Marvel X The Boys

In An Entirely Different Universe 

The room stank of stale beer, sweat, and bad decisions. Typical for a safehouse—or what passed for one these days. Billy Butcher leaned back in his chair, boots kicked up on a battered coffee table that might have been white once upon a time. A cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth, the smoke curling lazily toward a flickering ceiling fan.

"I'm telling you, mate," Butcher said, his tone dripping with derision. "If I see Homelander's smug mug one more time, I'll—"

A muffled snort cut him off. Frenchie, sprawled across the threadbare couch, waved his hand dismissively. "Oui, oui, you'll blow his head off, rip him apart, piss on the pieces. We've heard it all before, mon capitaine."

Butcher's lip curled, but before he could retort, Mother's Milk—always the steady one—intervened. "Frenchie, quit winding him up. And Butcher, maybe don't threaten to murder the strongest supe alive every other sentence, yeah? It's not great for morale."

"Morale?" Butcher echoed, gesturing to the decrepit room around them. "We're not exactly the bleedin' Avengers. Morale's a f***in' luxury."

At the mention of the Avengers, Hughie, perched awkwardly on a wooden chair that looked ready to collapse, looked up. "Speaking of... uh, does this seem weird to anyone else?" He gestured toward the old TV screen propped up in the corner of the room.

The News Broadcast

The static-filled screen displayed a news anchor struggling to maintain her composure.

"We're receiving reports of... an unusual astronomical phenomenon. A second sun has appeared alongside our own, visible faintly on the horizon." The anchor's voice wavered, her forced smile betraying her unease. "Scientists are working to understand this unprecedented event."

The camera switched to live footage: two suns hanging in the sky, one golden and familiar, the other pale and sickly.

The room fell silent, the usual snark and banter drained away as they stared at the screen.

"Well, f*** me sideways," Butcher muttered, exhaling a long stream of smoke. "That's new."

World Distortion

Harley, who had been sitting quietly in the corner with a beat-up laptop, glanced out the window. The golden mist swirling down the street caught his attention. "Anyone else see that?" he asked, nodding toward the faint, ethereal glow creeping through the cracks in the boarded-up window.

Frenchie joined him, squinting. "What in the actual f*** is that?"

Before anyone could answer, the room gave a subtle lurch, like the ground shifting beneath them. Frenchie's cigarette slipped from his fingers, and he cursed as it fell onto his shirt.

"What the f*** was that?" Hughie asked, his voice pitching higher than he'd have liked.

Mother's Milk frowned, moving to the window. "That ain't right. Weather doesn't move like that."

Outside, the golden mist thickened, wrapping around lamp posts and benches. The air shimmered, heavy with the scent of ozone, and the shadows on the street shifted unnaturally, like they had a mind of their own.

Butcher stood, cracking his neck as he moved toward the window. "Let me guess—some supe's gone and cocked up the weather? What is it this time, laser eyes frying the ozone layer?"

Hughie gave him a nervous glance. "Doesn't feel like one of Vought's messes. I mean... look at it."

Frenchie snorted. "Oh, sure. The sky's breaking in half, but don't worry—it's not Vought. We're perfectly safe."

Butcher shot him a look. "Pipe down, Frenchie. Let's not rule out the obvious just yet." He tapped the glass with his finger, watching the mist curl against the window like it was alive. "Whatever this is, it's bloody unnatural."

The TV crackled, static filling the room again as the screen switched to a new image: waves crashing violently over a coastal city, streets flooding. The anchor's voice trembled as she reported on global chaos: bizarre weather patterns, strange gravitational anomalies, and cities experiencing time distortions.

"Looks like the world's gone and lost its f***in' mind," Butcher said, his tone half-casual, half-serious. "And we're right in the thick of it. Typical."

Tension Rises

The room vibrated faintly, the walls groaning as if under pressure. The golden mist outside grew thicker, creeping closer to the safehouse. Harley stepped back from the window, a rare flicker of unease crossing his face.

Mother's Milk crossed his arms. "Whatever's happening, it's getting worse. We need a plan."

Butcher smirked, the cigarette still dangling from his lips. "Plan's simple: same as always. Find the bastard responsible and make 'em wish they'd never been born."

"And if there isn't anyone responsible?" Hughie asked, his voice quiet.

Butcher's grin widened, but there was no humor in it. "Then we wing it, sunshine. Same as always."