"Today on the Vicki Vale show we have a first. These men are employed in a federally funded group to monitor and regulate superhero activity. You heard that right, superhero. Some critics have even gone so far as to call you professional supervillains, haha!" She beams at the five individuals who have crammed themselves uncomfortably on her interview couch. "What can you tell our viewers about this strange new addition to our military spending?"
Marvin leans forward, "Vicki, I think the title "Supervillains" is a dangerous mischaracterization of our work. Most of our time is spent in day to day of uncovering corporate fraud. Bribery, trafficking, human experimentation, child endangerment, murder- the list goes on and on. To call this job being a professional supervillain completely undermines the purpose, which ultimately, is to spread information to the public. Kind of like your program here."
"Ah, don't make us look like some bureaucratic cunts, M.M.!" exclaimed Butcher.
"Sir, please don't use that kind of language here."
"Apologies, love. A term of endearment, where I'm from." Bill leaned forward, addressing the camera now. "You see, our work is real simple. The supes are bad, we spank 'em. All sorts of ways to spank a supe, that's our specialty, finding the right one. You see, a while back we caught ourselves a supe with diamond skin. Couldn't break through, couldn't kill the cunt no matter what we done to him. Then Frenchie here had the idea to stick a bomb up his fanny. Hughie's the one that set it off. What a mess that was. Then we had the speedster supe, powers a bit like your red spandexed cunt. Kimiko here snuck up on 'em and took out his knee with a crowbar."
"Okay, that's enough." M.M. cut him off. "As Butcher said, we've only had to... neutralize superheroes if their actions threaten the safety of civilians. The majority of our job is just information gathering. We've exposed Supes with violent tendencies and forced them to go under from reputation alone. We don't kill unless absolutely necessary."
"Absolutely necessary? So you have killed Superheroes in the past?"
"If absolutely necessary," M.M. repeated, staring her down. Vicki looked at her stage manager, who held up three fingers to indicate the amount of time they had left.
Frenchie chose that opportunity to share his expertise, saying, "I started out as a bank robber, finding new ways to take out the supes and whatnot. So if you have experience fighting supes, we'd love to hear from you."
"Okay!" Vickie Vale's smile is uncomfortably tight. She claps her hands together I'm afraid that's all the time we have today. Thank you Marvin, William, and, uh 'Frenchie'. The best of luck to you on your future endeavors!"
A red lightbulb, indicating when the show is live, suddenly flashes off. The clack of slates and suddenly the set is overrun with techs in black jumpsuits, cleaning up and ushering the boys offstage.
They're almost out of the studio, steps away from the exit when M.M finally bursts. He pushes Butcher to the wall by his throat.
"What the fuck is wrong with you? Your bullshit posturing is gonna end up forcing Neuman to defund our program. Do you want to go back to being wanted by the state? Can't walk down the street without a supe on our ass, all our resources cut to the fucking wind!"
"Fuck you. I'm sending a message to these supes. They're not Gods, we can find them."
"Yeah, yeah, good luck with your message when this new Homelander is turning you into a crater because you had to shoot off at the mouth on a goddamn Good Morning America knockoff. I'm not gonna let you fuck around and lose us our jobs, put my family in danger. Fuck that."
M.M. vibrated with fury, his eyes like glowing embers. Even Butcher couldn't withstand the heat of his gaze. He looked to Frenchie for help, who was watching this showdown with widened eyes. He didn't look like he would step up in Butcher's defense.
"You've been part of this from the very beginning," Butcher speaks slowly, but with carefully measured words, as if he's reading from a contract. "You've always known the fucking risks."
"That's my risk to take. Not my daughter's. Not my daughter's." Though his hands are welded to Butcher's throat, his voice starts to shake as he says, "She can't pay the price for what we do. She can't- I can't do that to her."
M.M. feels a hand on his back. Frenchie has stepped forward, trying to ease his pain but unsure how to do so. M.M. finally releases Butcher. For a moment, it looks as though he's about to start shouting again, but the lights of the studio, its tight walls, everything has become too much. He shoves the exit door open, walking out into the streets of the city.