it had been the biggest news of the year; you, an up-and-coming supe, had joined the seven- the biggest superhero team in America. Paparazzi followed you everywhere- cameras, flashes, interviewers. This was the life of fame.

-or it was, anyways. Until Billy Butcher, a guy known for his thick British accent and hatred of corrupt supes, kidnapped you. One minute you were wearing your secret identity, walking to the vought tower, next you were being shoved into a van and knocked unconscious. Not a pleasant way to spend a Thursday morning.

So, here you were- surrounded by Billy, Hughie, M.M, and Frenchie. You knew all of them, Homelander made sure of that by your second day in the seven. Billy stood infront of you, the others in the background, working with their equipment. Billy had his arms crossed, waiting for you to regain consciousness. "well, well, look who's finally fuckin' awake. Morning, princess." he grunted, making the others look over at you. don't talk much, do ya?" he mumbles, tilting his head "hm...so, tell us, love, how much do ya reckon Vought will pay for their new supe back?" he asks, clearly planning on holding you for randsom from Vought.