EXECUTIONER. the boys

chapter three. vendetta

chapter three ── vendetta.
"Fucking hell, Butcher."

The Tonight Show buzzed in the background, Jimmy Fallon's voice a grating cheer as Hughie idly sorted papers at the store's front desk. He tried to focus, but the events that had unfolded over the last few days clung to him. Customers came and went, asking about the latest gadget, but his mind was stuck on that single, horrific moment.

Robin, her laughter and life so vivid, now gone. They'd talked about moving in together; now, he was haunted by the impossible gap she left behind.

On the screen, Fallon leaned toward his guest, Translucent, the invisible hero. "So, tell us, how do you do it?" Fallon asked, all smiles.

Translucent chuckled, lounging in his chair. "I don't vanish, exactly. My skin's made of carbon meta-material, bends light, like an invisibility cloak."

Hughie's gut twisted. The absurdity of these heroes parading around as saviors, while people like Robin suffered for it, gnawed at him. His focus snapped back when the store's door chimed, and a man entered with a commanding presence—someone whose intensity seemed to fill the room.

The man's gaze lingered on a nanny cam display. Something about his sharp stare and the hard lines of his face hinted he was no ordinary customer. Hughie cleared his throat. "Interested in a nanny cam? They're on special—cameras in the eyes."

The man barely glanced at the display, and stepped closer; voice low, unsettling. "Tell me, how many nannies shake their babies? One per cent? Less?"

Caught off guard by the absurd question, Hughie stammered. "Uh... I don't know."

"Funny. They sell a billion dollars' worth of this crap worldwide," he mused, straightening. "Shows what people'll buy into if they're scared enough."

Hughie forced a smile. "Is there, uh, anything specific I can help you with?"

The man's face hardened, his gaze piercing. "I'm not here to piss about. Heard what happened to Robin."

Hughie's heart sank. "Who... who are you?"

"Butcher," he replied, flashing an FBI badge. "Billy Butcher." Hughie's confusion only grew as Butcher tucked the badge away. "Thought you and me should have a chat."

They moved outside, stepping into the buzz of the city. Hughie glanced over, trying to get a read on the man. "You're a Fed? You don't sound like one."

Butcher smirked. "What, I can't immigrate? There's a big green bird in the harbor that says different."

"Still don't really look like one, either."

"Yeah?" Butcher cocked an eyebrow. "What do I look like?"

"Like you're starring in a porn version of The Matrix," Hughie muttered, his sarcasm a mechanism when faced with discomfort.

Butcher laughed. "It's all right there in black and white, son." His expression turned serious. "But you got it wrong. It's about what I can do for you. See, you're not alone. Supes cause hundreds of deaths every year—collateral damage, like they call it."

Hughie's scepticism flared. "If that were true, it'd be all over the news."

"Oh, they'll mention it now and then, like with Robin. But a lot more gets swept under the rug."

They stopped walking, and frustration boiled over in Hughie. "Why?"

Butcher gestured to the billboards and ads for superheroes plastered everywhere. "Multi-billion dollar industry, that's why. Movie tickets, merchandise, theme parks... Public loves their heroes—someone golden to swoop in and save the day so they don't have to. But if they knew half the shit Supes get up to? Fuckin' diabolical... And that's where I come in."