Chapter 27

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____

Chapter 27

Annie sat alone in The Seven's meeting room, her hands folded neatly in her lap, trying not to bounce her knee from excitement.

The room was impossibly clean, sterile almost, with sleek black walls lined with screens and a long-polished table stretching toward the far end, every chair labeled with a gold emblem for each member.

She sat in the one labeled "Starlight."

Her name. Her chair.

She'd been in this room before, of course, for orientation, interviews, photo ops, but this was different.

This was the real thing. No cameras, no Vought handlers breathing down her neck.

Just her, waiting to be welcomed by Queen Maeve herself, to be shown the ropes like a proper member of The Seven.

The greatest team of heroes on Earth.

She barely held back a squeal of excitement that was threatening to overload her body.

Her stomach fluttered with nerves, but her chest was full of something bigger, something stronger.

Pride and purpose.

Annie January, Starlight, was no longer just a minor C-list hero.

She'd made it.

A few days had passed since that insane training session with John, and Annie still hadn't quite gotten over it.

She could still feel the way her powers had surged through her veins, the way her body had screamed in protest afterward, the way Maeve had given her that quiet nod of approval when she handed her sword back.

It meant everything.

And now, here she was, about to start her first real day as a fully inducted member of The Seven. Not just as a guest, or the "new girl," or some pretty face plucked from evangelical obscurity.

She was in.

And Maeve, The Queen Maeve, had agreed to mentor her.

Annie glanced at the clock.

Still a little early.

She shifted in her chair, looking around the room. At the wall of monitors flickering softly, the empty chairs belonging to the rest of the team.

One for A-Train, another for Ground Hawk, one for Blindspot, and the ever-intimidating seat reserved for Homelander — "John," as he insisted everyone call him.

Even Black Noir had his place, though his seat seemed oddly dusty.

She couldn't help but smile.

This was the dream, wasn't it?

A soft sound made her glance toward the door, faint clicks, like a boot heel against tile.

Annie straightened her posture instinctively, smoothing her suit.

Her heart kicked up with anticipation.

The doors slid open with a smooth hiss, and in stepped Queen Maeve.

The most popular Heroine in the world that all women of all ages looked up to.

The only woman who can stand shoulder to shoulder with someone like Homelander.

Annie's breath hitched.

Tall, poised, and utterly unbothered, Maeve strode into the room with the kind of quiet authority that didn't need to announce itself. Her armor gleamed under the soft ceiling lights, her braid rested neatly over one shoulder, and her eyes, sharp and calculating, tired but aware.

Swept the room until they landed on Annie.

Annie's fingers fumbled briefly against the edge of the table as she stood, heart thudding in her chest.

She was still a little star-struck despite everything.

And who could blame her?

"H-Hi," she managed, voice a little too high. "Um, h-hello."

Maeve's steps didn't slow, but her brow quirked in amusement.

"You don't have to be nervous, Starlight," she said, sliding into her seat with practiced ease. "I promise I don't bite~"

Annie let out a breathy laugh and immediately hated how awkward it sounded.

"I'm not nervous," she lied, her cheeks warming. "Just, you know! Excited for some heroing!"

That's definitely going to be something she's going to cringe at ten years from now.

Maeve giggled at her excitement, which she quickly followed along to not embarrass herself even more.

"Good," she said simply, then tilted her head. "You ready to start?"

Annie nodded, maybe a little too eagerly. "Yes! Absolutely! I've been looking forward to this all week."

"Alright, then." She smiled and, with fluid grace and gestured toward the door. "Come on, rookie. Let's see what kind of hero you actually are when the cameras aren't watching."

Annie didn't hesitate. She followed, nerves and excitement flaring all over again.

Maeve led Annie through a series of quiet, winding hallways deeper into the base. The deeper they went, the more the marble floors gave way to reinforced steel, the more polished hallways transitioned into something more… tactical.

Purposeful.

It felt less like a monument to celebrity and more like the headquarters of something real.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a thick security door that slid open with a soft hiss.

Annie stepped inside, blinking at the sudden low lighting and the glow of dozens of monitors lighting up a spacious control room.

People filled the room, dozens of operators, each sitting at individual stations, speaking into sleek headsets as their fingers moved quickly over keyboards. The sound was a soft but constant hum, clipped voices giving updates, typing, radio chatter, the occasional burst of static.

Annie's eyes widened.

"Whoa…" she breathed, stepping a little further in. "What is this place?"

Maeve didn't need to look at her to answer.

She was watching the room.

"Dispatch center," she said simply. "Each operator here is connected to our high-tier heroes across the country. They coordinate live crime reports, monitor emergencies, and direct heroes in real time."

Annie turned to her, still absorbing it. "Like… Like an air traffic control center?"

"Pretty much," Maeve said, glancing sideways with a half-smile. "Only, instead of planes, it's people who can punch through buildings."

One of the operators raised a hand and flagged someone down for backup in a different region, speaking calmly but urgently into her headset. "We've got an active hostage situation in Phoenix. Re-routing Apex. ETA three minutes, keep eyes on entry points."

Then two other operators quickly responded by ordering their heroes to arrive at that location for support.

"At exactly two miles northeast of where you are, a break-in is happening caused by two men dressed in all red."

A man spoke, pinpointing the exact location on his computer.

"Her name is Sarah Jones. She ran away from home and has been missing for almost a week now. I'll contact her parents that we found her."

Another operator dialed a number and waited for them to pick up.

"Nice job breaking that jackass's bones Ground Hawk! That's what he gets for trying to shoot up a bank while we're on our lunch break!" A woman of Indian descent laughed, wiping her lips with a napkin.

Starlight turned to her, eyes widening at hearing Ground Hawk being part of this as well!

She spotted a lanyard around her neck and saw what appeared to be her name.

Anika.

Her heart raced at the flurry of activity, adrenaline surging with every word. She couldn't believe she was standing there, witnessing the nerves and determination of a real-life hero operation unfolding before her eyes.

Maeve glanced at Annie's starry expression and couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Welcome to the chaos."

"Can we help?" Annie asked, her voice nearly cracking with eagerness.

"Not just yet," Maeve replied, crossing her arms. "You need to learn how this all works before you can join in on real missions. We don't want any accidental heroics that could jeopardize lives, or yours.

Annie nodded, watching everything unfold in amazement.

"This… this is incredible. I didn't even know this existed."

Maeve folded her arms loosely over her puffed-out chest, proud.

"Didn't use to and it's still just recently made. This whole setup? Wasn't part of Vought's plan. They wanted flashy appearances, social media, and brand deals. But actual coordinated emergency response? That wasn't a priority."

Annie blinked, confused. "So who—?"

"John," Maeve said, nodding toward the rows of bustling workstations. "This was his idea."

That surprised her.

"Homelander?"

Maeve nodded with a warm smile, as if remembering something.

"A few years ago, he started noticing how slow heroes were in responding to real-time crises. PR would decide who got sent where, based on optics, not need. He absolutely hated it. So, he set this up, independent of their chain. Found a people he trusted, heroes and operators, and built a system that actually works."

She looked down the rows, her gaze unreadable.

"…And funded all of it," Maeve added after a moment.

Annie took it all in, the quiet efficiency, the sheer organization of it.

No cameras and no interviews.

Just real people doing real work, saving and helping lives.

For the first time since joining The Seven, she felt like she was standing in the middle of something genuine.

"This is amazing," she whispered, awe in her voice.

Maeve's lips twitched, just slightly.

"Welcome to the part of the job that actually matters~ Now come on! I haven't even shown you everything yet!"

Annie excitedly followed her with a skip in her steps.

This was everything she ever dreamed of!!!

_____

Butcher stepped through the front door of his house, scowling as he shook the rain off his coat and hung it up with more force than necessary.

Another day wasted.

Every lead he'd chased down turned into jack shit! No word from the underground, no whispers about compound V, no signs of Vought making their next move. Just the same runaround from the same half-scared, half-useless bastards who talked big and knew nothing.

He grunted as he walked down the hall, already thinking about pouring himself a glass of something strong when he heard it.

Laughter.

Coming from the kitchen.

He stopped cold.

It wasn't the television.

It was her. Becca.

And she wasn't alone.

There was another voice, deep, amused, teasing.

Too comfortable. Too casual.

His heart jumped up into his throat before his anger could catch up.

He moved, slow and silent, down the hallway, his hand resting on his hidden gun, which he always kept on him at all times.

The closer he got, the clearer the voices became.

Then the man spoke, his voice familiar.

"You're seriously telling me you wouldn't have laughed if I showed up to a press event in full sparkly-princess gear? Glitter tiara and all?"

Becca laughed harder this time, holding her stomach in pain. "Oh, I would've laughed, but not before I took a hundred pictures."

"Don't you have enough blackmail on me already?"

"Oh please, I can never have enough~"

He stepped into the doorway, eyes narrowing, ready for a fig-

And stopped.

There he was.

Sitting at the kitchen table, sleeves rolled up, leaning comfortably on one elbow, his usual popular cape draped over the back of the chair like it meant nothing.

A mug in his hand, relaxed.

Becca sat across from him, smile still lingering, a plate of half-eaten pastries between them.

Butcher's heartbeat was still thunder in his ears, but his grip loosened on his gun.

It was just John.

Still, he didn't step inside, keeping watch just in case.

John looked over, as if sensing him before Butcher could even show himself, and raised his mug in greeting.

"Evening, Billy."

"…You wanna tell me why the world's greatest hero sittin' in my bloody kitchen like he lives here?" Butcher sighed to himself, wondering why he even bothered to stay hidden.

He stepped inside, going to the cabinet that held his strongest liquor.

Becca gave him a look, half exasperated, half fond. "John stopped by. Said he had something important he wanted to talk to you about."

Butcher's eyes flicked between them, John's expression was calm.

Calm but… tired.

Butcher poured himself a drink, not bothering with offering the other man one, knowing he didn't like alcohol, the werido.

"If this is about another PR stunt or you needing help finding Maggy a present again, save it! I'm not in the mood."

He was fed up with reading about all his wholesome and sugary exploits, he practically felt like he had a cavity in all his teeth!

And not a single bit of dirt even after going through every damn file!

Either Vought was desperately hiding something behind a thick wall, or John was too much of a Boy Scout to even so much as do bloody smoke! Which was most likely seeing the man was busy saving people twenty-four seven.

John leaned back in his chair, setting the mug down. "It's not anything like that, sadly. I need your help with… Hero work if you will."

…Well, that can't be good.

He turned to Becca with an apologetic smile, getting an amused huff from her.

"Alright, I'll leave you two boys to talk. But don't think we're done, mister! I wanna hear all the details about that kiss between you and Maggy!"

"W-Wha?! Whe-?! Who eve-?! Did she tell you?!"

She giggled at him, sputtering, words unable to form.

Butcher, who was holding back a laugh, got a quick kiss on the cheek before she left the kitchen.

Butcher watched Becca go, the weight of her teasing lingering in the air. Then he turned his attention back to John, who looked a bit sheepish beneath that wholesome exterior. The jovial aura faded, replaced by the sheer gravity of his presence.

"What's this hero work you need me for?" he asked, pouring more whiskey into his glass, grateful for the sharpness of the alcohol cutting through his annoyance.

John hesitated, looking out the window where rain slicked the streets like a protective layer over the grime.

He reached into a pouch on his suit and pulled out a small red vial.

Butcher's eyes narrowed.

"This," John said, placing them on the table with a deliberate clink, "is why I'm here."

Butcher stared at the vial, watching the crimson liquid swirl like it had a mind of its own. The way it shimmered under the kitchen light set something off in his gut, some primal instinct that knew trouble when it saw it.

He didn't touch it.

Just kept sipping his drink, eyeing John over the rim of the glass like he was waiting for the punchline.

"…And what the hell am I lookin' at?" Butcher finally muttered, voice low and flat.

John leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. The exhaustion was back in his eyes, the kind from lack of sleep and from carrying too much for too long.

"I found this on a Supe," John said. "They had no file and no registration."

Butcher's brow furrowed; he was clearly not telling him everything.

"Thought you said you wanted my help with hero work, seems to me it's more like someone didn't bother with coming to Vought to sign up."

"You and I both know Vought doesn't give a damn if they register or not, they can and will have them on file," John said, his tone sharpening.

He reached into the same pouch and placed a second vial beside the red one.

This one was purple.

Darker. Heavier.

And something about it made Butcher's skin crawl.

"Noir almost died because of this one," John said, quieter now. "Someone pumped it into him. It started breaking him down from the inside out. His blood was… reacting to it. Fighting it. Or maybe getting eaten by it. Either way, he should be dead."

Butcher's jaw twitched.

"Black Noir? That silent bastard?" he asked slowly, eyes flicking between John and the vials.

"Please don't call him that, but…" John nodded once. "Yeah. That one."

Billy raised a brow, not expecting him to defend Noir.

"And he's not dead?"

"No, he lived," John said. "Barely, but I don't think it was just because of luck."

Butcher's hand finally moved toward the vials, but he didn't touch them, just leaned closer, observing the way the red and purple liquids pulsed like they were alive.

"And lemme guess," Butcher said, voice tight. "You want me to figure out what they are."

"Only the red one, you know people who don't work for Vought. Scientists. Biochemists. People who might actually tell us what the hell we're looking at instead of burying it under a mountain of NDAs and lies."

What was he going to do with the purple one?

Butcher let out a long, heavy breath, leaning back in his chair. He downed the rest of his whiskey in one go and slammed the glass onto the counter.

"I can maybe find someone," he muttered, already mentally flipping through the Rolodex of morally questionable experts he'd leaned on over the years. "But if I do this, I want the full story. Everything. No lies, no 'trust me' bullshit."

John nodded without hesitation. "You'll get it."

Butcher narrowed his eyes. "And I want to know why you came to me of all people. Why not the government? The CIA? Why bring it to me?"

John looked him dead in the eye.

"Because, despite everything, there is a good person inside that hard shell of yours, Billy."

He wanted to scoff in disbelief at what the hero sai-

"And I trust you."

Butcher stilled.

The words landed like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of the room.

John didn't elaborate.

Didn't need to.

The silence that followed was thick. Uncomfortable.

But real.

Butcher looked away, running a hand through his damp hair. "Bloody hell…"

He let the silence sit for a second longer, then gestured lazily at the vial, which got a smile out of John.

The prick.

Butcher sighed again, grabbing the red vial with two fingers like it might bite him.

"Right then. Let's see what kinda fresh hell we're dealing with."

______

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Kimiko hated how helpless she felt as she hovered beside the still figure of Noir, her heart pounding within her ribcage like a trapped bird.

The room was stark and sterile, the fluorescent lights casting an unyielding glare over his motionless body.

Monitors flickered around them, displaying a kaleidoscope of data, his heart rates, oxygen levels, and neural activity, but none of it made sense to her in this moment.

All she could focus on was Noir.

The shadows of doubt crept into her mind as she watched him lying there, his usually emotionless mask now off, revealing the soft lines of fatigue etched across his pale face.

She hated him for doing everything on his own, hated how he got hurt for her, hated how he put his life at risk for her, despite knowing damn well she could fight for herself!

…But all that couldn't compare to how much she hates herself for being unable to do a single fucking thing to help him!

Crack!!!

The metal bar in her hands snapped in half, her emotions overtook her.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself down, she turned her attention away from her raging thoughts and back to Noir.

She brushed a strand of hair away from his eyes and leaned closer, a mix of frustration and sorrow bubbling just beneath her surface.

She knew he only took his mask off around her and only when they were somewhere absolutely private.

Which was why she broke all the cameras in the room, hidden or otherwise, and barricaded the windows and doors with everything that wasn't important.

Which was just about everything in the room.

Kimiko remembered their shared moments, the quiet laughter that broke through Noir's stoic demeanor during their little outings, the way he offered unspoken comfort without needing words when she had nightmares, the way he looked at her with so many emotions behind his eyes...

And the way he understood her like no one else.

She felt a pang deep within her chest at the thought that more of those moments would forever be taken away from her.

Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she blinked them away angrily.

Kimiko wiped at her eyes roughly, refusing to let the tears fall. She wouldn't cry, not while he still hadn-

A flicker of movement.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Noir's fingers twitched, barely noticeable to the normal human eye, but to her it was unmistakable.

She stood frozen, eyes locked on his hand, her heart slamming against her ribs.

Then, slowly, achingly slow, his eyelids fluttered.

Kimiko didn't dare move, didn't even blink.

She stood completely still, her hands clenched at her sides, too scared to hope and too desperate not to.

Noir's lashes lifted, just barely, revealing a dazed, unfocused gaze. His breathing hitched slightly, and his brows furrowed in faint confusion as the harsh overhead lights hit his eyes.

He blinked again, slower this time, the world gradually coming back into focus.

And the first thing he saw…

Was her.

Her bright, tear-filled eyes, but it wasn't her tears that caught his focus.

It was the beautiful, radiant smile breaking across her face like sunlight piercing through the dark storm that caught his eye.

Her whole body trembled with emotion, her hands hovering in the air like she was too afraid to touch him, as if he might vanish the second she did.

But she couldn't hold back any longer.

Launching forward with the force of everything she'd been holding in, Kimiko wrapped her arms around him in a tight, almost crushing hug, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Her breath hitched, and a few tears escaped despite her best efforts.

She didn't care anymore.

He was awake.

He was alive.

And in that moment.

That was all that mattered to her.

Noir, despite still being groggy and disoriented, didn't hesitate.

His arms moved slowly but surely, encircling her waist as he held her back, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting his lips as he closed his eyes again, this time in relief.

She was safe.

That was all that mattered to him.