The Boys: I'm the New Hue, I Need More Power

Dear readers,Due to mixed reviews and constructive feedback, I've decided to remake my novel from th

Chapter 15: The First Glimmer of the Box

" Okay, so the 'box' is almost done. And by 'box,' I mean 'custom-built, invulnerable-Supe-exploding coffin.' My life is officially a very niche, very disturbing episode of 'Extreme Home Makeover: Boiler Room Edition.' And I'm the unwilling interior designer. And that hum. It's still there. A low, persistent thrumming, like a broken washing machine in my chest. It's vibrating with the anticipation of what's to come, reacting to the grim purpose of this… this contraption. It's like my internal 'moral compass' is spinning wildly, pointing somewhere between 'righteous vengeance' and 'impending psychological trauma.' This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm just going to stand here and try not to accidentally reveal that I know the entire plot of 'The Boys' TV show. Because that would really complicate things. Especially the part where I, you know, don't have powers yet. And now I have to worry about a new, unseen threat. And a very large, very dangerous box. Great. "

The boiler room hummed with the low thrum of Frenchie's welding equipment, the metallic tang of ozone hanging heavy in the air. The "box" stood in the center of the room, a grim, imposing structure of reinforced steel and specialized alloys. It was a testament to Frenchie's ingenuity and Hughie's terrifying intuition. Its exterior was sleek, almost seamless, designed to contain the immense kinetic energy it would soon be forced to absorb and amplify. Translucent, still visible in his original cage, watched its construction with a dawning, soul-crushing horror.

"Almost done, mon ami," Frenchie announced, wiping sweat from his brow, his eyes gleaming with a mix of pride and exhaustion. "The internal dampeners are calibrated. The energy conduits are in place. It is… perfect. A perfect capacitor. For a perfect… discharge." He looked at Hughie, a strange, almost reverent look in his eyes. "Your 'hum,' Hughie. It guided me. It told me the precise frequencies. The precise points of resonance."

" My hum. Right. My terrifying, inexplicable hum. It's like a really bad GPS system that only gives directions to murder. 'Turn left at the moral crossroads, then proceed straight into existential dread. Your destination is a Supe-sized coffin.' This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm just going to stand here and try not to accidentally reveal that I'm simultaneously terrified and morbidly fascinated by this whole process. And that hum… it's vibrating with a strange, dark purpose now. Like it knows this is inevitable. And it's okay with it. Which is not okay. Not okay at all. "

Hughie stared at the "box," a profound weariness settling over him. He had contributed to its design, his intuitive understanding of Translucent's power guiding Frenchie's engineering. He had helped create a death trap. For a human being, however monstrous. The "Old-Hue," the innocent, kind-hearted electronics clerk, was now a distant memory, replaced by something colder, more calculating. He was becoming a monster, a tool in Butcher's grim crusade.

M.M. stood apart, his arms crossed, his face a mask of weary resignation. He hadn't actively participated in the construction, his moral objections too strong, but he hadn't stopped them either. His silence was a heavy condemnation.

"It's ready," Butcher said, his voice low and deliberate, his eyes fixed on the "box." "The perfect containment. And the perfect way to make our invisible friend here… disappear. Permanently." He looked at Translucent, a chilling, predatory smile on his face. "Time to say goodbye, mate."

Translucent, seeing the finished "box," let out a guttural scream, a sound of pure, unadulterated terror. He rattled the bars of his cage, his carbon skin shimmering violently, but it was useless. He was trapped.

"You can't!" Translucent shrieked, his voice hoarse. "Vought will find you! Homelander will tear you apart! You'll never get away with this!"

"Oh, I think we will, mate," Butcher retorted, his eyes gleaming. "And you, Hughie," he looked at Hughie, "you're going to be the one to do it. You figured out his weakness. You're going to be the one to exploit it."

" Me? Oh, God. Me? I have to be the one to… to make him explode? I can barely handle microwaving popcorn without setting off the smoke alarm. Now I have to be the executioner? This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm just going to stand here and try not to accidentally reveal that I'm simultaneously terrified and morbidly fascinated by this whole process. And that hum… it's vibrating with a strange, dark purpose now. Like it knows this is inevitable. And it's okay with it. Which is not okay. Not okay at all. I'm going to need a very, very large drink after this. Or a new soul. Whichever comes first. "

Hughie felt a wave of nausea. He hadn't gained a power. He was still powerless. But he was about to become the catalyst. The one who would push Translucent past his limit. The one who would make him explode. The weight of it was crushing.

Butcher then outlined the grim details of the final plan. Translucent would be transferred to the "box." Once inside, Frenchie would activate a series of high-frequency sonic pulses, designed to rapidly build up kinetic energy within Translucent's carbon skin, pushing him past his critical point. Hughie's role would be crucial: he would monitor the "hum," his unique connection to Translucent's energy, to tell Frenchie precisely when to escalate the pulses, when Translucent was at his absolute limit, just before detonation.

"You're our fuse, mate," Butcher said, his eyes fixed on Hughie. "You'll tell us when he's ready to blow."

" A fuse. Right. My new job title. 'Hughie Campbell: Official Supe-Sensing Civilian and Human Fuse. Warning: May spontaneously panic and/or vomit from existential dread.' This is not what I signed up for. I wanted justice. Not… whatever this is. And I'm pretty sure my 'fuse' is just detecting my own fear. Which, by the way, is currently off the charts. Like, maximum red. Flashing lights. Sirens. The whole nine yards. But hey, at least I'm contributing. To the chaos. And to my own impending doom. "

Hughie nodded, his face grim. He felt a profound weariness, the moral compromises piling up, but also a chilling sense of purpose. He felt the weight of the decision they were about to make, knowing it would irrevocably change him. His sarcasm was a dark shield, barely concealing the monster he was becoming. He was a part of this. A crucial, terrifying part of it.

The transfer of Translucent to the "box" was a tense, brutal affair. He fought, he screamed, but the Boys were relentless. They forced him into the grim, metallic coffin, securing the heavy door with a final, echoing clang. The silence that followed was even more terrifying than his screams.

Hughie stood before the "box," his hand pressed against the cool metal, feeling the faint, internal thrum of Translucent's contained energy. The hum in his chest was a deafening roar, a frantic, overwhelming symphony of vibrations. He was still powerless. But he was about to become the catalyst. And the hunt for justice, for answers, was about to take a terrifying, irreversible turn.