"Earth Song"
An image suddenly surfaced in The Deep's mind.
That day, he had passed the women's restroom in the Seven Tower (definitely not because he wanted to peek).
The door hadn't been shut properly, and Maeve's voice had drifted out from beside the sinks, along with Starlight's.
As a gentleman, he hadn't intended to eavesdrop.
Fine, he had wanted to listen in a little, to find out whether Starlight had been bad-mouthing him behind his back since that argument.
But that day, they hadn't been talking about him. They had been talking about the mysterious Black Noir.
Maeve had said that when the security department last screened everyone for allergies, she had made a point of glancing at Black Noir's file.
The result had put him in the most severe category: a nut allergy.
If Black Noir's airways came into contact with nuts, it could trigger anaphylactic shock on the spot.
Maeve had also said that if you wanted to leave that mute gasping for breath within a minute, tossing a peanut at his mask would be enough.
The Deep hadn't thought much of that overheard tidbit at the time.
He had no quarrel with Black Noir. Although the mute never paid him any attention, he never joined Homelander in making fun of him during meetings, either.
Besides, he had no reason to provoke Black Noir.
Why not provoke him?
For The Deep, the biggest problem was that he couldn't beat Black Noir.
In fact, he apparently couldn't beat any member of The Seven. He was like an oversized mascot here.
That was why he had always wanted to climb higher and prove his worth.
Hearing The Deep's words, Hughie had no time to verify whether they were true. He hurriedly propped himself up on one leg and gritted his teeth, frantically rummaging through the lab bench.
Test tube racks, pipettes, where the fuck had this protein powder come from, what was this thing that looked like a condom? Toss it...
Yes, this jar-the one with walnuts in it!
The moment Hughie spotted his target, he twisted off the lid without hesitation, grabbed a handful of walnuts, and hurled them at Black Noir.
Since Hughie and The Deep had just been speaking in lowered voices, nobody present had heard what they said.
Neither had Black Noir.
But he saw it. He saw Hughie grab something from the lab bench, turn, and charge toward him.
The object was too far away for him to make out what it was.
Was it a test tube? A detonator? Or some kind of portable chemical weapon?
At that thought, Black Noir swung his right hand out, turned his wrist, and reached behind his back, his long fingers hooking around the end of his sword's hilt.
Whumm-
There was no wasted movement in his draw. The instant the blade slid free of its sheath, it gave off a thin metallic hum.
Swish!
Then silver light flashed, the sword tip tracing a sharp arc through the air to meet the "hidden weapon" Hughie had thrown with all his strength.
Unfortunately, that hidden weapon was called a walnut.
Black Noir's blade neatly sliced the walnut in half, instantly bursting fragments and oily dust into the air.
By the time Black Noir recognized what the "hidden weapon" was, it was already too late.
Then that smell worked its way into his mask's filter layer.
The rich smell of raw walnuts, mixed with the distinctively mellow aroma of nut oils.
His hand stopped in midair.
His bronchial tubes began to constrict. Harsh breathing came through his mask, and his entire body seemed to lose its strength, collapsing in an instant.
The katana slipped from his left hand, too.
Clatter-
His knee armor struck the concrete floor with a dull thud, but Black Noir hadn't fallen yet.
He braced one hand against the floor and felt around with the other. Soon, his body trembling, he picked the katana back up.
"Fuck, he can still get up..."
No, if this keeps going, we're all finished!
Black Noir had a habit when looking for leads: he liked to kill everyone but one, leaving the survivor especially "obedient."
Then he would have his information.
And if Black Noir killed Frenchie, Hughie would be next, followed by Mother's Milk, with him last.
Why would he be last?
Black Noir probably wouldn't kill him before figuring out what was going on.
But John was different. If he came back to find all his men dead, The Deep would die sooner or later, too.
And it would be a horrible death.
Fuck...
That terrifying thought exploded from The Deep's buttocks and shot up his spine.
He had to stop Black Noir!
The next second, he rose on legs that felt filled with lead, shut his eyes, and staggered straight into Black Noir's chest.
The impact made Black Noir stumble one step, but only one.
The nut dust was making his bronchial tubes constrict violently, leaving him unable to catch his breath, but the amount he had inhaled was still small, not enough to send him straight into shock.
Now, his strength was slowly recovering, too.
And the best way to recover his strength was to fight.
A moment later, Black Noir slammed a heavy punch into The Deep's face.
He held nothing back. His elbow drove forward from its pulled-back position, all the twisting force of his waist and abdomen pouring into his knuckles as they smashed into The Deep's cheekbone.
The Deep's head snapped sideways, and he staggered several steps back.
A hot stream immediately flowed from his nose, the metallic-sweet red liquid running down over his lips.
"Fuck..."
He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and his vision came back into focus...
Then he saw Black Noir's back as he walked toward Frenchie, step by step.
Across from him, Frenchie lay slumped beside the lab bench, his fingers clawing futilely at the floor as he tried to prop himself up.
But his arms trembled twice and gave out again. He could only watch the figure in the black uniform draw closer and closer.
No, I can't let Black Noir get over there!
The Deep swallowed hard, gulping down saliva mixed with bloody foam, barely steadied himself, and charged forward.
Soon, he reached Frenchie's side before Black Noir could get there (partially weakened, movement debuff), then grabbed him by the back of his collar.
Twisting the fabric tight between his fingers, he dragged with every ounce of strength he had. Frenchie's back scraped a trail along the floor while he muttered curses in incomprehensible French.
Just then, The Deep caught that black shadow in the corner of his eye again.
Without warning, Black Noir seemed to abandon Frenchie, who lay curled on the floor, and turned as though an invisible string had yanked his body around.
He moved so fast that only a black afterimage remained, and a faint crack even burst through the air.
The Deep's pupils hadn't even had time to contract.
The next second, a hand in a black tactical glove had locked around his throat.
All five fingers tightened, lifting him clean off the floor and slamming his back into the metal shelving behind him.
Crash!
Rows of metal racks came clattering down. The back of The Deep's head struck a metal edge squarely, and his cervical spine gave a sharp crack.
"Urgh... cough, cough!"
His feet kicked wildly in midair as the air was squeezed out of his throat bit by bit. His mouth opened, working as futilely as a fish out of water, his face going from flushed red to bluish-purple.
"Frenchie..."
The Deep barely forced a few words through his constricted windpipe.
"Frenchie, can you fucking move? Shoot... shoot him..."
Frenchie lay beneath the lab bench, his fingers searching across the cold concrete.
Soon, his fingertips touched something metal... it looked like the gun Hughie had dropped.
"Hah..."
He barely managed to hook the gun closer, but his wrist had no strength. The gun slipped from his sweaty palm and spun twice across the concrete.
Frenchie had no choice but to try another way, signaling Hughie nearby to pick up the gun.
Hughie ran over and picked it up, gripping it in both hands and lining up the sights with the back of Black Noir's head.
But his finger only rested on the trigger. He still didn't pull it.
His hands were sweating, the grip constantly slipping in his palms, and his aim wavered between the back of Black Noir's head and The Deep's head.
One careless shot, and he would hit The Deep instead.
But although Black Noir sensed the danger, he didn't turn around.
Don't forget, he was still wearing bulletproof armor.
His left hand was still clamped around The Deep's neck as his right slowly reached toward his waist and drew a dagger.
The blade flashed cold beneath the fluorescent lights, then plunged straight into the hollow over The Deep's heart.
"Urgh-"
The Deep's mouth opened, a strained, choked sound leaking from deep in his throat.
He slowly lowered his head and saw Black Noir's black glove still wrapped around the dagger's hilt, most of the blade buried inside him.
Warm blood came gushing out right after it, soaking his loose jacket and dripping from its hem onto the concrete, splashing into blossoms of blood.
Then excruciating pain struck.
The Deep's back hit the concrete in a stumbling fall. His fingers curled beside the hilt of the dagger in his chest, then trembled and loosened again.
"Hh-"
In the haze of blood loss, The Deep saw a panicked Frenchie and an icy Black Noir.
And... and a startling streak of red light.
Was it a hallucination?