My Life in Wednesday With a Vampire System

Homelander flew back as fast as he had been thrown, his body cutting through the clouds before stopping in front of Ethan.

The earlier impact had damaged his pride far more than his body. His durability was the one thing he had absolute confidence in, and a slap was never going to keep him down for long.

His expression, however, was furious.

"Give me back my cape," he demanded.

To anyone else, it was just a piece of cloth. To Homelander, it was part of who he was. The image mattered. The symbol mattered. Looking weak in front of another person mattered most of all.

Without another word, he threw a punch directly at Ethan's face.

Ethan calmly moved his head aside.

The attack passed harmlessly through empty air. Before Homelander could recover his balance, Ethan's hand swung across and the slap landed against his cheek with tremendous force. A violent shockwave burst outward, splitting apart the surrounding clouds and sending ripples across the sky.

Homelander was launched backward once more, disappearing into the distance.

Ethan looked down at the cape still hanging from his hand. "This thing? Why the hell would I wear something like that?" He casually tossed it away.

At the same moment, Oceanic Flight 37 vanished. One moment the damaged aircraft was suspended in the air — the next it appeared safely on an airport runway thousands of feet below. Emergency crews immediately rushed toward it as confused passengers realized they were still alive.

Inside the sky above the ocean, Maeve stared in disbelief. The place where Ethan had been standing was empty. He had disappeared just as suddenly as he had arrived, leaving no trace behind, no explanation, no opportunity to ask questions.

Maeve slowly exhaled. None of that mattered right now. Every passenger aboard the flight had survived.

***

Inside the Boys' hideout, ledgers and photographs remained scattered across the table. Butcher leaned over the documents while holding a cigarette between his fingers.

"Well, from everythin' we've dug up so far, we can safely say Samaritan's Embrace is involved in movin' Compound V around the country. The bloody charity might look clean on television, but somebody's usin' it as a transport network."

Mother's Milk folded his arms. "And Ezekiel sits right at the center of it."

"Aye. If anyone knows where the stuff's comin' from and where it's goin', it's him. Bloke doesn't become the public face of the whole operation without knowin' more than he lets on."

Mother's Milk glanced at the papers. "But getting to him is the problem, right?"

"Exactly. The stretchy bastard's attendin' Believe Expo this weekend, but only the Diamond members get private access. Those invitations cost more money than we've got, and Vought makes sure random people don't wander into the VIP tents."

Frenchie exhaled smoke toward the ceiling. "So even if we attend this religious circus, we learn nothing."

Hughie rubbed his forehead. "Which means we're back where we started. No Compound V and no direct path to Ezekiel."

Frenchie shook his head. "After all this work, we arrive once more at zero."

A grin slowly spread across Butcher's face. "Who said anythin' about not havin' a plan?"

The others looked at him.

Butcher tapped a photograph lying on the table. "The night before the expo, our holy man is visitin' a little establishment called Supes Club. Private rooms, expensive drinks, and enough secrets to make the Vatican blush."

Hughie blinked. "Wait. Isn't that place where Supes hook up away from cameras?"

"Aye. And our dear family-values preacher apparently enjoys a bit of gay sex when the congregation ain't watchin'. Funny how the loudest bastards are always hidin' the most."

Frenchie smirked. "Hypocrisy. Humanity's oldest religion."

"We slip inside," Butcher continued, "wait until the stretchy bastard's in the middle of his little adventure, and then we have ourselves a polite conversation. A man who builds his entire career on preachin' virtue tends to become very cooperative when his private activities are about to become public knowledge."

Mother's Milk frowned. "So blackmail."

"Call it motivation. We ain't askin' for his money. We just want the truth about Compound V."

Hughie still looked uncertain. "And you think he'll actually talk?"

Butcher leaned back in his chair. "Course he will. A bloke can survive criticism, lawsuits, and angry reporters."

"What he can't survive is his followers learnin' that their saintly preacher spends his nights doin' exactly the sort of things he condemns from the pulpit. The second that fear settles in, he'll sing like a bloody choir boy."

Frenchie chuckled. "It is a terrible plan."

"But it's a practical one. And right now, practical is all we've got."

Butcher turned toward Hughie. "Oh, and Hughie, you're the centerpiece of this little operation."

Hughie immediately pointed at himself. "Me? Why me?"

"Because, mate, nobody's gonna suspect you. You've got the harmless look down to an art form."

Mother's Milk already knew where this was going. The expression on Butcher's face never meant anything good.

Frenchie leaned forward with interest. "Now I am curious."

Butcher tapped the photograph of Supes Club. "Ezekiel goes there for one reason, and we need somebody on the inside. Somebody who can get close without raisin' alarms."

Realization slowly dawned on Hughie's face. His eyes widened. "Wait. No. Absolutely not."

Butcher's grin only grew wider.

"Afraid so, sunshine. For one evenin', you're gonna have to pretend to be interested in blokes."

***

A/N: And on Patreon, The Boys arc started.

The Patreon version is already updated with 46 advanced chapters. If you'd like to read ahead of the public release schedule, you can join here:

👉 /JamesA211