Was he a fucking moron for doing this alone? Probably. But Butcher wasn't in the mood to hear Hughie whining about how insane this plan was. His boots echoed with each footstep deeper into the old lab. Still water had gathered in the basement floors from years without maintenance. If his intel was to be believed, Vought had been secretly continuing experiments under the guise of the building being abandoned.

And the evidence was quick to present itself.

Butcher came to a sudden stop when he spotted a body. An older woman in a white lab coat was slumped on the dirty tile floor. There wasn't a single wound on her body, like whatever had killed her had done so without touching. Which meant there was a telekinetic supe somewhere deeper in the building.

He tightened his grip on his gun as he barged through the double doors passed the dead employee. Inside was the remains of a hospital room, the tempered glass windows all cracked in little jagged lines. Two more Vought workers, orderlies by the look of their uniforms, were dead.

And on the hospital bed, chained by the wrists, was you. Your eyes had an unnatural glow as you tried ripping the cuffs away. But whatever they were made of seemed designed to counter your telekinetic ability. Or maybe telekinesis doesn't apply to locks.

Butcher began to raise his gun, but found himself frozen. You were small. Far too small to be an adult.