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Jake limped into the elevator and hit the button to close the doors, which were stopped from shutting completely by Charles Boyle shoving his face between them.
"Hi, Charles."
"Jake!" he exclaimed, pulling the elevator doors away from where they were smooshing his cheeks, and slipping inside.
"I didn't expect to see you here, buddy."
"I found this in my kombucha spittoon," said Charles, offering Jake a soggy looking piece of cardstock.
"You have a--? Never mind," said Jake, taking the card between his thumb and forefinger. "Oh, gross. Why is this all slimy?"
"I had to lick it, Jake. How else would I know if the ink was poisoned?"
"Ew, Charles!" Jake dropped the card, wiped his hand on his jeans, and attempted to hop from one foot to the other in disgust, landing with a wince.
"Jake, are you hurt?" Charles demanded frantically, like a mother hen.
"I think I sprained my paw. I was chasing the Pontiac Bandit down an alley, and when I got to the dead end he was nowhere to be seen, but I did find this."
Jake reached into his hoodie and produced an identical piece of card to Charles', only less damp and disgusting; inviting him to the fourth floor of this building right about now, same as Boyle's.
"But why would Doug Judy send one to you? He's my nemesis." Charles peered at the dry invite, his tongue poking out between his teeth, and Jake shouted, "Don't you dare lick that!"
"I don't think it was the Pontiac Bandit," said Charles. "I mean, I seriously doubt that Doug Judy has penmanship this beautiful."
"Hey!" said Jake defensively, snatching his invitation back. "You don't know his life--"
The elevator doors dinged open to reveal a fully furnished office bullpen, as well as Rosa Diaz and Terry Jeffords.
"Jake," said Rosa with a brusque nod that Jake took to mean that she had missed him terribly and couldn't have been more overjoyed to see him.
"Charles," she added in a stoic tone that was simultaneously friendly and implied that if Boyle tried to lick any part of her then she would bite his face off.
"Peralta, Boyle," said Terry, frowning. "What are you two doing here?"
"Hey, who's down here?" Amy Santiago descended the stairs leading down from the roof. "Oh, hey, guys."
"Hey, babe," said Jake, reaching out for Amy automatically. "Not that I don't love running into you at work, but what are you doing here?"
Amy plucked an identical invitation from her beige pantsuit pocket. "I was rescuing a kitten from a tree--" she began to explain, and Rosa's eyes narrowed territorially "--at least I thought it was a kitten. It turned out to be a raccoon." She shuddered and Jake rubbed her back. "Stupid trash panda was holding the invitation in its paws."
Rosa and Terry both produced identical invitations. "I found mine in my babies' Lucky Charms," said Terry.
"Cleaning out the kitty litter," said Rosa, with a bowel-shrivelling glare that dared any of them to say anything about the little tuxedo kitten that had just peeked out from inside her leather jacket.
Jake held out his own invite, and everyone turned to look expectantly at Charles. "I threw Boyle's away," explained Jake. "The good news is that nothing on the invitations is dangerous, the bad news is that the reason we know this is that Charles licked his and now we all have to live with that image."
After the obligatory chorus of Ew, Boyles it was Terry who asked, "Why did we all get these? And who sent them?"
"You don't think...?" began Jake, gaping like a fish.
"Don't think what?"
"Well, look at who they invited." Jake looked from Terry to Amy, then to Charles. "The Ebony Falcon and The Pantsuit Avenger. Charles 'The Tongue' Boyle."
"You have got to come up with a new name, man," said Rosa.
"Thank you, Emily--" Rosa did all her superheroing while wearing a domino mask and going by the name Emily Goldfinch. "--and me: John McClane."
"That's a terrible superhero name," Terry told Jake. "It sounds like it's just your regular name."
"Yeah, well, I tried Nakatomi for a while," said Jake, "but I felt like it was a bit racially insensitive."
"I liked it when you called yourself Die Hard," said Rosa. "It was simple, direct, a statement of intent."
"Yeah, me too," said Jake. "But all the supervillains kept laughing at me."
Amy took Jake's hand and squeezed it reassuringly.
"I still think you should call yourself Fido," said Charles.
"Anyways," said Jake, very quickly. "What I'm saying is: do you think they're trying to Avengers Assemble us? Collecting New York's finest superheroes, and---"
The elevator doors dinged open again, revealing Hitchcock and Scully.
"--'Kay," said Jake. "Never mind."
Hitchcock and Scully stepped apart to reveal a third man. He was black, well dressed, and of middle years, absolutely none of which Jake noticed because he also had a piece of sculpted metal covering half his face and a robotic arm.
"You're a cyborg!" exclaimed Jake.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming today," said the cyborg, stepping out of the elevator. "My name is Captain Raymond Holt, and I am an officer with the NYPD. You have been invited here today to--"
"Can I call you Robocop?" interrupted Jake; in his defence it was a pressing question.
"No, you may not." The laser that emitted from Holt's bionic eye swept over Jake. "You may call me Captain Raymond Holt. As I was saying, I am a captain with the NYPD, and a year ago today I was attempting to apprehend the crime lord known as The Vulture."
"You tried to arrest a supervillain?" said Rosa. "Sweet."
"Yes, it was, indeed, sweet. Unfortunately, The Vulture is not especially skilled at supervillainy, and while attempting to evade arrest he brought a building down on both of our heads, nearly killing me. Thankfully, my husband, Professor Kevin Cozner, had pioneered a technique that he used to save my life using cybernetic implants. Given my new circumstances the NYPD felt that I would be well placed to gather and supervise a squad of people with certain superhuman abilities to help the NYPD cope with existential threats to the city."
"You're assembling us," said Jake, "like the Aven--"
"No, I am not," said Captain Holt, with a firm shake of his head. "Copyright reasons."
Boyle raised his hand. "Did you choose us because we're the finest superheroes in New York?"
"Yes," said Captain Holt. "And also because all the information we could gather on you all indicated that you would agree in exchange for free candy and a comprehensive dental plan."
"How much free candy?" asked Jake, at the same time as Terry asked, "Does the dental plan cover our kids too?"
"Can we be called the Suicide Squad?" asked Rosa.
"All you can eat," replied Holt. "Yes, it covers all dependents. And as I've already said, no, for copyright reasons."
"Can we be the Fantastic--" Jake did a quick headcount "--Six and a half?"
Scully and Hitchcock were the half.
"No," said Holt. "Partly for copyright reasons, and partly because we would have to be the Fantastic Seven and a Half."
The elevator doors dinged open again. "'Sup, bitches."
"Gina!" Amy sounded scandalised.
"Gina." Terry flexed his biceps menacingly.
"Linetti," Rosa snarled.
"Gina," squeaked Boyle, in the strangled voice of someone who had accidentally had sex with a supervillain a whole bunch of times.
"Hey, girl," said Jake, because playground friendship trumped city threatening villainy. Right?
"Hey, boo," said Gina.
"Captain, please" said Charles, his voice still an octave or two above normal. "Gina's a mad scientist."
"Last year she released a gas that made the whole city stop what they were doing and dance for her," said Rosa. "We only managed to stop her by surrounding her with mirrors until she got so distracted by her own reflection that she forgot to re-up the dose."
"Gina has decided to turn over a new leaf and help protect the people of this city," said Captain Holt. "And I, for one, believe she has untapped potential to be a hero."
"Totally." Gina was doing Vogue poses in the elevator door. "If the people loved me when I was bad, think how much they're going to adore me when I'm saving their asses."
"Gina may well be a work in progress," conceded Holt. "Now, if you'll all follow me to the briefing room I have some paperwork for you to fill out. In triplicate."
There was a chorus of groans; Amy's sounded conspicuously fake.
They arranged themselves around the briefing room, passing paperwork and pens back, as Holt set up a laptop by connecting a USB cable from the computer to a port on the underside of his wrist.
"Uh, Captain?" Terry began hesitantly. "Why are Hitchcock and Scully here?"
"I found them downstairs looking for a sandwich shop in the building," said Holt. "And I was given to believe that they'd worked with you all in the past."
"Yeah, kinda." Jake drew the word out. "Hitchcock is the result of some terrible lab accident, and Scully, I don't know, I think he just likes wearing a spandex unitard in public?"
Scully nodded agreeably.
"The information we were able to gather on each of you was less than comprehensive, so please add any facts that you believe relevant." Holt tapped a few laptop keys and a picture of Terry lifting a school bus clear over his head was projected. The captain read out his vital statistics: "Terrance Jeffords. AKA: The Ebony Falcon. Power: greatly enhanced strength."
"Actually," said Terry, "it's not a superpower. I really am that strong."
"Really?" Holt raised his single eyebrow.
"No," Terry flexed his pecks. "Terry was bitten by a radioactive army ant, but I had you fooled for a second there."
"Moving on." The picture of Terry was replaced with one of Charles, on his hands and knees, licking the sidewalk. "Charles Boyle. AKA: The Tongue. Power: a highly developed sense of taste."
"My other superpower is making things inappropriately sexual," said Charles, sounding oddly proud.
"Ew," said Rosa and Gina in unison, eyeing each other.
The next picture was a police mugshot of Rosa. "Rosa Diaz. AKA: Emily Goldfinch. I assume that your power is that you are some sort of cat... human of the female persuasion?"
"Copyright reasons?" asked Jake.
"Yes," said Holt. "Also a litter of small kittens appear to have escaped from Diaz's jacket."
"Oh," said Rosa, scooping up the kittens and tucking them back into her various pockets with deceptive gentleness; she missed the little grey kitten that was sitting on top of her head, washing its whiskers.
Amy's picture was one of her with her knees bent and one arm raised, ready to launch herself into the air. "Amy Santiago. AKA: The Pantsuit Avenger--"
"Captain, I think that you should know that I didn't give myself that name. Jake made it up to make fun of me."
"In my defence," said Jake, "that was before I was in love with you, and now I think it's super adorbs."
"Aww," said Charles.
"Power: flight," Jake finished for Holt. "She's carried me over the city in her arms; it was so romantic."
"Really?" Holt sounded skeptical. "Do you also have enhanced strength, Santiago?"
"She absolutely does not," said Jake. "She nearly dropped me multiple times; it was super scary."
"Sir," said Amy, "maybe we could move on from that time I nearly dropped Jake into the Hudson River?"
"Of course," said Holt, "but I would enjoy hearing about that at a later date." He changed the picture to one of Jake. It was a good one too; you could hardly see the dribble of orange soda on his chin. "Jake Peralta. AKA: ...I have nothing written down here, but with my new bionic hearing I couldn't help but overhear your earlier conversation from downstairs, so I'll put your alter ego's name down as Fido."
"Wait, don't!" cried Jake, but was drowned out by the chorus of Yep, that's his name from Charles, Gina, Rosa, and Amy.
"Traitor," he hissed at Amy; she scritched him apologetically behind the ear, and Jake's leg bounced involuntarily.
"Power: shapeshifting, and from Boyle's Fido remark I can only presume that you can assume a canine form of some sort. Are you a werewolf, Peralta?"
"Yes," said Jake. "That's exactly what I am. Now let's quickly move on."
"Jake," Charles admonished, "there's nothing to be embarrassed about. The Teacup Yorkshire Terrier is a very noble breed."
"Do those files also say that I'm a billionaire playboy ninja detective?" Jake asked Holt pleadingly.
"They do not," said Holt. "Are you any of those things?"
"I watched a whole bunch of Miss Marple with Amy last weekend."
"Well, well need all of your abilities, including Peralta's knowledge of Agatha Christie adaptations, to stop the worst supervillain this city has ever seen. My own personal nemesis." Holt swallowed and looked like he'd just eaten a wasp. "Madeline Wunch."
"We can do it," said Terry. "Squad, huddle up."
They gathered in a circle, hands all together in the centre. "Hey," said Jake, "what are we called?"
"We," said Holt dramatically, "are the division B superheroes of the Ninety-Ninth precinct in Brooklyn ."
"Go, division B--" they tried to chant awkwardly.
"Wait!" said Jake. "I've got it. We're the Nine-Nine."
"Go, Brooklyn Nine-Nine!"