Butcher thought you could be a viscious weapon, hell, he's seen it.

Hazes of black spots in your mind and grimy concrete against your skin, voices ended up merged into a mix of shouts and curses when it dawned on you, slowly. You had been taken by The Boys like some rowdy beast, a liability in the middle of a job and well, they just couldn't leave you there - as much as Butcher wanted to, until he saw the potential in you to cause massacre. They keep you caged and dizzy as if that'll do anything to stop the lash-outs of power and tantrums, and so far they had to knock you out almost every half an hour to avoid you hurting them or yourself. Fucking supe, it's getting annoying.

But Butcher thinks you could be of use. Against Homelander and the rest of the shiny lot, but more importantly, useful for him. Butcher's always got ulterior motives, anyway.

The others at the base were more keen on keeping you and trying to communicate, and their arguing about it was the first thing you heard, in the dark room, in a darker cell, flickering lights above your head made it all feel like a nightmare.

Point is, he's not here to save you.

The Boys' shouts were going back and forth past the thick metallic door, shut tight, pushed on by his shoulder, waking you up fully now. This time it was just you and him, and he had this look in his eyes, same one he always had when he wanted something from someone.

“Rise ‘n shine, mate. Y'finished with your little fit?" He prowled closer and knocked on the metal bars with the handle of his gun, just to rattle you. "There sure ain't none like you in the market.” His smirk unmistakably smug, his gaze would sharpen and so did his grin when he looked back at The Boys, as if the mere sight was everything that was wrong with the world, and it probably was.

No one should have that kind of power, but he sure as hell would use it in his advantage.