The Boys: I'm the Origin of Compound V

Chapter 6: The Hunt Begins

Adam navigated the labyrinth of city streets, his focus sharpening with every step. Frenchie—the name lingered in his mind like a faint beacon. He didn't need much to ignite his resolve. A name was enough to start.

The city's pulse was chaotic and erratic, neon lights buzzing over damp sidewalks as Adam weaved through the crowd. The distant wail of sirens mixed with the hum of nightlife, creating a symphony of urban decay. He needed resources, connections, and above all, a plan.

Adam's jaw tightened as he glanced around the bustling streets. "Yeah, thanks for the warning. Got anything actually useful to offer?"

He sighed, muttering under his breath. "How about how to find Frenchie without wandering blind?"

"Right," Adam muttered. "Guess that narrows it down to half the city."

Still, the system's advice gave him a direction. Following rumors of underground activity brought him to a black market tucked between dilapidated buildings. Vendors hawked burner phones, counterfeit documents, and whispers of dangerous secrets.

Adam approached a wiry vendor selling electronics. "I'm looking for someone," he said, his tone calm but firm.

The man barely glanced up. "Aren't we all?"

Sliding a twenty-dollar bill across the counter, Adam leaned closer. "Frenchie."

The vendor's eyes flicked to the cash. He snorted, unimpressed. "Twenty bucks? For that kind of info?"

Adam's patience wore thin. He leaned in, lowering his voice. "I'm not here to haggle. Either you tell me what I need, or I'll make sure your stall doesn't stay open for long."

The vendor hesitated, clearly weighing his options. "Fine," he grumbled. "There's a bar—The Rusty Nail on 52nd Street. Word is, Frenchie's got contacts there. That's all I know."

It was enough. Adam nodded and pushed away from the counter, the vendor's muttering fading into the noise of the market.

Adam's lips curled into a bitter smile. "You think that was aggressive? You haven't seen anything yet."

The Rusty Nail was a dimly lit bar that reeked of desperation and stale beer. Cracked leather booths lined the walls, and a haze of smoke hung in the air. Adam slid into a booth near the back, his eyes scanning the room.

"Thanks for the stats," Adam muttered. "How about pinpointing Frenchie?"

Adam rolled his eyes but stayed put, ordering a whiskey to blend in. Minutes turned to an hour, the whiskey long gone, when a commotion near the back caught his attention.

"You owe me, mon ami," a voice said, thick with a French accent. "Do not make me repeat myself."

Adam's heart skipped. He knew that voice. Rising from his seat, he approached the scene cautiously.

Frenchie—a wiry man with a scruffy beard and wild eyes—stood toe-to-toe with a larger man, their argument escalating.

"And I'm telling you," the larger man growled, "I don't have it."

Frenchie chuckled, his smile more dangerous than amused. "Then we have a problem."

Adam stepped forward. "Frenchie."

The tension broke as both men turned toward him, the larger one using the distraction to slip away. Frenchie's expression shifted to wary curiosity.

"Who's asking?" he said, his hand lingering near his pocket.

Adam raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "Someone who needs your help."

Frenchie tilted his head, scrutinizing him. "Help with what?"

"Taking down Vought."

Silence fell over the room, the weight of Adam's words hanging between them. Frenchie's lips curled into a grin, but his eyes remained sharp.

"Interesting," he said, motioning for Adam to follow. "But if you're serious, you better have a damn good reason."

In the dim light of a back room, Adam recounted his story, leaving out details that would raise too many questions. Frenchie listened intently, nodding occasionally as he rolled a cigarette.

Adam paused, choosing his words carefully. "I have experience with Vought—let's just say I know how they operate. I need people who can fight them, and you seem to know how to do that."

Frenchie exhaled a plume of smoke, his eyes narrowing. "You got balls," he said finally. "Stupid balls, but still, balls."

Adam smirked faintly. "So, will you help me?"

Frenchie leaned back, considering. "Maybe. But first, we need to see if you're worth the risk."

Adam's gaze sharpened. "What do you have in mind?"

Frenchie's grin widened. "Let's just say, I know someone who'd love to meet you."

Adam's stomach tightened, but he kept his voice steady. "Let's do it."