Inside the cheap and worn-down hideout, Butcher stood beside the table while Mother's Milk, Frenchie, and Hughie unloaded everything they had brought back from the basement.
Ledgers, shipping records, receipts, and a single vial containing only a tiny amount of blue liquid were spread across the surface.
Butcher picked up the vial and held it against the light.
The amount inside was pathetic, barely enough to cover the bottom of the glass, and his expression immediately soured.
"Is this some fucker's leftover after he finished havin' a wank, or is this supposed to be the bloody Compound V we've been chasin'?"
Frenchie took the vial, inspected it, and set it back on the table.
"It is Compound V. There is simply almost nothing left. Whatever supply they had is already gone."
Mother's Milk pushed several ledgers forward.
"Forget the vial. This is what matters. We grabbed every document mentioning Compound V."
Butcher opened the nearest ledger. Dates, shipment numbers, and coded entries filled page after page.
He couldn't make sense of any of it, but the sheer amount of paperwork told him enough.
"Well, look at that. Nobody writes this much unless they're hidin' something worth killin' over."
Hughie leaned over the table.
"You actually know what any of this means?"
"Not a bloody clue," Butcher admitted, "but somewhere in this pile there's a thread leadin' back to Vought, and once we find the bastard holdin' the other end, the whole thing comes apart."
Mother's Milk studied the documents.
"At least now we've got proof the stuff exists and moves through multiple locations. That's more than we had yesterday."
A brief silence settled over the room before he spoke again.
"There was something else in that basement."
Butcher looked up.
"What, more dead bodies?"
"A Supe."
That answer made Butcher pause.
"A Supe? Then why the hell are you lot sittin' here without a scratch on you?"
Mother's Milk shook his head.
"He wasn't with the Triad. He showed up, took the girl, and left. Didn't attack us, didn't touch the paperwork, and honestly, I don't think he cared about us."
Butcher leaned back in his chair.
"Well, if the mysterious bastard didn't stop the mission and didn't nick our evidence, we've got bigger problems to worry about. Compound V comes first. One weird cunt can wait."
Nobody argued.
After several more hours of searching through the ledgers, the four of them finally noticed a pattern.
Every major movement of Compound V traced back to the same name.
Samaritan's Embrace.
Butcher slammed the ledger shut and frowned.
"What the fuck is this Samaritan's Embrace?"
Hughie recognized it immediately.
"It's a charity. One of the biggest in America. They do food drives, disaster relief, homeless shelters... all that stuff. The whole thing is run by Ezekiel."
Mother's Milk looked up.
"The stretchy Bible guy?"
"Yeah," Hughie said. "Super religious. Always on television talking about family values and helping people."
Frenchie raised an eyebrow.
"That holy man?"
Hughie nodded.
"The very same."
The room fell quiet.
Then Butcher burst into laughter.
"A fuckin' charity?"
He waved the ledger in the air.
"So let me get this straight. We've got a secret drug nobody's heard of, shipments all over the country, and every bloody road leads back to a Christian charity run by a Supe?"
Mother's Milk folded his arms.
"It doesn't make much sense."
"Oh, it makes perfect sense," Butcher replied.
"Nobody questions charities. Nobody suspects the smiling bastards feedin' soup to the homeless while they're movin' dodgy shit behind the scenes."
Frenchie leaned back.
"Using goodwill as camouflage. Clever."
Butcher snorted.
"Clever? It's bloody brilliant. If I wanted to traffic illegal drugs across America, I'd do it through a charity too. Cops look for gangsters, not volunteers handin' out blankets."
Hughie still looked uncertain.
"You really think Samaritan's Embrace knows what Compound V is?"
Butcher tapped the ledger.
"If their name is on every shipment, somebody knows. Maybe it's Ezekiel. Maybe it's Vought usin' the charity as a front. Either way, those pious bastards are neck-deep in this mess."
He stood and grabbed his coat.
"Well then, lads, looks like our next stop is a house of God. Let's see what sort of miracles they're performin' behind closed doors."
Hughie rubbed the back of his neck.
"Umm... I don't think getting to Ezekiel is that simple. The guy's usually surrounded by security, church staff, and other Supes. Meeting him directly isn't easy."
Butcher narrowed his eyes.
"How the hell do you know that?"
The moment the question left his mouth, Hughie realized his mistake.
Years of being a genuine fan before Robin's death had filled his head with far too much celebrity trivia.
"Well... before all this happened, I used to follow that stuff," Hughie admitted. "There are fan sites and forums. People keep track of appearances and events."
Frenchie smirked.
"Our little Hughie was a proper believer."
Hughie ignored him.
"Anyway, in two weeks there's Believe Expo. It's a collaboration between Vought and Samaritan's Embrace. Ezekiel is going to be there, and apparently he gives private blessings to VIP guests after the main event."
Mother's Milk immediately saw the opportunity.
"So we get close to him there."
Butcher leaned forward.
"Good. How do we get a VIP invitation?"
Hughie's expression changed.
"That's the problem. You can't just buy normal tickets. The VIP passes require massive donations to the charity."
The room fell silent.
Butcher stared at him.
"How massive?"
"Several thousand dollars at minimum. Some people donate a lot more just to meet him."
***
A/N: And on Patreon, The Boys arc started.
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