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

Chapter 4: The Belly of the Beast

" Okay, Hughie, deep breaths. You're a cable guy. You fix things. You're not about to get caught by a laser grid or a super-strong security guard who can smell fear. Which, by the way, I'm pretty sure I'm radiating like a faulty microwave. Just act normal. Don't sweat. Don't hyperventilate. Don't accidentally blurt out that you know Homelander's secret weakness is probably a really bad Yelp review. Just… fix the cable. Or pretend to. And for the love of all that is holy, don't trip. And that hum. It's buzzing like a trapped bee in my chest. It's louder here, in Vought Tower. Like it's reacting to all the… Supe-ness. Or maybe it's just my anxiety doing a really good impression of a low-frequency hum. Either way, it's not helping. "

The morning of the Vought Tower infiltration dawned with a sickly sweet, manufactured cheerfulness. The kind of day where birds chirped on cue and the sun shone with an almost aggressive optimism that felt entirely out of place with Hughie's internal state. He met Butcher in a nondescript alley a few blocks from the gleaming, intimidating skyscraper. Butcher handed him a small, almost invisible device – the bug. It was tiny, no bigger than a thumbnail, and felt impossibly fragile in his trembling fingers.

"You got this, mate," Butcher said, his voice low and firm. "Just remember the plan. In and out. No heroics. No getting caught. And if you see a Supe… just smile and nod. And try not to wet yourself."

" No heroics. Right. Because my life is just screaming 'heroics' right now. And 'not wetting myself' is a surprisingly high bar to clear. This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm just about to break into the most secure building on the planet, armed with a tiny bug and a crippling sense of anxiety. What could possibly go wrong? Besides, you know, everything. "

Hughie adjusted the Vought uniform, the slightly too-tight polyester feeling like a second skin of dread. The fake ID badge felt heavy around his neck, a flimsy shield against the terrifying reality of his situation. He walked towards Vought Tower, his steps deliberate, trying to project an air of mundane professionalism. The sheer scale of the building was overwhelming, a monument to corporate power and manufactured celebrity. Its polished glass facade reflected the morning sun, blinding him, making him feel even smaller, more insignificant.

He navigated the gleaming, intimidating lobby, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cleaning products and the faint, unsettling aroma of ozone – the lingering scent of Supe power. Statues of the Seven, their faces gleaming with false heroism, lined the halls. Homelander, with his terrifyingly perfect smile, seemed to stare directly into Hughie's soul, judging his terrible acting skills. It was a temple to corporate greed and manufactured celebrity, and he was an unwelcome intruder.

" This place is like a theme park for narcissists. Every corner, another statue of a Supe flexing. Do they have a gift shop? Probably. Selling tiny Homelander capes and A-Train energy drinks. And the security. It's everywhere. Cameras, guards, probably invisible laser grids I can't even see. I bet they have a special alarm that goes off if someone's internal monologue gets too sarcastic. In which case, I'm already screwed. And that hum. It's vibrating with a frantic energy now. Like it's trying to warn me. Or maybe it's just excited to be near so much… power. Either way, it's not helping my nerves. "

He approached the security desk, trying to keep his hands from trembling as he presented his fake ID. The security guard, a burly man with eyes that seemed to see right through him, scrutinized the badge, then Hughie's face. Hughie forced a smile, trying to look like a man who genuinely enjoyed fixing cables.

"Cable repair, huh?" the guard grunted, his voice flat. "What's the problem?"

"Uh, yeah," Hughie stammered, trying to remember the cover story Butcher had drilled into him. "Just a routine maintenance check. Some… some flickering in the executive suites. Probably just a loose connection. You know how it is." He tried to sound knowledgeable, like he actually knew what he was talking about. He didn't.

The guard stared at him for a long, agonizing moment. Hughie felt the hum in his chest intensify, a low, nervous thrumming that seemed to vibrate in sympathy with the guard's suspicious gaze. It was like his body was trying to give him away.

Finally, the guard nodded, pushing the ID back across the counter. "Alright. Level 37. Don't touch anything you're not supposed to."

" Don't touch anything I'm not supposed to. Right. Like the tiny bug I'm supposed to plant in a highly restricted area. That's definitely not 'touching something I'm not supposed to.' This is fine. He bought it. Or he just doesn't care. Either way, I'm in. Now for the hard part. Not getting caught by a superhero. Or, you know, a very enthusiastic janitor. "

He navigated the labyrinthine corridors, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The sheer opulence of the place was sickening. Every surface gleamed, every corner was pristine. It was a world away from his dusty electronics store, a world built on lies and manufactured heroism. He found the designated office, a nondescript space that, according to Butcher, was a key Vought communications hub. His hands trembled as he knelt, fumbling with the tiny bug. He pulled it from his pocket, his fingers clumsy with nerves.

He glanced around, paranoid. The hallway was empty. The silence was deafening, broken only by the frantic thumping of his own heart and the persistent hum in his chest. He peeled the backing off the bug, his fingers sticky with sweat. He was about to press it into place, when a voice, smooth and unsettlingly calm, spoke from behind him.

"Lost, little lamb?"

Hughie froze. His blood ran cold. He knew that voice. He knew that particular brand of smug, invisible menace. He slowly turned, his eyes darting around the empty corridor. Nothing. He was alone. But he wasn't.

" Oh, for crying out loud. Of course. Of course, it's him. Translucent. The guy who's literally invisible. Because my day wasn't already surreal enough. Now I'm having a conversation with thin air. This is like a really bad magic show, where the magician keeps disappearing, but instead of applause, you just feel an overwhelming sense of impending doom. And he called me 'little lamb.' Is he going to eat me? Or just… silently judge my terrible posture? Because honestly, both options are equally terrifying right now. And that hum… it's going absolutely wild now. It's like a frantic alarm bell, screaming, 'Danger! Danger, Hughie Campbell! You are about to be very, very dead!' "

"Looking for something?" the voice purred, closer now. Hughie felt a faint vibration in the air, a subtle shift in the temperature beside him. He could almost feel the presence, a prickling sensation on his skin. This wasn't just shock or adrenaline. This was that hum again. Stronger this time. A low, resonant thrumming that seemed to emanate from his very bones, reacting to the invisible man standing inches away. It was like his very being was vibrating in sympathy with the Supe's hidden presence.

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "Uh, cable. Cable repair. Lost my… my wrench." He gestured vaguely at the empty air, trying to sound convincing, trying to look like a man who genuinely misplaced his tools and not a man who was about to have a full-blown panic attack.

A soft chuckle. "A wrench. Right. And I'm sure you just happened to wander into a restricted area, past all the security, looking for your… wrench." The voice was laced with amusement, a predator playing with its prey. "You know, for a cable guy, you're looking a little… sweaty. And a lot like someone who's about to get their spine rearranged."

Hughie's mind raced. He knew what Translucent could do. Carbon skin. Invulnerable. And he was invisible. This was a nightmare. He was cornered. And that hum… it was getting louder, a deep, resonant vibration that seemed to fill his entire being, pushing outwards, a silent, desperate plea for escape. It wasn't a power. It was just… a feeling. A terrifying, overwhelming feeling of being utterly outmatched.

" Okay, Hughie, think. What would Stiles do? Stiles would probably try to talk his way out of it, or trip, or accidentally set off a fire alarm. I'm not Stiles. I'm just Hughie. And Hughie is about to become a very expensive, very invisible punching bag. Unless… unless that hum means something. Unless that jolt from A-Train wasn't just a jolt. Unless… no. Don't be stupid. This isn't a comic book. This is real life. And in real life, the nerdy guy with the bad haircut doesn't suddenly manifest superpowers. Except, you know, for the whole 'girlfriend exploded into mist' thing. So maybe… maybe this is a comic book. A really, really dark one. But I don't have powers. I just have… a hum. And a lot of fear. "

He tried to back away, but a solid, unyielding force blocked his path. An invisible wall. Translucent was toying with him. Hughie closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable. The hum intensified, a deep, resonant vibration that seemed to fill his entire being, pushing outwards. It felt like a pressure building, a silent scream trying to escape. He could feel the hairs on his arms standing on end, the air crackling with an unseen energy.

"Relax, little lamb," Translucent's voice was right next to his ear now, a cold whisper. "This won't hurt… for long."

Hughie opened his eyes, a desperate, wild look in them. He could almost see the distortion in the air where Translucent stood, a faint shimmer. He felt a sudden, desperate surge of adrenaline, and without thinking, driven by pure instinct and that strange, internal hum, he lunged. Not to fight, not to attack, but to escape. He threw himself forward, aiming for the faint shimmer, a desperate, pathetic attempt to break free.

His hand, instead of passing through empty air, connected with something solid. Something incredibly hard. Like granite. His knuckles screamed in protest. He felt a jarring impact, a dull thud against an unyielding surface. The hum inside him flared, a sudden, blinding surge of energy that made his vision swim, a cacophony of vibrations that overwhelmed his senses. It wasn't a power. It was just… a reaction. A violent, internal tremor that seemed to push against the very fabric of reality around him.

Translucent gasped, a sharp, surprised intake of breath. "What the…?"

Hughie didn't know what he'd done. He didn't know what that feeling was. But for a split second, he felt a strange, almost painful resonance between the invisible man's skin and the vibrating energy within him. It was fleeting, gone as quickly as it appeared, but it was there. A terrifying, impossible sensation.

Then, the world exploded into pain as Translucent's fist connected with his jaw. Hughie went down, lights out, the last thing he heard before unconsciousness claimed him was the distant, echoing thrum inside his head. He hadn't gained a power. He had just gotten himself thoroughly beaten. And he was pretty sure he'd left the bug behind. Great. Just great.

" Well, that went well. Note to self: don't try to punch an invisible, invulnerable man. Especially when your only 'power' is a weird internal hum that might just be a symptom of a brain aneurysm. At least I didn't wet myself. Small victories, right? Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go have a very long, very painful nap. Hopefully, I wake up in my own bed, and this was all just a really, really vivid dream. A dream where I apparently have a penchant for getting punched by invisible people. And for holding severed hands. Definitely a dream. And I probably didn't even get the bug planted. Butcher's going to kill me. "