A march up to CIA headquarters was not on the to-do list for Butcher. But, when old friends in high places ask you for a favor, the least you can do is hear them out. Especially when it's mentioned that a costumed freak was involved.

When Butcher got to her office, he half expected a hallway of guts before getting there. But there wasn't much more than the odd coffee stain and some dust collected on the higher ends of walls. He opened the door to a woman who was on the older side, but, as Butcher would put it, 'Not quite menopause years quite yet.' She had her eyes trained on an old collection of records from New York City.

"Well, I must say, it's not as fun getting around here while out in the open." Butcher began with a chuckle as he closed the door behind him, "But it does feel like an honor to be an invited guest for Grace Mallory every once in a while."

The woman looked up, brushing her dulled strawberry blonde hair out of her face. She was apparent in not being impressed with his comment. "Took you long enough. With how suddenly you seem to appear in my office sometimes, I almost thought it would have taken you less than half a day."

"Sorry, love, but I ain't quite on the level of them Jimmy John drivers." He gestured toward her, "Now, you said you were visited by a supe? Did you want me here to gloat about their autograph?"

She shook her head, "He stole a file from the record room. The only reason we know he stole something at all was because someone saw him leave with a file."

"Who was he?"

"That's the thing that concerns me. We don't know."

That gathered an involuntary chuckle from Butcher. "The CIA doesn't know something for once? Now, ain't that a kick in me rear!"

"The description was similar to Black Noir, but he had a cape and horns. And the janitor that saw him said he seemed to fly up through the vents. Not something Black Noir would have done. Not only that, but he only barely left any evidence. Another thing Noir isn't known for doing." She shook her head, "The only reason I know he grabbed something in this was because it was the only folder on the shelves in that back that had dust cleared away. I even almost overlooked it."

"Still don't answer who he is."

"Like I said, we don't know."

"So you want me to go looking for a guy who you don't know? If you don't know who he is, then you definitely don't know where he is, so if you're sending me on a Easter egg hunt looking for a freak who's probably only stealing an old file because of a bet while hopped up on some recreational buzz, forget the favor."

The man was done with the conversation. He had other things he needed to be prepared for, and wasting time here was only making the time go by. He turned towards the door, reaching for the handle

"Hold on!" The woman reached out, "I think I just figured it out."

Butcher turned back towards her, placing his hands in his pockets.

Grace nodded her head, turning the monitor towards Butcher. "The only missing file from these records is one of a failed construction blueprint in New York City."

"Why would the CIA have a failed blueprint of a train station and why would a supe want it?"

With a sigh and the scratching of her head, Grace began, "Back when Homelander first came about, the CIA wanted to monitor him but we needed a base of operations that he couldn't see us from. Or at least where he wouldn't be looking. We used that fuck up as that base, we even put a fake train car in there with zinc paneling so Homelander couldn't see what we were doing inside when we gathered he couldn't see through it."

"So whatever that supe is doing, he's hiding it from Homelander?" Butcher clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, "Guess I'll have to go there to find out, won't I?"

"That might just be an omen. All I want from you is to figure out who he is and what he's doing." Grace turned the monitor back to her and clicked the mouse a few times. A printer began firing up and marking the paper within with ink. After a couple dozen lines of ink were placed, the paper fully came out. Grace stood and grabbed the paper. She grabbed a pen from her desk and circled a part of the paper. "There should be a way to get into the station from the Museum of Natural History. It was that overlap in the Museum's maintenance that made that line unable to continue to be constructed."

"Ain't there another way to get in there?"

"There are, but they will be much more difficult to reach. A super like the perpetrator might not have an issue getting there, but a normal person like you and me would need to bring a sledgehammer into Penn Station and walk nine miles to get to the only maintenance access that might be connected to it. It's been a few decades and there might be part of the old station that has been dilapidated."

Butcher was handed the paper and forced to give in. He tilted his head. "Museum it is."

The man in the black trench coat and Hawaiian shirt turned and finally opened the door. He motioned out of the room, but before he could close the door, Grace stopped it.

"We don't know who he is or what he's capable of, so-."

"Please, spare me the concern. I'll make sure not to make a scene of it."

Grace let the door close this time. And now Butcher had to make his way back to New York so he could get a little bit of rest for the morning. He had a tight schedule to keep tomorrow, hanging on an important meeting with some kid in a local tech store.

It was fresh in the morning, and coffee was necessary to stay awake. But, Butcher managed to get to the museum. He pulled a pistol out of the glove department, a Beretta, plus an extra magazine of the 40 S&W it was calibered for. For the extra punch.

He placed the gun on his side and the magazine in his pocket. Then he stood from the car in a parking garage on 82nd street, just two streets away from the museum. The walk there was short and nice. He walked into the museum and met with the person at the kiosk. An older man who was working at getting all the papers on the desk in order. Brochures and the like.

"Hey there, mate. I remember coming here when I first came to New York, quite the collection of wax you got here." Billy pulled out his falsified FBI badge so the man at the kiosk could see it clearly, "Not in any trouble, I just have a small thing to check up on in your maintenance room. Nothing to be concerned about."

The older man nodded with a forced half-smile, "Oh, um, of course. I'll get Greg to take you there."

The old man turned on the walkie talkie, calling for Greg to come to the kiosk. Another man eventually came by, a janitor. Greg was directed by the old man that Butcher wanted to see the maintenance room, and as the janitor raised an eyebrow at Butcher, he flashed his FBI badge again, which seemed to convince the janitor to listen to his orders. The two men walked towards the back of the museum, were Butcher was taken to a room which seemed to manage the water and electricity of that quarter of the museum. Butcher pulled out the paper of the schematic, trying to compare it to the room and location of the maintenance.

The map led him to a pipe which was guarded by a metal vent. But on the farthest side of the pipe's venting, there was a gap in the metal guard. It was a large gap, one that was large enough to fit a man and then some. It was then that, upon stepping on one of the vents to get a closer look, that he noticed that his foot was on a vent that didn't have any screws on it anymore.

Butcher pulled the vent up, along with growing a small grin. "And Bingo was his fuckin' name-o."

A whistle came from behind, "That's gonna be one difficult hole to fix. Glad it won't be me doing it though."

"Bet you are." Butcher turned towards the janitor, reaching towards him, "You got a flashlight I can use, Greg? I gotta get down there. Check the structural integrity and all."

"Really? I don't think that's OSHA to let you get down there."

"You trying to tell me I can't?"

The man laughed, pulling out his flashlight, "I hate OSHA. Too many restrictions and can't ever get the job done quick. If you want to go down there and get yourself killed, be my guest. It's a free country."

The man placed the flashlight in Butcher's hand, and the fake FBI agent smirked.

"That, my friend, is something we can agree on."

Butcher lifted the vent high enough to where he could duck into the space between the pipe and the vent. With a little bit of dragging of the feet, he was able to duck into the hole and turn on the flashlight. He was glad he didn't take another step, though. The drop was just a single step away, and he probably would have broken something without bracing for a fall like that. It wasn't quite a full drop, there was a slope of dirt that was enough to get him back up later, but it was the surprise he would have been worried about.

Butcher let himself fall, landing on more dirt at the bottom which led through a hole in a brick wall. After that, it was a dark, abandoned subway station bathroom. Quite the sight to behold.

But he couldn't stick around, he had to get moving. He cautiously moved forward, pulling out the gun as he reached the bend into the station itself. He kept the flashlight pointing into the bathroom to try and get a good view around the station, but it was incredibly dark. The light pollution from the flashlight just made it harder to see past the darkness because his eyes wouldn't adjust to it. So, instead, Butcher decided it was best to simply move forward.

There were a few noises here and there that concerned him to a degree, but he couldn't ever identify where they were coming from and if they were something he needed to be worried about. It could always be something that was part of the official 3-Line tracks. Or some noise forcing its way down into the station from the city above, like the cars or the water lines. It was while he was approaching the station's departure for trains that he decided it best to turn off his flashlight.

There was another source of light! Butcher hugged the wall and took his time approaching the corner of the bend. A narrow view of the far side of the station came first, which looked about what would be expected of a train car that's been abandoned, although Butcher expected a bit more rust. Butcher continued to widen his view of the train until he saw the power car, confirming there were only two train cars in total. Said power car was where the light was coming from. Within the car, where the conductor would be, was a very powerful glow stick shining a green light bright enough to give the rest of the station a slight green tint as it allowed visibility within the space the stick had direct sight on.

But there was no supe.

Butcher took a deep breath, creeping forward with the gun ready to fire at a moment's notice! He marched toward the front of the power car. His heart was racing, waiting for something to be fired at him or for the supe to run at him like a maniac.

What he was doing was insane. And stupid. Butcher knew that. But he also didn't want a supe who could manage his way through the CIA without tripping any alarms to have a chance to be out in the open. To Butcher, he figured that kind of supe would be possibly even more dangerous than Black Noir. And the Seven were the worst of the worst.

Butcher almost reached the front of the car where the door to the conductor's seat was, when something sounded above him! The man jerked the gun and his head to where the sound was coming from! A shadow seemed to surround Butcher, grabbing hold of his gun and yanking it from his hand before a shot could get out. That wasn't from lack of trying, either. He had pulled the trigger, but the gun simply didn't fire.

A hand and a knee pushed the man to the ground! Butcher tried to roll out of the way but a boot came down onto his face. Above him, he could barely see the silhouette of a man donning a black cape and a mask with points on the top of his head which looked like horns. But his face and the rest of his body were unable to be made out in the darkness. It was like his form held onto the shadows themselves.

"William Butcher, I take it." The supe stated. His voice was powerful, deep. It was the kind of voice that commanded the room around him and felt like he had the power to break your teeth. As well as the soft anger to back it up. "I didn't think you would be here so soon."

"Sorry, mate, had to get my beauty sleep." Butcher chuckled, "So, you knew I was coming?"

"You didn't think I infiltrated the CIA and only took a single folder, did you?"

"Hacked into it?"

"And any device connected to their system. So when your ally, Grace Mallory, connected her phone to her computer to charge it-."

"Right, right, I get it you caped cunt. You're good at knowing stuff." Butcher mocked, punching the boot on top of him which didn't budge and definitely hurt Butcher more than the supe, considering it felt like he struck a steel beam. "Why don't you skip to the part where you kill me, huh? Save me the hassle of a conversation."

The man on top stood for a moment, but slowly leaned down. "I don't kill."

He pushed off the face as he turned away from Butcher, marching back towards the train. Butcher rushed to his feet, turning to look for his gun before remembering the supe took it. The man in the trenchcoat stared at the man in the cape for a moment.

"You realize killing a criminal counts as killing still, right?"

"I don't kill them, either."

Butcher stood up fully, brushing off the dust from his clothes, "Bullshit, even the mighty Homelander kills."

"From what I've gathered from the CIA, he's not exactly what I'd call the best role model."

Butcher scowled a little, clenching his fist.

"Celebrities and rockstars are all the superheroes seem to be here. Even if I didn't have the evidence they have, if all the apples produced from a tree are poisoned why in the Hell would I think that there was truly one good apple without a good reason behind it?" The supe half-turned to Butcher, giving him a better view of the supe.

He was wearing grey armor that was somewhat worn and with a small amount of damage. He had a yellow, metal belt around his waist with pouches of the same color. Under the belt was a black piece of what looked like underwear made of a different material. He had gauntlets and boots that were colored black like his mask and looked to be made of metal On his chest was a black symbol that looked like a bat. On his mask, the only parts of his face that was exposed was his mouth, chin, the bottom of his nose, and the areas around those parts of his face.

"I share a similar thought." Butcher shrugged his shoulders, "But the only way to make sure they don't muck up the lives of the common people is to put them down like a sack of sick puppies whose previous bitch couldn't take care of anyways. And I don't expect a supe to go against his own people anyways."

"I disagree. There's always another way." The caped man turned towards the train car himself, marching towards it, "And I'm not one of the 'supes.' I have no powers."

The bat guy bent down, placing the gun on the ground next to the train. He lifted himself back up and opened the door to the train. He marched inside, turning around to face Butcher again and to grab onto the door.

"Either way, I'm sure we'll see each other again. I'll be held up here and I'll keep in touch with you to let you know if anything of interest comes up. But watch yourself." He began, before lowering his head and turning his voice into something more of a growl. "I understand you might kill but if you go too far, if you put the lives of innocent people at risk, I will put a stop to you!"

The door to the train closed fully, and the man in the costume turned back into the train. He motioned towards the the front of the train car, where a laptop could be seen powering on.

Butcher strolled towards his gun while keeping his eyes trained on the man in the train. He picked up the gun and looked back at the man.

He raised his arm, locking the gun on him. He held it there for a moment, thought about pulling the trigger. But he didn't. From what he could see, the man didn't have anything at that moment that seemed dangerous. Overall he just seemed like a crazy man who didn't like supes and dressed like them.

At least half of that was true of Butcher himself.

The man in the trenchcoat left the man with the cape on the train. He never learned who he was, and he never learned why he was holed up in the train other than he didn't like Homelander. But for Butcher, that was one good reason to keep him around, at least for a little while. Either he helped or he'd get himself killed. Butcher wasn't in the job of dealing with nutcases.