The search bar just had one word and a letter: G-Men.
He could just about accept a weirdo like Tek Knight existing in this world; the guy had money and connections, which at least offered some twisted logic. But a direct parody of the X-Men?
In this gritty, cynical reality, a place like that shouldn't exist. He cross-referenced the online information with his own memories of the comics and felt a knot of dread tighten in his stomach.
The same "benevolent" billionaire founder, the same school for "gifted" kids who were actually abducted, and, most likely, the same late-night visits to their bedrooms.
Leaning back from the laptop, his face pale, Kevin couldn't understand it. How could Butcher and The Boys be so hyper-focused on The Seven when shit like this was happening right under their noses?
"Nope," he said, his voice firm. "I definitely need a drink."
He found a 24-hour liquor store and, after dropping a thousand dollars on a couple of bottles of high-end booze without a second thought, he returned to his apartment. He poured a generous glass, downed it, and sat back down at the laptop.
"Okay, the world is a cesspool," he muttered, pouring another. "Maybe later... no, I am definitely going to do something about this." He'd never personally encountered a pedophile, but the thought filled him with a pure, unadulterated hatred.
It was a simple, clean rage. As if on cue, his new memory bank helpfully supplied a few mission debriefs with Homelander, where the supe had "explained" how they dealt with criminals, even forcing a younger, horrified Deep to personally end a few lives.
"First things first, I need to figure out when the hell I am," he said, pushing the disturbing new memories aside.
He searched for information on Madlyn Stillwell and found no mention of her death.
That placed him somewhere in the last quarter of the first season.
The Deep was already in exile, and Homelander was just starting to unravel the truth about Rebecca Butcher.
He considered getting involved, but quickly realized there was no upside. Other than knowing the main players' personalities, his future knowledge was basically useless.
Of course, if he were still loyal to The Seven and wanted The Boys dead, he could probably take out most of them himself.
The current version of The Boys was hardly a threat, even to a mid-tier supe.
He shut down the laptop and collapsed onto the bed, his mind reeling. The mix of his old self and this new body was disorienting.
He was simultaneously used to the strength and abilities, yet constantly experiencing a low-grade euphoria from the raw power and perfect health humming through his veins.
He hadn't noticed it before, but compared to this body, his old one felt like a broken-down jalopy.
"They say you can get used to anything," he said to the ceiling, realizing for the first time that there wasn't a single ache or pain in his body.
Well, except for the still-bizarre sensation of the gills, something the previous owner had spent a lifetime learning to live with.
Enjoying the moment of perfect physical peace, his thoughts drifted back to The Seven and how he could get back in.
As much as he hated most of them, the perks of being on the team far outweighed the cons of dealing with psychos like Homelander or the even more fucked-up Black Noir.
The only thing that gave him pause was the comic book memory of Noir... eating a baby.
The thought of that image, rendered in real life, sent a shiver down his spine. He pictured himself facing Homelander's clone and knew, with sickening certainty, that he wouldn't last ten seconds against that kind of monster.
As he recalled, the show's version of Noir was also a master of martial arts and bladed weapons.
That brought another thought to mind: the original Kevin, and most of the supes he knew, never trained.
Once they got their powers, their bodies stopped degrading, so they just gave in to hedonism.
Out of The Seven, only Noir, Maeve, and A-Train had ever really bothered with training, and even Maeve had slacked off in recent years.
Noir spent six hours a day in the training room.
Maeve, back when she still had some fight in her, had taken lessons from multiple masters to improve her swordsmanship.
And A-Train, terrified of losing his spot, had pushed himself to the absolute limit for the first few years.
And it had worked. The Deep hadn't noticed it at the time, but in the early days, he'd easily outmuscled the new speedster.
A year later, when they'd had an arm-wrestling match, he'd barely managed a draw. And that was against a guy who primarily focused on his legs and back.
He wondered where he could even find dumbbells heavy enough for him now. Was there a limit to how strong a V-enhanced person could get?
Since their bodies didn't regress, they could theoretically keep improving until old age finally caught up with them.
While looking up the comic book heroes, he'd also checked on Soldier Boy and learned that while he was long dead, his entire team was still alive.
The most successful of them, the Crimson Countess, was in her eighties but didn't look a day over forty.
He shot up in bed, a sudden, electric thought striking him. The entity. It had promised him a special power.
"So, what did I get?" he asked the empty room.
A second later, he had to squint as a bright light materialized in his hand, coalescing into the shape of a strange, swirling fruit.