Chapter Text
Minute’s head swam. Thinking felt like walking through thick goop, like his thoughts were twisting around in a washing machine on full power. He groaned.
Opening his eyes was worse. He blinked them open only to shut them again tightly as harsh, white light flooded his vision. Another groan escaped him. He moved his hands to bury his face in them, hoping it would stop the light from trying to claw at his eyes.
Except, he didn’t make it far. Chains rattled and iron dug harshly into his wrists before he could push his palms to his face.
He’d never woken up faster. Shooting up in his chair, he sat up on the table. The cuffs pulled at his wrists again, tearing a hiss from between clenched teeth, and he blinked through the pain of the light to see where the hell he was.
A simple room. The walls were some dull blue-grey, the floor just boring tiles. The table itself held nothing but a small plate with a donut, a paper cup with water and the cuffs that fastened his hands to the middle of it. He sat up as straight as he could to drag his eyes around the room. There, on the right wall, hung a mirror. Ah, he’d seen enough movies to know what was really behind it.
“Hello?” he tried, voice rough. It took effort to clear his throat. His sleep had to have been deeper than he thought, especially if his mind still tried his hardest to keep up through the mud that were his thoughts.
But the word only bounced against the walls, nothing and no one replying to his call. He leaned his head forward to finally catch his face with his hands to drag them down and muffle his sigh. If no one was there, he at least had the time to actually wake up and figure out why the hell he was about to be interrogated by the police.
His stomach rumbled, dragging his eyes back to the donut on the other side of the table. How much time had passed since he was out cold? He had no idea if the donut was left there for him or not, but if he didn’t get any kind of reply soon he might just reach out and at least silence his upset stomach.
Minute’s thoughts screeched to a halt. What the hell was he doing here? Why was he even knocked out in the first place?
Sucking in a deep breath, he looked back to the mirror. His heart stuck in his throat. It almost hurt to think about what happened. He could remember … being home, practicing with the others, but what then? They all went out, leaving him alone at home, where he’d played his violin before he went out too. They had dinner, didn’t they? At a restaurant.
The concert. His blood ran cold. They had a whole concert. He ran his tongue over his lips. Why couldn’t he remember the concert? There were only flashes; some blinding lights and a bit of music, but it seemed the entire day was wiped from his mind.
He jumped at the sound of the door opening, immediately up straight and sitting neater in his chair. He opened his mouth to ask what was going on, until his eyes landed on the packed sandwich in the man’s hand. It was set right in front of him, after which his hands were freed.
“Go on, eat. You must be starving.”
“Thank you, officer.” He rubbed at his wrists. It was easy enough to deflate and unpack the sandwich, especially when his stomach rumbled again and made his face heat up from embarrassment. Spicy chicken? Sure, why not.
“I hope you rested well, despite us not being able to provide you with better accommodation.” When Minute took his first bite, the man dragged his chair back, sat down in front of him and carefully pushed the water and donut towards him as well. At least he looked and acted friendly. “You must be quite exhausted after the … incident.”
He paused mid-bite, the cup of water in his hand. Chewing slowly, he thought the words over in his mind. Incident? Did something happen at the concert?
The man gave him a serious look. “Minute Tech, you’ve never had a criminal record, nor any kind of violent history. Did something happen that you decided to show your true colours now?”
He finally managed to swallow the bite. Whatever he was saying didn’t make any sense, but a cold fear still settled in his bones, making him shiver in his seat. He had to drag his eyes up to meet the other’s. “Sir, I don’t think I understand.” It was a much neater way to express the ‘what the hell are you talking about?’ he actually wanted to say.
“The concert you gave with your band, ‘PB&J’? I’m here to rule out whether this was an organised attack or an accident. A lot of people were affected in the incident, Minute. This could end up pretty ugly if you don’t cooperate.”
“Wait, ‘organised attack’?” He couldn’t help his shocked laugh. Was this a prank? “What attack? I don’t—I don’t remember the concert at all, what happened?”
There was no immediate reply. Instead the officer stared him down, wearing a thoughtful look. He folded his hands and leaned forward on the table a little. He didn’t seem to find it funny at all.
“Why did you decide to stop taking your pills exactly three days before such a populated concert, Mr. Tech? Surely you can see how badly this looks for you. With that many people concentrated in such a small space, you should’ve known things would go south.”
That had him frowning. He put the sandwich back down on its packaging to instead cross his arms. “Please tell me what my meds have to do with the concert?”
The officer pulled the bottle from his suit jacket. It made Minute clench his jaw. They really searched his place for this? What could’ve happened that was so bad they had any reason to do that? Still, the bottle being placed on the table and the tiny sound that echoed through the room because of it had him holding his breath a little.
“You’ve been taking Potenul, also known as power suppressants.”
He stared at the bottle. Couldn’t the man read?
“I’ve done some digging, and you’ve been taking these since you were a teen. Not using powers for that long either results in a complete burnout, or a supernova. What was the reason you stopped taking them so shortly before the concert, knowing it could potentially turn you into a bomb?”
“No, hold on—” he swallowed down the lump in his throat that was threatening to stop him from breathing. “I don’t take power suppressants, you’re—you’re mistaken, officer. Those are my depression meds, I’ve been diagnosed by a therapist and had a prescription for over ten years!”
He hated the deadpan look he got in return. It didn’t sit right with him, not at all. But Minute knew for a fact he would’ve seen it if he took something different, surely he would’ve noticed. And if he was telling the truth …
Another bottle was put on the table for him to see. It had a similar label to his own, the same name, the same dosage, all that was different was the person these were prescribed to. “These, Mr. Tech, are the meds you would’ve been given with the prescription you have if it were real.” Then, another was put next to it. The name ‘Potenul’ was written in bold letters, staring at him accusingly. “And these are power suppressants. Take a look for yourself.”
Minute almost didn’t want to reach out. Dread coiled his stomach into knots. His hands shook when he grabbed the bottles, and he was pretty sure the officer noticed too.
There was no way his parents lied to him about this. His doctor, his therapist, every single person who’d given him his prescribed meds. There was just no way they’d go to such lengths to keep this a secret.
But the truth was right there. The meds in his prescribed bottle weren’t depression meds, they hardly even looked the same. Instead his pills were diamonds like the Potenul, they had the same ‘P0’ as the power suppressants did, they were the same soft, salmon pink.
He sat back in his chair, a scoff of all things escaping his lips. “Yeah, those are not …” he started, quietly, but he couldn’t get himself to finish.
Because how else was he supposed to react, finding out he’d been living a lie for at least half his life?
“Minute,” the officer tried to get his attention, but he refused to look up. “You understand how this looks, right?”
He finally let his frown turn into a glare. He tapped his nails on the table impatiently, before shoving one of the bottles back a few inches.
“No, sir, I can’t say I do. You haven’t told me why I’m here.” He shakes his head, looking up to give the man a harsh look. “I don’t remember anything, so why don’t you cut to the chase and tell me what’s going on?”
Instead of answering, he pulled out his phone. On it was a paused video, but Minute could immediately recognise the concert hall they’d supposedly performed at. The officer let him take it, urging him to press play. It only helped to get on his nerves more.
And … yeah, there they were, playing music. People were cheering, shouting, the bass didn’t quite transfer over video—especially not this phone recording they must’ve found on the internet, seeing how it shook and occasionally unfocussed. Everything seemed fine enough, didn’t it?
He swallowed thickly, looking up at the officer for a quick second, before pulling the phone closer to his face for a better look. The “oh shit, are his eyes glowing?” from the person recording nearly went unheard with the music and shouting. Minute felt his heartbeat quicken. The video zoomed in on him. The eyes they were referring to were his. Not Ash, Jumper or Pentar, no, Minute’s eyes were glowing a bright white in a way he’d only seen in Red’s.
The video zoomed back out to focus on him entirely and the drumset in front of him as the past version of Minute closed his eyes. Now with every hit of his drumsticks, they sparked, like striking a match without lighting it. They increased in brightness and violence, until they moved like shockwaves into the sky with each hit.
“This isn’t real, this is faked,” he said, shaking his head. Still, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He couldn’t deny the way the music felt satisfying to him, like scratching an itch he hadn’t realised was actually there.
Instead of replying, he got a swipe on the phone to the next video. It automatically started playing, only adding to the dread building up. This was from an entirely different angle, a different song, but it was so much worse. Now the eyes of all the band members were glowing, as were the ones of an increasing number in the crowd. Everyone sang along, synchronous in a way that was hardly possible with this large of a crowd. The person with the phone seemed to try to move away but the people were too focussed on the performance, on the display of power, to be able to let them through.
Through it all, his past self behind the drums only seemed to glow brighter and brighter. He led the song, led the people, showed no sign of slowing down. His powers practically exploded from him every split second with every single drumbeat.
Minute dropped the phone. He could hardly stand to look. People in the video screamed when lights exploded and glass shattered. That finally made him close his eyes, but the terrified yells and shouts alongside the music that didn’t stop for even a second had him shivering in place.
He had powers. He had music-related powers, and he put a whole concert hall full of people in danger. He was dangerous.
The video was paused mid-shout, but he didn’t look up, only opening his eyes to glare at the sandwich in front of him. Was this what his parents had imagined? Did they think he’d go out like this, exploding and putting everyone in danger? Were they scared of him?
“Mind control is illegal, Mr. Tech. Especially on a crowd as large as this one was. Do you realise how long they could put you behind bars for?”
Something about that statement sounded off, but he couldn’t get past the anger to actually figure out which part it was. He glared at the man, raising his chin. If he was going to scare him like this, he could be as annoying as he wanted to be.
“I want a lawyer.”
That made the officer twitch, and Minute shouldn’t have felt so satisfied about it. “Minute, we just want to know what happened—”
“I demand a lawyer,” he repeated, much more slowly, emphasis on every second word. This was his right, wasn’t it?
The officer sighed, leaning back in his chair and turning his head to look through the mirror at the people who undoubtedly sat on the other side to listen. Minute followed his look, and he caught his own expression in the reflection—a perfect mix between professional and pissed off.
When he turned his attention back to the officer, ready to tell him again that he wouldn’t talk without someone to represent him, he was instead met with an entirely different person. A scream tore from his throat and he pushed his chair back, which helpfully didn’t tip back enough to send him crashing to the floor. This man had stark white hair, contrasted with a handful of black patches. A white gas mask covered the lower half of the man’s face, his initials painted in black on the right part of it.
LW. LeoWook.
Minute very carefully didn’t move where he sat, heart beating in his throat, chest rising and falling rapidly. Of course he managed to get himself in a room with one of the city’s most wanted supervillains. How did his life come to this?
Leo stared at him, the grin evident in the glee that shone in his eyes. He knew perfectly well the effect his very presence had. “Don’t waste your sandwich, I paid for it myself.”
He carefully reached for the food to keep eating, scared to disobey. He wasn’t stupid, if a villain had kidnapped him after the concert, he wanted something from him. Now wasn’t the time to keep pissing him off. So, taking a bite and forcing himself to chew and swallow, he dared another look at him.
“You really didn’t know, did you?”
He had to clear his throat. Even being reminded of the lie he’d been living for so long had his anger simmering inside of his chest like a fire being fanned. “No, I had no idea.”
A hum. Leo pointed to the donut. “Are you gonna eat that?” At the shake of his head, he reached over to grab it. “Sick.”
Minute tried not to stare as the gas mask clicked and opened up with a dramatic hiss—surely it had to be just for show—before Leo flashed him a grin and took a bite.
A silence grew between them, save for the occasional bite and chew and the humming of the lights above them—which were a source of comfort, the constant quiet sound, strange as it was. Minute fidgeted in place, trying to drag out the time it took to eat his food. His only hope was that Leo started talking first and he didn’t have to say a word, which would betray his increasing nerves immediately.
Of course things only got worse from there.
He looked up when the door opened a second time, somehow he dared to hope it would be help. Instead, the sight of an infamous suit and terrifying mask greeted him. ClownPierce, because of course these two were never apart for long.
His face must’ve shown his terror, because the villain laughed, something truly menacing. “Hey there, Minute. I hope ‘officer Leo’ treated you well.”
There was no third chair, so Clown opted for sitting on the table nonchalantly. Minute leaned back a little more, if only because he couldn’t discreetly scoot his chair backwards. He still forced himself to take calm breaths in and out. The fact that he wasn’t dead was some kind of miracle, or maybe it was just a curse and he’d gotten really, really unlucky.
At his unwillingness to respond, the latecomer just huffed another laugh. Of course this situation was hilarious to him. “You must be wondering why you’re here.”
“Yeah, no shit.” He’d opened his mouth before his brain caught up. He instantly shut it again, face heating up a little. These were supervillains, what was he doing? Just because these guys were having fun being evil didn’t mean he had to join in, to pretend to be some kind of hero too with funny quips and comebacks.
Clown tilted his head at him, almost like he was considering him over again. “Y’know what, I like you. I’d hoped you weren’t boring.”
“Am I entertaining enough for you?” Maybe this was his best defence. He didn’t really have anything else to go off. “What do you want from me? I’m pretty sure you didn’t kidnap me just to get my autograph.”
“I’d actually love your autograph, if you have time. Can you sign my suit when this is over?” Leo kicked his feet up on the edge of the table—Minute could’ve sworn Clown twitched, maybe itching to push him off just to be a nuisance.
He blinked at him. Was he actually being serious? “Uh … sure.”
“Okay, enough about autographs! Minute, you’re a fugitive. You’re running from the law, that’s what I’m trying to get at.”
Suddenly, the room was a lot colder. His face fell, a new kind of panic settling in body like a bolt of electricity that was about to pop a balloon. A fugitive? A fugitive?
“You mind-controlled a crowd of over a thousand people, put their lives in danger by destroying equipment, then disappeared like snow in the sun. They’re looking for you,” he continued matter-of-factly.
He shook his head before he could even finish. “I can explain the situation, it wasn’t my fault.”
“You really think a lawyer is gonna get you out of being sent to the Grid?” Leo commented casually as he switched up the way he sat again. Once he was satisfied, he looked at Minute with a shrug.
The grid was the most high-tech security prison on the continent. Conveniently, it sat right in the lake next to the city. It was a place for the worst of the worst, for the supervillains and worst criminals. If they thought Minute would be sent there, just how bad was his situation?
“Listen, don’t be stupid, we can help you figure this out. We’re professionals at this, you can lay low for a while before going back out—”
Minute glared at Leo, crossing his arms. “I’ll take my chances with a lawyer.”
“Oh, dit meen je niet,” Clown grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked the way his father did when he was disappointed. Only, this time when the villain in front of him sighed and looked back up at him, no condescending or cruel words followed. “Look, your friends are being held by the police. We can help you get them out, we’re not forcing you to help us terrorise the Super HQ, okay? Then you give us something in return afterwards. A favor for a favor.”
“What kind of favor?” he asked after a moment of silence. He hated how the deal made his shoulders fall in defeat, that it sounded reasonable enough.
They shared a look. Clown sighed and got up to pace back and forth through the room. Minute followed the movements carefully. What kind of use was he to them? Two supervillains with a terrifying reputation and even scarier powers, which he hardly even understood. Leo could mimic the powers of anyone he touched for a limited amount of time, it definitely explained why he’d been able to shapeshift earlier, and Clown … Minute hardly knew how to explain them. Whatever made him able to manipulate and break his body the way he did, he doubted anyone even properly knew what exactly he could do. So, with their skillset, what did they need him for? And why did he want to lean forward in his chair, just to hear them out?
“It’s an infiltration mission, you’ll learn the details when you need to know them,” Leo said, less-than-helpfully. “Like we said, it’s not going to be big, you’re not getting into explosive fights like you see on tv, okay? You’ll be anonymous too, so …”
“I don’t know how to fight … at all. What am I supposed to do?”
Clown laughed. “We’ll figure it out, there will be plenty of time to train.”
And something about it all sounded so enticing. Something that sparked the little kid in him that he’d thought was buried or even dead inside of him back to life. He had superpowers. The strongest supervillains invited him to work with them. He would be an anonymous super. Wasn’t that the coolest thing ever?
It was why it took everything not to start smiling. It was stupid, irresponsible probably, and there would be better ways to fix this. But wasn’t he doing things out of spite already anyways? His band was made out of spite. Who cared what other people thought of him at this point? The concert had probably ruined his entire career already within the span of a single day, maybe he was allowed to have a bit of fun.
So, he scoffed, shaking his head, unable to fight the excited smile any longer.
“What’s the plan then?”