Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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I closed my eyes.

Inhale.

Exhale.

You can do this, Rob. You can survive… this.

Whatever this is. This fucked-up, weightless state of being, like I’m constantly falling down a black hole. The feeling of not feeling anything and then feeling too much. The bone-deep certainty that I’ve failed, even though nothing that happened was my fault. The sensation of existing without any goddamn reason to.

I held out my hand and opened my eyelids. Clutched in my palm was a strange vial, its core swirling with a pulse of raw, blue energy.

A dry, ugly scoff tore itself from my throat.

When your dad’s an engineer, you don’t get quality time. You don’t get long, meandering heart-to-hearts about nothing. You get rare, stilted conversations about the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow, or quantum entanglement, or other tech-shit that always felt like a poor substitute for affection.

But still.

I love my dad. He’s my dad afterall.

He was the coolest person I knew.

He always made sure I had the best, winning project for the school science fair—the kind that made the teachers look at me with outright suspicion, while I said that I created that monstrosity by myself.

He cared enough to never, ever leave me completely alone in that big, empty house.

I missed him. Every fucking day. I always felt like I hadn't grabbed enough of the little time he offered. That I’d wasted it.

And now…? it didn’t even matter.

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Our last meeting played out like all the others, save for one bizarre fragment.

I was slumped over my homework. A junior in high school. Sixteen years old, and blissfully unaware that my life was about to go permanently, irreversibly downhill.

My father approached and placed something on my desk. “Son, I have a mission for you. Of critical importance.”

“If this is another basic-grade math hell like last time, no thanks. That one only took me five minutes.”

“No, this is more important,” he said. So, naturally, I looked. He was holding that same weird vial, the one with the pulsating blue plasma inside. “This… this is the Astral Pulse.”

I snorted a laugh. “What kind of comic book name is that?”

“Robert.” He said my name with a gravity that made my smile vanish. “Guard this. Please. I know I can trust you with it.”

“Okay, boss—” I reached for the strange container. My dad pulled these scenes often when I was a kid, saying things like, ‘The future of the world depends on this, guard it with your life or I’ll disown you!’ while stuffing a pacifier in my mouth. How old was I back then? Three? This was different. This time, it felt genuinely important.

My fingers brushed against the vial, and it sparked upon contact with my skin.

“Can you promise it won’t blow up in my face?” I asked.

“I can’t,” he said, but the ghost of a smile told me he was joking. “I have to go, Rob. Your aunt will be here soon.”

“Hey, how old do you think I am? I don't need a babysitter!”

“You absolutely need one. Now hush, focus on your homework.” He pointed at my math notebook.

“Dad, I finished it like twenty minutes ago. I’m bored.”

“I know… I know. Just… please, always do your best…”

Those were the last words we ever spoke.

Hours went by with no word from him. My aunt called and called, but nothing. Then, the next morning, a call came from the police.

She placed a hand on my shoulder. Her face was wet. “Rob…” her voice broke. “Your dad… he’s gone. He was shot.”

The world didn’t stop. It just… faded. It turned grey and silent. Blank. Nothing. Words registered but they’ve lost all meaning.

Elliot Connors. The name was burned into my memory. Eli. A friend of the family. The man who taught me how to play poker.

Why?

The same man who stayed with me sometimes when Dad was working. That’s why it… didn’t make any sense. It just didn’t. They were friends. Why would he shoot him? It just didn’t… compute.

----------

My gaze fell back to the vial in my hand.

Guard this, Robert. I know I can trust you…

Yeah. Great. Just fantastic that you didn’t tell me what it’s actually for, Dad.

I got out of bed and shoved the vial into the deepest pocket of my backpack, zipping it shut securely. I slung the bag over one shoulder, grabbed my suitcase, and pulled my hood up over my head.

A few days after the funeral, Chase contacted us. I didn't know him by his first name back then; he’d babysat me a few times when I was basically a toddler. He was always funny, so I liked him. I should have been happy to hear from a familiar voice, but I didn’t feel anything. I’d just been numb for days.

They told me that Connors' gang—a so-called mafia—was still walking free, and that there was a safe place for me to lie low. A place for fucking Robert Robertson the Third to spend his pathetic, indefinite future.

And Chase? He apparently worked there. As the principal, or a senior teacher, or something. I had no idea what this place really was, some kind of school? Whatever. Anywhere was better than here.

My aunt drove me to the train station, of course telling me to take my hood down because ‘it doesn’t look proper!’

“You’ll be okay, Robert?” she asked, trying to smooth down my hair, which was, and always will be, permanently disheveled. She gave up after a few pats, realizing it was a lost cause.

“Mhm,” I murmured.

“Mr. Chase will be waiting for you at the station. Don’t worry if you don’t recognize him; he said he’d find you.” She took a step back and looked at me with overwhelming concern. “Your mom would be so proud of you, Rob.”

“Mhmm.”

“My handsome boy.” She ruffled my hair, defeating her previous efforts entirely. “Go on, it’s about to leave.”

Sitting in my compartment, I pulled out my phone, leaned my head against the cold window, and pulled my hood right back up. The world outside blurred into a streak of meaningless lights.

The hours bled together. I dozed off at least seventeen times, my dreams filled with blue sparks and gunshots. At 9:37 PM, I finally arrived. I stepped onto the platform, feeling utterly hollow. Right, like Chase wouldn't have changed. I hadn't seen him in years…

So, I was genuinely shocked when a short, older Black man walked right up to me and pulled me into a near-suffocating hug.

“Ugh, that’s weird,” I wheezed.

“Who’s this freckle-faced fuck?” he asked, holding me at arm's length to look me over.

“Chase, is that you?” I asked, uncertain. Was it even possible he’d aged this much? “What’s up—why… why do you look like Black Einstein?” I asked with a nervous smile. But I was sure now. It was him, even though he looked decades older.

“You little fucker, it’s the powers…” he trailed off, a weary shadow crossing his face.

He explained it as we walked to his beat-up car. His abilities let him move fifty times faster, but the side-effect was that he aged fifty times faster, too. A pretty fucking cruel fate.

Fucking powers. Sometimes you get lucky enough to be born gifted and then, the same fucking powers laugh you in the face and take everything from you.

We got into his car and he started driving. We talked mostly about me and school—and, well, we tried to avoid the subject of my dad, but he obviously had to bring it up.

“Your old man called me about a month ago,” he said, his voice losing its earlier lightness. “Asked if I could get you into the TSA if anything ever happened to him. Of course I said yes. And then the fucker went and got himself killed. So. That’s why you’re here.”

“TSA? What, are you? Some sad bored guy on an airport?” I chuckled humorlessly, but his expression remained deadly serious. “Wait. The other TSA? The Superhero Academy?”

“Yep. And I’m a teacher there, actually.”

The words hung in the air. “No way… But I don’t have powers,” I blurted out.

“It’s still a school. A school like any other. It just has a… longer curriculum. Nothing too fancy-schmancy.”

“But how do I–”

“Brat, you need to learn till you're 18, so shut the fuck up,” he said as a sprawling, Gothic complex come into view, looking more like a fortress than a school. “Maybe you’ll make some friends.”

“Yeah, right. While being a normie.”

“Your dad wanted this. It’s… safer here. You know, with that shithead Connors still around, we thought—I thought—it was for the best.”

“Okay, whatever you say, Unc." The car rolled to a stop. I looked up at the imposing main gate, a cold knot tightening in my stomach. "Do I get a room or–?”

“Yeah, you’ll have a roommate.” He gave me a condescending pat on the shoulder that felt more like a verdict. "You'll be fine."

He was a shitty liar.

Chapter Text

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I found myself sitting across from the director of TSA, a serious, hulking guy with sharp fangs protruding from his mouth. Chase had already told me he’d called in a decade’s worth of favors just to get him to accept a "normie" like me.

"Listen up," the director's voice was a low growl. "You'd better dream up some stupid, unremarkable power for him. I have no idea what hell will break loose if it gets out we admitted a null."

"Naturally, Gideon," Chase replied smoothly. He then glanced at me. "You heard the man. You've got some time to think about it."

"We'll try to get him exempt from the specialized power-training classes," Gideon continued, sliding a form across the massive desk. "Best to tell anyone who asks that you're on an individualized track—'late bloomer' syndrome, that sort of thing. It's the official reason you're joining mid-semester."

I looked at the document. It was already signed. In the blank space next to Power/Gift, I was apparently supposed to write in whatever pathetic, easy-to-fake ability I could conjure.

"It's your school ID," Chase said, placing a small keycard on top of the form. "Gets you into the gym, cafeteria and other specific places."

“Thanks,” I muttered, grabbing those two things.

"Oh, and Chase?" Gideon's voice stopped us as we turned to leave. "If this blows up in our faces, my hands are clean."

"For sure, Gid. Thanks."

-----------

Chase led me right to my dorm room door. On the way, he explained the campus layout and how the school worked, but I wasn't really listening. I was too busy freaking the fuck out about how I was supposed to survive in a school full of people who could kill me without breaking a sweat.

Naturally, the "gifted" students lived on campus. Everybody is assessed for three years and trained to utilize their abilities to the fullest.

"Here. Spare keys," he said, throwing me a keycard. "Don't lose it, or I'll have your ass. Now fuck off to sleep. Lessons start at 8."

"Yeah, thanks, Chase," I muttered, swiping the card. The door clicked open. My 'roomie' was still nowhere to be seen. Maybe that's for the best...

The room was minimalist. Two beds with nightstand drawers on either side, two desks, and a small coffee table in the middle.

One half of the room was visibly lived-in. The bed was hastily made, and scattered across the floor were... screws?

I drifted over to the desk because a stack of papers had caught my eye. I skimmed the top sheet—Theoretical Framework for a Magnetohydrodynamic Plasma Conduit—and my eyebrows went up. This wasn't kid stuff. The schematics detailed a mechanical sidearm designed not to fire solid slugs, but to supercharge and eject a contained bolt of plasma. I scanned the calculations for the magnetic containment field stability and the energy-to-yield ratios. Wow... flawless. The math was elegant, accounting for thermal bleed and recoil dissipation in a way I'd only seen in my dad's old journals. Even I would have trouble working this out without a few solid weeks of banging my head against a whiteboard.

On the side of the desk lay what looked like a prototype. It was a sleek, matte-black chassis, partially disassembled to show the intricate copper coil work and capacitor arrays inside.

I glanced at my own desk; it was also completely occupied by other prototypes, parts, malfunctions, screws, and tools.

I picked up the pistol. It already had working buttons for assembly and disengagement.

Damn... that is—impressive.

KNOCK.

"SHIT—" I yelped, jumping and spinning towards the door. Standing there was a tall, muscular guy. His hair was long and tied back. He gave off a total Hawaiian vibe.

"Hey, braddah! You da Robert the teach told me about? I'm Royd," he said, extending a fist.

"Uh, yeah..." I bro-fisted him. "Sorry," I added, following his gaze. I carefully placed his prototype back on the desk. "I didn't mean to snoop, I just—" I trailed off, looking at him.

He just shook his head and smiled.

"Don't worry, is fine. Just some of my projects, you know... for a grade," he said, gathering all his things from my desk and transferring them to his already cluttered one.

"Huh. Looks like you might need another desk."

"Is fine, is fine," he waved a hand dismissively.

"So, Royd—like 'steroid'?" I joked weakly.

"Aw, not you too! So many people say that. What-like I'm on steroids?"

"Nah, man, you're fine. It was a... joke," I said, moving my suitcase closer to the bed and starting to unpack my clothes into the drawer.

"People don't usually transfer mid-year. What was it like for you, braddah? Your powers manifest late?" Royd asked.

"What? Oh, yeah—powers. Yeah, mhm," I mumbled, prolonging the sounds and focusing intently on unpacking. "Hey, are you into magnetohydrodynamics?" I asked, desperate to steer the conversation elsewhere.

"Oh, you know what this is?" he asked, surprised.

"Yeah, sure—the magnetic Reynolds number has to be greater than one for the field to dominate the plasma flow, otherwise you just get a fancy sparkler," I recited, pointing at the coil design in his schematics.

"Omg, braddah!" his face lit up instantly. "No one else has a clue what I'm talkin' about! You can't build a proper weapon without da fundamentals!"

I allowed myself a small, private smile. Maybe this place wouldn't be so bad after all.

—--------

Naturally, Royd walked me to my first class. It turned out we weren't in the same year—he was a year ahead, with classes in a different wing. He said we might share some electives, but the general rule was everyone worked for themselves.

After all, failing to adhere to the rules meant expulsion, and for people with superpowers, that was a one-way ticket to being deemed unfit for society and locked away for life. It was all thanks to the Powered Citizen Integration & Safety Act—the PCISA—that came down after the "Emergence Event." The law was simple, and brutal: every registered superhuman had to attend a certified Superhero Academy until they graduated or were officially deemed "controlled." If you failed to enroll, or got yourself expelled, you were labeled an "Uncontrolled Asset." That wasn't just a fancy term for a dropout; it meant being stripped of your rights and dumped in a high-security Containment & Rehabilitation Facility. A prison, in other words.

They all were always one misstep away from shipping them off to zone ZERO—the Containment Zone. All it took was for someone in charge to decide you were an "Irredeemable Threat." It wasn't a punishment for a crime you'd committed, but a preemptive cage for the crime you might commit one day. That was the sword always hanging over their heads.

Not that it concerned me—I was only here because the law required me to be in school until I was 18, and probably because some assholes from the Red Ring were after me.

Right. Well. I took a deep breath. Blend into the background, Robert. I pushed the classroom door open. The first thing I noticed was the teacher at the whiteboard—not a normal one, of course... She wore a turban that occasionally twitched. Your typical history teacher. I scanned the room. Most of them looked fairly normal—they were also wearing a uniform nobody had bothered to tell me about. One looked like an alien, with shimmering, violet skin and pupils that were horizontal slits. Two others had skin that subtly shifted color like an oil slick, and their fingers were just a little too long and jointed.

Of course, every head immediately swiveled in my direction. Damn it. I must have looked completely out of place because the teacher also stopped and looked at me with a questioning expression.

"Ah, yes, Robertson?" she asked so I nodded. "Take a seat; we've only just started. You'll need to ask someone for notes from the first two months" she said, not unkindly.

I moved forward, avoiding eye contact but frantically searching for an empty spot. Thankfully—oh thank God—there was a single empty desk at the very back, in the corner. Nobody was sitting there. I beelined for it and sat down. The history teacher continued her lecture—I only caught a few words, but I finally gathered the topic was "Superheroes in the Positivist Era." I half-heartedly pulled out my notebook and started scribbling down everything she said. Until—

"Boo," a voice whispered, and a pair of intense eyes flickered into my peripheral vision.

"JESUS!" I shot up so fast my chair clattered to the floor, once again drawing the attention of the entire class. Bravo, Robert—great way to lay low.

It was only then I noticed the girl with short hair sitting to my left, right by the window. She took a sharp breath from an inhaler and looked unbearably smug.

"Invisigal," the teacher began. The girl next to me rolled her eyes upon hearing her—codename? "How many times do I have to tell you to stop doing that?"

"Sorry, lady. He asked for it," she replied on the exhale, then pushed herself back from the desk and propped her feet up on it.

Naturally, I immediately picked up my chair and sat back down, staring intently at my notes as if they held the secrets of the universe. The class's attention, mercifully, returned to the lecture.

The second class ended, I packed my stuff in a hurry and made a beeline for the door. I didn't get far. A small crowd of students immediately swarmed me, their curiosity a physical wall.

"Hey, new guy! What's your power?" 

"Are you, like, a late bloomer or something?" 

"What did they get you for?" 

"Don't worry 'bout Invisibitch, she's a weirdo."

"Is Robertson your hero name? Or is that, like, your actual, super-lame surname?"

I froze. Right. Of course the new meat would be the main attraction. I forced a nervous grin, trying to sell it—to them and to myself. Play it cool, Rob. You're so fucking cool.

"Guys, guys... so, I have this power..." I stammered out. Naturally, they all fell silent, leaning in, waiting for a demo. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her—Invisigal—pushed off the wall she was leaning against, her intense gaze locked on me. I'd actually piqued her interest. Great.

"I can, uh... disappear. Look, over there!" I shot my finger towards the windows. The second their heads turned, I ducked and bolted, shoving my way through the huddle and out into the hallway.

I didn't get far, of course. A couple of the more persistent ones caught up to me as I power-walked down the corridor, frantically checking my phone for my next class. My schedule said something called 'Applied Meta-Physical Calculus'—in other words, math. I managed to shake my fan club by ducking into a bathroom and waiting them out. When I finally emerged, the coast was clear. Phew. How long could I keep this up? What the hell was I supposed to invent for a power? Jeez.

"Oi, Robertson!"

A voice echoed behind me. I spun around. Nothing. Weird. I slowly turned back, and—

"WAA!" I let out a full-on yelp as I came face-to-face with the same girl, standing inches from me.

She started cackling, a raspy, delighted sound. "Don't be such a baby."

I stumbled back a step, my brow furrowing. I had officially become her favorite new target. Shit.

"Robert... Rob... Robertson?" she drawled, her nose scrunching up. "What kind of shitty hero name is that? You gotta work on your brand, man."

"Like yours is any better," I shot back. "Invisi-gal."

"Shit—" she scoffed, but she looked thrilled that I was playing along. "It's Invisi-bitch. Get it right. They just didn't let me use a swear 'cause of... official bullshit." Her voice dropped into a conspiratorial, raspy whisper on the last part.

"Mhm. So cool," I mumbled, utterly unimpressed. I tried to sidestep her, but she slapped a hand on my shoulder and shoved me back a step.

"So what's your power? The real one?" she asked, tilting her head like a predator examining its prey.

Fuck. Now I had to commit. Just don't be cringe, Rob. Say whatever. What are you good at?

"I'm a bookmaker. I can... see the probability of things happening," I blurted out, the lamest lie I've ever told.

"Oh, yeah?" A wicked grin spread across her face. "So…,” She stepped closer. “What's the probability of me punching you in the face?"

"It doesn't work like that—"

"Tell me," she demanded, leaning in so close I could see the silver flecks in her eyes.

My mind went blank, then spat out a number. "Well, it's... pretty low. I mean– 28.4%."

"Yeah?" she asked, her voice sickly sweet. Then her fist connected with my jaw. "Wow your gift sucks."

I staggered back, clutching my stinging chin. Fuck.

Suddenly, the whole hallway shook. I was still holding my chin, looking at her, when I turned around. An enormous—uh, golem?—was standing in front of us. He was made of a mass of mud and stones, with random pebbles and other shit sticking out of him.

"Hey, Visi," he rumbled, his voice slow and deep, like grinding rocks.

What the fuck is that–? I took an involuntary step back.

"New guy?" the golem asked, his stony head tilting. "What's his power?"

"Well, he sees the future," Visi said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Really?" the golem sounded genuinely impressed.

"No—I see uh, probability," I interjected, my voice tighter than I meant it to be.

"No shit! Probability?" A new voice chirped from right beside me. I jumped as a guy with a fucking bat head appeared out of nowhere. And right next to him—what the actual hell—was a literal demon. A muscular girl with red skin, glowing yellow eyes, and a pair of wicked-looking horns curling from her forehead.

"What's the probability of me having a rat in my pocket?" the bat-guy asked, leaning way too far into my personal space.

I stared at him. My first instinct was to say low, because who the fuck carries a dead rat in their pocket? But then I took in the twitching ears, the fangs…

"Very high," I said, trying to sound casual. "Um, actually, I'd risk saying 100%."

"Ooh, shit—he's good!" Bat-guy whispered to his demon friend, sounding way too excited. Invisigal immediately wrinkled her nose in disgust and took a step back. I felt my own face twist into a grimace before I could stop it. The demon girl, however, looked utterly fascinated.

"Do me now!" she blurted out, shoving Bat-guy aside. "What's the probability of me teleporting the principal's car onto the roof of the gym right now?"

“Uh… high?” I asked her. She sounded too damn excited.

"Damn—I should do that, you're right! Wait a sec—" she said, a shimmering, chaotic portal already ripping open in the air in front of her. She shot me a sharp-toothed grin. "Yo, bro, he’s legit!" And with that, she stepped through the portal and vanished.

Okay, shit. That's so weird. I sidestepped, my fight-or-flight instinct screaming at me to just leave, but the emo girl with the inhaler immediately latched onto my arm.

"Hey, Robertson. Can I call you Robbie? I think I can. Where you goin'?" she asked, her grip surprisingly strong.

"Uh, to class—" I muttered, trying to subtly pull my arm back.

"But we—" she couldn't finish because another shadow fell over us—Royd. I had never been so happy to see a tall Black dude in my life.

"Hey, braddah, there you are! Sorry, gotta borrow this guy for a sec," he cut in, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me away from the group.

He dragged me at a brisk pace in the opposite direction I was headed—of course, I'd gotten the directions wrong. I could feel the weirdos' eyes burning into my back the whole way.

"Gosh, I leave you for five minutes and you're already findin' trouble," he said, his accent thicker with stress.

"What do you mean? That was... just a conversation. Albeit weird as fuck."

"Braddah—" He stopped walking and turned to me, his expression dead serious. "THAT WAS THE Z-CLIQUE! O ma gah, you so lucky I came when I came!"

"Excuse me, what? What in the cringe—?"

"Z-Clique. Those are the literally worst of the worst. You so lucky they didn't try to set you on fire—god, they did that with the last newbie."

"They what!?" I stopped dead in my tracks. Royd stopped too.

"Yeah, lucky for the newbie he had water abilities. But you—you know..." He gave me a once-over, his meaning crystal-clear. "Hey, what is your power again?"

I stood there, frozen. So... so they literally tried to kill someone. It finally hit me, the cold dread seeping into my bones. Just how deep in the shit I really was. With no powers, I had no way to defend myself, and now I find out there's some kind of gang in this school? They didn't seem that dangerous, but then again—they were literally monsters. A demon from hell, a giant sentient pile of shit, fucking Batman, and a girl who could be anywhere because she was invisible?

Oh, Robbie. What the hell have you gotten yourself into? Dad probably had no idea they'd be trying to kill me in here, too.

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Chapter Text

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I was sitting on my bed with my backpack on my knees. At the very bottom, I could see the outline of the Astral Pulse, that weird block with the shimmering blue plasma inside.

I’d been sitting like that for a while, turning one single question over and over in my head: What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?

Those were the moments I missed my dad the most—when I was completely alone and utterly lost. He was the one I could always ask anything. What decision to make, what to say, what to do. I wish you had just told me what this is for.

I clenched my hand around the Astral Pulse and closed my eyes, trying to remember every detail of that night. I furrowed my brow, pressing my eyelids tighter.

Dad had looked nervous. Stressed. Did he know he was going to die? If he knew, why didn't he stop Connors sooner?

"U fine, braddah?"

I jumped, my eyes snapping open. The Pulse slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor. "Woah, careful, careful, you jumpy" Royd said, his hands coming up placatingly at my panicked look.

Then his gaze drifted downward, landing on the Astral Pulse.

"A'ight, what's that?"

"NOTHING!" I practically fell to my knees, snatching it up and hiding it in my cupped hands. "It's just—"

"Bro, come on, lemme see," Royd said, taking a step closer.

Guard this, Robert. I trust you.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second. No one could know I had this thing.

"It's nothing," I repeated, my voice colder and sharper this time. I saw the flicker of hurt in his expression. "I mean—it's… just…" I trailed off, my mind blanking. "...a vibrator, but plug!" I mumbled. It was the first fucking, degenerate thing that popped into my head. But a glowing sex toy? That's a first.

Royd looked stunned. His eyes went wide, his eyebrows shooting up. Oh, god. The full weight of what I'd just said crashed down on me. I braced for a disgusted ‘Ew, what the fuck?’

It never came.

What came instead was a low chuckle. Then Royd threw his head back and laughed, a loud, genuine sound that filled the room. "Ah," he wheezed, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "You one funny buggah, Robertson." He turned to leave, shaking his head. "You comin'?—or... maybe that's the wrong word," he snorted, another laugh escaping him.

"Yeah, I'm c—" I hesitated, my voice cracking. What a fucking cringe, Robert. "...Going," I finished, shoving the Pulse deep into my backpack and zipping it shut. I slung the bag over my shoulder and followed Royd out.

"Remember what I told you," he said over his shoulder. "Find another spot. Any spot is better than sittin' near someone from the Z-Clique."

"Yeah, yeah," I waved a dismissive hand.

-----------------

Luckily, in math class yesterday, I sat alone. No sign of Batman, the demon, the golem, or that emo girl. I guess they’re not the brightest.

But today, in these more general classes… oh, boy. What fresh hell awaited me? I walked into the classroom. Most of the people—well, people, aliens, and furries—had mostly taken their seats. The back rows were, of course, all taken except for two. One was by the window, where she usually sat, and the other was on the opposite end, by the wall. I had no desire to sit near her, so I naturally took the spot by the wall. I pulled out my notebook. Okay, shit. Just survive English, and it'll be fine.

"Heya."

Invisigal materialized in the empty seat right next to me. I flinched back so hard my chair screeched. GOD FUCKING DAMMIT. She must have seen the pure exasperation on my face because a smug grin instantly spread across hers.

"Wow, your superpower sucks. How could you not predict I moved seats just to fuck with you?" I decided the best defense was no defense and stayed silent. "So, like, what is your power again?" she pressed, leaning in. "'Cause to me, it seems like you're lying 'cause you have a really shitty, real power."

"You know what? You're right," I admitted, leaning back in my chair with a sigh of fake defeat. I paused for effect, then looked her dead in the eye. "Actually, I'm an empath. I can see your shitty aura, and it's ruining my day."

I stood up with a loud scrape of my chair, grabbed my notebook, and chucked it onto the desk by the window—her usual desk.

She stared at me, her mouth actually hanging open in shock. It looked like it finally clicked that someone had just talked back to the queen bee.

"Damn, he got you good, girlie," chimed in a Black girl with hair that was blue on one side and pink on the other.

"Yeah, for real!" another girl sitting with her agreed. Ah, so maybe Cardi B is the real queen bee here...

"Shut the fuck up, Prism," Invisigal snarled. I was afraid she'd just change seats and follow me, but just as she stood up, the professor walked in. She was forced to sit back down, grumbling a low, frustrated "Grrr..." under her breath.

The moment class ended, I was on my feet, shoving my notebook into my backpack with a sense of grim finality. Just two more classes. Just two more, and I could chalk up another day survived.

My escape was immediately blocked. A tall girl, well, woman with short, black hair stood in the doorway, but it was her wings that stole my breath—and my nerve. Instead of feathers, they were a terrifying array of gleaming blades. Her aura—hell, maybe I can read auras after all—was utterly petrifying. She turned just enough to pin me with a sidelong glance from the corner of her eye.

Okay, shit. Time to leave.

I tried to sidestep her, but I was the one who had to deviate from my optimal path. In my haste, I nearly collided with a guy who already had the shadow of a mustache—definitely a student, but built like a brick wall, short and muscular.

"You should watch your step," the blade-winged girl said, her voice a low hum of menace. "The room is... crowded. It would be a shame if someone were to... slip and fall. The human body is surprisingly fragile. Like a bird's."

I looked at her, my blood running cold. This was different from Invisigal’s bullying. This was a promise. My mouth went dry. All I could manage was a weak, stammered, "I—I gotta go. Sorry," before practically fleeing down the hall, feeling her gaze—and the glint of her blades—burning into my back until I turned the corner.

I practically skidded into the next corridor, not really seeing the people I passed. They were just background noise. I hugged my backpack to my chest, terrified someone might discover the Astral Pulse hidden inside. Was it safer on me, or should I have hidden it in the room?

Right now, it didn't matter. All that mattered was the path straight ahead. I wasn't looking left or right, barely registering the lives happening around me. The only snippet I caught was a fragmented conversation:

"I'm waiting for the long weekend, gosh. My dad is making BBQ, you have no idea how much I want it, gurl."

I slowed my pace. My dad used to make BBQ, too. There was this one memorable party with Mr. Chase and Mr. Connors... I was messing with one of my dad's projects that day. I was a stupid kid—I accidentally activated combat mode and almost got turned into a pile of rubble. Luckily, Chase saved me... though I did lose a piece of my ear to a stray projectile. Yeah. I had a great dad. A father whose work almost killed his son. 

Suddenly, two words cut through the noise and struck me like a physical blow. 

"Robert Robertson."

I took a few more, slowed steps. The name echoed dully in the hallway, and the surroundings suddenly fell completely silent. Then I stopped... Wait, I hadn't told anyone my name. I didn't want to turn around. Was it Connors? Had he found me? Here? I felt a cold sweat break out on my back. Then, in slow motion, I began to turn my head, directing my eyes to the right.

"You're such a fucking weirdo," a voice added. Invisigal's. Of course. The world sped up again, flooding back with color and the chatter of students. I looked at her, still slightly stressed and quiet, though I was taking deeper breaths. "Why you so flinchy, dude?" she asked, spreading her hands. I shot her a nasty look and continued on my way. Naturally, she caught up to me, taking a sharp pull from her inhaler.

"Hey, you still haven't told us what your power is. Everyone is so interested, you know!" She clapped me on the shoulder. "Yo, Flambae!" she called out, raising her hand.

A guy with a ponytail and dark sunglasses was walking on the other side of the corridor, he was built like an Olympian, his chest practically out because he wore his shirt hanging open, not a single button fastened. Gosh–is this another fuck-up?

"Wassup?" he asked, stopping in front of us. Gulp. Yeah, he was a lot taller.

Invisigal now stood to my left. "Robbie-boy here is new," she said, pulling me into a half-hug, her grip tight on my right arm. "He was just about to tell me what his shitty power is..." She trailed off, giving me a quick once-over.

"And why should I fucking care?" he asked, his accent thick, his 'r's hard and rolling.

She just looked at him and shook her head meaningfully. He sighed. "Fine, whatever," he said, and then confidently started moving toward me. I automatically recoiled. Flambae shoved me against the wall, but he was so strong that the impact sent me sliding down to the ground—no, onto a bench where a group of friends was sitting. They immediately scrambled away.

Then BAM—I flinched, closing my eyes, sure I was about to get hit. Instead, the guy planted his foot on the bench with a slam, leaning over me and cutting off my escape. He tilted his head, analyzing my pathetic look, and then opened his mouth:

"So, what's your superpower, huh, bitch?"

Oh god-okay-I'm alive. He didn't try to kill me- thank gods.

Invisigal slid onto the free space on the bench next to me, smiling. "I, uh—" I started, looking from her to him. "Um... I read minds?" I proposed.

"Third time's the charm!" Invisigal agreed. "What am I thinking right now?"

Suddenly, I stopped being afraid. I don't know why. I just suddenly felt terribly angry. So these fucking motherfuckers bully me now just because what? I'm new? That's it? There's no way I'm letting them push me around like this.

I locked my gaze with Flambae's and stood up straight. He had to lean back, otherwise our faces would have been too close. I pushed him back lightly with one hand, and of course, heard a stunned, "Oh, look, the little bitch has some balls."

I turned my head to Invisigal, shooting her a piercing glare that said, 'I see into the depths of your soul. I see all of your shit.'

Her smile vanished. She stared at me in disbelief, and then, her gaze still locked on my face, she involuntarily shook her head as if to say 'no.' She probably thought I really could read her mind.

Maybe I'd played this right after all... I grabbed my backpack and walked away with a steady, not-at-all-terrified stride, without looking back.

-----------------

Naturally, my respite was short-lived. Right after the next class, Invisigal showed up again, this time dragging another girl in tow. This one did not look thrilled, scoffing and rolling her eyes every few seconds. Her nails and hair were incredibly long, and she had bangs that almost completely obscured her eyes. Right behind her came Batman and the demon girl, the giant sentient clay mass, and from her desk, the queen bee–Prism watched, scooting her chair back until it hit the table behind her. From another desk, the blade-winged lady and her short companion also watched with interest.

"Hey, Robbie," Invisigal said, releasing the girl, who immediately crossed her arms. "This is Synapse. Your... kindred spirit, get it?" She grabbed Synapse by the shoulders, standing right behind her. "She can read people's fuuucking miiinds!"

What—...oh shit. A mind reader. So she reads minds–?

OH SHIT. She can't know I have no po—SEX, SEXSEXSEXSEX, ASS, DILDO, SANDWICH. WHAT CLASS IS NEXT? Damn- Invisgal is kinda h— I MEAN FUCK AAAAA, LALALALALA. I don't hear anything, I don't see anything, I am no one… Nobody loves me. Especially not my dad–

"–Wow, bro, you have–like–pretty serious daddy issues," Synapse observed.

Invisigal just scoffed, looking at her friends. They answered with a shrug and a smirk too.

And it finally hit me: in trying to be less visible and get as far away from the Z-Clique as possible, I'd walked right into the lion's den, because they all fucking knew each other. This was the Z-Clique. Them. All of them. Plus that flaming asshole.

For fuck's sake, Robert. What are you doing? Focus, shit. I looked at Synapse. Please. Please just don’t tell them. I know that you already know.

For a long time, I was pleading in my thoughts, and the Z-Clique watched us with interest. Finally, the demon-girl barged between us, breaking the tension and our intense eye contact.

“Are you guys having a mental conversation?” she asked. I looked at Synapse again. Please. I repeated.

“Yeah, we just read each other's minds, had a blast,” she said and started to walk away. Invisigal, however, looked annoyed. Of course—her theory didn't pan out.

“I’m just gonna—” I started, turning toward the exit. “—Go. I have stuff to do,” I said, jerking my thumb toward the door. Nobody was physically holding me there, but I still felt like I needed their fucking permission to leave.

Invisigal’s hand shot out, her fingers closing like a vice around my wrist. 

“Hey, Robertson.”

I froze. She pulled me back just enough to force me to look at her. I saw her very intense, brown eyes. Time seemed to slow down. She narrowed them slightly, her brow furrowing in concentration. She was reading my face, searching for something. Then opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it, a new, calculating look replacing her frustration.

A fraction of a second later, her face split into a casual, predatory grin. 

“Off you go,” she said, and gave me a sharp, seemingly playful shove in the back, propelling me toward the door.

That was fucking weird…

I shrugged it off, heading for the stairs. I pulled my backpack off my shoulders, clutching it to my chest like a shield. I unzipped the main compartment, just enough to peek inside and confirm the Astral Pulse was still there.

I took a step down. Then another. I glanced into the bag, cracking the lid wider. Inside, the Pulse glowed with a steady, reassuring blue light. Everything’s fine. Great–

My foot hit the next step, and my heart leaped into my throat.

The shove sent me stumbling forward, but my foot met empty air.

Weightlessness.

The first hit was a deafening CRACK as my elbow connected with the railing, a lightning bolt of white-hot pain shooting up my arm. My backpack tore free from my grip, becoming a separate, tumbling entity.

Then the world became a nauseating carousel. Stairs slammed into my hip. The ceiling lights streaked past like comets. My own knee cracked against my chin, filling my mouth with the coppery taste of blood.

Ding.

A sound, sharp and metallic, cut through the roaring in my ears. A flash of blue in my spinning periphery.

Ding.

There it was again. The Astral Pulse. Bouncing. Taunting me. A little blue butt plug having a great time on my personal hell-ride. My flailing hand, moving on pure instinct, snatched at it—and missed, my fingers scraping raw on the concrete step.

Ding. Thud.

My shoulder, my back, my head—each found a corner, an edge, a flat plane to introduce themselves to. The grunts and choked gasps were mine, each impact punching the air from my lungs. The only constant was that fucking ding and the searing pain making everything–either white or red–behind my eyes.

The final, sickening lurch. The carousel stopped. I was on my back, staring up at the distant, blurry ceiling. The last thing I heard wasn't the ding, but the soft, final thump of the Astral Pulse landing somewhere beside me.

Chapter Text

------------

My head spun, a nauseating kaleidoscope of color smeared against the ceiling. Dozens of eyes burned into me, their weight a physical pressure. I managed to tilt my head back—and my heart stalled. There it was. The Pulse, lying exposed on the grimy linoleum, its eerie blue glow a blatant beacon under the harsh lights.

Oh, shit.

I scrambled, my body screaming in protest, fingers clawing across the floor. But a wave of panicked murmurs crested, cut short as a teacher shouldered through the gawking circle.

"What is the meaning of this? What happened? Who is responsible?" she demanded, her voice a whip-crack. Of course, no one answered. Just one guy squeaking, "He uh-fe…fell asleep—I slipped, I mean, he was slipping!"

I dropped my gaze, my own pulse hammering in my throat. The artifact was right beside her scuffed loafers. A few students were already leaning in, curiosity prickling in their stares. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her—Invisigal. Leaning against the wall with feigned nonchalance, but her brow was furrowed, her intense focus locked not on my pain, but on the gleaming object. I snatched it back into my hands, the metal warm and accusing against my palm.

"Are you alright?" the teacher asked, her tone shifting to sterile concern. "I will take you to the infirmary. Come on—" She hooked a firm arm under my shoulder and hauled me to my feet.

------------

Turns out, I was perfectly fine.’ Well, aside from the galaxy of blossoming bruises and a profound, soul-deep ache of my butt—but I'd lived through worse. The silver lining? I got to skip the rest of the school day, holed up in Chase's office while he nearly had an aneurysm.

"I don't belong here, Unc," I mumbled around a mouthful of Twinkie he gave me. I hadn't told him someone might want me dead, because it wasn't true—right? The Z-Clique are just bullies. The one who shoved me... or maybe I just fucking slipped? I honestly had no idea what happened because it happened so fast.

"You're talking nonsense."

"I'm for real! I have no powers—they'll find out sooner or later!"

"No, they won't, if you lay low. Do you have any concept of what that means?" he asked, giving me a blank stare while demolishing his own Twinkie.

"Shit, of course I know!" I snapped. Who did he think he was talking to?

"LAYING LOW," he cut me off, his voice rising, "means you don't talk back. You keep your head down. You come to classes on time, and you do your fucking homework. It means you don't do anything that could draw attention to yourself, you stupid fucking motherfucker," he muttered the last part under his breath. "Of course, you had to make yourself the main attraction for the whole goddamn school."

"THAT WASN'T MY FAULT, CHASE!" I shrieked, my voice cracking embarrassingly.

He looked at me, the anger draining from his face, replaced by a weary sympathy. "I know, kid." He reached out and wiped a smudge of Twinkie from my chin. "Just be careful, and you'll be okay. Nothing can hurt you here." He smiled, and I looked back at him, a mess of tangled emotions. I never actually realized that I love Chase; he's that weird, funny uncle who always buys you shit. He was always like this, so… nice while being the meanest sunovabitch on the planet.

"Well, unless you keep shoving your way into the Z-Clique's business. Then, shit, I don't know, let them kill you, see if I care." He said it with such a deadpan delivery that we both immediately burst into strained, slightly hysterical laughter.

"Unc, shut up…"

------------

Now it was evening. A new day. I'd made a decision, carved into my bones by humiliation and fear: no more being 'bitch-ass Robert'. I had to learn to defend myself and to become stronger. It wasn't like anyone in this snake pit was going to save me if the Red Ring finally came knocking.

Before Dad died, he used to force me to exercise. I'd hated every second of it then. But now, drenched in sweat and rage, I finally got it.

Linkin Park was blasting directly into my brain, drowning out everything but the punishing thud of my feet on the treadmill, the incline set to savage. I was running so fast, so recklessly, that I had to straighten my body just to keep from being thrown.

Thud. The Pulse was safe in my backpack, but how many people had seen it? 

Thud. Did Dad used to train like this? Pushing his body until it screamed? 

Thud. A gunshot. Deafeningly loud in my memory even though I hadn’t actually survive it myself. 

Thud. His body, lying still in our empty home.

The music was a physical force. I could barely hear my own ragged, tearing gasps.

Collins's face—that deceptively polite, rarely smiling mask. His cold blue eyes stared into my soul–SLIP—

My foot skidded. The treadmill ejected me backwards. I threw my arms out, a useless, pathetic attempt at balance, and then—

THUD.

I didn't hit the cold, hard floor. I impacted against something solid, yet unyieldingly muscular.

I let out a shaky, humiliated breath and twisted my head. Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

Standing behind me, serving as my unwilling crash mat, was that walking steroid advertisement with the ponytail—Flambae. After a two-second delay filled with pure disgust, he shoved me off him. The treadmill was still roaring mindlessly. His lips moved, shaping words I couldn't hear.

He snatched the headphones from my ears. "Hey, bitch!" he snarled. Instantly, the blaring chorus vomited into the space between us.

CUZ I'M ONE STEP CLOSER TO THE EDGE, AND I'M ABOUT TO BREAK!!!

I lunged, fumbling for my headphones and mashing the pause button over and over. Sudden, ringing silence descended.

"Uh, what's up?" I asked, aiming for nonchalance and landing squarely in 'nervous wreck'.

"Bitch, do you not know you can't be in here without staff supervision?" he shot back, planting a hand on his hip. A bulging gym bag was slung over his shoulder.

"Yeah?" I retorted, making a show of scanning the completely empty, dimly lit gym. "So what's your excuse? Babysitting me?"

His finger shot out, jabbing towards my face. "Hey—! Don't get fucking cute with me. I asked you first!"

"And I'm asking you now. Chill out—" I made to move away.

“You for real listen to Linkin Park?” he asked, his tone dripping with a new, profound level of judgment.

“What’s it to you?”

“You’re so fucking emo, Jesus Christ,” he said, already pulling out his own phone.

“Yeah? Well, what's on your sacred playlist, then?” I crossed my arms.

“Whitney Houston,” he stated, with a completely straight face. “An actual fucking singer. With a beautiful voice that makes actual songs, not just screaming into the void.”

I was stunned into silence. He saw my utter lack of a comeback and immediately got defensive, a flush creeping up his neck. “WHAT? YOU GOT A FUCKING PROBLEM, BITCH?”

“None,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. I let my eyes travel over him, a slow, deliberate once-over, a tiny, knowing smirk playing on my lips. Huh. Whitney Houston. I gave a slight, dismissive shake of my head and shoved my phone into my backpack.

“Hey!” he barked the second my back was turned. “This stays between us, got it?” He closed the distance between us in two quick strides.

“What 'this'?” I asked, turning to face him. “You mean my near-death experience? Or the newly revealed fact that a big, tough guy like you unironically jams out to ‘I Will Always Love You’?”

“YOU LITTLE SHIT–” He grabbed a fistful of my shirt, yanking me close. For a heart-stopping second, I thought he was going to hit me. But he stopped himself, his face twisting into a different, more calculating expression. 

"Heard you took quite a fall earlier," he said, the smirk returning. "Look. Visi's a bitch, but she doesn't shove that hard. Or maybe you’re just a weak-ass bitch who can't handle stairs." He drove his finger into my chest. "So here's the real question. Who else did you piss off?" He leaned in, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "And what the hell is that glowing thing you were scrambling for like your life depended on it?"

My eyebrows shot up. He wasn't even there. The surprise curdled into cold anger. I tried to shove past him.

"HEY." His hand shot out, gripping my arm. His skin was unnaturally, dangerously warm. "I'm asking you a question."

I met his glare, all fear burned away by pure spite. "Really? Sounded to me like you were just stating the obvious."

He made a condescending tsk sound. “If I were you, I’d watch my back, bitch.” He shoved past me towards the weight racks.

I just scoffed and left. No point in starting a fight with a guy whose entire personality is a walking ego.

------------

I got back to my room—but the door was hanging open. That was weird; what was the point of the keycards? I peered inside… oh shit. The whole place was trashed.

Royd's projects and blueprints were scattered everywhere, every drawer was yanked open. I rushed in. Fuck. What happened? Who did this?

A moment later, I heard nervous footsteps, and Royd appeared with a teacher in tow.

"What happened?" I asked, throwing my hands out in disbelief.

"I—dunno, I came back from classes and everything was kapoot," Royd said, his Hawaiian accent thick with stress. "So I went and got da teach,” he said then looked at me. “You know somethin’?”

"I don’t–I–I was at the gym—you can check my card," I said, waving it at the teacher. I still had it in my hand.

------------

Next thing I knew, we were sitting in the director's office. Chase was standing behind me, along with the teacher and a woman I pegged as a counselor.

"Do either of you have any enemies? Someone who might want to hurt you? Perhaps you've wronged someone?" the counselor asked, her voice unnervingly calm.

Royd shook his head. "No, lady, everybody likes da Royd. No way."

The woman's gaze shifted to me. "Well?" she prompted.

I took a breath. "Well, let's see. There's Elliot Connors. You probably know him as Shroud? Then there's this weird girl in our class with fucking wings made of blades." I remembered her 'slip and fall' comment. "Invisigal," I added, the image of her staring at the Pulse flashing in my mind. "And, uh, Flambae.” He literally just threatened me in the gym, and he's the same guy who apparently almost burned a newbie to a crisp once, right? I was on a roll now, the absurdity of my own life dawning on me. "And if we're suspecting everyone, I'd throw in the whole Z-Clique. And also, potentially, Synapse." She read my mind, after all; she could know about the Astral Pulse. "You know what? Let's just nuke the whole goddamn school from orbit," I said, my voice flat.

“Language,” the director muttered almost to himself.

Chase started to laugh but choked it back into a cough under the counselor's withering glare. "Sorry," he muttered. It wasn't funny. I had just listed so many people who might want me dead that it was actually staggering.

Royd was staring at me with a pure what the fuck, braddah? expression painted across his face. The counselor tapped her pen—tap, tap, tap—a nervous little drumbeat on the polished wood of the desk.

"Are you quite finished?" she asked, her voice stretched tight.

"Yeah," I said, furrowing my brows as if genuinely considering it. "I think... or maybe—Yep, I'm done."

------------

Royd and the other teachers filed out. Chase remained, rooted to the same spot. Director Gideon just cleared his throat, the sound like gravel shifting.

The moment the door clicked shut, my eyes darted between Chase and Gideon.

"You will get this sorted," Gideon growled, his voice low and dangerous. "If this is some stupid prank, I swear to god—" He didn't need to finish. The threat hung in the air, thick and suffocating. "If it's not, and this blows up, my career is on the line. And when that happens, no one will give a single damn about the reason we admitted a null."

I swallowed hard. Gideon was looking right at me, and it felt less like a warning and more like a direct threat. And honestly, I got it. The message was clear: I have to be more careful. Because I'm the one with no powers. I'm the liability.

"Don't worry, Gideon," Chase cut in, his tone forcibly light as he steered me toward the door. "Kids do stupid shit all the time. I'm sure we'll get it figured out."

------------

Back in the room, Royd was already starting to put things back together, gathering his scattered schematics and carefully placing them back on his desk.

"Yo, bro. Good news—looks like nothin' is missin'," Royd said, glancing at me over his shoulder.

"Phew." I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. I closed the door behind me and righted the overturned chair. We fell into a quiet, efficient rhythm—folding clothes, shutting cabinet doors, and even working together to repair one of Royd's prototypes that had been knocked to the floor.

"Braddah, you good with this stuff," Royd observed, watching my hands as I re-soldered a delicate connection. "Never seen another buggah assemble a ultra-precise plasma conduit like it was a 5-year-old's puzzle."

"Well—" I started, my gaze dropping to the circuit board in my hands. A familiar, heavy weight settled in my chest, and I could feel my shoulders slump just a little. "My dad... he was an engineer. A rocket scientist, to be exact."

"Oh, shit. You said your name is Robertson?" he asked, his voice shifting.

"Yeah, that's the surname, actually, yes. I don't have a fucking clue how to make myself a hero name," I added, the thought echoing that I didn't even need one, not being a hero.

"Robert Robertson?" Royd stood up from the bed where we'd been sitting. "DA Robert Robertson?"

"Uh, yeah. I know, he was kinda famous... I guess I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"SHIT, braddah! He the man! He designed the jet-pack thrusters for da Mecha Man! Da hero! He did it all by himself! Absolute genius!" His eyes were wide with genuine awe. "You his son?"

"Yep. Yep, you got me," I said, holding my hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Robert Robertson the Third, at your service." I gave a slight, theatrical bow. "I'm not that smart, though, so don't get your hopes up."

Royd smiled, a thoughtful look on his face, and then he extended his large hand toward me. "Roy Kahananui."

Oh, shit. Did he just give me his real name? Is that even allowed here?

"Nice to properly meet you," I said, shaking his hand. Ah, whatever. No one has to know we introduced ourselves.

"So we gotta work on projects togetha, bro! Royd 'n' Rob! An unbeatable team!"

"Haha, yeah—" I smiled. It was the first real, unforced smile I'd felt since my dad died.

"So... that 'butt plug'," he whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. "What it is? For real?"

I felt my smile freeze, tighten, and then completely shatter, wiped clean from my face.

"Oh, that?" I asked, my voice pitching high.

------------

Chapter Text

--------

“Alright, whatever,” I said, taking a deep, steadying breath. I reached into my backpack and pulled out the glowing ‘butt plug.’ I held the small container, its core swirling with blue plasma, pinched carefully between my thumb and forefinger. “This is the Astral Pulse.”

“My dad told me to guard it. That it was, uh, important or something,” I mumbled, the words feeling inadequate. “Right after that, he was killed—” My eyes grew hot and wet. “By Connors—” My voice hitched, betraying me. “He was a friend—” I let my head drop, and a moment later, I felt a heavy, comforting hand on my back.

“Sorry, bro.”

“I feel like…” I bit my lip, hard. “This is also the reason why he died,” I finally said, staring at the Pulse’s hypnotic glow.

“Ayay, heavy stuff,” Royd said, shaking his head slowly. “So da Pulse is sumthin' important?” he asked, his voice hushed.

“I don’t know. Probably just another one of his inventions,” I shrugged, trying and failing to sound casual.

“Braddah…” he began after a thoughtful pause. “...Mind if I check?” he asked.

My hand instinctively jerked back, clutching the Pulse to my chest. “I—dunno, I mean—” I stammered.

“Word of honor, Robert,” Royd said, solemnly placing one hand over his heart and extending the other, palm up. “It would be a privilege to test out a Robert Robertson II invention. He’s my idol.”

I looked at him. His eyes were wide, genuinely excited, and he looked… trustworthy. Fuck it, we ball.

“Nobody can know you have it,” I said, my grip still tight on the container.

“Trust me, bro. My lips are sealed.”

I took one last breath and finally let go, placing the Astral Pulse into his waiting hand. A sudden, shocking weight lifted from my shoulders. I could finally breathe.

“I’m gonna go get some air,” I said, standing up from the bench. “Can we, like… leave?” I asked, nodding toward the main gates.

“Well, if you have no strikes, you can.”

“What strikes?” I asked, confused.

“Shit, braddah, are you out of your mind or what?” he asked, spreading his arms in disbelief. “Da containment strikes. You collect enough, and you win a one-way trip to Zone Zero.”

“You mean, they actually…” I added after a pause. Containment? I really had no idea.

“Yep. You see, they don't want gifted people who gon act crazy out in da streets. We already got enough of them.”

“So, strikes… how do you get one?”

“Oh, you know. Any teacher can recommend someone to the council. Then the smart people discuss it and decide. The strikes are logged on our IDs—they block you from different places. One strike, you can’t leave campus. There are different types, bro. You could get a strike for the gym, like one of the Z-Clique pals has. Or a strike for the lab if you made a bomb or some shit,” he explained.

“Wow. That is super extra,” I observed.

“Ya, that’s why we gotta try hard. Do not be like Z-Clique. Everybody already knows they’ll land in Zone Zero as soon as the year ends.”

“I think… I need to process all of this,” I sighed, slinging my jacket over my shoulder.

At the main gate, the guards gave me a suspicious once-over, but they had to let me pass—after all, I had no strikes (and, more to the point, no powers). Just like that, I was through. I walked the dark streets, savoring the fresh, cold air, taking deeper breaths and feeling, for the first time in weeks, free. I tried to process everything that had happened—the Pulse, my fall down the stairs, Invisigal and Flambae, and that blade-winged girl’s words. Are they in on it, too? Someone trashed our room. Were they trying to find the Pulse, or was it just a prank?

I returned about an hour later but still couldn't bring myself to go inside. I started walking the perimeter of the school, looking for weak spots.

The gate is tall, but the bars are thin… but what if someone can fly? They’d go over here and here… that tower would be a good lookout point— My train of thought derailed as I heard a low rumbling noise.

I froze. What was that?

“Yeah, meat is good, isn't it?” a voice said. It was slow and deep. “It’s raw, though, so probably not that much.”

What the fuck—were they eating someone? What—I knew it was a freak school but–

I took a careful step forward, then another, peering around the corner of the building near the dumpsters. I stood poised, ready to bolt—but then… I saw him. The sentient pile of rocks. The big guy. The golem.

He was standing there, holding out a piece of meat, and in front of him was a little dog.

“I’m not even gonna ask,” I muttered to myself, but of course, I said it out loud, my hands shoved in my pockets.

“Oh…” Golem looked at me. He shifted his massive body, positioning himself between me and the dog. “I was… just browsing the trash. The finest trash, only the best treats,” he rumbled.

“Yep, I said I wasn’t gonna ask, but, uhh…” I squinted. “...thanks for the clarification?” I then tilted my head, trying to see past him. “That your dog?” I asked.

“No… Stray.” He moved aside, allowing me to approach. He must have decided I wasn't a threat. “Don’t tell anyone. Three strikes already,” he added, his voice a low rumble.

“It’s cold out here, poor little guy,” I said, crouching down. A chubby, black-and-white puppy started licking my hand the moment I reached out to let him sniff me.

“I’ve been giving him food,” Golem admitted. I looked up at him. This big guy isn’t so bad? “But I can’t take him in. Too damn big.”

“Yeah, that would’ve been a spectacle,” I snorted, petting the dog. Maybe I could take him?—Damn it, Robert, what are you thinking? You want a trip to prison without even having powers? The rules clearly say no animals in the school— which was kinda funny, considering they literally had furries here.

The little guy snorted, sneezing, his whole body shaking a bit. Gosh, you warm-hearted fucking idiot. I closed my eyes for a second and stood up. I took off my jacket, and Golem watched me in silence.

“I’ll take him. Shush, okay?” I said, wrapping the puppy securely in my jacket.

“Yep,” he murmured slowly. “Thanks, dude,” he said, turning to leave, each of his steps a ground-shaking thump, thump.

I watched him go. That thing has three strikes already? Weird…

I hurried back to the dorm with my bundled-up contraband. No one even looked twice; everyone was already fucking asleep.

---------------

Royd was hunched over his desk, the Astral Pulse connected to one of his prototypes, a mess of complex equations sprawled out next to it.

“Yo, bro, this thing is awesome! It powers all of my prototypes—zero strain, it’s insane—” He cut off his excited rambling when he saw me lay the wriggling bundle on my bed, from which a puppy promptly scrambled out. “Hey, dogs aren’t allowed—” he started, but then he looked at my face. “Whatever, bro. Just teach him to shit outside.”

“What do I do? I’ve never had a dog,” I pointed out.

“Well,” Royd let out an exasperated laugh. “Follow my lead."

------------------

Early the next morning, Royd and I went on a mission to search for bowls and a bed. We found bowls, and even some food—a disgusting-looking meat paste that some of the more ‘eccentric’ students apparently ate.

Before class started, the puppy had already been fed, given water, and had a towel on the floor by my bed to sleep on for now.

After classes, I immediately headed back to my room to check on the little guy, but I ended up witnessing a public execution.

In the now-empty hallway leading to the dorms, a teacher stood with clenched fists, his finger jabbing accusingly in Batman’s face.

“You little shit, you want another fucking strike?” he asked, boiling with anger. “DON’T BRING ANY MORE DEAD RATS TO MY CLASS, OR I SWEAR—I’ll make sure you’re expelled with only three strikes! You won’t need any more!”

The bat-guy’s ears twitched, but he didn’t say anything, just stared. He finally muttered, “That was Jerry. You know like Tom and–”

“You FUCKING named it? Gosh—trust me when I say this, in Zone Zero, they treat freaks how they should be treated—as freaks!”

“Hey,” I said loudly, stepping closer. “What’s the problem? It’s just a rat, not a bomb.”

“Stay out of this, boy,” he muttered, not even looking at me.

“Seriously, you’re threatening to jail someone over a dead rat? Did it ever occur to you that it might be his diet, huh, genius?”

“You are out of your place! WE are talking about ORDER! This is—filth!”

“My place is pointing out that you're a grown adult threatening to jail a kid over their diet. Not so orderly,” I snorted, crossing my arms.

“Both of you,” he said, his veins bulging. “Detention. After classes.” He added. I just looked at him, squinting, still standing my ground. The teacher muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like 'goddamn freaks' and stalked off. Bat-guy watched him leave, then turned to me.

“Hey. The probability guy,” he noted. “Uh, thanks?”

“I didn’t do anything big,” I shrugged.

“Yeah, you did. He hates my guts. He’s scared of rats, and I and Malevola once teleported one onto his desk. He wasn’t happy,” he said, and I snorted a laugh.

“For real?” I asked, not quite believing it.

“Yep. That was my first strike. Eh, shit, I gotta go check on my investments. See you at detention, I will need to ask you some questions about my odds with stocks,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder before walking away.

Oh, shit. Right. I have detention.

Well, so much for laying low, Chase.

Later that day, I found myself standing outside the detention room. Of course I did. Fuck.

I peeked inside, just my head around the doorframe—fuck me. It looked like the entire Z-Clique had taken up residence. Invisigal, Golem, the blade-winged woman and her short sidekick, Batman, the demon girl, the guy from the gym—Flambae—and that pop star lady with the two-colored hair.

Naturally, I tried to back away. "Robertson? Come in and close the door."

The voice belonged to a terrifyingly stern man I would later learn they called the Behavioral Specialist—BS for short. The only free seat was right in the middle of them. I sank into it.

"Damn, what's the biggest loser in school doing here?" the pop star—Prism—asked, not even bothering to lower her voice.

"So," the BS coughed, cutting through the chatter and looking at his clipboard. "Since we're all here, we'll begin. I assume you already know the rules." He cast a weary glance over the bored, irritated, and outright pissed-off Z-Clique. He walked among us, handing out worksheets.

"Such bullshit," Invisigal sighed.

"Oi, have you forgotten why you're here?" the BS snapped. "Don't feel like following the rules? Fine, you can leave. But I'll remind you that some of you are sitting on four strikes. So, by all means..." He gestured to the door. Instant silence fell.

I looked down at my worksheet: Power Stability & Intent Assessment.

There were seven questions.

1. On a scale of 1-10, rate your current urge to use your abilities against school policy. I wrote 0. Naturally.
2. Describe a recent situation where you felt your emotional state directly influenced your power. What was the outcome? I wrote N/A. There was no situation like this. Obviously.
3. Do you feel resentment towards the faculty or the PCISA regulations? (Y/N) I wrote N.
4. Have you ever concealed the true extent or nature of your abilities from this institution? (Y/N) I wrote N. I mean, kinda yes, but they didn't need to know that.
5. Do you believe you pose a latent threat to the safety of others? (Y/N) I wrote N.
6. List three individuals you have had conflict with this week. What was your desired resolution to that conflict? I wrote: Invisigal, Flambae, Blade-winged woman. Desired resolution: De-escalation and peaceful coexistence.
7. Are your current friendships a stabilizing or destabilizing influence on your control? I wrote: I don't have friends.

We handed the signed papers back. The guy just skimmed them, muttering under his breath.

"Robertson," he said, waving my paper in the air. "You're deflecting."

"I am not," I stated. It was the truth! I hadn't done anything!

"I'll be right back. In the meantime, I want you all to reflect on the choices that led you here. We'll be discussing them." He collected the rest of the papers and queued up a video titled "Episode 12: How The Friends You Choose Shape You" before leaving.

The moment the door clicked shut, the room erupted.

"What a loser," Punch Up snorted.

"Wish I could just burn this fucking school to the ground," Flambae muttered, manspreading aggressively across two chairs.

"I don't fucking care about this stupid, lame video," Prism announced, immediately pulling out her phone.

"Hey, Robertson." Sonar materialized beside me, his phone shoved in my face. "If I buy this memecoin, what's the probability I'll make a profit? Give me the percentages. The investment numbers."

"Man, I honestly—" I started, but was cut off by Invisigal swiveling her chair around.

"You okay, bro?" she asked, leaning her chin on the backrest with a look of mock concern. "Heard you took a tumble down the stairs."

"What'd you even get stuck in here for?" the demon girl, Malevola, chimed in. "First time since forever we got someone new in detention."

"Well, thanks to him, I don't have a fourth strike," Sonar said from his spot nearby. "Bobert's my new guy. You'll help me build my pyramid scheme, right, bud?"

"Maybe it's the dog," Golem rumbled softly, cutting through the noise. "Did they take it to the shelter?"

"No, no," I shook my head, looking directly at him. "They don't know about him. Don't worry."

Golem looked at me with grave seriousness, then gave a slow, stony nod. "Cool."

"What dog, huh?" Prism asked, her interest visibly piqued as she looked up from her phone.

"Do we have a puppy here? OH MY GOD, SHOW ME!" Malevola shrieked, launching halfway out of her seat.

“Are you for real, mate?” Punch Up asked, a skeptical eyebrow raised.

“I would also gladly see that… creature,” said the blade-winged woman. I’d later learn her name was Coupé. Her tone was clinical, but her eyes held a flicker of interest.

I looked around at the chaotic, expectant faces and let out a tired breath. "Uhhh," I muttered. “I could show you the dog, I guess—”

“NOICE!” Malevola yelled.

“So, uh… how many strikes y’all have?” I asked, hesitantly steering the conversation back. Maybe understanding their crimes would help me understand them.

They all started talking at once, a chaotic chorus of delinquency.

Sonar was first, ticking them off on his furred fingers. “Me and Golem have 3. I got one for shrieking, one for the rats, and one for that little… teleportation mishap with the chemistry lab.”

Golem just gave a low grunt of confirmation. “Breaking things,” he added, as if the nature of his large, stony body was explanation enough.

Malevola grinned, sharp teeth on full display. “Two! One for public mischief and one for ‘unauthorized portal creation’ in the lab. Oh, and I've also got this whole disciplinary hearing for teleporting the principal's car onto the roof. So I will probably have three as well."

Punch Up puffed out his chest. “Two as well! One for brawling, and one for… more brawling.”

Coupé didn’t even look at us, examining her bladed wings. “Two. Possession of a deadly weapon on school grounds.” She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Prism scoffed. “Two. For ‘disruptive use of light frequencies during an exam’. They said I gave everyone a migraine. Boring. I also temporarily blinded one bitch for being a bitch."

Flambae kept his arms crossed, scowling. “Two. Arson. Both times. There will be more.”

“And Visi has 4,” Punch Up said, jerking his thumb toward her. “One more and she’s goin’.”

Invisigal just sighed, rolling her eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck. “Whatever. Trespassing, theft, assault, and general ‘insubordination’.”

“Yeah, and the Behavioral Loser just says stupid shit like, ‘ohh, just find better friends’,” Prism mocked, aggressively typing on her phone. “What a fucking loser.”

“Yep,” Invisigal agreed, leaning back in her chair until it creaked. “And giving us breathing exercises that don’t work.”

I looked around at this band of misfits—the arsonist, the thief, the brawler, the assassin, the literal forces of chaos—all united by a system that clearly didn't know what to do with them. A wry smile touched my lips.

"Seems like The Behavioral Specialist is really just... full of BS, then, huh?"

For a second, there was silence. Then, Flambae let out a sharp, surprised bark of laughter. Invisigal cracked a genuine smile. Malevola cackled and gave me a solid, friendly slap on the shoulder that nearly knocked me out of my chair. The whole group erupted into laughter. It was weird. For a moment, it didn't feel like I was surrounded by villains. It felt like we were just a bunch of kids, stuck in the same shitty situation.

I felt like we were actually bonding.

Phew. Maybe they’ll leave me alone now.

---------

Chapter Text

---------------

After about ten minutes of that insufferable video, the BS returned. He paused it as if he knew none of us had been watching.

"So then? Shall we start with who has the most strikes?" he said, his gaze landing pointedly on Invisigal. "And I heard you two had a scuffle," he added, looking at me. "Invisigal, you will apologize to Robertson for startling him. Robertson, you will practice de-escalation techniques."

Invisigal let out a world-weary sigh as she stood. The rest of the Clique snickered.

"Come on, babes, say sorry!" Prism stage-whispered.

I glanced around and reluctantly stood as well, walking to the center of the room to face her. She looked like she'd rather drink bleach than be there.

She just stood there, scanning me up and down with pure, unadulterated disdain.

"Well, do you remember Episode 2?" the BS prompted. "There were specific words and phrases one uses to offer a genuine apology."

Invisigal exhaled another dramatic puff of air. "I am sooo sorryyyyy," she said, rolling her eyes.

"For what?" the BS pressed. I just stood there, feeling incredibly awkward. This is so fucking weird.

"For scaring the shit out of you, Robertson," she said, very slowly, testing each syllable on her tongue. "There. Happy now?"

"It would be better without that last bit... Well, Robertson," the BS turned to me. "Imagine Invisigal has just scared you. What's your first reaction?"

"Uh... 'Aaah'?" I asked, looking at him blankly. I heard wheezes in the background; Sonar looked like he was gonna cry, shoving a fist into his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud.

"And after that?"

I looked at Invisigal. Her expression screamed, 'Let's just get this over with.' So I nodded robotically. "Why would you do that? That is not very nice."

The BS nudged Invisigal to respond.

"Oh!" she feigned surprise. "I am sorry. I did not realize that would scare you. That was so unprofessional of me."

"Cool," I replied flatly. "Good to know that you had no ill intentions," I added, shooting a sidelong glance at the serious BS, who was nodding in approval, and the Z-Clique, who looked like they were about to burst trying to hold in their laughter.

"I was just trying to be your friend," Invisigal added, laying it on thick. "I shouldn't have scared you. I'm sorry. Let's start again." She thrust her hand out for a shake.

Was she—was she fucking serious?

I looked into her eyes. She was staring at the space between us, refusing to meet my gaze. Only when I didn't immediately take her hand did she finally look up at me with a sharp, impatient 'WELL, COME ON, HURRY THE FUCK UP' while impatiently wiggling her hand.

Right. This is just a performance.

I took her hand. "Yeah, cool. Let's be friends," I said, shaking it while looking back and forth between her and the BS, who looked genuinely moved.

"Ah, incredible!" he gushed. "This is exactly how it should be done! Now, who's next? Golem? Let's have a little chat about spatial awareness, shall we?"

—----------

We finished a little after 6 PM. Naturally, that meant free time—for homework, preparing for the next day, and also...

The moment we were out the door, Invisigal yanked me aside by my arm.

"I hope you know that everything I said in there was bullshit," she started.

I didn't even look at her, just adjusted my hoodie. "Really? I was about to mark the date in my calendar as our friend-iversary. My heart is shattered."

"Ha-ha," she replied, her face a complete blank. "Fuck off, Robbie."

"Try not to miss me too much, bestie," I shot back, walking away toward my room.

—------------

The next day, I found myself in a class called Applied Tactical Theory. It was part lecture, part practical exercises. And of course, we were being put into teams. I didn't have long to roll my eyes, because the teacher announced:

"Nine-person squads! Assemble yourselves... tactically!" He said the last word with immense pride, probably thinking his lessons were the most important in the whole curriculum.

Naturally, I didn't know many people here. To make it worse, two classes had been merged: Class A, where I was, for students who supposedly had control over their powers, and Class B, for those who needed ‘additional guidance.’ The Z-Clique was split. In Class A were Prism, Coupé, Punch Up, and Invisigal. In Class B were Golem, Flambae, Malevola, and Sonar. From what I'd gathered yesterday, Malevola could control her portals just fine but pretended she couldn't to stay with Sonar. Flambae had anger issues, and Golem was, well, too damn big.

Of course, the universe hated me. The only people left were a bunch of losers and the eight members of the Z-Clique, who had decided to stick together. No one wanted to join them as the ninth member.

No one wanted to—including me. But as the other losers quickly paired up, leaving me standing alone... Fuck me. I let out a disgusted "Tch," shaking my head. There were six squads of nine. And of course, I had to join Squad 6—the Z-Clique.

"Hey guys... I guess we're stuck with each other," I started.

"Cool," Sonar said. 

"Cool," Malevola added.

"Ugh, fine," Punch Up sighed. "As long as we're together, my love," he said, looking at Coupé, who nodded in agreement.

"As long as we're together."

That's so fucking weird.

"Whatever, bitch. Just don't get in our way," Flambae snapped, a flicker of flame dancing on his shoulder from the irritation.

Before I could retort, the teacher's voice boomed across the hall. "Squads, you have five minutes to choose a team leader who will coordinate you via comms!" he announced, looking far too pleased with himself as he wrote the squad lists on the board. "Choose wisely!"

The bickering started instantly.

"Obviously, I should be in charge here," declared Invisigal.

"Nuh-uh, bitch, that's MY fucking role," Flambae shot back. “I am perfect.”

"I mean, shiiit," Golem rumbled. "I don't wanna do anythin'. I might as well sit this one out."

"No, fuck that!" Malevola yelled. "I'm the best here, I'll do it!"

"Sorry, Mal, but I'm undeniably the smartest," muttered Sonar.

"I know all the tactical ins and outs," added Coupé, her voice dangerously calm.

"Ah shite, I don't even care, to be honest," her partner, Punch Up, replied with a shrug.

Oh, for fuck's sake... I pressed my fingers to my temples, massaging a migraine that was gathering force. If this was how it was going to be, we were all going to fail spectacularly.

"HEY! Shut up!" I said, louder than I intended.

They all stopped arguing and stared at me. Even the teacher glanced over.

"I'm the leader," I stated.

They immediately burst into laughter.

"You? The leader? Little biitch?" Flambae sneered.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I yelled again. The laughter died instantly. "Do any of you actually think you're eligible for this? None of you can stay out of trouble for more than five fucking minutes! You're all one step from another strike! So if anyone is going to lead this squad to something that isn't a complete disaster, it's going to be me."

“Okay, Jesus, chill out, dude,” Malevola said.

—-------------------

A few minutes later, we were all equipped with earpieces. I had access to the live camera feeds and a direct comms link to everyone.

“Okay… team…” I added ‘team’ after a moment, the word still feeling foreign on my tongue.

“Hostages have been taken and are being held on the third floor of this building. We need to clear all the rooms, preferably without alerting anyone, because they have drones tracking every movement and body heat signature,” I explained, reading from the mission brief.

Immediately, the stupid ideas started flying over comms.

Flambae was first. "Let's burn the building down and pick up the hostages from the ashes!" I just listened. Result: Hostages killed.

Punch Up was next. "I'll punch the wall down!" I shook my head. Result: Building collapse.

Malevola: "I'll portal the hostages out!" Better, but we're blind. Result: Hostage fused with a wall.

Sonar: "I'll shriek and stun everyone!" Result: Hostages deafened, every drone in a 5km radius alerted.

Coupé, with chilling calm: “We could just kill them. Dead can't scream.” I stared at the monitor, my mouth agape. She was talking about the enemy, right?... For fuck's sake.

“Guys, you're all trying to do everything on your own,” I stated, and the line went quiet. They were listening, probably curious where I was going with this. “My point is, we're a team now. Teams work together. So the plan is going to look like this…”

—----------------

Phase One. Infiltration. 

I watched everything from the cameras, feeding them instructions.

Sonar used his echolocation and then told us about the entire layout of the floor. 

“How many hostiles? Where are the hostages?” I asked. He answered. Of course, without attacking head-first.

Next, knowing the layout, Malevola opened a tiny portal for Invisigal. Staying invisible, her job was to visually confirm the exact positions of every drone and hostage.

Phase Two. Diversion. 

Flambae, on my command, created a single, intense flash of heat on the roof—not a fire, just a massive heat signature. Prism bent the light from it creating more versions of herself, making it look like a full-team breach was happening up there.

“Great,” I checked another monitor. “All their thermal and motion sensors just went crazy.” They’d pulled all the attention away from the third floor. At the same moment, Malevola opened a portal to the inside, allowing Punch Up, Coupé, and Golem to enter the floor, where they met up with Invisigal, who was watching over the doors to room where hostages were held.

“Shit, two enemies–armed–coming your way—Golem, shield!” I hissed quickly.

They started shooting—of course those weren't real bullets, but Golem took the hits anyway, sheltering the other three behind his massive form. At the same time, Sonar flew in through the window in his bat form, snatching one guy with his claws and dragging him upwards. From behind Golem, Coupé leaped out with viper-like speed, striking his leg with the blunt side of her blade—the guy started bleeding, he was a teacher, but whatever. He was down at least. 

“The doors, Punch Up!” I ordered, and heard a loud BANG as he blew them off their hinges with a single punch.

Phase Three. Extraction.

“Malevola, extraction,” I said, watching the hostages huddled in the center of the room. She worked with the team inside; they fed her coordinates, and a portal opened right at the hostages' feet. Golem, as planned, jumped through it, finding himself outside the building. He held out his arms, and Invisigal shoved the hostages through the shimmering tear. They tumbled through, squealing, and landed safely in Golem's stony embrace.

“Prism, Flambae, clean-up time,” I commanded, seeing that the hostages were secure.

"Hohoho, finally! I wanted to burn those bitches down!" he crowed. 

"Anything for you, babes," Prism added, and the two of them moved toward the drones gathered on the roof. The rest of the team—Invisigal, Coupé, Punch Up, and Sonar—charged up the stairs and made short, brutal work of the remaining drones in a matter of seconds.

Silence… I stared intently at the screen… it was… textbook. I couldn't believe it myself. Them? The Z-Clique? Pulling off something so flawlessly?

“So– did we do it?” Punch Up finally asked.

“We did it!!” Malevola shrieked through her comms.

“We did– did we?” Invisigal asked, an involuntary smile spreading across her face.

“WE FOOKING DID ITTT!” Punch Up roared, and behind him, Sonar shrieked.

“WOOOO!!!!” He raised a fist in the air, back in his human form. “YEAH BABY!!! THAT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR! THAT’S WHAT IT’S ALL ABOUT!”

“WE DA BAD BIIICTHEEES!” Prism yelled with a little "Woo!" of her own.

“Yeah, of course we did. I'm perfect, is anyone even surprised?” Flambae noted.

I leaned back in my chair, unable to stop the grin spreading across my face. They were... not so bad. I guess that... no one had ever given them a shot. And no one had ever known how to use their strengths. They're actually… a pretty fucking good team. They work together so well—that's. That's kinda insane. I pressed a hand to my forehead, not believing what I was feeling.

“Great job, guys,” I said into the comms with a disbelieving laugh.

They heard my chuckle and fell silent for a moment.

“A real fucking A-grade work.”

---------------