"One more thing. Why not have Private Angel heal Mother's Milk?" Homelander suddenly asked.
He remembered Private Angel's miraculous healing ability and was very curious about it.
Soldier Boy shook his head. "No. She's in terrible shape right now. Last time, I only mentioned it in passing, and before she'd even fully recovered herself, she dragged that bitch Neuman back from death's door. We can't wear her out again."
Homelander smiled and dropped the subject, deciding to ask about something that had puzzled him all along.
Why didn't the first generation of superheroes age?
"Gentlemen, aren't you hungry?" Frenchie poked his head over at an inopportune moment.
Soldier Boy's eyelid twitched. "Fuck, why are you still here?"
Frenchie chuckled. "I haven't had breakfast yet... Shall we eat together?"
"Forget it. You're not eating." Soldier Boy looked at him. "Go tell Ashley to bring Mother's Milk's wife and daughter back from Belize, and stop giving them trouble."
Frenchie nodded repeatedly. "Yes, sir. I'll go right now."
Originally, he had planned to go straight to the medical department to check on Mother's Milk, but he had been worried about how Soldier Boy would deal with him, so he had shamelessly lingered here.
Now it seemed his worries had been unnecessary. He immediately jogged toward the Vought president's office.
The morning sunlight slanted into the abandoned factory.
The feathers of a colorful parrot gleamed in the sunlight. Its clear cries woke the man sleeping inside the factory.
Butcher groggily opened his eyes, his body still heavy with a hangover.
He sat up, rubbing his head, and inwardly sighed that he really was getting old. His body wasn't what it used to be. He had only had a few bottles, yet he felt this awful.
"Damn it..." Butcher cursed under his breath, tearing