"No time to love you."
After settling his deal with Butcher, John did not choose to act immediately.
Instead, he took the phone he had acquired by "robbing the rich to help the poor" from his pocket, found The Deep's number, and sent him a message.
"Make several extra copies of the originals in the archive and the other files, and leave them at the usual place."
After sending the message, John slipped the phone back into his pocket and looked up at the predawn sky over New York.
The clouds hung low, wrapping the rooftop signal lights of several distant buildings in a gray haze.
It looked dreamlike.
Compared with the caveman lifestyle at Kent Farm, this place was clearly much more exciting.
But between the two, John cared more about family.
So he was already running out of time.
One week.
Butcher had given him one week to rescue Becca, but only John knew that the actual window was even tighter.
Lucifer, that Satan, had given him only three months. With every minute that passed, the dark red membrane over Jonathan's heart dimmed a little more.
Before that, however, he needed someone to speed up the research.
Researching Compound V required a large number of samples and materials; a single dose was nowhere near enough to support analysis and research.
That was something John had learned while teaching himself from middle school physics and chemistry textbooks on the farm.
And large quantities of Compound V required secret, fast, high-quality transportation.
Speaking of efficiency, John had to admit, what could compare to a speedster?
Before going to see A-Train, though, John first went to the "usual place" where The Deep stored the files: a slot behind an aquarium's sign.
He tapped the slot with his index-finger knuckle. An extremely faint metallic click immediately sounded from inside, and then the lock cylinder sprang open on its own.
What appeared next was a roll of paper documents wrapped in a sealed plastic bag.
A label was attached to the plastic bag:
V1 original, Soldier Boy batch.
There was another line of small text below, written in fountain pen, its handwriting almost washed away:
Only copy, paper, not entered into the system
John took the documents out of the plastic bag.
He opened the first page. Soldier Boy's code name and injection date were printed in the header.
Below were densely packed handwritten chemical formulas, with the name of the lab technician responsible at the time and a cross-verification signature marked beside each molecular structure.
It did indeed seem to be the original, except...
Just as The Deep had said, apart from the pages containing the molecular formulas, the later material concerning synthesis had been deliberately torn out. Judging by the tear marks, it had clearly happened very recently.
As for who had torn them out, John frowned and thought back, getting a rough idea.
At present, Soldier Boy, his biological father, was still a human Popsicle in Russia.
Besides Madelyn, those who could freely enter and leave Vought's archives included that nigger Edgar and Liberty.
Yes, the Storm who later became romantically involved with him, a Nazi through and through.
Being kept in the dark in his previous life was one thing, but now that John had received ideological education, he naturally understood.
Storm had taken an interest in him only to use him as her gun, for some bullshit dream of superhumans ruling the world.
If she actually took that position, with Storm's scheming nature, there might not be a place for him.
And honestly, capital alone could keep every superhuman pinned firmly down.
You could say Storm was one of Vought's founders, capital itself, but she still obediently did as Edgar said.
So there was a reason Vought had remained standing after all these years.
At that thought, John curled his lip, put the files away, then left the aquarium and headed straight for A-Train's apartment.
On his second visit, John already knew the way.
The living room in A-Train's apartment was not large. Energy bar wrappers and several half-finished bottles of sports drinks were piled on the coffee table, and the television was on but muted.
Vought's official channel was on the screen, replaying The Seven's press conference in Chicago last month.
A-Train stood beside the couch on crutches. The splint on his left leg had not been removed, his knee was slightly bent, and all his weight rested on his right leg.
He held a tablet issued exclusively to The Seven. On its screen was an email from Ashley, that bitch whose nose was big enough to fit two hundred dicks:
"Dear Mr. A-Train, we recommend that you use your recovery period to reevaluate your personal brand positioning."
Translated, this pile of horseshit meant that because of his injury this time.
Sales of his co-branded sneakers had plummeted, and the board was already discussing whether to remove him from The Seven's starting lineup.
Knock, knock, knock-
(Your grandpa Qian Wanhao is here to see you.)
Hearing the knock, A-Train closed the email with a livid face, then limped to the door and habitually glanced through the peephole.
Fuck!
Then he nearly dropped his crutches.
A black mask, an old leather jacket, both hands in his pockets, a loose stance.
The man tilted his head slightly and lifted his chin toward the peephole, as if greeting him.
But A-Train knew that the other man was an unreasonable demon. His current low point was entirely the doing of the devil outside his door, yet he could not show any of that resentment.
He could only swallow his shattered teeth along with his blood.
What's he here for?
Was treating me like that not enough...?
A-Train's fingers froze on the door handle, and two voices suddenly appeared in his head.
One said not to open the door, to jump down the fire escape and run on his still-unbroken right leg, wherever it took him.
The other voice said, Can you fucking outrun him, dumbass? If you run, A-Train might be nothing but a head tomorrow.
At that thought, A-Train could only take a deep breath, steel himself, and unlock the door.
"Y-you, how did you know I lived here-"
A-Train's muffled words caught in his throat. His body instinctively stepped back, and the splint on his left leg knocked against the edge of the shoe cabinet, making him bare his teeth in pain.
John did not answer. He simply walked past him and straight into the living room.
He glanced at the energy bar wrappers on the coffee table and the smiling Homelander on the television screen, then sat on the couch.
"Honey, who's here?"
The Female, sporting a businesslike haircut, poked half her head out of the kitchen, still clutching a kitchen knife she had not had time to put down.
She had been chopping onions, and bits still clung to her fingers. When she saw an unfamiliar masked man in the living room, her gaze instantly turned wary.
She had never seen her partner with such a strange friend; at the very least, none wore a black mask around other people.
"Reggie? Who is this?"
Fuck! How did she end up seeing him...?
A-Train's cheeks twitched, his jaw muscles contracting violently in fear. His entire face looked as though something were squeezing it from both sides at once.
Like a chrysanthemum.
"Baby, it's Vought business, work stuff. Go stay in the bedroom for a bit. Don't come out."
He walked up to The Female on his crutches and pushed her toward the hallway, doing his best to sound casual, but the fingers pressing against her shoulder trembled slightly.
"Okay, but be quick. I haven't finished cooking."
The Female stumbled a step under his push. She glanced back at him, then at the masked stranger on the couch, and opened her mouth to say something.
A woman's sixth sense told her something was wrong.
But in the end, she chose to trust her partner. She set the kitchen knife on the shoe cabinet, turned, and entered the bedroom. The lock clicked shut.
Once The Female had left, John leaned back against the couch in a broad, imposing sprawl, crossed his legs, and lifted his chin toward the bedroom.
"You have a girlfriend?"
That affectionate display had almost fooled John.
He remembered A-Train in his previous life promoting his "single" persona everywhere, then killing The Female in the end.
Upholding justice over personal ties, supposedly.
Meanwhile, A-Train turned around on his crutches, a thin sheen of sweat already forming on his forehead.
"She seems pretty concerned about you, coming out halfway through chopping onions to see who's here. By the way, does she know you're secretly shooting up Compound V?"
Shit!
A-Train's crutch slipped on the wooden floor, making a piercing scraping sound.
His fingers tightened around the crutch handle, his knuckles turning white. His lips moved several times before he managed to squeeze out a complete sentence.
"She... she doesn't know. I didn't tell her. I wasn't actually trying to hide it from her.
"I was just afraid she wouldn't be able to resist the temptation and would start shooting that stuff up like crazy too.
"You know how it is. Once you use too much Compound V, you can't quit. I can't let her turn into me."
His voice suddenly dropped on those last few words. The excuse was flimsy.
A-Train had always maintained this image of himself as great, glorious, and righteous.
Acting, until he believed it himself.
He really was still like this, the complete opposite of the defiance he had shown before dying.
John watched him in silence for several seconds.
He had lived two lives, but certain aspects of his nature had not changed. He had always looked down on those who cowered, living in the shadows like dogs and currying favor.
As for those with defiance and backbone, even if they angered him, he would consider leaving them some dignity.
But A-Train as he was now, to repeat himself, was still like a dog.
Then John reached out and pushed aside the energy bar wrappers on the coffee table, clearing a space, and put both feet up as though no one else were there.
"Looks like even a beating didn't teach you a lesson."
At John's words, A-Train shuddered and instinctively touched the splint on his left leg without speaking.
"You tried to ram into me back then. If I'd been an ordinary person, I'd have died long ago. Now that it's me, you should consider yourself lucky you didn't die at my hands."
John stood and walked up to A-Train.
Looking at the blue eyes showing through the mask's eyeholes, A-Train instinctively wanted to retreat, but his crutches remained planted on the floor.
"You know your own situation. Translucent is dead, and The Seven needs someone new to fill the spot.
"Your brand influence is already declining. Ashley, that bitch who likes shitting in other people's toilets, has already started discussing demoting you in internal meetings.
(Additional note: The Deep told him this.)
"What's even funnier is that even The Deep, that octopus-fucker, is more famous than you now."
John paused there, noticing A-Train's jaw muscles begin twitching at the mention of The Deep, though he offered no rebuttal.
"Your position at Vought used to rest on your speed. But now your leg's broken, your speed's gone, and so is your position.
"You think you can return to the track once the splint comes off, but when you do, you'll discover they're already training your replacement."
"Oh, who was that guy who runs pretty well again? Supersonic, right?"
Motherfucker, isn't all of this thanks to you?
And now you're here to lecture me?
A-Train's Adam's apple bobbed, and his fingers tightened further around the crutch handle.
He had been at Vought so long that he knew all too well what those words meant.
"So what exactly are you trying to say? If you only came here to humiliate me today, fine, I'll take it."
A-Train was already starting to act as though the pot was cracked, so he might as well smash it.
"Work with me."
"The Compound V you're using now is the last batch of stock Homelander has. The more you use, the less there is, and the more expensive it gets.
"You can't get any more stock from Singer, and black-market prices have nearly doubled.
"You're living off your reserves, and sooner or later, those reserves will run dry.
"But if you had a stable supply chain, stable and safe, do you think your position would keep declining?"
John sat back on the couch and crossed his legs again.
"I'm having Compound V's formula analyzed. Once the formula is worked out, all the compound will be purified and manufactured in Frenchie's lab.
"That includes the batch you'll be using in the future. It'll be a stable version too.
"The batch you're injecting now doesn't just make your heart rate unstable. Long-term use will make your heart failure worse."
As he spoke, John took a slip of paper from his pocket and placed it on the coffee table.
"These five addresses are Vought's abandoned old laboratories and raw material warehouses. The last batch of raw materials for the old process is sealed inside.
"Go haul them back and hand them over to Hughie.
"His team will handle purification and remanufacturing. Finish this job, then wait for the stable version to come out.
"Think about your situation. Vought is phasing you out. I'm giving you a way forward.
"You don't have to answer now, but the next time we meet, I hope you can give me an answer."
If A-Train had previously thought John's identity had something to do with Vought or Homelander, that suspicion was now completely ruled out.
He truly could not imagine how doing these things would benefit Vought.
Unless Homelander wanted to set up shop on his own.
But this man before him? Bullshit...
Homelander knew nothing about these maneuvers. Compared with that arrogant brute who only knew how to intimidate others with violence.
He even felt that the "Homelander" before him, named John, suited the name better.
At the very least, he would not grab you by the throat at the slightest disagreement and stare into your eyes with his own brimming with Heat Vision.
A-Train remained silent for a long time.
He lowered his head and looked at his splinted left leg.
That day, when he had charged into John at supersonic speed, he had fully expected to smash the man to pieces. Instead, it was his own tibia that had broken.
He could run so fast not because of his legs, but because of that drive that never admitted defeat.
His opponent was not an enemy, but himself.
His fear, his cowardice, the spinelessness that kept him from even telling his girlfriend the truth.
Besides, if John had really wanted to kill him, he would have sliced him to pieces with Heat Vision back at the safe house that day.
"If I join you."
A-Train seemed to have made up his mind, speaking with a serious expression.
"I have one condition. No matter who you are, no matter what grudges you have against Homelander or Vought, I don't want to face him directly.
If he finds out I'm working for you-
He's not like you. He won't give me any chance to explain. He'll just slice me in half with Heat Vision, then throw me into the Atlantic Ocean.
I know you're strong, but I don't want to die at his hands. I, I still have a family."
"You've made a wise choice."
Surprisingly, John wasn't angry when he heard A-Train's "slander" of him. Instead, he stood up and walked over to A-Train.
He reached out and patted A-Train's shoulder. It wasn't a hard pat, but A-Train could feel the strength in that hand.
"Your only task is Compound V. As for Homelander, you don't need to worry. I'll handle him."
The truth was, John himself hadn't figured out how to deal with his other "self."
Without the opportunity he'd had in this life, this "self" would have gone through all of this too.
But his current "self" was riding high-the captain of the Seven, with hundreds of millions of fans.
To bring his "self" down at the very height of his glory-if John really had to do it, he might not have the heart.
But on the other side was his beloved Jonathan.
In any case, there might be another way to resolve this. I'll think it over some more.
Now, with A-Train and the Deep helping him, he had the supply of Compound V and the leads on v1 in his hands.
His top priority now was to decipher Compound V's formula.
When that happened, the world's distortion value would definitely rise significantly, bringing him another step closer to saving Jonathan.
This was John's deal with the Boys Squad, and now it was time for John to fulfill his end of it.
Becca, Ryan...
I'm coming.
(I've seen a lot of people questioning the Female not knowing. Go back and watch episodes 4-5 of the original show's first season.
The Female knew about "Compound V" and knew that "Compound V" was a drug that could turn ordinary people into superhumans.
She had taken it herself, too, but she didn't know A-Train was secretly injecting it, let alone injecting so much of it.)
(You have to be rigorous when writing fanfiction.)