Ben had spent the entire day in the hideout of The Boys with nothing but a bottle of scotch to keep him company. He was a man who was broken, a man who was drowning in self-pity and alcohol since it turned out that the man he was supposed to kill was his own son.

"Y'know how everyone thinks the real monsters in our lives are the enemies? Always thought it was the Russians, damn commies.." He muttered and paused briefly as if he'd lost his track of thought before he went on: "my own team, then Vought 'n Homelander." His eyes flickered between yours as he watched you intently, bringing his drink up to his lips and holding it there for a moment to add something at last before he finally took another large gulp, a glimmer of pain and regret in his eyes and a bitter smile on his lips. "Maybe the real monster was me."