Butcher sat in front of the hospital bed, staring at Becca's pale face with bloodshot eyes.
She was sleeping deeply, and the vital sign monitor next to her made a regular ticking sound.
There is a beautifully packaged flower basket on the bedside table, with a condolence card printed with the Vought International logo inserted on it.
Butcher stared at the flower basket and rubbed his chin full of stubble irritably.
His current mood is like a knot, and he can't sort it out no matter what.
As a former member of the special forces, he dreamed of tearing off Homelander's head to avenge the tragic death of his comrades.
But now he was struggling.
In the street fight a few days ago, if Homelander hadn't fallen from the sky and used Heat Vision to help Becca stop the bleeding from the wound, she wouldn't have been able to hold up the ambulance.
To put it even further, if Homelander hadn't wiped out the crazy gangsters instantly, he and Becca would most likely have become two corpses on the street that day.
Butcher is a person with clear grudges.
The feeling of owing his enemy's life was even more disgusting than killing him directly.
Just when he was tortured by this contradictory feeling and couldn't breathe, a figure flashed outside the corridor.
Butcher raised his head.
Through the glass on the ward door, he saw a pale face.
It's Frenchie.
Butcher frowned.
He didn't make a sound or let the other person in, but carefully tucked Becca into bed.
He walked out of the ward with gentle steps and closed the door behind him, for fear of disturbing his girlfriend's rest.
Ten minutes later.
In a fast food restaurant two streets away from the hospital.
Butcher leaned on the booth and looked coldly at the four people sitting opposite.
Frenchie, and three unfamiliar faces he didn't recognize.
"What do you want to do by bringing so many people to me?"
Butcher was the first to speak, and said in an impatient tone, "If there is nothing serious, then you can go away, I have to go back to accompany Becca."
Butcher stared at Frenchie, who looked like a poisonous ghost who kept sniffing and had wandering eyes, with a trace of sincere disgust flashing in his eyes.
He didn't want to stay in this damn place for a second longer.
"Don't leave in a hurry, old friend."
Frenchie leaned back in his chair, grinning slightly wildly, "These people are our comrades in arms. We came to you today to bring down Vought and kill Homelander."
As soon as these words came out, Butcher was about to stand up and stopped abruptly.
He sat back down again.
Neuman, who was sitting next to Frenchie, showed a friendly smile and nodded towards Butcher.
Mesmer extended his chubby hand attentively, wanting to shake hands and get acquainted.
Butcher had a cold face and didn't even look at the hand hanging in the air.
He never had physical contact with any strangers.
Mesmer retracted his hand in embarrassment.
Marge in the corner was quietly drinking coffee and observing the man opposite without saying a word.
"Since we have the same goal, let's get straight to the point."
Frenchie tapped the table with his fingers, "Butcher, in your eyes, what kind of person is Homelander?"
Butcher frowned and thought for a moment.
"Contradiction."
Butcher said in a deep voice, "Don't smoke, don't drink, don't have any bad habits, and can't even say a single curse word in public. He's like a plastic dummy with no flaws at all."
"At least on the surface, he looks like a perfect the Chosen One."
Hearing this comment, Frenchie suddenly laughed.
"Since he is a perfect the Chosen One."
Frenchie moved forward and stared into Butcher's eyes, "Then your girlfriend was killed in such a miserable state, don't you hate her?"
Butcher was stunned for a moment.
He looked at Frenchie with doubts in his eyes.
Becca was injured in a fight between street gangs, but Homelander couldn't be blamed for this debt. What on earth is this guy so crazy about?
Before Butcher could curse, Neuman next to him pushed a tablet in front of him.
The screen lights up.
Neuman pressed the play button, and the unedited video clearly caught Butcher's eyes.
Butcher lowered his head and looked at the tablet screen.
The video starts playing.
The initial picture is an ordinary Brooklyn street scene.
Then, the two groups of gangsters drew their guns and shot at each other without warning, and the crowd screamed and fled in all directions.
Butcher's breathing was very steady. He had just experienced this gun battle a few days ago. Looking at the chaos on the screen, he didn't feel anything was wrong.
Then, Homelander fell from the sky.
The dark red Heat Vision swept across, cutting the gangster into pieces. Then Homelander appeared on the screen bending down, and Heat Vision swept over Becca's wound.
Butcher looked at this scene, and the muscles on his face twitched slightly.
That Heat Vision really helped Becca stop the bleeding.
However, the progress bar is still moving backwards.
The screen changed, and Vought's rescue team came in to clean up the street.
A uniformed staff member broke away from the team and walked straight towards the grass where the camera was located without any search action.
The big hand wearing Rubber Gloves covered the camera, and the video stopped abruptly and turned into a black screen.
The corner of the fast food restaurant was deathly silent.
Butcher stared at the black screen, his whole figure seemed to have pressed the pause button, motionless.
There were no angry roars or overturning of tables.
But Mesmer, who was sitting opposite, subconsciously shrank his neck back.
The fat man felt that the man in front of him was exuding a vicious aura that made his scalp numb.
Obviously he is just an ordinary person.
"Do you understand?"
Neuman leaned back in his chair, "There is no accidental street fight, and there is no justice from heaven. This is a scene from beginning to end that Vought International wrote the script in advance."
She stabbed Butcher in the heart without mercy.
"In order to shoot a perfect rescue video for Homelander, they arranged the firefight and chose that street. As for the passers-by who were hit by stray bullets, including your girlfriend Becca, they were just consumables that did not need names in this scene."
Butcher's brain is buzzing.
A few hours ago, he was sitting by the hospital bed, looking at the flower basket with the Vought logo on the bedside table, and he even felt a little grateful to that damn blond bastard in his heart.
He was actually grateful to the murderer who almost killed Becca.
This sense of humiliation at being manipulated, and the old hatred of the tragic death of his comrades, were like a barrel of dynamite, detonating directly in Butcher's heart.
"Frenchie."
Butcher slowly raised his head.
The pair of eyes that were originally bloodshot now had a ferocious light like a beast.
"Tell me how to do it."
In the corner, Marge picked up the coffee cup and drank the last sip of the bitter tea.
The smile on Neuman's face grew stronger.
"It's very simple, we need to create some news that can excite All-America netizens."