Let's Get Acquainted

In the dimly lit room, the air was thick with the smell of cigarettes and alcohol. Freelance writer Dodge Wesson picked up his phone and walked out of the bedroom.

"Listen, Mr. Henry, I'm absolutely qualified for your newspaper's travel column."

"I've been to many places, I have plenty of experience, and I've got a decent following."

"No, that incident the other day was just an accident."

"I am definitely not antisocial."

"No, no, no, I'm not an antihero either."

Beep, beep, beep.

The call ended.

Dodge Wesson let out a roar, raised his phone to smash it on the floor, but held back his impulse and tossed it into the sofa instead.

He covered his face and slumped onto the sofa, exhausted.

Ever since that failed publicity stunt backfired, Dodge's career had nearly hit rock bottom.

The newspapers and magazines that once worked with him now dared not use his articles, afraid of being targeted by Vought.

His streaming career had also plummeted to an all-time low after losing a massive chunk of his followers.

He stared blankly at the ceiling, then heard a knock at the door, followed by the landlord's voice outside.

"Dodge, I heard you in there!"

"I know you're home!"

"When are you gonna pay me this month's rent and water bill?"

Dodge picked up a bottle at his feet and hurled it against the door as his reply.

The landlord cursed, "I'll give you three more days. After that, get the hell out!"

Dodge shook his head, lowered his hands, and touched something. He picked it up—it was a credit card bill.

"Damn superhumans."

"Damn Homelander!"

Dodge suddenly jumped up: "Why don't you all just die?"

After venting, he was panting heavily. Dejected, he walked to the window and opened it.

"Hey."

A greeting came from outside the window.

Dodge looked up and saw a man in a blue-and-white suit and helmet on the rooftop of a house across the alley, waving at him.

Suddenly, he leaped over.

Dodge quickly stepped back, but tripped over a soda can and landed on his backside.

The next second.

A figure outside the window rapidly expanded, then crashed through the window. Amid a shower of glass shards, it landed on the floor, did a somersault, and stood up, brushing off the broken glass.

Dodge finally got a clear look at him and froze: "You're Blue Hawk?"

"What are you doing here?"

Blue Hawk glanced out the window and sighed lightly, "Yeah, this isn't my district."

"You know what?"

"The district I'm in charge of is a total dump."

"It's crawling with black people—those filthy black monkeys just smoke weed, rob, screw women, and even screw men all day."

"Oh, and I hate it when they sing."

"That kind of life is like a swamp. I want to escape, you get me?"

Blue Hawk pointed into the distance outside the window, where a tower spire was faintly visible, bathed in the evening sunlight.

"Look over there."

"The Seven Tower."

"So bright, so towering."

"That's where I belong, not dealing with black monkeys day in and day out."

"But getting there isn't easy."

"I'm getting old, and I'm not that strong."

"To get into the Seven Tower, I need an invitation."

Blue Hawk turned around, a wide smile on his face as he looked at Dodge.

Dodge's pupils widened slightly: "I'm the invitation?"

"Who's to say you're not?"

Blue Hawk walked toward Dodger. "You put on quite a show a few days ago."

"I admire your nerve. You actually dared to smear Homelander. Truth is, I can't stand that flying bastard either, but I don't have the balls to say it out loud like you did."

"Either way, you've pissed Homelander off good."

"So I figured, if I haul you to Seven Tower, maybe I can snag an invite to join The Seven."

He bent down, grabbed Dodger by one foot, and dragged him toward the window.

Dodger yelled, "No, no, it's not that easy."

"I'm just a nobody. Homelander's probably already forgotten about me."

"So please, don't hurt me."

Blue Hawk said casually, "Shut up, or I'll rip your tongue out. Your choice."

Just then.

The apartment door flew clean off its hinges, slamming into Blue Hawk.

He bent his arm to shield his head. The wooden door hit him and cracked open.

Blue Hawk stood there unharmed, tore the door apart, and looked toward the entrance.

A cold figure stood there.

Nearly two meters tall, body gleaming with metallic luster—black base, gold trim.

An armored man appeared in Blue Hawk's sight.

"What the hell?" Blue Hawk barely got the question out.

A red dot appeared on his face.

Then it slid down fast, tracing across his body.

Dodger on the floor stared dumbly at the scene.

He watched Blue Hawk's eyeballs roll stiffly, terror filling his gaze, and then the superhero's body split in two.

Blood and guts spilled out, splattering onto the floor and all over Dodger.

After a moment, Dodger finally screamed.

Suddenly, a hand clamped over his mouth—the armored man.

The faceplate on his helmet lifted, revealing a rough face and a thick, bushy beard.

"Shut it, you pansy."

"Unless you want to bring the cops down on us."

"Though, truth is, the cops'll be here soon anyway."

"These bastards all have trackers shoved up their asses. The moment they die, the cops know."

The Bearded Man grumbled, then stood up and looked at the two halves of the corpse on the floor.

"Hah, superhero guts—full of shit too. No different."

He turned to Dodger. "So, think you can roll your ass over here and give me a hand?"

"I'm guessing you've got a suitcase in this place?"

A moment later, two suitcases were stuffed full of Blue Hawk's chopped-up remains.

Dodger huddled in a corner, wrapped in a blanket, watching the bearded man in battle armor shove a sofa against the front door.

He stared at the two bloodstained cases, then said in a trembling voice, "Mister, please don't kill me."

"Coward."

The Bearded Man walked over. "You weren't this gutless in that livestream a few days ago. Where's the man who dared to smear Homelander?"

"If I'd known he wasn't here, I wouldn't have bothered coming."

Dodger looked up. "You're not a superhero?"

"Bullshit. If I were a superhero, you'd be the one stuffed in those cases!"

The Bearded Man pulled a cigar from somewhere, clipped it, lit it, and took a drag.

"So, Mr. Dodger, you still got the balls to stand up to superheroes?"

"But let me warn you—even if you don't, your good days are over."

"Blue Hawk's corpse is chopped up in your rental apartment. His cells are all over the place. One forensic sweep, and you're screwed."

Dodger shook his head. "But you killed him."

The Bearded Man flashed a roguish grin. "You think anyone's gonna believe that?"

Dodger's face went pale. After a moment, he said, "Who the hell are you?"

"Let's get acquainted."

The Bearded Man extended a bloodstained hand. "Name's Butcher."