The wind picked up, rustling the leaves and bringing a fine drizzle that pattered down, washing the streets, the cars, and all the filth of New York. Only Butcher's despair would not wash away.
He simply smoked, drag after drag, utterly dejected.
Soldier Boy did not know what to say either.
Apart from their heated exchange of insults over the phone earlier, he had had little contact with the "Oi" guy, and there was no real hatred between them.
All these tangled grievances stemmed from Homelander, but one thing was certain: Soldier Boy was quite satisfied with how Homelander had handled things.
Compared with investments running into the hundreds of millions or events affecting the international situation, Butcher's personal grievances hardly warranted attention.
Yet it was precisely such a "small matter" that revealed what Homelander's true nature was now.
For Homelander, sparing Becca, sparing Butcher, and giving them as good an ending as possible was merely a matter of choice.
He had chosen the good side.
The five million dollars in compensation would allow Butcher and Becca to live comfortably for the rest of their lives.
But no one could say whether material measures could truly gauge the pain in a person's heart, and Soldier Boy had even less way of knowing.
When they finished their cigarettes, Soldier Boy handed the pitiful man another and broke the silence. "What will you do now?"
Butcher's body was already protesting. He coughed violently twice, but still took the cigarette.
Amid the curling smoke, he said, "I won't give up. Becca is my wife."
Soldier Boy sighed, feeling some admiration for this hopelessly devoted man.
How much perseverance did it take to wait eight years for someone?
Yet the sad thing was that this was the outcome his waiting had brought him.
"What