Chapter 3: [The Translucent Trap and My First Accidental Murder]
[System Message: Immediate danger averted. Temporary reprieve. The hunt for Translucent will intensify. Prepare for morally questionable decisions.]
"Oh, goody. More morally questionable decisions. It's like you're actively trying to turn me into a Bond villain, System. But with more panic attacks and less cool gadgets."
Running through the deserted Vought Tower, my heart pounding like a drum solo in my chest, I didn't stop until I crashed through the main doors and into Butcher's waiting van. He didn't say anything, just slammed the door shut and sped off, the city lights blurring into streaks of neon.
"Well, that went swimmingly," I gasped, trying to catch my breath. "Almost got choked out by a naked guy. So, productive evening all around."
Butcher just grunted. "You didn't get the bug planted, did you?"
I flinched. "Well, I was a little preoccupied with, you know, not dying. He showed up out of nowhere! He knew I was there!"
"He knew because I told him to listen for you, you bloody idiot!" Butcher growled, his eyes still on the road. "It was a test, wasn't it?"
My jaw dropped. "A test? You mean you sent me in there, knowing he'd catch me, just to see if I'd… what? Spontaneously combust from fear? Because I almost did, by the way!"
"Wanted to see if you had the mettle, didn't I?" he said, a grim satisfaction in his voice. "And you bolted. But you didn't squeal. That's a start."
"A start?" I sputtered. "Butcher, I'm pretty sure I peed a little. That's not mettle, that's basic human bladder control failure under duress!"
[System Message: Observe: Billy Butcher's methods are… unconventional. But effective for his purposes. Your continued survival hinges on adapting to his unique brand of mentorship.]
"Oh, I'm adapting, System. I'm adapting right into a padded cell, probably. Or a straightjacket made of my own crippling self-doubt."
The next few days were a blur of strategy sessions, each one more ludicrous than the last. Butcher had Translucent's location now, thanks to some intel he'd "acquired" (I didn't ask, I really didn't want to know). The plan was simple, audacious, and utterly insane: capture him.
"We're going to put him in a box," Butcher explained, sketching a crude diagram on a napkin. "A very strong box. Where he can't get out. And then we'll find out all his dirty little Vought secrets."
"And how exactly are we going to do that?" I asked, eyeing the napkin with extreme skepticism. "He's invisible. And he has indestructible skin. Unless you're planning on tickling him to death with a feather duster, I'm not seeing a viable strategy here."
Butcher just grinned, a flash of genuine, manic glee in his eyes. "That's where the fun begins, mate."
The "fun" involved Frenchie, a master of chemical engineering and questionable moral boundaries, and MM, the voice of reason (and perpetual exasperation) in this circus. Frenchie's expertise lay in exotic chemicals, and MM's in meticulous planning. My role, apparently, was to be bait. Again.
"So, just to be clear," I said, eyeing the concoction Frenchie was brewing in a portable lab that looked suspiciously like it was made from repurposed kitchen appliances, "this is going to make Translucent visible?"
Frenchie, with his soulful eyes and perpetually worried expression, nodded. "Oui. But it is… how you say… potent. It will not be pleasant for him."
"Great. So we're going from 'lightly traumatized civilian' to 'accessory to chemical torture.' My resume is really shaping up here," I muttered under my breath.
The trap was set in a discreet, abandoned warehouse that Butcher had apparently claimed as his own personal Batcave. We rigged it with a series of motion sensors and cameras, creating a digital net to catch our invisible fish.
And then, Translucent showed up. Just like in the show. He was annoyed. He was smug. He was about to get a very unpleasant surprise.
"You really think you can catch me, Butcher?" Translucent's voice echoed through the warehouse, disembodied and mocking. "I'm Translucent. I'm everywhere and nowhere."
"Oh, you'll be somewhere soon enough, mate," Butcher retorted, his voice laced with venom. "Right in our little box."
The chase was a blur of near misses, invisible punches, and my own frantic efforts to stay out of the way. Translucent was fast, even when visible, and his carbon skin made him practically invulnerable. But we had a plan. A messy, chaotic, but surprisingly effective plan.
Frenchie managed to spray him with the concoction. Translucent roared, his skin shimmering, then slowly, agonizingly, becoming opaque. He was visible. And he was furious.
"You bastards!" he roared, lunging at Butcher.
Butcher was ready. He dodged, and MM, with surprising speed, tackled Translucent, driving him towards the reinforced chamber we'd built. It was a chaotic dance, a brutal ballet of punches and grunts.
My role was minimal, mostly just trying not to get hit. But then, as they struggled, Translucent gained the upper hand, slamming MM against a wall. That's when it happened.
He looked at me. His eyes, burning with rage, locked onto mine. And a primal fear, pure and unadulterated, shot through me. This was the moment in the show. The moment he came after Hughie.
He lunged. I reacted on pure instinct, a desperate, clumsy lunge for anything that could save me. My hand closed around a stray power cable, thick and heavy. Without thinking, I swung it, a wild, uncoordinated blow.
It connected. Not with his head, not with his body. But with his… ahem… 'private parts.'
Translucent froze. A strangled gasp escaped his lips. Then, a low, guttural roar of agony. He buckled, clutching himself, his carbon skin flickering.
"Oh, for… I didn't mean to do that!" I stammered, my face flushing. "Honest! It was an accident! I was just… flailing!"
Butcher and Frenchie, seeing their opening, didn't hesitate. They tackled him, shoving him into the chamber. The heavy steel door slammed shut, locking with a resounding clang.
Translucent, still writhing in pain, looked up at us from inside the reinforced box, his face contorted in a mixture of agony and disbelief. "You… you hit me… there!" he choked out, his voice hoarse.
"Hey, it's called 'target of opportunity,' pal!" I yelled, adrenaline still pumping through me. "You were asking for it, honestly! Running around naked and invisible? Someone was bound to take a swing!"
[System Message: Accidental Kill Opportunity Detected. Target: Translucent. Initiating "Supe Power Absorption" protocol. Choose wisely.]
My eyes widened. "What?! No! I didn't kill him! He's just… temporarily indisposed!"
The System, however, didn't seem to care about my moral quibbles. A mental menu popped up, clear as day:
TRANSLUCENT'S POWERS:
Carbon Skin (Lvl 1)
Invisibility (Lvl 1)
"Wait, wait, wait! He's not dead! He's breathing! I think!" I protested, staring at the options. This was wrong. This was too fast. My first "kill" was supposed to be accidental, yes, but not… not like this! And definitely not from a groin shot!
Butcher, oblivious to my internal crisis, clapped me on the shoulder, a rare expression of something akin to pride on his face. "Nice one, Hughie! Unexpected, but effective! Who knew a bit of cable could be so… inspiring?"
"Yeah, 'inspiring'," I mumbled, still staring at the System menu. It was persistent. Demanding. I could feel a strange pull, a nascent hunger, even as my moral compass spun wildly out of control.
"Alright, System," I thought, a grim resolve settling over me. "If you're going to force my hand, let's at least make it count. Give me… Carbon Skin (Lvl 1)."
The menu flickered, then vanished. A strange sensation, like a cool current, flowed through my veins. It wasn't painful, but it was… alien. My skin tingled, and I felt… denser. Stronger. It was subtle, but it was there. My first power. Acquired not through noble sacrifice or heroic deed, but through an accidental, deeply embarrassing groin shot. Peak Hughie.
[System Message: Power acquired: Carbon Skin (Lvl 1). Blood Meter: 0/100. New objective: Secure Compound V. The hunt begins.]
"The hunt begins? System, you're a dramatic little thing, aren't you? It's less a 'hunt' and more a 'desperate scramble to avoid death while simultaneously trying to become a low-level superhero's nightmare.'"
Butcher was already barking orders at Frenchie and MM, discussing interrogation techniques. I just stood there, still processing what had just happened. I had a superpower. My first. And it felt… strangely natural. Terrifying, yes, but also… empowering.
And that, I realized with a chilling certainty, was the real danger. The hunger for more.