Give You an Injection

"Hello, everyone, welcome to the Dodge News Live Stream."

"I'm Dodge Wesson, and I'm currently on 57th Avenue. Take a guess who I've spotted."

"Homelander!"

"That's right, as you can see, Homelander just stopped an ambulance."

"Why he did it? No idea."

"Oh my god."

"Homelander tore the ambulance open. Why would he do that? Doesn't he know this could delay treatment, that the patient might not get the care they need?"

"Let's interview this doctor."

Inside a live studio, the feed shakes, showing a scene on a street.

A blond white man in a blue suit rips open the ambulance body, making the nurse inside scream.

On the screen, comments fly by.

'What a day. Wasn't Homelander just at Walmart? How's he on 57th Avenue now?'

'Anyone know what Homelander's up to? I bet there's a fugitive in that rig. Five bucks says so!'

Then a doctor appears in the frame, looking helpless.

The stream's host, freelance journalist and self-media reporter Dodge Wesson, shoves the mic in the doctor's face.

"Doctor, can you tell our viewers what Homelander's doing?"

"How should I know?"

"All I know is there's a patient in there. She's in bad shape."

"She's critically injured—organ damage, still bleeding out."

"If she doesn't get to the hospital soon, the outcome's uncertain."

"God, that serious."

"Oh, what's he doing? Homelander just lifted the gurney!"

On screen, Homelander boards the ambulance and easily hoists the secured gurney.

The camera zooms in for a close-up of Homelander.

Then Dodge's voice rings out: "Homelander, what are you doing?"

"Do you even know what you're doing?"

"Don't you think you're interfering with a rescue? You could cause a serious medical incident!"

"Can you explain yourself to the viewers watching?"

The blond man glances back, his eyes cold, then flies into the sky with the gurney.

When the camera pans up, there's no sign of Homelander.

"He didn't explain!"

"Yeah, did you all see that?"

"Homelander didn't offer any explanation for this!"

"What arrogance!"

"Is this the man who's supposed to protect us?"

"I, Dodge Wesson, will follow up on this story!"

"If you want to know what happens next, follow me!"

"I'm heading to the Seven Tower for an interview right now!"

CIA.

Deputy Director Susan Lena walks into her office. As she opens the door, she sees a figure sitting on her desk.

He's holding a phone, apparently watching the live stream.

Hearing the door, the man turns his head, flashing a roguish grin: "Hey, darling. Long time no see."

The Deputy Director's face darkens instantly: "You can't just walk in here, Butcher."

The Bearded Man sets down his phone and winks: "No, I can."

Lena closes the door and walks to her desk: "What do you want?"

Butcher holds the phone up to her: "Take a look at what our dear Homelander just did. He hijacked an ambulance and took off with the patient."

"So how long do we have to put up with these bastards? What right do they have to disrupt public order? And the hell of it is, from the cops to our esteemed Ms. Lena, everyone just turns a blind eye!"

Lena gives him a look: "Since when did you become a crusader for justice?"

Butcher snorts: "Probably around the time that son of a bitch took Becca by underhanded means."

Lena stares at the man before her: "It's been eight years. Time to let it go."

"I'm serious, Butcher."

"As a friend, I'm seriously advising you—drop this. You'll get yourself killed."

The Bearded Man's lips curled. "You know what? I don't care. I just want those bastards dead."

"Alright, enough of that. I want to ask you something."

"Do you know the Olga Weapon Research Company?"

The deputy director paused for a moment before answering. "You're well-informed."

"Why are you asking about them?"

Butcher shrugged. "I'm the one asking questions here."

"Unless you're offering me some bed service, I'm not giving anything back."

Lena gave a cold laugh. "Then get out."

"I'm not obligated to answer your questions either."

Butcher grinned, shameless. "No, you will."

"Don't you want me to do something for you?"

"Like, say, dig up some negative news and evidence about the Supers?"

Lena smiled, then said, "The Olga Weapon Research Company—they've been cozying up to the Department of Defense lately."

"It's very likely next quarter's weapons procurement will go to them."

Butcher nodded. "That's quite a surprise."

The deputy director tilted her chin toward the Bearded Man. "My turn to ask, Butcher. What can you do for me?"

Butcher leaned forward slightly.

"Plenty, dear Director."

"For example, I can keep tabs on those superpowered bastards, help you gather intel, or handle other dirty work."

"In return, I'll need a few things—immunity clauses, funding, resources."

"What do you think of my proposal?"

Lena pulled out a cigarette, took a drag halfway, then fixed him with a hard stare. "Deal!"

"But you'd better make it clean."

"If I find out you're just using me for support, trust me—I'll shove a gun up your ass and let the bullets say hello to every organ in your body!"

Butcher shook his head. "You've gotten crude, dear Ms. Lena."

"But I like it."

*

*

*

Outskirts.

In an abandoned farm, inside a warehouse where a dust-covered tractor sat idle, the roof suddenly shattered, and a blue figure descended slowly.

Azu set the hospital bed down on the ground, scanned Angelina's condition, and found the girl in a bad state.

Without haste, he took out a sleek, futuristic silver injector, tore open Angelina's collar, and plunged the needle into her pale, slender neck.

Azu slowly pushed the Gene-Modifying Agent into the girl's body, not stopping until the injector was completely empty, then withdrew the needle.

He observed her condition.

Angelina's body suddenly convulsed, her temperature spiking rapidly, and she leaped up uncontrollably.

Azu caught her hand in time, pulled her back down, and held her tight.

Angelina writhed desperately in his arms, then abruptly opened her mouth.

Her teeth had been replaced by a row of sharp fangs, and she lunged viciously at Azu's neck!