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

Chapter 6: The Bait and the Trap

" Right, so I'm bait. A human lure. Apparently, my unique blend of anxiety and general awkwardness is irresistible to invisible, homicidal superheroes. Who knew? My dating profile is going to be amazing. 'Seeking: Someone who appreciates a man who can detect invisible threats with his sheer, unadulterated terror. Must be okay with boiler rooms and occasional explosions.' And that hum. It's still there. A low, persistent thrumming, like a broken washing machine in my chest. It's my early warning system, my internal 'Danger, Will Robinson!' alarm. Except it doesn't tell me what kind of danger, or how to avoid it. Just that it's there. Which, frankly, is less helpful and more anxiety-inducing. But hey, at least I'm contributing. To the chaos. And to my own impending doom. "

The boiler room, now officially dubbed "The Den" by Butcher, was a hive of frantic activity. Frenchie was meticulously assembling a new, more robust bug, muttering to himself about frequency modulation and quantum entanglement. M.M. was poring over blueprints of Vought Tower, his brow furrowed in concentration, occasionally muttering about security protocols and acceptable casualty rates. Butcher, meanwhile, was sketching out a new plan on the grimy whiteboard, his movements precise and unsettlingly confident.

"Right then," Butcher announced, turning to Hughie, a predatory glint in his eyes. "New plan. We know Translucent's on to you. He's probably looking for you. So, we give him what he wants. We make you bait."

" Bait. Again. I swear, my job description has officially changed from 'electronics clerk' to 'human sacrifice.' Do I get extra hazard pay for this? Probably not. And what kind of bait? Am I going to be tied to a pole with an apple in my mouth? Because I'm pretty sure I'd rather face Homelander than be a human piñata. This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm just going to stand here and mentally prepare my eulogy. Again. "

Butcher outlined the new strategy. They would use Hughie as a decoy, a visible target to draw Translucent out. The bug, now fortified by Frenchie, would be planted in a more accessible, but still high-value, location. The goal wasn't just to plant the bug, but to get a better read on Translucent, to understand his movements, his patterns, his weaknesses. And Hughie, with his unexplained "hum," was their unique advantage.

"You're our early warning system, mate," Butcher explained, pointing a stubby finger at Hughie. "You feel that hum? That's him. You tell us when he's close. You tell us where he is. And we'll be ready."

"But… what if he just punches me again?" Hughie asked, rubbing his still-tender jaw. "I don't have… I don't have powers. I can't fight him."

Butcher grinned, a flash of cruel amusement. "That's where we come in, mate. You draw him out. We put him down. Simple as that. Think of it as a team effort. You're the delicate little flower. We're the bloody gardeners."

" Delicate little flower. Right. I'm more like a wilting daisy in a hurricane. And they're the gardeners who specialize in aggressive pruning. This is going to be a blast. A literal blast, probably. And that hum. It's vibrating with a nervous energy now. Like it's saying, 'You're going to get hurt, Hughie. A lot. But also, this is kind of exciting, isn't it?' No, it's not exciting. It's terrifying. And I'm pretty sure I'm going to need a new pair of pants after this. "

The next few days were spent in grueling preparation. Butcher put Hughie through a series of increasingly humiliating drills, designed to heighten his awareness, to make him react faster. He'd throw objects at him, shout sudden commands, even sneak up on him, all to get Hughie to instinctively sense danger. Hughie, with his heightened senses and that persistent hum, found himself reacting faster, his reflexes sharpening, even without any active powers. It was like his body was learning to anticipate, to brace itself.

"You're getting better, mate," Butcher admitted one afternoon, after Hughie had managed to duck a thrown wrench with surprising agility. "Still a bit of a spaz, but you're getting there."

"Thanks, I think?" Hughie mumbled, his heart still pounding. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally. The constant state of high alert, the pervasive fear, the lingering grief – it was all taking its toll. But he was also getting a strange, almost perverse satisfaction from it. He was doing something. He was fighting back.

Frenchie, meanwhile, was perfecting the bug. He'd explain the intricacies of its design, the advanced encryption, the remote activation system. Hughie, with his background in electronics, found himself surprisingly engaged, asking questions, offering suggestions. He might not have powers, but he had a brain. And in this world, sometimes, that was just as dangerous.

"This little beauty," Frenchie said, holding up the tiny device, "will transmit everything. Audio. Video. Data. It will be Vought's worst nightmare. And yours, if you do not plant it correctly."

" No pressure. Just plant the tiny device that will expose a multi-billion dollar corporation and potentially get me killed. And if I don't do it right, it's my fault. Great. I'm already feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. Now I have the weight of Vought's dirty laundry too. And that hum. It's buzzing with a strange sense of purpose now. Like it knows this is important. Or maybe it just likes the idea of being a tiny, technologically advanced spy. "

M.M., ever the voice of caution, was constantly reminding them of the risks. "This is dangerous, Butcher. Putting Hughie out there like that… it's reckless. Translucent is a Supe. He's dangerous. We don't know what he's capable of."

"We know enough, M.M.," Butcher retorted, his eyes hard. "We know he's vulnerable. And we know he's looking for Hughie. We just need to make sure he finds him in the right place, at the right time."

The chosen location for the ambush was a secluded, rarely used loading dock beneath Vought Tower. It was dark, grimy, and filled with the stale air of forgotten deliveries. Perfect for a trap. Hughie felt a cold knot of dread in his stomach as they surveyed the area. This was it. This was where he became bait.

" This is charming. It's like a horror movie set, but with more actual horror. And less popcorn. I wonder if Translucent will bring snacks? Probably not. He seems like the kind of guy who just eats raw protein bars and his own smugness. And I'm going to be standing here, waiting for him. Like a very nervous, very unprepared deer in the headlights. This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm just going to stand here and try not to wet myself. Again. "

The plan was simple, in theory. Hughie would walk into the loading dock, acting nervous and alone. He would carry a small, seemingly innocuous package – a decoy. The hum, they hoped, would alert him to Translucent's presence. Once Translucent revealed himself, the Boys would spring their trap.

As the hour approached, Hughie felt a sickening mix of fear and adrenaline. His hands were clammy, his heart hammering against his ribs. The hum in his chest was a constant, low thrum, a nervous tremor that seemed to vibrate through his entire body. He tried to focus, to calm himself, to remember all the drills, all the instructions.

"You ready, mate?" Butcher asked, clapping him on the shoulder, a surprisingly firm grip.

Hughie took a deep breath. "As I'll ever be, I guess. Just… try not to hit me too hard. My jaw's still a bit sore."

Butcher grinned, a flash of predatory amusement. "No promises, mate. Now, go on. Make yourself look appealing. Like a tasty little morsel."

" A tasty little morsel. Right. I'm more like a stale cracker. But hey, if it works, it works. This is it. The moment of truth. Or, you know, the moment of my very public, very painful demise. Just remember the hum, Hughie. Trust the hum. Even if the hum is just my anxiety doing a really good impression of a faulty electrical current. This is going to be a long, terrifying wait. "

Hughie walked into the loading dock, the silence oppressive, broken only by the echo of his own footsteps. He clutched the decoy package, his knuckles white. He tried to look nervous, but not too nervous. Like a civilian who was lost, not a civilian who was baiting a superhero. He felt the cold, damp air on his skin, the faint smell of exhaust fumes and dust. Every shadow seemed to writhe, every creak of the old building seemed to whisper his name.

He waited. The seconds stretched into minutes, each one feeling like an hour. The hum in his chest was a low, persistent thrum, a constant reminder of the unseen presence he was trying to lure. He strained his ears, listening for any sound, any subtle shift in the air, any indication that Translucent was near.

And then, he felt it. A subtle shift in the hum. It intensified, a faint, almost imperceptible vibration, but distinct. It was closer. Much closer. His breath hitched. He wasn't alone.

" He's here. Oh, God, he's here. That hum. It's screaming at me now. A frantic, desperate alarm. He's close. Too close. I can feel his… presence. That unsettling, invisible menace. This is it. The trap is set. Now, to not die. That's the hard part. "

Hughie swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He forced himself to stay still, to not react, to not give himself away. He could feel the hairs on his arms standing on end, the air crackling with an unseen energy. He knew, with a terrifying certainty, that Translucent was somewhere in the shadows, watching him, waiting. The hum was a cacophony now, a symphony of unseen vibrations, a terrifying confirmation of his impending doom. He was bait. And the predator had arrived.