The Boys Extra: Prologue

This is an extra for The Boys!! The show with Homelander! It has nothing to do with the main story!! Don’t subscribe if you don’t want to read it!!!

In a dimly lit corridor, a Doctor in a white coat and mask slowly pushed a small cart forward. His leather shoes stepped across the polished floor, leaving faintly cold reflections behind them. His pace slowed until he finally stopped before a door.

Looking through the gap beneath the door past his shoes, another pair of feet stood behind it. Clearly, someone was blocking the door.

The Doctor set the cart aside and gently knocked. When there was no response from inside, he said in a gentle tone, as though coaxing a child, "No, Cindy. Open the door. It’s time for your medicine."

There was still no movement inside. The Doctor gripped the doorknob and said, "You won’t need any treatment this week. You only need to take your medicine properly. I swear, no one will disturb you again…"

The corridor and room were both silent. The dim lights flickered, making the hospital look somewhat terrifying. A gloved hand reached above the cart’s medicine case, lightly tapped the tops of several bottles, then selected one and flicked its cap.

At the sound, the feet visible through the gap began to tremble. Faint sobbing came from within. "No… no…"

"Open the door now. I don’t want to say it a third time." The Doctor’s voice remained calm, but there was an irresistible chill at the end of it.

The crying inside grew louder. With a click, the door opened a crack. The Doctor pushed it open and entered. A bald female patient in a hospital gown had pressed herself into the corner, bracing both hands against the walls as if that could give her some sense of safety.

After entering, the Doctor did not look at her. Instead, he turned back, wheeled in the cart, and began working with the supplies on it. "Starting today, your dosage has been reduced. You’ll also have two hours of outdoor time every day, but you have to promise me, Cindy…"

The Doctor took out a syringe and drew medicine from a vial. As he worked, he said, "You can’t use your telekinesis to damage the fence. Remember last time? You ruined the hedge that had just been repaired, and I had to hire the gardener again. That wasn’t right."

The female patient called Cindy reacted to the word "hedge" as if a switch of terror had been flipped. Whimpering, she kept shrinking farther into the corner, shaking her head. "No, I didn’t… I don’t want to go outside…"

"Getting out for some fresh air is good for your condition, Cindy. Think about your mother. Didn’t I invite her here before? She’s truly worried about you."

At the mention of her mother, Cindy closed her eyes in despair. It was as if all strength had been drained from her body. She slowly slid down the wall, finally sitting on the floor, hugging her knees and burying her head in her arms.

"You lunatic… Let us go… Let me go…" she sobbed brokenly, but the Doctor remained unmoved. "It seems you’re experiencing auditory and visual hallucinations again…"

"Don’t be like this, Cindy. Cooperate with the treatment, and your condition can improve."

The Doctor finally finished preparing the syringe. Several drops of medicine fell from its needle. Holding it, he walked over and crouched down before Cindy. "Sorry, I’m not trying to lecture you. I know you’re terrified of people in teacher-like roles because you were raped by your math teacher when you were young. That isn’t a pleasant memory…"

Cindy began trembling violently, but the Doctor moved closer and closer, nearly pressing against her ear as he whispered, "…Yes, I know. You’re afraid because your mother was the one who sent you to him for tutoring, and after she learned what he had done, she made you blackmail him for money…"

Cindy’s body shook violently. The Doctor reached out and stroked her back with his gloved hand. "Don’t worry. Everything will be all right."

"If you’re in too much pain, medicine can calm you down a little. Listen, take a deep breath… That’s it. Turn your head to one side. I’m going to inject you."

Cindy trembled harder and harder, but she unconsciously followed the Doctor’s instructions, as if she too hoped the medicine could ease some of her suffering.

She slowly turned her head aside until she felt something sharp pierce her vein. As the medicine spread through her bloodstream, she felt a long-lost calm. Then she slowly curled up in the corner and fell asleep.

After removing the syringe, the Doctor stood and turned toward the sunset outside the window. In the evening light, he could see a sign standing outside the abandoned psychiatric hospital. In ornate English lettering, the slightly weathered sign bore the institution’s name—Sage Grove.

As the sunset streamed through the window, a man in an orderly’s uniform swept the floor with a broom. Suddenly, he heard a rapid series of leather shoes striking the floor, and his movements instantly froze.

With a soft twist of the doorknob, the door creaked open. A Doctor in a white coat and mask entered, then turned and beckoned to the orderly holding the broom. "Lamplighter, come help me. One of the cart’s wheels seems to be broken."

The orderly called Lamplighter hurriedly set down his broom and approached. He crouched down, tilted his head to inspect the wheel, and said, "Oh, Doctor Schiller, it looks like the bearing is jammed. Just a moment…"

He stood again, looked around, and said with some difficulty, "We may need a wrench. I’ll get one from the Tool Room."

"No, not yet. Let’s take it back to the preparation room first. Outdoor time is about to begin, and I’ll need your help."

Lamplighter froze again. He looked up at the Doctor, just as the Doctor removed his mask.

He looked exactly like a Doctor should: mature, composed, refined, with the scholarly air of an academic. His voice was always calm, and he was exceptionally patient with his patients. Yet the moment Lamplighter saw his face, he immediately lowered his gaze. He quickly turned away and raised a hand over his lips, as though trying to conceal his expression.

"What’s wrong?" Doctor Schiller turned to ask him. "Feeling unwell again? Where’s your lighter? A comfort object will help stabilize your emotions."

"No, it’s nothing…" Lamplighter took a deep breath. He seemed to gather all his courage before turning back to Schiller. "Who will be out during outdoor time today? Will Cindy…"

"No, she just took medicine and has already fallen asleep. Her emotions have been very stable lately. I think she can take part in outdoor time tomorrow or the day after."

"Wait." Lamplighter suddenly spoke. He pinched his fingers together, the muscles in his arms trembling. "I heard from the Doctor that Stormfront is coming to inspect the hospital tomorrow. She… she’s difficult to deal with, Doctor. We…"

"It’s fine. Everything will continue as usual." Schiller shook his head as though unconcerned. After a pause, he added, "All right, I’ll increase Cindy’s dosage a little tomorrow so she won’t run outside."

With that, he pushed the malfunctioning cart toward the door. Lamplighter followed behind him. "Doctor, let me push it. It looks pretty badly broken."

"It’s fine. How have things been lately? Does the compulsive behavior still occur often?"

"A little…" Lamplighter lowered his head and sighed. "Sometimes I still wake up in the middle of the night and walk to the mirror, or pace around the bed endlessly. I can’t really control myself."

"It’s all right. No treatment can work all at once. There’s no miracle medicine in this world that can cure every disease overnight. If anyone says there is, he’s lying to you."

"Thank you." Lamplighter still stepped forward and took the cart from Schiller, pushing it ahead. Trembling slightly, he said, "You’re a good Doctor… the best Doctor I’ve ever met."

Schiller adjusted his glasses and asked, "Have you met other Doctors? You never told me that before."

Lamplighter’s fingers suddenly twitched. He stammered, "Yes, but not Doctors who treat mental illness. I burned myself before, so I saw a Doctor in the burn unit…"

"What did he say?"

Lamplighter tightly gripped the cart handle, veins standing out on his hands. The question seemed to stir up unpleasant memories. "I didn’t speak to him much. My father did all the talking."

"He told my father that this kind of thing would happen often in the future." Lamplighter seemed to hold his breath, then let it out with his next words. "…But my father didn’t care."

"I mentioned this before. Don’t keep dwelling on those who controlled you mentally. I know it’s difficult to break free of their control, but you must try. Otherwise, you’ll never become your true self."

Lamplighter took two deep breaths. His fingers gradually relaxed. "I tried it, following the method you taught me. It really feels good. I haven’t rested this well in a long time…"

As he spoke, he turned to look at Schiller. This time, he could no longer hide his expression by turning away. When he saw Schiller’s eyes, fear appeared on his face, followed by gratitude, before swiftly turning back into fear.

The drastic changes in expression made his face look as though it were twitching uncontrollably. Lamplighter swallowed, turned his head back, and struggled to control his emotions.

He wondered when his dark and hopeless life had begun to change.

Perhaps it had been one night several months ago, when the sound of shattering glass woke him after a bolt of lightning. Or perhaps it could not be called waking, since he had not been asleep at all.

Even now, remembering it still felt strange. At the time, in a corridor, he had seen glass scattered all over the floor and a man in a white coat holding an employment notice. That man had been Schiller.

Pushing the cart along the corridor, Lamplighter shook his head. He did not remember the scene very clearly. He only remembered that Doctor Schiller had climbed awkwardly to his feet, yet showed no anger.

Standing in the pitch-black corridor, Lamplighter watched Schiller unfold the employment notice in his hand. A trace of helplessness appeared on his face as he muttered, "Is this how you handle a mess? Throwing me into an unfamiliar world without warning?"

Lamplighter watched him complain to the air like a madman, head raised. "No professional procedure at all. It’s all personal grudges."

Then he noticed Schiller’s gaze settle on him. Schiller asked, "Who are you?"

Lamplighter said nothing. He merely took out his lighter, and a savage blaze erupted from between his palms toward Schiller. But the attack failed. Schiller appeared directly behind him.

"Oh, Lamplighter. Your name is Lamplighter, isn’t it?" Schiller called out his name, then said, "Looks like this is quite a mess. They even chose such a dangerous world…"

He sighed and shook his head. "Looks like I need someone more dangerous to deal with all this. I’m going on vacation."

After saying that, he lowered his head and went blank for a moment before returning to normal. When Lamplighter turned back and met his eyes, he saw astonishing danger and madness in them.

"What are you thinking about?" Schiller’s calm voice pulled Lamplighter out of his memories. Lamplighter shook his head. "I was thinking about when we first met, Doctor. How exactly did you get here?"

"Didn’t I show you the employment notice? My superior sent me here."

Lamplighter scratched his head. "I know that. I just didn’t expect Vought to have a… good Doctor like you."

Schiller smiled. "Do you think I’m a good Doctor? I remember that you used to run whenever you saw me."

Lamplighter’s relaxed expression froze once more. He swallowed and said nothing. As the two chatted while walking, they crossed the hospital’s central courtyard and descended the stairs until they reached the first floor.

Lamplighter turned his head away, refusing to look at the center of the hospital lobby. Schiller patted his shoulder and pointed toward the middle of the hall. "The patient in the chair farthest to the left isn’t in very good condition. Replace it."

Lamplighter’s lips began to tremble. As though forced, he closed his eyes and slowly turned his head toward the center of the hall. When he opened them, the horrifying sight from his nightmares was still there.

The empty hospital lobby had nothing but rows upon rows of waiting chairs. But now, every seat was occupied.

Or rather, not by people, but by corpses.

There were four rows of chairs, with a corpse sitting in every row, each having died in a different way. All had been fixed in the same position: arms crossed over their chests, hands resting on either side of their necks, heads tilted high back. The only difference was that every death was bizarre.

Lamplighter began trembling all over as the images replayed in his mind. The first person he saw, sitting in the far-left row of chairs—the one Schiller had pointed out for replacement—looked like a fat man sitting in a chair.

But Lamplighter knew Duncan had actually been thin. It was only because his skin had been packed full of dirt.

He had used his ability to turn others into dirt to kill another patient, so Schiller had stuffed the person he turned into dirt entirely into Duncan’s body.

Lamplighter squeezed his eyes shut. Before that, he had clearly seen the stitching marks across Duncan’s abdominal and chest cavities. He remembered clearly that Duncan had still been alive during the stitching. Though he had lost over sixty percent of his organs, he had indeed remained conscious.

Lamplighter would never forget how, after Schiller finished everything, he put on gloves, stuffed a seed down Duncan’s throat, and told him, "You like dirt so much. I suppose becoming a flowerpot is the best fate for you."

Duncan had still been alive then, but his expression told Lamplighter that he had never craved death so desperately.

Trembling all over, Lamplighter turned his head back. He stared intently at the medicine bottles on the cart, though he could not read a single word on them. It was as if he hoped to see something in those bottles.

This Doctor, who always seemed so calm and gentle, had killed every disobedient patient who tried to escape during his first month here and placed them in the chairs.

Nor had any of the remaining patients escaped torment. With drugs and hypnosis, he excavated the things they feared most deeply, then repeatedly stimulated them, controlled them, saved them…

Lamplighter knew some had gone completely mad under that torment. Others, like him, had truly found salvation amid fear, pain, and suffering.

They finally passed through the lobby. Those few dozen seconds had felt like centuries to Lamplighter. He let out a breath, and after reaching the preparation room, he pushed the cart inside, placed it correctly, then turned to leave. Looking at Schiller’s back as he stood before the preparation table, he hesitated before saying, "Doctor, be careful of The Seven…"

"I will."

To Lamplighter’s surprise, Schiller answered the question directly for the first time. Lamplighter stood by the door and looked back, seeing Schiller still arranging unfamiliar medical instruments on the table. He shook his head and left.

Standing at the table, Schiller replenished the shelves with new medicine bottles while recalling the plot of this world.

The Boys was an anti-superhero comic. Here, nearly every superhero with superpowers was a villain, including the widely known Homelander.

These superheroes all came from a company called Vought. The company arranged scene after scene for them, making the superheroes look like heroes to win public affection and earn money.

For several seasons, the television adaptation of The Boys had revolved around one plot: Vought was no longer content with merely being a company that cultivated idols. They wanted to privatize war.

The series was called The Boys because another group of people was dissatisfied with the hypocritical and cruel way these superheroes behaved. They formed The Boys to stop their evil acts.

Lamplighter played an important role in the show because he had once used his powers to kill the grandson of the former leader of The Boys.

Vought publicly declared that Lamplighter was dead, but in truth, they had thrown him into this psychiatric hospital to serve as a human cremator.

The psychiatric hospital where Schiller was located was called Sage Grove. It had a very special background and had appeared in the show. Simply put, it was a laboratory that created superheroes. Vought used a special drug here to modify and cultivate superheroes, develop their abilities, and then profit from them.

Though this was not truly a psychiatric hospital, Schiller was a real Doctor. He had treated the patients here according to proper medical procedures. But during treatment, there were inevitably some disobedient people who caused trouble, while the security staff always made things worse, so they all disappeared.

Perhaps because the hospital had gone too long without uploading detailed experimental data and reports, Stormfront, one of The Seven, would come early to inspect it.

Near evening the next day, a luxurious limousine stopped outside the slightly abandoned psychiatric hospital. A black-haired woman stepped from the car, speaking on the phone as she walked. "Either the records clerks you hired aren’t dedicated enough, or that old server is malfunctioning again. Hasn’t it always been like this?"

As she spoke, she opened the Iron Gate outside the hospital and walked in. Before she even entered the building, she stopped, then asked in confusion, "…Why do I smell blood?"

The woman wrinkled her nose hard. The person on the other end of the line said, "Stormfront? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you saying anything?"

"No… it’s nothing, just…" Stormfront narrowed her eyes and examined the old hospital, seeming to sense a strange and chilling quality beneath its familiar exterior.

"Hmph." She hung up directly and strode inside. That was Stormfront’s way of doing things. She believed there was nothing in the world that could frighten her with cheap tricks.

She climbed the few steps at the entrance. Light fell over the main doors, casting a hazy glow over the glass and preventing Stormfront from seeing what was inside.

She reached out and paused before the glass doors. She hesitated slightly but pushed them open anyway.

Then she saw the neat rows of "patients" sitting in the hospital lobby, waiting.

Stormfront froze.

Stormfront had killed many people, without question, but she had never seen so many bizarre deaths. When the scene crashed into her eyes, the suffocating amount of information in it made her thoughts stop instantly.

Light streamed in from the windows on both sides. Every patient held the same pose, arms folded across their chests, hands beside their necks, heads thrown back as if praying for something.

The moment her brain finished processing that information and Stormfront realized what had happened, she covered her neck and began retching.

Suddenly, a click sounded through the hospital broadcast system, like a microphone being switched on.

Stormfront jumped in fright. She coughed violently twice, struggled to straighten up, backed away two steps, and shouted, "Who?! Who’s there?!"

"Patient 3203, please report to examination room 201. Patient 3203, please report to examination room 201…"

A somewhat low male voice came through the speakers. It was a voice Stormfront had never heard before. She shook her head, the muscles in her neck twitching sharply. After the initial terror passed, an indescribable rage surged up inside her.

In an instant, invisible cyclones and storms swept through the entire hospital lobby, shredding everything. Wreckage and dust rained down with limbs and blood. Stormfront panted heavily, smiling silently as she said, "You think your little tricks can scare me?!"

Suddenly, another voice sounded from the fallen broadcast unit. "Attention. Patient outdoor time has begun. All unauthorized personnel, please proceed immediately to the safe room and wait. Do not leave until another announcement is made."

"I repeat, patient outdoor time has begun…"

Amid the announcement, Stormfront suddenly heard faint footsteps behind her. She whipped around and saw a man in a hospital gown standing behind her, electricity flickering over his entire body.

Stormfront wore a disdainful smile. Just as she raised her hand to kill him, she heard more footsteps behind her. She spun around again and found countless patients in hospital gowns slowly walking toward her.

Stormfront retreated two steps. "What do you want? I’m one of Vought’s Seven! Do you think you can beat me? What do you want? Stop…"

When she saw that they not only refused to stop, but were walking faster and faster, a trace of panic suddenly appeared in Stormfront’s heart. Though she knew these people together could not defeat her, anyone surrounded by creatures of the same species would instinctively feel fear.

Stormfront waved a hand, and the patient at the front instantly exploded into bloody mist. She smiled arrogantly again, believing this group would scream and flee, just as people had before.

But they did not.

The patients merely stared at Stormfront numbly, then walked toward her step by step, like puppets on strings or mindless zombies.

Anyone facing a group of creatures that looked human but seemed to possess no mind at all would feel an innate sense of strangeness and terror. Stormfront’s mentality shifted. She wanted to raise her hand and knock them all down, but when she did, she discovered her fingers were trembling.

The increasingly heavy smell of blood poured into her nose. The oppressive, dim atmosphere of the psychiatric hospital made everything even more horrifying. Stormfront’s arms began to shake too. She swallowed, stepped back twice, and said, "Just wait. Vought won’t let you get away with this!"

The instant she turned to leave, a piercing alarm rang from the broadcast system again. "Patient 3203, please report to examination room 201. Patient 3203, please report to examination room 201…"

"Enough!!" Stormfront shouted. She waved her hand, and a Havok smashed the broadcast equipment to pieces. Yet the announcement did not stop. Only then did Stormfront realize that the sound above her head was not coming from the speakers…

She turned around, looked up, and saw the figure standing in the second-floor corridor, looking down at her.

And at that moment, Stormfront did not realize that her posture and direction had become identical to those of the "patients" who had once waited in the lobby.

Late at night, a faint swishing sound echoed through the dark lobby. In the pitch-black hospital hall, a figure holding a broom slowly swept up the wreckage and severed limbs scattered across the floor.

The rows of chairs had been shattered during Stormfront’s furious attack. Now, only one chair and one black-haired female "patient" remained in the lobby.

Lamplighter swept his broom past Stormfront’s feet and noticed one of her calves hanging limply over the chair leg. Looking down, he saw that the bones inside it had been removed.

He shook his head without giving it much thought. He assumed the terrifying Doctor had come up with some new idea during surgery.

He continued sweeping slowly, pushing aside the chaotic debris made during the day and clearing a path for people to pass through. For some reason, in such a terrifying environment, sharing a room with a corpse bound in such a strange posture, Lamplighter did not feel afraid.

Perhaps it was because he knew that a beast that had already eaten its fill was less dangerous.

Lamplighter had long noticed that Doctor Schiller only treated one patient a day. If someone was already sitting in the chair, it meant everyone else was safe.

He sighed, thinking that Doctor Schiller’s treatment of Stormfront had lasted nearly four hours. That meant the Doctor should be quite full today. Perhaps every patient could sleep well tonight, including him.

But circumstances were unpredictable. Just as he finished his work, put the broom away in the storeroom, and prepared to sleep, he suddenly saw a flash of light through the window beside the storeroom.

Lamplighter narrowed his eyes. Though he had not left the psychiatric hospital in a long time, he could still tell that it had been a fleeting flash of headlights.

He walked to the window, opened it, and looked around. Then he noticed several dark figures moving in a small grove some distance east of the psychiatric hospital.

While glancing back over his shoulder, Lamplighter felt around near the wall and switched off the light. But after doing so, he did not leave. Instead, he returned to the window and observed the scene outside.

Sure enough, the people in the grove seemed to think the janitor had noticed nothing unusual. They became bolder, even turning their headlights on twice more.

Lamplighter took a deep breath. He knew something big was about to happen, so he hurriedly opened the storeroom door and headed upstairs.

He wanted to return to his room and sleep as soon as possible because he knew those flashes of headlights would definitely wake the beast that had just eaten its fill.

But he was still one step too late. As he climbed the stairs, Schiller came down while buttoning his clothes. Seeing Lamplighter, he said, "Good evening. You’re not asleep yet?"

"Oh, not yet, Doctor. I just finished cleaning downstairs and was about to go up to sleep."

"What was that light just now?" Schiller narrowed his eyes, seemingly having just been awakened. "Coming to a psychiatric hospital like this at this hour… They must have a very urgent condition requiring treatment, right?"

Lamplighter opened his mouth but did not know how to answer. He thought that if those suspicious figures were Vought personnel, he should immediately give a positive answer. That way, several more patients would be waiting in the middle of the hospital lobby tomorrow.

Schiller waved a hand impatiently. "Go bring them here. I’ll wait for them in the examination room."

With that, he turned and went upstairs.

After Schiller left, Lamplighter stood on the stairs in confusion. After thinking for a moment, he finally turned back to the storeroom, picked up the broom again, and began sweeping.

As he swept, he noticed three furtive figures lingering outside the main doors. Lamplighter stood in the nearby corridor for a while. Sure enough, the moment they saw him leave, they slipped through the entrance.

Only after they came closer did Lamplighter see that they were a white man, a Black man, and an Asian woman. The moment they entered through the main doors, the heavy stench of blood inside stunned them.

Just then, with a snap, every light in the lobby came on.

Lamplighter emerged from the hallway carrying a broom and said, "Do you always go through the front door when you infiltrate somewhere?"

The white man immediately drew his gun and aimed it at Lamplighter. Lamplighter narrowed his eyes, not recognizing him. But once the gunman’s eyes adjusted to the sudden harsh light, he widened them and said, "Lamplighter?!!"

The other two, however, did not notice Lamplighter first. What caught their eyes was the bizarre and horrifying sight in the middle of the lobby. Stormfront, whose name they had once known well and cursed countless times, was now tied to a chair in a strange pose.

Yes, it was easy to tell that she was a corpse, because between her rib cage and pelvis, nothing remained but her spine.

Her arms were crossed over her chest, her hands resting against the sides of her neck. Her head was tilted back, and the terrified expression on her face seemed not to have faded yet, but she had clearly been dead for quite some time.

"What happened here?" the Black man said loudly. At that moment, the white man who had recognized Lamplighter angrily tried to fire, but the Black man grabbed him, shook his shoulders, and said, "Wait! Frenchie! Get a grip!!"

The Black man snatched away his gun, turned his head, and said, "Look! Stormfront! She’s dead!!"

Frenchie had just been about to roar in rage when he turned his head slightly and saw Stormfront’s horrifying corpse. All the words in his stomach were instantly swallowed back. A nauseating feeling surged up his throat, and he clutched his neck and began retching.

The Asian woman supported him. Frenchie vomited for a while, then forced himself upright and said, "What the hell happened? Why are there so many… human organs… in this lobby?"

As soon as he finished speaking, all three of them looked at the bloodstained broom in Lamplighter’s hand.

Lamplighter glanced down at the bloody scraps on his broom and said, "I’m just a janitor. If you want to know what happened, you’ll have to ask the Doctor. He happens to want to see you. Follow me."

With that, he turned and started heading upstairs. Frenchie shouted, "Don’t go with him! It has to be a trap! He’s the murderer who burned Mallory’s grandchildren to death! A cruel Superpower User! He’s with The Seven!!"

"He is. I’m not." An unfamiliar voice suddenly came from the second floor. They looked up and saw a Doctor in a white coat, leaning one arm against the railing. When they saw him, he straightened up and said, "I know what you came here for. The hard drive containing Vought’s files is in my hands. If you want it, come up."

After saying that, he turned and walked into an examination room, leaving the three of them caught between going and staying.

This was no ordinary world. If they stayed, no one knew whether Lamplighter would suddenly snap and burn them all into charcoal, or what Superpower the mysterious Doctor had that might kill them on the spot.

But if they went, this mission would be a complete failure, and their campaign against Vought would reach a dead end.

In the end, the Black man made the decision. He swept his eyes around the room and lowered his voice. "That Doctor seems rational. He’s different from those insane Superpower Users."

"Maybe it’s a trap. Mother’s Milk, haven’t you noticed how strange all this is?" Frenchie still disagreed somewhat.

"If it were a trap, the three of us would already look like her." The Black man called Mother’s Milk glanced at Stormfront. Seeing Kimiko’s constantly shifting expression, he reassured her, "If I’m right, that Doctor killed Stormfront. That means he may have a grudge against The Seven too."

"He killed Stormfront, took over this hospital, and even brought Lamplighter over to his side. That means he’s very likely like us, someone determined to oppose superheroes. If we can get his help, all the vengeance we want may finally have a chance."

Frenchie took a deep breath. After calming down, he also felt that Mother’s Milk had a point. If the Doctor meant them harm, he could kill Stormfront, so they would surely have been dead already.

"And if he really killed Stormfront, then he must have a way to kill these superhumans. We need to get that method. We can’t keep hiding forever."

After Mother’s Milk and Frenchie talked it over, they finally reached an agreement. They decided not to reveal that people were waiting outside to support them. The three of them would follow Lamplighter upstairs to meet the Doctor.

And so, the trio followed behind Lamplighter through the dark hospital. The night inside the building was terrifyingly quiet. Not a single person in any ward dared make a sound.

An atmosphere of extreme terror and strangeness hung around them, silencing them as well, as though they were afraid of being noticed by some beast.

But when they reached the examination room and pushed open the door, they found a scene utterly unlike the rest of the hospital. It was a brightly lit office, with warm lights giving it a cozy feel. The bookshelves held all kinds of books and miscellaneous items, while a pile of unfiled documents sat on the desk.

Lamplighter opened the door and let the three of them in, then stood beside it and said, "Doctor, I brought them."

"Thank you. Go get some rest."

Lamplighter nodded and left without hesitation. Frenchie turned and stared after him, until Mother’s Milk nudged him with an elbow and Frenchie finally turned back around.

But Lamplighter’s immediate departure made Mother’s Milk even more uneasy. In his eyes, Lamplighter was already a powerful Superpower User, yet this Doctor did not seem to need his protection at all.

Mother’s Milk had dealt with The Seven before. He knew that while those superheroes possessed immense strength, they traveled everywhere with hordes of bodyguards, as if they feared ordinary people without the strength to hurt a chicken might somehow injure them.

Thinking this, Mother’s Milk turned to look at the Doctor again. He looked completely ordinary, the very picture of a standard Doctor. The Doctor walked behind the desk and sat down, then looked up at them and said, "Nice to meet you. My name is Schiller, Schiller Rodriguez. You may call me Doctor Schiller."

"Who are you? Why are you here? What happened to Stormfront outside? Where are the files?" Frenchie asked almost impatiently.

Mother’s Milk jabbed Frenchie with his elbow again, signaling him not to be so rash. Even when facing an ordinary person, asking so many questions the first time they met was rather rude, much less when facing a strange Doctor with unknown abilities.

But unexpectedly, the Doctor did not get angry. Schiller merely shook his head and said, "You have too many questions. Pick the one you most want answered first."

Before Frenchie could speak, Kimiko’s body began trembling slightly. Mother’s Milk hurried to comfort her and said, "That… that corpse outside. What happened to her?"

"You should know her better than I do. She broke in here, so I killed her."

Mother’s Milk opened his mouth and said, "She… broke in here? But wasn’t this Vought’s psychiatric hospital to begin with?"

"Who said so?"

Mother’s Milk pursed his lips. He did not know how to answer that question. Schiller continued, "Vought’s psychiatric hospital? Then have they cured even one psychiatric patient here?"

"I… don’t think so. This place was never meant to treat mental illness, was it?"

"That’s right. But I cured every patient here. So whose hospital is this?"

Mother’s Milk decided not to continue discussing that question with him. Instead, he asked, "So who exactly are you? And why did you come to this hospital?"

"I already introduced myself. I’m Schiller Rodriguez, a Doctor. I know you may be wondering whether I have some other identity, but I don’t. I truly am just an ordinary Doctor."

"Like every Doctor, my calling is to treat patients. Over the past few months, I achieved quite a lot in this hospital. But the woman sitting in the lobby downstairs killed quite a few patients waiting to be seen, so now she’s sitting there."

Mother’s Milk immediately understood. This Doctor very likely had a grudge against The Seven. He had seen too many people like that—people driven mad and unstable because superheroes had killed important friends or family members, or those who appeared normal but had long since gone insane.

So he cleared his throat and said, "We have suffered the same things you have. We’re fighting Vought and The Seven it created. We hope to get your help."

"I know. That’s why you came here." Schiller picked up the glasses on his desk and put them on. Then he turned to look at the pitch-black sky outside and said, "There is still a long time before dawn. We have time to talk."

Mother’s Milk shook his head. "No. You killed Stormfront. They all have trackers Vought planted inside them. They’ll find you soon…"

After saying it, Mother’s Milk realized it himself. Logically speaking, the moment Stormfront had been killed, Vought should have descended upon this psychiatric hospital in force. Yet judging from the state of Stormfront’s corpse, she had not died moments ago. So much time had passed, and The Seven still had not come.

Mother’s Milk immediately looked up and asked, "You have a way to block the trackers? Can you tell us?"

"I told you, let’s talk first."

Schiller tapped the desk and said, "I can only treat one patient at a time. So you stay. The other two can wait in the examination room next door."

Frenchie was about to refuse, but Mother’s Milk stepped forward and pushed him outside. As he did, he whispered, "You’d better listen to him. Besides, Kimiko’s condition is a little unstable right now. Go keep her company."

After sending the two of them out, Mother’s Milk sat across from Schiller and looked into his eyes. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Of course, the subject that interests you most."

"What subject interests me most?"

"Superheroes."

"No, don’t use that word!" Mother’s Milk took a deep breath, unable to suppress the anger in his tone. "It’s not only an insult to those words. It’s an insult to language itself."

But Schiller shook his head and said, "You misunderstand. I’m not referring to those fools manufactured by Vought."

Mother’s Milk kept staring into Schiller’s eyes. In them, he saw a calm, deep ocean. As if infected by that gaze, he gradually calmed down. Schiller said:

"I want to talk about the real superheroes I have seen."

Mother’s Milk did not quite understand what he meant. He shook his head slightly, but Schiller patiently explained, "I know that in your life, almost nothing good has happened to you. Most of the people who came to this hospital were the same. Some of them were terrible people, nearly beyond saving, but everyone knew that it wasn’t their fault."

"But unlike you, I was fortunate enough to meet many people, during a certain period of my life, who could truly be called superheroes."

Schiller’s slightly nostalgic tone successfully drew Mother’s Milk in. Looking into Schiller’s eyes, he asked, "…What were they like?"

"Like you."

That was an answer Mother’s Milk had never expected. He had not heard words like radiant, great, or heroic from Schiller’s mouth. Mother’s Milk lowered his head and laughed self-mockingly. "Don’t joke around. Like me…"

A small trembling sound escaped through his nose, as though he had heard the most absurd joke in the world. But Schiller said to him seriously, "I’m not joking. They were like you, like your companions."

"A group of ordinary people. They needed to eat and sleep, had their own jobs, and some of them were still in school."

Mother’s Milk looked as though he had heard a myth. "How is that possible? Shouldn’t superheroes all be…"

He paused for a long time, seemingly unable to find the right adjective. In the end, he could only describe them with a few hollow phrases. "The kind who wear battle suits and uniforms, stand under flashing lights, then go around shaking hands with people…"

"Aren’t you describing The Seven?"

Mother’s Milk choked on that and finally said helplessly, "All right. I really don’t have much of a concept of people like that."

"How do you understand the three terms ordinary person, good person, and superhero?"

Mother’s Milk hesitated. His lips moved before he said, "Ordinary people are like us. We don’t have any Superpowers. Good people… maybe they exist, but I haven’t seen many. Superheroes…"

He shook his head, clearly disliking the word very much. Then Schiller said, "In my view, they are one and the same."

"The people I knew were all ordinary people. They had their own lives. They got tired, they got annoyed, and sometimes they made a mess of things."

"But they were also good people. Bleeding and getting hurt would never make them abandon the justice they believed in. Some of them even possessed character that could be called noble."

"And superheroes…" Schiller shook his head as well. "There were never superheroes in this world. There were only ordinary people striving to be good people."

A dry cough escaped Mother’s Milk’s throat. For some reason, he turned his head away from Schiller’s gaze. His eyes stung, and the corners of his mouth trembled. Clearly, those words had made him think of many, many people, including his father.

Mother’s Milk finally lost some control over his emotions. Even his breath trembled as he said:

"Maybe you don’t know, but my father… he was one. He… he was only an ordinary person, but… he fought lawsuits against Vought, seeking justice for those mothers harmed by Vought’s drugs…"

Mother’s Milk wiped his face and said, "In the end… he died from exhaustion. That’s not a figure of speech…"

"He had no super strength, no Self-Healing ability. He wasn’t a superhuman. He couldn’t go without sleep or food. So in the end, he died."

Mother’s Milk raised both hands to cover his mouth and gritted his teeth. "But now, the word hero has been claimed by those deceitful devils. Now, whenever I read that word, it makes me sick…"

"Then why not take it back?"

"We’re trying, but…"

"I know you are grieving, but have you considered that your father’s fate has already given you a warning? This way does not work."

Schiller looked into Mother’s Milk’s eyes. Mother’s Milk saw the calm ocean in the Doctor’s gaze suddenly roil with endless black tides. He heard Schiller say:

"They are criminals."

"And only criminals can deal with criminals."

Mother’s Milk repeated softly, "Only criminals can deal with criminals?"

"Who are you?"

"Who are we?"

"You are vengeance."

"We are vengeance?… That’s right. We are vengeance. We are…"

"…The Boys."

Let me explain something to everyone. This was originally meant to be a free bonus side story to make up for the various problems with the monthly-ticket bonus chapters, but Qidian would not let me create a free volume. If I put it in the first volume, though, it would disrupt the main story.

It’s fourteen thousand words, and it has only just begun. I also can’t update it bit by bit in the author’s notes.

And the world of The Boys is a little dark, so I was afraid that making it free would get it reported. Thanks for supporting it through subscriptions. I’ll send red packets in the group afterward! They can cover the subscription cost! (I still don’t really understand Qidian red packets. Can’t I just send money directly? Why do I have to include recommendation votes?)

Everyone, please join the group. You can find it below the synopsis.