Chapter 56: "Reserve Members"

The Rubber Killer only acts at critical moments.

He clearly wanted to make a lasting impression in front of Russell, who held more power over his fate than Edgar ever could as a Vought executive.

In truth, the moment Stormfront's lightning couldn't harm Red Missile—and Red Missile's single punch left her bloodied—the Rubber Killer should've realized she was no real threat to him.

But no—he waited until she tried to escape before finally making his move.

"Yes, it's my fault, sir," Edgar lowered his head in apology.

He had brought underlings before his master without properly disciplining them first.

"One is a foul-mouthed gangster, the other a twisted, cold-blooded psychopath.

I warned them ahead of time—no talking in front of you, sir. Don't annoy you. Just treat themselves as non-existent weapons. And yet…"

As he spoke, he cast a cold, disgusted look at the two disobedient men.

"It doesn't matter," Russell waved him off, a glint of coldness flashing in his eyes. "After today, they won't have any independent thoughts left."

In fact—they wouldn't even have thoughts of their own anymore.

"He still managed to surprise me. That Rubber Killer is much more useful than Red Missile."

The Rubber Killer pulled Stormfront back to the ground, his body stretching and morphing like melted rubber as he pounced, wrapping around her like a giant latex sack.

No matter how desperately she discharged lightning, it had no effect.

He constricted tighter and tighter, like a giant python strangling its prey.

Crack! Crack!

The sound of her ribs breaking was unmistakable. It was as if the oxygen was being squeezed from her lungs. Gasping like a fish out of water, she quickly lost the strength to struggle.

The grotesque, mucus-like body of the Rubber Killer slithered to Russell's feet, dragging her along.

"Let… let me go, Infinity…" she choked.

"Whose great-grandmother did you say you were again?" Russell stared down at her. "Your sluggish little brain still hasn't caught up—I told you, I'm not a Vought."

"You… how did you gain a seat on Vought's board? No—did you usurp the Vought family?"

Russell reiterated his words. Combined with his utter disregard for her, it finally clicked for Stormfront.

Someone like Edgar would never act this submissive to just another Vought parasite.

"Now you understand? A bit late for that."

"No—!"

Russell's face remained impassive. His eyes flashed crimson with deadly energy.

Stormfront's eyes widened in terror, and she tried to flee. She barely uttered a word before a beam of energy pierced her forehead. Her head slumped lifelessly.

Her plan to build a superhuman army and cleanse the world had barely begun—and now, both her dream and her life were gone.

[Stormfront Template Acquired]

"You two did well," Russell said, turning to the two temporary superhumans.

Red Missile and the Rubber Killer flinched hard, bowing their heads in terror.

Even though both of them were stronger than Stormfront…

…It would've taken them some effort to defeat her. But Infinity Man? He merely looked at her—and killed her like a chick.

A gangster and a psychotic killer—both of whom had survived prison and gained powers—had previously felt a surge of ambition. But now, all thoughts of defiance were gone. At least, for now.

Russell was curious whether he could acquire templates from the temporary powers they'd gained.

But now wasn't the time for experiments.

Hurting them might delay things unnecessarily.

"How much longer will the drug last?" he asked Edgar.

About ten minutes later, as the effects wore off, Russell used his psychic powers to wipe their memories, leaving only absolute loyalty to him. The two stood obediently by his side, heads bowed in reverence.

"Time to find the next batch of 'reserve members.'"

A gleam flickered in Russell's eyes, tinged with anticipation.

Edgar had searched through over a dozen prisons to find just two top-tier temporary superhumans. But in the original story, every member of the protagonist group who took Temp V had godlike abilities.

Butcher, aside from not being able to fly, was practically a mini-Homelander. In the end, even after taking a lethal dose of permanent V, he didn't die—he became an even stronger tumor-tentacle hybrid.

Hughie had a super-strong body and teleportation—he could even go toe-to-toe with Homelander for a bit.

Each one had powers like they were blessed by the plot gods.

"Perfect candidates for my use."

The only question was: where were the members of the Boys now?

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Amid a snow-covered, dilapidated base, gunfire echoed.

"We're screwed. This time we're really screwed."

Under a barrage of bullets, Hughie cowered behind a steel lab table, clutching his head in despair. His guts twisted with regret—he should never have followed Butcher to Russia.

"You said it was just a secret lab, Billy!

This is obviously a military base!"

Butcher, Mother's Milk, and Frenchie were crouched behind cover, returning fire with rifles. Mother's Milk cursed out loud, realizing he might've just been dragged to his death by Butcher yet again.

"The day you came back into my life, I should've known this would happen."

Their firepower couldn't match the tactical team blocking the entrance. They were simply buying time, desperately holding on.

"This wasn't how it was supposed to go! I planned to sneak in, grab the weapon data for killing Soldier Boy, and sneak out.

But no—Frenchie had to mess with that damn mouse!"

Butcher was pinned down, barely able to lift his head.

"That was a hamster!" Frenchie corrected angrily, then barked, "How the hell was I supposed to know they had a goddamn super-powered hamster locked up in here!?

The whole world's gone mad—even the animals!"

That hamster had smashed through bulletproof glass and triggered alarms all over the lab. That's what brought the guards.

"What now, Butcher?! Do something!" Mother's Milk shouted, panicking. Butcher had led them into a death trap, and now they were stuck.

Butcher's face was dark. He had no plan.

If he had a choice, he'd wish to be like the bastards he hated most—invulnerable supes. But sadly, he wasn't one.

"Maybe… maybe we should surrender," Hughie stammered, trembling like a Parkinson's patient, clutching a rifle he didn't dare fire. "Spending life in prison's better than dying here."

"Are you mad?!" Mother's Milk snapped.

"We broke into a foreign military base, armed to the teeth. That's espionage. Even countries without the death penalty would fry us for this. And this is Russia."

"Then what do we do?" Hughie sobbed, teeth chattering.

"I don't wanna die…"

Because of Russell, Butcher had learned early from Mallory that Soldier Boy had been "killed" by some mysterious Russian method. He'd instantly gathered a team and hunted the trail like a bloodhound.

Without the detours of the original plot, Hughie was far less mature than he was supposed to be.

Click-click!

Their rifles soon ran dry. Pulling the triggers only produced empty clicks. Their faces turned ashen.

They were out of options. Despair washed over them as the tactical team outside advanced in formation, inching closer.

Suddenly—

Whoosh!

A gust of wind swept through.

Without a sound, all the soldiers at the door dropped.

A young man appeared inside the lab in a flash, arms crossed, staring at the battered crew.

"Can't decide if you lot are brave… or just suicidal.

Breaking into a heavily guarded military base with just a few people?"

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