Chapter Text
When you were a child, you dreamed of becoming a famous and powerful hero, beloved by all.
When Foxtail said she needed the valedictorian of P.O.I.N.T. Prep to accompany her on a critical mission, you had pictured yourself facing off against swarms of shadowy figures bent on destroying innocent lives.
Never in your eighteen years of life have you imagined yourself as a wrecking ball operator.
You suppose it's not all bad. At least I can spare a moment to accessorise properly, you muse to yourself as you adjust your miniature construction hat. You just try not to think about the way that little boy was wailing back in the car park. What was his name again? Koh? Something about his name seems hauntingly familiar, but you don't know why. You only met him briefly when those Lakewood hooligans crashed your sleepover with Enid at the end of the semester before last. You don't usually bother yourself with trying to remember the names of the other half, but you promised Enid you would put in a little more effort. It's not been as easy as you'd hoped to keep in touch since she left the Academy—the security drones' routines are stricter than ever since Chip Damage was destroyed, your reluctance to text her has nothing to do with the pit of guilt in your stomach—but you can still clearly remember those whispered conversations in the darkness of your dorm room. You'd been so thrilled to have your best friend back. To have a friend at all, if you're honest.
You really try not to think about the shocked and hurt expression on Enid's face as you'd held up the statute 1064-092 for Foxtail to announce.
Your current task is to complete the preparations for Phase 1: Clear the Plaza. You know that well enough; you stayed up all night memorising the official documentation. Though you're not really eager to take on such an unpopular job, you won't be caught giving a less than stellar performance in the execution. The automatic doors close behind you with a whoosh as you enter the final building on your checklist: Gar's Bodega and Hero Supply. All you have to do is check that each room is unoccupied so the plaza can be cleared for demolition. Phase 1 hasn't been particularly difficult so far, since every hero in Lakewood emerged to gawk at the P.O.I.N.T. fleet's arrival in the car park. You haven't seen a soul.
Gar's is no different. The shelves stand silently, packed with all manner of miscellaneous heroic implements. On your right, there are a couple of boxes slumped haphazardly against a shelf, like someone was in the middle of stocking them. In the center of the shop floor, a mop and a spilled bucket lie in a puddle of soapy water. There's an air of earnest untidiness about the brightly coloured rows of merchandise and the snack machines—even with no one inside, this place feels like a home. Forgetting your duties for a moment, you wander between the aisles of crisps until you reach the checkout counter. You lay your palm on the surface. You imagine Enid putting her feet up here every day, ignoring customers and goofing around with her friends. You remember how you sauntered into this bodega, once, long ago, hoping to catch her attention. If things had gone differently back then...
You forcefully wrench your hand back to your side and finish clearing the building. You can't afford to lose sight of your goal now, not when you're so close to achieving the status and glory you've worked towards for your entire life. You hurriedly exit the bodega and trot back towards the P.O.I.N.T. entourage. It's true that you never pictured yourself as a lackey handling large, dirty construction equipment. Luckily for you, Geoffrey taught you how to drive shortly before your parents fired him for taking you to visit Lakewood Plaza. And for teaching you how to drive. A wrecking ball can't be that different from a limo tank.
"Listen to yourself, Enid! There are troopers crawling around every square inch of the surface. We're in the middle of a war here, we can't just start trying to get in contact with the enemy!"
You blink a few times to ward off the blue glare of the row of computer screens in front of you, then lean back and take a sip of your iced coffee. You had it smuggled specially from Neo Riot City. Just because the P.O.I.N.T. army's rations are starting to run thin after almost two months, that doesn't mean you have to deny yourself the basic enjoyments of life. Besides, you need the caffeine, if Ms Foxtail is going to insist that you monitor the productivity of the Glorb extraction operation for sixteen hours every day (not including overtime). The mission is taking longer than expected, and you can tell that she's starting to get frazzled. You expend no small amount of effort each day on assuring her that everything is running smoothly—including intercepting clandestine radio transmissions.
"It's not ‘the enemy,’ it's Elodie! You know, the girl I've known since I was twelve? She's changed, she promised me—"
"So? You watched her literally destroy the entire plaza with a wrecking ball, right? We were all there!"
More like accidental radio transmissions, really. You know that the majority of the resistance's technical know-how is concentrated in one little kappa. Given enough pressure and responsibilities, anyone will start to let little details slip their mind. You're beginning to feel a similar strain, yourself, and you're not a mere six-to-eleven years old. You feel kind of bad for keeping Foxtail in the dark about the whole "literal underground resistance" thing. However, you also feel that her reaction to finding out about it will most likely involve your dearest childhood friend getting disempowered, or worse. Anyway, it's not like they've actually managed to do anything to sabotage P.O.I.N.T.'s goals. Yet.
"Red, she was trying to signal me, I'm positive. She pretended to drop her clipboard, and when she bent over to pick it up, she flashed the 'okay' sign directly at me! She was telling me she supports K.O.'s resistance!"
It's quite sweet of Enid to take up for you, really. That girl truly is unfailingly loyal to her friends. Even though you're committed to the mission, you can't help but admire the sheer guts of this ragtag group of rebels. Not everyone is brave enough to stand up to an organization as famed and powerful as P.O.I.N.T.—least of all, you. Of course, they'd have been totally quashed by now if you hadn't been meticulously forging their Glorb harvesting records for them for weeks. It's not like Foxtail ever specifically ordered you to report any whisperings of a revolution to her. A sweat drop rolls down your temple. It's getting pretty warm in this tiny concrete room, so you wriggle out of the top part of your P.O.I.N.T. uniform and neatly fold it on the table, next to your keyboard.
You don't wear your personal hero outfit underneath your uniform, of course. That would be ridiculous. You are wearing the standard issue P.O.I.N.T. dry-fit shirt and spandex leggings just like everybody else. In terms of dress, the only perk that comes with being Foxtail's personal assistant is that you're allowed to appear in public without your helmet. This pleases you greatly, since it aligns with your life motto, that ancient adage: You can't fight crime if you ain't cute.
You are also wearing the "BEST" necklace that Enid gave to you, all those years ago. It's the only personal effect you brought with you on the mission; your cabin in the P.O.I.N.T. flying cruiser is stocked with more than enough makeup, toiletries, and spare garments for a few months. Still, you made sure to grab the necklace from your desk drawer before you left. You were overcome with an odd feeling that you would never return to P.O.I.N.T. HQ as a recruit—a feeling that you can't shake, even now.
"Are you kidding me? How do you know she even saw you in your disguise? She could've been playing the circle game, for all we know!"
Oops. You actually had been playing the circle game. You'd thought that Enid could use a little levity to disrupt the dismal atmosphere. You suppose she couldn't see you blowing a raspberry under your helmet.
"Can you guys quit arguing for a minute? All this yelling is making my undercut hurt."
"Sorry, Rad. Fine, I give up. I guess we'll just let go of our only chance to get someone on the inside to help us."
"Hang on, Enid. Wait. Enid—"
Enid has apparently stormed off in a huff, and the future girl has followed her. The voices fade away as the pair move away from the main console in the resistance base. The alien boy resumes snoring. At this point, you think it's safe to assume that no further entertainment will come along for a while. With a few keystrokes, you permanently erase all record of the audio transmission, and of your eavesdropping. What Foxtail doesn't know can't hurt her, right?