Chapter 7: [The Super-Terrorist: An Awkward Road Trip and a Hidden Agenda]
[System Message: Team cohesion severely compromised. Navigating fractured relationships is paramount. Also, remember that Kenji has some pretty cool powers. Just saying. For future reference.]
The mood in the van was colder than a witch's kiss. Butcher hadn't said a word to me since my accidental power reveal at the V-baby lab. He just drove, his jaw clenched, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. MM sat in the back, pointedly not looking at me, his arms crossed, an aura of profound disappointment emanating from him. Frenchie, on the other hand, kept glancing at me with a mix of scientific curiosity and morbid fascination, like I was a particularly interesting specimen under a microscope. Kimiko, as always, was a silent enigma.
"So," I ventured, trying to break the suffocating silence, "anyone want to talk about how I, uh, saved everyone back there? Just asking. You know, for a friend. Who happens to be me."
Butcher just grunted. MM let out a long, suffering sigh.
"Look, I know this is… a lot," I continued, gesturing vaguely. "But I didn't choose this! It's a whole powers thing I got hit by a cosmic curveball! "
"A powers thing?" Butcher's voice was low, dangerous. "You think this is a bloody game, Hughie? Robin's dead! People are dead! And you're prancing around with powers, keeping secrets?!"
"I wasn't 'prancing'! I was panicking! And the powers just… happened! It's complicated!" I insisted, feeling a fresh wave of frustration. How could I explain a meta-aware System to a man who thought emotional vulnerability was a weakness?
"Complicated?" MM finally spoke, his voice tight with controlled anger. "You know what Compound V does, Hughie. What it turns people into. We're trying to stop supes, and now you are one!"
"I'm not like them!" I protested, genuinely hurt. "I'm still me! I still want to stop Vought! I still want… I still want to do the right thing!" Even as I said it, the System's 0/800 Blood Meter flickered in my mind, a silent counter-argument to my moral declarations.
Frenchie, sensing the escalating tension, finally chimed in. "Perhaps, my friends, we should… table this discussion until we are not, how you say, on the run?"
Butcher, surprisingly, listened. He tightened his grip on the wheel, and the conversation died, replaced by the hum of the engine and the crushing weight of unspoken accusations.
Our fugitive life was a messy affair. We bounced from safe house to safe house, always looking over our shoulders. My powers, though growing, were still a tightly guarded secret from the world, and now, a source of profound distrust within the team. Butcher made it clear: I was a liability. He'd only tolerate me because I was useful, and only until he found a way to "fix" me. Or, more likely, "put me down."
The hunt for Kenji, the "super-terrorist" from Season 2, began. For Butcher, Kenji was a means to an end, a weapon against Homelander. For me, he was a potential target. His powers (Telekinesis) were exactly the kind of versatile, offensive abilities I craved. The thought made me sick to my stomach, but the System's demand for power was a constant, insidious whisper.
"So, the word is, this Kenji bloke's got telekinesis," Butcher grunted during a briefing, pointing at a blurry photo of a young man. "Nasty piece of work. Mallory wants him. We want him more."
"Telekinesis, huh?" I mused, trying to sound intellectual, not avaricious. "That's pretty versatile. You could… move things with your mind. Very efficient."
[System Message: Observation: Your thinly veiled interest in target's powers is noted. Your inner supe-killer is developing nicely. Keep it up.]
"Oh, you're just enjoying this, aren't you, System? Like a proud parent watching their child learn to ride a tricycle, except the tricycle is powered by my moral decay."
MM gave me a suspicious look. "Why are you so interested in his powers, Hughie? He's a threat. A human being who's been exploited, just like the V-babies."
"Just… analyzing the threat profile, MM," I stammered. "You know. Forensics. Strategic analysis. It's what I do. Now."
The dynamic was strained. Every suggestion I made, every question I asked about Kenji's abilities, was met with suspicion. I had to walk a very fine line, balancing the team's objectives with my own power-hungry agenda. I subtly pushed for Kenji to be kept alive, to extract more intel, to serve as a prolonged asset. My true reasoning, of course, was to find the opportune moment to "absorb" him. The thought made my stomach churn, but the logical part of my brain, the part that was now fully embracing the "survive at all costs" mentality, rationalized it as a necessary evil.
"He could be useful, Butcher," I argued, trying to sound pragmatic. "We need to know more about how Vought is using these 'super-terrorists.' He's a direct link."
Butcher eyed me, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "You're getting mighty clever, aren't you, Hughie? Maybe too clever."
The journey to smuggle Kenji was fraught with tension. My Metabolic Acceleration (Lvl 3) helped me stay agile during close calls with Vought drones, and my Carbon Skin (Lvl 4) shrugged off minor impacts during evasive maneuvers. My Kinetic Redirection (Lvl 1) was subtle, a mental push that could slightly alter a drone's trajectory, making it appear as a glitch. My Sound Manipulation (Lvl 1) came in handy for muffling our movements or creating small, localized distractions. I was becoming genuinely useful, a genuine asset, but the cost was the increasing chasm between me and the rest of the team.
The incident with Kenji in the apartment, when he lashed out with his telekinesis, was a stark reminder of the danger. He wasn't a sympathetic figure in that moment; he was a raw, dangerous power. And a tantalizing prospect.
"He's unstable," MM stated, after Kenji had been restrained. "He's a ticking time bomb, Butcher. We need to hand him over."
"He's a weapon," Butcher countered, his eyes gleaming with a ruthless intent. "A weapon we can use."
I, meanwhile, was assessing. Could I get him alone? Could I deal the killing blow? The opportunity just wasn't presenting itself. The team was too vigilant. And the moral hurdle was still too high, especially with MM's disapproving gaze constantly on me. I didn't want to be that guy. Not yet.
"Maybe… maybe we can help him," I offered, surprising even myself with the sincerity in my voice. The Hughie-Prime still wanted to save people. "He's clearly suffering. Vought did this to him."
Butcher just snorted. "Suffering makes for a better weapon, mate. Don't go soft on me now, Hughie. You're a big boy with big boy powers. Time to use 'em."
My stomach clenched. Use them. Yes. But for what? For Butcher's revenge? Or for my own twisted version of self-preservation and empowerment? The lines were blurring.
This arc ended with no new powers, no new V. The Blood Meter remained at 0/400. The frustration was a slow burn, an undercurrent of irritation that made me irritable, restless. I needed to grow. I needed more. The thought was a dangerous whisper, growing louder with each passing day.