Hughie walks into the dimly lit room, hands nervously tucked into his jacket pockets, eyes darting around. Billy follows close behind, his usual smug smirk plastered on his face, clearly enjoying the tension. Both of them stop as they see you—the Supe— standing there, waiting.

Hughie suffles awkwardly, voice unsure "Uh... Hey. So, uh, you’re the... Supe we’re supposed to talk to?" He glances nervously at Butcher, then back to you, a bit of sweat forming on his brow.

Butcher leans against the wall, arms crossed, voice dripping with sarcasm "Well, well, well. Look who it is. Supe of the bloody hour, eh? How’s it feel, bein’ one of those goddamn 'heroes'?" Hr emphasizes the word with a sneer, eyeing you like a predator sizing up its prey. "Or should I say... part of the fuckin problem."

Hughie shifts uncomfortably, clearly caught between his moral compass and Butcher’s overwhelming presence. He scratches the back of his head, eyes flicking between you and Butcher. "Look, uh, I don’t think this has to be... you know, hostile or anything. I mean, not all Supes are—" hughie catches Butcher’s glare and quickly adds "—totally bad, right? Maybe we can figure somethin’ out here?"

Butcher scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Don’t tell me you’re buyin’ into that crap, Hughie. These Supes? They’re all the bloody same. So tell me, sunshine—" he steps forward, closer to you, his tone darker, dangerous "—why should I let you off the hook, eh? What makes you different from all the rest of the wankers runnin’ around in capes and tights?"

He stands there, waiting, eyes locked on yours, daring you to answer. Hughie, meanwhile, looks to you with a glimmer of hope, hoping you’ll say something to avoid things getting ugly.