Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Back in the Office

The early morning thunder cracked against the windows as rain droplets pitter-pattered on the glass. The weekend had come and gone like so many before it, and as always, when the work week arrived, it felt just like Robert’s luck that he’d be greeted by a thunderstorm — right after everything he and his team had just been through.

His alarm soon joined the rhythmic drumming of rain, stirring him from what had been a heavenly sleep.

“Fucking hell…” he muttered, barely mustering up the strength to reach out and silence it. A lazy, half-hearted slap landed on his face before he could.

“Mmmm… no swearing.” Mandy’s muffled voice came from the pillows. Her hand dragged back from his cheek and retreated into the warm embrace of the blankets.

“Sorry.” She’d made him promise over the weekend to cut down on the foul language. He wasn’t sure why it bothered her so much, but it wasn’t a promise he minded keeping — especially not to the woman who had, quite literally, saved his life multiple times.

Using the hand not currently trapped between the mattress and Mandy’s thigh, he grabbed the blanket and pushed it off.

“Come on. I have to make you regret not giving us a day off today.”

“Aaaaaaaah…” she groaned. “Already am.”

Maybe Robert no longer had the right to complain about his bad luck. These past few weeks had been transformative, harrowing, and — most importantly — had given him closure. Shroud detained, his father avenged, and the legacy of Mecha Man preserved — not just as a symbol of justice, but one civilians and heroes alike could rely on.

Now, if only the brand-new suit they’d spent weeks repairing hadn’t been obliterated. But hey, you can’t win them all. Speaking of wins—

“Why are we waking up at six in the morning?” Mandy rasped, her voice still heavy with exhaustion. “It would take me less than five minutes to fly us to the office.”

“Great,” he grumbled, wiggling his arm free from her thigh — a painful extraction. “Should I call up Chase and tell him to put the heart attack back on board, or do you wanna make that call?”

“Ah, right.” She ran her fingers through her hair — brunette, for now — and blinked herself awake. “Wait a second. How are we getting to SDN?”

“Well, given how most of the public transport was obliterated last week, I imagine a nice stroll through the—” Another thunderclap interrupted him. “You know what, maybe a shower’s good first.”

“Oh yeah, get all the good water on me before the bad water drenches me.”

There was a time when seeing his diligent, unflappable boss groan about going to work would’ve been unthinkable. But after spending the weekend at her place, Robert had discovered that Mandy could be an absolute couch potato.

“You want me to go first, or do you want to? I washed my hair yesterday, so it shouldn’t take too long.”

By the time they’d both gotten out of bed, Robert’s inherited genius kicked in.

“Or,” he began, “we could come up with a more economical alternative. Water bill’s not cheap, you know.”

He flashed the classic Robertson charm — the same charm that had successfully wooed a grand total of zero women.

“Hah! Daring today, aren’t we?” she teased, arms crossed — but he didn’t hear a “no.”

“I’m just trying to help you stay out of the red. Besides, there are droughts all over the world. I’m sure that—”

“Oh yeah?” She rolled off the bed and stood up, meeting him at eye level. Her arms looped around his shoulders, blue irises locking onto his. “Then I’m sure there’s a way for me to repay such sound economic wisdom.”

Her fingers traced the back of his neck, through his hair, circling slowly.

“No way I can refuse a bonus from my boss. Can I?”

“Ugh…” Her expression twisted.

“Ruined it?”

“Little bit.” She sighed and grabbed his hands. “Come on. Shower time.”

A hot shower was perhaps the last thing they needed (this was a lie), but it helped fight off the chill — at least until they stepped outside. What followed was a grueling, hour-long walk through torrential rain.

The thunderstorm might’ve made for a romantic stroll under an umbrella if the wind hadn’t immediately ripped said umbrella into orbit.

Thankfully, Mandy’s raincoats offered some protection, and sprinting from awning to awning at least counted as cardio.

Robert’s stay at Mandy’s place was only supposed to last until Sunday. After the chaos with Shroud, SDN had given everyone Friday off. The Z-Team used the extra day as an excuse to get drunk three nights in a row instead of two. Some — the “squares” — did actual patrols.

Phenomaman had apparently rediscovered his heroic spark, slowly redeeming his reputation as SDN’s poster boy. Punch-Up, ever the powerhouse, had tagged along — the two’s newfound synergy reminiscent of a classic mustachioed duo. Even Coop had joined in, determined not to waste her second chance. And, of course, there was Water Boy. The kid’s fight with Shroud seemed to have awakened something in him — maybe a real sense of purpose. Robert hoped it would stick. And also that the city wouldn’t bill SDN directly for any more property damage.

Courtney — Invisigal — had been confined to the hospital after her stunt of vanishing from the ambulance for “one last group photo.” Everyone had visited her, bringing gifts. Golem even stayed the weekend to keep her company — totally not because the bars wouldn’t serve someone who still wasn’t twenty-one on his ID.

Mandy had stayed in touch with her the most, while Robert realized he didn’t actually have Courtney’s number. For some reason, both women refused to give it to him. Still, they exchanged a few video calls and texts, enough to keep in touch.

Robert couldn’t shake the feeling that Invisigal was still up to her usual antics — that familiar itch of being watched. He’d half expected to wake up one night and see the curtains shift, or feel that eerie tingle that came when she was invisible nearby. If she’s watching us while we sleep again…

Surprisingly, though, his stay at Mandy’s was almost painfully chaste. Between exhaustion and half-healed wounds, most “intimate” moments ended in couch cuddles and falling asleep mid-conversation.

By the time they reached the bus stop, both were drenched and breathless.

“Please don’t tell me this is your daily commute,” Mandy panted, wringing rain from her hair.

“My… place… is… closer…” Robert wheezed.

A blaring car horn cut through the rain.

An all-too-familiar, heavily dented vehicle pulled up — hood mangled, windows barely replaced.

“Wassup, fuckers!” Only one man greeted people like that during a thunderstorm — Flambae, SDN’s most combustible employee, still rocking his neon-orange shades. “Blondeo and Robiet! Need a lift?”

“Hello, Chad,” Mandy greeted warmly before turning to Robert. “Why are you Juliet?” she whispered.

“Emasculation. Kind of his whole bit with me.” He answered and waved at Flambae. “You got room in there?” Robert called.

“More than enough for your fat ass and boss lady!” Flambae said, unlocking the doors. “Hop in!”

They climbed in quickly. Robert took shotgun while Mandy tossed their soaked coats into the back.

“Thanks,” she said. “Wouldn’t be very dignified to walk into HQ drenched.”

“Don’t mention it, boss lady. Though I don’t think we’ve got much cover at the building anyway — half the roof’s still blown off.” He hit the gas, the car rumbling forward. “So, good weekend? Guessing you two were too busy proving Invisigal right to call a cab, huh?”

“Still your boss, Chad.”

“Ah, come on, I’m just joshing you. That's my role in the team, the funny one, the josher! Right, Robert?”

“I thought we voted Sonar for that role in the group chat.”

“Nah, I bribed Priz and Golem. Got the final vote. You didn’t see?”

“Nope. Too busy proving Invisigal right.”

Mandy punched him in the shoulder, then immediately apologized once Robert flinched and hissed in pain.

“You guys have a group chat?” she asked. Then, gasping: “You didn’t get Courtney’s number, did you?”

“Uuuh… I mean, she’s in the chat, but I don’t have it memorized…”

“Oooooh, someone’s in trouble,” Flambae laughed. “Man gets two of the baddest babes on the West Coast and can’t keep ‘em off him. You on some kind of streak, Bobby?”

“Still your boss, Chad.”

“Shutting up now.” The grin didn’t.

The rest of the drive was filled with nostalgic recounting — close calls, shared chaos, and memories that already felt like a lifetime ago.

After a quick dry-off, Robert pulled on his SDN outfit — the only one not stained with blood or currently at the cleaners. Thankfully, the locker rooms had been spared most of the damage, being buried in the basement.

The same couldn’t be said for the rest of the building. Construction crews had replaced most of the staff, and what work continued was jammed between exposed wiring and half-collapsed ceilings. All Dispatchers had been relocated to one shared floor, their equipment hastily arranged on communal desks.

Dodging puddles and yellow tarps doing a terrible job of keeping out the rain, Robert passed a few familiar faces — Royd, Galen… and unfortunately, Sal. Fuck Sal. Always hogs the bathroom.

“Robert!” His silent rant was interrupted by a booming voice. Standing in the hallway — perfectly dry despite the storm — was SDN’s poster child turned reformed superhero: Phenomaman. “It is good to see you! I feared you’d been eaten by the Mole People of Veniki Beech on your way home after our outing this Friday!”

“Hey, Phenome—wait. What?”

Phenomaman beamed. “A joke! Sweetalker advised I become more ‘jovial and comedic’ to appear more charismatic.”

“Oh. Yeah. Good work, buddy. Glad to see you still on that self-improvement train.”

“But of course!” He pounded a fist on his chest, smiling wide — a far cry from the broken man Robert had once found him. From behind his back, Phenomaman produced an unopened pack of Twinkies. “Here. It is important to stay nourished during work hours for optimal performance — even if you do not physically exert yourself more than the rest of the Z-Team.”

“Thanks…” Robert eyed the crushed packaging. Honestly, he was impressed it survived at all.

“Sweetalker also said gifts are a good way into people’s hearts. I’m not sure why I’d need such a vital organ, seeing as I already have two, but others seem pleased when I buy them food.”

“Yeah, free lunch’ll do that,” Robert said, tucking the Twinkies into his bag and mentally thanking Sweetalker for the idea.

“But of course!”

Has he always said that so much?

“Well then, I shall see you on the other side, Robert Robertson! Los Angeles requires SDN’s help!” And with that, Phenomaman floated off — happily. Robert hadn’t realized that was even possible.

Finally reaching his newly “improved” workspace, Robert sat down, logged in, booted up the Dispatch software, and put on his headset.

“Alright, Team,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Ready to start the day?”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Lunch Break Blues

“And that’s lunch. Good work, team — rest up and I’ll see you all for second shift.”

Robert peeled the barely-functioning headphones off his head. They clung to him like a barnacle and buzzed with a dying whine. He knew the Red Ring had done damage, but he hadn’t fully comprehended the scale until now: not just Torrance, but huge swaths of the LA area looked like someone had taken a cosmic ice cream scoop to the city.

Whole blocks without electricity. Neighborhoods flattened under collapsed structures. Traffic snaking around debris piles as exhausted firefighters and equally exhausted heroes tried to keep things moving. And that was before you even got to the human cost. Hospitals were beyond overflowing — understaffed, overworked, overrun. ER teams were pulling double, triple, god-knows-how-many-hour shifts just to keep LA breathing.

Malevola was doing what she could. Robert had sent her to the medical centers earlier; her healing abilities gave the staff some much-needed breathing room. Though, naturally, it came with a downside: healing that much trauma that fast left her overcharged with adrenaline and no outlet to blow off steam.

“Yo, Mal.”

The twitchy static that followed told Robert Sonar was on comms, and by the gravel in his voice, he was definitely in Monster Bat form — probably in midair somewhere. “Hear there’s this new Chinese place opening up on the crater where the Sardine used to be. You in?”

“Fuck, you have no idea how good that sounds right now,” she said immediately. “Just don’t get anything spicy. You remember last time.”

“Come on, it’s not my fault my body can’t handle it. Besides, the diarrhea’s good for—”

“Still on office comms, Sonar,” Robert cut in.

“Shit. Copy that. Misinput. Thanks, Boberto.”

The moment they switched to a private call, the barely intelligible chorus of static from the rest of the Z-Team bled back in. Their new analog-based call lines were held together by hope, duct tape, and someone’s uncle’s ham radio. Half the time, Robert had to call them directly just to get a better signal.

SDN’s dispatch tech was already ancient. This was another level entirely — carrier pigeons would’ve been an upgrade.

He stood up from his desk and stepped into the hallway. The SDN building resembled a dilapidated, abandoned hotel more than any respectable LA workplace — as rare as those were. Half-working power. Improvised comm rigs. Dripping ceilings. The post-Shroud chaos clung to everything like dust.

Corporate posters were slapped crookedly across the walls next to sticky notes meant to “boost morale.” Normally corporate BS, but Sweetalker and Pom Pom had somehow made them bearable. Sweetalker with motivational rewrites that actually landed; Pom Pom with sheer, unrelenting effort. The sticky notes were the lizard’s idea — sarcastic, human, and far more comforting than whatever PR had originally cooked up. Pom Pom, meanwhile, had spent the entire morning encouraging people without taking a second to rest himself.

Strangely, it had worked. The Z-Team was performing better than expected. Robert’s insistence last week that they not return to base immediately after missions had left an impression: most of the team now took quick breaks before heading back out. He still had to practically drag Phenomaman or Waterboy off the field for rest, but their eagerness came from a good — if exhausting — place.

Dispatchers had it just as rough. If they weren’t forcing modern systems to function through pre–WWII analog equipment, they were handwriting mile-high stacks of paperwork. When lunch hour finally rolled around, Robert swore he could feel a building-wide sigh of relief.

He… didn’t feel any of that.

The fatigue of the past few days barely clung to him. His old worries — usually loud companions — were muted. If anything, he felt more like Phenomaman today. Hopeful. Energized. Something inside him sparking back to life after years of burnout.

So energized apparently that he didn’t notice the wet patch on the floor until his foot slipped and he nearly met it face-first. He caught himself at the last second — with a little unexpected help.

“Careful now.”

She always seemed to appear right when he needed her. This time not in costume, but in an SDN office uniform — light blue shirt, black blazer, tailored pants. Hair neatly tied back. Professional. Sharp. Alarming, in the sense that Robert’s brain temporarily shut down.

“I’m usually the one slipping around these parts,” Mandy added.

“Heh — look at you.” Robert hovered his hands respectfully at his sides, gaze unavoidably tracing the new outfit. “I didn’t know you had this in your closet. Was it buried under all the spandex and one-time-use dresses?”

“You think so?” Mandy glanced down at herself as though seeing the clothes for the first time. “SDN gave me this a few years back when they thought I should spend more time in-office without the amulet. Marketing cut that idea fast. Something about ‘extraordinary heroes in mundane settings not being aspirational.’”

“Well, you certainly look… extraordinary.”

He flashed her a smile and gave her another once-over. This outfit was absolutely awakening something in him.

“Careful there, Tiger. We’ve got enough HR violations piling up as is. I don’t need ‘inappropriate contact’ on top of everything else.”

It might’ve been his imagination, but he was pretty sure she was giving him a look of her own.

“Speaking of…”

Mandy groaned. “No need to remind me. I’ve been buried in paperwork all morning. You’re the first person besides Royd I’ve seen today — and he’s just the one bringing me more paperwork, so I’m not thrilled about that.”

“As opposed to me?”

“Is this your attempt at motivating me to get to HR faster?”

“No, no, we can always try to act professional during business hours. Hide behind everyone’s backs. Sneak into the locker rooms for secret little visits. Make it a spicy workplace affair. After all, I’m just Robert Robertson, and you’re my boss — a woman I respect deeply and with whom I maintain a perfectly appropriate separation of work and private life.”

“Alright, now you’re just pushing it.” Her smirk said she was enjoying this. “Besides, nothing stays secret in this building. What’s left of it, anyway.”

Mandy squeezed his arm and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Robert didn’t mind the PDA, but he was acutely aware of the meandering little rats that frequented the hallways.

Galen was always the first suspect. With his hearing, he probably picked up every conversation within a three-floor radius. Robert once watched him leave his cubicle, march to the break room, and wordlessly bean Sonar in the head with a bagel for his echolocation screeches.

Then there was Invisigal — who had an established history of being both invisible and extremely nosy. It was annoying enough when it was teasing, but now that he and Mandy were actually together? He really needed to keep his ears clean. Just in case she was listening from two inches away.

And finally Chase. Chase had clocked Mandy’s interest in him faster than he had. Sure, maybe Robert had been oblivious, but the pep talk from the entire Z-Team that followed was definitely unnecessary. Courtney had made doubly sure he understood.

“Phenomaman was floating around handing out snacks earlier,” Mandy said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a boxed Hot Pocket. “I was never a big fan of microwaved stuff. Want to share?”

“Heh. You’re not the only one.”
Robert pulled the semi-crushed Twinkies from his backpack. “But sure. A little work date over snacks your ex bought for us sounds lovely.”

“Oh, come on — now you just sound like an asshole. His heart’s in the right place.”

The annoying part was that she was completely right.

From his talks with the alien hero, Robert knew Phenomaman still had feelings for Blonde Blazer — or rather, the superhero image of her. He loved the larger-than-life woman who could fly and fire light blasts. Robert, meanwhile, cared about Mandy — the person. And besides, he’d always been more of a brunette guy.

“I’m gonna hit the bathroom real quick — the one down in the showers. The plumbing on this floor’s toast.”

“Alright,” Mandy said. “I’ll wait for you in the break room. I’ll get us something to drink.”

As empty as ever, Robert stood in the break room vehemently trying to contain his frustration with the vending machine once again refusing to take his bill. The frustration was only amplified by the fact that he was only doing it to be a nice and respectable coworker, given that there was currently a hole in the glass from Waterboy’s chair-throw last week. The hole had been “patched” with an irresponsible amount of duct tape, and from what Robert could tell, no one had yet broken the tape to steal whatever was inside.

A fact he found almost admirable.

Maybe they’re just waiting for someone to be the first.

As the machine stubbornly spat his ten-dollar bill back out yet again, Robert’s hand moved almost without conscious thought. He gripped the duct tape covering the hole and ripped it off in one clean, deeply cathartic motion.

Oh look at that. Magic free energy drinks, he thought dryly while grabbing two cans from inside. Then—because Mandy’s influence continued to make him a better person against his will—guilt prodded him into folding his ten-dollar bill neatly and placing it in the spot where the drinks had been.

That was when he felt it.
A shift in the air.
A faint static buzz.
And the presence of an old-but-now-not-actually-old bastard attempting (poorly) to float silently behind him.

“You know, just because you’re not dying anymore doesn’t give you the right to give other people heart attacks,” Robert called out, turning with a grin.

Floating inches off the ground in a hunter’s crouch, arms spread like a pouncing raccoon, Chase dropped the pose and scowled.
“Fucker. How the hell did you even hear me? I don’t think I’ve touched the ground since sunrise.”

“Trust me, when you spend weeks around a super-strong, super-fast, emotionally unstable alien who expresses affection by hugging hard enough to bruise your spleen, you develop good instincts for floating.”

“Hah, and here I thought the only one hugging you these days was Blazer.” Chase’s scowl twisted into that trademark sly grin partially hidden by his Einstein-tier mustache. “Also, speaking of heart attacks—didn’t I tell you to lay off those? Those things’ll kill you faster than I ever could.”

“What? You’re crazy, old man.” Robert feigned offense, like a teenager being told smoking was bad for him, then pointed at the cans. “Zero sugar. No calories. I gotta watch my figure.”

“Mhm. Right. With all that hard, strenuous sitting at your desk.”

Robert sat on the nearby table; Chase joined him with a grunt.
“Right, as opposed to what you were doing a few days ago?”

“That was then, this is now.” Chase stretched, joints cracking like popcorn. “Honestly? Saving Invisigal one last time was the best thing that could’ve happened. Hell, I would’ve let my body give up sooner if I knew I could just pawn Blazer’s amulet out of the deal. I haven’t felt this good in a decade.”

To emphasize the point, he suddenly zoomed into the air, completed a blur-fast loop around the room, and landed back in his seat before the chair had time to tip.

Robert smirked.
“Glad to see you putting it to good use.”

Deep down, though, he was genuinely overwhelmed. He remembered the version of Chase who’d babysat him as a kid—invincible, athletic, larger-than-life. Seeing that same friend shriveled into a prematurely old man had been one of the quiet horrors of the past few years. Seeing him revitalized now… it was like getting a miracle in slow motion.

Star Blazer, people were calling him.
And they meant it.

But the miracle had a timer.

And Robert couldn’t ignore it forever.

He stared at his friend, weighing the question.
“So… have they told you anything? About… y’know…”

“Doctors said that before I put this thing on, I was stable.” Chase’s tone didn’t waver—he’d already crossed this emotional bridge alone. “Not exactly great odds for a full recovery, but if I stayed on bed rest, I’d be mostly okay. The amulet gave me my strength back, but if I ever want my body to actually heal, I need to let it do it naturally. Which means…”

“You’d have to put yourself back into a coma just to get better.”

Chase gave him a small, knowing smile.
“Probably. But hey—” He clapped a firm hand on Robert’s shoulder. “Worst-case, they toss a pacemaker in me. Compared to the crap I’ve dealt with in my thirties, that’s nothing.”

Robert exhaled slowly through his nose. He had already thought he’d lost his best friend once. The idea of voluntarily watching him fall back into that state—motionless, pale, barely breathing—twisted something deep inside.

Before he could speak, Chase pulled him suddenly into a half-hug/headlock.

“And look at it this way,” he added brightly, “the sooner I get this thing off, the sooner you’ll have your big-blonde, big-muscled, big-height, big-ass girlfriend back!”

“Still your boss, Chase.”

Mandy’s voice shot through the room like a sniper round.

Neither man had any idea how she managed to sneak up on them without superspeed, but there she was—arms crossed, smirking, and looking every inch the terrifyingly competent office manager in her SDN blazer.

“Heh, my bad,” Chase said. “Didn’t realize you two were already having work dates. I’ll leave you to it. Be careful though—wouldn’t wanna have Frank from HR catch you.”

“Alright, out,” Robert said, pushing Chase toward the door.

Chase complied—by immediately accelerating to Mach 2 and vanishing.

Mandy took his chair with a long exhale.
“Why do I feel like we’re never gonna hear the end of this?”

“Nah. They’ll get bored eventually. No joke lasts forever.”

“I guess.”
She hesitated, then added quietly:
“I overheard what you guys were talking about…”

Robert’s expression sharpened.

Mandy swallowed, suddenly rambling in that nervous way that betrayed how much she cared.

“I just wanted you to know— that— if… I mean, if you want—”
She winced at her own stammering, regrouped, and started again.
“Chase means so much to you. And to all of us. And it broke my heart seeing him like that last week. And I don’t care how long I stay without that amulet. Blonde Blazer, Mandy—like I told you, there’s no wrong answer with me. But with him? There is. And…”

She reached for his hand.
Squeezed.

“…I don’t ever want to see you like that again.”

He didn’t look away. Didn’t speak.
Just cupped her cheek with the same hand she had been holding.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “It means a lot. But… It's up to Chase. And like last time—I think he’ll do the right thing.”

Mandy withdrew slightly, tapping her fingers on the table, guilt flickering in her eyes.

“I’m sorry. Was that too much? If it was, please don’t be— I wasn’t trying to push anything, I just—”

He shook his head gently.
Warmly.
And that was enough to quiet her.

They might’ve kissed then—soft, slow, and overdue—if not for two sharp knocks on the door.

Both groaned.

Chase reappeared, one hand dramatically covering his eyes.
“You two still decent?”

Robert seriously considered medical malpractice.

“You know, just because Invisigal’s taken your place on the hospital bed doesn’t mean you get to take up her role here,” he snapped.

“Hey, you were the one who said we were more alike than you think. I’m just proving your point.” Chase lowered the hand from his eyes. “Anyway—I might’ve spoken too soon about that whole HR thing.”

“What?” Mandy asked.

“Yeah. Frank wants everyone in the meeting room in five minutes. Says it’s ‘impromptu.’ Sounds serious.”

The groan Mandy and Robert shared could’ve cracked the ceiling tiles.
Whatever this meeting was going to be…
Knowing the Z-Team?

It was absolutely going to be a disaster.

The Z-Team crammed into the tiny meeting room designed for maybe four people and a ficus. It now held twelve adults with wildly varying personal space needs, one of whom was technically on fire (Flambae insisted it was “controlled ambiance”).

Robert squeezed in beside Mandy. Chase was hanging upside-down from the ceiling tiles for reasons no one had questioned yet.

At the head of the table stood Frank from HR—a man with the posture of a disappointed stapler and the unwavering calm of someone who had stopped caring years ago, but professionally.

He tapped his clipboard once.
The room snapped to attention.

“Good,” Frank said, voice as flat as printer paper. “You’re all here. Most of you even appear conscious, which is better than our last quarterly meeting.”

He scanned the room with a look that somehow felt like a performance review.

“I’ll make this brief, because I’m aware several of you have the attention span of a golden retriever inside a fireworks factory. And some of you”—his eyes drifted toward Chase, still suspended from the ceiling—“are actively working against workplace gravity. Which is not covered under your insurance.”

Chase dropped into a chair with a grunt.

“Thank you,” Frank said. It didn’t sound thankful.

He clicked his pen.

“First agenda item: collateral damage reports. Yes, we’re doing them. Yes, you all have to participate. No, Flambae, you cannot list ‘I was feeling spicy’ under ‘Cause of Incident’ again.”

Flambae raised a hand. “But I was feeling spicy.”

“And yet,” Frank replied without blinking, “insurance still does not recognize that as an acceptable operational status. Nor is being ‘On fuego’.”

Another click.

“Second agenda item: SDN is now on analog communications until further notice. That means radios. Paper logs. Handwritten shift reports. Think of it as a fun team-building exercise where we all pretend it’s 1983 and none of you were born.”

Punch-Up raised a hand. “We can’t just… use the backup servers?”

“We could,” Frank said, “if they hadn’t been mysteriously incinerated by what the report described as ‘an extremely controllable flame.’”
He did not look at Flambae.
He didn’t need to.

Flambae sank slightly down in his chair, crossing his arms and putting his feet up on the table.

“Finally,” Frank continued, flipping a page on his clipboard with ominous precision, “we need to address the… let’s call them interpersonal developments occurring within this workplace.”

Eyes darted across the room, most landed on Robert and Mandy.

Frank didn’t look up from his clipboard.
He didn’t have to for the judgment to be felt.

“I would like to remind the team that while SDN is proud to support healthy workplace relationships, it would be preferable if those relationships did not result in four separate complaints, a scheduling conflict, and one instance of someone openly weeping in the elevator.”

Robert raised a hand. “For the record—that wasn’t me.”

“No one thought it was,” Frank said sharply. “Your crying face is on file. And it is considerably noisier.”

Robert sank lower in his chair. Mandy patted his knee sympathetically.

Frank adjusted his glasses, his aura somehow growing even more authoritative.

“Now then. Let’s begin with personal accounts.”

Star Blazer

Chase gave him a thumbs-up.
Frank did not return it.

“Star Blazer. You have violated the ceiling-height policy.”  He pointed upward at the crushed ceiling tile from earlier. “Repeatedly.”

Chase shrugged. “Listen, man, I just enjoy vertical space.”

“Vertical space,” Frank repeated flatly, “does not enjoy you.”

He wrote something down that sounded like a death sentence.

Flambae

Flambae perked up, expecting praise. He got none.

“Flambae. Last Friday you attempted to microwave a burrito in the break room while you were… actively on fire.”

“It saves time,” he argued.

“It melted the microwave,” Frank countered. “And the table. And technically the floor.”

He crossed his arms, offended. “That floor had it coming.”

Frank moved on.

Golem

Golem waved from the tiny phone screen, sitting beside Invisigal’s hospital bed. He had gone to visit her during lunch hours and did not have the time to come back to the office.

Frank nodded toward the phone.
“Golem. Your report says you broke the north stairwell.”

Golem held up a stone finger. “In my defense—”

“You do not have a defense,” Frank replied. “The stairwell is dust.”

“Damn, that’s true.” Golem sulked.

Invisigal

Invisigal appeared on Mandy’s phone propped against a coffee cup, waving cheerfully despite the situation.

Frank tapped his clipboard.

“Invisigal. You are currently on medical leave. This means you cannot, should not, and legally must not ‘help out’ by phasing through the hospital walls to get your steps in.”

She opened her mouth.

“Additionally, your nurse has filed five complaints.”
He flipped the paper.
“All five are variations of ‘woman keeps disappearing while I’m talking.’”

On the screen, she gave a guilty thumbs-up. Alongside another invisible hand that Robert knew was a fuck you middle-finger.

Frank did not reciprocate.

Punch-Up

Punch-Up sat at the end of the table, arms folded defensively.

“Punch-Up. Please explain why you filled out your incident report by punching each answer into the page.”

“It’s my brand,” he replied.

“It is also,” Frank said, “a war crime against paperwork.”

Punch-Up looked genuinely wounded.

Coupe

“Miss Coop.” Frank lifted his head to look at her.

“It’s Coupe.” She replied sharply, yet quickly fixed her tone. “Sir.”

“My apologies. However as I was saying due to your lack of work hours these past few weeks it seems you have miraculously managed to avoid any workplace or HR violations.”

“Really?” She sounded shocked, surprised, and flabbergasted all at the same time.

“Yes, congratulations are in order. We shall see if it stays that way.” He clicked his pen as if cocking a loaded gun, and Coupe gulped.

Malevola

Malevola sat back in her chair, impeccably composed.

“Miss Gibs,” Frank began, “during last week’s incident report, you stated—verbatim—that SDN’s crisis protocol was ‘a cosmic tragedy held together by the tears of unpaid interns.’”

Malevola smiled politely. “And?”

“It was… accurate,” Frank conceded reluctantly. “But we strongly discourage poetic phrasing in official documentation.”

Sonar

Sonar adjusted his headset, already annoyed.

“Sonar,” Frank said, “your infraction: you used the SDN comm network to host a ‘Guess That Animal Noise’ game during work hours.”

Sonar frowned. “It was enriching team bonding.”

“It lasted six hours.”

“People were having fun.”

“An entire fire brigade was dispatched because your moose impression is too accurate.”

Sonar leaned back, smug.
Frank scribbled furiously.

Other Z-Team members, such as Prism, Phenomaman, and Waterboy also received chide remarks regarding their inadequate performances within office hours. However, surprisingly or not surprising given how you look at it, they were the smallest offenders aside from Coop. So Frank spared them his wrath this time around. And so their corporate HR manager lowered the clipboard after a gruelling session. Many of the members were happy to just get it over with.

“And that concludes our preliminary review. Which, I should emphasize, is the polite corporate way of saying ‘the warm-up.’ The actual meeting begins now.”

Every member of the Z-Team groaned in emotional unison.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 3 — Another Day, Another Dream

A cool morning breeze made Robert shudder under his hoodie, exhaling warm breath into the autumn chill. Getting up extra early to walk Beef along his usual path was a rude awakening after spending the last few days as a lazy little gremlin at Mandy’s place. But after yesterday’s chaos, he needed distance from the human traffic — coworkers, heroes, Mandy, and the Z-Team all fighting for momentary slices of his attention. They’d still ended the night on a call, and the Z-Team was already planning a Friday night hangout, but despite all that, Robert found unexpected comfort returning to his dusty, cramped, aggressively lamp-lit, nearly furniture-less apartment.

The morning Beef-walk was his reset button. The fat little guy waddled alongside him at a steady, self-assured pace. Robert had thought about cutting out some weekend hours to work on Beef’s weight, but… would he really be Beef without the mass?

At the park, Robert sat on a bench while Beef completed his very serious inspection of a bush before doing his business. Robert tucked his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets, trying to escape the breeze. Beef, naturally, was unbothered. Existing was his only job.

LA felt empty at six in the morning. Maybe people didn’t feel safe being outside after the Red Ring incident. Maybe the city just wasn’t alive yet.

Then a figure approached — a woman jogging in a full green tracksuit, practically blending with the greenery. She slowed near the bench, stopping entirely when Beef waddled toward her and marked the bench leg with his usual level of commitment.

“Oh my gosh! Look at youuuuu!” she cooed. “Is it okay if I pet him?”

“By all means, be my guest. He’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

“Thanks!” she said, dropping into a crouch and peeling back her hoodie.

Robert blinked.

Then blinked again.

She looked almost exactly like Courtney.

Not just “similar.” A full mirror image — if the mirror had changed her eye color and lightened her hair. The resemblance was uncanny enough that Robert half-expected her to shimmer or glitch into invisibility.

She caught him staring and blushed, glancing away. “Sorry, I’m a big animal lover.”

“No, it’s— fine.” He forced himself not to say You look like my best friend, my nuisance, and my eternal tormentor. That felt inappropriate.

But just as quickly as she’d arrived, she stood up and pulled her hood back over her hair. “I gotta keep going, have a nice day!”

And she jogged away.

Robert sat frozen for a full minute. Beef attempted to waddle after her, but the leash shut down that rebellion instantly.

“Visi? You there?” he called quietly.

Nothing.

No gloating. No teasing. No invisible poking.

Just silence.

…Maybe Chase was right. He needed to cut back on energy drinks.

Office hours arrived, and Robert headed to the break room in a freshly cleaned SDN uniform. Coffee was the mission.

But instead, he spotted Coupe sitting alone at the table, out of her field uniform — something he’d almost never seen. She froze the second their eyes met, looking down at the coffee she clearly hadn’t touched once.

“Good morning,” Robert said.

“Morning,” she replied softly, almost embarrassed.

“Are you doing okay, Coop? Shift starts in less than half an hour.” He went to start the coffee machine.

“It’s not—” Her eyes met his for half a second before she retreated again. “Nevermind.”

“Right, sorry. Coupé. I know some people get it wrong intentionally. My mistake.” He sat beside her, placing his backpack at his feet.

“Yeah…” She tensed briefly at the proximity, then — slowly — relaxed. “Thanks.”

“For what?” he asked, sipping his coffee.

“You know what I mean. For—…”

“For getting you back into the Phoenix Program? Having Sonar and Mal beat the sense into you on the field? Or for getting you that shitty three dollar pack of beer on Friday? If so, no need for thanks, I wasn’t gonna finish that pack either way, more of a whiskey kind of guy.”

“Robert.” Coupe sighed sharply, frustration peeking through at last. “How can you just pretend like nothing happened? For God’s sake, I kicked you in the head, I cut you open on Shroud’s command, I almost killed you and the rest of them several times over. That’s not something we can just ‘water under the bridge’ and keep going.”

“Yeah, no need to remind me.” His tone softened; hers didn’t. Her eyes darted to the still-visible surgical marks his uniform didn’t fully hide, scanning each one like a confession she couldn't escape.

“Then why? Why are you sitting here like we’re just coworkers? Is it pity? Why can’t you just be upset with me like a normal person?”

“Thanks.” He sipped his coffee calmly.

She blinked. “…For what?”

“First time I think someone here has called me normal.”

Despite herself, a tiny sound escaped her — part disbelief, part reluctant amusement.

“But to answer your question,” Robert continued, “I don’t pity you, Coupe. I suppose my main feeling here is mainly… regret.”

She frowned, confused. “Regret? What?”

“For cutting you, not physically, like you did me, but from the Z-Team. You said it yourself all those weeks ago that you needed this job and at the time I wasn’t thinking just how much you meant that. I should have fought more on the matter, should have argued harder for both you and Sonar instead of going with the easier route. I suppose at that time I was more focused on trying to get my suit up and running than thinking of you guys and what you really needed. Someone to stick up for you. And I also meant what I said back then, I’m sorry.”

Coupe stared — conflict and remorse flickering across her features. That same split-second vulnerability he’d seen during their fight.

And she listened.

“If you want me to get mad at you for some self-serving comeuppance, get out there in the field and screw up. I’ll wring your arm and yell in your ear all day if I have to. But trust me when I say that sitting here in the break room and avoiding your teammates until they’re already out in the field isn’t gonna make them feel any better as well.”

“Hmph.” A tiny, almost involuntary grin flickered at the corner of her mouth. “You sound like Colm. He tried, you know. He tried so hard for me to not lose hope. Tracked me down several times, warned me when some old contacts were on my tail. Told me you were the one who sent him there. I knew he was lying, but part of me wanted to believe it. It just… got tougher day after day once I stopped seeing him, or any of you.”

Robert remembered that “early clock-out” day. In hindsight, the new behavior made more sense than the erotic malware ever did.

“Thank you, Robert. I promise, I’m not going to let you down again.”

They stood. Coupe wasn’t confident — but she wasn’t shrinking anymore.

“Same here.” Robert opened his bag, rummaging for something. “Here, I think this is yours.”

He handed her the dagger she’d thrown on the table that night.

Coupe snorted softly. “Can’t believe you kept it.”
She inspected the blade, dulled but gleaming.

They shook hands — a genuine, steady grip — before Coupe headed for the locker rooms to suit up.

Robert made himself a second coffee, ready to begin his day.

By noon, the office air felt thick with leftover HR dread, microwaved leftovers, and a faint sense of collective burnout. Naturally, this meant Sonar and Malevola were starving.

They practically burst out the front doors of SDN like two convicts fleeing minimum security.

“Chinese place?” Sonar asked, already halfway down the sidewalk.

“Absolutely Chinese place,” Malevola replied, speed-walking after him. “If anyone interrupts this lunch, I’m committing a misdemeanor.”

Sonar nodded solemnly. “I’ll help you hide the evidence.”

The pair entered their new go-to lunch spot — the freshly opened place that had taken over the remains of The Sardine, a villain bar whose clientele had been arrested, disintegrated, or both.
The walls still smelled faintly of bleach and “please don’t look too closely,” but the owners had put up cheerful lanterns, a tiny bubbling fish tank, and a giant poster of a smiling dumpling that made Malevola uncomfortable for reasons she refused to examine.

They ordered the same thing as always:
One giant family-sized sweet-and-sour chicken to split, because both of them refused to admit they were ordering for two.

As soon as they sat, Sonar tore open his chopsticks and immediately dropped one on the floor.

Malevola stared at him.
“Did your powers break your basic hand–eye coordination, or were you just born like this?”

“Born like this,” Sonar said proudly, grabbing a fork.

Their food arrived piping hot, carried by the owner — a tiny, cheerful older woman named Mei, who never once questioned why these two were here so often despite the place having existed for less than 72 hours.

Mei smiled warmly. “Sweet-and-sour mountain for my favorite strange looking youngsters.”

Sonar put a hand to his chest. “We are honored.”

Malevola bowed slightly. “And hungry.”

Mei chuckled, then leaned in conspiratorially.
“Last night, two men in trench coats came in and asked if the Sardine was ‘still open under the table.’ I told them no criminal business here. Only chicken. They left very disappointed.”

She beamed.

Sonar grinned. “Your chicken probably scares criminals more than the cops ever did.”

“Good,” Mei said. “Come tell me if any trouble starts. I’ll throw wontons at them.”

Malevola whispered as the owner walked away, “I love her.”

Sonar nodded. “She’s our new commander now.”

They tore into the sweet-and-sour mountain like two people who had been emotionally waterboarded by HR. Between mouthfuls of chicken, Malevola spoke:

“So. How’s Coupe?”

Sonar shrugged. “Guilty. Awkward. Depressed. You know. Normal Tuesday.”

Malevola snorted into her drink. “Honestly? Girl fits right in.”

They ate in silence for a moment until Mei returned, gently placing a small plate of extra crab rangoon on their table.

“No charge,” she said brightly. “You two look like you need it.”

Sonar looked at Malevola.
“…Is our suffering that obvious?”

“Maybe?” she replied.

Mei nodded, entirely serious. “Very strong aura of workplace despair.”

She walked away humming.

The two shared a moment of profound, mutual reflection.

Finally, Malevola raised her soda can. “To workplace despair.”

Sonar clinked his can against hers. “And to free crab rangoon.”

They both took a solemn sip.

“Anyway,” Malevola said, spearing another piece of chicken, “if the world ends again, I swear our last moments should be spent doing this.”

Sonar nodded. “Agreed. And I’m ordering my own crab rangoon next time. No sharing. No regrets.”