Chapter 8: "Cracks in the Armor"
The Boys' Hideout – Rooftop
Butcher turned away from the rooftop edge, his expression unreadable as he descended the stairwell back into the hideout. The others followed, but the tension in the air was thick, especially after witnessing Superman save the city from the asset's detonation.
Hughie trailed after him, his brow furrowed with uncertainty. "For now? What's that supposed to mean? Butcher, he saved everyone down there. He just threw that thing into space to keep it from blowing up the city. You can't tell me that doesn't count for something."
Butcher stopped at the bottom of the stairs and slowly turned around, his eyes dark with the kind of certainty that chilled Hughie to the bone.
"Maybe it does count, Hughie," Butcher said, voice low and cold. "Maybe Superman's everything you want him to be. But I've seen what happens when Supes get too much power. They always crack. Homelander started out as their bloody golden boy too, remember?"
Hughie's mouth opened to protest, but he couldn't find the words. Butcher's paranoia was always rooted in something real, some past trauma or experience he never fully shared.
"Yeah, but... Superman isn't like Homelander," Hughie finally said, his voice quieter now, less certain. "He's trying to do the right thing."
Butcher stepped closer, his gaze hard and unflinching. "You think Vought's gonna stop just because Superman threw their toy outta the city? You think they don't have more assets lined up, just waitin' to get unleashed? They're just testin' him, mate. Superman's on their radar now. It's only a matter of time before they push him too far, and when they do—"
"Then what?" Starlight interrupted, walking into the room from the rooftop, her face flushed with frustration. "You think Superman's going to become just like Homelander? Is that what you're saying?"
Butcher turned to face her, his lips curling into a cold smirk. "That's exactly what I'm sayin', love. He's got all the power in the world, and eventually, he'll start thinkin' that makes him a god, just like the rest of 'em. They all do."
Starlight crossed her arms, glaring at Butcher. "You're wrong. Superman's different, and you know it. He's been in this world for days, and he's already done more good than the Seven ever did. You can't lump him in with them just because he's powerful."
"Power corrupts, love," Butcher replied, his voice dripping with cynicism. "It's only a matter of time before Superman starts takin' matters into his own hands. And when that happens, I'll be ready."
Starlight shook her head in frustration. "You're so obsessed with taking down Supes that you can't even see when one of them is actually on our side. We don't need to fight him, Butcher. We need to work with him."
Butcher raised an eyebrow, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. "Work with him? And what? Sit in a bloody circle, hold hands, and sing songs about justice? Not bloody likely."
Before Starlight could respond, Frenchie stepped into the room, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a rare seriousness.
"Everyone, I think we have a bigger problem," he said, his accent thick with concern. "Vought's been busy while we've been watchin' the fireworks."
Butcher's eyes flicked to Frenchie. "What's goin' on?"
Frenchie sighed and placed a tablet on the table. On the screen was a news report—one that showed footage of the destruction in Midtown Manhattan, but the story was twisted. Instead of praising Superman for saving the city, Vought's media machine had already started spinning a different narrative.
"The media's already calling the asset attack 'Superman's collateral damage,'" Frenchie explained. "They're sayin' the fight between Superman and that thing caused more damage than it prevented. They're settin' him up, Butcher."
Butcher's smirk widened as he leaned in to get a closer look at the report. "There it is, then. Vought's not just testing him; they're tryin' to turn him into the villain. And once the public's scared of Superman, it'll be a lot easier for Vought to make him the enemy."
Starlight's heart sank as she watched the news coverage twist Superman's heroic actions into a story of destruction and chaos. The public was already divided, and Vought's propaganda machine was working overtime to stoke that fear.
"This isn't fair," Starlight muttered, shaking her head. "He saved everyone. And now they're turning him into a monster."
Butcher shrugged. "Fair's got nothin' to do with it. Vought's playin' the long game, love. They'll make sure the public's so terrified of Superman that when the time comes to take him out, no one'll bat an eye."
Vought Tower – Stan Edgar's Office
Stan Edgar stood by the window, watching the news reports with a calculating gaze. The city was still recovering from the chaos of the battle, but his plan was already in motion. Vought didn't need to defeat Superman with brute force; they needed to destroy him in the eyes of the public.
Ashley Barrett, Vought's head of PR, stood nervously by his desk, wringing her hands. "The narrative is catching on fast, Mr. Edgar. People are already talking about the 'threat' of Superman. We can keep this up for weeks, months even."
Edgar didn't turn away from the window. "Good. We'll keep feeding the media the narrative that Superman is a danger, not a hero. Plant doubt in the minds of the public. Make him look like a wildcard—a threat we can't control. That way, when the time comes to deal with him... no one will question it."
Ashley nodded, though she still seemed uneasy. "But, sir... what if Superman tries to counter the narrative? What if he does something that forces people to see him as a hero again?"
Edgar finally turned, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. "Then we'll escalate. We have more assets. More contingencies. Vought controls the media, the government, and every public perception that matters. Superman may be powerful, but he doesn't understand how our world works. We'll show him."
Superman's Safehouse – That Night
Far from the chaos of the city, Superman stood alone in a quiet warehouse on the outskirts of New York. He had taken refuge there after the battle, trying to regroup and assess the situation. His mind was racing, replaying the events of the day—the asset, the damage, the civilians caught in the crossfire.
It was all so wrong. He had come to this world to help, to make a difference, but Vought was already working against him. Every step he took to stop the real threats, they twisted his actions to make him look like the villain.
Superman stared at a nearby television screen, which displayed the same news coverage he had seen earlier. The anchors spoke with urgency, debating whether or not Superman was a danger to the city, to the world. They showed images of the destruction, the panic in the streets, and framed it all as Superman's fault.
He clenched his fists, his cape fluttering gently in the breeze. He didn't want to fight a media war, but it seemed like that's exactly what Vought was forcing him into.
Just then, a soft sound caught his attention. His super-hearing picked up the approach of someone—someone who was deliberately trying to avoid detection. But Superman had already noticed.
Without turning around, he spoke. "You're not very good at sneaking up on people, Butcher."
Butcher stepped out of the shadows, his usual smug grin plastered across his face. "Didn't think I'd get past you, mate. But figured it was worth a shot."
Superman turned to face him, his eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"
Butcher leaned against a nearby crate, casually pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. He took a drag, the smoke curling into the air between them. "Just a chat, mate. Figured we should get on the same page."
"There's nothing for us to discuss," Superman said, his voice firm. "I know what you and your group are about. You don't trust anyone with powers. You think I'm just like Homelander."
Butcher's grin widened. "See, that's where you're wrong, mate. I know you ain't like Homelander. If you were, this city'd already be a crater. But here's the thing—doesn't matter how good you are. Vought's already got you in their sights, and they're gonna take you down, one way or another."
Superman's jaw tightened. "I won't let them."
Butcher took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly. "You don't get a choice, mate. They've already started. Public's already scared of you. Every time you throw a punch, every time you save someone, they'll twist it. Make you look like the problem. And it won't stop. Sooner or later, you're gonna slip. You're gonna lose control. And when you do, Vought'll be there to finish the job."
Superman's eyes flared for a brief moment, but he kept his voice calm. "What do you want from me, Butcher?"
Butcher shrugged, flicking the ash from his cigarette. "What I want is simple. Vought's a cancer. It needs cuttin' out. You want to save this world, you'll have to tear it down from the inside. And that's where you and me come in."
Superman's gaze hardened. "I'm not your weapon. And I'm not going to destroy everything just because you think it's the only way."
Butcher's smile faded, his expression turning serious. "Maybe you don't want to be a weapon. Maybe you want to be the boy scout, savin' kittens and handin' out justice. But this world doesn't care about that. And if you don't get that through your thick skull soon, you're gonna end up in a grave—courtesy of Vought."
Superman stepped forward, standing inches from Butcher, his presence imposing. "I'll stop Vought. But I won't become like you to do it."
Butcher smirked again, stepping back. "We'll see about that, mate. We'll see."
