A small town on the fringes of the United States.
The sea breeze was damp, the streets empty. Outside an aquarium, a man squatted on the ground, smoking.
He wore a cheap jacket, his hair greasy and his eyes vacant.
It was The Deep.
Once a member of The Seven, now an exile. He had been here for a long time. His daily job consisted of performing at the aquarium, "communicating" with fish in front of tourists, then returning to his rented room to stare blankly at the ceiling.
Though he had once enjoyed boundless glory, with Homelander deliberately targeting him, no faction dared treat him too well.
The Deep had begun questioning his life. "What the hell was I before?"
Sniffling, he took a pair of clippers from the bag beside him and, without hesitation, ran them back and forth over his head.
"Fuck those shitty old days. I'm done with you."
"Fuck Vought. Fuck The Seven."
As The Deep shaved his head, he thought to himself as if seeking comfort.
Before long, he had shaved off all his hair. Bald-headed, he gazed out at the sea, lifting his chin slightly, feeling as though he had attained enlightenment in exile and been born anew.
In his eyes, worldly fame and fortune were like passing clouds, ready to scatter at the slightest breeze.
Just as he was about to leave, his phone rang.
The Deep answered. "Hello? Who's this?"
"It's me, Deep," Ashley said.
The Deep's expression instantly grew complicated. He was just about to say something when he remembered he no longer worked for Vought, and immediately tossed aside the flattering lines he had prepared.
"What the fuck are you calling me for? You already threw me away."
"Now isn't the time to discuss that," Ashley said quickly. "Soldier