"This guy’s got a tracking chip on him. We need to get the fuck out of New York. Trust , I can handle the body."
Butcher drove through the entire night, crossing one state line until he found Frenchie — the black-market guy who handled second-hand weapons, repairs, and refurbishing.
"Surprised to see you, asshole. Real fucking happy," Frenchie said, shirtless, pointing a gun straight at Butcher’s face.
"Feeling’s mutual, mate," Butcher replied with a big grin.
"So you brought the forty grand you owe ?"
"I brought sothing better. Sothing that’ll double your money."
After so back-and-forth bullshit, Frenchie finally demanded to see what Butcher had. They walked to the trunk. Butcher popped it open, revealing Translucent’s dead body stuffed inside.
"Oh shit. That’s Translucent. You’ve got fucking Translucent’s corpse in your trunk." Frenchie grabbed his head with both hands, looking like he was about to have a stroke. He seriously considered shooting Butcher right then and there.
"Nothing gets past you, does it, pal?" Butcher said, turning around casually.
Frenchie lost it. He jamd the gun under Butcher’s chin, teeth clenched. "Get the fuck out of here. Take this piece of shit with you."
"Whoa, easy there."
"You stupid cunt, you didn’t know he had a tracker on him? Holander could be on his way right now!" Frenchie was practically yelling.
"You brought him to my fucking doorstep? This has nothing to do with ."
"But you’ve already seen the body," Butcher said calmly as Frenchie cooled down a bit. "You really think Holander’s gonna believe that? I need your help, Frenchie. I’m not leaving. Even if the whole Seven shows up, I’m not fucking leaving."
Frenchie realized he’d been screwed over once again by this son of a bitch. There was no going back now.
So they drove to a quiet, rundown street in Jersey City. Frenchie found an old diner that had been shut down for years. Following Butcher’s idea, they lined the entire walk-in freezer with aluminum foil to block any tracking signal.
Now they had to deal with Translucent’s body.
Butcher’s original plan had been to squeeze information about A-Train out of him, but the fucker was already dead. "We’ll start with the people around A-Train. His friends, his girlfriend. Maybe one of them knows why he really lost control that day."
"What are we doing with the body?" Frenchie asked.
Butcher stared at the corpse with dead eyes. "Chop him up. Find the tracker. Then strap it to a dog or so stray animal. Make it look like Translucent is still alive and moving around. That’ll buy us ti."
He picked up a knife from the counter and shoved it into Hughie’s hand.
Hughie looked at him like he’d lost his mind. "? Shit, you’re crazy."
"No ti to hesitate." Butcher forced the knife into his grip and walked out of the kitchen with Frenchie.
"You seem pretty invested in that kid," Frenchie noted.
He could tell Butcher was deliberately hardening the boy.
Hughie stood there alone in front of the corpse, knife in hand, body shaking.
He licked his bloodless lips but couldn’t make himself bring the blade down.
...
"Good morning, sir."
"You look sharp today too." Ivan Greevs nodded at the guard by the door and strolled straight into Vought Tower.
Last night he had tested his new Carbon Hyper-Shift ability at ho. The fusion was still slow, but he could already coat one full finger.
"I wonder if Compound V can speed this up," he thought. He planned to get his hands on so. Since the stuff created superpowers in the first place, it was logical it could accelerate the integration process.
Of course, he rembered the original story had a derivative version — Temp V. Nasty side effects, especially for adults.
Adults who injected it suffered serious body mutations. The more shots they took, the worse it got — eventually causing cancer and even brain damage.
In the original story, after three or four doses of Temp V, Hughie’s brains were practically leaking out his ears.
But A-Train proved that the stronger the body, the better it could handle Compound V. Ivan figured that if his own regeneration was powerful enough, he could reverse the mutations entirely. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about the side effects.
Of course, the more he used it, the stronger his healing would need to beco to keep up.
If A-Train had proper regeneration, his heart should slowly repair itself. Unless the idiot kept pumping Temp V without limits. In that case, the damage would always outrun the healing, and the ending would be fucking ugly.
Besides, Compound V only fucked up normal humans. Ivan’s cells had been modified multiple tis.
At this point he wasn’t really a baseline human anymore. More like Holander — a true supe. Maybe even a more perfect version.
Ivan settled into his workstation.
Honestly, unless there was so big event, the job was pretty fucking light. He could just dump half the work on Blitz anyway.
He’d seen Blitz this morning. The guy looked happy as hell.
"Hey buddy, you hear the rumor?" said the man walking up. "Sounds like the Vice President wants to push supes into the Departnt of Defense. I an, rch and security rentals make pocket change. War? That’s where the real money is."
The speaker was Hiram Baruch, deputy head of Vought’s Diplomacy Division. Most departnts had one main boss and several deputies. Baruch had been bored lately with no new assignnts, so he liked to chat.
He didn’t do much bullshit, which ant he and Ivan actually got along pretty well.
"You’ve got ti to co bullshit with again today?" Ivan said, nodding at one of his n to bring Baruch a cup of coffee.
"I heard the mayor of Baltimore’s plane went down. Don’t you have to handle the diplomatic fallout?"
Baruch dragged a chair over and sat down, taking a slow sip. "Fuck if I know. Sounds like Public Relations is running the whole thing. You know how it is. Those PR cunts have been getting way too much power lately. They stick their fingers in every goddamn pie."
"Keep your voice down. Last thing we need is the wrong person hearing you complain."
Even though Holander spent most of his ti obsessed with Madeline, the blond bitch, he still liked to eavesdrop on random employee chatter every now and then.
"Relax, I only whine to people inside the company. I’m not dumb enough to spill actual secrets to the outside world."
"Goddamn, why does the coffee in your office always taste better than the shit they serve upstairs?" Hiram Baruch stood up and poured himself another cup.
___
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Read 12 Advance Chapters—P@t- Captain69
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