What probably helped Ilya grow into a more well-balanced individual was likely just the way he was raised - like a normal child. He was informed he was special, he was taught how to control his scream and how to speak without triggering it, but he was never treated as different. Never anyone’s weapon. Never a pawn in a twisted political game. He could have razed entire buildings to the ground, but he was taught differently. He was raised with empathy and kindness, something oddly lacking in Supe circles, even among parents who were themselves Supes.
So instead of inherent anger, rage, pain - he grew up with humility, grace, and the ability to remain mostly in control of his emotions. That alone probably made him dangerous.
“I was born premature and desperately ill,” he started, slowly, “and they were looking to use me as an experiment anyway. What better to use than a dying infant? If their experiments failed, well, they’d had nothing to lose anyway. They realised I wasn’t going to survive longer than about half an hour at best, so injected me with Compound V and then realised what a horrible idea that had been, because I killed a bunch of scientists a few days later by complete accident.”
“They took me because they wanted to use me. Their newest weapon. My mother never saw me again.”
Although it was hard to put into words, to verbalise and actually acknowledge what had happened and how very evil Vought had been, he found it... Helpful, to get it out, to someone. Firecracker seemed genuinely interested, and while she was known as a bit of a bitch and Confederate-adjacent, she hadn’t done anything overtly heinous yet.
Well, aside from those accusations, but he was doing his best to ignore those. Teamwork never really worked if you detested eachother. The Seven kept dropping in numbers because none of them could get along. He didn’t need to add to that.
“They wanted to call me ‘Banshee’ at first. I threatened to walk and they changed it to ‘Echo’. I still don’t like it, but it’s miles better than Banshee.”
He laughed a little, shrugging. What could he really do about it? These names seemed oddly arbitrary, and while he wasn’t a fan, all he could do was try and get them to choose a name that didn’t sound like he was going for gold in the nightmare Olympics. That was Homelander’s job.
He nodded at Firecracker, with a small smile.
“Pretty much,” he answered. “If you somehow survive the scream, the echo will finish you off. It’s kinda cool, but the... Well, y’know, I do have a pretty high bodycount from my childhood, because babies scream a lot and that was never really ideal.”
“First baby to have a bodycount, maybe. Go me.”
He watched the sparkles in a strange, childlike wonder - it was cute. Maybe completely useless unless in short-range self-defence movements, but cute. Dazzling, too. Perhaps good for mesmerisation in small doses. There was potential there for something great, even if Firecracker didn’t quite see it herself.
“I saw a few episodes, they made me watch them before I came out here,” Ilya said, slowly. “But, ah... You don’t seem to be enjoying it, if you’ll forgive the observation. Still, you have the energy for it. The charisma is good. Maybe that’s why they called you ‘Firecracker’ - outspoken, bold, and unapologetic. They’re not bad qualities to have.”
