Brooklyn, a street-corner café.
In just over ten minutes, dark clouds had gathered thickly, and the sky had flown into a tremendous rage, venting its anger in a torrential downpour.
Bean-sized raindrops struck the café windows. Butcher sat by the window, staring blankly at the trails of rain on the glass.
A little over ten minutes earlier, he had received a phone call.
The voice on the other end was one he would never forget for the rest of his life.
The man he had hated for eight years had suddenly contacted him, inviting him out for a chat in a relatively friendly tone.
Butcher did not know whether it was a trap, but he had agreed anyway.
As a precaution, he had deliberately chosen this café as their meeting place.
There were not many people, but enough to distract a public figure like Homelander. At least if he wanted to strike, their presence would give him some pause.
"Sir, what would you like to drink?" the waiter asked with a smile, his tone respectful, though a flicker of disgust crossed his eyes as they swept over Butcher's filthy black coat.
Butcher did not even turn his head. "Two glasses of plain water to start."
"Anything else?" the waiter asked after a moment's hesitation.
"Bring me whatever's free." Butcher waved him away, every gesture oozing self-importance.
The waiter silently rolled his eyes and turned away, muttering, "Broke bastard. There goes the tip for this table. No money, but he still wants to sit around looking brooding."
Rumble! Thunder rolled, making even the café windows tremble, and Butcher finally snapped out of his daze.
He instinctively looked up at the sky, seeking the source of the thunder, hoping to lift a corner of the veil over nature's wondrous workings.
But when