Clap! Clap!
Butcher stood up and clapped his hands hard twice, forcibly dragging Hughie, Mother's Milk, and Frenchie back from the television's black screen.
"All right, ladies." Butcher grinned, the stubble on his chin twitching. "Show's over. Time to get to work."
Hughie swallowed and pointed at the television. "Was... was this you? You got those photos into the hearing?"
"More or less." Butcher grabbed his coat off the table and threw it on.
Those top-secret photos and files on Stormfront had indeed been obtained through his work with Mallory.
That night, when he brought Becca out from under the bridge and saw her numb expression, as though her soul had been stolen, he ultimately swallowed the words, "Forget that little bastard."
He promised Becca he would help her get Ryan back.
But that didn't mean he wasn't resisting inside. The kid was a Supe, and Homelander's offspring at that.
Every time he thought about that star-spangled bastard's blood flowing through the child's veins, Butcher's stomach churned. But seeing Becca looking as though even her soul had been drained away, he gave in.
He had to help her, even if it was for that bastard.
He contacted Mallory and tapped into the CIA's resources, digging relentlessly into Stormfront's background. It wasn't easy work.
Stormfront's history had been scrubbed clean. But they still found a crack. Using facial recognition, they discovered that before joining The Seven, this newly minted internet celebrity hero had secretly visited an upscale nursing home every month.
Following that lead uncovered a truth that made their scalps prickle. The old woman lying in that hospital bed, on the verge of dying of old age, was actually Liberty's biological daughter.
Butcher sneered inwardly as he pressed rounds into a magazine.
What did those sons of bitches at Vought