied. I gave one glance around to be safe, "Help you take Him down."

"And who's that?" He asked, although the subtle muscle tension on is face gave away his piqued interest.

"You know who," I replied, afraid saying his name in broad daylight would bring him around like he was Lord Fucking Voldemort.

"What makes you think you can help?" He asked, knowing they had to cut this short one way or another before our prison-esque exchange through glass drew attention.

"Because I know him better than anyone," I said, "Let me in, and I'll prove it to you."

Whether it was the tone of my voice or the fear that I would cause a scene, the door buzzed open and I was ushered inside. The door shut behind me like a prison cell and the sentry returned to his post behind the counter.

Billy took me into the next room. It grew dark, cold, but we stopped only a few feet inside when he grabbed my arm and held me in front of him. Despite the fact I could break his fingers with a lazy flick of my wrist, I allowed it. I understood that I had to prove myself to gain his trust, I had the upper hand of knowing him already, "You know Homelander better than anyone, eh?" He asked, his voice full of gravel, his eyes distrustful.

I nodded, "Yes. Better than anyone at the Tower. For better or for worse."

"Why should I believe you?" He asked, "And I'd answer carefully because I'll have a bullet in your brain faster than you can say "gotcha.""

"Because he's my brother," I told him, feeling safe enough inside this fortress. They'd taken great consideration as to the placement of their hideout and I could appreciate that. The walls were double, the air system was on a cyclical filter. One entrance in which meant one exit out.

Billy jolted ever-so slightly, a great surprise washing over his features that were so in charge just moments before, "Take off your sunglasses."

I obliged, removing the dark tints to reveal my face. His eyes scanned my features and stared at me long and hard for a moment, "Bloody hell..." he murmured, "Blue Angel as I live and breathe."

I nod, "Now you know why I couldn't reveal myself out there."

He was on edge, like a coiled snake ready to snap, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have my guys take you out right now before anyone knows I've let a supe in 'ere."

"I told you. I can help you take Him down. I want to take Him down." I repeated with as much of my sincerity as I could muster.

He considered this for a long moment. It was likely a help that there had been a news blitz when I had ditched the Seven and gone AWOL. Of course, Vought was brilliant at spinning my defection as a crime against humanity and there was no truth in a single shred of their story.

"Follow me. Stay close. You make a single move that I don't like, you're done for," he said before leading me down the long dark hall and then down some ill-lit stairs. Voices became clearer the further we descended.

Soon we weren't alone, a group of others mulled about in the musty space but their attentions were grabbed and held by the appearance of a stranger: me.

"Who is this?" MM stood from his little project in a corner. His shoulders were broad, his jaw was set against me.

This caused Billy pause. He glanced back at me before he addressed the small group congregating before us, "You all need to remain calm— this..."

"Holy shit," the tall, gangly one started, "That's Blue Angel...isn't it?"

I nodded, unable to deny my identity. Hugh seemed starstruck but the sound of my name set everyone else on the defensive.

"What the fuck, Butcher?! You brought Homelander's motherfucking sister down here — are you trying to get us killed in a fiery, laser-filled blaze you crazy fucking bastard?!"

I held up my hands, "He doesn't know where I am. He hasn't for weeks," I promised, "I told Billy, I'm here to help you."

"Why should we believe zat?" The third man spoke up, twirling something nervously between his fingers.

I knew I would have to prove myself, despite my superiority to everyone in this room — I had to remind myself that I needed them as much as they were going to learn they needed me.

"That's a good question," MM threw back to Frenchie before looking between Butcher and me, "Must've been some sort of damn witchcraft to get Butcher to let you in here."

"No, no witchcraft. That's not my power anyways," I tried but the margin for humor in the room was razor thin so I continued, "I want Homelander dead... and word on the street is that's what you all want too."

The room fell silent for a moment as the group considered. The woman with them, dark haired and sharp as a whip, motioned frantically to the French one in a language I'd never seen before but I didn't have to wait long before he translated, "It is a good question. Why should we believe you? How do we not know zat he is not flying here now to obliterate us to dust?"

I sighed, I was going to have to pull out the big guns so they would start listening to me, really listening. I unzipped my sweatshirt and that action surprised the group enough that they remained silent until I pulled my cotton shirt above my head, revealing my bra beneath.

"Woah, alright..." Billy started, putting his hands up, "This ain't time for a supe strip show, we want some fucking proof or we're going to have to—"

"Just shut up," I told Billy before I unhooked my bra and let that fall to the ground as well. I turned my body around and let my back face the group of people who considered themselves my enemy. But they would understand, it was the only way.

The room fell silent and I knew they began to understand. It was a long, hard moment before any of them spoke. The voice belonged to Hugh and his tone was so sympathetic it turned my stomach, "What happened to your wings?"

"He took them from me," I replied simply. There was no disputing my claim, nor calls for further proof. The ragged scars that marked my back made it clear enough.

When no one spoke again, I reached for my bra to make myself descent enough to face them, "Is that good enough or do you need more?"

The group looked at each other; no one had anticipated what I served them and their gears were turning onto 'plan C'.

"I'm good," Hugh said lightly with the slightest shrug of his shoulders, "Anyone else?"

The group remained quiet but no one raised a hand in protest. Finally, Billy spoke again, "Alright, put your bloody clothes on. You and me, we gotta talk."