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

Chapter 12: The Unraveling Thread

" Okay, so I just confirmed my terrifying theory. Translucent is a walking, naked, invisible, invulnerable time bomb. And I'm the guy who can feel the timer ticking. My life is officially a very niche, very disturbing game show. And the prize? More trauma, probably. And that hum. It's still there. A low, persistent thrumming, like a broken washing machine in my chest. It's vibrating with the residual energy of Translucent's fear, and my own dawning horror. And now Butcher's looking at me like I'm his new favorite toy. Which, given his track record, is not a good thing. Not a good thing at all. 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. "

The boiler room was thick with a new kind of tension, a heavy silence that replaced the previous cacophony of threats and defiance. Butcher stood, a triumphant, yet calculating, look on his face. M.M. was pale, rubbing his temples, clearly struggling with the moral implications of Hughie's revelation. Frenchie, however, was practically vibrating with excitement, his eyes fixed on Hughie as if he were a newly discovered scientific phenomenon. Translucent, slumped in his cage, was a picture of utter despair, his carbon skin shimmering with the barely contained energy within him.

"He's at his limit," Hughie repeated, his voice still a little hoarse from the adrenaline. "He's full. Any more kinetic energy, and he'll… he'll explode. From the inside out."

Butcher nodded slowly, a grim smile spreading across his face. "Right. So, the little bloke's a walking pressure cooker. Good to know. And you, mate," he clapped Hughie on the shoulder, a surprisingly heavy blow, "you're our bloody pressure gauge. Our human barometer. Who knew you had such a knack for Supe diagnostics?"

" Supe diagnostics. Right. My new job title. 'Hughie Campbell: Official Supe-Sensing Civilian and Human Pressure Gauge. 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 'pressure gauge' 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. And now they want me to help them… overload him. This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm just going to stand here and try not to make eye contact with the naked, terrified Supe. "

M.M. finally spoke, his voice strained. "Butcher, this is… this is beyond the pale. We can't just… make him explode. That's murder. That's what Vought does. We're supposed to be better."

"Better?" Butcher scoffed, turning to M.M. "Better got Robin vaporized, M.M. Better got us hiding in a bloody boiler room. Better ain't going to get us justice. This git knows things. Things Vought doesn't want us to know. And he's not talking. So, we make him talk. Or we make him go boom. Either way, we get what we need." He looked at Hughie. "Right, Hughie? What do you say? You want to see justice, or do you want to keep playing nice?"

Hughie looked at Translucent, then at M.M.'s horrified face, then at Butcher's grim determination. The hum in his chest was a constant, low thrum, vibrating with the weight of the decision. He hated it. He hated all of it. But the image of Robin, the memory of that red mist, flashed in his mind. And the burning desire for answers, for vengeance, was a powerful, overriding force.

"We need answers," Hughie said, his voice flat, hollow. "He knows things. Things about A-Train. Things about Vought. We need to know."

Frenchie, meanwhile, was already pulling out a new set of tools, his eyes gleaming with scientific curiosity. "So, if he is a capacitor… we need to find a way to… discharge him. Or to… overcharge him. Safely. For us, of course. Not for him. We could use focused sonic vibrations. Or perhaps… a series of controlled, high-frequency impacts. Something that his skin absorbs, but cannot dissipate. We need to find his resonant frequency, yes? Your 'hum,' mon ami. It is the key. You are the tuning fork."

" The tuning fork. Right. My new job title. 'Hughie Campbell: Official Supe-Sensing Civilian and Human Tuning Fork. 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 'tuning fork' 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. And now they want me to help them… overload him. This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm just going to stand here and try not to make eye contact with the naked, terrified Supe. "

The next few days were a blur of intense planning and grim experiments. Butcher pushed Translucent to the brink, using Hughie's "hum" as a guide, knowing exactly how much pressure to apply before the Supe's internal energy reached critical mass. Hughie was forced to sit near the cage, his "hum" a constant, overwhelming presence, absorbing every nuance of Translucent's fear, every subtle shift in his internal energy. He felt like a human lie detector, a very sensitive barometer of Supe emotions and power levels.

"He's getting agitated," Hughie would whisper, his voice strained, as the hum in his chest intensified. "The pressure's building. He's trying to shift. He's trying to dissipate the energy, but he can't."

Frenchie would then adjust his equipment, applying precise, focused sonic vibrations, or a series of carefully calibrated impacts to the cage. Each time, Translucent would scream, his body trembling, his carbon skin shimmering violently. The hum in Hughie's chest would spike, a painful, overwhelming cacophony of vibrating energy. It was a horrifying dance, a grim ballet of torment and scientific precision.

" This is my life now. Sitting next to a naked, invisible, terrified Supe, listening to his internal energy fluctuations, and helping a mad Frenchman torture him with sound waves. It's like I'm a human battery monitor. My resume is officially going to be a nightmare. 'Skills: Proficient in electronics repair, exceptional at panicking, surprisingly good at detecting invisible, homicidal superheroes, expert in Supe torture diagnostics.' I'm pretty sure I'm going to need a very, very long shower after this. And maybe a new soul. This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm just going to stand here and try not to accidentally pick up Homelander's thoughts. Because I'm pretty sure that would break my brain. "

M.M.'s moral crisis deepened with each passing day. He'd pull Hughie aside, his face etched with worry. "Hughie, this isn't us. This isn't what we do. We don't break people. We expose them. There's a line, Hughie. And Butcher's crossing it. And you… you're right there with him. You're becoming… cold. You're becoming like them."

Hughie would just shrug, his eyes fixed on the flickering outline of Translucent. "What choice do I have, M.M.? He killed Robin. Or, you know, he's part of the system that killed Robin. And he punched me. And he's not talking. We need answers. And if this is the only way to get them… then I have to be here. I have to listen to that hum. I have to understand. It's like a compass, M.M. A really, really terrifying compass that points towards danger and moral compromise. And right now, it's pointing directly at him."

He felt the weight of complicity. He was horrified by Butcher's methods, by the psychological torment they were inflicting. But he also understood the ruthless pragmatism behind it. In this world, decency felt like a luxury they couldn't afford. And the hum, that constant, unsettling vibration, was whispering to him, telling him that this was the path. The only path to survival. The only path to justice. It was a terrifying, seductive whisper.

Finally, Translucent broke. Not with a bang, but a whimper. His defiance crumbled under the relentless pressure, his face contorted in a mask of pure, unadulterated terror. "Alright! Alright! I'll talk! Just… just stop! Please! I'll tell you everything! Anything you want to know!"

Hughie felt the hum in his chest subside, a sudden, blessed quiet after days of constant noise. He looked at Translucent, then at Butcher, a grim satisfaction warring with a profound sense of exhaustion. They had done it. They had broken him. Without killing him. Yet.

" He broke. He actually broke. And I helped. Me. Hughie Campbell. The guy who sells stereos. I helped break a superhero. 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 now he's going to talk. Which means we're finally going to get some answers. And then what? Do we just… let him go? Or do we still make him go boom? Oh, God. This is getting complicated. And I'm pretty sure I'm going to need a very, very long shower after this. And maybe a new soul. "

Butcher grinned, a triumphant, predatory gleam in his eyes. "Good boy. Now, let's have that chat, shall we? And Hughie," he looked at Hughie, a strange, almost proud look on his face, "you did good, mate. You're a natural."

Hughie just nodded, his mind a chaotic swirl of relief, fear, and a profound sense of inadequacy. He was in this now. Deep in it. And he had no idea what came next. But he knew one thing: he was still powerless. And in this world, that was the most terrifying thing of all. But he was also a "Supe-detector." And that, he was beginning to realize, was a power all its own.