The two-step plan, step one

While he waited, Lucian glanced down at his pant legs.

Below his knees, the edges of the denim were blackened and curled, exposing his calves. His shoes had long since melted away completely.

He stood barefoot on the cold wooden floorboards.

That was the price of using thermonuclear manipulation LV4. Although he was immune to fire damage, nothing he wore was. Going all out was no different from pouring a bucket of gasoline over himself and lighting a match.

No wonder Vought put every superhero in a custom suit. It wasn't just for the looks. There was some real fucking technology involved. Wearing one meant they really could fight without worrying about exposing themselves.

"If only I could get my hands on Superman's Kryptonian Battle Suit. For now, though, I'll have to count on that old bastard Brink."

Two years later in the original story, the old man would develop a hafnium carbide alloy suit for Golden Boy in his senior year, costing tens of millions of dollars and capable of withstanding temperatures as high as four thousand degrees.

Four thousand degrees. Twice his current maximum output of two thousand degrees. That was what Golden Boy would achieve later after being enhanced with his brother Sam's blood.

He needed to find a way to get that suit. Even if the final version hadn't been developed yet, there should still be earlier iterations.

Lucian put the thought aside for the moment. He rummaged through the junk the previous occupant had left in a corner of the cabin, dug out a pair of mud-spattered hiking boots, and put them on. Two sizes too big, but they'd do.

Then he waited.

A few hours later, his phone screen lit up.

A message from Hughie: [We're at the edge of the woods.]

Lucian stood, rolled his neck, and pushed the door open.

His super senses spread out. Three hundred meters away, an old Chevrolet sat with its engine off at the end of a dirt road. Two figures had just gotten out and were using their phones to find their bearings.

Lucian didn't approach them head-on.

He activated super speed.

His body vanished from the spot. He took a little time to circle around to the bushes behind them, and Butcher and Hughie collapsed almost simultaneously, receiving exactly the same treatment as Frenchie and Mother's Milk.

[Mind control: LV3. Basic hypnosis]

Hughie went limp before he could even grunt. Butcher was half a beat faster, his fingers already touching his gun's grip, but his consciousness cut out, and he pitched forward.

Lucian caught him before his face could hit the gravel.

Butcher first.

He hoisted the two-hundred-pound man onto his shoulder and returned to the Chevrolet in a few strides. He opened the door, put him inside, and adjusted his posture so he looked as though he'd fallen asleep against the seat.

He searched Butcher's pockets.

In the left inner pocket, a "pen." A voice recorder.

In the right trouser pocket, a coin-sized metal disc. A GPS tracker.

Lucian looked at them for a few seconds.

Then he put them back exactly as he'd found them.

Those two little gadgets were precisely what made Butcher Butcher: suspicious, meticulous, always leaving himself a backup plan. Removing them would only make him suspicious when he woke up.

After modifying his memories,

Lucian went back. Hughie was still lying face down on the ground and had already started drooling.

Lucian picked him up, slung him over his shoulder, and strode toward the cabin.

Hughie was set down in the cabin's battered chair, his head tilted to one side, breathing evenly.

Lucian pressed a palm against the top of his head.

[Mind control: LV3. Memory deletion and implantation]

The mind control he'd obtained from Rufus was useful, but its weakness was obvious, too.

Deleted memories didn't truly disappear. More precisely, a layer of new information was laid over the original content. The memories were still there, merely covered up.

Under normal circumstances, someone whose memories had been altered wouldn't notice anything wrong.

But if the new memories directly contradicted reality-for example, if you remembered never having met someone, only to see a photo of yourself with them or a video of you fighting side by side-the cracks between the old and new memories would be exposed. The logic wouldn't add up, and the person would naturally become confused and wary.

So he had to get the balance right.

Lucian sorted out what he wanted to implant.

He modified the original plot of The Boys and implanted it. In the original story, Starlight was the traitor inside Vought, passing intelligence to the team through Hughie.

But in this timeline, Starlight hadn't connected with Hughie.

Then he would fill that gap himself.

The new memory framework wasn't complicated: a supe whose family had been hurt by a superhero under Vought wanted to bring Vought down. After narrowly escaping death, he had uncovered the secret of Compound V inside Vought. Having seen what happened to Hughie's girlfriend, he had reached out to Hughie and become the Boys' inside source at Vought. A single line of contact, through Hughie alone.

Only Hughie had seen his face.

That was the key. Lucian had completely erased his face from Frenchie's and Butcher's minds. If a scene in which "the other team members had met Lucian" suddenly appeared in Hughie's memories, the logic would contradict itself.

The implantation was complete.

Lucian withdrew his hand, took the sealed bag containing the Compound V samples from his backpack, and stuffed it into Hughie's hand.

Leaving Hughie there, Lucian got up and went outside with the four babies. He activated super speed, and three seconds later, he was standing on a ridge a kilometer away.

Now he just had to see how it worked.

Several dozen minutes later.

In the Chevrolet's back seat, Butcher's fingers twitched.

He opened his eyes. It took two seconds for his vision to focus. Beyond the windshield was pitch darkness, and the car smelled of leather mixed with tobacco.

He sat up, one hand instinctively checking his body. His gun was there, his recorder was there, and his tracker was there. With his other hand, he took out his phone. Hughie's GPS location showed on the screen as a green dot, motionless deep in the woods two kilometers away.

He checked his phone again. He'd actually been asleep for almost forty minutes, and Hughie hadn't sent a single message.

"FUCK!"

Cursing, he pushed the car door open, grabbed a short-barreled shotgun from the trunk, chambered a round, and headed into the woods toward the green dot.

After ten minutes or so of walking, a rustling came from the bushes ahead.

Butcher raised his gun.

"Don't, don't shoot! It's me!"

Hughie emerged from behind the bushes, carefully cradling a sealed bag against his chest, his pant legs covered in mud.

"What the fuck are you doing? Not one fucking message. Didn't I tell you to notify me once you met the guy?"

"Didn't I tell you to wait for me in the car?"

Hughie looked utterly convinced he was in the right.

"Butcher, we agreed I'd go alone on this mission and you'd stay in the car."

Butcher stared at him for five seconds. He moved the muzzle aside and scoffed.

"Big boy. All supes are shit. If I hadn't come along, you might already be a pile of minced meat feeding the bugs in these fucking woods."

His gaze settled on the bag in Hughie's arms.

"That's the Compound V sample your supe friend told you about? So far, I've only heard about this guy from you. Never even seen his face. Come on, take me to meet him."

"No."

For once, the usually obedient big boy didn't budge.

Butcher's expression darkened.

"Say that again?"

"I said no." Hughie stepped back half a pace, but kept his back straight.

"You don't know what he went through to get this stuff. He's undercover at Vought all alone. He nearly died getting his hands on this, Butcher. He doesn't trust you, just like you don't trust him!"

He clutched the sealed bag tighter, his whole body trembling, but for once, he didn't lower his head.

"I promised him I'd come alone. I can't go back on my word."

The woods fell silent for a few seconds.

Butcher studied the still-youthful face before him. Two months ago, this pussy had been selling DVDs in an electronics store. Now he actually dared tell him no.

Ridiculous.

But it wasn't entirely a bad thing. At least it meant that supe's control was limited. If this really were brainwashing, Hughie wouldn't be shaking like that. The kid was just keeping a promise in his own stupid-as-fuck way.

Butcher slung the shotgun over his shoulder.

"Then pray this stuff really is what he says it is."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice as far as it would go.

"Otherwise, I'll buy you a great big bottle of top-quality lube, then tickle your until you beg me to stop. Even if you beg, I won't stop."

He enunciated every word.

"Never going to stop."

Hughie swallowed.

Butcher had already turned and started back, raising a hand.

"And Hughie. Remember this: all supes are cunts!"

"The only difference is whether they're already cunts or on their way to becoming cunts. No exceptions."

The roar of an engine starting came from the distance, then gradually faded away.

On the ridge, Lucian withdrew his super senses. Everything was going as he'd expected. Of the two fronts he'd planned to work on, the Boys were already sorted. Next came Vought.

He stayed no longer. Streaking across the night sky, he flew toward the nearest town.