Chapter 8: [The Supe Bar: A Calculated Provocation and a Bloody Harvest]
[System Message: Blood Meter at 0/400. Stagnation detected. Recommended action: Seek conflict. Target: Weak or isolated supes. Moral integrity: Optional.]
"Oh, 'optional,' is it, System? You're really leaning into the villain origin story, aren't you? Next, you'll be suggesting I adopt a cat and start monologuing in a velvet smoking jacket."
The lack of progress on my Blood Meter was driving me slowly insane. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that pathetic, empty bar, mocking me. The raw power I'd glimpsed during the V-baby lab escape was now a distant memory, a tantalizing whisper. I was stronger, yes, but not strong enough. Not for this world. Not for Homelander.
Butcher was obsessed with finding dirt on Stormfront, which was, admittedly, a good objective. But for me, it was just another delay. My obsession was the V. The power. I started subtly pushing for more aggressive tactics, for infiltrating places where V might be found, where supes might be… vulnerable.
"So, Frenchie, this informant of yours," I said casually one morning, as we huddled in a grimy motel room, poring over maps and grainy surveillance photos. "He leads us to… a supe bar, you say?"
Frenchie, ever the source of questionable intel, nodded. "Oui. A place where the… how you say… low-rent supes go to drink their sorrows away. Very discreet. Very… illegal."
"Illegal, you say?" I mused, a tiny, predatory flicker in my eyes. "And these low-rent supes… they're not exactly Vought's A-list, are they? Probably don't have the best security."
Butcher, who was polishing his latest arsenal of supe-killing weapons, looked up, a suspicious glint in his eye. "What's that gleam in your eye, Hughie? You fancy yourself a socialite now, frequenting supe watering holes?"
"No, no, of course not!" I said quickly, trying to sound innocent. "It's just… a thought. A place like that, full of desperate supes… maybe they're dealing V on the side? To fund their… 'lifestyle choices'? Just thinking out loud, you know. Strategizing."
MM, who was meticulously organizing a stack of files by color, sighed. "Hughie, we're looking for information on Stormfront. Not a drug bust."
"But the two could be connected!" I insisted, my voice rising slightly with barely contained excitement. "A-Train got his V from… places. Maybe this is one of those 'places'! Could lead us right to the source!"
Butcher eyed me for a long moment, then a slow, calculating smile spread across his face. "You're getting good at this, aren't you, mate? Spinning a yarn. Alright. Frenchie, MM, prep the gear. We're going to the bar."
[System Message: Manipulation successful. Target acquired. Remember: collateral damage is regrettable but often necessary. Don't develop a conscience now. It'll only slow you down.]
"Oh, thanks for the unsolicited psych evaluation, System. I'll try to keep my pesky 'moral compass' in check while I'm out there committing mild acts of premeditated homicide."
The supe bar was an assault on the senses. The air was thick with smoke, cheap perfume, and a strange, almost electric hum that only I seemed to perceive – the ambient energy of dozens of low-level powers. It was a cacophony of slurred conversations, bad karaoke, and the occasional burst of uncontrolled, minor power (a flickering light, a briefly levitating glass).
My Metabolic Acceleration (Lvl 3) made the crowded room feel like it was moving in slow motion, allowing me to observe every detail, every twitch. My Carbon Skin (Lvl 4) made me feel surprisingly robust amidst the jostling. I felt, for the first time, like I truly belonged in this den of powered misfits. It was a disturbing thought.
While Butcher worked his contacts, and Frenchie scouted for security, I began my hunt. I scanned the room, looking for a particular energy signature, a power that appealed to my growing collection. My eyes landed on a supe nursing a drink at the bar, his face etched with a perpetual look of boredom. A subtle shimmer in the air around his glass. Hydrokinesis. Liquid Manipulation. Bingo.
He was a nobody, a background extra in the grand narrative of supe villainy. Perfect.
I sidled up to him, trying to appear drunk and overly friendly. "Hey, pal! That's a mighty impressive… uh… water trick you got going on there. You, uh, control liquids, do ya?"
The supe, a man with tired eyes and a surprisingly well-groomed beard, sighed. "Yeah, yeah. It's my thing. Can make a mean mimosa. What's it to ya?"
"Just admiring your craft!" I slurred, feigning a stumble. "I, uh, I'm a connoisseur of fine… liquid arts. Say, you wouldn't happen to have any… premium liquids on offer, would ya? Something… special?" I winked conspiratorially, trying to mimic Butcher's less subtle attempts at charming information out of people.
He looked at me, a flicker of understanding in his tired eyes. "You looking for V, kid?"
My heart leaped. He knew. "Maybe. Just… testing the waters. So to speak." I gave a nervous chuckle.
He leaned in, his voice low. "Yeah, I got some. Back room. But it ain't cheap. And it ain't for civilians."
"Oh, I'm no civilian," I said, a dangerous glint in my eye that surprised even myself. "Trust me. I'm… very much not a civilian."
[System Message: Target acquired. Initiating calculated provocation. Remember to maintain plausible deniability. You're still just Hughie. Mostly.]
"Plausible deniability? After that performance? I think I just screamed 'I'm a desperate junkie who also might be a secret supe' at the top of my lungs."
My next move was pure instinct, born of desperation and the System's insidious nudges. As he turned to gesture towards the back room, I subtly extended my hand, using my Kinetic Redirection (Lvl 1) to give him a small, almost imperceptible push. Just enough to make him stumble, to bump into another, much larger, and much angrier supe who was walking by.
"Hey! Watch it, pal!" the other supe, a hulking brute with a super-strength aura, snarled.
My target, the hydrokinetic supe, snapped back. "Watch it yourself, meathead! You blind or something?"
And just like that, the fuse was lit. The hulking supe shoved the hydrokinetic. The hydrokinetic, in turn, unleashed a small, controlled jet of water that splattered across the brute's face.
"Oh, it's on now, isn't it?" I whispered to myself, a manic grin spreading across my face.
The bar erupted into chaos. Punches flew, minor powers flared, and the air filled with shouts and the clatter of breaking glass. It was exactly what I wanted. A distraction. A cover.
"Hughie! What the hell did you do?!" MM yelled, pushing through the surging crowd, clearly exasperated.
"Just… encouraging healthy conflict resolution!" I yelled back, dodging a flying chair.
I plunged into the fray, not to fight everyone, but to get to my target. The hydrokinetic supe was now fully engaged in a losing battle with the super-strong brute. This was my chance.
I used my Metabolic Acceleration (Lvl 3) to move through the chaos, a blur of motion in the drunken brawl. My Carbon Skin (Lvl 4) absorbed stray punches and impacts, allowing me to close the distance. I focused my Sound Manipulation (Lvl 1), creating a high-pitched whine directly behind the hydrokinetic's ear, momentarily disorienting him.
He staggered, clutching his head. That was my opening.
I lunged, my hand closing around a broken bottle. It was crude. It was messy. It was exactly what I needed. With a desperate, feral grunt, I plunged the jagged edge into his neck.
Blood. So much blood. He gurgled, his eyes wide with shock and pain. He fell, a lifeless heap amidst the chaos of the bar brawl.
[System Message: Kill Confirmed. Target: Hydrokinetic Supe. Initiating "Supe Power Absorption" protocol. Choose wisely.]
The mental menu flashed.
HYDROKINETIC SUPE'S POWERS:
Liquid Manipulation (Lvl 1)
"Oh, thank God," I mumbled, a mixture of relief and revulsion washing over me. "No more accidental groin shots."
I quickly selected Liquid Manipulation (Lvl 1). A cool, liquid sensation flowed through me, a strange awareness of every droplet of fluid around me. It was a weird power, but potentially very useful.
"Hughie! Get the V! Now!" Butcher's voice roared, cutting through the din. He was already engaged in a brawl of his own, clearing a path.
I darted to the back room, following the path the hydrokinetic supe had indicated. It was a messy storage area, reeking of stale beer. And there it was. A locked case, nestled amongst empty kegs. A case full of V vials.
With my new Liquid Manipulation (Lvl 1), I focused, trying to manipulate the tiny amounts of fluid inside the lock. It was subtle, but it was enough. The tumblers clicked, the lock sprang open.
"Bingo," I whispered, a chilling sense of triumph washing over me.
I grabbed the case. It was heavy. Full. Six vials. A jackpot. My Blood Meter would finally surge.
[System Message: Compound V Secured. Blood Meter: 100/400. Progress towards next power acquisition initiated. Your efficiency in this morally compromised environment is… impressive.]
"Impressive. Or just really, really messed up," I muttered, clutching the case.
I stumbled back into the main bar, where the Boys were still engaged in a chaotic retreat. Butcher glanced at the case in my hand, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. He still thought it was for him. For the cause. He had no idea the true monster he was inadvertently helping to create.
We fought our way out, leaving the supe bar a shambles, a testament to my burgeoning, bloody ambition. As we drove away, the sirens wailing in the distance, I felt a strange mix of exhilaration and emptiness. I was stronger. I was closer to my goal. But the cost… the cost was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. My moral compass was spinning wildly, lost in a sea of blood and Compound V.