COMMISSIONSOPEN!

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Aww, come on, you're no fun."

It was just something to pass the time with. You were already a couple shots deep into the evening, chasing them down with the poor excuse of a beer Mal brought from the store.

The past few weeks have been...good. Almost too good to be true. After that first night you went out to the bar with the rest of the team, you gradually found it easier and easier to be around them. You didn't really feel the need to hide everytime you were at the office between missions anymore, finding spending your cool time in the breakroom rather endearing. The more you spent time with the others, the more you felt like you were getting the hang of their whole dynamic, outside and during missions.

While all of them could be insanely annoying at times and every shift left you with a completely drained social battery, the feeling of having people you could possibly now call friends for the first time in years was strangely addicting. So even if they pissed you off to no end, whenever somebody invited you to work out with them at the gym, or planned a night out in the team groupchat, you couldn't refuse the invitation, no matter how much you just wanted to go home and bury yourself under your cozy blankets.

Tonight, Robert was hosting a smaller get-together for the gang. That usually meant that the Z-team was too tired of people to go out to a bar, so they invited themselves to their dispatcher's apartment. Robert, understandably, always grumbled over 11 people inviting themselves to his home. But he never shut the plan down, so you thought he must have liked his team's company enough. Luckilly for 'dear ol' Bob-Bob', as Punch up would say, not everyone had time to invade his personal space for the night.

Golem, as you had found out, had a child to care for, a baby Kaiju to be exact, and Phenomaman simply excused himself, saying he had been invited to a movie premiere of some kind. Punch up sprained his wrist a few days ago, and on his dominant hand no less, so he was taking things easy, enjoying mandatory rest before he could, well, punch again. And Prism had to rehearse for an upcoming concert. So that only left you, Visi, Mal, Sonar, Flambae, Coupé and Waterboy hanging out in Robert's still sparcely furnished living room.

You took it upon yourself to bring snacks, Waterboy and Coop offered to order some pizzas for you all, Mal brought her shitty beer and Flambae with Invisigal provided the liquor. Sonar said he paid for half of the beers Mal brought, but you suspected he was just mooching off of the rest of you for tonight. Robert said that if you wanted to invite yourself over to his apartment, you had to bring in whatever you wanted to eat and drink. Fair enough.

The conversation flowed easily, the banter as sharp and incessant as ever, and so did the drinks. You could already feel the liquor taking its effect when Visi suggested you play truth or dare to spice things up. Because of course she did. Turns out it wasn't a completely bad idea. The first few couple of rounds were a bit awkward, a bunch of adults sitting in a circle on the floor playing a game for middle schoolers was a bit odd, but once you all agreed to get some liquid courage in you, things started to get more interesting.

Waterboy, already pretty drunk, kicked things off when he chose dare and Sonar made him do a handstand in the middle of Robert's living room. The young man took the challenge in stride and actually managed to stay upside down for a few seconds, hands wobbly and overall a little awkward, before falling to the hardfloor ground with a heavy thud. Just as quickly as he fell, he shot up again, this time to run to your dispatcher's bathroom to puke his guts out. And after another couple of rounds, by which point the perpetually wet man was sitting down with the rest of you again, a fresh beer opened in his hand, it was your turn.

You didn't know what posessed you to choose truth, whether it was Coupé's hypnotising eyes peering at you in the dim lamp light of the room or the only increasing amount of alcohol in your bloodstream. Any other time, dare would have been much more pleasant to deal with, even though you had no doubt she would make you do something completely embarassing, that would generate jokes long after Punch up returned from sick leave. But you had made your choice, and there was no going back.

"Waterboy did a handstand, and you choose truth?" Visi mocked you, the man in question paling slightly at the mention of his drunken gymnastics trick. "Please don't make me think about that..." he mumbled and you shrugged. "Don't call me a wuss for making my choice, I'm laying my soul bare before you all." you pointed out with a sharp smile. Coupé, silent up until that point, simply hummed in interest.

"What are you most afraid of?"

You pondered over your answer as your brain processed the former asassin's sultry tone. "Mirrors." you finally replied, swirling the beer can in your hand absent-mindedly.

"What, so like, if I put a mirror in front of you, you'll freak out?" Flambae scoffed and you shook your head. "No, I just...don't like reflective surfaces in general. They make me uneasy." you explained, already half regretting revealing this to them. "So how do you feel about taking pictures of yourself?" Mal asked, evidently intrigued. "Yeah, no. Don't like that." you shook your head even more firmly and Robert nodded in understanding. "Probably for the best." Sonar commented and you flipped him off. "Big words for someone who looks easy to draw." you smirked and the hybrid's ears tilted back slightly as he squinted at you with a bark of 'The fuck's that supposed to mean?' before it was drowned out by the others' laughter.

You played a couple more rounds, Robert getting back at Sonar for Waterboy by having him describe his first time with another person, something not even Malevola knew about yet. Then you made Coupé prank call some poor person in the middle of the night and that's how you all found out she was terrible with improvised dialogue.

But hours flew by and as the liquor and beer kept diminishing, the atmosphere in the small flat calmed down significantly. Everybody was mostly sat wherever they found a spot comfortable enough and it was actually pretty cozy. Your head was buzzing with a pleasantly drunken haze as you listened to Waterboy gush about his grandma's cats and their shenanigans, your legs entangled, the last beer can passing from his hands to yours.

"Hey, you're in the news again." Visi sat up straight, eyebrows pulled upwards, while she was watching something on her phone. The group let out a collective 'oooh' as you untangled yourself from your gangly teammate and made your way to her across the floor. Plopping down beside her, you could feel someone's head on your shoulder and a couple more people pile up around you as Invisigal rewinded the news report to the beginning.

A local broadcast was covering a mission you and Golem were sent out on that day. Robert received a call about a couple of thieves wreaking havoc on a local farmer's market, and he needed you to catch and suspend them before the cops arrived to take them off your hands. You weren't sure if sending you to chase after a handful of individuals in the middle of a packed market was a good idea, but you did the best you could, and luckilly, the mission was a success. Once you got them all together, Golem basically trapped them in a mudpile. The reporter was standing at the edge of the scene, the giant pile of dirt with wriggling heads poking out working as a nice background image, with you and your partner stood in front of it, your backs to the camera crew. To be honest, you didn't even know you were being filmed the entire time.

The young reporter quickly recalled the entire situation, how the organised group planned to steal as much money from the unsuspecting customers as they could, before creating enough chaos to slip away with the police none the wiser. "If it weren't for the quick thinking of one of the civilians, who called the Superhero dispatch network, who knows what kind of financial or property damages everybody here today would be facing in this moment. We are happy to report that the SDN workers handled the situation quickly and without any complications." you felt a couple hands pat your shoulder, with some 'good job's accompanying them.

The young man, however, swiftly continued with his speech "While the Z-team had made headlines in the past with their amazing work on the Red ring case, this is possibly the first time the public had the opportunity to see their newest addition in action." the screen changed to a recording of you chasing two of the thieves through the market. The crowd of people quickly parting on both sides to let the perpetrators through, a giant, fleshy mass following them quickly, proppelled forward by odd pairs of arms and legs protruding from all sides. The faces of the bystanders reflected different depictions of shock, some people quickly taking out their phones to immortalise the bizzare scene, while the thieves were scrambling for a way to get you off their backs. "Damn, I didn't know you could do that." Flambae muttered, his tone a strange mix between disturbed and impressed. "You and me both." you nodded slightly.

It was strange, seeing yourself in action from a third party's perspective. You were, technically, your normal self under all that flesh, running like any other person would, but it was almost hard to believe when not even the machinery could recognise the difference. Your stomach churrned unpleasantly when that thing you passed in front of the camera. The limbs you have conjured up twisting and scrambling to push your imaginary, bulbous body forward. You passed the beer back to where you suspected Waterboy was watching.

The screen changed again, footage cutting to a woman with a young boy by her side, the child hiding his face shyly into him mothers side, while she cradled him to her with one hand. A microphone could be seen sticking towards her off from the side of the view. "I mean, I'm glad that the criminals got apprehended and that nobody was hurt, but I'm not sure, from the parents' perspective, how to explain to a child that that was a hero that just saved us. I mean, they look like they crawled straight out of someone's nightmare, how am I supposed to explain that that's a hero to my kid?" she stammered slightly over her thoughts, nervously looking between the reporter and the camera.

An older man suddenly barged his way through the curious onlookers as he roughly grabbed the microphone out of the reporter's hand, holding it too close to his face "I completly agree! There are people who take children with them out here for god's sake! That kind of fucked up power belongs in a circus at best! I can't believe the SDN would want something like that representing their hard working people! What kind of mother nature's fucked up joke had to happen for someone to end up like this! I swear, they hire anybody with powers these days. I mean, can you even call that thing a human anymore??"

You could see the mother trying to gently calm down the fuming man beside her. But he only continued to spout nonsense, something about almost throwing up, before the reporter had to yank back the microphone from his hands and the feed cut short. "He's talking big for someone who almost lost all his cash." Sonar grumbled and Visi turned off the phone. "Damn, that escalated quickly..." she muttered apologetically. The head resting on your shoulder disappeared, replaced by a gentle hand instead "Don't mind that guy. He seems like a total dickhead." she tried to comfort you, as if this was the first time someone had something nasty to say about you. "Yeah, some poeple have no idea what the fuck they're talking about." Robert sighed and took a swig of his beer. "Unbelievable." Coupé muttered, shaking her head. "Un-ungrateful...asshole..." Waterboy grumbled and Flambae jokingly punched his shoulder with a hoot.

"Yeah, it's...it's whatever. The mission went well, and nobody got hurt. That's what matters." you nodded, but your eyes haven't left Invisigal's screen, now pitch black, just yet. "I suspected some people would have that kind of reaction." you shrugged. "Well it's- it's not nice, to talk about- they shouldn't talk like that at all!" Waterboy protested, his hand combing back the hair that flopped over his forehead. "Don't worry about it. People have told me much worse things to my face. I'm okay." you laughed his comment off, not noticing how nobody else joined you in your attempt to lighten up the mood.

The party ended not too long after that. You said goodbye to everybody, got a few hugs and half walked, half staggered your way home, refusing to take a cab. The night air was pleasant, the scenery serene with your headphones blasting music straight into your brain and by the time you made it to your flat, you felt almost sober.

It felt so good to feel the hot water against your sking when you decided to take a shower before going to bed. But immediately after you slipped on your pyjamas and got comfortable in your bed, you opened up your social media to look for the news report Visi showed you back at Robert's house. You don't know how much time you spent just replaying the footage of you chasing those thugs through the market stalls, but by the time you decided to check the comments, just out of curiosity, to see what people generally seemed to think of you, it was 3am. You were pleasantly surprised to see that the few top comments, the ones that received the most likes, were actually defending you. The vast majority of the others, however, seemed to agree with the man that had rudely interrupted the interview, or the mother, who the interview was originally meant for.

Turning off your phone and plugging in the charger, you decided that reading those comments wouldn't change the good job you did on that mission. You weren't lying when you said that you weren't surprised by those peoples' reactions, or that you've been told much worse things in the past, and it's not like what the public thought of you mattered, really. But sleep seemed to evade you, no position comfortable and always feeling too hot or too cold, no matter how many times you adjusted under the covers. The images of arms and legs flashing in your mind every time you closed your eyes.

At one point you decided trying to make yourself fall asleep was useless, and so you rolled on your back to stare at the ceiling, counting the patterns your mind made up in the darkness for the absence of visual input. It was around 5am when you decided that sleep was just not meant for you tonight and you got up, planning to get dressed, run to the nearest gas station for some energy drinks, and start your day with a run, or perhaps a gym session.

You could feel the countless eyes watching your every move, their lashes gently rustling as they blinked.

************************************************************************

You didn't know what it was about today that made every petty criminal in the area decide that they need money, and that they need it fast. It was a few hours after lunch, and you've already been sent to one break in, one attempted kidnapping and one armed robbery, each one leaving you more exhausted then before.

While the rest of the team joked about how much water you consumed every time you came back from the field, you could always count on there being a water bottle already prepared at your usual seat whenever you did come back, or somebody would drop it off just after you sat down. Flambae joked once about how 'you must absolutely reek if you manage to sweat out that amount of liquids each mission' as he sat at the other end of the table to further make his point, right after dropping another water bottle before you. Prism laughed at his words and gently elbowed you in the ribs "You can always borrow my deodorant if you ever run out, hun." she offered and you threw a tired smile her way.

Your stats were steadily rising, the way you felt more comfortable around the team giving allowing you to focus more on gaining physical strength besides solely relying on your powers, so it was no wonder Robert felt more confident sending you on more missions. It was a constant cycle, one that was very important if you wanted a career as a hero at the SDN. Sometimes you almost missed the times when you were simply the 'kitten-savior', the one who'd help old ladies safely across the busy road. But every time you caught yourself thinking longingly about those types of tasks, a sudden wave of shame would push them back into the recesses of your mind.

And so you sat hunched over on your chair, notebook open in front of you, one hand scribbling down whatever came to mind as your other periodically lifted a chilled water bottle up to your lips. With every gulp of water you focused on the coldness of the liquid travelling down your throat, before it settled in your stomach and accomodated to your body temperature, grounding you in the moment. It was a nice, hramless way to tell your brain 'this is us now, the work is over', before you'd have to go back out again.

But the short breaks and rapidly coming missions were making it a lot harder to compose yourself in front of the others. You yould see your vision get fuzzy around the corners and the hand holding the pen sped up its scribbling. The only thing to be afraid of in this room is you.

"You doing okay?"

Your head snapped up towards the source of the voice. Robert was standing at the table, by your side, his brows creased in the way they did when he was observing. "What?" you breathed out, slightly dazed. His voice seemed far away for some reason and you didn't know whether to focus on his face, or the way the walls seemed to be vibrating just slightly. "I asked you if you were okay. You seem tense." the dispatcher set his coffee mug down, pulling out a chair across from you to sit on. You let out a long breath, trying to smile, but it probably came out more forced than you'd like "Oh, yeah. Yeah. Just...a long day, that's all." Robert chuckled "Long day? We're barely in the second half of the shift!" and his eyes focused on you again, mischief twinkling in those gorgeous brown irises "Don't tell me you overestimated your limits yesterday." the dispatcher smugly taunted and you let out a small chuckle of your own. "Nah, I just-"

The rest of the words caught in your throat. Literally. Your eyes going wide as you could feel something obstructing your airway. Robert's expression turned from smug and mischievous to concerned in a split second as you started to cough. "Hey, what happened, are you alright?" he reached out a hand to your shoulder, your coughing only increasing in intensity. The rest of the people in the breakroom started to turn their heads to face the both of you. Just as Robert stood up from his seat to rush over and pat you on the back, you felt the thing in your throat move up. Hunching over even more, basically curling in on yourself, you dropped your pen so you could place your hand under your mouth. When you felt that small, hard object at the back of your throat you gagged, your throat muscles and tongue moving in tandem to get it out of you as soon as possible.

Your chest heaved as you could finally take in oxygen again, your fist clenched around the thing you just coughed up. You were scared to open it, your gaze fixed on your hand, as if you could just deduce what was cradled in your palm without you ever having to look at it directly. Robert, on the other hand, eyed warily the black spittle covering your bottom lip.

When you opened your hand, the thing fell to the polished surface of the table with a clink.

You stared, mouth open slightly and still panting, eyes wide as they took in the tooth that you just regurgitated. Covered in the same black goo that you were so familiar with, now feeling so alien and distant. The fuzziness around your eyes got worse, your vision shrinking to two small pinpoints as the walls shook. Robert's gaze mirrored your own, his back slightly hunched as he hovered over you, his hand still half ready to pat you on the back.

You pushed yourself away from the table and stood on shaky, uncertain legs. "Sorry. I need- I'll- Excuse me." Strings of sentences falling out of your mouth as you stumbled past your dispatcher, making your way out of the breakroom. The eyes rolled their pupils around to watch you leave. "Who the fuck left their tooth on the table?" Prism exclaimed besides Robert, having just entered the room, while you were on your way out. Her only answer was Robert's shocked expression as he turned to look at the door you left the room through.

The only thing to be afraid of in this room is you.

Your legs somehow brought you into the toilets. The journey there was a blur of shapes and shadows and you just hoped no one saw the state you were in. Bending over the sink, you let the tap on and splashed your face with cold water. 'Come on, snap out of it' you thought to yourself, frustrated that you just did that in front of your fucking boss. The room was empty, quiet apart from the intense humming of the lights above your head. The noise melted in your head with the whispers floating in and out of your ears. The only thing to be afraid of in this room is you.

Taking a couple deep breaths and splashing your face again, just for a good measure, you looked up. Your own reflection greeted you in the mirror. Your skin was red and wet from the way you roughly slapped the water on your face, hoping the shock through your skin would be enough to get your brain back in order. Your eyes were wide and your hands were wracked with slight tremors. Did you always look that way? You leaned closer to inspect your face. Something about the way your sking hugged your muscles seemed...different. Your cheeks weren't...they didn't sag like that, not the last time you checked. And what was going on with your chin?

Fingers snapped in front of your face a couple of times. Blinking rapidly, you staggered back, Visi popping up in front of you. "What are you doing?" she questioned, expression unamused, but her eyes seemed to stare into your very soul. Swallowing around nothing you let out a shaky breath "I, uh...nothing. Just, my skin's been pretty dry lately, so I'm checking it out." you muttered, stealing another glance in the mirror. Your own reflection stared back. "I got a pretty good moisturiser I could lend you to help with that." she crossed her arms over her chest, one hip jutting out as she shifted her weight to one leg.

"Should I tell Robert you need a break?" she asked, voice quieter now. "I, um, that's not..." you tried to oppose, but she only cocked her head to the side. "Really? 'Cause you didn't look that 'ok' after spitting out that tooth in the middle of a break." she raised her brow with her sarcastic comment. Your heart jumped in your chest. "I just...I need a few minutes alone...to collect myself." you mumbled, defeated under her scrutinising gaze. Invisigirl sighed "Alright, I'll tell the boss. But if you need someone to talk, we're here." she patted your shoulder with a small smile as she left.

As soon as the door closed behind her, you threw yourself to the sink again, your hands gripping the counter until your knuckles turned white. The only thing to be afraid of in this room is you. It wasn't working, why wasn't it working??

Your reflection stood in front of you, leering at you from behind the glass. Its mouth moved silently and you read a simple question from its lips.

'What

are

you?'

You watched, confused and terrified, as it slowly raised its arms to its face, fingers digging into the flesh as if it were butter. Dragging its nails down, you could see flesh separating from bone, rivers of black blood spilling out of its face and filling up the sink underneath the mirror. You wanted to tear your eyes away from the grotesque scene, you knew that if you would just look down, the sink would be empty, and your teeth would still be lodged inside your jaws, where they belonged. But you couldn't. The only thing to be afraid of in this room is you. And you were.

How did you end up in the showers? You didn't remeber leaving the restroom, but it was hard to focus when the walls were covered in ever-shifting fractals, from the center of which arms sprouted out like black mold, reaching blindly, snagging on your clothes, yanking you this way and that. It took everything in you not to scream, pushing blindly forward to one of the shower heads. The hands that had unhooked it from the wall and let the cold stream soak the entirety of your head might as well not been yours.

Your legs gave out under you and you slid down the wall, hands clutching the shower tube like a lifeline. Shaky gasps left your mouth as the freezing cold water made contact with your sweaty skin.

"Tell me a bit about who you are."

The warm voice of the therapist you once decided to see was ringing like a bell throughout the room.

"I don't know."

Your monotone voice drifted from one corner of the room to the other.

"What is it that you need help with?"

"I don't know."

"What do you think would help you find out what you need?"

"I don't know."

"Well in that case, there isn't much of a reason for us to keep seeing each other."

You sputtered out water that had made its way into your mouth. Struggling a little with the showerhead before the water stopped invading your nose, your mouth, your eyes. The hands hung limply from the walls, cold, dead and wet.

The only thing to be afraid of in this room is you.

In front of you, the showers seemlesslyfaded into what was your childhood bedroom. A younger you stood, clad in nothing but their underwear, in front of a full body mirror you had against the wall. You could see the immense shame with which you stood in front of your own refletion, cowering before the eyes staring back.

'I...love you...' the younger you croaked meekly to the beast it was facing, before its sickly coloured hands shot through the glass and wrapped them around your throat.

You shut your eyes and screamed.

************************************************************************

"It's okay. You're okay. I got you, I got you..."

The shower was off and somebody's warm body was pressed up against your own sopping wet one. Strong arms curled around you, rocking you side to side, while shushing you ina deep tone, like one consoles a child. Robert.

How long were you here? Where were you again? Your mind tried desperately to catch up on everything that had happened, but it all felt like a distant dream.

Lurching out of Robert's grasp, you barely made it over to the shower drain before you felt the contents of your stomach violently leaving your body. Waterboy's wet hands supporting your chest, while Robert's now equally soaked ones made sure your hair or clothes weren't in the way. All the while murmruing gentle soothing nothings to you, as you gurgled and sobbed and cried, while the water leaving your stomach swirled unhurriedly down the drain. Your overworked mind registered mutters from the open door, you could barely make out a group of people crowding the entrance to the showers from the corner of your eye, as well as Invisigal and Prism who stood in their way, snapping at them to 'Get the fuck back to work' and that there was 'nothing to see here'.

Once your stomach was empty, and your upset stomach was making you dry heave its own acid, Robert gently rolled you over to your back, letting your head rest on his outstreched legs. He muttered quietly to Waterboy if he would clean up the mess, to which the man furiously nodded, and his attention was drawn back to you. You laid there helplessly in his arms, eyes close, lips blue from the cold and your whole body shivering, the dispatcher couldn't even begin to imagine what you had gone through. Never once he thought your powers could turn against you so viciously and without any way for you to stop them.

When Visi told him that you were taking a break, because you weren't feeling well, his first instinct was to go back through all the missions he put you through to find out just what he did wrong. But there was nothing he could've done differently, the missions he sent you on were perfect for someone with your abilities and you didn't say anything that would hint at you needing a break. He felt bad about sending you on yesterday's mission with Golem and even worse when you just shrugged off the undeserved hatred some of the people spew out at you under that news post. He read through some of the comments on his lunch break before you had that accident in the breakroom and he just hoped it wasn't the cause of all this.

The team thought that maybe you really did need some time alone to decompress, hero work was no joke after all. When it was obvious you weren't coming back anytime soon, Sonar had the idea to go through your notebook, which laid forgotten on the table at your usual seat. The others wanted to protest, but Sonar made a good point that you carried it everywhere with you and wrote in it nonstop, so it might give them a clue of what was going on with you. What they found on the most recent pages didn't make much sense however.

Robert suspected that you kept the notebook as a sort of journal, jotting down your thoughts to help you regulate your powers and emotions that came with them. The first page of today was a simple description of your morning. The sleepless night that you had decided to end at roughly 5am, how you chugged down two redbulls right after you bought them and how the clerk looked slightly worried for your health, before quipping something about college finals or something. How you made your way down to your local gym to jumpstart your exhausted body and how the eyes seemed to follow you everywhere. Perhaps that was the point everything started going to shit.

The group continued to read on. How you felt 'like a fleshbag filled with moths that just won't stop fluttering. The tiny creatures seem to want to escape under my fingernails, I can feel their tiny legs scratching under my skin, their antennae almost peaking out from under them.', followed by a detailed description of gulping down water. That must have been around the point at which Robert struck up a conversation with you, the rest of the page, and the entirety of the next one filled with exactly one phrase, repeated over. And over.

'The only thing to be afraid of in this room is you.'

By then you were gone for almost an hour, and the team was already on the verge of filling out a missing person's report. Robert quickly called back the ones who were out in the field, explaining the situation shortly and thus began the search for you. You weren't in the restroom anymore and they checked every single storage closet and filing cabinet, before Waterboy found you in the showers, collapsed and half drowned. Your whole body was soaked to the bone and oh so cold and the young hero made sure to get all the water out of your mouth and nose, before he informed the others where you were. Luckilly you were still breathing normally, you must have subconsciously swallowed whatever water made its way inside you.

Flambae got instructed to inform Blond Blazer of what happened, and the flamboyant hero took his task surprisingly seriously. Sonar said he'd pack up your things, so you could go home as soon as you were able to. When Malevola quietly reminded him to not go through your stuff like a creep, he shot her a genuinely offended look, replying 'And here I thought you'd know me better than that' before he briskly left to the locker rooms. Coupé following right after him 'just in case he gets distracted.' And Mal took Golem with her through one of her portals straight to the nurse's office, to fetch any medication, and possibly some sedatives, that you'd might need.

Robert's train of thought was broken when he heard Waterboy gently saying something to you, while your eyes were switching between fluttering open and then shut again. You were mumbling incoherently, the only thing the dispatcher could make out was a few 'sorry's and 'they wouldn't leave me alone' before the younger man realised you weren't in the right state to answer any of his questions.

************************************************************************

When you opened your eyes again, you were laying down on the shitty breakroom couch, a pillow under your head and a thin blanket draped over you. You let out a groan at the pain already spreading throughout your lower back, when somebody shifted on the chair closest to you. With a quick glance to the window, you saw the sky was a deep orange hue.

"Good. You're awake." Robert's tired voice brought your attention to him, as he dragged his chair closer to the couch. "What time is it?" you croaked out, voice hoarse, for some reason. "Around eight pm." he answered shortly, looking down at your face with gentle concern "You gave us quite a scare. I almost had to call security to get everyone to go home." he chuckled, but his tone was a tad sad. "What happenned?" you muttered, bringing a heavy arm to rub the sleep out of your eyes. "You tell me." the man across from you chuckled dryly "Is your first instinct always to nearly drown yourself in the shower when things get bad?" You frowned at his joke, turning your head to the side.

"The cold water usually helps." you mumbled, and Robert let out a deep hum. "And it didn't work this time, because..?" You really didn't have an answer for him. "Sometimes...the lines between what's real and what isn't get...pretty blurry." you explained quietly as best as you could. "Do you have anyone to talk about this?" the sipatcher asked equally as quietly, as if he didn't want to make you angry. You sighed "I didn't have to talk about it with anyone in along time." you resigned.

"Well, it's okay if you don't feel up to it. But maybe it would be wise to find someone like that in the future?" he offered and you felt your brows crease even more as you pondered over it. With a final nod, you conceded "Yeah. Probably a good idea."

When you tried to sit up, Robert was there in an instant to help you. Once you were back up and standing, he handed you your bag "You should go home. Get some proper rest. Blazer gave you the rest of the week off. But don't worry, the others already made a list in the groupchat about who would visit you on what day." he chuckled and you couldn't help but let out a laugh as well. Soft paws tapped their way towards the both of you on the carpeted floor, and you carefully reached down do scratch Beef under his chubby chin.

"Being alone doesn't really sound good right now..." you mumbled, more to yourself than anyone, but Robert, of course, heard it. "I would offer you to spend the night at my place, but I usually sleep in a chair, so..." he shrugged, one hand rising to scratch the back of his head awkwardly. "Maybe," you spoke softly "and I don't mean it in a weird way, but...maybe you and Beef could...come over to mine? I've got a spare bedroom and all..." you sighed in frustration "I just- I really don't want to be alone the rest of the night."

Robert bent down and picked up the chihuahua with a huff. Cradling him like a child, he looked at his furry companion as if wondering "What do you think, huh? Spending a night in a real bed doesn't sound too bad, what do you say?" to which the small dog only yipped in response, short tail wagging excitedly. "Yeah, wwe can crash at your place tonight." the dispatcher decided, and after he collected his own stuff, you made your way out of the building.

"So...why do you not have a bed in your flat?"

"First of all, I have the chair. And second, why would I need a bed, when there's someone offering me one to spend the night?"

"Leech."

"Be nice, or I'm changing my mind."

************************************************************************

Taglist (as requested):

There’s a pull.

A tug in your gut, subtle as a heartbeat, insistent as a whisper.

Something in the building is wrong. Someone is bleeding.

You swing your legs off the cot and the tile is cold under your feet, grounding. Centering. You drag a hand along the wall as you walk, letting the hum of living things soak through your skin. Natural energy vibrates faintly- plants outside, petri dishes in the lab, the faint, electric warmth of every body in the building.

Your powers taste the shape of life.

Not smell. Not see. Taste.

That’s the closest word for it- the way your mind catalogs everything living in a radius around you.

Burns taste like copper and char; fractures like dry stone cracking under pressure. Internal bleeding is the taste of overripe fruit- sweet, heavy, wrong.

And arterial wounds- the one pulling at you now- taste like lightning and salt spiking across your tongue.

A sharp spike in circulation. Blood moving too fast. A vessel ruptured somewhere in a limb.

You don’t even need the comms system to know someone’s coming.

The med bay doors hiss open and Invisigal stumbles through, half-visible, half-shimmer, one arm pressed tight to her ribs.

“Oh good,” she grunts, “you’re awake. I’m… uh…” She gestures to the blood leaking between her fingers. “Leaking.”

You cross the room in three quick steps.

“Sit,” you say.

She sits. Grudgingly, but obedient.

You place your hand over the wound, skin warm, blood sticky. Your power rises immediately, like breath fogging warm glass.

It starts with pressure. Not physical pressure, but internal, cellular pressure. You feel her blood vessels like threads under your fingertips, under her skin, under layers of muscle. You can’t see them, but you can sense them- narrowing, constricting, obeying.

A ruptured artery quivers like a panicked hummingbird.

You coax it still.

“Breathe in,” you murmur. “Slow.”

She does. Her pulse eases beneath your palm. Muscles unclench. Inflamed tissue softens around the torn vessel. You guide the blood the way a gardener guides vines, curling them inward, slowing them, nudging them together until they cling to each other like frightened children.

Your power spreads- warm, green, alive- tiny microscopic roots knitting the worst of the tear from the inside.

Invisigal winces. “God, that’s weird.”

“You’ll live.”

“Rude.”

But her voice is steadier now as the bleeding slows to a reluctant trickle.

The vessel knits itself just enough for you to wrap a bandage around it manually.

She watches you work, folding into the cot with a sigh. “Big fight downtown. Z-Team’s calling for backup. We lost… actually, I don’t know how many. People are scattered. Civilians got caught in the mess.”

Your head lifts instinctively.

The pull hits again. Harder this time.

Not just one wound. Not just one wrong note. A chorus of them- screaming across the city like a struck nerve.

“Dispatch wants you on site,” Invisigal adds, not quite meeting your eyes. “Just to stabilize people. Paramedics can’t get close.”

You already knew that. You could feel it the moment the bleeding began miles away.

You grab your bag: gloves, bandages, field kit. The zipper rattles. Your hands shake, not with fear, but from the intensity of all those signals tugging at you, begging for help you can’t give fast enough.

Invisigal sees it.

“Hey,” she says softly. “Just… don’t get yourself killed, okay? You’re too helpful for that.”

You almost smile. Almost.

The city hits you the second you step outside.

Not the noise, not the chaos- not yet. The life.

It slams into your senses like a cold wave, every heartbeat within three city blocks striking a different chord inside your ribs. Pain flares like lights on a control panel, blinking, screaming, sharp enough to blur your vision for half a second.

You grit your teeth and push forward.

Sirens wail somewhere ahead. Smoke gathers above the rooftops in thick, ugly clouds that bruise the sky purple. The air tastes like dust and hot metal and someone’s fear thick enough to chew.

You follow the pull.

Down the street.

Around a shattered bus stop whose glass crunches under your boots.

Across cracked pavement where a car has been tossed aside like a toy.

Civilians stagger. Some sit dazed on curbs, eyes wide and unfocused. Some lie on stretchers tended by paramedics who can’t move any deeper into the danger zone.

But you can.

You were made for this.

A woman slumps beside the wrecked bus door, leaning awkwardly as if someone hit pause on her movement halfway through. Blood pools beneath her thigh, dark and thick, sticky as spilled ink. Her consciousness flickers weakly, like a candle fighting wind.

Her pulse screams at you.

You’re at her side before you consciously decide to kneel.

“I’ve got you,” you say, breath steady. “Stay with me.”

Your hand slides to her leg, fingers soaking instantly with blood. The vessel inside is torn like wet paper, leaking fast.

The wound’s flavor hits you in a rush: a violent spike of lightning and salt- arterial, high-pressure, seconds from becoming lethal.

You close your eyes.

Feel it.

Her blood is hot and frantic, surging through torn tissue. Your power sinks into her the way roots sink into soil- soft, spreading, curling around the wound.

Tighten the vessel. Slow the flow. Clamp the artery without touching it at all.

The blood’s flavor shifts- lighter now, less electric, more iron than lightning.

The woman gasps, a startled little sound. Her eyelids twitch open, pupils searching for something to anchor to. You smile- gentle, reassuring.

“There you go. You’re okay. I’m here.”

Her pulse smooths into a low, warm hum, the bleeding slows to a whisper.

You work quickly, wrapping a bandage around her thigh, sealing the stabilized artery under compression. A neat, temporary fix- but strong enough for the medics to handle the rest.

“Take her,” you call, already standing. “She’ll hold.”

The paramedics rush in. You’re already gone, walking towards the next civilian.

Then a hand clamps around your upper arm.

It’s not just a grab- it’s a claim, fingers digging in hard enough that you feel the bruises blooming beneath your skin. The villain yanks you backward, spinning you so your chest slams into his side. You stagger, but his grip holds, iron and ugly.

“Well, well,” he purrs, voice rough with triumph. “The little medic. Didn’t know they’d started sending band-aid dispensers to the front lines.”

In front of you, Prism stops mid-stride- light crystals rising around her like glassy wings. Waterboy’s form freezes, posture tensing. Flambae’s flames curl hotter, angrier. Golem shifts, stone grinding beneath his feet as he squares up.

The villain jerks you closer, one arm hooking across your collarbone like a bar.

“Nobody move,” he snarls. “Not unless you want your healer here in pieces.”

His breath is rancid on your cheek. You feel his pulse against your back- fast, but not fast enough. Not yet.

You raise both hands slowly, showing your palms to your team.

Prism’s eyes flick between you and the villain, calculating. Waterboy’s hands hover like he’s about to spring. Golem’s jaw clenches so hard the rock creaks.

“It’s okay,” you say softly- your medic voice, the one meant to calm frantic patients. “Just stay where you are.”

The villain laughs.

“Listen to them! Such a good little medic. Sensitive. Heroic. I could snap their neck before any of you even breathe.”

Pressure builds behind your teeth. The taste of his injuries- none yet, but the potential- drags across your tongue like static. Your power doesn’t hunger, exactly, but it yearns. It reacts.

Your fingertips twitch.

You place one hand on the villain’s arm, like you’re trying to pull him off or soothe him or do anything other than what you are doing.

Under your skin, your power slides forward.

Not outward, inward. Into him.

You find the thrum of his heart instantly. Big. Overconfident. A muscle that’s never known fear.

You nudge it. Once.

It responds with a startled jump, thudding faster.

He doesn’t notice.

Prism does. Her eyes widen just slightly.

The villain drags you back another step. “I said don’t move!”

You nudge again- stronger this time.

The heart stutters, then slams into a racing rhythm, like a terrified animal trapped in a cage of ribs. His breath hitches. His grip slips.

You press your palm flat to his chest.

“Let go of me,” you murmur.

“I- wh-” His voice breaks as his pulse spikes hard enough to make his knees buckle. He tries to tighten his hold, but he’s losing coordination. Sweat beads on his forehead.

“You really shouldn’t have grabbed me,” you whisper, calm, almost apologetic.

Then you push.

Not cruelly. Not to kill. Just enough.

His heart leaps into an unsustainable gallop- fast, faster, too fast, draining his strength in a single dizzying sweep. His eyes roll back before he can form another word. His whole body slackens, collapsing like a marionette with its strings cut.

You twist out of his grip, letting him drop harmlessly at your feet.

Silence cracks across the battlefield like glass.

Then-

“…holy crap,” Waterboy breathes.

Flambae’s flames flicker down in surprise. “Did you just-?”

Prism steps forward slowly, the crystalline light around her dimming as her body relaxes out of combat stance. “You… could’ve done that at any time?”

“I only do it when I have to,” you say, wiping your palms against your pants as if removing residue only you can feel. “He was going to hurt people. I wasn’t going to let him.”

Golem rumbles a low whistle. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Your face heats. “I’m still a medic first. I don’t- fight. Usually.”

“Well,” Prism says, her voice warm and faintly amused, “you do today.”

Waterboy jogs up beside you, checking the unconscious villain with a toe. “Is he… alive?”

“Yes.” You crouch, fingers brushing lightly against the villain’s sternum. “He’ll wake up in a few hours with a splitting headache and an intense desire to make healthier life choices.”

Flambae grins at you like he's seeing you for the first time. “Okay, that was sick. Absolutely terrifying, but sick.”

You duck your head, suddenly aware of the adrenaline still buzzing in your veins.

Invisigal backs up against a wall, arms crossed. For a heartbeat she doesn’t move. Then she smirks- a crooked, sharp thing- and shakes her head.

“Of course you’d be the medic with a dirty little secret,” she says, voice low. “Figures you’d turn someone’s arteries into Swiss cheese without leaving a mark.”

Prism touches your shoulder gently. “You did good babe. Better than good. And next time? We’re not calling you just for medical support.”

You swallow. “I’d… like that. Maybe.”

Golem chuckles. “Medic with murder-adjacent powers? Yeah, you’re definitely Z-team material.”

They keep staring at you the way cats stare at cucumbers.

Not afraid, just startled.

/

The cries of your ambulance drew near. Robert launched himself from his chair, barely making it a step past his desk before Blazer shot past him. He pressed himself against the wall of his cubicle to avoid getting bulldozed, papers coating the ground in terms and conditions after being kicked up by her sudden flight. 

Chase peeked above the partition. “Man, you fucked up.”

Robert ignored the old timer, sprinting down the stairs and stopping right at Blazer’s side. His burning lungs reminded him of his coma’s consequences, but he welcomed the pain as punishment.

“Blazer, I’m—” 

She held her hand up to quiet him. “Robert.”

“Is— is she okay?” He peered around her body as the automatic doors opened. Warm air blasted into the corridor along with the stench of sweat and blood.

Blazer gave him an odd look and Robert shut his mouth. Is she okay? Now, why would he go and ask something dumb like that? Maybe Prism’s words held a bit of truth. 

Blazer’s eyes were stuck on your gurney, stepping forward as the paramedics started the handoff with SDN’s doctors. Your vitals were listed off in a hurry, but the medical jargon faded to the background when she brushed the sweat-slick hair from your face. She frowned at your unfocused stare.

Robert had seen a lot of blood in his day. He was practically immune to it, and yet, the sight of white sheets turning crimson underneath you was something he knew would haunt him tonight. Your words echoed in his mind, begging him to believe me. I’m not kidding, Robert, I promise.

“Bullet hit the curve of her shoulder,” a paramedic informed Blazer. “Lost a lot of blood, but she’s lucky.”

“Luck is her specialty.” She inhaled deeply, collecting her thoughts. She rolled her shoulders back and nodded to the medical team. “Do everything you can, don’t worry about the costs.”

The doctors acknowledged her order and dragged your gurney deeper into the med wing. 

Robert’s gaze followed the SDN’s doctors as they rushed past him. Suddenly, it felt wrong to speak; it felt disgusting to attempt excuses. He was the one who pushed you. He was the one who failed to help you. His gut grew heavy with unease, his focus tunneling around the flurry of white coats flocking to your bedside. 

“Robert.” 

Blazer’s voice shocked him out of his panic. “Blazer, I don’t even know where to begin—”

“Hey.” She held her hand up again, and this time, it dropped onto his shoulder with a soothing squeeze. “This is on me. I was so excited to see you work with the team as a complete unit, I forgot to brief you on her condition.” 

Forgot about memory issues… Robert would find amusement in the irony if he weren’t so focused on the blood on his hands.

“Her file didn’t mention anything about memory problems. I thought they were fucking with me.” He envisioned the Z-team slideshow in his mind, lingering on your page. In fact, if he was remembering correctly, your file actually didn’t mention much of anything at all. 

“A lot of her details are on a need-to-know basis.” 

He stared at her dumbly. Need-to-know basis? You’d think he would’ve been the first person on that list.

“Her neuropsychologist didn’t clear her for field work today. She was supposed to be observing.” Blazer offered a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “If they’re not working, they’re not allowed to be connected to the dispatch channel for this exact reason; you’d be surprised how often people who weren’t cleared for the field got dispatched. That was before we made the comms strictly professional… ish.” Her gaze drifted above Robert’s head. “The bottom line is, I’m disappointed in the outcome, not in you. You didn’t know, it’s not your fault, and you’re not going anywhere. Both of you are going to be okay.”

She left him behind with that final sentiment, hurrying to your bedside. Robert caught a glimpse of gloved hands ripping your blood-stained clothes apart—civilian clothes, fuck, you weren’t even in uniform. 

He dropped into a seat in the waiting room, his knee bobbing in time with his heartbeat. The past hour was stuck in a loop in his mind, and he picked apart more mistakes every time it played through. 

To make matters worse, the Z-team flooded the med wing—three of them, anyway. Robert wasn’t spared from Invisigal’s nasty look, but contrary to his initial opinion, he was thankful he hadn’t met the rest of the team before the shift. Malevola and Sonar didn’t spare him a glance, oblivious that their dispatcher sat three feet away from them. 

Invisigal took a step towards him, fists balled at her sides. He didn’t shrink—he knew he deserved whatever she was about to say. 

“Her room’s this way.” Malevola’s fingers dug into Invisigal’s shoulder, throwing her through her portal before stepping through herself. The ruby gateway closed behind Sonar after he trailed behind.

Robert released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Saved by the bell. Whenever he decided to step into your hospital room, however, he wasn’t sure he’d be spared a second time. 

/

I hate luck. Runs out on me. But you’re here to stay, aren’t you?

Your eyes flew open.

“She’s up.” 

“Ms. Blazer, I say we go ahead and scrap this bitch right now.” Prism. “Get someone who maybe gives a shit about our wellbeing when we’re out there.”

“For the last time, he’s not going anywhere.”

“I care about your well-being,” Robert shot back. “This is the last thing I wanted to happen.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty fucking clear right now, Bobbo.” Flambae snorted. 

Your eyes fluttered, adjusting to the glaring overhead light. Your shoulder throbbed. The pain wasn’t unlike what you’ve experienced before—you think—so the muted ache didn’t bother you. Fragments of the last few hours drifted back to you one by one: new dispatcher, mission, gunshot. 

“You know I was held at gunpoint today? Zero help from the guy in the chair.” Invisigal folded her arms over your bed, the tips of her hair brushing against your legs. 

“Guys, she’s up,” Malevola repeated, poking her head into your field of view. Sonar stood behind her, assessing you silently over her head. 

“Someone get her doctor.” Blazer peered down from the other side of your bed. Prism got up to heed her request, dragging Flambae along with her. “How are you feeling, Angel?”

Your brows furrowed. Your throat felt like someone had wiped it down with a paper towel, leaving behind the faint urge to gag. Disinfectant. Again. It assaulted your nostrils, like it always did when you woke up. 

A man rushed to your bedside and Blazer made room for him to lean over you. “Hey, Angel. I’m your dispatcher, Robert Robertson.”

You squinted at him. Brown hair, brown eyes, freckles, a little rough around the edges. Based on his voice, you expected someone less… basic-looking? He was panicked—his body language apologized profusely before a ‘sorry’ even left his lips. You almost felt bad; your last encounter happened to be during something he clearly didn’t have much experience with. 

If he was affected by your gawking, he didn’t show it. He shifted closer still. “I’m sorry. I broke your trust, but I assure you, I will work my ass off to get it back. I don’t—”

You shook your head, cutting him off. “It’s fine.”

“No—what? No, it’s not.” Sonar scolded you, incredulous that you’d pardon the man so quickly. He redirected his biting glare at Robert.

“He didn’t know, and it could’ve been a lot worse.” You shifted higher up on the pillows behind you, resting against the headboard. “I don’t want this to be a thing, just… believe me next time?”

Robert blinked. Four pairs of eyes picked him apart. Three of which drilled into him with malicious intentions, yet his attention was captured by you alone. Your eyes were lucid, your tone direct and firm, your question holding a clear warning; you’re okay, I’m okay. Move on. It was a startling contrast to the floater that had fallen a few hours ago, and it made him wonder—what about your past life warranted an empty file?

He swallowed thickly, nodding curtly. “Yes. Yes, I’m— I know now. I’m sorry.”

Invisigal’s eyebrows knitted, turning to face you. “Really? You know you’re allowed to be a bitch about this, right?”

You shook your head again and attempted to stretch, hissing at the sharp tug of pain from your shoulder.

Blazer’s gaze flipped to Robert. He didn’t look at her or anyone else—he stepped back with mild confusion, excusing himself from the room. The tension remained in the room even after he was gone. 

Blazer shifted her weight and put her hands on her hips. “You’re sure you’re okay? What year is it? Do you know where you are?” She flattened her hand over your forehead.

“Blazer,” you laughed softly, “I’m fine. GSW, not a fever.”

“I know, sorry...” She retracted her hand and tucked her hair behind her ear. “You just gave us a scare.”

“I know you want to prove yourself,” Malevola poked your hip, lips pursed. “But you need to remember your limits.”

Remember, remember, remember. You forced an appeasing hum. “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you later.”

Sonar was quick to butt in, shoving Malevola away to make room at your side. “I also found it very cruel.”

You gave him a knowing look. “I’ll make it up to you, too.”

“I also also found it was cruel,” Invisigal added, earning pointed glares from Mal and Sonar. Blazer shook her head and left with a quickness. She already planned to stay back to complete hours of paperwork—she did not want to add HR violations to the pile of papers waiting for her.

/

“LA continues to be overrun by the Red Ring. The crime syndicate has always been a recurring issue for the city, but reports indicate a decrease in activity—that is, aside from the tragic attack on Mecha Man earlier this year…”

“Someone turn that shit off.” Chase barked at the office. Someone scrambled for the remote, abruptly cutting the news chatter short. 

Robert’s mouse hovered over your file’s refresh button for the fifth time.

“Pressing that damn button over ‘nd over again isn’t gonna make anything appear.” Chase scoffed, leaning over the cubicle. “Dumbass.”

“Thanks for those words of wisdom,” Robert deadpanned. 

“Happy to help.” Chase rounded the desk, slinging an arm around Robert’s chair. “You’re not gonna find anything about Angel from your system. You’re an entry-level bitch, now. Gotta talk to Blazer for that shit.”

“She said her details are on a ‘need to know’ basis.” Robert glanced up at his old friend with hope. “You’ve been around. Heard anything?”

Chase whistled, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fuck no. I don’t touch this Z-team bullshit. Frankly, they annoy the fuck outta me. If it was up to me, I would send all their asses back to jail.”

“Yeah…” Robert grumbled, reluctantly signing out of his computer. “Figured.”

“Everything I’ve heard about that damn group has been against my will,” Chase continued. “And they always got something to say about us dispatchers. One mistake on our part and they get up on their fucking high horse as if they’re not the biggest fuckin mistakes I’ve seen in my entire life. I swear they all fuckin hate each other except for when they got a common enemy.”

“That common enemy being me.” Robert’s shoulders slumped.

“Bingo, motherfucker. You gotta make sure they know they’re not here to make friends. They’re here to rehabilitate their sorry fucking lives.” Chase crossed his arms with a shake of his head. “Unfortunately for everyone, Blazer is soft for losers of all kinds—including you—and especially that one you got shot.”

Even after your explicit reassurance, Robert still winced at the blunt reminder. “What’s up with that? They all seem to love her.”

“Too damn much.” Chase huffed. “Too damn much. Aside from the entire fuckin team being horny enough to flirt every damn second, she doesn’t directly compete with any of them. Not to mention it’s quite literally in her nature to make them more powerful. You’d want that kinda person on your side, wouldn’t you?”

Robert hummed affirmatively. The Z-team was rehabilitated villains. What villain did he know had powers of luck and good fortune? 

The sun cast LA in a soft, warm glow as it reunited with the horizon. Over the final hour of his horrible shift, Z-teamers cycled from the break room to the infirmary to check on you. He heard the med staff had to kick Golem from the ambulance bay because he had the bright idea to park his big ass where the ambulances offloaded their patients to get an update on your condition.

For how disorganized and crass they were, the Z-team was surprisingly unified… for the most part. Bickering here and there couldn’t be helped. One Z-teamer never made her way downstairs, however—Coupe.

He caught her before she left for the night. 

“Hey, Coop.” Robert adjusted his backpack on his shoulder as he approached the assassin. “You did good out there today.”

“Hm.” Her amber eyes scrutinized Robert. “I wish I could say the same for you.”

“Me too.” Robert’s gaze dropped to the ground momentarily. “Speaking of… Angel’s doing fine, in case you wanted to know.”

“Why would I want to know?”

Robert cocked his head. “I just… I didn’t see you visit the med wing.”

Coop’s lips curved into a wry smile. “Unlike my teammates, I’m not enamoured by weakness.”

Robert took a moment to digest her negative sentiment. Not once had he heard a bad word about you until now; it caught him off guard. “And Angel’s weak?”

“The weakest.” Coop’s dry smile turned bitter. “The idea of someone having the power to sway the odds without any real work or talent is a disgrace. The fact that she’s on this team at all is a disgrace.”

Robert raised an eyebrow. “It’s not like she chose what powers she was born with. I’m sure she earned her spot on the team, just like the rest of you.”

“Earned is a stretch.” Coupe kept her hands busy with one of her knives, effortlessly passing the blade through her fingers. “Forced, maybe.”

Robert’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. Forced, as in they’re forced to keep her on the team?”

Coupe’s eyes darted to Robert’s, her lips parting. He could tell her desire to vent was at war with professionalism, though Robert had no doubt there was something else at play. Something related to whatever details a chosen few ‘needed to know.’ Which begged another question: out of everyone, why was Coupe the one to give him a hint? 

She shook her head and pressed her lips shut. “Forget it. Just don’t waste everyone’s time with a fuck-up like that tomorrow and send someone who actually knows what they’re doing.” 

Robert watched her float gracefully down the stairs, catching her flying into the night through the office windows no less than a minute later.

His eyes drifted down to the car park. Your shoulder was supported by a sling. Sonar’s suit jacket hung off your body, dropping to the concrete below as you wrestled with your car. OPPORTUNITY flashed bright and bold in his mind, and he raced out to the parking lot to meet you.

/ 

You were very close to kicking your car over. It didn’t matter that you might lose balance and fall on your bad shoulder—you could probably manage it with all the pent-up frustration at your disposal. Your vehicle insisted on locking you out, uncaring that you stood less than a foot away with the keys in hand. 

“You probably have this situation handled,” a deep voice surfaced behind you. “But just in case you need any help, I’m available.”

You spun, smiling sheepishly at your dispatcher. Robert. “Thanks for offering. Funny enough, I'm having some trouble with my car.”

Robert bit back an amused smile, scooping the jacket from the ground and offering it to you. “Really? No way, hadn’t noticed.”

“I have it mostly under control, but just for context, it won’t unlock.” You explained, exchanging the keys for the jacket. “And I don’t know about you, but home sounds good right now.”

“I hear that.” Robert fiddled with your keys, rapidly slamming his thumb on the unlock button. He pulled insistently on the door handles, basically brute forcing it until a connection clicked together. To your delight, it swung open, and you thanked him with a bright smile. 

He should’ve been more receptive to your happiness, but a frown tugged on his lips. As you got settled into the driver’s seat, he rested an arm against the roof of your car, planning his next words carefully.

“Look, I know we talked earlier, but I just want to apologize again.” He cleared his throat. 

You give him a passing glance, tossing your phone into the center compartment. “I forgive you.”

“Thanks.” Robert grimaced, steeling himself for rejection. “I know home is tempting, but can I interest you in dinner?”

Your brows creased. “Robert, I really appreciate your dedication, but it’s seriously okay. Something like this always happens with our new dispatchers.”

“I’m not trying to be like your other dispatchers.” His eyes hardened. “I’m here to stay. So… I’d like to understand you better.”

You stared at him, searching for guilt in his expression. It persisted through your affirmations, though you supposed that was to be expected. This man had a big heart despite his miserable exterior, and nothing you said would deter him from seeing this through. Seeing you through.

“Okay. Dinner sounds nice.” You smiled, swiftly disembarking from the driver’s seat. “You’re driving, though. And paying.”

Robert smiled triumphantly, holding your gaze over his shoulder as you passed around him on your way to the passenger’s seat. He just hoped the 20 bucks in his wallet would be enough for the night.

(I.) the taglist is closed! thank you for all the love on the first chapter, it makes me so excited for the rest of the story!!

★ “Touchy.” Sonar grins, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “You know, most people just say ‘thanks.’”

★ “Most people aren’t insufferable.”

★ “And yet,” Sonar says, eyes flicking meaningfully between you and Flambae, “here we are.”

★ You’re not sure what he means by that. You sip your coffee. It tastes like burnt rubber and regret, which is to say—normal. Flambae grabs the mug you poured for him and storms out. Sonar watches him go, then looks at you. “You’re killing him, you know.”

★ “Huh?”

★ “Nothing. Forget it.” He’s laughing as he leaves. You finish your coffee alone, wondering if maybe you should’ve used the good creamer.

•••

Report Massacre//Wednesday, 12:15 PM

★ You find your incident report on your desk. Shredded.

★ Not just torn—shredded. Confetti style. Cute. Someone took time with this. Artistic, almost. Flambae’s watching from across the room, arms crossed, chin up. Waiting.

★ You blink at the paper snow. “Oh man.”

★ “Yeah. Oh man.” His voice drips satisfaction.

★ “I must’ve printed the wrong draft.” You’re already pulling up the file on your computer. “Good catch. The final version had way better formatting anyway.”

★ Silence.

★ “You—” Flambae’s walking toward you now, and there’s something dangerous in the way he moves. All leashed energy and sharp fucking edges. “You think I did you a favor?”

★ “I mean, kinda?” You hit print. “I was gonna reprint it anyway. Saved me the trouble of recycling.” His hands flex. Smoke curls from his palms—thin, gray, the color of a promise about to break.

★ “You’re fucking with me.”

★ “What? No.” You look up, genuinely concerned. “Are you okay? You seem, like, really tense lately.”

★ Flambae stares at you. Through you. Past you into some dimension where things make sense and people react like they’re supposed to. Then he turns. Walks away. A trash can bursts into flame as he passes. You grab the extinguisher before Herm gets involved. “I got it!”

★ Visi leans over to Robert, who were both passing by. “This is the best thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

★ “He’s going to actually explode,” Robert whispers back.

★ “I know.” She snorts.

•••

Error that probably didn’t need correcting in the first place//Friday, 9:03 AM

★ Finding an error in the system logs before the morning briefing—you saw it had Flambae’s response time wrong on yesterday’s warehouse call. Made him look slower than he was. You knew for a fact it was incorrect. It’s a small thing. Probably just a typo. Not a big deal what so ever…would be pointless to even bother. A whole thing…

★ You fix it anyway. With permission (not from Flambae.) with a process, taking accountability for the error, proving the mistake, and just like that? Its correct. Good. By lunch, Flambae corners you in the hallway on the trip to the break room. It’s not a coincidence—he’s waiting there, arms crossed, expression thunderous. Stopping you in your tracks.

★ “Did you fucking edit my stats?”

★ “Uh.” You’re holding a sandwich. It feels inadequate as a shield. “Yeah? Well—within protocol of course. There was a timestamp error, so I just—”

★ “I don’t need you covering for me.”

★ “I wasn’t covering. I was correcting.” You say honestly.

★ “Same thing.” He glares.

★ “It’s really not.”

★ His jaw works. The air between you feels hot—like standing too close to a space heater, or something. Like it might explode if you say the wrong thing.

★ “Why do you even care?” he asks, and the question sounds like an accusation. You blink. “Because…. it’s my job?”

★ “That’s not—” He cuts himself off. Drags a hand over his face. “You’re actually exhausting.”

★ “Sorry?”

★ “Don’t apologize. Jesus fucking Christ.” He pushes past you, shoulder brushing yours, and you catch that smell again—smoke and something warmer, something that lingers even after he’s gone. You like it. The scent. It’s nice. You eat your sandwich standing there. It’s quiet. And you wonder if maybe you should’ve just left the error alone.

•••

Break Room (again lol)//Monday, 12:04 PM

★ You’re not there. Which is the only reason they’re talking. Flambae’s reheating last night’s Chinese food in the microwave when Mandy walks in, spots him, and grins.

★ “Oh good. You’re alone.”

★ “Don’t even.”

★ “So when are you gonna ask ‘em out?” Visi’s oice comes from nowhere just as she appears—she’s sitting in a chair at the table. The microwave beeps. Flambae doesn’t move. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

★ “Right.” Sonar leans in from the hall. “And I don’t prefer boobies over ass. Guess we’re both liars.” He enters, leans against the wall.

★ “I’m not—” Flambae attempts…

★ “Ha.” Prism walks in past Sonar, leaning against the counter where the coffee machine was. “You’re not subtle. Like, at all.”

★ “I’m going to incinerate all of you.”

★ “See?” Mandy points at him triumphantly. “Classic misdirection. He’s blushing.”

★ “I don’t fucking blush—”

★ “You do though,” Visi says, “It’s cute. In a homicidal kinda way.”

★ Flambae grabs his food from the microwave. It’s too hot. He doesn’t care. “I hate every single person in this building.”

★ “Except one,” Sonar singsongs.

★ “Especially that one.” Visi adds.

★ “Uh-huh.” Prism hums along “That’s why you fixed the coffee machine last week after he mentioned it was broken.”

★ “That wasn’t—”

★ “Or why you always try extra hard when they’re on shift and giving orders.” Mandy adds. “Never do that for Robert.”

★ “Or why—”

★ “Okay!” Flambae slams his container down. A small flame flickers to life on the counter—he puts it out with his palm. “You know what? You’re all fucking stupid, holy shit. And wrong—Jesus Christ.”

★ The room erupts in laughter. Flambae storms out, ears burning, microwave food abandoned. And of course you’re in the hallway. Of course you are. You’re juggling a tablet, two file folders, and a coffee that’s definitely not yours based on the lipstick stain on the lid.

★ “Oh hey—” You spot him, and your face does that thing. That open, genuine, stupid thing that makes his chest feel like it’s full of hornets. “There you are. I was gonna find you after—”

★ “What.” It comes out harsh. Sharper than he means.

★ You don’t even flinch. “I just wanted to say you really killed it today. That highway pileup? Your response time was insane. Probably saved like, a dozen people.”

★ The words hit him like friendly fire.

★ “And also—” You shift the folders, nearly drop one. He catches it reflexively, and your fingers brush. “—you seem stressed lately. I dunno if it’s the schedule or whatever, but… want to grab a drink after shift? There’s this new bar I’ve been passing on the way here daily, heard they got reallly good wings.”

★ His brain snuffs out.

★ “Fuck no.”

★ Your expression doesn’t change. Still open. Still stupidly kind. Damn it why were you so fucking…you? Ughhh. He hears himself before he can stop it, “Wait. Are you like…buying at least?”

★ “Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.” You shrug. He considers this.

★ “…I guess.” he mutters, and your smile is—he doesn’t have words for it. “Cool. I’m off at seven. I’ll text you the spot. Meet you there?”

★ “Fine. Whatever.”

★ Without thinking, you hand him the folder he caught, fingers brushing again. And then you’re walking away, heart doing little flips while whistling something off key. Flambae stands in the hallway for a full thirty seconds, (you gotta cute ass…damn.) holding a folder he doesn’t need. From the break room, muffled laughter. He’s going to burn this whole building down.

★ But first—Seven o’clock. Fuck.

As you walked ahead of your teammates, their stares slowly began to annoy you. Your steps were slower than usual, and your right hand pressed tightly against the right side of your abdomen. It wouldn't be noticeable to anyone else since you were wearing a jacket over your black suit, but your teammates knew.

"You sure about this?" Prism tilted her head as she carefully caught up to you. Her tone was unsure. Having worked together before, you'd say that the three of you got along the best, though Flambae was keeping quiet this time since it was technically his fault.

"Very," you answered, pressing tighter against the wound. In your opinion, it wasn't that bad, you had gone through worse.

Not really believing you, Prism glanced at the others behind her. They were all unsure. Even Coupé told you to get your injury checked out, but you just ignored her.

The mission didn't go well, and that was punishment enough for you, so you sucked it up and ignored the pain. Z-Team was known for causing trouble, but even though you were part of that team, you still had a perfectionist streak. Everything had to be perfect, whether it was about you or associated with you.

They call you a control freak. If you didn't like a plan or felt it wouldn't succeed, you'd do it your own way. This time, though, you couldn't do anything about it.

Flambae's usually confident posture was replaced by shrugged shoulders as if he were trying to make himself look small. Guilt was written all over his face. His eyes stared at the floor, he didn't even look into yours once.

Punch Up ended up just patting Flambae on the lower back, not knowing what else to do, as they all followed into the meeting room.

Robert was already sitting there with his arms crossed and his eyebrows furrowed. He looked like he hadn't slept well, which was obvious since he also wasn't in the mood for discussions. However, this one he had to do. A failed mission, especially one coming from you, was something he hadn't expected nor wanted to imagine.

The ex-villains took a seat though his eyes were only focused on you and quite surprised that you weren't sitting at your usual seat which would be beside him.

Nonetheless, right now there were more important matters to discuss so he straightened up his posture though his arms remained crossed against his chest. "I want you to explain me this shit show I just had to watch through the cameras" he said with an unamused tone.

Great start, you thought while rolling your eyes and letting out a shaky breath. Wanting to respond but not being fast enough, Invisigal's voice was heard.

"The usual, don't even know why you got your panties in a twist" her tone was biting as her lips pulled into a smirk.

Perfect timing, you sarcastically said in your mind. Started out great and now it was going to get only better. Sometimes you wish you could just tape her mouth shut rather than her getting you all into more trouble by provoking others.

"I don't-" Robert cut himself off, arguing with her was never going to end well and he knew that.

Giving you a glance Malevola noticed how pale you were starting to get and how you seemed to struggle with keeping your eyes open which made her lean forward to make eye contact with the dispatcher "Could we maybe talk about this another time? I really-" and before she could continue, Sonar joined in. "I agree with her, let's all go" already getting ready to leave, Robert's patients was running thin.

"Sit down," his tone was sharp. Sonar immediately sat down and looked at Malevola, as if to say, "I tried my best." She just shook her head.

Robert let out a sigh and rubbed his temples. "I know this mission was difficult, but the way you all acted today was just batshit crazy." He directed his eyes at Flambae, who was biting his lip. "Especially you. You weren't even listening to me. You were walking in the wrong direction and making a fool of yourself."

At that, Flambae balled his hands into fists, trying to stay quiet, while Golem became uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

"Yeah, let's cut this short. I'm out of here," Prism said suddenly, walking toward the door. Robert slammed his fist on the table, getting everyone's attention, and stopped her before she could leave.

"No one is leaving until I say so." His voice was rough, and he was definitely angry now. He suddenly looked at you as you pressed your hand deeper into the wound. Your hand was already smeared with blood, but he didn't notice.

"I expected better from you. Joking around and not even trying to complete the mission correctly. What's wrong with you today?"

Coming from him, it was a hard hit. You two got along, and your recent realization of your feelings for him didn't make it any better.

You wanted his approval, to do everything perfectly and be praised, even if it meant nothing to him because you were just an ex-villain. Nothing more, nothing less.

"I know, but-" Your voice shook as you struggled to form a sentence, already lightheaded.

He stood up and slowly walked toward you. "Then why didn't you do better?" Suddenly, the screeching of a chair was heard, and flames were seen from Flambae's balled fists. He had tried to hold himself back, but it was getting too far.

"It was my fault. Stop bitching!" He said in a biting tone, as Robert scoffed.

"Oh great, so you do know that you fucked up."

Before the situation could escalate further, you wrapped your hand around Robert's wrist. "Let's talk about this another time, please," you said. You really weren't the type to beg, but this time it was necessary.

Turning his head toward you, Robert suddenly noticed your bloody hand clutched tight against your jacket.

His face softened. "What happened?" he asked, crouching down. He took your hand, which was holding his wrist, in his hand and softly drew circles around the back of it with his thumb.

"If you had kept your mouth shut and not called us into this fucking meeting, we would already be with a medic," Prism muttered angrily. His question still unanswered, Robert only looked into your eyes, ignoring her.

He softly pushed a strand of your hair back. Your eyes started to slowly flutter shut, so he cupped your face and lightly slapped your cheek. His eyes frantically roamed your face. "Don't close your eyes, pretty. Keep them on me," he whispered. The others couldn't hear him, but you did.

You nodded your head slowly and cursed under your breath as he suddenly lifted you up into his arms. "I know it hurts, but please hold on," he muttered, carrying you out of the room and trying to get you to the medic.

The Z-Team's surprised and shocked faces watched them, not expecting that to happen.

"I didn't know he was that strong," Punch Up said, breaking the silence as Flambae suddenly walked out of the meeting room.

"Should we go after him?" Golem asked. Everyone just shook their heads. They had already gotten involved quite a lot.

While your wound was being examined, Robert sat on the ground outside the medic's room, leaning his back against the wall, running his hand down his face in frustration.

If he hadn't been so harsh, you wouldn't be in so much pain right now, and he felt more than just guilt. Shutting you off a week ago had been difficult enough.

He missed your lighthearted jokes, deep conversations, fleeting touches, and the praise you gave him when the others weren't listening. Robert had a crush—and not just a small one.

"Bob-Bob" Hearing that stupid nickname would've usually frustrated him, but he couldn't focus on that right now.

"What?" He asked. Exhaustion was catching up with him as he looked up and saw a surprisingly calm, yet sad-looking, Flambae.

They stared at each other in silence for a couple of seconds. Still no word from Flambae, but it looked like something was bothering him.

"You know my name isn't B-"

"I'm sorry!" The loud voice of the tall ex-villain could be heard, and Robert's eyes widened.

He opened his mouth to say something but was immediately cut off by a "Shut up!" as Flambae sat down next to him.

Robert closed his mouth and looked at the now flustered guy. "It was my fault. If I had listened, nobody would've gotten hurt." For once, the ex-villain was apologizing and looking pretty guilty.

Usually, Robert would have gotten angry, since it was Flambae's fault that you got hurt. But seeing him this way made Robert hold back. "You know you look pretty pathetic, right?"

"Fuck off, tiny peen," he muttered. Robert couldn't hold back a chuckle, which made Flambae smile a bit.

"So far, there has been no screaming," said Coupé, as they all waited for something to happen.

"Then nobody got killed," Golem spoke up, and they all nodded. "Yet, at least."

The moment the medic told them they could come in, Flambae ran inside, which made Robert shake his head with a slight smile. He'd let Flambae talk to you first before the guilt completely consumed him.

Ten to fifteen minutes passed as the tall guy walked past him, saying, "Don't tell anyone." He obviously didn't want the Z-Team to know how vulnerable he was.

And finally, he was able to see you again. The first thing you said was, "You called me pretty."

Robert raised an eyebrow and sat down in the chair next to the bed. "Blood loss affects your hearing."

"Bullshit," you said with a grin as you felt Robert hold your hand and squeeze it.

"Next time, tell me," he said, leaning toward you until his forehead almost touched yours.

"If it ends up with me being called pretty, I'll definitely keep quiet again."

"You don't have to get injured for me to call you pretty."

Looking through the small window of the room, all of Z-Team watched their interaction.

"Woah, why we getting at me for this? Have any of you guys heard how Phenomaman talks to the new Dispatcher?" Sonar said, trying to talk over the voices of the other members

This caught Robert's attention, as well as the rest of the team, both from curiosity of Phenomaman's apparent behaviour and to see how Sonar would attempt to justify his own actions.

"What has he been saying?" Robert asked.

"Well, anytime I'm in the break room, that newbie is usually on lunch. Anyways, I keep seeing Phenomaman hovering around them on our break, and I'm not joking when I say this- but he called them breedable," Sonar shared, barely pausing for breath while he had their undivided attention.

"Wait- he said that?" Malevola asked in disbelief. "Phenomaman, what the fuck, dude?"

Phenomaman's intercom has been silent the whole time during the arguing, so he was slightly startled when Malevola addressed him.

"Oh? I meant no ill intent. They just have a sturdy figure that could give birth to many young," he replied, as if his answer would satisfy them.

There was an awkward silence for a second before everyone suddenly spoke.

"You talk about them like they're a farm animal, big guy," Invisigal remarked.

"Whoever your old PR is, they need a raise, baby," Prism quipped in.

"Rule one, buddy, never comment on someone's weight. Quickest way to start a fight, and not the fun kind!" Punch Up added.

"Fine if it's a kink thing. But also, how are you getting away with this? Are they not reporting you?" Flambae asked, surprised at the lack of HR involvement.

"Saw him poke their stomach too!" Sonar added, added fuel to the fire as the attention was now completely off of him.

"On Urgot-52dc-" Phenomaman begun.

"Yeah, yeah, big guy. Rubbing someone's belly is considered okay on Ingot or whatever," Malevola cut in.

"If a man touched my stomach, I'm touching his face with my fist," Prism added too.

Robert sighed, the constant overlapping of voices giving him a slight migraine.

"Okay, stop! Discussion over, let's get back to work," Robert said, seeing that the conversation was just going to keep going for the rest of the shift, and possibly whole week, if he didn't intervene.

"And you, Phenomaman. Don't touch or make comments about someone's weight, okay? It's considered rude and it's harassment. You're lucky they haven't reported you yet." Robert's tone was serious, not up for discussion over it.

"Ah... you are right, Robert Robertson. I should apologise. Would a gift basket suffice?" Phenomaman asked, tone a bit quiet as he was unsure of how everyone would react.

"Feeder," Flambae said without hesitation.