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Chapter Text

John Booko, a man of absolutely average height (all saying otherwise don't know what they are talking about) with a toned build and short brown hair, walked through the rain-soaked alleyways of the city. His mossy green hoodie was pulled tightly over his head, the red bandanna across his mouth and nose leaving just enough room for his muddy brown eyes to peer through. The city was a blur of neon lights reflecting off the wet pavement, each droplet a tiny mirror holding a distorted glimpse of the chaos above. John, known to the city as the vigilante B00100, had seen better days. His hands, usually steady, trembled slightly as he replayed the events of the night in his mind. A fight with a hero he once considered an ally had left him questioning his place in this mess of a world.

As he approached the vigilante base, hidden behind the facade of an abandoned electronics store, he took a moment to compose himself. The base was a sanctuary for the lost and misunderstood, a place where those with extraordinary abilities could find refuge from the judgments of the outside world. John's power to manipulate time had made him a force to be reckoned with, but it was also a burden that isolated him from those who couldn't comprehend the weight of his gift. He took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy metal door, the sound echoing through the emptiness within.

The lights flickered on as he stepped inside, revealing a stark contrast to the damp streets outside. The base was a maze of screens and monitors, beeping machinery, and a faint scent of burnt circuits. The walls were lined with weapons and gadgets, each one meticulously designed and crafted by the inhabitants for their unique battles. John's gaze fell upon the screens, displaying various parts of the city under surveillance. The silent sentinels watching over the streets, hoping to spot the next move of their ever-elusive foes.

Ren, a South African hero, one of the very few that know about the illegal place he is currently working in, with brunette hair and dog-like features, looked up from his workstation, his eyes scanning John with concern. "You okay, man?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. Ren, or Warren, his real name, or his hero name as he was known to the world outside the base, TheRedKing for his extravagantly regal outfit, had the power of telekinesis and a penchant for hacking. He was one of the few who truly understood the toll their line of business took on the mind and body.

John nodded, his voice gruff. "Yeah, just a bad night." He stripped off his damp hoodie, revealing the muscular frame beneath. Ren raised an eyebrow but said nothing, returning his focus to the screens. John walked past him, each step echoing through the cavernous space, heading towards the medical bay. He needed to patch up the gash on his arm, a souvenir from the fight. The sterile smell of the room was a strange comfort.

As he cleaned and bandaged the wound, he couldn't shake the image of his former ally, now a foe, from his mind. The hero had turned on him out of nowhere, once leaving the vigilante to his devices and helping people as normal before turning and trying to arrest the vigilante at last. Why had they turned? What was happening to some the heroes of this city? Why couldn't all heroes be what vigilantes tried to be; free, independent, helpful, real heroes.

John took a seat on the cold, metal bench in the medical bay, his thoughts racing. He knew that he couldn't let this one incident define his path. He had a responsibility to the people of the city, especially with villains like Zedaph lurking in the shadows. Kris Playn, the British villain with the unnerving sheep-like persona and mind-bending abilities, was a constant thorn in the heroes's sides. Why did they attack the vigilante that was friends with the villain? Why not use it to their advantage? It all confused him.

As he bandaged his arm, the sound of the door opening interrupted his contemplation. In walked Tango Tek, the American pyrokinetic known as Deep Frost, his blue hair stark against his black outfit. His eyes, usually filled with a fiery passion, now held a hint of wariness as he saw John's state. "Hey, Bdubs," he said, his voice a mix of warmth and caution. "Heard you had a run-in with a hero. What's the deal?"

John sighed heavily, noting the affectionate nickname from his vigilante name while tossing the bloody cloth into the bin. "It's complicated," he replied, his eyes flicking to the screens. "But it's not the first time a hero has gone after me."

Tango nodded, his hands resting on his hips. "Well, you know what they say, right?" His voice had a touch of humor in it, trying to lighten the mood. "With great power comes great... misunderstanding."

John couldn't help but crack a smile at the old joke. "Yeah, something like that." He finished bandaging his arm and stood up, the gravity of the situation weighing him down once again. "We can't keep operating like this, Tango. We're supposed to be the ones fighting for justice, but it feels like we're treated like the very monsters we're trying to protect people from." He says this as Tango gives him a look, John not being his usual cartoony self, which was a rarity.

Tango stepped closer, his eyes searching John's. "You're not a monster, B. You're just doing what you think is right." His tone was firm, a reassurance that John desperately needed to hear. "But maybe it's time we rethink our approach. We can't just keep banging our heads against the same wall and expect it to crumble."

"Try telling that to Skizz." John chuckles as he brings up a good friend of theirs, another hero named Andy. His hero name being Skizzleman. The 6'2 brunette is always messing around and running into things. The bright white wings on his back not providing any balance for him, but boy does he try. "He'd probably trip over his own feet trying to be more 'hero-y'."

Tango's smile faded into a contemplative look. "Maybe we need to start working more with the good guys," he suggested, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I mean, we're all on the same side, right?"

John considered this for a moment before shaking his head. "It's not that simple," he said, his voice filled with the weight of past experiences. "They don't trust us, and with good reason. We've got our own rules, our own code. We're illegal, Tango. Vigilantes are against the law."

Tango nodded solemnly. "But maybe we can change that," he said, his gaze intense. "We've got the skills, the power. If we can show them we're not just a bunch of vigilantes causing more trouble, maybe we can work together. We already have to a few. Ren works around here all the time. Skizz drops by a lot. We've worked with heroes to help people before."

John leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. "And how do you propose we do that more?"

Tango shrugged. "We start with the ones we know. Maybe reach out to some of the more... understanding heroes. Like DocM77. He's got your back, right?" Doc and Bdubs have a very long and complex past with each other, either one trusting the other with their life and saving each other's on multiple occasions.

John thought of Steffen Mössner, the German hero with a robotic arm and goat horns, whose actual name was a secret to everyone except for the extremely select few. Known to the public as DocM77, he was a rare breed of hero who didn't always tow the line of the law but had a strong sense of morality and a soft spot for vigilantes. "He's been sympathetic before, but he's still a hero," John said, skepticism lacing his words.

Tango leaned against the wall beside him. "Look, I know it's a long shot, but we can't keep fighting alone. The city needs all of us. We've all seen the path some heroes are taking into being more corrupt. " His voice was earnest, the flames that danced in his eyes dimming slightly. "And we could use a doctor who doesn't ask too many questions." Though most don't believe it, DocM actually has a PHD and is a certified doctor at times. The muscular, tall hero isn't what anyone expects as a doctor though.

John sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I'll talk to him," he finally conceded. "But we need to be careful. If word gets out that we're collaborating..." Very little civilians have gotten word about the new villain in town. Not even most heroes have. A great, bad, legitimately evil person. Doing things purely for evil rather than necessity like Zedaph or impulse, two villains that are both compassionate and friendly with the group, especially Tango, who they seem to have taken a liking to.

"I know," Tango said, his voice low. "But we've got to start somewhere." He clapped John on the back before heading out of the medical bay, leaving him to his thoughts. The idea of working with heroes was fraught with risk, but the alternative was growing more and more unsustainable. The city was changing, the lines between good and evil blurring with each passing day

Chapter Text

Across town, in a fight with the new villain themselves, is where impulse found himself, desperate for help from anyone but no way to call due to the villain destroying all electrical systems he had with an aquatic powerhouse. The water was rising, and his mechanical abilities weren't going to save him from drowning. He had to think fast, his blue fire flickering out and his eyes sparking in the wet that turned to tears, trapped in a glass box filling with water.

John knew the risks, but the thought of the city falling apart was unbearable. He made his way to DocM77's secret lair, a place known only to a trusted few. The door slid open to reveal the German hero, his dark green fur ruffled and his robotic eye glowing with a soft red light. The room was filled with the whirring of machines and the scent of antiseptic.

"Double0," DocM said, his voice a blend of surprise and concern. "What brings you here?"

John stepped into the room, his boots squelching on the polished floor. "We need to talk," he said, his voice serious. "We've got a problem." He quickly filled DocM in on the events of the night, the tension between vigilantes and heroes, and the newfound willingness to consider an alliance.

DocM, with his robotic arm flexing slightly, listened intently. His black hair was slicked back, and his one robotic horn gleamed under the harsh light of his lab. "I see," he said, stroking his goatee thoughtfully. "A delicate situation indeed." He turned to his workstation, his mind racing. "But if we're to do this, we must proceed with caution. The law won't take kindly to vigilantes and heroes joining forces." Doc explains it all slowly, carful not to mix in German to the sentence. Similarly to Ren, English is not his first language, while Ren's is Africans, Doc's is German. Both man constantly get foreign words mixed in through their efforts.

John nodded, his eyes never leaving DocM's face. "I know," he said. "But we can't just ignore the problem. We need to find a way to work together, for the greater good."

DocM's robotic eye flickered as he processed the information. "Very well," he said after a moment. "I will consider your proposal. But we must tread lightly. The balance between hero and vigilante is a precarious one, and I do not wish to see it shatter."

John nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation all too well. "I know," he said, his eyes serious. "But we can't just sit by and watch as the city falls apart. We're all fighting for the same thing."

DocM turned to face John fully, his gaze piercing. "Then you must convince the others," he said. "I will support you, but they must be willing to set aside their differences and work towards a common goal. If we're going to stop this villain, we'll need more than heroes and vigilantes. It'll see beneficial for those villain friends of yours to agree to this under a truce."

John felt a knot tighten in his stomach at the mention of Zedaph and impulse. "They're not just 'villains', Doc," he said, his voice firm. "They're people, with reasons for their actions. They might be willing to help if it means protecting the city."

"They're labeled as such by themselves and the hero committee. Though I don't doubt the nature of them heavily just on that. There's only one friendship you've kept I don't agree with but we've had that argument more times than I'm fond of." Doc dismisses the much shorter boy to his devices.

John's voice echoed through the base as he called out to the others. Ren looked up from his screens, his ears perking up at the urgency in John's tone. Zedaph, a villain who had earned their trust over time, emerged from his quarters, curiosity in his eyes. He had been informed of the situation and was ready to listen to what John had to say once the rest had showed up.

"Guys," John began, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. "We've got a new player in town, and they're not playing by the rules. We can't ignore them; we've got to adapt."

Zed is immediately speaking up, "Shouldn't we wait for impulse to get here? He's usually never late to anything." The Brit is clearly worried about his partner, Tango appearing equally as worried as he is unable to contact him through his systems. All powered individuals there, consisting of Ren, Doc, Bdubs, Zed, Tango, and newly, Skizz. The hero being able to find a way to sneak off after being contacted by John. He looks incredibly worried, impulse being his roommate and best friend as civilians. No one there realizes that he is across town, nearly drowning in a glass box filling with water by the villain they are after.

John nods, "You're right, let's wait for him." The group gathered around the central table, the air thick with tension. Ren's eyes darted to the screens, his telekinetic power at the ready if needed. DocM remained calm, his robotic arm rested on the shorter hero's leg for comfort.

Finally, the door to the base slammed open and in stumbled a drenched impulse, his clothes clinging to his body and his yellow horns dimmed. His eyes were wide with panic. "Guys," he panted, "I need help."

The room fell silent as impulse recounted his harrowing encounter with the new villain from under two towels and the heated grasp of a now civilian Tango, having taken off his vigilante gear after patrol and speaking with his vigilante associate. Now adorned his usual punky gray test over red and light gray sweater. The water-wielding monster had taken Impulse by surprise, trapping him in a glass box and leaving him to drown as the waters rose. It was only by sheer luck that he managed to escape, using his blue fire to shatter the glass using the intense heat and pressure. His voice trembled as he spoke, the horror of the experience etched into his pale skin.

John's eyes narrowed at the mention of the villain's power. "An aquatic force," he murmured, piecing together the puzzle. "That's new. What's their name?"

Impulse took a shaky breath, his chest heaving. "Don't know," he admitted. "They never said. Just called me 'the imp'. They knew my name, but wouldn't tell me theirs."

John's jaw clenched at the thought of someone toying with one of his own. "We need to find out who this is and put a stop to them," he said, his voice low and determined. "They're a threat to everyone."

"Agreed," said DocM, his hand tightening on the table. "But we must be smart. This is not a typical enemy. We need intel."

Ren looked up from his screens, his gaze intense. "I'll start digging," he said, his fingers flying over the keyboard. "We need to know who we're dealing with."

John nodded, his mind racing. "And I'll reach out to my contacts," he said, already dialing a number on his burner phone. "Someone has to know something."

The line clicked, and a gruff voice answered. "What do you want, John?" It was one of John's many informants, a man named Genny who had his ear to the streets. None of his associates were too fond of him. DocM in particular. They had managed to push their differences aside enough to let John keep in contact though.

"I need info on a new villain," John said urgently. "Aquatic powers, playing a game with impulse."

"Hold on," Genny's American voice was muffled, as if he was moving away from the noise of the bar he frequented. "Give me what you got."

John quickly described the encounter, the unidentified villain's power, and the urgency of the situation. The line went quiet for a moment, and John could almost hear the cogs turning in Genny's mind as he processed the information. Then, a sharp intake of breath.

"I might have something for you," Genny said, his voice tight with excitement. "There's a rumor going around about a new player. They call 'em the 'Tidal Terror'. Real nasty piece of work. Word is they're looking to make a name for themselves by taking out high-profile targets. Sounds like they're starting with the villains and vigilantes."

John's eyes widened. "Tidal Terror," he repeated. "Thanks, Genny. Keep your ears open." He hung up the phone and turned to the group, his mind racing. "We've got a name," he announced. "The villain's calling themselves the Tidal Terror."

The room buzzed with the new information, each member of the makeshift team processing the implications. Ren's fingers flew across his keyboard, searching for any mention of the Tidal Terror in the vast web of the city's underbelly. Skizz, the clumsy hero with a heart of gold, hovered over Ren's shoulder, trying to be helpful despite his major lack of tech savvy. Tango never leaving impulse's side while holding him close to keep him warm.

Zedaph leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Tidal Terror," he murmured. "That's a bold choice for a name. They must be powerful, or at least, think they are." His sheepish grin faded as he added, "But if they're after us, they've picked a fight with the wrong crowd."

Tango nodded in agreement, his completely red eyes flashing with determination. "We can't let them go after impulse like that," he said, his voice tight with anger. "We need to find this Tidal Terror and show them who's boss." His pyrokinetic flames flickered slightly in agitation. He and John in constant affectionate competition, both being too hot-headed for anyone to give a winner, though.

John leaned against the wall, his mind racing. "Alright," he said, his voice firm. "Ren, keep looking for intel. Tango, see if you can track any water-related disturbances. Doc, start working on some new gear that can handle aquatic combat. Skizz, keep an eye on the city's power grid for any anomalies."

Ren nodded, his dog ears perking up as he turned back to his screens. "I'm on it," he said, his hands already typing away. Tango gave an affirmative grunt, heading towards the tech room where he could monitor the city's systems for anything out of the ordinary. DocM nodded, his mind already racing with new inventions. "Who put you in charge?" Zed's British voice rains over the sound of movment, adding a joke to the heavy atmosphere.

John looked around the room, his gaze finally landing on impulse, who was shivering despite Tango's lingering warm embrace. "We're all in this together," he said, his voice firm. "We've got to stick together."

Impulse nodded, his eyes flickering with a mix of fear and determination. "I'm with you guys," he said, his voice still shaking slightly. "But what do we do about the truce with the heroes?"

John sighed. "For now, we keep it to ourselves," he said. "We can't risk them getting involved yet. Not until we know more about the Tidal Terror. I'd say that three heroes knowing about this is enough to work with. If we need anyone else there are other vigilantes and petty villains to call for instead of heroes we haven't previously met."

The group nodded in agreement, the gravity of their situation setting in. They had to act quickly, but also cautiously. The Tidal Terror was an unknown quantity, and their power could be unpredictable. John knew that they couldn't afford any missteps, both literally and figuratively.

Chapter Text

While Ren and Tango worked on their respective tasks, John approached Skizz with a pat on the back. "You okay, man?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice. Skizz looked up, his eyes wide with fear, but he managed a weak nod. "Good," John said firmly. "We're going to need all hands on deck for this one."

Skizz took a deep breath and stood up straight, the wings on his back fluttering slightly. "I'm in," he said, his voice gaining confidence. "I'll do whatever it takes to help." After a pause, the small question in the air materializes. "But when you say 'all hands', do you mean this group or should I call the other two?"

John hesitated, glancing around the room. "For now, just us," he said, his eyes lingering on Zedaph and Tango. "We need to keep this tight-knit until we know what we're dealing with." The two others Skizz mentioned are very high status, HotGuy (real name Ryan Times that goes by Scar due to his many battle marks,) and his sidekick CuteGuy (or Charles goes by Grian). Their status of numbers 1 and 2 heroes makes them more likely to get caught working with vigilantes and villains no matter the cause. Both of which always happy to help in ways they can though. Grian especially loving the chaos and Scar being too lovable and caring for his own good.

The group dispersed to their tasks, the tension in the air palpable. John couldn't shake the feeling that they were walking into a trap, but the thought of letting the Tidal Terror wreak havoc on the city was unbearable.

He made his way to the armory, his mossy green hoodie still hanging idly over the side of the couch in the front room, his bandanna around his neck. Everyone usually suits up during meetings unless it's last minute even though they all know each other's identities from previous accidents and necessities. Ren suggested the idea to keep it "formal and safer for all of us in case of calls any of us heroes might get. It would be pretty awkward if we were the only ones in gear." Later he added that seeing everyone all dressed up brought joy to his little theater kid heart which Skizz leaned on heavily. They didn't escape the talk of theater for another hour and a half after that.

Picking through the racks of weapons and gear, John's mind raced with scenarios. What if the Tidal Terror was more than just a powerful villain? What if they had a vendetta against vigilantes? His thoughts were interrupted by the beep of his communicator. It was Ren.

"BDubs, I've found something," Ren's voice was strained with urgency. "The Tidal Terror has a pattern. They've been targeting those with fire and electrical-based powers or affiliations. It's like they're collecting something, or... making a statement."

John's heart sank. Tango and impulse were both on that list. Doc as well by the time the villain turns to fighting heroes. "Keep digging," he said, his voice tight. "We need to know where they're going to strike next."

In the tech room, Tango's eyes narrowed as he studied the monitors. The city's waterways had been unusually active lately, but he couldn't pinpoint anything specific. His mind raced with the fear of losing his friends to this new threat. Impulse hovered nearby, his eyes darting to the screens and back to Tango, his anxiety palpable, more so than usual at least, still damp and cold though his own higher than normal body heat makes quick work of warming him.

"I don't get it," Tango murmured, his pyrokinetic energy crackling around his fingertips. "They're like a ghost, no trace, no pattern."

John's eyes never left Ren's screens. "They're too new for that," he said, his voice tight. "We just have to look closer. Maybe only going for civilians, villains. And vigilantes is a strategy we can trace them by."

Ren nodded, his own expression grim. "I'll keep searching," he said. "But we're running out of time."

John knew he was right. They needed to find the Tidal Terror before they struck again. He turned to Doc, who was already tinkering with a new gadget. "Any ideas for something that could counter water-based attacks?" he asked.

Doc looked up, his robotic eye spinning as he considered the question. "I might have something in the works," he said, his German accent thick. "A new suit that can withstand high pressure and manipulate water currents, as well as keep the two sensitive to water from getting irritated by it. But it's not ready yet. If we can't use it by the end of whatever this battle will be, it will still be useful to have for future reference for the fiery two."

John's gaze fell on the half-finished suit on Doc's worktable. "We might not have the luxury of time," he said, his voice tinged with urgency. "We need to be prepared for anything."

Doc nodded, setting down his tools. "Then we'll work around the clock," he said. "We can't have our group in danger."

The room was a whirlwind of activity as the vigilantes and the hero set to work. Ren's screens flickered with information as he combed through the city's data for any sign of the Tidal Terror. Tango paced the floor, his mind racing with potential leads and traps he could set for the elusive water-based villain. Impulse hovered by the windows, his eyes searching the skies for any sign of trouble.

John approached Doc, his gaze on the suit. "How long before it's ready?" he asked, his voice low.

"At least a day," Doc replied, his brow furrowed in concentration. "But it'll be worth it. This suit can give us the edge we need."

John nodded, his mind racing. "Then we've got to keep our eyes open," he said, his voice tight. "We can't afford to be caught off-guard."

The hours passed in a blur of research and preparation. Ren's eyes burned with the glow of the screens as he searched for any pattern in the Tidal Terror's movements. Tango's mind was a maelstrom of possible scenarios, each more dangerous than the last. Impulse, unable to sit still, practiced his agility and speed, pushing his body to the limit in anticipation of the next encounter. Zed had been stitching a particularly bad tear in his light brown sweater that he wears under a long white lab coat for his villain outfit. He buries himself in work to keep his mind quiet from stresses. He's already gone through drying impulse's clothes from earlier.

John, on the other hand, found himself pacing the base, his mind racing. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something crucial. He knew the value of a good plan, but instinct told him that the Tidal Terror was playing a different game. One that didn't follow the rules.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the city in an eerie blue glow, John's communicator beeped again. It was Ren, his voice tight with excitement. "I've found something," he said, his words cutting through the tension in the room. "A spike in the water pressure at the docks. It's not natural."

John's heart raced as he snatched up the communicator. "Details?" he barked.

"It's recent," Ren said, his fingers flying over the keyboard. "Within the last hour. And it's big. Could be a trap, or a sign of something big happening."

John's eyes narrowed. "Gear up," he said, his voice low. "We're heading to the docks."

The team moved swiftly, donning their costumes and weapons with practiced ease. Tango's eyes glowed blue now as he summoned a fiery blade, his usual grin replaced with a grim determination. Doc's robotic arm whirred to life as he attached a waterproof pack to his back, filled with gadgets designed to combat their aquatic adversary.

John paused, his hand hovering over his mossy green hoodie. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his decision to involve heroes and villains in his vigilante world. But as he pulled the hood over his head as well as pulling up his red bandanna, the fabric whispered a promise of protection and anonymity. he was B00100 now. Bdubs. With a nod to the others, he led the way out of the base and into the night. How he became the leader of this mitch-match group of vigilantes, villains, and heroes, he was completely oblivious. But they came together at his call anyway, Skizz and Zed arrived to a building just outside the area of sea and sand to discuss their plans.

The docks were quiet, the usual hustle and bustle of the night market muted by the looming threat. The scent of saltwater and fish hung heavy in the air, mixing with the faint smell of burning metal from DocM's lab. Bdubs's eyes darted around, his senses on high alert as they approached the area where the water pressure had spiked. His time manipulation power thrummed beneath his skin, ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice. "Is now a good time to discuss a name for this little group?" Zed's timid British voice adding some comedic relief to ease the tension in everyone's expression.

Tango rolled his eyes, his blue hair a stark contrast against the darkness. "Now's not the time, Zedaph, " he said, his tone a mix of amusement and annoyance. "We've got work to do."

Bdubs nodded in agreement. "Let's focus," he said, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The moon cast a silver glow over the calm waters, but the quiet was deceptive. He's usually never the one to focus on anything for long, always all over the place in his cartoony and witty sort of way. But this newfound leadership role has almost completely sent him into a protective mode over his partners and friends.

The group spread out, each taking a position around the dock. Ren's telekinetic eyes scanned the shadows, while DocM remained in the shadows, his robotic eye scanning for any signs of trouble. Skizz hovered nearby, his wings fluttering anxiously.

Bdubs felt the tension in the air, his heart racing as they approached the epicenter of the disturbance. "Stay alert," he murmured into his communicator. "We don't know what we're walking into."

Ren could sense the trouble. It hung in the air like the salt from the sea. 'What am I missing? Why am I always the one so lost and confused?' His mind racks in complaints, but he knew better than to voice them out loud. They were all on edge. Skizz was hovering too much, the always confident hero now anxious, and Bdubs was too quiet, which was saying something.

As they approached the docks, the silence was broken by the distant sound of splashing water and the creaking of metal. The group tensed, each one ready for combat. Impulse's blue flames flickered to life, casting an eerie glow that matched with the now icy glow Tango was emitting on their drenched surroundings. They were standing in the shadow of a towering crane, its arm hanging over the water like the limb of a giant mechanical beast.

Bdubs raised his hand, signaling for everyone to stop. "Spread out," he whispered, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of movement. "But keep within earshot." His time manipulation power was on standby, ready to be unleashed if they needed an advantage.

The group split up, each of them moving silently towards the source of the noise. The sound grew louder, the water splashing in a rhythmic pattern that seemed almost... calculated. It was as if they were being led into a trap, but there was no turning back now. The safety of the city and their friends was at stake.

Skizz took to the air, his eyes peeled for any sign of movement on the water's surface. His heart raced, the beat of his wings echoing the rhythm of his pulse. He had never felt so alive, so aware of every sensation around him. The cool breeze whispered in his ears.

The sound grew closer, and suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows. Tall and slender, with a cape that billowed in the wind, they were unmistakably the Tidal Terror. Their eyes glowed with a cold blue light, and the water around them churned ominously.

"Well, well," they sneered, their voice echoing across the dock. "You've come to play in my pool, haven't you?"

Bdubs stepped forward, his hooded figure a stark contrast against the moonlit water. "Tidal Terror," he called out, his voice steady despite the fear that threatened to overwhelm him. "We're here to stop you."

The Tidal Terror smirked, raising their hand to reveal a trident that shimmered with an unnatural light. "You think you can stand against the power of the sea?" they taunted, the waves below rising in response to their words.

Bdubs's gaze never wavered. "We've faced worse. I've faced worse." he said, his voice a mix of confidence and bravado. He glanced over his shoulder at his companions, their forms tense and ready for battle.

Terror's eyes narrowed, and a wall of water shot up from the harbor, rushing towards them. Without hesitation, Tango raised his hand, and a wave of flame met the onslaught, vaporizing the water into steam. Terror's smirk faltered, surprise flickering in their eyes.

"Is that all you've got?" Tango sneered, his voice echoing with the power of his own fire. The flames around him grew, casting the dock in a warm, flickering light that contrasted sharply with the cold, wet air. He'd been told to stand back, let the others deal with it first due to his extreme sensitivity to water against his skin. He wanted to help though. And so far, he had done a good job.

Terror's smirk grew wider, their eyes glinting with malicious intent. "You think you're so clever, don't you?" they said, their voice a chilling blend of amusement and contempt. "But you've only just begun to see the true extent of my power." So set on the battle in front ot them, they hadn't registered the beating wings now behind them.

Skizz swooped down, his wings cutting through the misty air like a knife. "Not so fast, Tidal Terror," he called, his fists glowing with an electric charge. But as he landed, the ground beneath him shifted. The wooden planks of the dock began to warp and split as water bubbled up from beneath.

Ren's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. "The dock's compromised!" he yelled into his communicator. "We need to move now!" But before they could react, the planks gave way, sending them all tumbling into the icy embrace of the harbor.

Bdubs felt the cold water rush over him, the shock stealing his breath. He kicked his legs, trying to propel himself up. As he broke through the surface, he saw his friends struggling against the currents, Tango and impulse struggling terribly and painfully in the water. With a few flicks of his wrist as he was thrown up with a current. It all stopped but him. As he fell the short distance he was flung from the water he hit it. It felt like concrete as it was stilled.

Everything was silent and still. Paused. He could do this. After setting a target, first being Tango, and a few more clever flicks and spins with his hand, Tango was moving in repeat. After just enough time, the still paused Tsngo now stood back where he was in the shadows, his fire surrounded him as he grinned in victory over the initial wave.  The extra fire would definitely help warm his soaked clothes enough for them to be less irritating on his skin. After doing the same with the others and doing his best to dry Skizzle's wings to keep him in the air, one simple snap and...

The world unfroze with a jolt, sending a spray of water into the air. Terror's eyes widened in surprise, the smugness replaced with a hint of fear. They hadn't anticipated this.

"Nice trick," Terror hissed, the water around them swirling into a frenzy. "But you can't stop the tide forever."

Bdubs didn't reply. He knew they had the upper hand for now, but time was not on their side. Ren swooped in, his telekinetic powers lifting chunks of the shattered dock to form a barricade between them and the Tidal Terror. DocM stepped up, his robotic arm glowing with a fierce, cybernetic red, as he activated his new water-resistant gear. "This won't hold them for long," he warned, his eyes locked on the villain.

Skizz hovered in the air, his wings glowing with an electrical charge. "I can feel it," he said, his voice tight with concentration. "They're building up for something big."

Chapter Text

"Not on my watch!" Zedaph spoke, lifting the swirling goggles to lock the other villain in his hypnotic gaze, both eyes now a glowing magenta, broken only by the rectangles of a sheep's pupil. His usual pale lavender right and hazel left changed as his powers kick in.

The Tidal Terror's smile faltered, their eyes flickering between Zedaph and the chaos they'd created. The water around them stilled for a moment, as if the very sea itself was caught in Zed's thrall. The hypnosis power wasn't what gave the villain his flare, it was the dreams they subjected on anyone who dared to catch his gaze. Within them played every weird, crazy, impossible, fun desire the human mind could conjure up in compromise of his public seeing his face if caught.

Bdubs took the moment of distraction and dashed towards the villain, his legs moving in a blur. He knew his time power was the key to victory here, no matter how sparingly he had to use them because of the dreaded fatigue that played after moments of overuse he had started feeling after drying Skizzle's wings the best he could. He had to find a way to use it strategically.

Tango, feeling the warmth from his repeated fire bursts, felt the water around him heat up. It was an odd sensation, but surprisingly not entirely unpleasant. He saw his opportunity and took it, flaming lances shot from his fingertips, aimed straight at Terror's chest. The water villain roared in surprise and annoyance, the flaming projectiles sizzling as they hit the water. Both they and Tango having a difficult time doing as much damage as they'd like with how drastic their powers played on their physicality.

Tidal Terror stumbled back, their body convulsing as the heat clashed with their water-based form, his gaze with Zed cut. Zed immediately shoots his spiraling goggles back over his eyes, never fond of how his identity is so revealed as he uses his power but nothing ever looks right any other way. But there was only a moment's reprieve. The terrible villain's eyes narrowed, and with a flick of their wrist, a giant wave crashed into Tango, sending him flying back into the water, skin immediately burning.

Bdubs cursed under his breath, his eyes on the villain as he tried to calculate his next move. Ren, seeing his friend in trouble, acted swiftly. He reached out with his telekinetic powers, the water around Tango running off of a circle of invisible barrier that protected him from the onslaught. But he couldn't hold it for long.

Impulse took advantage of the opening, his blue flames burning brighter than ever before as he streaked through the air, aiming for Tidal Terror's head. But the villain was fast, their cape fluttering like a flag in a storm as they dodged the attack. "You're all so predictable," Terror sneered, the water around them coalescing into a whip-like tendril that lashed out at Impulse, sending him spiraling into the water.

What they didn't expect was impulse's favorite hero and best friend Skizzle to be ripping them backwards and down, a dive from the sky as claws were dug into their shoulders and gravity pulled the two for the street's pavement.

"You're not getting away with this!" Skizz shouted as the two crashed to the ground, his grip tightening. The Tidal Terror's eyes widened in pain and surprise, their concentration on their watery assault broken.

DocM was quick to follow, his robotic arm reaching for the villain's trident. The metal clashed with the enchanted weapon, sparks flying as he tried to pry it from Terror's grip. The struggle was intense, the power of the sea clashing with the might of technology and brute strength.

Meanwhile, Ren's screened sunglasses flickered to life again, displaying a map of the city. He noticed the fellow heroes finally dispatched to the fight. He just hoped the two showing up were the most beloved duo in the city. "Guys, we've got incoming," he warned, his voice tight with urgency in case it wasn't the two he hoped it was, ready to get his newfound villain and vigilante friends to go if it proved dangerous for them.

The Tidal Terror grinned, their teeth gritted in pain from the grip of Skizz's talons. "You think you're so smart," they snarled, their eyes flickering with blue light. "But the sea is unforgiving. And it will claim you all!"

Bdubs's heart raced as he watched his friends struggle against the powerful villain. He knew he had to find a quick way out for him and the villains and vigilante he worked with in case the heroes showing up weren't the beloved HotGuy and CuteGuy duo the city adored.

With a swift mental calculation, he realized that if he could manipulate the flow of time just right, he could create a temporary pause to everything but the four of them, buying them precious moments to regroup and retreat without being seen by the incoming heroes if proved necessary. He focused intently, his eyes narrowing above the bandanna.

As the two heroes approached, their footsteps echoing through the night, the world around them seemed to slow with anticipation. Without much more drawl of tension, HotGuy and CuteGuy's figures grew larger, their expressions determined as they surveyed the battle-torn dock. But to Bdubs and his companions, they were a blessing of kindness and help, though they weren't as comforted by the reporting helicopter also dispatched to note the occurrence to the news live. This limited Zed's ability to use his power in fear of his identity being caught in frame if he lifted his goggles.

"Now," Bdubs murmured into the communicator, his voice low and urgent. "We need to get out of here. We can't risk being seen together." But the three heroes already there along with the two now arriving had different plans, ready to show the city that villains, vigilantes, and heroes could work together for a good cause.

Skizz tightened his grip, his wings fluttering as he felt the weight of the moment. They were on the cusp of something big, something that could either save or doom their reputations. "You can't leave yet," he said through gritted teeth. "We've got this. All of us."

HotGuy and CuteGuy exchanged a glance, their eyes widening in faux surprise as they took in the sight of the two vigilantes and the villainous duo standing against Tidal Terror with three other heroes. For a brief moment, the air was thick with uncertainty. Then, CuteGuy stepped forward, his voice calm and steady. "Looks like we're not the only ones who want to keep the city safe," he said, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

HotGuy nodded, his orange and teal eyes only playing while a hero behind his equally colored and tinted glasses never leaving the water-wielding villain. "We're here to help," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. The tension between the groups dissipated slightly, replaced by a tentative trust. "Double0? You think you can pause this trouble for a little longer?" The American lightly calls on Bdubs, the shorter feeling slightly intimidated by the fact this was being streamed live to the entire city, and fatigued already by his excessive use. He did want to show off, though, his nature of being an expressing and over the top vigilante kicking in and giving him the energy to push past the setting fatigue. He's got a bit left in him.

Bdubs nodded, his eyes flickering as he focused his time manipulation. Tidal Terror's grin was held in place, a macabre tableau of malicious intent. As they were frozen in their own time. As the power was used and held, Bdubs's right eye is held as a frozen clock, right down to the second he froze the villain. Iris and pupil replaced by a Renaissance golden clockface like one of the many pocket watches he currently has on him.

With the villain temporally incapacitated, Ren took the opportunity to whisper into his comms, "Deep Frost, Impulse, keep an eye on the news. If you need to leave, you two make it obvious to Zedaph and Double0." He knew he could trust them to get it done right.

Tango, still steaming from the water and pain, nodded. "We're on it," he hissed, his voice a mix of pain and determination. Impulse, though not looking entirely convinced, agreed. They both knew the risks of their alliance being discovered. Tango would be a more untrustworthy vigilante to the city's civilians.

The heroes stepped closer, their costumes a stark contrast against the backdrop of the night. HotGuy's gleaming black skin-tight suit, accented with orange and teal. And CuteGuy's sleek pink and white cropped sweater over a similar deep gray suit with the iconic "HG" and "CG" on their chests, were like a beacon of hope in the chaos. They didn't move to attack, instead, they studied the scene before them with a mix of curiosity and caution.

"Looks like we've got a bit of a situation here," HotGuy said, his eyes scanning the frozen water monster behind his split toned tinted glasses. "What's the plan?" He first turned to the heroes of the group but when all eyes landed on Bdubs, so did his.

Bdubs took a deep breath, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice. "We need Tidal Terror arrested," he said, his eyes flickering to the frozen villain. "They're too dangerous for everyone in the city to be left with any sort of leniency."

"Way ahead of you!" Skizz called, already cuffed the villain in power restraints tossed to him by HotGuy a moment before, the tool too new and in low supply to have been givin to every hero. "You can let him go now Dubs." With that, Bdubs immediately snapped, freeing both Terror from the stop and himself from the pressure gaining behind his eyes. Instead, weighing evenly in his fatigued limbs. 'Definitely gonna have one awful headache soon.' And right after that thought came a wave of blinding nausea that he was able to survive.

The Tidal Terror struggled in the steel bonds, their eyes glowing with anger as they realized their defeat. The villains and vigilantes watched, still tense, but ready to step in if needed as the heroes took everything into more professional hands.

"We've got this," HotGuy assured them, his voice echoing in the night. "Thank you for your help." And with that, the 6 heroes let the city watch as the villains and vigilantes fled the scene, even smiling as they went.

As they disappeared into the shadows, the heroes turned their full attention to Tidal Terror. Ren watched them go with a mix of relief and anxiety. The alliance was still a secret, but for how much longer? He knew that keeping Zedaph and impulse out in the city to the public eye was a risk, especially with their distinctive villain appearance to the city.

"Well," CuteGuy said, turning to his partner with a grin, "looks like we've got a bit of cleaning up to do."

HotGuy nodded, his gaze lingering on the spot where the vigilantes had vanished. "Interesting allies we've made tonight." He glanced at CuteGuy, who rolled his eyes playfully. Both trying to keep the act of having just met the bads of the city, showing no signs of the already bloomed friendship formed a long time ago.

The five heroes set to work, securing the scene and giving statements to the news crew that had descended upon the docks like seagulls on a dropped hotdog. Meanwhile, back at the base, Bdubs, Tango, Impulse, and Zedaph watched the live feed with bated breath. The cameraman's flashes reflected off the wet pavement, painting a stark picture of the battle's aftermath.

"They bought it," Impulse murmured, his eyes glued to the screen. His yellow horns practically embedded in the wall as his head hangs back with his usual anxiety.

"For now," Zedaph added, his sheepish gaze flicking to each of them. "But we can't keep playing both sides forever. We're stil villains, impy."

"I know, I know," Impulse muttered, his yellow gaze dimming slightly.

"We did what we had to," Tango said, his voice gruff but his eyes earnest. "We're not like the others. We're not here to cause pain. And I'm not just saying that from a vigilante standpoint."

Bdubs nodded solemnly. He knew that Zedaph and Impulse had hearts of gold, even if the city saw them as monsters. They were all just trying to do their part in the grand scheme of things, even if their methods weren't always... legal. But then again, neither were him and Tango either. Vigilantes were seen almost just as illegally as villains were depending on the time.

The group sat in silence, the TV broadcasting the heroes' victory. Each of them lost in their own thoughts, contemplating the fragility of their newfound alliance. It was a dance on the edge of a knife, one wrong move and they could all fall into the abyss of public hatred or worse, a hero's job.

Bdubs broke the silence, his mind racing with scenarios of what could go wrong. "We can't keep this up forever," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We need to figure out how to balance our... careers with this... friendship."

"Agreed," Tango said, his eyes still on the TV. "But for now, let's focus on the win. We stopped Tidal Terror."

"We'll celebrate once everyone playing a part gets back here. I doubt anyone wants to see Ren's 'kicked puppy' look again if he found out we were celebrating without him." Impulse chimes in with a fond smile and a grimace as he recalls the shattered look of Ren after he'd been told he missed a rare get-together while on mandatory patrol some months back. His ears shot back, hand-over-heart kinda betrayed look. He spent a week complaining about it to Doc.

"Impy's right," Tango says with a chuckle, his now red eyes dancing with the light from the TV. As he ignored the glare he gets from impulse at the nickname. "Let's wait for the all-clear."

The minutes ticked by with the tension in the room palpable until finally, Ren's voice crackled through the comms. "All clear, guys. The coast is... well, not clear, but we're safe." He sounded exhausted, but there was a hint of relief in his tone.

Skizz's eyes lit up at the words Ren spoke in front of him a few alleyways away from the scene, just having ducked away with himself, Doc, and Ren. The latter two sharing odd smiles, glances, and eventually standing hand-in-hand, that made Skizz feel slightly like a 3rd wheel for a reason he was unsure. "We did it," he said, his voice filled with awe. "We actually did it."

Ren nodded, his grip on Doc's hand tightening slightly. "We did," he murmured, his gaze flickering to the general direction of Tidal Terror in a police car being driven away some blocks away. "But we can't let our guard down. Not yet."

Chapter Text

The group of three made their way back to the base, the number one and two heroes having an interview booked they needed to leave for, footsteps echoing in the quiet streets. The adrenaline of the battle slowly wearing off, leaving behind a strange sense of calm that none of them had ever felt before. Along with the ache of their spent bodies. They had all played their parts perfectly, but it was the aftermath that concerned them most. How would the public react to them being with villains and vigilantes?

As they entered the base, they were met with a scene of chaos. The usually meticulously organized space was littered with discarded gear and half-eaten food. "Looks like someones finally decided to show up," Zedaph quipped, his British accent thick with sarcasm as he looked at the immediately overwhelmed heroes. The vigilantes both wrestling on the floor over a bag of chips, or crisps if you were asking Zed. Impulse was eating his own while somehow sitting on the refrigerator. Maybe to avoid a fight with either Bdubs or Tango.

"Guys!" Ren called out, his voice a mix of exasperation and relief. Tango and Bdubs immediately jumped to their feet, brushing off their clothes as they approached, smiling innocently though it was clear Tango bit Bdubs's arm and Bdubs slapped Tango in the forehead with potentially his foot.

Skizz couldn't help but chuckle at the sight. "So, what's the plan now?" he asked, his gaze shifting between the rest of them.

"Plan now?" Bdubs thought for less than his brain could probably conjure a thought before responding. "Party."

The room went quiet for a split second before it erupted into cheers. Even DocM couldn't help but chuckle at the simplicity of the statement. "But of course," he said, his robotic arm pumping into the air. "We've earned it."

They gathered their gear, the base coming alive with a buzz of energy as they discussed the night's events. Each member of the alliance had their own stories to tell, their own moments of triumph and fear. They laughed, they commiserated, and they reveled in the success of their unorthodox teamwork.

Zedaph was a little less than ecstatic about everything, having his head practically shoved into his phone as he watched and re-watched every angle of the news report and footage of the event. Hoping he pulled his goggles down by the time the footage was shot. He wasn't sure. Distracted by the possibility of his face being on record. He was still happy, though. He just helped some of his closest friends defeat a villain live on the news!

Impulse looked around, his yellow eyes flickering with excitement. "We should do this again," he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "We make a pretty good team."

"Every team needs a name!" Zed draws the group back to what he'd said just before the battle, now being a much better time to discuss it.

Bdubs blinks, looking around the room. "Yeah, we can't just go out there as 'the heroes, the vigilantes and their villain pals'. That doesn't have a good ring to it."

Ren nods thoughtfully. "How about 'The Shadow Alliance'?" he suggests, a hint of pride in his voice.

Doc huffs in response. "Wasn't that the name of your silly little edgy music group in highschool?"

Ren rolls his eyes at the jab. "It's perfect. It's mysterious, it's edgy, and it doesn't give away who we are. Just because you don't like Martyn doesn't mean you have to turn down a perfect name." Clearly Doc and Ren had some inside jokes and jabs for the other.

HotGuy and CuteGuy, still on the news, discussed the events with the reporter. "It's a strange night indeed," HotGuy said, a smirk playing on his lips. "But we're just happy that everyone made it out safe. The other hands on scene were quite the hermits honestly. Not talkative and pretty reserved for some obvious reasons. But they definitely...." The sounds all trail off to the group as the name clicks in all their heads.

"Hermits," Tango says, his eyes lighting up. "I like the sound of that."

"Hermits Incorporated," Impulse says with a snicker. "It's got a ring to it."

Bdubs nods. "Alright, 'Hermits Incorporated it is," he says with a grin, slapping Tango on the shoulder. Who scowls somewhat affectionately in response.

Chapter Text

The TV cuts to a commercial break, and the room falls silent again as they all look at each other, the weight of their decision sinking in. They had just named themselves something that could either be a legend or a joke in the city's eyes. But they were in this together, for better or worse.

"So, what do we do now?" Skizz asked, his grip on the table tight. "We can't just go out there and announce we're a thing."

"We'll keep it low-key for now," Ren assured him, his eyes flicking to Zedaph, who was still engrossed in his phone. "We'll keep our alliance between us. Help out where we can without drawing too much attention- Zed. Buddy? No one saw your face, my dude."

Zedaph looked up, his perfectly sheepish smile barely visible. "Right, right," he said, scratching behind one of his sheep ears. "I'm just... checking the weather."

The others chuckled, understanding his nerves. They were all in this together now, and the stakes had never been higher. Ren took a deep breath, looking around the table. "For now, we keep doing what we do best. Protect the city in our own ways, but keep an eye out for each other."

Tango nodded, his gaze serious. "And we keep our eyes open for any other threats like Tidal Terror. Who knows what other monsters are out there?"

"Monsters like us?" Impulse murmured, his voice low and almost accusatory. Referring to himself and Zed, the two only villains and major bads of the group.

Skizz shot his best friend a look that could kill a man with kindness. "You're the monsters that saved the city but also are living against it, buddy. That's the kind of monsters you are." He clapped a hand on Impulse's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "We're all technically monsters if you think about it, most of our features definitely aren't very human."

Zedaph finally looked up from his phone, his expression a mix of relief and determination. "We'll keep our alliance under wraps for now," he said, his voice firm. "But we can't ignore the fact that we're stronger together than we are apart."

Bdubs nodded, his gaze intense. "We'll keep our eyes open for opportunities to work together," he said. "But we need to be careful. If word gets out, it could mean the end of all of us. If the heroes get caught that will lead to them probably losing their jobs or having to sell out the rest of us or likely both on top of a likely to potential arrest."

"Or worse," Zed added, his red eyes darkening. "If the villains find out, they'll think we've turned, selling them out in secret. And we've all seen what happens to traitors in villain line of work."

The room grew somber at the thought. Each of them knew the risks of their newfound friendship and alliance. They were all playing a dangerous game, but the thought of a city free from the fear of monsters like Tidal Terror was worth it to them.

"We've got to be smart about this," Doc said, his robotic eye glowing with a seriousness that matched his words. "We need to keep our identities secret at all costs. No slipping up, no loose ends." The only identities that the public should ever know are of Ren, and Skizz. The two heroes's real name's on websites and emails and hero business details for anyone to see. Doc's being hidden by his choice of anonymity and only disclosed to the most trusted.

The Hermits all nodded in unison, the gravity of the situation not lost on any of them. They knew that if their alliance was to succeed, they had to be meticulous. The balance between hero and villain was a fine one, and any misstep could send the entire operation crumbling down around them.

"We'll keep it tight," Tango said, his eyes flitting to Zedaph and Impulse. "Our secret stays here, no matter what."

The room was thick with nods and murmurs of agreement. The weight of their decision was clear, but the camaraderie that had grown in the heat of battle was stronger. They were a team, an unlikely one, but a team nonetheless.

The next few days were a blur of patrols and secret meetings. They all had their own battles to fight, their own lives to lead. But when the city needed them, they were there. Ren and Skizz took to the skies as their hero personas, while Bdubs, Tango, Impulse, and Zedaph stuck to the shadows, using their abilities to keep the peace from the sidelines. Doc, always being dragged into hero meetings and interviews. Clearly the committee has been worried about his behavior around vigilantes and villains.

They communicated through encrypted messages and coded signals, always ready to come to each other's aid if the need arose. They had become a well-oiled machine, each playing their part to keep the city safe from the growing tide of threats that lurked beneath the surface.

One evening, as Ren patrolled the city as TheRedKing, he picked up an unusual energy signature. His senses tingled with anticipation as he swooped down from the rooftops with his power, his red cape billowing out behind him like a fiery comet. His heart raced as he recognized the signal; it was one of his own, and it was coming from the abandoned warehouse district.

"What's going on?" he asked through the comms, his voice tense.

"We've got trouble!" B00100's voice crackled back, his more cartoony style back in full force. "Someone's raiding our base!"

Ren's heart sank. "Who?"

"Can't tell," B00100 replied, his voice tight. "But they're not alone."

Ren eased himself down to the main floor of the base, his eyes landing on two very familiar faces to him. Two vigilantes, seen all over the news. One, a tall man, about 6'1 has been in this business for years. His stark white hair so fluffy that it almost completely hid his arctic fox ears. The other, a much smaller and agile, clearly younger, girl with waves of orange hair, tied back in twin space buns behind her own red fox ears. She was an incredible fighter, and he was a dangerous mind. It was clear he was in the presence of the two beloved vigilantes Etho and Gemini.

Etho wore the same muted green vest over muted purple sweater with dulled and weathered jeans and combat boots and gray face mask he had his entire career of business with his telekinetic engendering power set. Gem, now wore a almost eery deep blue pirate outfit, fit with a face mask of treasurs layering the bottom half of her face. Her style always changing, it was hard to really tell it was her you were seeing unless you saw her signature fighting style along her bright charged force of a power, only quite useful for knock-back, making her actual combat stronger. Hopefully on an observing end is where you would recognize it.

Ren's tension eased when he saw them, knowing how fond Bdubs and Etho were of each other from working alongside each other from the beginning. As well as how Gem looked up to the both of them as both mentors and inspiration.

But the hero didn't know how the vigilantes would react to him being here, they most likely didn't know what this place was.

"Etho, Gemini?" Ren called out, his voice echoing through the dimly lit space. "What are you two doing here?"

The duo turned to face him, their expressions, though only eyes visible,  a mix of surprise and suspicion. Etho raised an eyebrow, his hand resting on his mask. "Red," he said evenly. "This isn't exactly a place we'd expect to see you." His almost bored Canadian voice a signature.

Gemini took a more defensive stance, her glowing green eyes scanning the room. "What's going on here?" she asked, her voice firm but not quite hostile. "We didn't mean to stumble across whatever hero hideout this it."

Ren took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. "It's... not quite what you think," he began, trying to figure out how to explain the situation without revealing too much. "We're just... using this place for a joint operation."

Etho's eyebrow remained raised, his stance not relaxing. "A joint operation with who?"

Ren paused for a moment, glancing around the room, then back at the two vigilantes. "With some... friends," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "We've formed an alliance of sorts. To tackle the big bads. But this is all very confidential hero business that will need every member present for discussion!" His demeanor the ever theatric hero he puts on.

Etho nodded, his eyes never leaving Ren's. "Alright," he said slowly. "We'll wait."

The tension in the room was thick as they waited for the others to arrive. Ren could almost hear the gears turning in their heads, trying to piece together the puzzle of this unconventional alliance. When the rest of the group finally showed up, the looks of confusion and suspicion on Etho and Gem's faces grew deeper.

'Where the heck is Bdubs? He's the one that said the base was being raided for goodness sakes!' Ren thought, still in a stare down he was probably losing with the heterochromatic gaze of Etho.

The comms crackled to life as B00100's voice filled the room. "I'm on my way, had a... uh... slight detour."

Ren shoots a retort right back. "A-a detour?! With what!? Where even are you? I swear if you were in another guitar dealership without me again you'll never step foot in another."

B00100 laughs nervously over the comms. "It's fine, I'm just... dealing with some pesky fans."

'He went to look at guitars without me again." Ren's sad monolog mostly to himself rather the confused vigilantes in the room, questioning why he and a vigilante are so friendly. "Everyone knows he hasn't had fans in years."

"Well, if it isn't TheRedKing," a third voice chimed in, breaking the tension. Ren and the others turned to see the mossy green hoodie and red bandana of B00100 striding into the room, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"Bdubs, what the hell is going on?" Etho demanded, "Why are you getting friendly with a hero?" It sounded more protective than accusatory. The closest the two have ever come to actually fighting being over a horse in a video game.

"It's complicated," Bdubs replied, his usual playful tone replaced with something more cartoony. "But we're all on the same side here. For now, at least."

Ren assesses the scene. "Are the others coming? You said the base was being raided and I was the only one that responded."

"Yeah, Doc had a...uh...mechanical emergency and Zed's busy with something," Bdubs replied, his voice tinged with an apology. "But hey, look who we've got!" He gestures to the new arrivals, a villain known for their sharp wit and skills in verbal combat.

Ren gasps theatrically. "You weren't at a guitar store without me again!" And then as he assessed again, he realizes how out numbered he is now. "A new villain, I see?" He voice now laced with apprehension.

The villain in question, 5'5, wild ginger hair, green tinted skin barely visible around the burnt masquerade mask and torn battle clothes.

Arson. A simple name depicting exactly what she can do and what she loves. Though she possess the power of regeneration and healing, she has a gimmick of starting at least a small fire wherever they decide to cause trouble.

"Let's not start a war just yet," Arson says with a smirk, her British voice a mix of sass and danger.

Ren's eyes widened, his heart racing. "Arson," he said, recognizing the notorious villain immediately. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, if your buddy here is going to start an alliance, I figured I might as well crash the party," Arson said, her smirk growing.

"Lovely!" Ren makes a show of pretending to lean into his communicator while stage-whispering. "I need backup, NOW." After enough laughter he leans back a bit "Only joking! I swear!"

Etho's grip on his mask loosened slightly. "You've got five minutes to explain this, Booko," he said, his voice a mix of curiosity and wariness.

Bdubs took a deep breath, his eyes darting around the room. "Okay, okay, no need for that name." he began. "So, we've all seen the mess the city's been in lately, right? And we know that we can't do it alone."

Etho nodded slowly, his gaze still on Ren. "Go on."

Bdubs took a step forward, his hands up in a placating gesture. "We've formed an alliance, a secret one. Heroes vigilantes and villains working together to take down the big threats, the ones that are too much for any one of us to handle alone." He looked at Arson, who leaned against a crate with a smug smile. "And she's... helping us out. For now."

"And when was this agreed upon? Why am I so out of the loop! And I still haven't gotten out of these two what they're doing raiding our base!" Ren gestures around, landing on Etho and Gen.

Bdubs's smirk grew wider under his bandana. "Well, it was a bit of an impromptu thing. But we figured you'd be down."

Etho's eyes narrowed. "Me and Gem, here were just looking for a place to stop and thought an abandoned store would be perfect. Turns out it isn't as abandoned as we hoped."

Gemini's gaze flickered over to the group of heroes and villains. "What kind of alliance are we talking about?" She was jumping at the opportunity to have more connections, Etho hardly ever reaching out to others.

"The kind that keeps the city safe," Ren said, stepping forward. "The kind that takes down the big guys that we can't handle alone."

Etho and Gemini exchanged a look, the tension in the room palpable. "We're in," Etho said finally, his hand moving to his hip.

"Ok, this takes a lot more discussion than this. We'll need a meeting." Ren tries to find order. "But for now, let's not go around telling everyone about it. The more that know, the more that could go wrong. Let's keep it within us, the Hermits."

The group nodded, understanding the gravity of their situation. They were playing with fire, but they were all seasoned enough to know that sometimes you had to dance with the devil to keep the world from burning

Chapter Text

"Ren, you call a meeting. I'm tired of always leading this." Bdubs whines.

Ren nods, "Fine, I'll get everyone together." He sighs, his mind racing with the potential consequences of their actions. He knew that alliances between heroes and villains were unheard of, but the state of the city left them with little choice. They were all just trying to survive in a world that had gone mad with power.

Before he even had a chance to call, both Ren and Bdubs's communicators were beeping. Tango coming through with a message.

"Guys, we have a situation," Tango's voice was urgent. "There's been a break in at the hero. They're after something big, and they've got a new player with them."

The group decided long ago that 'players' are what they will call potential destructives they would have to fight. The threat of a new one hangs heavily between the two men as the others in the room seen a bit confused.

"Who's this 'new player'?" Etho asks, his eyes flicking from Ren to Bdubs.

Bdubs shrugs. "Don't know yet. But if they're targeting the hero's base, we can't ignore it." He shoots down the hall to his room to ready for the inevitable meeting Ren will call.

"Everyone to base. We have three guests listening in so suit-up is mandatory." Ren's voice is demanding and straight forward. More so than it usually is. Obviously uneasy about the guest standing before him.

Each member marks a response through their chat in the communicator. Every member showing up in full gear as required. As always, Scar and Grian don't show up. Meetings initially are just the soul group, any needed backup is to show up during later meetings potentially arranged.

The group quickly gathers in the meeting room of their base, the large round table in the center covered in maps and screens showing the various parts of the city. Ren stands at the head of the table, his eyes flicking over the faces of his allies and the three sitting at the end, observing all the faces they weren't expecting to be allied. He clears his throat, trying to regain some of the composure he lost when he found out about the break-in.

"Alright, let's get down to business," Ren says, his voice firm. "Tango, what do we know about the new player?"

Tango, dressed in his DeepFrost gear, flicks through the screens with a sigh. "They're calling themselves 'The Puppeteer'. They've got the ability to manipulate the environment and control people, but the intel's still patchy."

Arson's smirk faltered for a moment before she shrugged. "Sounds like someone's been watching too many action flicks."

The room was tense, the air thick with anticipation as they discussed their next move. Ren's mind raced with the implications of this new player, The Puppeteer. "We need to find out who they are and what they're after," he said, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "The powerset sounds similar enough to Zed's to figure out the best order of battle."

Bdubs nodded, his eyes narrowing in thought. "I'll look into it," he said, his fingers typing away on a keyboard hidden under the table with one hand while pointing to Impulse with the other. "See if there's any chatter in the villain underworld."

Impulse, dressed in his black and yellow attire, nodded solemnly, his horns glinting in the dim light. "On it," he murmured, his eyes flashing with a determination that was rare to see on the usually layed back playful villain.

Gemini, the youngest of the group, spoke up, her voice clear and strong. "What about the other heroes?" she asked. "They're bound to find out about this eventually."

"They already do." Skizz, in his gray, white, and dark blue gear, speaks up. "It was a break-in at the hero lab. I don't know what they stole but the workers were frantic when I left to get here." Doc nods in agreement, clearly with no clue about what was taken.

"We need to find out," Ren says, his eyes focused. "This could be something game-changing. We can't let them have the upper hand."

"I heard from a friend that works in the lab that they were in the middle of testing something to use to better suppress powers of villains. I'm assuming this new player would kill for a chance to get their hands on something like that." Doc adds.

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the situation settling over them like a dark cloud.

"Testing?" Tango speaks again. "Testing on what? How would they know what works to suppress powers without testing it on someone with powers?" At first, the comment is a genuine question. But as the implications set in, it means a lot more.

Etho's expression turns grim. "So, they're playing god now? That's a line you don't cross." His fists tighten at his side, his telekinetic power rippling through the air around him as he practically glares at the three heroes in the room.

Gemini's glowing eyes flash with anger. "They're experimenting on people?" she asks, her voice cold. "We can't let them get away with this." She also glares at the heroes, in disbelief the could be associated with people doing such things.

"Don't look at us!" Ren holds up his arms in innocence. "Not a single hero is allowed to know what goes on in the labs. We are just given tech, told how to use it, what it does, and that's it! I'm surprised Doc got the information he did."

DocM nods, his one robotic arm clicking as he crosses it over his chest. "It was an accidental slip-up. They weren't supposed to be discussing it in front of me."

Bdubs's gaze sharpens, his mind racing. "We have to find out what they've taken. If it's a power suppressor, we can't let it fall into the wrong hands." After another few beats, he pulls up a blue hologram of a sighting of the new player. A woman with a Renaissance look and woven strings into her design.

Arson's eyes light up with intrigue. "Ah, a fellow artist," she says, nodding in approval. "But we can't have someone playing with those kinds of toys. It's bad for business."

"Now that this discussion is at a good enough stop, let's quickly go over our visitors apparent joining applications." Ren draw attention to her and the two vigilantes.

Etho and Gemini look at each other, then nod. "We want in," Etho says, his voice firm. "But we're allowed to keep our identities, MY identity, under wraps, right?" He glances nervously around, remembering how Ren had to specify to suit up to the others. He wasn't fond of the idea of showing who he was to anyone. Nobody knew who he was and he planned for it to stay that way. Gem was perfectly able to make her own decisions though, and she wasn't afraid for allies to see who she was.

Ren nods quickly. "Of course, our alliance is built on trust and transparency. We're all here for the same reason, to protect the city. Whether we do it with capes or not. We tend to suit up most meetings, though last minute ones are less-so." He gestures to the part-put-together looks of the others, clearly in a rush to look presentable as their personas.

"Any new member is allowed to know our identities upon joining as agreed by the rest of us. If you feel uncomfortable showing your own, that's perfectly fine. Doc is the only one that tends not to disclose his own. If you don't want to know who we are for any reason, let us know." Ren says, looking directly at Etho who nodded in understanding.

Etho sighs, "Ok, I'm in. But I'm not giving up my day job." He says with a wink to Ren and then looking to Gem.

Gemini nods firmly. "I'm with him. We're in. But let's keep the secrets between us."

Impulse gives a good nod. "No one's identity leaves our group. We know what each other looks like, as well as most names, but our secrets never leave the group."

Ren nods. "Agreed, we're all in this together." He looks to Arson, who nods as well.

"I mean, I'm in. So, who goes first with identity revealing?" Arson says with a shrug, her voice a blend of curiosity and excitement. Her eyes glint with the thrill of a potential new adventure, the thrill of a new challenge.

Ren looks at her, his eyes wide. "You're okay with revealing your identity to us?" he asks, surprised when both Gem and Arson nod. Etho left unsure.

"If it means working with you lot and taking down some big fish, I can handle it." Arson says with a shrug, her mask slipping off to reveal a weathered, sharp-featured woman with a knowing smile. Her skin pale and stitched in places. "So, do I say my name?"

Ren nods. "If you're sure, then go ahead." He looks around the table, his gaze lingering on Etho, who still looks on edge.

Arson chuckles, "I'm Arson, as you already know," she says, her British accent as sharp as the flames she conjures. "But my real name is Cleo."

The room goes quiet for a moment before Ren breaks the silence. "Welcome to the team, Cleo." He extends a hand to her, which she takes with a firm shake. "Now, Gemini, would you like to go?"

Gemini nods, a hint of nervousness in her eyes. She reaches up and pulls off her mask, revealing the face of a young woman with bright, curious eyes. "I'm Taylor," she says with a smile. "But I tend to go by Gem both in and out of the mask."

"Etho, I'm assuming you want to keep things under wraps for now like Doc. Nothing wrong with that. I guess I'll go next then." Ren slides his glasses off, not a grand reveal, as expected from a well-known hero. "ThRedKing, as you all know. I go by Ren all the time." He says, the room nods in acknowledgment. "Next?"

Bdubs clears his throat, his eyes flicking over to Etho for a brief moment before speaking. "I'm John. But you can stick with Bdubs for now," he says with a smirk, his hand hovering over his mossy green hoodie for a moment before pulling down the hood and sliding his bandana to his neck.

Etho nods slowly, his gaze lingering on the face of his old ally. "John," he says, testing the name out again. It's been a while since they've seen each other outside of the costumes and masks.

"So, I go next?" Tango asks, his voice slightly muffled from his mask. He pulls it off, shaking his head to change his blue hair and eyes to his fiery blond hair, red eyes, and tanned complexion. "I'm DeepFrost, as you know. Or Tango Tek. Whatever. Call me Tango." He shrugs. "Next Impy?"

Impulse nods, his mask shifting slightly with his movements. "Sure, I'm Scott V. Most folks know me as Impulse." He says, his voice slightly muffled. He takes off his mask to show a young man with a cheeky smile. His brown hair sticking up slightly from the static from his powers once revealed beneath his hood. "Zed's go?"

Zedaph takes a deep breath, his sheep-like features prominent even without his swirled goggles. "Kris Playn. " he says, his voice quipped with the sound of a game show host, or potentially-

"You're the news reporter from West End!" Gem immediately recognizes the familiar face Zed wears as a civilian, her voice a mix of surprise and accusation.

"Well, yes," Kris says, his sheepish grin unchanged from his Zedaph persona. "Even villains have day jobs. But let's keep that between us, shall we? So, that leaves Skizz?"

Skizz nods and takes off his deep blue and white masquerade mask, revealing a young man with a sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes. "Skizzleman," he says simply, his voice a low rumble. "My name's Andy."

The group nods in acknowledgment, the air in the room charged with the shared vulnerability of unmasked identities. Ren takes a moment to let it all sink in before speaking. "Alright, so we have our team. The Hermits Incorporated." He says the name with a hint of pride. "Our next mission, find out what this Puppeteer has stolen and get it back before it can be used against us."

Bdubs nods in agreement. "And find out who's behind the mask. If they have access to the kind of tech that could suppress our powers, they're not to be underestimated."

"We're on it," Etho says, his telekinetic energy crackling around his fists. "We'll keep our ears to the ground and see what we can find."

Ren nods. "Good. Doc, Skizz, and I will check with our hero connections, see if they know anything without raising suspicion."

DocM nods, his robotic arm whirring to life. "We'll need to be careful. If the hero committee finds out about this alliance and what we figured out..." His voice trails off, the implications heavy.

Gem frowns, her green glowing eyes dimming slightly. "But if they're testing on people..."

"We'll deal with that when we find out who's responsible," Ren says firmly, cutting off any further discussion on the topic. They had a more immediate crisis to manage. That doesn't stop his mind from growing determined to find a way into the hero lab, though.

Tango nods, his eyes reflecting the flames of his powers. "Cleo, you're also our eyes and ears in the villain underground. Find out what you can without getting too close."

"You got it," she says, her voice filled with the confidence of someone who's used to playing with fire.

With a few more clarifications, the meeting breaks into action. Ren sends messages out to Doc and Skizz, organizing the exact plans for their mission to go over. Meanwhile, Tango and Bdubs start discussing potential leads and where they might find The Puppeteer. Etho and Gem begin to strategize on the best way to infiltrate the villain underworld without being recognized. And Impulse, Tango, and Cleo all split through links in the villain underground, looking for leads.

Chapter Text

The base buzzes with a new energy, the air crackling with a mix of excitement and anxiety. Ren watches as each member of the group dives into their tasks, a silent nod of respect passing between them all. Despite their varied backgrounds and motives, they were all united by the need to protect the city, their home, and the understanding that they were stronger together. They all wanted their city to be safe. If working with people on enemy sides is what it takes, so be it.

The screens around the room flicker to life, displaying various reports and intel that DocM had managed to pull from the depths of the hero database. Ren's eyes scan over the information, his mind racing as he tries to piece together the puzzle. The Puppeteer's abilities, known associates, and suspected hideouts, as well as security footage all over the city fill the screens. It's clear they're dealing with someone who's not only powerful but also clever.

Etho and Gem lean over the table, their heads close together as they discuss potential strategies for finding the stolen tech. Etho's energetic powers could be useful for sensing disturbances in the environment, while Gem's agility and stealth could allow her to sneak into tight spots undetected.

Bdubs looks over at Ren as he ends a call with a hero administrator with a hint of concern. "We need to be careful," he says. "The Puppeteer might be watching for us, too."

Ren nods solemnly, his eyes never leaving the screens. "We'll need to use every tool at our disposal. Time manipulation could be the key to catching them off-guard," he suggests, glancing at briefly at him.

"I just recovered from a migraine!" Bdubs's complains, the draining affects of overuse from his power having just died down.

Ren nods understandingly. "We'll keep it as a last resort, then. We need you at full strength." He taps the screen, zooming in on a location that piques his interest. "This warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It's been abandoned for years, but it's got a recent history of strange energy signatures. Could be a place to start looking."

Bdubs nods, his eyes lighting up with the excitement of the chase. "Alright, let's get to it," he says, already standing, readying his mask and hood back on and stretching out his legs. The rest of the group exchanges looks, the gravity of their situation setting in.

Tango crosses his arms as he struts over to the two once he's back from his mechanics room. "We need to move fast," he says, his voice laced with urgency. "If they start using that tech, we could be in for a world of hurt." His hair fades quite majestically from the roots back to glowing blue from its fiery look with his eyes back in blue as well, pulling his teched-out face mask back to cover the lower half of his face.

"Agreed," Ren says, his own glasses back in place. All of the Hermits are called back to re-run a new plan of action after discussing any information they gathered. "We'll split into two teams. Etho, Cleo, Gem, and Bdubs will hit the streets and gather intel. Zed, Impulse, Tango, and Skizz will investigate the warehouse."

Gem nods, a determined look in her eyes. "We'll need to be careful. The Puppeteer could be anywhere."

"Indeed," Ren says, his gaze still on the screens. "But we have the element of surprise on our side. They won't be expecting us to work together."

With that, everyone other than Doc and Ren leave to do their part. The two left seem to have a few words for the other.

"Are we really doing this?" Doc asks, his goat ear twitching slightly with nerves.

"We don't have much of a choice," Ren responds, his gaze never leaving the screens. "The stakes are too high."

DocM nods, his organic hand clenching into a fist. "You're right. But we need to be ready for the fallout if we're exposed."

Ren turns to face Doc, his expression steely. "We'll deal with that when it comes. For now, let's focus on stopping The Puppeteer and getting that tech back." He claps Doc on the shoulder. "We're not just heroes vigilantes or villains anymore. We're the Hermits Inc. We fight for what's right, no matter who's watching."

Doc nods, his robotic eye glowing with a newfound determination. "We'll need to coordinate our efforts. Keep the comms open and watch each other's backs."

"Always," Ren says, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He checks his communicator, ensuring the encrypted line is secure, and most importantly, for the moment, muted from his end. There are a few things he needs to say that no ears but DocM's should hear.

"Listen, Doc. If things get...messy," he pauses, weighing his words carefully. "I need you to know something."

Doc tilts his head slightly, his eye narrowing in concern. "What is it?"

"If anything happens to me," Ren says, his voice low and serious. "If I'm compromised, or if it looks like we're about to be exposed..."

Doc's organic eye squints in confusion, the robotic one flickers. "What are you talking about?"

Ren's hand rests on the hilt of his sword, his voice steady. "You know the kind of power we're dealing with here. If the Puppeteer gets their hands on that suppressor and figures out how to use it, we're all at risk. We can't let our personal feelings get in the way of what's right for the city."

Doc's expression turns solemn. "You're talking about..." He doesn't finish the sentence, but the understanding is clear between them. Ren nods.

"If it comes down to it, you may have to make a choice," Ren continues. "For the sake of everyone here, and the people out there who rely on us, you might have to cut ties with me, with all of us. We both know I'd take the fall for them. For you. I need to know you'll let me."

Doc looks at Ren, his face a mix of surprise and sadness. "Ren, you know I..."

"I know, Doc," Ren interrupts gently. "But this isn't about us. This is about the bigger picture. We're playing with fire here. If the heroes find out..." His voice trails off, the implications heavy.

Doc nods solemnly. "Understood. But I'm not letting you go down without a fight." His robotic arm flexes, a subtle promise of protection.

Ren smiles, a rare sight under the circumstances but a welcomed one. "That's all I ask," he says, his hand lingering near Doc's for a moment.

Without a moment of hesitation, Doc rakes it in his own, not the usual turn of events, but one that brings a smile to both heroes.

"I'll do whatever it takes to keep us safe," Doc says, his voice a mix of reassurance and determination. "Now, let's focus on the mission at hand. We've got intel to gather and a city to protect."

Ren nods, his smile fading into a look of resolve. He turns back to the screens, his eyes scanning the data with renewed focus. "Let's get to it, then," he says, gesturing for Doc to join him as his hand falls away, taking the obvious tension of something more between the two with it.

Together, they analyze the intel, cross-referencing reports of strange occurrences with known villain hideouts and recent power surges. The map of the city lights up with potential leads, each one more tantalizing than the last. They work in silent harmony, their years of friendship and shared battles allowing them to communicate with little more than glances and gestures.

As the night stretches on, a heavier tension in the room grows. Each Hermit knows the risks they're taking by forming this secret alliance. They're all too aware that if their true intentions were to be discovered, the consequences would be dire. But the thought of the power suppression device in the wrong hands fuels their determination.

Bdubs, Etho, Cleo, and Gem slip into the shadows of the city streets, blending into the night as they listen for whispers of the Puppeteer's whereabouts. The streets are unusually quiet, as if the city itself is holding its breath, anticipating the unseen battle about to unfold. The four of them move as one, their unique abilities complementing each other in a silent dance of surveillance.

Meanwhile, at an abandoned warehouse, Zed, Impulse, Tango, and Skizz approach with caution, fully geared up. The building looms before them, a silent sentinel shrouded in darkness. Tango's thermal vision pierces the gloom through his tinted glasses, searching for any signs of life, while Zed's heightened hearing picks up the faintest of sounds.

"I've got a heat signature," Tango murmurs into his comm. "Looks like we've got company."

Ren's heart quickens from his spot on the street, making his way to the group so far out in the city. In a different district than their own, leaving Ren about a 15 minute sprint to get there if he had to. Though he wasn't in an incredible hurry with Doc having changed course, at first heading towards where Etho's group was in, to follow Ren after the message from Tango. "Be careful. Remember, we don't know what you're walking into."

"Roger that," Tango's voice crackles over the comm. "We're going in."

The warehouse door creaks open, revealing a vast, empty space. The echoes of their footsteps bounce off the metal walls as they advance into the unknown. Skizz's eyes dart around, searching for any signs of a trap. The air smells faintly of rust and damp earth, hinting at the building's long-forgotten past. Impulse's fingers tap impatiently against his utility belt, his blue flame flickering in anticipation.

As they move deeper into the warehouse, Zed's heightened senses detect something off. "Guys, the air feels... charged," he whispers, his voice tinged with concern.

"Charged?" Skizz echoes, his antennae quivering. "What does that mean?"

Zed shakes his head, his sheepish grin gone. "It's... I can't explain it. But it's not natural."

The group tenses up, each one of them feeling the unmistakable sense of being watched. Suddenly, a figure emerges from the dense shadows, clad in a tattered Renaissance cloak that seems to be made of pure shadow itself. The Puppeteer's eyes gleam with an eerie light, and strings of shadow dangle from her fingertips.

"You're the ones who've been poking their noses where they don't belong," the Puppeteer says, her voice a mix of amusement and menace. "Time you've been shown a consequence, lifelong." Having an apparent rhyming scheme as a gimmick.

Tango's eyes narrow, his pyrokinetic power flaring up in anticipation. "We're here for the stuff you stole," he says, his voice firm. "You hand it over, and we walk away. No harm, no foul."

The Puppeteer laughs, the sound echoing through the warehouse like a chilling melody. "You think you can just waltz in here and take what's mine?" Their shadowy cloak flutters as she gesture dramatically with the strings in her hands. "You've no idea my power, devine."

Impulse takes a step forward, his blue fire and electricity crackling at the tips of his fingers. "We're not here to play games," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "We know you have stolen gear. Give it here, or we'll have to take different measures to get it."

The Puppeteer tilts their head, seemingly unfazed by the threat. "Oh, you think you can handle me?" She ask, a smug smile playing on her lips. "Let's see how you plan to get your friend free."

With a chilling crackling sound, Skizz is wrapped in a whip-like wire and dragged to The Puppeteer's feet, before anyone can move, his wing is in her hands, one on the base where it meets his back, the other harshly gripping the boney structure a few inches up.

"Skizz!" Zedaph exclaims, his eyes wide with horror and fear for his friend.

The Puppeteer chuckles, her eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "Ah, so the sheep has a heart. How quaint." She tightens her grip on the wire, and Skizz winces in pain. "Though this one's not getting free from efforts so faint."

Tango's eyes blaze with anger, his pyrokinetic flames burning brighter. "Let him go," he demands, his voice a mix of fire and authority.

The Puppeteer smirks, tightening her grip on the wire. "And why should I?" she challenges, the shadows around her shifting like a living cloak. "With such low effort do you expect me to die?"

Impulse's teeth grind together, his mind racing for a way to free Skizz without triggering the villain's wrath. "You're going down," he growls, his hands sparking with electricity.

But as he goes to step forward, there's a deafening crack. It's so quiet it's nearly silent. But it's deafening none the less.

Skizz goes to scream as his right wing goes limp with the weight of a broken bone, a quite fragile thing, with bones as hollow as a real bird's in his wings, but a wire wrapping its way around his throat, stopping all possible sound and almost his breathing altogether.

The group tenses, but before they can act, the Puppeteer speaks again. "I've got what you want," she says, holding up the power suppression device, which glows with an eerie red light in the palm of her hand. "But it won't come cheaply bought."

Zedaph steps forward, his mind racing. "What do you want?" he asks, trying to keep his voice steady despite the fear for his friend.

The Puppeteer's smile widens, revealing a row of sharp teeth. "Ah, finally. Someone who understands the art of negotiation." She pets the wire wrapped around Skizz's neck with a disturbing gentleness. "I want one of you to come with me, willingly. In exchange, I'll release your friend and give you the device." She gives up the rhyming to be better understood for the moment.

Zed's eyes narrow, his mind racing. "Why would we do that?" Though, his tone quickly dulls out as Skizzle's left wing is taken into The Puppeteer's grasp.

"Because if you don't," she says, her voice cold as ice. "I'll take your precious winged hero apart. piece. by. piece."

Her words hang in the air, thick with the promise of pain. The group exchanges glances, the gravity of their situation sinking in. They know they can't just hand over one of their own to this monster, but Skizz's life and frankly, his quality of life is on the line.

"I'll do it."

Who would that voice belong to other than Skizzle's best friend, roommate, and ride or die.

Impulse steps incredibly cautiously forward as the other two sharply perk. Skizz already on the cusp of blacking out from pain and the limited air he's getting.

"You're not going anywhere with her," Tango says through gritted teeth, his eyes narrowing as he tries to gauge the distance between them and the villain.

The Puppeteer laughs, the sound echoing through the warehouse. "Ah, the loyal one. How touching." She squeezes the wire around Skizz's neck a bit tighter, eliciting a choked gasp of pain. "But I'm afraid your sacrifice would be in vain. You see, I don't want you. I have my eyes set on someone more... interesting." She tilts her head, looking at each of them in turn, her smile never wavering.

Zedaph's heart sinks as he realizes the true intention behind her words. "Who do you want?" he says, his voice a mix of anger and fear.

The Puppeteer's gaze lands on Zed, her grin widening. "You," she says, shadows wrapping around him. "You're the one with the mind control. I've got big plans for your kind of power."

Zedaph's eyes widened as he's pushed forward by an unseen force, once that force is met with resistance, the wire tightens around Skizz, the wire digging into his skin and making him bleed.

"Let him go!" Tango roars, his pyrokinetic power flaring up even more, his whole body seems to be made of fire and fury.

But that only causes her to arrange her grip better on Skizzle's only working wing, threatening to break it as well.

"Take another step, and I'll make sure the pretty bird will never fly again," The Puppeteer says, her smile never faltering.

The room feels as if it's closing in on Zed, his heart pounding in his chest. He's torn between the urge to fight back and the fear for Skizz's life. His power whispers sweet nothings into his mind, offering an easy solution. But he knows he can't give in. He has to at least stall until the others arrive.

But the pressure returns behind him. He takes a step forward. Safe. Another. Safe. He resists the third. A wire tightens around the stretch of Skizz's left wing, replacing her hands, with a sickening crunch.

"Don't!" Skizz chokes out, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's okay, I can take it."

Impulse is practically hyperventilating out of shear fear and the inability to do a single thing that could stop Skizz from being hurt.

"I said, let him go," Tango repeats, his voice a mix of desperation, fear and anger, his flaming eyes never leaving The Puppeteer but changing as burning tears well up in them. He can't seem to get his body to any more than build the anger.

The Puppeteer's smile turns into a smug grin. "You're all so predictable," she says, the shadows around her pulsing with power. "So eager to save your little friend." The wire unwind from Skizzle's now shattered left wind, blood beginning to soak the white feathers as it hits the concrete floor limply.

"Don't do it, Zed," Skizzle whispers, his voice strained, his eyes full of pain but determination through the tears already streaming down his face. "Don't let her win."

Zedaph grits his teeth, his eyes never leaving Skizz's. He can feel the weight of his decision, the fate of the city and his friends hanging in the balance. But he also feels something else, something cold and strong, pushing him forward. He takes another step forward, not strong enough to see how his friend would be hurt if he doesn't. Would she rip off Skizzle's wings entirely? Take a finger? A hand? How cruel is this villain willing to go?

"That's right," The Puppeteer coos, her shadows retreating slightly, giving him more room to advance on his own. "Come with me, and I'll make sure your friends leave alive."

Zedaph's heart sinks. He knows he can't trust her, but the alternative is too gruesome to consider. With a deep breath, he takes another step, his eyes never leaving Skizz's pleading gaze.

"Good boy," The Puppeteer purrs, her shadows retreating further. "You're making the right choice."

But Zed is unable to take another step. The shadow unable to push him. The Puppeteer unable to harm Skizz another time. It's like time it's self in the room has stop-

oh.

It has.

Chapter Text

Bdubs cruises through the doorway, but stops as soon as he sees what he's dealing with. The sight of Skizz in pain, the smugness of The Puppeteer, and the fear in his friend's eyes. He's been in situations like this before, but something about the way the shadows play tricks with the light, something about the tension in the air makes his heart race. His hand goes to his pocket, feeling the comforting and cool metal of his favorite clock.

With time stopped, he immediately rushes to Skizz, the damage to his wings were bad. But not unfixable.

Bdubs unpauses Zed, Impulse, and Tango, not daring to have Skizz hurting anymore if unpaused.

"What's going on here?" he asks, his eyes scanning the room and taking in the horror.

"We have a situation," Zedaph says tersely, his gaze flicking to Skizz, who's still paused and wrapped in wire at The Puppeteer's feet. "The Puppeteer has the stolen gear and wanted me to go with her."

Bdubs' eyes narrow, the ticking of his clocks filling the otherwise dead silent room. He stands, nearly falls as the pressure gaining behind his eyes returns forcefully, demanding attention. Using so much of his power for so much time so close together is going to affect him terribly.

Ignoring his own discomfort, he looks at the frozen Puppeteer.

"We can't let her go," Impulse says through gritted teeth, the blue fire at his fingertips dimming slightly as the gravity of their situation weighs on him.

Bdubs nods in agreement, his gaze still on Skizz. "We'll deal with her, but first we need to get Skizz to safety," he says, his voice tight with concern.

"Do you...Do you think he'll be ok?" Impulse sounds terrified, his eyes never leaving Skizz's broken and paused form, his usually fiery spirit doused by fear.

"We'll make sure of it," Tango says with a grim nod and an unsure tone, his eyes flickering.

With a quick glance at Impulse, Tango and Zedaph work together to carefully cut the wire that binds Skizz, taking care not to cause any more damage to his already broken wings. The Puppeteer remains stuck in time, her frozen grin a taunting reminder of the pain she'd inflicted.

"We need to get him out of here," Tango says, his voice tight with urgency. "I can carry him." The implications of the very short, Tango, carrying the 6'2 Skizz, or at least attempting to, is almost funny.

Almost.

"As much as I'd appreciate the help Tango, I think I've got it." Zed's still uneasy gaze falls to Skizz, seeing what the best way to pick him up will be. A much better fit of 6'0.

He gently picks Skizz up, careful not to cause any further damage to his already destroyed wings. Skizz's head lolls to the side as he's unpaused, his eyes close tightly, his breathing shallow and pained.

"I've got you, buddy," Zed says softly, his voice shaking. He turns to the others, his expression determined. "Take care of her. I'll get Skizz to safety."

With Skizz in his arms, Zedaph moves carefully towards the exit, every step a silent promise to make this right. The shadows seem to part for him, as if even they understand the gravity of the situation.

Impulse turns to the Puppeteer, his eyes now a blazing inferno of blue flame. "You're going to pay for this," he hisses, his voice barely above a whisper. A wire snaps under sheer heat as he approaches, the tension in the room thickening. Even as the enemy is paused, he won't let her get away with what she did to his best friend.

Bdubs nods solemnly, his hand still gripping the timepiece in his pocket for comfort. "We'll deal with her," he says, his voice cold and calculated. "But first, we need to make sure Skizz gets the help he needs."

Impulse's eyes follow Zedaph as he carries Skizz away, the flames around his fists fading slightly. "What do we do with her?" he asks, his voice low and lethal.

Bdubs steps closer to the Puppeteer, his grip on the clock tightening. "We can't risk letting her go," he says, his jaw clenched. "Not after what she's done."

The room is silent except for the distant sound of Skizz's pained breaths echoing through the warehouse. Tango's eyes flicker with rage, his fists clenching and unclenching. "We need to make an example of her," he says, his voice a low rumble. "So no one else tries to mess with us again."

As Zed gets his way outside, he's met by two things: The faces of Ren and Doc, who stop as soon as they see Skizz in his arms, and a reporting helicopter, that somehow found its way to the area to follow the heroes.

That can't be a pretty sight.

A revered villain with a mangled hero in his arms and a hovering helicopter spotlighting them, Zedaph had never felt so exposed. Ren and DocM rushed over, their expressions a mix of shock and concern.

"Skizz!" Ren exclaimed, his eyes going wide with horror at the sight of his friend.

"Take him to the base," DocM said quickly, his robotic eye scanning the area for any threats. "We'll handle this."

"There's no time!" Zed is panicked and worried. The promise of Skizzle's breathing growing less by the second. It's clear by the way his voice cracks, he's crying behind the goggles.

Bdubs sighs shakily, and with a flick of his wrist, the air in the room seems to speed back up around them, The Puppeteer still frozen in time. "Move," he commands, pushing impulse towards the exit with Tango close behind. "We deal with her later. Skizz comes first."

The trio sprints after Zedaph, their footsteps echoing through the now empty warehouse. The night air hits them as they burst outside, the cold a stark contrast to the heat of the warehouse after both Tango and Impulse were angry. The helicopter hovers above, the blades cutting through the night sky like a predator searching for prey.

Ren's eyes dart around, searching for the best exit route. His mind races, trying to formulate a plan to get them out of here without alerting the media to their secret. "This way," he shouts, leading them down a side alley.

Once they are covered, Zed sets Skizz down, hunched over on his knees so his wings aren't further damaged, with Bdubs and impulse on either side.

"We need to get him to the base," Ren says, his voice shaking with urgency. "We have medical supplies there."

"I don't think I can work with that." Bdubs looks uneasy around. Too much longer and Skizzle's healed wings would be too far back in time for him to reach back to without passing out halfway through. "I-I can work here."

He sits down next to Skizz, placing his hand gently on the shattered wing. His eyes squeeze shut as the world around them seems to stretch and pull like a rubber band, his mind focusing on the task at hand. The helicopter's spotlight still hovering above them, the sound of its blades a constant reminder of the urgency.

"Bdubs, are you okay?" Impulse asks, his voice tinged with worry.

There's a strange gold light emitting from the places Skizzle's left wing is fractured, blood seeping back into its place and bones rearrange in the cavity.

Ren's eyes are wide, staring at the sight with a mix of awe and horror. He's seen a lot as a hero, but nothing quite like this. Tango is frozen, his flaming eyes darting back and forth between Skizz and the sound of the helicopter, his mind racing with the implications of being seen. Impulse just stares, his fists still clenched tightly.

By the time the first wing is repaired, Bdubs pulls away and lays back, pressing his palms to his eyes, nausea rising fast. "I-I can't do that again," he whispers, his breathing ragged. But he rolls back up to his knees and gently takes Skizzle's other wing.

The process is agonizingly slow to him, each second stretching out like a mile. The world around them seems to pulse with the beat of the helicopter's blades, the light flickering like a strobe across their faces. The sound of distant sirens starts to echo down the alley, the cavalry of chaos approaching.

"Bdubs, you have to hurry," Ren urges, his eyes darting between where the unmoving Puppeteer is hidden in the warehouse and the growing darkness around them. The shadows seem to thicken, the alleyway almost closing in.

With a gulp of air, Bdubs nods, his eyes snapping open. The gold light flickers back to life, enveloping Skizz's right wing. The bones reset themselves with a series of clicks, and the bones fractured out of place retreat as if it never was. It's a gruesome sight, but the group remains transfixed, willing their friend to heal. On their own, with such an urgent need, this is the best they can get. Hopefully in the future, they can have Cleo be the one healing. Though broken bones aren't the most easy thing to heal. But her, Etho, and Gem are still halfway across the city with no idea of what's going on, Bdubs only having left them because he wanted to check on the others.

The gold glow fades, taking Bdubs's consciousness with it, passing out on the alleyway floor. Leaving Skizzle's wings both perfectly healed.

"Bdubs!" Ren shouts, rushing to his side, but the vigilante's body is limp, drained of energy.

"We need to move," Tango says, his voice tight. "Now."

The sirens grow louder, the flash of red and blue lights bouncing off the buildings and into the alley. Impulse helps Tango lift the unconscious Bdubs, Zed standing to take him while Doc picks up Skizz, his wings now healed but still trembling slightly from the trauma. They make their way through the shadows, trying to put as much distance between them and the warehouse as possible. With Bdubs unconscious, The Puppeteer is undoubtedly free.

Once they're far enough away, they stop to catch their breath, the adrenaline slowly wearing off. Ren's eyes never leave the sky, scanning for any sign of the helicopter. The sound now mostly distanced. "We can't go to the base," he says, his voice tight. "It's too risky."

Impulse nods in agreement, his heart still racing from the confrontation and the sight of Skizz's healing. "We need to find somewhere safe," he says, his eyes on his unconscious friend.

Zedaph gently takes the weight of Bdubs, his mind racing with guilt and determination. He'd never forgive himself if he didn't get them all out of here safely. "My place," he suggests, his voice shaky. "It's not far, and it's secure. We'll have to go civilian, though." He gestures to the non-heroes in the group.

The group nods, their situation sinking in. They can't afford to be seen like this by the public. With Doc carrying Skizz, who's unconscious but stable, and Impulse supporting Zed with Bdubs draped in his arms, they make their way through the shadows after changing into the civilian gear each vigilante and villain carry in case of emergencies.

The walk to Zed's place is tense, with every step feeling like it echoes through the night, despite their best efforts to be silent. They keep their heads down, avoiding the glances of any passersby. The sirens grow faint in the distance, but the fear of being found out remains strong.

When they finally arrive, the small, nondescript building is a beacon of safety. Zedaph fumbles with his keys with his one barely free hand before just handing them to Impulse, his hands shaking with the weight of recent events. Once inside, they lay Bdubs gently on the couch, Skizz in Zed's room, his breathing now steady, but he's still out cold. The room is filled with the sound of their heavy breathing and the distant hum of the city life outside. There's nothing to really do other than put on the news to see what they captured from the event.

The reporter's voice fills the room, talking about a group of unidentified heroes, vigilantes, and villains fighting in a warehouse, but no mention of the Puppeteer or the power suppression device. The news choppers had only caught the tail end of their escape, Zed carrying the torn-up Skizz out of the building. The public couldn't be taking nicely to a hero, ripped apart, being carried by a villain. They might think Zed was the one that caused it.

"We need to get our story straight," DocM says, his robotic eye blinking rapidly as he tries to process everything. "Before the authorities come knocking." It's directed at his hero apprentice, both of which likely to be subjected to report on the incident.

Ren nods, his hand shaking slightly as he pulls out his phone to call for backup. "We'll say we responded to an anonymous tip about suspicious activity. That we found Skizz like this, and the perpetrator escaped during our confrontation, with Zedaph trying to get Skizz to safety."

Tango lets out a low whistle. "They'll eat that up. But what about the device?"

Ren's eyes dart to the TV screen, showing the chaotic ending of their recent battle. "We'll have to find it before they do," he says, his jaw set.

"But how?" Impulse asks, his voice laced with doubt. "We don't even know what we're looking for."

Zedaph finally pulls off his goggles and wipes at his eyes with a trembling hand. "We have to start by piecing together what happened," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. The others don't point out how much he fails to do so.

"The Puppeteer," Ren says, his voice grim. "We know they're connected to the device. We have to find a way to track it."

Chapter Text

But that would take time. And they don't have that luxury when the newest three members of their team, forgotten through the chaos and destruction, face the very villain they were looking for. But they don't have any way to contact the main group to warn them of this fact as Bdubs was the one who was supposed to be with them to do so.

Cleo, Etho, and Gem find themselves in a quiet part of the city, searching for any clues to lead them to the Puppeteer's hideout. They've been out of touch with the rest of the group for 2 hours now, but they know that their mission is crucial. As they turn a corner, they spot a figure in the distance, a figure that makes their blood run cold.

"Guys, I think I found something," Cleo whispers, her hand pointing towards the shadowy alleyway.

Etho squints his eyes, trying to make out what she's seeing. "What is it?" he asks, his grip tightening on his weapon.

Gem's eyes follow the line of Cleo's finger and widens. "That's her," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "The Puppeteer."

The figure in the alley is unmistakable, her shadowy form moving with a grace that seems almost inhuman. The stolen device is nowhere in sight, but the malicious energy radiating from her is palpable. Etho nods, his expression hardening. "We can't let her get away," he says, his voice low and determined.

"But we don't have any way to contact the others," Gem points out, her eyes flickering nervously to their surroundings. "We need to regroup with them."

"She's right Etho. We can always catch her another time." Cleo reminds him, clearly uneasy about engaging in a fight this risky. "It's worth more getting out of here safe to tell the others where we spotted her then to fight her and get injured with no way to contact help."

Etho's jaw tightens, but he nods in understanding. "Alright," he says reluctantly. "We'll head back to base. Hopefully the others are there."

The three head back to the warehouse district and into the base. They are met with an empty space just as they had left it.

"They must still be out searching for the device," Etho says, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. "It's getting late. I'll probably just head home and call it a night. Leave a note or something?"

Gem nods, her eyes flicking around the room. "Yeah, that's probably for the best. We'll catch up with them tomorrow. I'll write a note saying we made it back fine and spotted The Puppeteer over near South Bay." She grabs a notepad and pen off the table, scribbling out the quick note.

Cleo looks over her shoulder, reading the note with a nod. "Good idea. Let's get out of here."

During the first night, Doc and Ren leave Zed's apartment around 2 in the morning with the others asleep. They changed into civilian gear back at the base and shared the note through the comms for when the others woke up.

It takes the rest of the following day for Cleo, Gem, and Etho to get caught up on what happened. Etho's immediate response was asking where Bdubs was and how he was doing. Neither Bdubs, nor Skizz woke up that day but were stable otherwise.

The next day at around noon, Skizz finally wakes up in Zed's room, groggy with his wings terribly aching from not moving them, though they healed perfectly. It takes nearly three days after that for Bdubs to finally wake up. He's extremely sore, nauseous, disoriented, and all around feeling awful. He has a migraine that feels like he has a drill to his skull and every limb is stiff on top of feeling hungry and dehydrated.

The moment he does, the first thing he asks about is Skizz. Zed sighs in relief at the sight of him awake. "You've been out for a while," he says, his tone a mix of concern and relief.

Once Zed's caught him up to speed on the relatively uneventful few days of searching for The Puppeteer, they trial and error getting him back on his feet.

After getting much more conscious and in less pain after being given some painkillers, the first thing Bdubs does is call his boss. He might be a vigilante, but that doesn't make money. His day job is extremely critical in paying his own apartment bills.

Chapter Text

Meanwhile, Ren and Cleo end up getting a bit closer. They always seem to end up with the same projects, and free time to end up in the base working on them. And inevitably, a certain topic comes up with their conversations.

"So how did you get that scar?"

Cleo's question is followed by an uncomfortable pause as Ren tries to decide whether or not to tell the very long, and very emotional story from his past.

"Do you want a story?"

Cleo's small, questioning pause and confused look at Ren's change in voice from the theatric one he was just using to tell about a big battle he'd been in before. "I'm ready for a story."

Ren sighs, setting down the wrench he was using to patch up a few things on some sort of machine Doc wanted help on and wiping his hands with a cloth. He looks over at her, his gaze softening. "It's not a story for the faint of heart, though. And there's a lot of background detail." he warns.

Cleo nods solemnly, leaning forward slightly. "I can handle it."

Ren takes a deep breath, his eyes looking somewhere in the distance, lost in the memories of his past. "It was when I first started out as a hero." He starts, tracing the deep, thick line of scarred tissue at the front of his throat. "There was a time I'd gone "missing" so to say. Missing from the public, at least. Then, I returned, of course, as the hero I am today. Scar and all."

Cleo nods, noticing the sadness in his eyes. "What happened?"

Ren just closes his eyes, and begins his story.

Everyone has a backstory, right? Some have tragic backstorys, some don't. But Ren wasn't lucky enough to be one without. As are most of the Hermits

A long, long, time ago. When he was about 14, he knew he wanted to be a hero. Whether it was how his siblings always looked up to him for help, or the instinct he has to protect and be loyal. He knew he was going to be a hero.

So at 17, when given the opportunity to enroll in a hero training program, he couldn't resist.

So there he was. A forever theatric, musical, fantasy-loving teen, enrolled to train to be a hero.

It was a painful experience to say the least,  nothing that would dare happen in training today. But he got through it all and ended up in the official hero program by the time he was 19. It only took a few months and he was running small business in keeping things in line as a hero, establishing his presence in the community.

He had fans almost immediately. The public loved the persona Ren put on and how he planned to stick around for a long time as a prominent hero just for the love he had for the city.

It wasn't too long until he was sent on his first big mission solo. It was pretty simple so it wouldn't be too much for him to handle on his own.

He was a fearless crime-fighter after all! There's nothing he couldn't handle. Maybe one day his almost inability to get nervous or scared by a mission would end up being his downfall. But that would never be a realistic problem, right? He isn't the type of person that gets scared to be alone, and he never will be!

Maybe if he could have felt apprehensive about the "undisclosed completely simple and controlled" mission, he wouldn't have taken it. Or maybe would have just gone in with another, more experienced, hero.

But he didn't feel apprehensive. Nor did he think anyone else was a necessity for this mission. He was told all he had to do was get in, arrest the three men meeting there, and get out.

Simple.

But this wasn't what anyone was expecting. It wasn't a meeting between three men on illegal business.

It was a trap.

Info had been leaked to the hero committee about a meeting happening in yet another infamous, empty, warehouse. But none of it was true other than the location and time.

Ren showed up to the exact point he was dispatched and almost though he had the wrong address due to the description.

The warehouse was filled with crates, each, from his recollection, holding hundreds of glass viles of a deep, glowing red liquid. All stacked together like pallets of eggs for transport.

But he made his way through the warehouse to an open area, where he is met by someone in black.

Lots of someones in black.

He's quite quickly overpowered in a fight and dragged, unarmored and exhausted, to the corner of the dark building. Too unexperienced with his powers to use them for more that 5 minutes at a time without being exhausted. Not to mention his lack of control.

He doesn't remember a thing about the struggle between him and the man that dragged him, but he does remember the chilling feeling of a cold, and most importantly, dull blade against his throat.

He also remembers the sound of his own, blood curdling screaming, cut off by the choked and drowned sound of his throat being split by the dull blade.

He can still feel the way his blood pooled from his neck, almost as if it was being pulled from under his skin.

He tried to stop the bleeding but everything was unleashed into chaos after a fire was started near the other end of the building. Apparently the liquid being held there was highly flammable and caught fast.

Surrounded by smoke and the taste and feel of his own blood, there was nothing Ren could do but pass out. Blood loss would be destined to get to him before the flames did anyway.

He doesn't have the slightest clue of how he got out of the burning building and to the Hero Tower. But he did. Someone must have dragged him out of the flames, or found him, somehow still alive after the fact. He will always be unsure.

It took two years for the public to meet the face of TheRedKing again, but thankfully, it was a very welcome return. And Ren's been back without fail ever since.

Cleo sits there, utterly stunned. "That's... incredible," she finally manages to murmur. "But how did you survive? That sounds so... intense."

Ren smiles sadly, his eyes refocusing on her. "I'm not sure if I'm just lucky or if I have a very stubborn will to live," he says. "But I woke up in the Hero Tower's medical bay, with an order to not speak for an undetermined amount of time and a new outlook on life."

The room is silent for a moment as Cleo tries to process the gravity of his story. "How did you... deal with it?" she asks, her voice quiet.

"For a long time," Ren says after a pause, "I didn't. That's why it took so long for me to return. The actual healing was done withing the first year. The whole "relearning to speak and use my voice properly" luckily only took a few months. It was my new mental state that was the issue." He leans back a bit, trying to find the best way to explain this.

"I never wanted to go on a mission again. Just to put it plainly. After I got over that fear, I didn't want to do anything on my own. I couldn't even live on my own for two and a half years after the incident." He shakes his head at the thought. "I'm still constantly terrified of everything going wrong again. What happened last week didn't help in the slightest."

Cleo reaches out a hand to him, her eyes full of empathy. "But you're here now," she says gently. "And we're all here to support you."

Ren nods, looking down at the hand she offers before taking it in his own. "Thanks," he murmurs, squeezing her hand briefly before letting go. "It's just... my entire mentality changed in a night. I realized that I can't do anything on my own, really. I don't know how I ever could. I was so desperate to be a great hero, doing things on my own to show my higher-ups and my city that I was powerful. I could be trusted to save them. But now I realize that I can't. I'm not someone that's going to be able to save the city myself."

Cleo nods solemnly. "But you're not alone," she says, placing their other hand on his forearm. "You have us now. And I'm more than happy to be a makeshift therapist for a while if you need it. Though my commentary, I'll warn you, won't be close to professional."

Ren looks up at her, the weight of his past seeming to lighten slightly. "Yeah," he says with a small smile. "I do. The committee offered therapy once. But it was both heavily biased therapy and coming out of my paycheck. I just haven't been bothered to get a real one." He admits, taking another long pause.

Ren can't stop the tears from welling up, or the way his voice threatens to waver. But he doesn't need to worry about it. He can trust Cleo enough by now to cry in front of them. He's done it more times than any one person could be proud of while venting to Doc.

He needs this.

He really needed to hear someone tell him he's not alone, because so often it starts to feel like he's an after thought, or invisible, or forgotten.

But Cleo's here, and she's listening, and she's saying all the right things, and it's like a balm to his aching soul.

Of course she hasn't been the only one to support him. But she has been the only one that says all the things he needs to hear, while also just letting him speak and sitting silent to give him time.

Cleo isn't pitying Ren. At least, she isn't making him feel pitied. She's just...there. And it feels like she always will be.

She stands to properly hug Ren, something he melts into and just sobs. Every insecure thought fueling the tears he's so desperately held back. He hasn't cried like this in a very long time.

But it's, again, exactly what he needs right now. To let it all out without judgement. Without the fear of being seen as weak.

As he cries into their shoulder, Cleo holds him tightly, her heart aching for the pain he's suffered. She's heard about heroes going through traumatic experiences, but to hearing a story firsthand is something entirely different. They whispers comforting words, letting him know that she's there for him, that they all are.

The embrace lasts for several minutes, until Ren's sobs subside into quiet hiccups. He pulls away slightly, wiping at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his accent thick and wavering with emotion.

"Don't be," Cleo says firmly, their grip on him not loosening. "You don't have to carry everything alone."

Ren sniffs, taking a deep, shaky breath. "I know," he says, his voice a bit stronger now. "It's just hard to let go of that fear sometimes."

Cleo nods, her own eyes misty. "We all have our fears," she says gently. "But we're stronger together."

The group's bond has grown stronger in the face of adversity, their shared experiences and secrets weaving a tight tapestry of trust and understanding. The quiet of the room is a stark contrast to the chaotic world outside their doors, a sanctuary where they can be vulnerable without fear of judgment.

As Ren's tale comes to an end, Etho and Gem enter, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern at the sight of their comrades embracing. They exchange a knowing glance, recognizing the unspoken burdens they each carry.

Etho clears his throat gently, breaking the silence. "Everything okay in here?"

Cleo nods, giving Ren's shoulder a final squeeze before letting go. "Yeah, we're good," she says, her voice steady.

Etho and Gem look between them, sensing the shift in the air. They've all had moments like this, moments where their pasts come to the surface, raw and unfiltered. It's part of being human, part of the weight they all carry.

"I'm going to check on Skizz," Etho says quietly, giving Ren a small, understanding smile, though hidden behind the mask. It meets the eyes though.

Gem nods, following Etho out of the room, leaving Ren and Cleo with a moment of privacy.

Ren takes a deep breath, wiping his eyes once more before looking up at her. "Thank you," he says sincerely. "For being here, for listening."

Cleo smiles warmly at him. "Anytime, Ren," she says. "We're a team, and that means looking out for each other, both in and out of costume." She sits back down, returning to the project she was working on before stopping to give Ren her full attention. "Thanks for telling me all that. I know how hard that can be to share."

Ren nods. He picks up the wrench he'd set aside, his grip a bit firmer now. "It's important we know each other's stories," he says, his voice a bit hoarse from the crying. "It helps us understand why we fight."

Cleo nods in agreement. "It definitely does," she says, before changing the subject slightly. "So, how's the machine coming along?"

"Just some things Doc needed replacements in for on this old machine. Nothing too big. It's coming along well though." Ren decides not to bring up the fact that he was extremely thrilled when Doc asked him to fix it, always more than willing to do anything for him.

The two of them go back to working in comfortable silence for a bit, the sound of their tools the only thing echoing through the room. It's moments like these that make the base feel more like home than any place Ren has been in a long time.

After a while, Cleo breaks the silence again, her voice gentle. "You know, if you ever need to talk about it, or anything else, I'm here."

Ren nods, his gaze never leaving his work. "Thanks, Cleo," he murmurs. "I'll keep that in mind."

Chapter Text

As they continue to work, the base's quiet is pierced by the sound of the door sliding open. Bdubs steps in, looking a bit wobbly on his feet but with a noticeable lack of migraines due to being hyped up on painkillers.

He takes in the scene before him, the half-fixed machine, and the two of them working in harmony. Ren, with his practically ancient rock band t-shirt slightly off his shoulder, sweat beads forming on his forehead, and Cleo with her usual calm yet focused expression.

"Hey," he says, his voice a bit hoarse from his days of rest.

Cleo and Ren both look up, the latter with a slight jump, surprised by the sudden noise. "Oh, hey," Cleo greets, her smile widening.

Bdubs manages a small nod in response, his eyes flickering between the two of them before settling on Ren. "You okay, man?" he asks, noticing the tension in his friend's shoulders and the redness in and around his eyes.

"Now that you're back, definitely! So good to see you man." Rens tail sways a bit behind him at the sight of his no longer sleeping friend.

Bdubs nods, his eyes still on Ren, concern etched into his features. "What happened?" he asks, his tone low and serious.

"Nothing, dude. Really. Just a bit of story telling. You know how it is." Ren says, trying to shrug it off, his tone light despite the heaviness in his chest. Out of everyone, he knows Bdubs will understand.

Bdubs nods slowly, his eyes still holding that underlying concern. "If you say so," he says, his gaze never leaving Ren's. "But you know I'm here if you need to talk about it."

"I know, man." Ren gives Bdubs a genuine smile which is returned without hesitation from the other.

Bdubs and Ren have bonded recently over the fact that they practically share an exact birthday, which obviously means they are the same age. They also have a similar past with music that they bond over, specifically guitar.

But now, with the immediate crisis of The Puppeteer and the power she's come to possibly possess, neither had even been thinking of the long-term hobby.

Cleo nods, her eyes scanning the room, taking in the clutter of half-finished projects and discarded gear. "So, what's the plan now?" she asks, her voice steady and her gaze returning to Ren.

Ren sighs, setting his wrench down. "We need to find that device," he says firmly. "If The Puppeteer has it, we're all in trouble. And if they're planning on using it against us..." He trails off, the thought too dire to voice.

He really doesn't want anything to go wrong again. Hearing Tango explain how helpless he felt, just watching his friend be hurt with no idea how he could get it to stop, well, it scared Ren just to hear. It reminds him all too much of his past, the blind, helpless confusion.

Cleo nods, her own fears reflected in her eyes. "We need to work together," she says. "We can't let them learn how to use it."

"Agreed," says Ren, his determination clear. "But we can't go in blind again. We need intel. We should have never gone in blind in the first place." The last part of his sentence is almost to himself as his mind still wanders through old memories.

Cleo nods. "I'll see if I can't get anything from the record." she says, her eyes lighting up slightly at the thought of hacking into the hero system again. Uncalled for, might need addressed. Now that she works close with heroes with full access, she isn't supposed to continue breaking code to see what villains are on record. But she's never seemed to be one to follow rules, as is why she's marked as a villain in the database.

Ren nods, standing up. "And I'll go over the footage from the night we were captured from Impulse's bodycam. Maybe there's something we missed." He says, turning to go grab the file from the computer desk.

Though it can be incriminating, Impulse insists on wearing a bodycam on missions, no matter how small. That may or may not have started after the rumors about TheRedKing's disappearance on a mission started popping up.

The footage usually is simply deleted, certain clips occasionally taken, think biker cameras; cool, funny, interesting, or, in our case, important, clips are kept as keepsakes, or joking blackmail, depending on the clip and person taking it.

Impulse is the one that's always way too prepared for everything, but it pays off when needed.

Ren has reviewed the footage so many times with the highest quality headphones ever sold, that he can almost pinpoint exactly how each wire changes position. It's also given him more nightmares every time he hears a crack.

But tonight, something is different. There's a sound he's never noticed before. It's faint, almost too faint to be heard, but it's there. It's a soft beep, consistent and rhythmic.

Cleo watches Ren with curiosity as he pauses the footage, his eyes narrowed in concentration. "What is it?" she asks, leaning in closer.

Ren plays the sound again, turning up the volume. "There's beeping," he says. "It's barely noticeable, but it's there. And it sounds far off, so it can't be Impulse's or Tango's equipment. But it's audible so it can't be too far away. It makes sense for it to be coming from The Puppeteer."

Cleo's eyes widen. "That could be the device!" she says, excitement in her voice. "It's probably got some kind of homing beacon or something. We can trace it! Or heroes can, at least."

"Yeah," Ren nods, his heart racing. "We need to tell the others. I do want Tango's opinion on it, maybe Doc's. Just to be sure."

He quickly saves the clip and heads out of the room, Cleo following close behind. The excitement of possibly finding a lead is palpable in their steps. They find Tango in the training room, working on some new tech for their gear.

"Tango," Ren calls out, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. "We might've found something, dude."

Tango looks up from his work, his eyes lighting up behind the goggles. "What is it?" He asks, setting aside the tool in his hand and walking over to them.

Ren plays the audio for Tango, the beeping clear and steady through the speakers after being quickly edited to be amplified.   Tango's expression morphs from curiosity to concentration. "That's definitely something," he says after a moment. "But we need to be careful. It could be a trap."

"Or it could be our only way to find the device before they do more damage," Cleo points out, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of the hunt.

Ren nods. "We need to assemble the team," he says decisively. "Get everyone's input. Maybe even get Impulse and Skizz to join us for this."

"Finding them won't be too hard!" Tango spins in his chair to an old computer mostly used for coding things into gear, quickly clicking through security cameras around town, within seconds landing on one near a refurbished tech shop right as the two are existing. One boy looking exhausted and frankly quite bored, while the other is getting a good look at what ever piece to something he got.

Skizz is always willing to go out with his buddy, but will let him know how bored he is the entire time whenever it's about coding things or technology. Impulse just happily rants as he's used to Skizzle's boredom for the topic. But no matter how bored he gets, Skizz never stops listening at any point, retaining at least some of the information every time.

Ren and Cleo exchange glances. "Looks like we've got a plan," Ren says, a hint of excitement in his voice, deciding a while back to stop questioning how Tango finds people so easily but struggles with finding villains.

They quickly head to the common area where the rest of the group winds up in about ten minutes. Impulse is pacing, his tail swishing behind him, and Skizz is lying on the couch, one of his wings folded over his face, trying to block out the light aiming directly for his eyes. This would never happen to Impulse.

"Guys, we've got a lead," Ren says, his voice filled with urgency. He plays the amplified beeping sound for everyone to hear.

Impulse stops pacing and cocks his head to the side, listening intently. Skizz peeks out from under his wing, curiosity piqued despite his exhaustion and the absolutely intentional blindness the light is giving him currently.

"What's that?" Impulse asks, his yellow eyes narrowing as he tries to identify the noise.

"It's a beeping we found on Impulse's bodycam footage from when you guys were attacked," Cleo explains. "It could be the power suppression device."

Impulse's eyes widen. "THE device? Are you sure?" His voice is filled with hope, and his tail stops swishing for a moment.

Ren nods. "It's faint, but it's consistent. And it's definitely not ours. Too far out to be yours, Tango's, or Zed's." He plays it back to show what he means, the ever so slight echo, paired with the small amount of sound. It's easy to tell what is really quiet and close, or quiet and far off by now.

Impulse's excitement is palpable as he jumps up, his tail flicking behind him. "We've got to find it, then. We can't let The Puppeteer keep that thing!"

Skizz sits up, pushing his wing off his face and blinking a few times to clear his vision. "Yeah, I'm in. I've had enough of being a useless lump of feathers." Despite his weakened state, the determination in his voice is clear.

Tango nods, sparing Skizz a kick to the shin as he degrades himself because of the urgency and because it would cause a bit mire damagethan intended as his body is still regrouping. "We need to be prepared, though. Last time we went in half-cocked and look what happened." His eyes dart around, the unspoken concerns hanging in the air.

"Agreed," DocM says, walking into the room. His robotic arm whirrs as he crosses his arms over his chest. "We've all had a bit of a rough go of it lately, but we can't let that deter us from our mission." His mechanical eye glinting slightly with resolve.

The group gathers around the makeshift map of the city that's been set up on the large table, with pins and notes scattered across it, detailing the locations of past battles and suspected hideouts.

They know they need to be strategic, not just for the sake of the mission, but for their own safety and the protection of their identities, last part aimed straight at Zed when Impulse said it, the blonde villain continues to deny any extra precaution to conceal his identity as he claims it's a sensory thing and can't breathe well enough in a proper mask. The others stopped pressing once his eyes gave a tested glow.

Gem and Etho join them, both a little rattled after stopping some regular petty theft and ending up late to be filled in by the others.

"What's the play?" Etho asks, looking over the map as if he expects the answer to be written in neon lights. Though it might be as Bdubs was the one to set up the map, the two tend to share braincells on occasion like a trading card game.

Gem nods, her gaze serious as she takes in the information. "We can't afford any more mistakes," she says. "We need to be ready for anything."

Chapter Text

Context (if it works): https://www.reddit.com/r/HermitCraft/s/sldyvwoCfD

Nothing too big regarding the news other than I support all victims first until proven with reasonable doubts, even then, still respecting them and forming my own opinions as I encourage you to as well.

Nothing much with my story will change as I hadn't exactly written in character(s) involved with this as I will not going forward.

Any questions regarding this you have for me about this, you can comment. If the link I gave doesn't work,  it's a pinned post on the hermitcraft reddit, which I encourage you to look at.

If you don't have reddit and are concerned, I'll give the same information Mumbo did regarding it on Twitter (I believe); there were no minors involved. As a community I honestly hate that's a disclaimer that needs to be made, but here we are.

I should still be updating along the infrequently kinda frequent way I have been as I'm not extremely affected by the news as others might be. I'll still be updating when I can on both wattpad and Ao3 as I have been.

Again, I send my regards to the victims and send my support to them as a writer. Nothing in my story will regard this situation as I have planned, and I encourage you to form your own opinions. Just be careful with what you say using them. Nothing you say on the internet should be hate-speech or pointing hate at one side, instead supporting one side without hate.

Anyone confused can comment or message me personally, and I can share what I've learned through the sources we were publicly given.

Anyone that has experienced something like this or currently is, please seek the safest option for you and recognize that this behavior isn't normal, nor should it ever be normalize no matter someone's popularity or appearance to others.

-Aegro

Chapter Text

They spend hours poring over the footage, trying to pinpoint the exact location of the beeping. It's a tedious process, but their dedication to the mission is unwavering. They know that the device is crucial to their city's safety, and they won't stop until it's found.

As the night stretches on, their eyes grow heavy, but they refuse to give in to fatigue. The map is covered in notes and hypothetical routes, each one more ingenious than the last.

"Okay, so if the beeping is coming from here," Ren points to a warehouse district, "then we can assume they're using it to keep the area clear of any other heroes."

Skizz nods, his gaze shifting from the map to the group. "It's a smart move, but it also means that we'll be going in with a target on our backs. We'll need to be ready for a fight."

Bdubs, who had been quietly observing, speaks up, his expression thoughtful. "If we're going to hit them where it hurts, we'll need to be careful. We can't underestimate The Puppeteer. We know they're capable of a lot." He spares quick glances around.

Even as all the commotion from The Puppeteer distracts him for the most part, his mind wanders right back to the origins of the stolen power suppressor. Or at least, what they believe is a power suppressor.

Why would it be kept secret while in the making, even from the highest ranked heroes? And how are they testing it while it's in the making.

Bdubs assumes it isn't constructed completely yet by the lack of use it got during the fight. That means final testing wouldn't have been done.

But on the other hand, The Puppeteer had everything in the palm of her hand up until he showed up, surprising the villain. She might have just not felt the need to use it, instead tormenting his friends the old fashioned way. Or, she doesn't know exactly how to use it, if fully constructed, yet.

But with all the extra time she's had with them planning out strategic moves that end up scrapped anyway, she'll be learning how to use it o even finishing the model if it wasn't when she stole it.

There's also the impending threat of the group she was with when the Hero Tower was attacked. Who they were, how many, and every other detail not gathered by helicopter surveillance was a complete mystery.

I guess it's safe to say he's been pretty stressed and overwhelmed since he woke up.

They all are. Zed, Impulse, and Tango have sparred tiny details and overviews of the nightmares they've had recently. Skizz still gets phantom pains randomly in his wings.

It's been a tough time, but they're there to support each other. And that's exactly what they plan to do.

They might not have the same, or even similar, morals whe it comes down to it, but they are working towards the safety of themselves and the city. Villains in the group mostly helping themselves admittedly, but they still have friends they don't want to see hurt.

I guess that's just what it takes to work with the supposed "enemy".

The group agrees on the most likely location of the device, the tension in the room thick as they consider the risks ahead. "We should split into two teams," Doc suggests, his finger tracing the map. "One for reconnaissance, and the other for a full-on assault if needed."

"Agreed," Ren says, nodding. "Bdubs and Impulse, will go in for intel. Tango, Skizz, and Zed can stay here and work on a plan of attack based on what they find." He glances at Skizz, who nods, his wings still showing signs of weakness but his spirit undeterred.

The group begins to disperse, each member preparing for their respective roles. Etho, Cleo, and Gem exchange a look, their shared concern for their friends clear. "We'll keep an eye on things around the other side of town," Etho says, placing a comforting hand on Bdubs' shoulder as he fiddles with the older model of the communicator Tango made. "You guys go kick some butt."

Bdubs nods, his expression grim. "We'll do our best," he says, adjusting his hood. He turns to Ren. "What will you and Doc be doing?"

"We're going to find a way to jam any signals from the device," Ren explains. "If it's got a homing beacon or anything like that, we need to keep it off the radar. To avoid being traced back to base, we're heading back to that warehouse."

Doc nods in agreement, his robotic horn giving a metallic glint under the dim lights of the room. "And if it's not fully constructed, we might be able to disable it or even reverse engineer it for our own purposes." His voice is a mix of excitement and caution. Clearly he's thought about how he could show off his technical manipulation powers by turning the possible suppressor on the villain. All he'd have to do is get close enough range for it to register and not have his powers suppressed himself if caught. They already recognize the villain isn't at all merciful.

"But first, we need to make sure we have an escape plan," Tango adds, his hands moving rapidly as he assembles some type of tech before taking it apart and doing it again like he had almost the entire meeting to keep himself focused and calm. "I've got some new tricks up my sleeve that'll make sure we're not caught off guard again."

"Good," Cleo says firmly, her eyes flicking to Ren, who nods. They've all learned from their past mistakes, and they're determined not to repeat them.

As nervous as Ren is to be going to a warehouse, he knows he'll be fine with Doc there. It's not like it's the same building or anything. It just might be in a similar area. The burnt smell it was described as having was probably just Tango anyway. He always smells like burnt metal from all the metal he works with eventually burning as he gets too frustrated with it.

They set out, the night air cold against their skin. Ren zips his blue sweater up higher as they walk through the alleyways. Doc, ever so slightly, lets his lab coat flap behind him in the breeze. It's a cool look. Ren wishes he could pull it off, but he's not quite tall enough, and it'd just look weird.

Speaking of weird, he decided to not wear his hero fit out. As much as he loves how powerful he feels in it, it would just be another reminder of the night he got his scar if he wore it to the similarly-described-definitely-not-the-same-warehouse.

The area was eerily quiet, the distant hum of the city a stark contrast to the stillness around them. They enter the warehouses cautiously, each step echoing off the metal walls.

Ren's heart is in his stomach. Fine. Maybe it was a closer comparison he hoped he was expecting.

Okay. Yeah.

It was definitely the same place.

Chapter Text

The same wooden structure in the rafters he remembers hiding in before regrettably dropping down to confront who was there. They were quite a bit discolored after the fire, as was most things around.

The packed boxes and crates were nothing more than the off slabs of charred wood dotting the back of the building.

The same layout, the same smell of burnt oak and metal, and the same dread filling Ren's chest. The only thing different was the lack of thick smoke and fire from that time, and of course, the packed, stuffy feel as it was crowded with tiny bottles in shipping containers like large amounts of packaged and mass produced eggs.

Doc notices the change in Ren's demeanor immediately. "You okay?" He asks, his one normal hand on Ren's shoulder.

Ren nods, swallowing thickly. "Yeah, I've just...been here before." He gestures to the burnt rafters. "Different circumstances." He tries to shake off the memories.

Nothing more needs to be said as it's all been said, in painful detail, to Doc before. His own dreadful feeling growing as he realizes exactly where this is.

They move through the warehouse, stepping around the long-since charred debris and avoiding any structurally questionable areas. Ren's eyes dart around, searching for any sign of movement before his eyes land on a particular spot in the back of the warehouse. Stopping in his tracks to idly stare at the spot.

"Ren, you okay, man?" Doc asks, barely getting the chance to move forward as he was practically walking against Ren after their realization.

Ren's eyes are glued to a spot in the back of the warehouse, something about it tugging at his memory. "Yeah," he says, his voice a bit shakier than he'd like to admit. "But we should be careful. This place... it's not exactly friendly to heroes."

Doc follows the gaze Ren holds that still doesn't move from the spot.

"What do you see, Ren?" His voice is steady, but there's an edge to it. Concern, curiosity, and maybe a bit of his own dread as well.

"It's where it all went down," Ren says softly, his eyes glazed over as he recalls the chaos of that fateful night. "Where I got this." He gestures to the scar under his chin.

Doc nods solemnly, his hand dropping from Ren's shoulder. He knew this place wasn't good for his friend. "Let's keep moving," he says, his voice gentle despite the hint of curiosity he feels about seeing what Ren does.

But he doesn't seem to hear Doc, his eyes dart slightly but he doesn't seem to see what's in front of him anymore.

Doc sighs and starts to follow Ren's gaze, trying to figure out what's caught his friend's attention so strongly.

"Ren, focus," Doc urges, his voice low but firm. "We can't let the past distract us from the mission." He knows it's probably insensitive all things considered, but he doesn't want Ren to break down at the though of his past. The mission can wait for all he cares, but it's a good enough excuse to draw his friend's attention back.

Ren's eyes stop fidgeting, he closes them and clears his mind. He turns his head to Doc before opening them again and nodding silently. The quicker they can register the warehouse empty, the faster they can get to work and leave without any more damage to either of their physical or mental health.

They make their way through the aisles of the warehouse, their steps deliberate and cautious as Ren's thoughts clear.

Once the warehouse is deemed vacant, they can get started with tracking the device and eventually jamming it's signals.

Chapter Text

In the mealtime, Bdubs and Impulse are out gathering intel on the device, their footsteps silent on the gritty alley floor on the other side of town.

Impuse keeps his guard up, his eyes darting around the shadowy streets. The air is thick with the scent of rain, the kind that hints at a storm brewing. He's not used to the rain, it almost never rains in the city, but it always ends up not a problem in the slightest.

Bdubs, on the other hand, is practically bouncing with energy, his eyes alight with excitement. "This is gonna be epic!" He whispers to Impulse, his voice a bit too loud for stealth.

Impulse rolls his eyes. "Keep it down, Dubs," he hisses jokingly, amused by the other's antics. "We're supposed to be sneaky."

They arrive at the outskirts of the industrial area where the signal is strongest. The buildings tower over them, a labyrinth of metal and concrete that seems to swallow any sound they make. The rain starts to fall lightly, misting Impulse's glasses and leaving a faint hiss as it sizzles against Impulse's weary, ungloved, and uneasily flaming hands.

Bdubs' excitement is palpable, his eyes scanning the area as if he can spot the device with sheer enthusiasm. "We're so close, I can feel it!" He whispers, his breath misting in the cool night air.

Impulse nods, his senses on high alert. He's more subdued than his companion, his mind racing through the potential dangers they might face. They know The Puppeteer is clever, and the fact that she's had so much time with the device is unsettling.

As they infiltrate deeper into the industrial area, the rain starts to come down harder, a sheet of water that obscures their vision and muffles their steps. They stay close to the shadows, avoiding the occasional flickering street lights that cast eerie reflections on the wet ground.

"We need to be careful," Impulse whispers, his eyes narrowed as he scans the area. "The Puppeteer's got to have some kind of surveillance set up around here. We just need to find where she is, hope she's "villain monologuing", and keep track of intel."

Bdubs nods, his hood pulled tight around his face, shoving back and strands of brown hair back with light annoyance. "And maybe we can grab the device while she's busy explaining her master plan to no one," he says with a smirk. "Oh, and I guess we should probably add "Don't get caught" to our list of hopes on our unrealistic planner."

Impulse laughs quietly, his eyes gleaming with a mix of humor and determination. "Always looking on the bright side, aren't you?" He says, nudging Bdubs lightly with his elbow.

Usually, the rolls are flipped between the two. Impulse being his anxious and negative self, while Bdubs is the one who embodies the word "sunshine". But they both never travel far from jokey sarcasm, no matter how out of character the moment is.

They keep moving, sticking to the shadows, their eyes peeled for any signs of movement or sound. The rain makes it difficult, but it also acts as a natural cover for them. They come upon a fenced-off area, the beeping growing louder. Impulse points to a side entrance that's slightly ajar.

--‐---
Iykyk
------

Now, they both must be strictly silent, straining to hear if there's a person past the door.

The beeping is definitely coming from there, but it's faint, almost like it's coming from underneath something. Or perhaps the rain's muffling it.

They both nod and decide to split up to cover more ground faster. Impulse takes the left, his blue flame flickering behind his yellow eyes, while Bdubs takes the right, his fists clenched at the ready. They know the risks of splitting up, but time is of the essence.

Impulse sneaks around a corner and spots a figure in the distance, hunched over what appears to be a large machine. The figure's back is to him, and it's too dark to make out any details. He signals to Bdubs, who nods, understanding the gravity of the situation.

They both approach slowly, their hearts pounding in their chests. The rain is now a steady patter on the metal roof above them, making it difficult to hear if the figure has noticed their approach. As they get closer, the beeping grows louder, and Impulse can feel the heat from the machine even through the chill of fear.

Bdubs decides the best move is to ping his location through his communicator, the silent alert to the rest of the group where they are if things go south and they need backup.

As they get closer, the figure turns, and they see it's not The Puppeteer, but one of her...minions? Workers? Puppets? A man with a wild look in his eyes, wearing a ragged sweatshirt and torn pants, fiddling with something that's giving off a faint red light.

Impulse and Bdubs freeze, their eyes locking on the device. It's definitely the power suppression device. But why would it be here? And why would a lackey have it?

The man seems to sense their presence and jerks around, his eyes widening in surprise. "Who're you?" He snarls, his hand reaching for something behind his back.

Bdubs and Impulse exchange a quick glance, deciding to play it cool for now. "We're...uh, new interns," Impulse improvises, raising his hands slightly. "We got lost looking for the main lab." He really hopes this guy meant the "who're you" to the famous vigilante and villain.

The man's eyes narrow, but he doesn't immediately attack. "What do you want?" He demands, his hand still out of view.

"Just looking for the boss," Bdubs says, trying to keep his voice steady. "We've got some... some information to share."

The man's hand comes into view, gripping a device that looks like a cross between a gun and a remote control. It's definitely not standard lackey equipment from their experiences. "You don't look like interns," he says, his voice laced with suspicion.

Impulse's mind races as he tries to come up with a believable cover story on the spot. "We're... uh, from the night shift," he says, hoping it'll be good enough to buy them some time. "We were told to report directly to our boss."

The man's eyes dart between them, his grip on the device tightening. "The boss doesn't take kindly to unexpected guests," he warns, his voice a mix of hostility and fear. "If you're not who you say you are, you're gonna regret it."

Bdubs takes a step forward, trying to maintain eye contact. "Look, we're on the same side here," he says, his voice low and soothing. "We're just trying to help."

The man's grip on the device doesn't loosen. "What makes you think you're on my side?" He snarls, his eyes flickering with a hint of madness.

"We work for the same person?" Impulse sounds like he's asking a question more than anything, but he doesn't seem to raise any more suspicion. "We are quite highly ranked, might I add. The boss wouldn't take too kindly to you giving us a hard time." He states, much more confident.

The man seems to consider this, his eyes darting between the two of them. "Alright, but if you're lying..." He doesn't finish the threat, but the implication is clear.

Chapter Text

Bdubs and Impulse follow the man through the warehouse, their senses heightened as they pass various contraptions and machines that seem to be in a state of disarray. The place is a mess, with tools scattered everywhere and wires hanging from the ceiling like vines in a jungle. It's clear that whoever is in charge here is working on something big, and they don't care much for neatness or safety regulations.

As they reach a metal door at the far end of the building, the man punches in a code and it slides open with a hiss. Inside, the beeping is much louder, and the room is bathed in a red glow from the large device that takes up most of the space. It looks like a giant metal octopus, with tentacle-like tubes snaking out in every direction, each one attached to a smaller unit.

Impulse feels his heart drop into his stomach. "This is it," he murmurs, his eyes scanning the room for any traps or other guards.

The room is empty, the man that brought them quickly hurrying back down the corridor they came from. Impulse nods to Bdubs, and together they cautiously approach the monstrous contraption.

The device hums with power, the red lights pulsing in time with the beeping. It's a sight to behold, and a little terrifying. But they've seen worse, much worse, in their line of work.

Bdubs makes quick work of photographing the room and devices as Impulse tries to figure it out. The large red glowing box he had originally thought to be a screen, was actually a window to the glowing red liquid stored inside.

Getting a closer look, it has more colors to it that it seems at a normal distance. Tiny flecks of yellow and green litter it like singular specs of glitter that isn't shiny at all. There is, however, a shiny affect of purple throughout the substance. All of which is completely hidden in red when seen normally.

"We need to get this to Doc," Impulse whispers urgently, his voice cutting through the rhythmic beeping and humming. "He can analyze it, maybe find a way to trace it or deconstruct it."

Bdubs nods, his camera flashing as he captures every angle of the device. The photos will be crucial for their team to plan their next move.

"Let's not stick around too long," Impulse whispers, his eyes darting to the door. "We don't know how much time we have before someone comes in."

Bdubs nods, his camera still clicking away as he captures every detail of the device. The air is thick with tension, the steady beeping almost a taunt in the otherwise still room. The rain outside seems to grow heavier, the drumming on the metal roof echoing through the warehouse, a constant reminder of the ticking clock.

On the back wall, Bdubs sees and immediately photographs a list of components. It's like a blueprint for the device, detailing the parts and their functions. It's the kind of information that could be invaluable for Doc. "Jackpot," he whispers, pointing it out to Impulse.

Impulse nods, his eyes lighting up with hope. "Come on, we've got to get out of here before someone notices," he says, urging Bdubs to finish up. They can't risk being caught with this kind of evidence.

Impulse leaves the room and stands guard at the door, waiting for Bdubs to finally join him. When he doesn't, he turns back around in time to see him taking one last picture of a small label on the side if the machine.

"Come on, Dubs, we've got what we need," Impulse says, trying to keep his voice down but still urgent.

Bdubs nods, his burner phone tucking away into his pocket. "Yeah, let's go," he murmurs, his eyes lingering on the label for just a second longer before he turns and heads towards the door.

They slip out of the room, the heavy metal door sliding closed with a thunk that echoes through the corridor. They both breathe a sigh of relief, but it's short-lived as they hear the sound of footsteps approaching.

Bdubs decides that a clean escape is worth a headache later, no matter how annoying it gets.

With the practiced turn of his wrist, the rain stops, the footsteps stop, and a clockface shines it's way into one of his eyes, holding time still around him and Impulse.

Knowing the headache Bdubs will have (and give everyone he talks to within the next 48 hours) if this lasts too long, Impulse hurries them out of the building through a back exit, spitting the two out into a different alley.

The world speeds back up around them, The clock in the shorter brunette's eye speeding to catch up. Leaving behind a dull pressure not too unlike holding back tears. Nothing Bdubs couldn't handle, though.

They sprint through the alley, the rain resuming its rhythmic assault as if it had never ceased. Their wet clothes stick to them, but the urgency of their mission keeps them warm. As they turn the corner, a flash of lightning illuminates their path, revealing a group of figures heading in their direction.

Bdubs groans. "Great, company," he says, his voice tight with pain from his light headache.

If he saw who it was, he wouldn't be so quick to complain.

Cleo, Etho, and Gem seem just as uneasy to have heard people approaching as they were. Both parties visibly relax once they catch view of each other in the streetlights.

"What took you two so long?" Cleo asks, her hand on her hip, her eyes scanning the two for any injuries or signs of trouble.

Bdubs waves her off, "It's fine, we've got the intel we needed." He says, his eyes still a bit glazed over from the time stop. "I thought you guys were planning on going to the other side of town."

"We decided to drop by to wait a bit after you pinged your location. There wasn't much to do anyway." Gem shrugs, fidgeting loosely with her mask.

"And we figured we'd keep an eye out for trouble," Etho adds with a nod towards Impulse and Bdubs.

The group quickly shares what they found, with Impulse explaining the device and the potential danger it poses.

"We need to get this to Doc," Bdubs says, passing the phone to Etho. "He can make sense of it all best. If there's enough tech powering it, he might be able to manipulate it at short range with his powers."

Etho nods, his eyes scanning the images intently. "We should get back to the base," he murmurs, already planning their next move.

The group quickly makes their way through the rain-soaked streets, the weight of their discovery pressing down on them. The tension is palpable as they discuss the possible implications of the device's power and The Puppeteer's true intentions.

Chapter Text

When they arrive at the base, they find DocM eagerly waiting for them. He takes the phone from Etho and starts analyzing the images, his eyes darting back and forth as he processes the information. He types away at a nearby computer, the screens displaying complex schematics that make everyone else's head spin.

Everyone until Tango waltzed in with Zed and Skizz.

He immediately jumps at getting a good look at whatever equipment they're up against.

"This... this is bad," he says, his voice low and serious. "This isn't just a power suppressor. It's a power amplifier." He points to the images of the colorful liquid. "Those are the DNA signatures of other vigilantes and villains combined with components of power suppression. She's been collecting them."

That sends an immediate chill over the group, Skizz perking especially. His own blood must be mixed in.

"It looks like there isn't a lot of samples," Doc says, the image now on a separate monitor. "Most of it looks like whatever red chemical makes up the stuff in the power suppression cuffs used by heroes."

"But look here," Zedaph points to a tiny corner of the screen, "There's a pattern in the impurities. It's not random." His sheepish voice is filled with a sense of urgency. "It's almost like she's been testing on specific individuals to perfect the formula."

"Does that mean it was already at testing point when it was stolen?" Gem chimes in, a little timid. "If so, that's got to mean those hero scientists or whatever were already testing it on people before."

"We need to get this to the council," Skizz says, his voice firm. "If she's got her hands on this, we're all in trouble."

"Where's Ren?" Impulse looks around for the hero, but hasn't seen him since they all parted ways for the mission.

"He was taking a breather in one of the offices in the back," Doc says, his eyes never leaving the screens. "But he's alright and he'll be back soon. We need to focus on this." His tone is softer as if he was talking to an upset Ren himself, but it gets the point across.

The group nods, their collective concern for their friend momentarily set aside as they dive into the implications of their discovery. The room buzzes with whispers and hushed tones, each member contributing their thoughts and theories about The Puppeteer's intentions.

"We can't let her get her hands on more of this," Cleo says, her voice filled with determination. "We have to move fast before she can use it on our friend."

Skizz takes a brief moment of pride in Cleo calling him her friend. I mean, yeah, they work together, but he's a hero, and they're a super badass villain! Just- let him have this, man!

But his thoughts are interrupted as Ren enters the room, his eyes a bit glazed over, and a hand holding his forehead as if he had a migraine. "What's going on?" He asks, his voice a bit shakier than usual.

Doc looks up from his screens, "We found the device. It's an amplifier."

Ren's eyes widen with concern, "What? That's... that's not good." He makes his way over to the group, his grip on the table steadying himself. "We need to find out where she is and get that device before she can do anything with it."

Doc nods, still typing away. "I've already started tracking the unique energy signatures of the samples. It's a long shot, but if she's got the device active anywhere, we should be able to find her."

Bdubs massages his temples, the aftermath of his time manipulation making his head throb now. "We need a plan," he says, trying to focus through the pain. "We can't just storm in there. She's expecting us."

He tries to close his eyes to clear his head from pain but it's gotten so much worse since they left the building. He only stopped time for a couple minutes, maybe 5 at most, but it's almost as bad as the migraine he got when he'd accidentally left something paused for three hours before realizing once.

It shouldn't be getting this bad. Especially after all this time of recovery.

"Bdubs," Impulse whispers, noticing his friend's pain. "Are you okay?"

Bdubs nods, gritting his teeth. "Yeah, just a headache," he says, his voice tight. "It'll pass."

But Impulse knows better. He's seen the effects of B overusing his time manipulation before. "You need to sit down," he insists, guiding him to a chair. "Let's get you some water and maybe some painkillers."

"No, I'm fine," Bdubs protests weakly, but his legs give out, and he collapses into the chair. The room spins around him, and he feels like he's going to be sick. He's pushed his powers too far before, but never like this.

It shouldn't be this bad.

There's no reason he should have such a terrible headache almost 45 minutes after using his power. Especially if he only used it sparingly.

Cleo, noticing his condition, rushes over with a bottle of water and a pill. "Here," she says, her voice gentle. "Take this. It's not much, but it'll help."

Bdubs takes the pill with a grateful nod, swallowing it down with a gulp of water. The pain is like a vice around his head, but he tries to ignore it, focusing on the task at hand. "We need to find out where she is," he says, his voice strained.

"You can't think about anything right now." Tango's voice is a perfect mix of sarcasm and a comforting worry for his friend. "You're a big part of this team Bdubs, and you're ideas work a lot. There's no way this is more important than you in pain." He pauses as others nod to agree.

"Yeah, Dubs. This can wait a few more minutes." Etho adds, the worry in his voice much less concealed than Tango's. "It's waited this long, what's a little longer?"

Bdubs nods, the room spinning slightly as he leans back in the chair. "Okay," he murmurs, his eyes closing for just a brief moment.

"Let's go over what we do know," Zed says, taking charge. "We have the location of the device, a rough understanding of how it works, and a potential in the DNA samples."

While everyone is talking, Ren approaches DocM. "Hey Doc, can you check on something for me?" He asks quietly, his eyes still on the screens.

Doc nods without looking away from his work. "What's up?"

Ren leans in closer, his voice low. "I think we might have a bigger problem than we thought. Take a look at this." He hands Doc a data stick with shaky hands. "It's from a back office in the warehouse. Found it while we were searching."

"How old do you think it is?" Doc looks over the stick, the condition not unveiling whether or not it was there before the fire.

"Couldn't tell," Ren admits, his eyes never leaving the stick as if it held the answers to their problems. "But it was in a safe, hidden under some old tech. Not much in the room was burned though."

Doc takes the stick and slots it into the computer, the screens flickering to life with new data. The images that appear are grainy and out of focus, but the content sends a shiver down everyone's spine.

Doc shuts it down before much is even played, just enough to know what exactly was on the drive.

The room is tense, worried eyes land on Ren with bated breath.

"Well, that one mystery solved." He says, taking back the drive. "It's definitely not recent." Ren nods, his eyes never leaving the spot where the image had been.

No one has to say what it is, the blur of fighting, one to a dozen, is all that most of them need to know about what's on the drive.

Everything else is and will predictably stay with Ren.

He hates how much he wants to see it from a different perspective. Maybe. Just maybe, it holds the secrets of that night he can't remember.

But now isn't the time.

Ren shakes his head, tucking the drive into his pocket. "We'll deal with that later," he says firmly. "Right now, we need to focus on The Puppeteer."

The others seem a bit surprised at how well Ren's doing after seeing blurred moments of the worst night in his career.

But that's just Ren, unpredictable, dramatic, and quite possibly the best and worst at managing his own emotions.

"Alright," Doc says, his tone switching from concerned to commanding. "Let's get to planning. We know she's got the device and the means to make more. We need to find her lab before she can perfect her recipe and turn the tables on us."

"Actually-" Bdubs tries to call attention to himself but everytime he moves he feels like he got hit with the back of a hammer right between the eyes. "We might not have to do much regarding the recipe."

"Why's that?" Skizz sounds just as much intrigued as he does suspicious.

"Have any of you even looked at the last picture I took?" He presses a hand to his forehead to try and ease the pain. "I don't know how well you can read it, as Impulse was rushing me to leave when I got it."

Impulse looks over, confused. "What are you talking about?" He grabs Bdubs's burner phone and finds the most recent picture.

Chapter Text

The quality isn't perfect, some words are cut off, others are blurred, but in perfect English is written the ingredients taped half-hazardly to the side of the machine. It's handwritten and looks to be ripped out of a notebook.

Impulse reads it aloud, his voice echoing in the room. The ingredients are a mix of chemicals and... something else. Something that doesn't quite sit right with anyone.

"It's not just a list of chemicals," Zedaph says, his eyes squinting at the screen. "Look closer. There are names in there."

The group gathers around, their whispers turning to gasps as they realize the gravity of the situation. The names are those of several missing vigilantes and villains, their fates now tied to The Puppeteer's twisted experiments.

"This changes everything," Cleo says, her voice shaking with anger. "We need to get to her lab before she does anything else."

"But how do we even find it?" Etho asks, his gaze bouncing between the screens. "The Puppeteer is not exactly known for leaving breadcrumbs."

"We have a lead," Ren says, his voice firm. "Those samples. They're from missing vigilantes and villains. We need to trace where she's been taking them and who she's been working with."

Skizz nods, his eyes dark. "I'll start compiling a list of the missing, see if there's a pattern."

The room is a whirlwind of activity, everyone jumping into action, their determination stronger than ever.

"I can help with that," Impulse says, his eyes darting around the room before landing on Zedaph. "I know a couple of underground connections who might've seen something."

Zedaph nods eagerly, his eyes lighting up at the mention of his expertise in the shadier side of the city. "I can tap into some of the darker networks, see if there's any intel on where she's been hiding out."

Cleo, ever the strategist, starts to pace the room. "We need to think about this carefully. If she's been testing this on other supers, then she's had a lot of time to perfect it. We can't just go in guns blazing."

"Agreed," says Doc, his robotic eye scanning over the data. "We need to understand the full extent of her capabilities and how she's been using this device."

Cleo takes in the small moment. Being agrees with by a hero she has fought many times isn't something that happens every day.

But today isn't about their past. It's about saving the future.

After several hours of research, Impulse is probably O.D-ing on caffeine, Skizz is watching him work over his shoulder, though retains none of the information, Tango is somehow reading from a site while hanging over the side of the metal shelf above the computer, his exact words being; "it's comfy". Bdubs has been asleep for the past 30 minutes, Etho is talking quietly to Doc next to him, Gen is sketching up battle plans, Ren went back to the office after 2-3 hours, Cleo is discussing with Gem, and Zed is about to fall asleep.

So progress is what's expected from the Hermits.

Or at least the lack there of.

Once Zed realizes he's about to fall asleep, he calls it a night and heads back to his apartment as himself.

Without the goggles and lab coat, he's the average sheep hybrid with bright blonde hair. His heterochromatic gaze being the most notable thing to his appearance.

One eye, a nice lavender with the pupil of any normal person, if not maybe a bit bigger. His other, a swirl of hazel, every color you can see, speckled into his eyes, completely matching his weird and wacky personality.

It's what makes him perfect for TV, he's entertaining, unpredictable, fun, and all around a positive figure in town.

Oh, how would the city react to the well-known reporter being renowned villain?

But that's a thought for another day as Zedaph stumbles into his apartment, his mind racing with the day's findings. The room feels eerily quiet compared to the buzz of the command center, the only sound being the soft patter of rain outside his window. He kicks off his shoes and makes his way to his bedroom, the weight of the mission pressing down on him. As he collapses onto his bed, he can't shake the image of the names on that list. Friends, enemies, and even some innocents caught in the crossfire, all potential victims of The Puppeteer's madness.

The clock on his nightstand ticks away the moments, each digital click hoping to lull him to sleep within a few minutes.

Though someone like Bdubs could sleep anywhere, Zed not.

Theoretically, he could fall asleep anywhere. But there's just one tiny issue with that.

His dreamy powers don't just work on others, the side effects give him some of the strangest dreams.

This also includes many instances of sleepwalking, sleeptalking, sleepeating, sleepclimbingoutthewindowandfallingonthefireescape. Things like that.

When he's stressed about things, it get worse. And lately, he hasn't been more stressed.

His mind is racing with thoughts of the device, of the potential catastrophe that could unfold if they don't get their hands on it. And now, with the stress of being captured by people on both sides of the moral spectrum, faces flash through his mind.

Faces of people he's interviewed, faces of those who have saved him more than once, and faces of those who have tried to kill him.

Funny how his identity and therefore relationship to heroes can change.

But that's the world they live in, where a villain can be a hero in the right light. But when dimmed enough, a hero can be just a villainous as him.

The rain outside turns into a downpour, the noise a comfort to his restless mind. The world is chaos, and yet here he is, in his quiet, cozy apartment, pretending for just a few hours that he isn't a part of it. But the truth is, he's in the heart of it all.

Zedaph closes his eyes, trying to push aside the images of the lab, the smell of burning circuits, and the pained cries of his comrades. The pillow feels like it's made of lead, and the bed isn't quite as soft as he remembers. His mind wanders back to the list of names, faces he's seen both on the news and in the shadows of the city.

Ones he's reported on. Ones he knew.

Zedaph's mind whirled with the gravity of the situation. He knew he had to get some rest, but the thought of his dreams likely turning into a nightmare was a bit too much. He was tired, so tired of hiding, of lying, of being the villain.

He never wanted to be the one doing damage to things. In reality, he wanted to be a hero.

It's all he dreamed of growing up. He would be the one people looked up to.

But that obviously didn't work out.

He stopped trying after a long road of unforgiving and unforgettable memories.

Ones he wishes he didn't have to remember.

Chapter Text

The room feels colder now, the rain's rhythm a drumline in his head. He can't escape the feeling that time is slipping away, that every second he's not out there is another second all he is is a villain.

He rolls over, trying to find a more comfortable position, but it's like the bed is made of needles.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, he throws off the covers and makes his way to the living room. He turns on the TV, the flickering light casting shadows across the room. It's on a news channel, and the reporter is talking about the recent dip in vigilante activity from both Bdubs and Tango.

They hadn't had a lot of spare time you patrol with having their own day jobs and with all the planning.

The reporter confirms they are still searching for the vigilantes and says the classic "see something say something" line Zed has had to say a million and one times while giving his own reports.

He goes over what he has to do tomorrow to keep his mind busy.

6:15am - interview prep with south side hero Hypnotizd. 6:30am - hopefully get cleared by Hypo's PR team to do the interview. 7:30 - interview once-vigilante-turned-hero VintageBeef about his recent break and when he plans to make a full return. 8:10 - speak with Ren's social media management Martyn and Cherri about design significance and how much the hero supports the two in management.

Many more meetings, many more interview pre-recordings, a few live reports leading into lunch and eventually the evening, where at 9:15pm he can clock out and become his other persona.

Tomorrow runs quite a bit longer than usual but he does it without complaint either way.

He's tired, mentally and physically drained, but the thought of not being able to help pushes him forward.

He pours himself a glass of water and takes a seat on the couch, staring out the window into the stormy night. The rain is a blur on the glass, mixing with the city lights to create a mirage of a world where everything is okay.

But it's not okay. Far from it.

The clock reads 2:56, and Zedaph can feel his mind start to drift. His eyelids grow heavy, and despite his best efforts, sleep is inevitable. The TV's glow is the only company he has, the murmur of the news reporter's voice a backdrop to the chaos in his head. He knows he'll pay for it tomorrow, but he needs to rest, if only for a little while.

The rain outside turns into a soothing lullaby, and his thoughts start to blur into a half-conscious state. His eyes close, and the world fades away, leaving only the sound of the rain and the distant hum of the city.

But sleep isn't kind to Zedaph. His dreams are storms of memories and fears. He sees the device and The Puppeteer's twisted smile. He's running through the streets, chased by his own bright and swirling shadows, the weight of the world on his shoulders. The rain turns to fire, the city burning around him as he reaches out for a hand that isn't there.

He jolts awake, his heart racing, the digital clock's red numbers taunting him: 5:33 AM. He's overslept.

"Fuck," he mutters to himself, jumping off the couch and into action. He quickly throws on a fresh outfit, the soft fabric of his sweater feeling like sandpaper against his skin.

The rain has let up a bit, but the city is still wet, the smell of wet pavement and metal in the air. He grabs his keys and heads out the door, his mind racing with the tasks ahead. The early morning air is a slap in the face, a stark contrast to the warmth of his apartment.

The streets are empty, the only sounds being the occasional car passing by, the distant rumble of thunder, and the squeak of his shoes on the wet ground. He tries to focus on the quiet, let it soothe him, but his thoughts keep drifting back to the mission.

Zedaph has always had a love-hate relationship with mornings. On one hand, they're a fresh start, a new opportunity to make a difference. On the other, they're a cruel reminder of the long day ahead.

He makes his way to the news station, his mind racing with the information they found at the lab. The missing vigilantes and villains, the potential for an even larger threat than they initially anticipated. It's a heavy burden to carry, but he knows he can't let it show on camera.

He never does.

Once he's checked into work at the station, he's sent to the Hero Tower for the interviews he has has to do before coming back to do his usual reports. Best part is, he gets just over 5 minutes to ride the subway each trip.

What a joy it is to work as a reporter.

Zedaph thought as he waited in the lobby of Hero Tower, sipping on the worst coffee he's had in a while. The walls are adorned with plaques of heroes that have passed the tower's strict standards, the floor gleaming with the polish of pride.

He fidgets with the guest badge he gets everytime he shows up to get through the increasingly tough security in the building.

He could swear there's another code on the doors everytime he gets here.

But the security guards know him, and with a nod, they wave him through the doors and into the elevator. The ride up is quick, the elevator music trying to be calming, but only adding to his nerves.

Once he reaches the top, the view of the city is breathtaking. A stark contrast to the chaos he knows is happening below.

Zedaph takes a deep breath, centers himself, and heads into the interview room. Hypo is already there, his dark gray and yellow costume a stark contrast to the neutral tones of the room. They shake hands, and Zed can't help but feel a twinge of envy. To have such confidence in one's identity, to be so openly accepted by the public eye.

And most of all.

Similar powers.

Zed's powers had been the one deterring him from being a hero. He could never quite control them. The one time he really tried to upon being forced, he gave someone a seizure.

But Hypo is the embodiment of security with power. His power, much as his name suggests, is hypnosis.

By whistling, he can confuse and hypnotize anyone in radius with perfect control.

He's a hero that doesn't get enough credit from media.

And that's what Zed's for. He'll draw out the best of the hero and put it on display to show how the cities heroes are when they aren't against villains.

They spend time going over questions, adding and reviewing, before Hypo's PR team goes over it on their own, deeming it acceptable and clearing the interview.

The cameras start rolling, and Zed switches on his charming smile. The interview begins with the usual ad reads and pleasantries, but as they dive into the meat of the conversation, Zed can't help but feel the tension in the air.

"So, Hypnotizd," he says, leaning in slightly, "any leads on the recent disappearance of vigilantes like B00100 and Deep Frost?"

Hypo's smile doesn't waver, but Zedaph sees the flicker of concern in his eyes. "We're working tirelessly to ensure the safety of all heroes and civilians, Mr. Playn. The Council is on top of it, I assure you."

Zed nods, keeping his tone light. "And how does that affect your daily patrols? Any changes?"

Hypo considers the question, his gaze momentarily distant. "Well, we've had to be more vigilant, you could say. We're watching out for any signs of trouble that might be related to their disappearance. But the show must go on. We can't let fear control us."

Zed nods in understanding, his mind racing. He can't let on that he's more than just a journalist. "Of course, of course," he says, his voice even and professional. "And speaking of fear, how do you handle the psychological toll of fighting crime? The pressure of being a hero?"

Hypo's expression turns serious, and he leans in, his eyes focused on the camera. "It's not easy, but it's a burden we all carry. We do it because it's the right thing to do. This is our passion. "

Zedaph nods, his mind racing as he thinks of his own double life. He quickly shakes off the thought and presses on. "And what advice would you give to our young aspiring heroes out there?"

Hypo pauses, his expression softening. "Stay true to yourself. Your power is a trait, not a crutch. It's an extension of yourself before it's an aid. Remember where and why you started. And never, ever, forget to breathe."

Zedaph nods, scribbling notes on his pad. "Wise words," he murmurs. The interview wraps up, and as the cameramen start leaving for break, he takes a deep breath and turns to Hypo. "Listen, I know we're just doing our jobs here, but between you and me, do you have any real leads on who's behind the disappearances of villains and vigilantes? If you do, I might have something of my own."

Hypo's eyes narrow slightly, and he leans back in his chair. "What do you mean, 'something of your own'?"

Zed shrugs, needing to play this off. "Just word on street I'd be willing to trade."

Hypo considers this for a moment before leaning in, his eyes searching Zed's. "Alright, Playn. But this stays between us." He lowers his voice, and the air in the room seems to thicken with secrets. "We've had our suspicions about someone called The Puppeteer. We're not sure what she's after, but the pattern of abducted vigilantes and villains matches her pathing. Now. What do you know."

Zed considers the words before deciding to give something pretty tame. "Deep Frost and B00100 aren't one of the few she's taken yet, but she's after Zedaph because of his power. I thought I'd warn you because yours is similar."

Hypo's expression darkens. "I see. Thank you for the information, Mr. Playn. We'll look into it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a city to protect." He softly smiles as he stands, giving Zed a firm handshake before leaving the lobby area at go to out to patrol for the day.

Zedaph watches him go before heading back to the elevator. His mind reels with the knowledge that he's just played a dangerous card. The Puppeteer had her eyes on him, and now he had the Council's attention.

But he's got a plan. He's always had a plan.

This one's just a little better at hiding from him.

Chapter Text

I encourage skipping this chapter if you haven't yet watched or seen what is previewed as this doesn't protain to the story other than potential call backs or references in the future.

⚠️⚠️⚠️Spoilers for both the 'is that sheep looking at me' finals, MCC and the last episode of wild life. Proceed with caution ⚠️⚠️⚠️

Ok, so. Starting with the Wild Life ending.

We're all in agreement that Joel's win has been 1, expected. 2, deserved. And 3, too long awaited. All we need now is figuring out what planet he is to match the others.

His performances in previous life seasons (-3rd life) have definitely warranted a win for him! He played really well and I'm really proud of how he did.

I'm also pretty hyped about Ren getting such a high place after being gone the last few years, with Tango and Bdubs getting good placements as well.

And, of course...

JIMMY

'Nuf said honestly.

On to MCC.

Gem Ant the Scotts victoryyyyy letsss goooo!

Both pink and green getting them into DogeBolt was an incredible sight to see from orange's perspective live.

Hearing about the bug of crowns from fWhip made me even happier about the win than I already was.

And let's be honest. That GORGEOUS stage Gem built deserves to be immortalized along with the adorable bad good!

And finally, 'Is that sheep looking at me'.

I'll admit I haven't watched it yet, I know, sad. But I'm going to! And I've heard Skizz won which makes me want to watch it more!

Skizz winning anything brings me lots of joy tho tbh. Just love the guy to bits.

But I also love you to bits <3 if you read through the spoilers and haven't yet seen the real things, I highly recommend you do. I know I'll be re-watching this MCC as well as checking out other POVs (I definitely want to see green's and pink's in particular) and I'll be watching Zed's sheep finals when I get a minute, maybe updating this post when I do. Enjoy the rest of your time online!

Updates coming soon, potentially within the next few hours if I decide, as my other chapter name suggests, sleep is for the weak.

-Aegro

Chapter Text

Zedaph thought to himself as he sat in an office, going over the footage from his interview with Hypnotizd. He knew he had to be careful with what he shared. Too much, and he'd give himself away. Too little, and he wouldn't get the intel he needed.

The clock ticked away, the seconds feeling like hours as he waited for his next appointment. He couldn't help but check the time on his phone, his anticipation for the upcoming interview with VintageBeef was palpable.

It's been scheduled and approved by Beef's PR manager, Pause, for almost two weeks while Beef had been on break. Now, the hero was finally reappearing on shorter patrols now and then.

The elevator dings, and Zedaph stands, straightening his brightly colored blazer. He's got this. He's done this a hundred times. But today feels different.

He steps out into a lobby again, now with the image of Beef standing there, tall and broad, with a smile that could light up the darkest of nights. Beef's PR team (really just two people, one of which never goes to in-person events) is a little more... excitable than Hypo's, but he's prepared for that.

Pause is energetic in the face of media, a long-time friend of Beef's as they grew up around the same area.

It's easy to explain things without having to go over everything with the both of them, all the work done with a while of preparation.

"VintageBeef! So good to see you back," Zedaph says with genuine enthusiasm, extending his hand to shake the butcher-themed heroes.

"Likewise, Kris!" Beef booms, his grip firm and warm. His costume is a little less flashy than Hypo's, but it carries an undeniable charm with its retro aesthetic. They head to the designated interview area, passing by a few of the Tower's staff.

Ever the angel he is, Beef makes sure Zed is well accommodated and if he needs anything before they start.

"Just the usual," Zedaph says with a smile, trying to keep his excitement in check. This interview was scheduled to be completely live with thousands of viewers as the beloved hero fully addressed his slight disappearance on scene.

The room they enter is smaller than the one Hypo was in, with walls lined with posters of classic movies, giving it a cozy, nostalgic vibe that Beef thrives in.

"So, tell me, Kris," Beef says, his deep voice filling the space, "What's the scoop today?"

"Oh, it's all about you bud! Spotlight's all yours today my friend." Zed's naturally exiting voice carries through the soundproofed room as the cameras go live to the city's most popular channel to find up-to-date information on their favorite heroes; "Hero's Spotlight!" Where every hero gets a spotlight shining on their own recent whereabouts.

Beef laughs heartily, his chest shaking slightly under his butcher-themed costume. "Well, I hope I'm not too boring for 'em today." He winks at Zedaph, the gesture bringing a genuine smile to the journalist's face despite his own constant swimming thoughts.

"All I really left for was a mental health break honestly. It's important for heroes to take breaks and not over work ourselves, though easy it is." Beef says, leaning back into the plush chair.

Zed nods in understanding, his heart pounding. This was his chance. "That's true, especially with the recent... tensions. Have you had any strange encounters while out on patrol?"

Beef's smile falters for a moment, his gaze flicking to Pause, who gives a almost unnoticeable nod. "Not really. Just the usual thugs and troublemakers."

Zedaph's mind races, trying to find the right angle to steer the conversation. He doesn't want to spook Beef, but he needs to know more about the hero's perspective on the recent events. "And what about the rumors of vigilantes going missing? Has that affected your approach to keeping the city safe? Are there any known leads yet?"

Beef's eyes darken, and he sighs heavily. "It's definitely a concern. We're all a little on edge. We're looking into it, of course, but so far, it's all been very hush-hush. We don't want to alarm the public more than necessary. As it's not currently a danger to civilians."

He takes another minute to assess before adding on. "I'm not the kind of hero that dislikes vigilantes in the slightest, and I can assure the public this is something that I and several other heroes are seeing to get addressed as quickly as possible."

He smiles, turns to the central camera. "No one in our city will be treated as less of a priority from me depending on status, hero, civilian, vigilante, villain. Before any of that, it's a person. To me, they are treated as such."

The words hang in the air, and Zedaph nods solemnly, his heart swelling with hope. Perhaps there's more to a lot of heroes than meets the eye. "That's very noble of you. Now, I know you're busy, but do you have any advice for those out there who might be looking to join the hero community?"

VintageBeef's expression turns thoughtful, and he leans forward, his eyes earnest. "Listen, man. It's not about the cape or the mask. It's about the person underneath. If you're looking to help, you're already on the right path. Just remember, with great power comes great responsibility. Don't let it define you, but let it guide you to make the right choices."

Zedaph nods, scribbling notes as he listens intently. His heart skips a beat as he thinks of his own secret identity. "Wise words, indeed. Thank you, Beef. Now, before we wrap up, any messages for your fans and supporters watching from home?"

Beef's smile returns in full force, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "Oh, absolutely! I just want to say a massive thank you to everyone out there who's had my back. Whether it's fighting alongside me, or just cheering me on from the sidelines, you're all heroes in your own right." He pauses, his gaze becoming more serious. "And to those who might be feeling lost or scared with everything that's going on, remember, you're not alone. We're all in this together, and we'll get through it."

The live interview ends on a high note, and as the crew starts packing up, Zedaph can't help but feel a twinge of sadness. The heroes he's interviewing today are his allies in a different life, and their ignorance of his true identity weighs heavily on his conscience. He shakes it off, focusing instead on the task at hand.

Pause approaches him with a smile. "Great job! You really know how to get the best out of our heroes. You should come to one of our events sometime, get to know the team better."

Zedaph nods, smiling back. "Maybe I will," he says, tucking his notepad away. "But for now, I've got some other things to look into. Thanks for having me."

Pause nods. "Anytime, man. Take care out there."

As they part ways, a message hits Zed's phone. He wasn't expecting any updates on things today, but it makes a lot more sense once he reads it.

It's a text from Martyn, postponing their meeting over a few double-booking instances and hopes for a reschedule soon.

With that, Zedaph leaves the Tower, the rain having stopped by now. The interview with VintageBeef had been surprisingly uplifting. Despite the gravity of the situation, Beef's words of unity and hope resonated with him. Maybe they weren't fighting alone after all.

He makes his way to a coffee shop where he had agreed to meet with Tango and Impulse after only getting back to the station 4 minutes late after the cancelation and a delay in transit to start up live reports. Clocking out after a busy day to go meet with some of his closest friends was a welcomed comfort.

The warm, inviting scent of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air as he enters, a stark contrast to the dark, cold, and damp world outside. The two are already seated in a quiet corner, their eyes scanning the room with a vigilance that speaks volumes about their current state of mind.

As Zedaph approaches, Tango nods in his direction, his gaze never leaving the door. "You're late," he says, his tone flat in a way Zed knows he's only joking.

"Well, you're lucky you've caught me at all. I usually would come for coffee after 9:00pm." Zedaph quips back, sliding into the chair across from the both of them. The coffee shop is dimly lit, casting a serene glow on the windows that mirror their own reflections.

Impulse's eyes light up with mischief at the sight of Zedaph. "You know, I've always wondered how you manage to keep your day job with all this nighttime heroism going on."

Zedaph chuckles, sliding his phone into his pocket. "It's all about time management," he says, his voice low and serious. "And a little bit of... creative scheduling."

Tango's gaze shifts to him, curiosity piqued. "Meaning?"

Zedaph takes a deep breath. "Meaning, I have my sources. I've been playing both sides of the coin for a while now, and it's been paying off. But I'm getting tired of playing games."

"You sure you're feeling alright Z? I don't think I've ever heard you of all people say you were tired of games." Impulse chimes in, his voice lifted with a laugh.

Zedaph's smile is thin. "Well, the stakes are getting too high for my taste. I've got enough on my plate with the villain stuff and my journalism. Plus, keeping tabs on Skizz and the Council isn't exactly a cakewalk."

Impulse's expression sobered, his mind flicking to the constantly stiff wings of his friend. "Speaking of which, any word on when Skizz will be back in action?"

"You're guess if much better than mine, Impy." Zed shrugs and leans back, watching Impulse's very slight glare at both him and Tango for making the nickname normalized in the group. "You live with the guy."

Impulse nods, his hand absently playing with the handle of his coffee cup. "Yeah, he's been pushing himself too hard. I think he's more worried about us than himself."

Tango's gaze sharpens. "We need to get him that proper medical attention he's been avoiding. We can't have our team at half capacity."

Zedaph nods solemnly. "I've been trying to get him to see reason, but you know Skizz. He's stubborn as a mule."

"His IQ's about the same." Tango mutters, rolling his eyes playfully.

"Come on, Tango. We all know we four share about 3 braincells between us. You just get them most often." The Brit smirks at the other two, kicking Tango's leg from under the table.

Tango laughs, the sound echoing in the mostly empty coffee shop. "You're one to talk." He glances around, ensuring their conversation remains private. "But, in all seriousness, we can't keep playing this game forever. Sooner or later, we're going to have to choose a side." His red eyes hold a deep sort of hesitance when bringing it up.

"You know that if it ever comes down to it, I choose us in a heartbeat. I'm never going to choose some job priority over you. Even if that puts me in a bad situation with the heroes." Zedaph says, his voice firm, reading Tango's gaze like his favorite book. While Impulse puts a comforting arm over Tango's shoulders, a very welcome gesture with how rare it is that Impulse really gives out physical affection.

Tango's expression softens slightly. "Thanks, guys. This means a lot. But we can't ignore the Council's suspicion forever. And with heroes knowing something's up..."

"We're just going to have to be more careful." Impulse says, his voice calm but determined. "We have each other's backs, and we're getting closer to the truth."

Zedaph nods, the gravity of the situation setting in. "You're right. We can't let our personal feelings cloud our judgment." He looks at Impulse, whose yellow eyes seem to hold a silent question. "But we need to keep the lines of communication open with the Council. We're not their enemies from what they know; we're just looking for answers."

Impulse nods, sipping his coffee. "Agreed. But what if they find out about us?"

Zedaph's expression is thoughtful. "We've got to be smart about it. We've got Doc on our side, and he's got connections. We play this right, we might just be able to get them to listen."

They all turn over their opinions. "That's not to mention both Ren and Skizz. Three heroes working with us could sway opinions. And getting Grian and Scar to vouch for us could be a game changer." Tango murmurs, keeping their conversation quiet even though the shop is mostly empty.

Zedaph nods, his mind racing with the possibilities. "But we need to be ready to face the consequences if things go south."

Impulse nods solemnly. "We've been walking a tightrope for too long. It's time we decide if we're going to keep balancing or make a run for it."

Tango leans in, his voice a low growl. "We've got the intel, the skills, and now we know we're not the only ones looking for answers. It's time we start taking action."

Zedaph nods, his eyes reflecting the seriousness of the situation. "We need to be smart about this. We can't just charge in blindly." He glances around the coffee shop again, ensuring their conversation remains private. "We need a plan."

Chapter Text

Before too much more discussion can take place, Tango is about ready to climb over the table, the only thing stopping him being Impulse's arms around his middle, ready to strangle Zed for taking his coffee.

An appropriate response.

At least that's what Ren said when they had to explain the bruise on Zed's jaw when they got to the base to further discuss plans together.

The meeting closes early without much progress as it's already late and there weren't a lot of members that could make it.

Doc had an appointment to see if there could be any progress made to help him with the phantom pains in his arm. Or the lack of arm, rather.

Skizz was procrastinating making his own appointment for physical therapy. No real reason, just doesn't want to go.

Cleo had to cover a last minute shift in their small coffee shop, Gem coming in to help her as a volunteer.

Etho was doing Etho things. He says it's patrolling but no one really believes him.

So it was just ZIT, Bdubs, and Ren able to go over things. Which also means they did absolutely nothing the entire time.

The Hermits have their own kinda way of distraction that none can ever avoid.

But now that it's over, Impulse can drag Skizz to physical therapy.

"Come on, buddy," Impulse says, his voice gentle despite his usual teasing tone. "You know you need this."

He'd barely had time to get home before the hero was trying to sneak out to continue his procrastination.

"Skizz, I know you don't want to go, but we can't keep putting this off." Impulse says, his yellow eyes filled with a rare seriousness. "It's only going to get worse if you keep putting it off."

Skizz sighs, his wings drooping slightly. "I know, I know," he mumbles, his voice a mix of defeat and frustration. "But it's just... it's hard, okay?"

Impulse doesn't have to think long to know exactly what to say. "You're not going to be able to help anyone if your wings are this big of a liability."

Skizz winces, but he doesn't argue. They've had this conversation before. It's the same one he has with himself every morning in the mirror. "But what if they find out?"

"Find out what?" Impulse asks, genuinely wondering what could possibly be sobad for someone to know that he'll put the use of his wings permanently at risk.

Skizz's eyes dart around the room, searching for something that isn't there. "You know what I mean," he says evasively.

Impulse looks Skizz in the eyes, and for one of the first times, "No, I don't."

Skizz's gaze drops to the floor, his tail swishing nervously behind him. "What if...what if they find out I'm not as strong as they think I am?"

Impulse sighs at that, coming closer and giving Skizz a hug. One that's returned immediately but with a noticeable ease to it, like Skizz doesn't fully believe he's being hugged by one of the most touch-resistant people he's ever met. Of course they've hugged before, but usually it was Skizz that initiated, or it was a short moment of excitement or a quick goodbye.

"You're stronger than you think you are. In every way. But keeping yourself from getting the help you need is only hurting you and everyone around you." Impulse squeezes just a bit tighter, carful around Skizz's wings. "I've been really worried, man. Everyone has. You need to do something about this before it gets worse and becomes irreversible."

Skizz nods into the hug, his grip tightening around Impulse's shoulders. "I know," he says, his voice muffled. "I just... I don't know. I guess I'm scared."

Impulse pulls back, holding Skizz at arm's length and looking him straight in the eyes. "You're not alone, buddy. We're all here for you. And if you want, I'll be right next to you the entire time."

Skizz looks up at the ceiling, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You would?"

Impulse nods firmly. "Yeah, of course. You're family."

Skizz's eyes widen slightly at the declaration, something he hadn't expected to hear. But it was something he'd felt for a while now. The bond that formed between them was unlike any he'd had before. It was a strange mix of friendship and loyalty that was forged in the fires of their shared battles and secrets. In the years and years of friendship that's now bloomed into their small found family.

"Alright," Skizz says, his voice a little shaky. "Let's do it."

Impulse gives him a firm nod and a clap on the shoulder. "That's the spirit. Now go get dressed, we don't want to be late. I made an appointment already it's in like 30 minutes." He lightly pushes Skizz towards his rom. "If you didn't agree to this I probably would have just told you we were getting ice-cream or something."

Skizz laughs despite himself, the tension in the room dissipating slightly. "Yeah, right." He says, but he goes to get dressed, knowing that his friend is probably serious.

As they leave the apartment, Skizz can't help but feel a knot in his stomach. He's been avoiding this for so long, the thought of someone seeing him at his weakest, even if it's for his own good, is terrifying.

The physical therapy office is clean and brightly lit, a stark contrast to the shadowy world they're used to operating in. The only visible person in the building, a short girl with cotton candy pink hair in a blue and white dress, gives them a warm smile. "Welcome to LD Therapy," she says cheerfully. "Do you have an appointment with us today?"

"I do, it should be down for 'Andy'." Impulse leaves over the counter as he checks Skizz in. "We're a little late, this one wouldn't get out the door fast enough." He rolls his eyes, their appointment being scheduled to start about 18 minutes ago. Impulse has always hated being late, and that's never going to change no matter how many times he is.

The receptionist, Lizzie, her name tag reads, nods, her eyes flicking over to Skizz with a small smile. "I get that, but we've been having quite a slow night. I guess that's good in some sense. But you can head to room 2 and I'll be in shortly." The Brit points them down a hall.

Skizz swallows hard, his hand tightening around Impulse's arm. "You don't have to come in with me." He whispers, his voice low.

It's not a suggestion in the slightest.

The way he doesn't let go of his best friend's arm along with the look in his eyes says every word he refuses to say.

"I'll be right there with you, buddy. The whole time." Impulse whispers back, his voice as firm as steel. Making Skizz let out a breath he wasn't fully aware he was holding.

The two of them make their way down the hall to room 2, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the quiet space. When they enter, the room is filled with various machines and contraptions, all designed to help people regain their strength and mobility. The sight of it all sends a shiver down Skizz's spine.

That shiver shook his wings slightly and reminded him of the soreness that plagues him.

"It's okay," Impulse whispers, squeezing Skizz's shoulder. "You're going to be fine. Just remember why we're here. It's to help you help everyone."

Skizz nods, trying to find the strength to let go of his fear. He knows Impulse is right. If he wants to keep fighting alongside his friends, he needs to get better.

Lizzie follows them in, her expression understanding. "Alright, let's start with some basic assessments, shall we?" She says gently.

Skizz nods, his grip on Impulse's arm tightening before he drops it and keeps his hands in his lap.

"Okay," He says, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "Where do we start?"

"Well, let's have a look at those wings of yours, shall we?" Lizzie says, her voice soothing. She approaches with a gentle touch and Skizz flinches back. "Don't worry, I've worked with all kinds of heroes and such. I'm experienced in high risk practices and I've also works with a bunch of avians in my time."

Impulse nods, trying to hide his own anxiety. "Just remember, she's here to help." He whispers, his voice a soft reassurance.

Lizzie gently lifts Skizz's wings once he turns around, inspecting them with a professional eye. "They've seen better days, haven't they?" She says, not unkindly. "But with some work, I think we can get you back in the sky."

"They're just really stiff is all. Definitely not something I can't fix." Lizzie says, her eyes focused on the task at hand.

Skizz nods, trying not to let his nerves get the better of him. "Okay," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

The session starts with simple stretches, Lizzie guiding him through the motions with a gentle but firm hand. His muscles protest at first, unaccustomed to the movement after weeks of inactivity. But as they stretch and flex, a bit of the tension starts to ease out of his shoulders. He glances over his shoulder at Impulse, who's leaning against the wall, watching with a calculated expression.

"You're doing great," Impulse says, his voice carrying the warmth of a thousand suns. "Just keep breathing."

Skizz nods, focusing on the instructions and the gentle pressure of Lizzie's hands. Each movement sends a jolt of pain through his wings, but with each stretch, there's also a hint of relief. The pain is a reminder of his purpose, of the people who are counting on him. He grits his teeth and pushes through.

As the session progresses, Lizzie starts to explain the exercises to Impulse. "You can help him with these at home, it'll speed up the process." She says, noticing the other's vigilant gaze. "It'll also probably be up to you to preen through these, that's one of the major issues I'm seeing."

Impulse nods, his expression serious. "I'll do whatever it takes."

The next few minutes are a blur of instructions and demonstrations as Lizzie shows Impulse how to safely work with Skizz's conditioned wings. Skizz watches them, feeling a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. He's never been one to admit weakness, but he knows that he needs help.

As the session continues, the pain subsides into a dull ache, and Skizz starts to feel a glimmer of hope. He can't remember the last time they felt this... normal. But the reality of his situation is never far from his mind. He's a hero, not just any hero but one with a reputation to uphold. He can't let anyone else see him like this.

"Alright, let's take a break," Lizzie says, noticing the strain on his face. "We don't want to push too hard the first day." With that she leaves with her notes.

Skizz nods gratefully, letting his wings drop to his resting position as he takes a deep breath. Impulse moves to his side, a hand on his back. "How are you feeling?" He asks, his eyes searching Skizz's face.

"Better than I thought I would." Skizz admits, his voice still a little shaky. "But...it's going to take time."

Impulse nods solemnly. "We've got all the time in the world, buddy. And I'm not going anywhere."

Skizz lets out a shaky laugh, trying to ignore the pain that lingers in his wings. "Thanks, I couldn't do this without you."

Impulse squeezes his shoulder. "You're not in this alone. That's what family does."

The therapy session goes on, with Lizzie pushing Skizz just enough to make progress, but not so much that he's in agony. Impulse watches, learning every stretch and exercise so he can assist in the recovery at home. It's clear that Skizz's fears are not just about his strength, but his ability to be the hero he's always been. The realization weighs heavily on Impulse, but he keeps his worries hidden behind his usual playful persona.

As they finish up, Lizzie gives them both a warm smile. "You're both doing great. Remember, consistency is key." She pats Skizz's shoulder before leaving the room.

The two roommates leave the office with new product for Skizz's wings and an appointment for three days later. Impulse being told to try and work with Skizz on the second.

They walk through the streets, the cool night air a welcome relief on their tension. Skizz keeps his hoodie tight around his neck, the cold breeze doing little to calm the heat in his wings.

All the stimulation to them having put a new layer of sensitivity to them that'll last a while. Though they are freshly and properly preened.

"Thanks for making me go," Skizz says as they step into the apartment, his voice still a little shaky. "And thanks for agreeing to help me."

"Don't mention it." Impulse says, closing the door behind them. "We all have to look out for each other."

Skizz nods, the weight of his friend's words not lost on him. "I know, it's just... hard to admit when I really can't do something."

Impulse sits next to him on the couch, his own expression earnest. "I get it. But you're not weak for getting help. You're strong for recognizing you need it."

Skizz nods, looking back at his wings. "I know you're right." He says, but it doesn't make the fear go away.

Impulse sighs, leaning back into the couch. "You don't have to be so strong all the time, you know. It's okay to not be okay."

Skizz looks over at him, his expression thoughtful. "I know. It's just... I've always been the one everyone relies on. The one that doesn't need help."

"And that's exactly why we're here for you," Impulse says, his tone gentle but firm. "You've always got everyone's back, now let us have yours."

Skizz nods slowly, the words sinking in. It's a stark reminder that his friends are his pillars, holding him up even when he can't fly. He's not alone in this battle, not just the physical one against The Puppeteer, but the internal one with his own fears and self-doubt.

Chapter Text

"You're right," Skizz says finally. "I'll do the exercises. I'll get better. For all of us."

Impulse nods. "That's the spirit."

The following days are filled with pain and progress, Skizz's determination shining through every grimace and wince as he works tirelessly on his exercises. Impulse is by his side, offering encouragement, a steady hand, and a surprisingly gentle touch when it comes to the wing preening. The routine becomes a dance of trust and care, each movement a step towards recovery.

The rest of the group checks in regularly, their concern for Skizz palpable, even through the screens of their comms. Ren provides tactical advice, Doc shares medical knowledge, and Tango and Etho offer moral support. They're all in this together, and their unity is unshakeable.

On the eighth night, having revisited Lizzie after the third with another appointment in the future, as Skizz and Impulse are going through their nightly routine of wing exercises, the tension in the room is thick. The pain seems to be winning tonight, Skizz's breaths coming out in shaky gasps. "I-I can't do this," Skizz whispers, his eyes watering.

Impulse's expression turns serious. "You can. Just one more." He encourages, his hand hovering over the wing that's giving Skizz the most trouble.

Skizz nods, taking a deep breath, and grits his teeth. He forces his wing through the movement, a sharp intake of breath escaping him.

"Good job," Impulse says, his voice a balm to Skizz's bruised spirit. "Just one more set and we're done."

Skizz nods, his breathing ragged. Each stretch feels like he's tearing himself apart, but he knows he has to keep going. For the team, for the city, for himself.

Impulse watches him closely, his eyes never leaving Skizz's wings. "You're doing so well," he says, his voice a mix of admiration and concern. "You're going to be back in fighting shape before you know it."

Skizz nods again, his determination renewed. He takes a deep breath and starts the last set of exercises. The pain is intense, but he pushes through it, each movement a little less agonizing than the last.

As they finish up, Impulse gently massages the muscles around Skizz's wings, trying to ease the tension. "You've got this," he murmurs, his eyes never leaving his friend's face. "You're stronger than you think."

Skizz nods, his eyes squeezed shut. "I know," he says, his voice tight. "It's just... hard to remember sometimes."

Impulse's hand stills, his thumb tracing gentle circles on Skizz's back. "You're not alone," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "We're all here for you."

Skizz's eyes open and he looks over at Impulse, his own eyes glistening. "Thanks, man." He says, his voice cracking a little.

Impulse smiles back, his expression filled with warmth and understanding. "No problem, buddy. That's what friends are for."

The next few days are a blur of pain, sweat, and progress. Skizz's wings slowly regain their former grace as the two friends follow Lizzie's instructions with unyielding dedication. Each night, the exercises get a little easier, the pain a little more manageable. The apartment becomes a bastion of healing, the air charged with the scent of determination and hope.

On the tenth night, Skizz attempts to fly again. His wings spread out, muscles trembling with effort. Impulse watches with bated breath, standing close by on the roof in case anything goes wrong. The open area feels smaller, the air thicker, as Skizz jumps and...flaps. His wings beat the air in a clumsy, uncoordinated rhythm, but to his surprise and elation, he rises. Only a few inches off the ground, but it's a victory nonetheless.

"You're doing it!" Impulse exclaims, his voice a mix of excitement and relief.

Skizz laughs, his cheeks flushing with effort and pride. "I'm flying!" He says, his voice filled with wonder.

Impulse's eyes light up. "You're flying!" He echoes, his voice filled with excitement.

Skizz laughs, the sound a mix of disbelief and joy. His wings, though still weak, beat a little stronger, carrying him a foot or two off the ground. Each flap sends a rush of wind through his feathers, a feeling he's missed more than he ever knew. His heart races as he feels the familiar sensation of weightlessness.

Impulse's eyes widen in amazement. "Keep going!" He shouts, his voice echoing off the surrounding buildings.

Skizz nods, pushing himself harder, his wings moving in a more fluid motion with each attempt. He hovers for a moment, his feet leaving the rooftop completely, before dropping back down with a thud. He winces at the impact, but the pain is nothing compared to the elation he feels.

"We've got to be careful," Impulse warns, his excitement tempered by caution. "Your wings aren't fully healed yet."

Skizz nods, panting from the exertion. "I know," he says, grinning widely. "But it's a start."

They spend the next hour working on short flights, each one a little longer and more controlled than the last. Impulse offers guidance and support, his own tail flicking slightly in excitement. The bond between them strengthens with every beat of healing wings, every shared victory.

As they finally call it a night, Skizz collapses on the rooftop, his wings spread out behind him. The night sky above is a canvas of stars, a stark contrast to the glow of the city below. Impulse sits beside him, laughing at Skizz's playful antics of spreading out on the cold concrete roof. Impulse basks in the exertion of helping his friend. "You're going to be back to full strength in no time," he says, his voice filled with confidence.

Skizz looks over, his eyes still gleaming from the joy of his small flight. "Thanks to you," he says, his voice a mix of exhaustion and gratitude. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Impulse shakes his head, his grin never wavering. "Don't thank me, thank yourself. You're the one putting in the work."

"But you're the one thing that hasn't changed. Ever since I met you really. You're the constant in my life that pushes me to keep myself my best." Skizz hits Impulse's leg from his spot on the floor. "You got me the help I've needed and you stay to get me through it all."

Impulse's grin turns into a smirk as he glances down at Skizz, his eyes flickering with a mischievous light. "Well, someone's got to make sure you don't go all 'emo bird' on us," he teases, nudging him playfully. "I saw that faze once in highschool and now I'm dedicated to making sure that never happens again."

Skizz laughs, the sound a little pained but genuine. "I'll try not to," he promises, his eyes drifting back to the stars. "But I can't do this alone."

Impulse's smile softens, his hand reaching out to grip Skizz's shoulder. "You're not," he says firmly. "And you never have to be."

They sit in silence for a moment, the sound of the city a distant hum as they bask in the quiet victory of Skizz's first flight. Then, with a sudden jerk, Impulse sits up straight. "Speaking of which, we should get you inside," he says, his eyes glancing at the watch on his wrist. "You need your rest."

Skizz nods, his grin fading into a tired smile as he allows Impulse to help him up. "You're right," he says, his wings drooping slightly. "But... I don't want to stop."

"I know," Impulse says, his grip on Skizz's shoulder firm but gentle. "But you can't push too hard, too fast. You've made incredible progress, but you've got to listen to your body."

Skizz nods, his smile fading into a solemn look. "Yeah, I know. It's just... I want to be back out there."

Impulse nods in understanding. "And you will be. But not if you overdo it."

Skizz sighs, his wings drooping further. "I know, I know."

Impulse helps him back into the apartment, the warmth of the indoors enveloping them as they enter. The lights are dim, the only sounds are the occasional beeps from the tech Impulse has scattered around and the quiet hum of the city outside.

Skizz's wings feel heavy, his body aches from the exertion, but there's a lightness in his chest he hasn't felt in days. He sits down heavily on the couch, his eyes never leaving his wings. Impulse sits beside him, his own excitement palpable.

"You really think I can do this?" Skizz asks, his voice filled with doubt. "Fly again, I mean."

Impulse nods, his expression resolute. "I know you can. You're the most stubborn hero I know. When you set your mind to something, you don't quit."

Skizz chuckles, the sound a little pained. "That's probably true," he admits. "But... what if I can't?"

"Did you see yourself today? That was incredible progress. You'll be flying properly in no time." Impulse's words hold a firm belief that Skizz finds infectious. He nods, the doubt in his voice replaced by a spark of hope.

Chapter Text

The days pass with a rhythm of pain and improvement. The exercises become less about enduring agony and more about relearning the art of flight. Lizzie's strategies and Impulse's support become Skizz's lifeline, guiding him through the grueling process of rehabilitation. He's also found that Impulse has gotten incredibly good at preening his wings.

"You've got a real knack for this," Skizz says one evening, his voice filled with awe as Impulse gently works the kinks out of his feathers.

Impulse snorts. "It's not rocket science," he says, though the care in his movements belies his words. "But I'm known to be able to figure that kinda stuff out well too."

Skizz laughs, the sound a little easier now. "I guess that's why you're the brains and I'm the brawn," he jokes, flexing his arms slightly.

"I'd like go think I've got both brains and brawn" Impulse says with a cheeky smile, flexing his arms to show off his own muscles. Skizz laughs, his eyes lighting up for the first time in what feels like forever.

"But everyone knows I've got the looks." Skizz retorts playfully, though his grin falters as a jolt of pain shoots through his wings.

Impulse's smile fades, his eyes narrowing in concern. "You okay?" He asks, his hand pausing mid-preen.

Skizz nods, gritting his teeth. "It's fine," he says, though the tightness in his voice betrays him. "Just a twinge."

Impulse's gaze is sharp, but he nods, continuing the wing preening with a gentle touch. "If it starts to get worse, you've gotta tell me, okay?"

"I will," Skizz promises, his eyes meeting Impulse's.

They both knew he wasn't going to.

But Impulse hoped he knew his best friend well enough to see when it got bad.

As the weeks wore on, Skizz's progress was notable, but not without its setbacks. Some nights the pain was too much, and they'd have to start over from square one. Other nights, Skizz would manage a few more feet in the air before gravity claimed him again. Each victory, no matter how small, was celebrated with a fist bump or a high-five. Impulse had never seen Skizz so determined, and it filled him with a fierce sense of pride.

One evening, as they sat in the living room of the apartment, the TV playing a muted superhero movie in the background, Impulse broke the silence. "You know, we should probably start thinking about our next move. The last couple meetings have just been about locations."

Skizz nods, his eyes not leaving the TV screen. "Yeah, you're right. But I can't shake this feeling..."

There's a pause as Impulse waits for Skizz to continue.

"I think we just don't want to have another situation happen. Especially if something happened with another hero. The media was all over the sight of Zed carrying me after the first one. Dot spent a week straight trying to find the right way to address it." Dot, Skizz's own PR manager was a tone of help at all times.

She always kept him updated on everything he needed to know, but also didn't push the boundary of hero and management like many others tried and failed.

She'd also always been Zed's favorite PR personnel whenever it was Skizz coming up in his reports. He'd also done well spinning the story right when reporting on his own spotting.

Funny how Zed is always ending up with the stories about his alter ego to cover. It's almost like his employers know and are just giving him all his stories to tell him.

"If we don't make a solid plan, we can't be disappointed when it comes crumbling down, I guess." Skizz finishes off.

Impulse nods, his eyes never leaving the TV, deep in thought. "We can't let fear dictate our actions," he says finally. "But we can be smart about it."

Skizz looks over at him, his expression thoughtful. "You're right. We need to find that balance between caution and action."

Impulse nods. "Exactly. And we have to trust each other. We've come too far to let fear hold us back."

Skizz nods in agreement. "We've got this," he says, his voice filled with confidence.

Impulse turns to face him, his eyes serious. "We've got each other," he corrects. "That's what matters."

Skizz smiles, the warmth of his friend's words spreading through him. "Yeah," he says. "We've got each other."

The next day isn't quite as forgiving to Skizz's wings, in fact, it turns out to be one of the worst moments of pain for them throughout and they hadn't even strayed from the usual stretches.

Skizz groans, his wings spasming as he tries to sit up. Impulse is at his side in an instant, his eyes wide with concern. "What happened?" He asks, his hand hovering over Skizz's wings.

"I... I don't know," Skizz winces. "They just... hurt."

Impulse's eyes narrow as he gently touches the base of Skizz's wings, searching for any signs of damage. "Does it feel like something's wrong? Like... broken?"

Skizz shakes his head, his teeth clenched. "No, it's just pain. Really bad pain."

Impulse's expression tightens. "Okay, let's get you to the couch," he says, carefully helping Skizz to his feet and supporting him as they make their way to the living room. He gently lowers him onto the couch, his hand still on Skizz's back. "Stay here. I'll get the med kit."

Skizz nods, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he tries to control the pain. The room feels cold, despite the warmth of the apartment. His wings twitch involuntarily, sending shocks through his body with each movement. Impulse returns swiftly, setting the med kit on the coffee table and rummaging through it to find the emergency pain meds they only use for fast action.

"Here," he says, his voice tight as he hands Skizz a pill and a glass of water. "Take this. It'll help."

Skizz can barely keep his hand from shaking enough to take the aid out of Impulse's.

"Thank you," he murmurs, downing the pill and gulping the water, the coolness of it soothing his dry throat.

Impulse watches anxiously as Skizz swallows the pill, his own heart racing in sync with his friend's pain. The quiet of the apartment is a stark contrast to the turmoil he feels, but he forces himself to remain calm, to be the rock Skizz needs.

As they wait for the medication to kick in, Skizz's breathing starts to even out, and the tension in his shoulders eases a bit. Impulse sits beside him, his hand resting comfortingly on Skizz's arm. "What do you think triggered it?" He asks softly, his voice a gentle murmur in the stillness.

Skizz shakes his head, his eyes squeezed shut. "I don't know," he says through gritted teeth. "Maybe I've been pushing too hard."

To think the original problem that started all if this was just the lack of movement they'd had while Skizz had been passed out.

Now it's snowballed to an infinitely worse problem with how sensitive of a limb wings can be.

"Maybe we should ease up on the exercises," Impulse suggests, his voice low and concerned. "Give your wings a break."

Skizz opens his eyes, meeting Impulse's gaze. The pain is starting to dull around the edges, the medication working its magic. "But what if we lose momentum?" He asks, his voice still tight.

Impulse squeezes his arm reassuringly. "We won't," he says firmly. "We've got a good routine. We'll just adjust it, make sure you're not overdoing it."

Skizz nods, his breathing shallow. The pain is starting to subside, but the fear remains. "Okay," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm sorry I'm such high maintenance."

Impulse's grip tightens. "Don't ever say that," he says, his voice firm. "You're not high maintenance, you're hurt. There's a difference. And we're in this together."

Skizz manages a weak smile, the pain now a dull throb. "Thanks," he murmurs. There's no way he'll fully believe that.

Impulse sighs, his hand sliding away. "You're not a burden," he says, his voice gentle. "You're my friend, and we help each other out."

Skizz nods, his eyes drifting to the TV again. "I know," he says, though the doubt lingers.

Impulse grabs the remote and turns the TV off, his gaze back on Skizz. "I mean it," he says, his voice earnest. "We're all in this together. And if you need to rest, you rest. We'll reassess tonight on how to deal with this, and we'll only work with your wings if you aren't in that kind of pain."

Skizz nods, his eyes still on the now black screen. "Yeah," he says, his voice still strained. "Okay."

Impulse gets up and starts to pace around the room, his mind racing. He's seen Skizz hurt before, but this is different. The fear in his friend's eyes is palpable, and he can't help but feel responsible.

If only he'd been more careful, if only he'd taken the fact that Skizz wouldn't be moving his wings into consideration on the days he was out, maybe this wouldn't have happened. If only he'd done something sooner instead of letting Skizz deal with it himself while everyone else put their focus into the same repeat dead end meetings. If only...If only.

No.

That doesn't matter now. He needs to remind himself time and time again that dwelling on what could be a better reality isn't making the one he has any better.

Chapter Text

He turns back to Skizz, who's now lying down with his wings outstretched awkwardly across the couch. "Let's just take the day off from everything," Impulse decides, trying to lighten the mood. "No therapy, no meetings, no patrols, no stress."

Skizz bites back the urge to retort with bringing up the fact Impulse is pretty incapable of not feeling stressed.

But he gets the sentiment. And he's pretty sure he's the one who's supposed to be comforted here. "Okay," he says with a sigh. "A day off sounds nice."

Impulse nods, his expression serious. "We'll watch movies, play games, order takeout," he says, listing off activities that require little to no movement. "And I promise, we'll figure out a new strategy tonight."

Skizz's eyes close in relief, his wings finally stilling. "Sounds perfect," he says, his voice a little hoarse.

Impulse sits back down beside him, grabbing the remote again. "What do you want to watch?" He asks, trying to keep his tone light.

Skizz thinks for a moment, his eyes still closed. "Surprise me," he says, his voice a little shaky.

Impulse nods and starts scrolling through the TV guide, looking for something that might take their minds off of the pain and the mission. He settles on an old action-comedy that they both used to enjoy back when they were just two regular guys with no superhero personas to uphold.

The movie plays out, the sounds of explosions and laughter filling the room. Skizz's breathing slowly evens out, the pain receding to a dull ache. He can feel the warmth of the pillow beneath his head (which is actually Impulse), the softness of the couch beneath his wings. For a moment, he allows himself to just be, to forget about the weight of the world on his shoulders and the fear that he might never truly fly again.

Impulse watches the TV with half his attention, the other half on his friend's pain levels. He knows that Skizz is trying to hide it, but the way he winces every so often gives it away. The fact that he squeezes his hand is a tell too.

He wonders if he's made the right call pushing him as hard as he did during their training sessions. Maybe he should have been more cautious, more tentative. But then again, he knows Skizz wouldn't have had it any other way. He's stubborn, yes, but he's also incredibly strong.

The movie plays on, and Impulse can't help but feel a little bit of nostalgia. It wasn't so long ago that they were just watching these kinds of movies for fun, not for a mental (and physical) break. Before the world had changed and they had changed with it.

As the movie reaches its climax, Skizz shifts slightly, his grip on Impulse's hand tightening. "You okay?" Impulse asks, his eyes flicking to the TV to make sure it wasn't something on the screen that had caused the discomfort.

"Yeah," Skizz whispers, his eyes still closed. "Just... tired."

Impulse nods, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of Skizz's hand. "I've got this," he says, his voice a mix of encouragement and comfort. "You can sleep if you want to."

Skizz's breathing evens out, the pain slowly subsiding. He nods, his grip loosening slightly. "Thanks," he murmurs, his eyes finally closing all the way as he leans more into his human pillow.

Impulse watches him for a moment longer, making sure he's truly okay before turning his attention back to the TV. The movie isn't the same without the usual banter between them, but he knows it's for the best right now. They need this downtime, this moment of normalcy amidst the chaos of their lives.

Before the end of the movie, both are out cold. Skizz constantly shifting in his sleep with Impulse sleeping through the movement.

Their day off is filled with the gentle sounds of their breathing, the occasional snore from Impulse and the faint hum of the TV playing movies they've both seen a hundred times. It's a comforting background noise that's become a staple in their lives. The sun peeks through the blinds, casting a soft glow on their unmasked faces.

Such a normal night for such abnormal people. A hero and a villain.

But tonight, they were just two lifelong friends taking a much-needed break.

When Skizz wakes up, the pain is almost gone. He stretches carefully, feeling the stiffness in his wings but no sharp pains. He looks over to find Impulse still asleep beside him, his head lolled to the side and a gentle snore escaping his lips. Skizz can't help but smile at the sight. It's been a while since he's seen his friend so at ease.

They spend the rest of the day in comfortable silence, alternating between watching movies and playing video games. The air in the apartment is heavy with unspoken worries, but their friendship is a buoy keeping them afloat amidst the turmoil of their lives. They order pizza for dinner, the smell of cheese and pepperoni wafting through the room, a welcome break from the sterile scent of the medical supplies that have become a permanent fixture.

As night falls, the city outside is bathed in a soft glow of streetlights. The shadows lengthen, hinting at the battles they've yet to face. But in the apartment, the mood is lighter, the burden of their different personas temporarily lifted. They sit on the couch, the TV playing the local news in the background, the mundane events of the city a stark contrast to their extraordinary lives.

That is until their favorite news reporter is on screen.

"Breaking News!" Zedaph, or Kris as he is now, says with a dramatic flair that makes Skizz's eyes roll. "There's been another break-in at the city's power grid. Witnesses describe a figure with blue fire leaving the scene!"

Both deadpanned roommates don't have to look at the grainy security footage to know exactly who it was. They know Zed didn't either but of course he would have to play it off.

"That, ladies and gentlemen, looks to be a Deep Frost if I've ever saw one! What the vigilante is doing breaking into the power grid AGAIN, that's anyone's guess. Mine is that he's running low on tech supplies." The three close friends of the named vigilante know very well that Tango only does it because it's easy, fun, he gets attention from it, and they never bother putting up extra security.

Skizz can't help but chuckle at the antics. It's a much needed break from the tension that's been building between them, even on their day off. "At least he's consistent," Skizz says, his voice a little hoarse from screaming at Impulse for beating him in the 24th game in a row before they called it quits (Impuse let Skizz win a round so he could say it was quitting while he was ahead).

Impulse grins, his eyes still on the screen. "Yeah, you gotta give him that." He takes a sip of his soda, the ice clinking against the glass. "But we can't let him have all the fun."

Skizz rolls his eyes but can't help but smile. "What are we gonna do?" He asks, his voice a mix of curiosity and skepticism. "Stage a fight between us, really battle it out?"

Impulse laughs, setting his drink down. "Nah, we're not that petty," he says, leaning back into the couch. "But we should probably check in, make sure he's not stirring up too much trouble."

"Too late." Skizz shrugs from his spot as there's a rapping against their window. The familiar guest waiting on the fire escaped.

Impulse groans, moving to open the window with a sigh. "Tango, you know we have a door."

Tango grins, hopping inside with ease. "But where's the fun in that?" He asks, his voice full of mischief. His blue hair is a stark contrast to the dark outfit he wears.

"I come baring gifts." He deadpanned as he dumped the armload of random parts into Impulse's arms, dropping about half of it, and taking Impulse's spot next to Skizz on the couch.

Impulse groaned, dropping the parts on the floor. "What is all this?" He asks, eyeing the mess with a mix of annoyance and curiosity.

"Oh, just some leftovers from the power grid," Tango says casually, his eyes never leaving the TV screen. "Thought you guys might be able to put it to good use. Ooo~ Zed's reporting me!"

Impulse can't help but laugh as he picks up the scattered parts. "You really are something else," he says, shaking his head. "But we've got more important things to focus on."

"But that's boring." He whines, swinging his legs over Skizz's lap and pulling his mask off and putting it on the coffee table. "How's Skizzley doing?"

Skizz glares at him but can't help the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Better, thanks to this goon," he says, jabbing a thumb at Impulse. "But today wasn't fun. The start, at least."

Tango's expression sobers, looking at Skizz with genuine concern. "You okay, buddy?" He asks, his voice dropping the playfulness.

Skizz nods, gently testing his wings. "Yeah, I'm okay," he says, wincing a little. "Just a bad wing spasm."

Tango's eyes narrow, his playfulness vanishing. "What happened?" He asks, his tone serious.

Skizz shrugs, not quite meeting his friend's gaze. "It's just a setback," he says, his voice low. "It's nothing we can't handle."

Impulse sets the parts aside and turns to Tango, his expression firm. "We need to figure out what's going on with the device," he says. "And make sure Skizz is ready for the next time we go after it."

Tango nods, his grin fading. "Right, no more fun and games," he says, though the mischief in his eyes hasn't disappeared completely. "But hey, I might have an idea."

He leans forward, his eyes glinting with excitement as he starts explaining. "I've been poking around the black market," he says, his hands moving animatedly as he talks. "And I've heard whispers of some new tech that could help you out."

"The black market? Tango, you're a villain in sheep's clothing." Skizz lightly hits one of the legs in his lap.

Tango crosses his arms. "No, that's Zed."

Skizz snorts. "Potato, potahto," he says, earning a glare from the (usually) blonde vigilante.

"Well, regardless," Impulse says, interrupting the banter. "What's the tech?"

Tango's grin returns. "It's a new type of wing stabilizer," he says, his eyes glinting with excitement. "It's supposed to reduce strain and enhance mobility. Buy they're supposedly working on stealth technology with it."

"Tango, I don't need military stealth technology. You're not turning me into a plane." Skizz's voice holds a hint of amusement despite his discomfort, his eyes narrowing at his friend's enthusiasm.

"Hey, you've got to stay ahead of the curve!" Tango retorts with a laugh, his blue hair glowing under his hood with the movement of his head. "But seriously, it could help with the pain and maybe even give you a bit of an edge in the air."

Skizz considers this for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "It might be worth checking out," he admits. "But we can't let it distract us from actual progress."

"Right. hey! Impy! While you're up, can I borrow some of your clothes? I don't wanna sit around in my vigilante stuff." Tango lounges over the couch like he owns it, and the other two know him too well to be bothered.

"You don't live here Tango, you can't just come around and freeload whenever you want." Impulse says this but tosses an only T-shirt and sweatpants at the boy.

Tango catches them with a smirk, "Thanks, roomie!"

Impulse rolls his eyes but can't argue with the term, not after everything they've been through. "But you're sleeping on the floor if you do." He warns as he walks around the couch.

"Come on, Impy. We both know I'm not sleeping on the floor." Tango winks as he pulls off his hoodie, revealing his blue hair in all its glory before he runs his hands through it, returning it to blonde. "But I'll take the couch," he says with a cheeky grin, already pulling the t-shirt over his head.

"Yeah, for like 5 minutes!" Skizz laughs at the thought. "Then you'll be stealing my bed again."

Tango laughs, "You know it!" He says as he pulls on the sweatpants, "But seriously, we need to get you back in the air, and if these wing doohickeys can help, then let's get on it."

Impulse nods, his mind racing with the implications of such technology. "But we can't trust everything we hear on the black market," he says, his brow furrowed in thought. "We need to be cautious."

"Impulse. You buy. Everything." Tango slows his words to add impact.

Skizz groans at the words, the financial state in the apartment constantly depending on if Impulse found something cool that day.

"You know, I'd appreciate it if you didn't blow our entire budget on gadgets." Skizz says with a sigh, his eyes still closed.

"Yeah, I get you free ones all the time." Tango gestures to the pile of metal and wires Impulse relocated to a corner.

Impulse rolls his eyes. "Tango, you're like an outdoor cat. We set you free and you show up when you feel like it for food or if you're bringing home a dead mouse or bird or something." And it's hard to argue with that logic

"Not to mention you pur." Skizz adds, pushing Tango's shoulder.

"Hey, I don't just bring home anything!" Tango feigned offense, though the playfulness in his voice was evident. "They're special because I stole them myself."

Skizz couldn't help but laugh, the pain in his wings momentarily forgotten. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

Tango shrugged, pulling on the shirt. "What can I say? I have a flair for the dramatic."

"You are a flair." Impulse teases as he shoves Tango from behind the couch, climbing over the back to take his spot back.

The betrayal written on Tango's face almost makes him apologize.

Well, maybe 'almost' is a bit of a stretch.

Tango's shattered and betrayed face morphs into a grin, his red eyes sparkling with mischief as he pounces on Impulse, playfully wrestling him for his spot on the couch. Skizz can't help but chuckle at the sight, the pain in his wings receding as the tension in the room dissipates. For a moment, it's as if they're just three friends hanging out, not a hero, villain, and vigilante with a mission to change the world.

"Alright, alright," Impulse says, laughing as he relinquishes his place. "You win."

Tango flops back onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. "Finally, some respect," he says, his smile not reaching his eyes.

Skizz watches the two of them, a warmth in his chest. It's moments like these that make it all worth it. The pain, the fear, the constant vigilance. Because at the end of the day, they're all just trying to do what's right for the people they care about.

"Movie?"

"Only if you feed me."

"I'm telling you, Skizz. He's a cat."

Impulse throws a pillow at Tango, who catches it with a smirk, tossing it back at him. Skizz laughs as he watches the two of them banter for a little while longer. It's moments like these that remind him why he's fighting, why he's pushing himself through the pain. It's for them, for their friendship, for the city.

The 23rd fight of the last five minutes ends as a mostly empty pizza box hits Tango in the forehead.

He gets comfortable with his upper half laying on Skizz and his legs in Impulse's lap as they share the couch.

Impulse grabs the remote and starts scrolling through their movie collection. "Any preferences?" He asks, his eyes scanning the spines of the DVDs and Blu-Rays lined up neatly along the shelf.

Tango waves a hand lazily. "Surprise me," he says, his eyes closing as he settles into his makeshift bed.

"Neither of you can ever make decisions, can you?" Impulse says with a shake of his head, though his smile doesn't fade. "Fine, I'll pick." He leans forward to grab a movie from the shelf, his eyes scanning over the titles. "How about 'The Incredibles'?"

"Again?" Skizz asks, opening one eye to peer over at him. "We've watched it, like, five times this month."

"It's good," Impulse says with a shrug. "And it's got action and heart. What more could we want?"

"Variety." Tango says. At least, probably. It's not easy to understand him when he's shoving down a 2nd pizza slice.

Impulse rolls his eyes but takes the hint, finding a random comedy flick they've never seen before but have on DVD.

He picks Tango's legs up out of his spot and sits down to start the movie.

As the opening credits roll, the room is filled with the comforting sounds of laughter and the occasional chew. It's a simple, stolen moment of peace in a world that's anything but simple or peaceful.

Skizz reaches over and grabs a slice of pizza from the box, the cheese stretching like a rubber band before snapping back. "So, Tango," he says, turning his head to look at the blond-haired vigilante. "What's the real reason you're here?"

Tango's eyes flicker open, and he swallows his mouthful before speaking. "What do you mean?" He asks, feigning innocence.

"You know what I mean," Skizz says, a knowing smile on his face. "You don't usually crash our days off unless you've got something up your sleeve."

Tango grins, his cheeks bulging slightly with food. "Well, I might have heard some chatter about a new player in town," he says, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Someone's been causing trouble, messing with the power grid, leaving a trail of... let's say, unique fingerprints."

Impulse and Skizz exchange a look, the mood in the room shifting from playful to alert. "What kind of fingerprints?" Impulse asks, his hand hovering over the remote as if ready to pause the movie at a moment's notice.

"The kind that suggest someone's got a vendetta against The Puppeteer," Tango says, his tone more serious now. "They're leaving a pattern that's eerily similar to our mission."

Impulse sits up straight, the playfulness draining from his expression. "What are you talking about?"

"Someone's been sabotaging parts of the city's power grid," Tango says, his voice low and serious. "But not just any parts. They're targeting the ones that could disrupt the Puppeteer's operations."

Impulse's eyes widen. "That's... that's not good." He sits up, pushing Tango's legs off of him with a grunt. "Does this mean we've got a rival?"

"It means we've got an ally."

Chapter Text

Tango sits up a little more and puts down his half-finished pizza. "I was going to wait until a meeting to address this but I may or may not have spoken with them personally."

"Wait, what?!" Skizz and Impulse both sit up now, staring at him in shock.

"You met them?" Impulse asks, his voice tight. "What did they say? Who are they?"

Tango nods, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "They're not looking for a fight, at least not with us," he says. "But they're definitely after The Puppeteer. I don't think they even count as what we use the player term for."

Skizz's eyes narrow. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, we use that term for the people we go up against and that are, like, bad." Tango says, his voice matter-of-fact. "They're not bad, they're just... new. And they've got some serious skills."

Skizz and Impulse share a skeptical look. "How do you know we can trust them?" Skizz asks, his wings twitching slightly.

Tango shrugs. "I have a knack for these things," he says, his voice casual. "They're not looking to replace us, if that's what you're worried about."

"Can you tell us more about this person? You said you spoke to them, right?" Impulse asks, his curiosity piqued despite his skepticism.

Tango nods, leaning back into the couch cushions. "They're pretty tight-lipped, but I got the gist," he says, his eyes flicking to the side as if remembering the conversation. "They're not affiliated with any known faction, but they're definitely onto something big."

"Did you get a name, a powerset? What are we working with here?" Impulse asks, leaning forward, his grip on the remote tightening.

"They didn't exactly introduce themselves with a business card," Tango says, his expression contemplative. "But their power... it's like nothing I've ever seen. They're a ghost, in and out of the shadows. And their tech is next-level stuff."

Impulse's mind races. "Could they be a rogue hero, or maybe a new type of villain?" He glances at Skizz, who looks equally intrigued and concerned.

"I got that much. He's a vigilante that goes by Vex. Pretty cool if you ask me." Tango goes on, his voice filled with intrigue.

Skizz frowns. "Vex?" he repeats. "That doesn't exactly scream 'trustworthy'."

"Look, I know it's weird," Tango says, his eyes serious. "But I've got a good feeling about this. They're not looking for the spotlight, just to get the job done."

"And when I tell you, his outfit! Oh! It was so cool! He had all these bright colors splattered on a thick lab coat. And his mask was this grayish blue with bright electric blue accents." Tango's voice was filled with excitement, his hands moving erratically as he described the mysterious vigilante.

Skizz raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like he's got a flair for the dramatic, too," he said, smiling despite his skepticism.

"Dude, he was so layed back and mellow it was crazy." Tango says, his voice filled with wonder.

Impulse nods, "That does sound like someone who's not out for the fame." He says, leaning back into the couch.

Skizz considers this, his wing twitching slightly as he processes the new information. "But what if he's playing us?" He asks, his voice tight. "What if he's just trying to throw us off?"

Tango shakes his head. "No, I don't think so," he says, his eyes meeting Skizz's. "I could tell he's sincere. And his power... it's like nothing we've ever seen before."

"What's his power?" Impulse asks, leaning in, his curiosity piqued.

"It's like he can bend the fabric of reality," Tango explains, his voice hushed. "One minute he's there, the next he's not. And he's got this... this way of making things appear and disappear. It's like he's playing a game of hide and seek with physics."

"Or he's like a ghost." Impulse suggests, his voice filled with wonder.

"Exactly!" Tango says, his eyes lighting up. "It's like he can phase through stuff. And he's got these... these... I don't know what to call them, like spectral short range bombs that blow up in color, like a mix of smoke and fireworks."

Skizz and Impulse exchange a look. "Well, that's definitely new," Skizz says, his tone a mix of admiration and wariness.

"Yeah, and he's got a vendetta against The Puppeteer, like we do," Tango reminds them, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "We should totally work with him."

Impulse nods thoughtfully. "We could use the help, especially with Skizz still recovering," he says, glancing over at his friend.

Skizz nods in agreement, though his eyes are distant. "But we can't just jump into an alliance with someone we know nothing about," he adds. "We need to be smart about this."

"I know," Tango says, his enthusiasm slightly dampened. "That's why I suggested we keep tabs on him, see if he's the real deal. Maybe even set up a meet, see what he's made of."

"A meet?" Skizz echoes, his voice skeptical. "With a complete stranger who could be setting us up for a trap?"

"Hey, I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think he was legit," Tango says, holding up his hands in defense. "But you're right, we can't just trust anyone. We'll have to be careful."

Impulse nods, the wheels in his mind turning. "Okay, so we keep an eye on him, see if he's for real," he says, tapping his chin. "But how do we do that without letting him know we're watching?"

"I already talked with Zed about him, he said he was given some basic information to report about him. That program is supposed to be on tonight." Tango says, referring to the TV show that often reports on vigilante and villain activities. "We'll get a better look at him there."

Impulse nods, his mind racing with possibilities. "Alright, so we watch the program, gather intel, and then what?" He asks, turning to Tango.

"Then we decide if we want to reach out," Tango says, popping the last bite of pizza into his mouth. "But for now, let's just sit back and enjoy the show."

"Wait, you already talked with Zed about this? When?" Skizz asks, raising his eyebrows.

"That's where I stayed the other night, I met Vex a couple days go." Tango says, his mouth full of pizza. "He said he'd look more into the guy than just his script."

Impulse nods, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Makes sense," he murmurs. "Zed's got his ways."

The movie plays until Impulse decides it would probably be better to wait for Zed's heightened energy as a reporter to get through his story. They all agree to switch to the news program instead. The anticipation in the room is palpable as they wait for any mention of the mysterious Vex.

As the news ticker at the bottom of the screen scrolls through the latest headlines, they spot the name 'Vex' in bold letters. "Looks like we're in luck," Tango says, nodding towards the TV. The screen switches to a live feed of the city's power grid control room, chaos ensuing as a figure clad in a vibrant lab coat and gray-blue mask dodges the flashing lights of the security forces.

Zedaph's familiar voice fills the room as he begins to report, his tone a mix of excitement and urgency. "We're getting reports of a vigilante named Vex, who's been causing quite a stir by targeting the power grid nodes. Witnesses describe his movements as 'ghost-like', slipping in and out of sight, leaving a trail of colorful explosions in his wake."

The camera zooms in on a smoldering pile of wires and metal, the vivid colors of Vex's spectral bombs fading into the night. "The motive behind these attacks remains unclear, but sources suggest that he might be after something more than just a power outage."

"As always, please be sure to contact proper authorities and the hero-hotline if you spot this vigilante, as well as any vigilante or villain business you catch wind of." Zed's broadcast finishes, leaving the three of them to ponder the mysterious figure that has entered their orbit.

Impulse sets the remote down and looks at Skizz and Tango. "So, what do we do now?"

Skizz shifts in his seat, his wing giving a little twinge of pain. "We watch and learn," he says, his eyes glued to the screen. "If he's truly after The Puppeteer, then he's got my attention."

The news report goes on, detailing the extent of the damage Vex has caused and the confusion among the city's officials under different narration. The three of them watch intently, analyzing every move the new vigilante makes.

"Look at that," Impulse whispers, his eyes wide as Vex phases through a wall of fire unscathed. "His control over his powers is insane. I've seen heroes with less control. And we all know how hard you guys are pushed to be fully in control of your powers." He nods to Skizz, having seen the worst of his hero training.

Skizz nods in agreement, his wings twitching slightly. "But what does he want from The Puppeteer?" he asks, his mind racing with questions. "Is he after the power suppression device too?"

Tango leans forward, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Maybe," he says thoughtfully. "But he's got to have something personal against her. He sounded pretty tight when he talked about her."

The news shifts to an interview with a shaky eyewitness, recounting their encounter with Vex. The vigilante's foretold calm demeanor and cryptic comments leave the trio even more intrigued.

"He said he's going to 'make her fear' or something," Tango says, visibly intriged himself. "But he didn't say much, pretty quiet and layed back from what I saw."

Skizz's eyes narrow. "That's concerning," he murmurs. "What if he's not after the device at all? What if he's just after revenge?"

"That's a possibility, but revenge for what?" Impulse speaks, eyes not leaving the reporter. "I haven't heard anything about The Puppeteer crossing anyone like that recently."

Skizz shrugs, his gaze still fixed on the screen. "It's not like we know everything she does. Maybe it's from before she went big-time, or something she's done in the shadows."

Impulse nods, his hand absent-mindedly rubbing his chin. "Could be," he says, his eyes narrowing. "But we can't let our guard down. We need to find out what his deal is."

Chapter Text

It's not too long before the report ends and the three decide to call it a night. Each one lost in their thoughts about the new player in town. They all retreat to their respective spaces, Skizz to his room, Impulse to his, and Tango to his usual spot on the couch, all contemplating the implications of Vex's appearance and when Tango will be knocking on the door of one or their rooms to get in.

Both pressing matter, only one is answered with about 4-5 minutes give or take.

This time, it's Impulse's room Tango sits outside of and waits for the villain to open it. Impulse's door clicks open after a brief moment, revealing the space. It's neat, almost to the point of sterility, with a few personal touches that hint at his real life and passions aside from villainy.

This includes drumming, basketball, and scrapped technology he's either found, used, or was brought by Tango

"What's up?" Impulse asks, his voice groggy from sleep. Though he knows by now he won't get a proper response.

Tango shrugs. "Couldn't sleep," he says, his voice low. It's clear he didn't need to try and sleep for 5 minutes to know he wasn't going to. "Thought you might be up for some company."

Impulse nods, stepping aside to let Tango in. He closes the door behind them, the quiet click echoing in the stillness of the apartment. "I'm up for sleep, Tango."

Tango laughs softly. "I know, I know," he says, not even bothering to sit politely on the edge of the bed like a normal human would, instead just taking it for himself as he does half the time he stays the night. The other half of the time it's Skizz's bed instead.

Impulse shakes his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You're going to be the death of my social life," he murmurs, sitting at the desk chair and leaning back, his eyes still on Tango.

Tango grins, his glowy blonde hair a stark contrast to the darkness of the room. "I'm sure you can handle it," he says, his voice teasing. "Besides, you know we're all in this together."

Impulse sighs, but the tension in his shoulders eases a little. "Yeah," he admits. "It's just... we've got so much going on. Skizz's wings, the mission, now this Vex guy. It's a lot."

He stands again, walking back to his bed and shoving Tango to the side to make room.

Tango chuckles. "You're no fun, you know that?" He says, rolling over to make room. "But you're right, we should keep an eye on Vex, see if he's on our side or if he's going to throw a wrench in our plans."

Impulse nods, his thoughts racing. "We need to be careful," he says, his voice serious. "We don't know his intentions, or if he's even stable. For all we know, he could be a loose cannon."

Tango nods solemnly, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. "Yeah, but if he's got a vendetta against The Puppeteer, then we might be able to use that to our advantage," he says, his voice thoughtful. "We could find out what he knows, see if he's got intel we can use."

Impulse considers this, his mind racing with the potential benefits and risks of an alliance with the enigmatic Vex. "But we can't just jump into bed with the first guy who says he wants to take her down," he says, his tone measured.

When Tango gives him a funny look, he retracts that statement. "Well, the rest of us can't. You'll sleep anywhere so I guess that was a bad example."

"A very bad example. I don't think there is a single place Bdubs has been where he hasn't slept at least once." Tango chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

Impulse rolls his eyes but can't help the smile that forms. "You know what I mean," he says, leaning back into the bed. "We need to be smart about this."

"Yeah, yeah. Enough work talk for tonight, we have a meeting coming up for this stuff." Tango says, rolling onto his side, facing Impulse. "How about we talk about something else for a bit?"

"Like your living situation?" Impulse asks with a smirk, referring to Tango's frequent couch crashing.

"The living or the housing?" Tango retorted with a playful grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Impulse chuckled, shaking his head. "Both, I guess. How are you holding up, man?"

Tango's smile faded slightly. "It's tough, you know?" He said, his eyes reflecting a mix of emotions. "But I'm okay. I've got you guys. I guess that goes as an answer for how I'm living and my housing."

Impulse nodded, understanding the unspoken weight behind Tango's words. They were a makeshift family in this chaotic world of heroes and villains. "You're always welcome here," he said, his voice sincere. "I'd start locking the windows more if you weren't."

Tango laughs, his eyes closing for a brief moment before opening again. "I'd miss the thrill of the climb," he says, his voice filled with playful banter that the room had been lacking.

"Who'd you crash at last night? Zed again?" Impulse asks, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"Nah, I had a hot date with a fire escape," Tango says, his tone light despite the underlying fatigue. "But hey, it had a great view of the city."

Impulse snorts. "You're something else," he says, though his eyes are filled with affection. "But seriously, are you okay? You know you could have stayed here instead of outside. "

"Dude, by the time I got done patrolling it was 4:30. I didn't think you would take too kindly to an unannounced visitor that late. And it was like a 2 hour nap before I had to get to work." Tango says with a yawn.

Impulse nods, his eyes closing for a brief moment. "Fair point," he murmurs. "But you're always welcome here."

"I know," Tango says, his voice genuine. "And I appreciate it, really. But sometimes I need the... solitude."

Impulse nods, understanding the need for space in their tight-knit group. "Just be safe, okay? And it's getting colder out. We don't need your cough coming back." He says with genuine concern.

Tango nods, his smile fading a bit. "I will," he says, his voice tired. "But you know how it is. Sometimes the streets just call."

Impulse nods, his eyes closing for a moment. "I do," he says, his voice understanding. "But you're not invincible, Tango. You need to take care of yourself too."

"I'm not asking for a pillow and a warm bed every night," Tango says, his voice a mix of humor and seriousness. "Just don't worry too much."

"Easy for you to say," Impulse retorts, though his tone is affectionate. "You're the one without the ability to overheat because you'd die if you could."

Tango chuckles, his eyes finally closing. "Exactly," he murmurs, his breathing evening out. "But you're not exactly cold. You're naturally a lot warmer, too."

Impulse watches his friend for a moment before speaking again. "Yeah, but I don't have invincibility to heat like you. I'm resistant, sure. But I can still burn and get pretty overheated."

Tango nods, his eyes still closed. "I know, I know. I just sometimes forget not everyone's got my kind of... insulation." He smiles slightly.

Impulse shakes his head, but his heart warms at Tango's words. "You're going to be the death of me," he murmurs. "But seriously, if you need anything, anything at all, you know I'm here, right?"

Tango nods, his eyes still closed. "Yeah, I know," he says, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. "It's why I keep coming back."

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, the hum of the city outside acting as a soothing lullaby. It's moments like these that remind them of their humanity, of the lives they once had before the chaos of the present.

Impulse glances at Tango, who's now purring lightly, a rare moment of vulnerability in the normally energetic and elusive vigilante. He can't help but feel a sense of protectiveness towards him, despite their opposing roles. They're all just trying to survive in a world where power is both a gift and a curse.

"We should get some rest," Impulse says finally, his eyes drifting to the clock that reads 2 AM. "You staying for breakfast this time? Or will you be gone by the time I wake up?"

Tango cracks one eye open. "I might just stick around," he says, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I've missed your burnt toast and questionable coffee."

Impulse laughs softly, shaking his head. "You say that every time," he says, his eyes still on Tango. "But somehow, you still come back for more."

Tango grins without opening his eyes. "It's not the food, no matter how free, it's the company," he says, his voice low and teasing.

Impulse chuckles, the tension in the room dissipating slightly. "Flatterer," he says, though his tone is warm.

Chapter Text

The two of them lay there, the quiet hum of the city acting as a backdrop to their conversation. They both know that the real world is waiting outside, with its battles and secrets, but for now, they find solace in the mundane.

"So you're staying? Does that mean until you're done eating, or would you want to stick around to watch me try and get Skizz to work with his wings?" Impulse asks, his voice still holding a hint of amusement.

Tango opens both eyes to look at Impulse. "Is that an invitation for me to help?" He asks, his tone hopeful.

Impulse nods. "Could be," he says, his voice teasing. "But I don't know if you're ready for the kind of pep talk Skizz needs."

"Oh, I've got pep talks," Tango says, his eyes glinting with excitement. "You've never seen me in coach mode. It's terrifying."

Impulse laughs, the sound a little tired but genuine. "I can only imagine," he says, his head tilting to the side. "But seriously, we could use your help. He's been pushing himself too hard and too little at the same time."

Tango nods, his smile fading into something more solemn. "I'll be there," he says, his voice firm. "We're all in this together."

"We've been saying that a lot more recently. It's starting to seem like our motto at this point." Impulse says, his voice tinged with humor.

"Well, it's true," Tango says, his eyes still closed. "And we've got a big mission ahead of us. We can't afford to be anything less than united, no matter how distant we're expected to be based on our classifications."

Impulse nods, his eyes drifting to the window. "Yeah," he murmurs. "We're all just trying to do the right thing, in our own way."

Tango's voice is quiet when he speaks again. "But you know what's really bugging me? This whole classification system as a whole. It's dumb and it puts everyone in a box if one toe goes over the line."

Impulse nods, understanding his friend's frustration. "Yeah, it's not perfect. But it's the world we've got, for now." He says, his voice low.

"You can't tell me you're not still upset about when Zed was classified as a villain. He never would have became a vigilante if he knew a single mistake would get him rebranded as a high class villain." Tango says, his voice raising just slightly along with his body temperature.

Impulse sighs, his eyes never leaving the ceiling. "I know," he says, his voice filled with frustration of his own. "It's just... we're all just trying to make a difference, you know? And then the Council slaps labels on us like we're products on a shelf."

Tango nods, his eyes now open and focused on Impulse. "Exactly," he says, his voice firm. "But we're more than that. We're people that make mistakes, with feelings and fears and hopes. And we're fighting for something real."

Impulse nods in agreement, his gaze drifting to the floor. "Yeah," he murmurs. "And sometimes I think we're the only ones who truly get that."

Tango's hand finds its way to Impulse's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "But we're not alone," he says, his voice reassuring. "We've got each other."

"And Doc was already extremely lenient with petty villains and vigilantes before all this. And, I mean, Skizz is your roommate and best friend." Tango says, his voice a mix of teasing and seriousness.

Impulse chuckles, shaking his head. "Yeah, Doc's always had a soft spot for the underdogs," he says, his voice filled with warmth. "But I get it, you know? It's not like we're fighting for the Council's approval."

Tango nods, his hand still resting on Impulse's shoulder. "No, we're fighting for something bigger," he says. "For a world where power isn't just a tool for those in charge to wield. We're fighting for the people who can't fight for themselves."

"Why don't you always say smart inspirational things? Is the lack of sleep getting to you?" Impulse asks with a small smile, his eyes still on Tango.

"I save them for when you're not around," Tango shoots back, his hand sliding away from Impulse's shoulder as he turns onto his stomach. "So you actually miss me when I'm gone."

"I'll always miss you when you're gone." Impulse turns on his side to kick Tango lightly in the ribs, it's just hard enough to bother the small amount of bruising he has there that he got in a fight while on patrol the night before.

Tango lets out a half-laugh, half-wince, rolling over to face Impulse. "You're gonna have to start charging me rent if I keep crashing here."

Impulse smirks. "I'd settle for not burning the couch next time you decide to take a nap on it," he says, his tone light despite the seriousness of the fire Tango started when a dream got a bit too intense while he was napping a few weeks before.

Tango laughs, a sound that's both carefree and tired. "Fair trade," he says, his eyes still closed.

"Do you think you can rant for a while? I need something to put me to sleep and you stopped purring a while ago." Impulse says, his voice playful despite the yawn that follows.

Tango rolls his eyes but starts talking, his words a gentle lullaby of grievances and past battles. Impulse listens, the rhythm of his friend's speech gradually soothing him. His eyelids grow heavier as the minutes tick by, the warmth of the room and the comfort of Tango's presence lulling him into a peaceful state.

Tango isn't long to follow, the sound of his friend's smooth breathing beside him drawing him to a tired state between sleeping and being coherent. But he doesn't stay there long before the vibration of his own soft purring draws him to sleep.

The next morning, the smell of burning toast fills the apartment, a familiar scent that signifies Impulse is already up and about. Tango groans, his senses assaulted by the smoke as he rolls out of bed, his body protesting every movement. "You're trying to kill us all, aren't you?" He jokes, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Impulse pokes his head out of the kitchen, his dark hair sticking up in every direction. "It's not burnt," he says with a grin, holding up a slightly charred piece of bread. "It's just... well-done."

"No, I think that's classified as 'pre-cremation'." Skizz comments from his spot of the couch.

Impulse throws a dish towel at him playfully, "You're not helping."

Skizz chuckles from the couch, his wings twitching slightly with amusement. "Just saying, maybe we should invest in a smoke alarm."

"Why? So I can have three annoying things yelling at me for my bad cooking?" Impulse counters, a smile playing on his lips as he sets the plate of charred toast on the counter. "I think I've got enough critics as it is."

"Then the entire building would hear how bad a cook he is!" Tango quips, stumbling into the kitchen with a yawn, his blonde hair spinning out at odd angles from his head. The light from the early morning sun pierces through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the room.

Skizz laughs, his wings stretching slightly before he winces, a reminder of their earlier conversation. "I'll stick with cereal," he says, reaching for a bowl.

Impulse nods, his eyes flickering with concern before he turns back to the kitchen. "Wise choice," he calls over his shoulder.

Tango watches Impulse for a moment before speaking up. "You know, we should get you some cooking lessons," he says, his tone teasing. "Or at least invest in a smoke alarm that can double as an oxygen tank."

Impulse rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. "Very funny, coming from someone who's cooking actually scares people. Especially when you cook eith Zed." he says, grabbing a slice of the less-burnt toast for himself. "But seriously, I don't know why I can't get the hang of it. It's just toast."

Tango pads over to the counter, his bare feet silent on the cold tiles. "Well, maybe it's because you're not focusing on the simple things," he says, pouring a cup of coffee. "You're always thinking about the big picture, the grand schemes."

"It's toast, not a bank robbery." Impulse says with a snicker, taking a bite of the slightly burnt toast. "But maybe you're right, I do tend to overthink things."

"You overthink overthinking, dude." Skizz shoves his palm lightly into the shorter brunette's head.

Impulse laughs around his mouthful of toast, crumbs flying. "That's a new one." He chews and swallows. "But probably true."

Chapter Text

The trio gathers around the small kitchen table, a rare moment of peace in their chaotic lives. The room is a mishmash of costumes, tech, and weapons scattered about, a testament to their unorthodox lifestyle.

"So, Tango we have a rule in this house that you haven't stayed long enough recently to learn; no work talk before 10am if the schedule allows." Skizz says with a yawn, his eyes half closed. "And speaking of which, as much as I love having you around for breakfast, I must ask. What got you staying this late today? You're usually gone by now."

Tango sips his coffee, his gaze drifting to the clock on the wall. "Well, I have the extra time to spate today. And no work talk before 10 works fine."

"Good to know," Impulse says, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. "But why the change of schedule?"

"No reason, really. I have a bit of the foreseeable future of time off so I can stick around longer on weekdays than I used to." Tango shrugs, taking another sip of his coffee.

"Well, that's a first," Skizz says, raising an eyebrow. "You never take days off. What's the occasion?"

Tango shrugs, his gaze lingering on the steaming mug of coffee in front of him. "Just some personal stuff. Nothing you two need to worry about," he says, his tone casual despite the hint of something deeper.

"Tango." Impulse's voice is both soft and firm. "You know you can tell us if you got layed off, right?"

Tango's eyes flicker up from his coffee, surprise and a hint of vulnerability in their depths. "What? No, it's not that. It's just... I've got some things to figure out. Nothing for you guys to get involved in."

"Dude, is that what this is?" Skizz asks, his voice gentle. "You know we're here for you. Whatever it is, we can handle it together."

Tango looks up from his coffee, his expression unreadable behind the mask of exhaustion. "It's not about handling it," he says, his voice a mix of frustration and defeat. "It's about not bringing it into your lives. You guys have enough on your plate with everything."

Impulse frowns, setting his toast down. "Tango, you're part of this team, part of us," he says, his voice serious. "We're not just fighting the same enemy, we're fighting for the same things. Your problems are our problems."

Tango looks at them, his eyes searching their faces, looking for any signs of doubt or hesitation. But all he sees is genuine concern. He sighs heavily, leaning back in his chair. "You're right," he admits, his shoulders slumping slightly. "It's just... I don't want to burden you guys with more than you already have."

"You're not," Skizz says firmly, his hand reaching out to cover Tango's. "We're all we got, remember?"

Tango nods, a small smile ghosting across his lips. "I know," he says. "It's just hard to accept sometimes. I've always been the one taking care of things, you know?"

Impulse and Skizz exchange a knowing glance. They both know that Tango's past is filled with shadows, a tapestry of survival and self-reliance. But they also know that he's not invincible, despite his fiery exterior.

"Look, Tango," Impulse starts, his voice gentle but firm. "You don't have to carry everything on your own. We're your team, your family. And we're here to support you, just like you support us."

Tango nods, a silent acknowledgment of Impulse's words. The air in the room hangs heavy with unspoken understanding. They've all had their share of secrets and burdens, but they've learned that together, they can face anything.

"Do you need a job recommendation? I can put one in for you at my building." Impulse offers with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.

Tango laughs, the tension in his shoulders dissipating slightly. "Thanks, but I don't think 'Pyrokinetic Vigilante' would look good on a job application for a regular gig."

"Are you kidding? You're literally the smartest person in the tech field I could imagine." Impulse counters, his eyes lighting up. "You could totally blend in as a software engineer or something."

Skizz nods in agreement, his wings folding comfortably behind him. "Yeah, and nobody would suspect a thing. Until you accidentally melted the server room."

Tango smiles, the warmth spreading across his face. "That's true. I might not be the best fit for a nine to five," he says, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Skizz laughs, his wings fluttering slightly. "You think?" He looks over at Impulse, who is now fully engaged in their banter. "But seriously, if you need anything, we're here."

Impulse nods. "Yeah, we're not just a team, we're a family. And family sticks together."

"You're also going to have to tell Zed about this. He'll have to know of 'your extended time off'." Impulse says with a smirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Tango groans. "Yeah, I know," he says, rubbing his face with his free hand. "But I don't want him to worry either. He's going to flip and get all worked up about it."

"Well, he's going to find out eventually," Skizz points out, his voice laced with humor. "And when he does, he'll probably make you a 'Get Well Soon' card with explosives in it."

Tango laughs softly. "He'd cross out 'well' and put 'job' instead. Actually, it'll probably be some sort of fancy British word for job."

Impulse grins. "Yeah, something like 'Employ', but with more syllables and a silent 'h'."

Tango nods, chuckling into his coffee. "Exactly," he says, the tension in his voice slowly dissipating. "Hey, thanks for being so cool about this. I don't know why I was so worried about you finding out."

Impulse squeezes Tango's shoulder. "What are friends for?" He says, his expression earnest. "But seriously, you need to tell Zedaph. He's going to be thrilled to have you around more."

"Right after he enlists me for every job I'm legible for in the city." Tango says, his voice a mix of amusement and exasperation. "But seriously, I'll tell him."

"What even happened, buddy? You were complaining about a project like three days ago." Skizz asks, his cereal spoon pausing mid-air, curiosity peaking through his tired gaze.

Tango takes a deep breath, his hand tightening around his mug. "It's complicated," he says, his eyes avoiding theirs. "But let's just say I had an... enlightening conversation with my boss."

Impulse and Skizz exchange a concerned glance. "And how did that conversation end?" Impulse asks, his voice low.

Tango sighs, setting his coffee down. "Let's just say it's going to take more than a couple of days to sort out," he says, his gaze dropping to his interlaced fingers.

There's definitely an underlying meaning in the way he says it that tells the other two he doesn't mean what he says he does.

"Sort out what?"

Tango swirls the coffee in his cup before responding without looking at of the others. "It's going to take more than a couple days to sort out his eyebrows...but that's not entirely my fault!"

Impulse snorts out a laugh, while Skizz's face scrunches up in confusion. "Wait, you burned your boss's eyebrows?"

Tango looks up, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "What? No, I didn't burn his eyebrows," he says, his voice filled with feigned innocence. "But let's just say the conversation got a bit... heated."

Skizz's eyes widen. "Oh no," he says, his voice a mix of horror and amusement. "What did you do?"

Tango shrugs. "It's not like I meant to. But sometimes, when you're explaining the flaws in a system designed to control people, things can get a bit... intense."

The other two give him an unimpressed look.

"Look! I sneezed and they were gone! I swear!"

...

"Stop looking at me like that!"

Impulse and Skizz can't help but practically cackle at Tango's protest. Despite the seriousness of the situation, their friend's ability to make jokes in the most unlikely places is infectious. The tension in the room shifts, the weight of Tango's secret momentarily lifted.

"Okay, okay," Impulse says, wiping a tear from his eye. "But for real, if you need help with whatever's going on, just say the word."

Tango nods, his smile fading into a more solemn expression. "I know, and I appreciate it," he says. "But let's keep it light for now. We've got a lot to prepare for. And speaking of which, Skizzy, you think you can start getting better so we know how steady your progress will be?"

Skizz nods, his cheeks pinking slightly. "Yeah, I'll work on it," he says, his eyes flickering to his wings. "I don't want to hold the team back."

"You're not holding anyone back, don't worry. We just want to know what you'll be able to do at any given time." Tango says, his expression turning more serious. "But for now, let's just enjoy the peace before the storm."

Skizz nods, his wings fluttering slightly. "I'll start with some basic stretches today, see how it goes."

Impulse nods in approval. "That's the spirit," he says, his eyes gleaming with pride. "Now, speaking of which. How about we get started? Tango wanted to stick around to see."

Skizz groans but gets up from the chair, his wings stretching out with a soft wince from their owner. He makes his way over to the open space in the living room, where the sun's rays cast a warm glow. "Alright, let's try," he says, bracing himself.

The other two follow, Tango stands in front for Skizz to see in case he wants his comfort, while Impulse stands behind him to help him stretch his wings properly.

"Alright, take it easy," Impulse instructs, his hand gently guiding Skizz's wing through the first stretch. "We're just testing the waters today."

Skizz nods, his face tight with concentration as he tries to push his wing through the pain. "I know, I know," he says through gritted teeth. "But I want to get back out there."

Impulse's grip is firm but gentle, his eyes focused on their teammate's progress. "Patience is key," he reminds Skizz. "We can't have you flying into battle before you're ready to handle it."

Skizz nods, his breathing steady despite the effort. Sweat beads on his forehead, but he pushes through the discomfort. "I know," he says. "But I'm tired of watching from the sidelines."

"We get it, but we need you in fighting shape," Tango says, his voice firm. "No real heroics until Doc gives the all-clear."

That's the plan the agency had in place for him, anyway. Nothing but low activity patrols for a few hours a day and some paperwork that needs done for future reference until Doc, one of the most seasoned heroes that has the occasional physical troubles, gives the all clear.

Apparently having a PhD is requirement enough to be able to. He also knows what setbacks like this feel like, having both arm and knee issues that flare up from time to time.

Ren and Cleo say it's because he's getting old, Doc says it's because of his missing arm and previous battle injuries. Doc's argument lacks in the rest of the groups opinion

But all Skizz really wants is to get back to helping people as fast as possible. And apparently the way to do that is take the physical therapy slow.

As they move through the stretches, Tango and Impulse's laughter slowly fades into encouraging words. The room is filled with the sound of wincing and stretching, Skizz's deep breaths, and occasional grunts of effort. They work through the routine, Tango offering tips from his own experience with injuries.

Though Tango doesn't get too banged up usually, he's had some bad moments. Not too long ago he got hit in the throat with a bat and sounded like a certain honey-loving cartoon bear for a week.

"Remember, slow and steady," Tango says, his voice calm and reassuring. "Pushing too hard won't help you heal faster, it'll just make things worse."

Skizz nods, his jaw clenched as he tries to ignore the pain. His wing feels heavy, unresponsive, but with each stretch, there's a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he's on the right track.

"Good," Impulse says, his eyes never leaving Skizz's form. "Keep that up, and you'll be flying circles around us in no time."

Skizz laughs, the sound a little forced, but it's a laugh nonetheless. "Flying circles around you isn't exactly setting the bar high," he says, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Impulse rolls his eyes. "Hey, I'm a man of strategy, not speed," he says, poking Skizz's side. "But seriously, you're doing great. Just keep up the good work."

Tango nods in agreement, his expression one of quiet pride. "You're going to be back to your old self before you know it," he says, his voice filled with confidence.

They spend the next hour working through various stretches and exercises, pushing Skizz's limits but never beyond what he can handle. Each successful stretch brings a sense of victory, a small step towards normalcy in their otherwise extraordinary lives.

Once it's over, though, they still have plenty of time before Impulse has to leave for a short meeting, otherwise usually working from home. So he grabs some of the product they were given for Skizz's wings and tosses one of the two bottles to Tango.

"Here," he says. "Sit."

Tango catches the bottle and opens it, sniffing the contents suspiciously. "What is this stuff?"

"It's supposed to help with the inflammation and speed up the healing," Impulse says, gesturing to the instructions. "It's all natural, don't worry."

Tango looks at the bottle skeptically before shrugging and sitting down behind Skizz. He takes the wing gently, careful not to cause more pain. "Okay, here goes nothing," he says, applying the ointment.

Skizz flinches at the cold, his wing twitching involuntarily. "Warn me next time," he mutters, but there's a smile in his voice.

"You'll thank me later," Impulse says, his hands working the ointment into the feathers with surprising gentleness.

Skizz winces again, but nods. "I know, I know. Just hurry up."

Impulse smirks. "I'm going as fast as I can without setting you on fire."

The three of them share a laugh, the tension in the room dissipating like mist in the morning sun. Tango's touch is surprisingly tender, his calloused hands moving with the grace of someone who's had to fix his own sensitive tech gear countless times. Skizz's wing feels the coolness of the ointment, the soothing sensation gradually spreading through the sore tissue. It's a small comfort, but it's something.

As Impulse works, he can't help but feel a twinge of admiration for Tango. Despite his jovial exterior, he's seen the weight the man carries on his shoulders. The way he's always ready to jump into a fight, his unyielding loyalty, and his fierce intelligence that often goes unnoticed. It's moments like these, when they're all just trying to get by, that he's reminded why they're a team.

Why they're a family.

Chapter Text

After the stretching and the ointment application, Skizz's wings are feeling a bit better. The pain is still there, but it's definitely more manageable. The three of them sit around the living room, the scent of burnt toast still lingering from the morning's breakfast.

Impulse checks the time on his watch. "Alright, I've got to get going," he says, standing up and stretching. "I've got a meeting in an hour."

Skizz nods, his wings still outstretched. "Thanks for the help, man," he says, his voice a bit more relaxed now that the pain has lessened.

Once Impulse had changed and left (for the second time, he left once but but came back 5 minutes later because he forgot his laptop), Tango and Skizz make themselves comfortable on the couch when Tango suggests he try preening Skizz's wings.

"Please!" Tango begs, his eyes wide with excitement. "I've never done it before, but I've seen it done on those bird videos you like!"

Skizz looks at him skeptically, his feathers ruffling slightly. "You're sure about this?"

"Positive!" Tango says, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "How hard can it be?"

Skizz gives him a look that's half skeptical, half amused. "Okay, but if you mess up, you're explaining it to Doc and Impulse. " he warns.

"Psh, I've got this," Tango says, his confidence not quite meeting his eyes. He gently takes one of Skizz's wings in his hand, mimicking what he's seen in the videos. The action is surprisingly delicate, his hands moving with precision.

Skizz watches him for a moment, then nods. "Alright, but remember, it's not a toy," he says, trying not to laugh at Tango's excitement.

Tango nods solemnly, his eyes focused on the task at hand. "I know, I know," he says, his voice dropping an octave to show how serious he is.

Skizz watches as Tango carefully picks through one of his wings, inspecting it closely before starting to preen. His touch is surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the fiery determination he usually exhibits. Skizz can't help but feel a warmth in his chest at the sight.

"You know, you're not half bad at this," Skizz says after a few moments of tense silence.

Tango beams, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Told you," he says, his voice filled with pride. "It's all about the wrist action."

Skizz chuckles, watching as Tango continues to work on his wing. It's a strange sight, the usually stoic and eccentric vigilante acting like an overeager pet owner. But it's also incredibly endearing, reminding Skizz of the moments of normalcy they cherish in their otherwise hectic lives.

As the hours tick by, Tango's clumsy yet earnest efforts pay off. The once-stiff feathers begin to look less ragged, the edges smoother. Skizz can feel the tension in his muscles start to ease, his breathing becoming more even. "Thanks, Tango," he murmurs, his eyes closing slightly in contentment. "This actually feels... pretty good."

Tango smiles, his movements becoming more sure. "Told you," he says, his voice a mix of pride and relief. "And hey, it's the least I can do. You guys have had my back so many times. Now I can have yours, no matter how literal it gets."

The two of them share a quiet laugh, the sound echoing in the apartment that has become their sanctuary. It's moments like these that remind Skizz of the unspoken bonds they've formed, the trust that goes beyond their superhero personas.

As Tango continues to preen, Skizz's thoughts drift to soft feelings and chirps of contentment escape him. It's a rare moment that he gets so content and comfortable to the point of making such sounds. Tango pauses for a moment, surprised but grinning.

"See? I've got the touch," he says, resuming his work with a gentle flourish.

The afternoon sun slants through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room as they continue their impromptu therapy session. Skizz's wings are beginning to look less like a battle-torn flag that comes with sleep and more like the sleek, powerful appendages they're meant to be. With each pass of Tango's hands, Skizz feels a bit more like himself—less broken, more whole.

Tango's eyes are focused, his movements precise and deliberate. He's not just preening the feathers; he's taking care of Skizz, tending to the injuries that are a stark reminder of their dangerous lives. It's a gentle dance of friendship and support that has nothing to do with battles or evil plots. It's a reminder of why they all do this—for moments of peace and camaraderie amidst the chaos.

"So, what's been going on with you?" Skizz asks, his voice quiet. He opens one eye to look at Tango, who seems to have found his rhythm. "You've been a bit...off, lately. Is it just the whole 'work thing' or us something up?"

Tango's hand stills for a moment, his smile fading. He sighs, setting the wing down gently. "It's complicated," he says, his voice low. "But thanks for noticing."

Skizz nods, his eyes closing again. "You know we're here for you," he says. "Whatever it is."

Tango's gaze lingers on Skizz's wing, his expression contemplative. "Yeah," he says finally. "I know."

He picks the wing back up and starts preening again, his movements a little slower, more thoughtful, almost like he's distracting himself with the work just as much as he's helping. "If I'm honest, I've been thinking a bit about myself recently."

Skizz nods, his eyes still closed. "You've got a lot on your plate, Tango. We all do. But sometimes, we need to remember to take care of ourselves too."

"Exactly. I just-... well, I realized that I don't really know how." Tango says, his voice trailing off. "How to take care of myself, I mean. I've always been taking care of myself, but recently I've just kinda realized I haven't."

Skizz opens his eyes and looks at Tango, his gaze filled with understanding. "I'm making no sense, am I? I guess it's mostly my lack of shelter, to explain it."

Skizz shakes his head. "No, you're making perfect sense. Sometimes we all get lost in the chaos and forget to take care of ourselves. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Tango nods, his eyes never leaving the feathers he's working on. "It's just... I've always had to rely on myself, you know? I've never really had a family, not since I can remember."

Skizz nods again, his voice gentle. "We're your family now, Tango. And we're not going anywhere."

That's what does it.

That's exactly what Tango needed to hear from one of the most important people in his life.

"Thanks, Skizz," Tango says, his voice thick with emotion. He takes a deep breath, the silence in the room stretching out like a warm embrace. "I guess I just need to learn to lean on you guys more."

Skizz opens his eyes and smiles at Tango over his shoulder, his feathers ruffling slightly with the movement. "We're all here for each other," he says. "That's what family does."

Tango's hands pause in their work for a moment, his expression a mix of surprise and gratitude. "You know, I've never really had that before," he admits. "I've always been on my own."

Skizz's smile turns into a warm, comforting look. "Well, you've got us now," he says, his voice firm. "And we're not going anywhere." His words ate slower this time, really etching them into Tango's scarred heart and soul.

They carry more meaning this time.

And with the way Skizz turns around to face him, how can he not believe them?

Tango clears his throat, feeling the warmth spread through his cheeks. "Thanks, Skizz," he says, his voice a little hoarse. "That... that means a lot."

Skizz nods, his eyes never leaving Tango's. "You're a good guy, Tango," he says. "You deserve to be happy."

Tango doesn't trust himself to do more than nod, trying not to blink too fast. He's not used to this kind of affection, not the gentle, understanding kind that comes without any strings attached. It's overwhelming and he's afraid it's going to burn him like everything else he's ever cared about. But it doesn't. It just feels... right.

When Skizz holds out his arms, Tango tells himself to keep it together, but as he looks into those kind eyes, he feels himself cracking. Just a little. He's not going to fall apart. Not here. Not now. But it's harder than he ever thought it would be to accept that kind of care from someone who isn't just using it to manipulate him.

When he doesn't move, Skizz pulls Tango towards him and hugs him. One of the best hugs in the city can only be given from Skizz, not many can top him.

For a moment, Tango is stiff, unsure for just a moment, then he relaxes, letting himself be held. It's strange, but it's comforting, like a warm blanket on a cold night. He hugs back, tentative at first, but then with more strength.

"Thank you," he whispers into Skizz's shoulder. It's a rare moment of vulnerability for the usually stoic vigilante, but here, in the quiet of the apartment, it feels safe.

"You should stay here more often. Or at least arrange actual plans for where you'll be at a given night." Skizz carefully runs his fingers through Tango's hair, cautious of the heat. "Me and Impulse will have a spare key made. We can change the random office room Impulse puts all his junk in into your own."

Tango's grip tightens around Skizz's shoulders. "Yeah, maybe," he murmurs. "But only if you're okay with it."

"We're more than okay," Skizz reassures him, his voice steady and comforting. "We all need a place to call home, and this is as much yours as it is ours."

The weight of the words sinks in, and Tango can't help the smile that tugs at his lips. "I've never had that before," he says, his voice a bit wobbly. "A home. A real one, I guess."

"Yeah?" Skizz leaves room for Tango to go on as he thumbs over the shorter blondes shoulder.

"Yeah," Tango says with a nod, his voice stronger now. "I've Lived in house shares, and empty or cheap buildings and stuff, but nothing like that ever feels like home. But I think I feel that here. I think I always have."

Skizz's smile widens, his grip tightening slightly. "Good," he says. "Because that's exactly what we want it to be for you. And for all of us."

They sit like that for a while longer, the tension in the room slowly dissipating. Tango's heart rate begins to even out, the warmth of Skizz's embrace seeping into his bones. It's a stark contrast to the heat he usually feels under his skin, the constant just barely uncomfortable reminder of his powers. Sometimes even of the hard world he usually faces, and for once, he lets himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he deserves this.

Chapter Text

Skizz pulls back slightly, his hands resting on Tango's shoulders. "So, what do you say?" he asks, his eyes searching Tango's. "Want to stay for dinner?"

Tango nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah," he says, his voice a little less shaky. "Dinner sounds good."

If you told anyone Tango cried for the next 15 minutes, h would call you a bold face lier.

But if you told the outlandish story, Skizz didn't say a word, just held him, let him cry out his fears and his insecurities, his loneliness, and his elated joy. It felt good, like a weight being lifted off his shoulders. When Tango finally pulls away, his eyes are a bit red around the sides, but he's smiling.

"I can't remember the last time I had a decent meal that wasn't fast food," Tango admits, trying to keep the conversation light.

Skizz laughs, his own smile a little shaky around the edges to match his glassy eyes. "Well, I can't promise it'll be five-star, but I'll do my best," he says. "What do you like?"

Tango thinks for a moment. "Anything that doesn't come in a greasy bag," he jokes, then his eyes light up. "But garlic bread sounds delightful."

Skizz laughs, the sound filling the room with a comfort that's been missing for a while. "Garlic bread it is," he says, standing up. "And maybe I'll whip up a decent lasagna. Impulse said he had a killer recipe he wanted to try. I'll text him to get home soon and pick up groceries."

Tango nods, standing up as well. "Sounds amazing," he says, his voice still a little hoarse. "I can help prep, if you want. Or I can just stay out of the way."

Skizz waves a hand. "You're not in the way, but if you really want to help, you can set the table," he suggests, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "And maybe make sure the kitchen doesn't catch on fire."

"Ah yes, stopping fire. My specialty." Tango says, winking playfully at Skizz, the tension of their earlier conversation fading away.

Skizz laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "Exactly," he says, heading to the kitchen to grab his phone. "We can't have the fire department show up again. It's getting suspicious."

Tango follows him, his own laughter bouncing off the walls. "I'll be good," he promises, his eyes lingering on Skizz's back. He's never felt so...seen before. It's a good feeling, one that he's not quite used to.

As Skizz starts rummaging through the cabinets, looking for plates and silverware, Tango leans against the counter, watching him move. It's strange, how much he's come to care for these people, how much he's willing to risk for them. But here they are, in a quiet apartment in the middle of the city, making plans for dinner like a normal family.

That's what they get to be now, a normal family. Found or not, they are family.

Halfway across town, Impulse gets out of his meeting and starts walking home, no one's ever able to drive anywhere with the tight parking, so walking is naturally the best option.

But leading into evening after a meeting that could have been an email ran 3 hours over what was originally planned in a city known for frequent delinquent activities was not, intact, the best option.

Of course, a powered individual like Impulse didn't worry too much about the possibility of being mugged, as well as being an undercover villain, he knows how to fight.

But less fortunate people a couple blocks away are just that; less fortunate.

People like that are usually helped by vigilantes doing the job heroes were supposed to.

He could hear yelling from a man, then a woman's scream. Not one out of injury, he's learned to tell them apart. But one one of desperation.

Apparently being mugged was cause for desperation.

Impulse didn't care much, he was tired and a little frustrated from the nearly 5 hour meeting he sat through that was collectively about 3 hours of dead air.

And he was a villain. Currently portraying a civilian. Neither of which help people being mugged.

The only reason it even caught his attention at all was the air shifting, the distant sound of a clock tick. Looks like it was a vigilante still doing a hero's job.

But as Impulse gets closer, his stride quickens. It's not just any vigilante, of course. It's B00100.

Impulse stands back as he watches the scene play out, leaning against the corner of a run down brick building to see the vigilante do his second job.

Bdubs's movements are swift, each step calculated even after his little time demonstrated of an entrance. His mossy green hoodie and red bandanna are stark against the fading daylight. The mugger, a young man with a knife, freezes when he hears the telltale tick-tock of the clockwork guard approaching. The woman, her purse clutched to her chest, eyes wide with fear, gasps in relief as Bdubs stands before her.

"Bad night for a stick-up I'd say," he says, his voice calm and steady, his eyes never leaving the mugger's. "Lucky for me, I decided stopping past east side would pay off tonight, looks like I was right."

The vigilante's words, a staple to his constantly nonchalant and cartoony character, a complete lie.

He really thought east end would be calmer tonight, he only decided to patrol because of this. His headache still as persistent as it was on the first day.

"You should leave," the mugger snarls, his knife shaking in his hand. "This isn't your business."

"Oh, but it is," Bdubs says, his tone light despite the gravity of the situation. "You see, I'm in the business of making sure the streets of this fine city are safe for its citizens. And I can't very well do that if I just let you walk away with her purse, now can I?" He paces closer with his hands behind his back, his eyes sparkling like topaz as the streetlights flicker on even as the sun is still looming between the tall buildings.

The mugger's eyes dart between the unassuming figure before him and the shadows he wishes he could melt into. "I didn't know you were here," he stammers, sweat beading on his forehead. "I'll just... I'll just leave."

Bdubs raises an eyebrow, his hand twitching slightly. "You're not going anywhere," he says firmly. "Not until I know the woman is safe and her property is returned."

The mugger glances around, his eyes wide with panic. He's outmatched and he knows it. But he's desperate, and desperation makes people do stupid things. He makes a break for it, sprinting down the alleyway, his shoes echoing on the pavement.

Bdubs doesn't bother giving chase, instead rolling his eyes as the mugger freezes before he gets halfway down the alley. "Does he have anything of yours?" he asks the woman, his voice a perfect blend of amusement and annoyance.

"No," she says, her eyes wide as she watches the scene unfold. "But thank you for... for helping me."

"It's all I'm good for." Bdubs unpauses the boy and he continues to stumble down the alley.

The woman leaves quickly after that and Bdubs strides down the sidewalk to meet Impulse where he stands.

"You okay?" Impulse asks, his eyes scanning Bdubs's form for any signs of headache.

Bdubs nods, the red bandana hiding his smile. "Just a headache," he says, his voice a little strained. "It's been a long day."

Impulse's eyes narrow, concern etched in his features. "You okay to walk?"

Bdubs nods but it's not very convincing when he's leaning so heavily against the wall, the soft ticking from his pocket the only sound at the corner. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just need to get home," he says, his voice a little more forced than he'd like to admit.

Impulse studies him for a moment before nodding, his eyes softening. "Let's get you home then," he says, taking a step closer and offering an arm. "You can tell me all about your day on the way."

Bdubs looks at the offered arm and sighs. He knows he shouldn't push it, especially with his head pounding like it is. "Thanks," he murmurs, taking the support gratefully around the shoulders.

They walk in companionable silence for a few minutes, the sound of their footsteps the only noise breaking the quiet of the evening. The sun has almost fully disappeared behind the skyscrapers, casting the city into a dimming orange glow. The air is cooler now, a welcome relief from the oppressive heat of the day.

"On second thought, could we stop for a minute on the roof?" Bdubs asks, his voice tight with pain. "I need to... I just need to breathe."

Impulse nods immediately, his expression filled with understanding. "Of course," he says, guiding them to the nearest fire escape. They climb the metal ladder, reaching the rooftop that overlooks the bustling streets below. The setting sun casts a warm glow over the cityscape, a stark contrast to the chilling air that brushes against their skin.

As they reach the top, Bdubs leans heavily against some paneled rectangle every rooftop seems to have, within the shadows, he sits down and pulls down his bandana.

Impulse sits next to him, the warmth of his hand pressing against his forehead. "You're burning up," he says, his voice laced with worry.

"It's the power," Bdubs grunts, his eyes squeezed shut. "It's getting harder to control."

Impulse nods, his hand moving to rub circles on Bdubs's back, trying to soothe the tension from his friend's shoulders. "We'll figure it out," he says, his voice soothing. "But for now, let's just focus on getting you home."

They sit in silence for a few minutes, the sound of the city below a muted backdrop to their quiet respite. The wind picks up, sending a chill through the air that makes them both shiver, but they don't move. It's a moment of peace in a world that rarely offers it.

Finally, with a deep breath, Bdubs stands, the shadows retreating from his eyes. "I'm okay," he says, his voice stronger. "Let's go home."

With an arm behind his back, Impulse helps Bdubs to his feet. It's short-lived though as the other nearly passes out. Impulse's grip tightens and he holds Bdubs closer before just bringing him back to the ground.

"Bdubs, what's going on?" He asks, genuine concern in his voice.

"I just... I just need a second," He breathes heavily, his hand reaching up to massage his temples. The ticking in his pocket seems to be getting louder, or maybe it's just the pulsing in his head. "It's these damn headaches, they're getting worse."

Impulse's gaze softens and his eyes dart over the horizon as if looking for an escape from the pain etched on his friend's face. "We need to get you to a doctor," He says firmly.

"No," Bdubs shakes his head, the motion making his vision swirl. "They won't understand. It's because of my powers."

Impulse sighs, his grip on his friend's arm tightening. "Bdubs, you're not invincible. We're not heroes, we're just people with abilities. And people with abilities can still get sick, or hurt."

"Yeah, well, most people with abilities don't live with heroes that make the kind of money they can spend on trips to a doctor whose just going to tell them something they already know." Bdubs says with a forced chuckle.

Impulse doesn't laugh, instead his eyes bore into his friend, "We can't ignore it forever."

Bdubs just leans heavily against the villain, fading in and out of consciousness.

"Bdubs, come on," Impulse says urgently, his voice low but firm. "We have to go."

The vigilante nods weakly, allowing Impulse to help him stand. They make their way back to the fire escape, descending carefully. Once they're on solid ground, Impulse wraps an arm around Bdubs's shoulders, supporting his weight as they start the walk, this time it's towards Impulse's apartment.

Chapter Text

The streets are quieter now, the orange glow of the setting sun replaced by the cool blue of street lamps. The air is still, save for the occasional distant siren, a reminder of the chaos that unfolds across the city.

Before they get too far, Bdubs wrestles off his hoodie and ties it around his waist, leaving him in a plain white t-shirt as he shoves the bandana in his pocket.

"It's hot," he murmurs, his eyes squinting slightly as if the light hurts him. "Really hot."

Impulse nods, his own power flaring slightly in response to the warmth radiating off of his friend. "Let's get you inside," he says, leading the way.

They manage to reach Impulse's apartment without any further incidents, the cool air-conditioning a blessed relief after the stifling heat outside. Bdubs leans against the door frame, his breaths coming in short gasps.

He's practically unconscious by the time Impulse gets the door open, the sound of banter echoes from the kitchen.

"Tango? Skizz?" Impulse calls out, his voice carrying the weight of his concern.

Skizz appears almost immediately, his eyes widening when he sees the state of his friend. "What happened?" He asks, rushing over to help support the other side of Bdubs.

"Headache," Impulse explains tersely. "It's been a bad one."

Tango rounds the corner, the front of him coated in what looks to be flower. He takes one look and says, "Let's get him to the couch," and together, they guide the stumbling Bdubs into the living room. He collapses onto the soft cushions, his head dropping back with a thud.

"Water," Skizz says, rushing into the kitchen. He returns with a cool glass, pressing it into Bdubs's hand.

The vigilante takes a grateful sip, his eyes fluttering open briefly to meet their concerned gazes. "Thanks," he whispers.

"How long has he been like this?" Tango asks, brushing a lock of hair from Bdubs's forehead, revealing the sheen of sweat that's gathered.

"Not long," Impulse says, his eyes never leaving his friend's face. "But it's getting worse."

Skizz nods, his expression serious. "We need to find a way to help him," he says, setting the glass down on the coffee table. "These headaches obviously can't be good for him."

Impulse sighs, his hand resting on Bdubs's arm. "We've all noticed," he admits. "But he's been so stubborn about it."

"Well, maybe it's time we don't give him a choice," Tango says firmly, his voice filled with determination. "We're a team. We take care of each other."

Skizz nods in agreement, his eyes never leaving the man on the couch. "He can't keep pushing himself like this," he adds, his voice filled with concern.

Impulse nods, his gaze hardening. "We're going to figure this out," he says. "We'll get him the help he needs, even if we have to break into the Council's own medical bay to do it."

The group exchanges looks, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on them. They've always known the risks that come with being powered individuals, but watching their friend suffer was something none of them were prepared for.

"What do we do?" Skizz asks, his voice barely a whisper.

Tango straightens up, his expression resolute. "We start by making him comfortable," he says, gesturing towards the couch. "Then we sit down and talk about it. No secrets, no holding back."

Impulse nods, his eyes never leaving his friend's face. "Agreed," he says, his voice tight. "Bdubs, we're here for you, no matter what."

Bdubs manages a weak smile, his eyes closing again. "Thanks, guys," he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

Impulse nods, his gaze lingering on the unconscious figure before turning to the others. "Let's get him some ice for his head," he suggests.

Tango nods, his own power flaring slightly with a rise in temperature as he heads to the kitchen to fetch a bag of frozen peas from the freezer. Skizz grabs a towel, wrapping the makeshift ice pack gently around the base of Bdubs's skull. The cold compress seems to ease the tension in the room, if only a little.

"We're going to find out what's causing this," Impulse says, his voice firm. "And we'll get you better, no matter what it takes."

The nearly unconscious vigilante can't say anything to this. Not anything that would give a good response from the other three. All he can do is think; 'You don't mean that.'

And we'll, what can he say? They never mean it. Whenever someone says something as important as that, it ends up another broken promise that leaves Bdubs even more so.

He can't trust words like that anymore. No matter how much he truly cares about the person who says them. He can't let himself believe on them, just to be hurt when they don't care anymore.

But, for now, he lets them do what they can to ease the pain. The coldness of the ice pack does help, a little bit. The pain in his head is a constant throb now, a rhythm that seems to match his heartbeat. But it also feels like something's drilling into every side of his head at once.

They talk around him, their voices a buzz. They discuss options, theories that could have cursed him with these never-ending headaches. But the more they speak, the more his head feels like it's going to split open.

Skizz suggests maybe it's the time manipulation, pushing it too much, too often. Tango counters that B has had his fair share of overuse with his power and never had anything like this happen to him. Impulse remains silent, his mind racing with thoughts of the confusing situation.

They sit with him, talking in hushed tones, sharing their own experiences with power management. Each story is different, a unique testament to their individual journeys. They discuss the possibility of an underlying condition or a side effect of his powers that they hadn't anticipated.

Bdubs tries to focus on their words, to find comfort in their concern. But the pain is a cacophony in his head, a symphony of agony that drowns out their voices. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, hoping it would help, but it feels like his skull is being crushed from the inside out.

"Bdubs, can you hear me?" Impulse's voice pierces through the fog.

Bdubs nods slightly, the motion sending a fresh wave of pain through his skull. The cold from the ice pack is the only thing keeping him grounded in reality.

He bit his lip to the point of bleeding to keep himself from screaming, throwing up, or both.

"You need to see someone," Impulse says, his voice firm but gentle. "A doctor, maybe one of the underground ones that can handle powered folks."

Bdubs groans, the thought of seeing a doctor makes his stomach turn. "They'll just tell me to stop using my powers," he mumbles, the words slurred slightly. "But I haven't been. Tonight was the first time I used it since the first night these headaches started."

Skizz's eyes narrow in thought, his grip tightening around the ice pack. "But you've been stressed," he points out. "The mission, the Council's scrutiny, and it's a lot."

Bdubs nods, the movement sending a sharp pain through his temples. "Yeah," he admits, his voice strained. "But I can handle stress. I haven't felt mote stressed than I get on bad patrol nights, just a little stressed."

Tango frowns, his hand resting on the couch cushion next to Bdubs's head. "Maybe it's something else then," he says, his voice low. "Some kind of reaction to something we've been fighting, or something in the city's air."

Impulse nods, his gaze still focused on his friend. "We'll figure it out," he repeats. "But for now, we need to get you some rest."

Skizz and Tango exchange a look, concern etched on their faces. "We're not letting you go out like this," Tango says firmly. "You're staying here with us."

"Jeez, Impulse. I tell you to bring home groceries and you bring back an injured vigilante." Skizz's attempt at humor falls flat, the weight of the situation too heavy for their hearts to bear.

Impulse gives a sad smile, "Couldn't leave him out there. And I don't remember being told to get groceries." He thinks for a moment to clarify.

"Dude, do you ever check your phone?" Tango chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

Bdubs attempts a smile, but it's clear the pain is taking its toll. "Guess not," he says through gritted teeth.

They help him to his feet, each of them taking an arm to support his weight. The walk to Impulse's bedroom feels like an eternity as each step echoes in his skull like a drumline. They lay him down on the bed, the softness a stark contrast to the hard ground of the alleyways he's used to.

Impulse pulls the blinds, dimming the room to a comfortable twilight. Skizz sits on the edge of the bed, his hand hovering over the vigilante's forehead. "The fever's not breaking," he says, his voice filled with worry. "We really should get him to a doctor."

Tango nods, his expression grim. "But which one can we trust?" he asks, pacing the floor. "We can't just take him to anyone."

They have connections all over, but Bdubs definitely has the most. He's been around longer and has had more reasons to seek out medical attention than any of them. If anyone knows a guy, it's him.

With a pained nod, Bdubs speaks through the haze, "I know someone. He's a doctor, sort of...underground healer. He's helped me before." He pauses, taking a deep breath. "He owes me a favor."

Impulse's gaze sharpens. "Is he reliable?"

Bdubs nods, his eyes fluttering closed. "Trustworthy," he whispers. "But it's a risk. I haven't even heard his name in years."

Skizz looks at Tango, his own eyes filled with worry. "We have to try," he says.

Tango nods. "We'll do it tomorrow, after we've all had some rest. But for now, let's get you comfortable."

Chapter Text

They each take a moment to check on him, their eyes filled with a mix of worry and determination. Skizz places the ice pack back on his forehead, and Tango pulls the blanket up to his chin. Impulse squeezes his hand before letting go.

All this really does is make B roll his eyes.

He's a grown man, he doesn't need other grown men to tuck him in. But the pain is so intense, he can't even bother to argue. He's just happy that he's not alone in this, that he has friends that care.

The three of them hover around the bed, their expressions a mix of worry and helplessness. "Get some rest," Impulse says, his voice gentle. "We'll figure this out tomorrow."

Bdubs nods, his eyes drifting shut. "Thanks, guys," he murmurs.

As they leave the room, their footsteps echo down the hallway. The silence that follows is filled with the steady rhythm of his pain. He listens to their low whispers, their footsteps moving around the apartment. They're worried, and he hates it.

He's never liked pity. Never will. Pity is for people that can't help themselves. And as helpless as the situation feels, Bdubs will never let himself be pitied.

As he lays there, the pain seems to ebb and flow like a tide of nails, each wave more intense than the last. He tries to focus on his breathing, to find a rhythm that doesn't sync with the hammering in his head. But it's like trying to swim upstream in a river of molten lava.

He can't focus on breathing when doing anything hurts too bad to open his eyes.

Bdubs can feel the warmth of the room, the gentle hum of the air conditioner in the background, and the softness of the bed beneath him. But none of it can ease the pain that's taken over his body. It's a pain that he's familiar with, a pain that he's pushed through before. But this time, it's different. This time, it feels like it's consuming him.

He lies there, trying to keep his breathing steady, trying to ignore the pain that seems to be growing with every passing moment. He's not used to feeling so weak, so vulnerable. As a vigilante, he's always had to be strong, always had to push through the pain. But this is something else entirely.

The minutes drag on into hours, and still, the pain doesn't subside. The room spins around him, the walls seeming to close in as the throb in his head becomes unbearable. He can't help but feel a rising sense of panic, a fear that maybe this time he won't be able to push through it.

But he can't let them see that. He can't let them know how scared he really is. So, he clenches his fists, digs his nails into his palms, and focuses on the coldness of the ice pack against his forehead. It's the only thing keeping him from screaming out in agony.

By now he's just hoping the pain will make him pass out. He's too tired and fatigued to deal with the overwhelming pain.

But the pain is relentless. It's as if it has a mind of its own, feeding off his fear and doubt. His breaths come in shallow gasps, each one sending a fresh wave of pain through his skull.

He stops breathing altogether mostly subconsciously, his own mind afraid of the pain exhaling will cause, waves of nonstop pain distracting himself enough to not even notice he isn't breathing.

But his body, ever the loyal servant, starts to panic and his chest convulses with a deep breath, a scream following it.

The door flies open and the three of them rush in, their expressions a mix of shock and fear. "What happened?" Impulse asks, rushing to his side.

Bdubs tries to answer, but the pain is too much. He can't even form the words. His eyes are screwed shut, his body rigid with agony.

Impulse feels his heart drop. He's seen his friend hurt before, but never like this. He's seen him fight through worse, but never with this kind of unrelenting torment. He reaches out to feel his pulse, his hand shaking slightly. It's racing. Far too fast.

Skizz is at his side in an instant, his eyes wide with worry. "What do we do?" he asks, his voice tight.

Impulse's gaze snaps to the clock on the nightstand. "We need to get him to that healer now," he says, urgency in his voice. "We can't wait until tomorrow."

Skizz nods, his concern for his friend overshadowing his usual jovial demeanor. "But how do we get him there without drawing attention?" he asks, glancing at Bdubs's struggle.

Tango's eyes light up with a spark of determination. "I've got an idea," he says, his voice a little too warm for comfort. "I know a way to get him there without alerting anyone. We just need to move fast."

The room feels like it's spinning around him as they lift him off the bed, the coldness of the ice pack long forgotten. Every movement sends shockwaves through his head, and he can't help but whimper with each step they take. They're careful with him, trying to be gentle, but it feels like every touch is a blow.

They decide having Skizz put him on his hip like an overgrown toddler would be the best option for now. And Bdubs would have argued but he decided himself that Skizz's shoulder was good enough for his overwhelmed head.

The apartment door opens to the cool night air, a stark contrast to the heat radiating off of Tango. Impulse's hand rests firmly on Skizz's other shoulder, guiding him down the stairs. The metal of the railing feels cold and solid beneath his palm, grounding him amidst the chaos of his friend's condition.

Tango leads the way, his eyes scanning the shadows for any signs of trouble. They've been a team long enough to have a silent understanding, a bond that goes beyond their shared battles. Each step they take feels like a mile, the weight of their troubles pressing down on them.

Chapter Text

They have Bdubs coherent enough to give half-hearted directions to a house that looks abandoned.

At first, the other three are concerned that this might not be the right place. But Skizz sets the shorter boy down when he nods his head, the pain in his eyes saying he's sure.

He gets up the stairs himself and knocks loudly on the door, some special way. A few moments later, the door opens to reveal a tall, lanky man with short, almost maroon brown hair. A notable thing seen immediately being the tiger stripes on his neck and the orange ears of the big cat on the top of his head. His eyes widen when he sees Bdubs, but he quickly recovers and ushers them inside.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm a freelance healer, at least, I used to be. You three can call me NobodyEpic." The man says with a quick smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans, but the room is filled with medical supplies and odd artifacts that suggest he's seen his fair share of unexplained ailments.

The inside of the house is a lot nicer than the outside. It's clear that the healer has put a lot of effort into making it comfortable and welcoming, despite its secretive nature. The air is cool and sterile, a stark contrast to the grimy streets they just left behind.

"I haven't had any guests in a while. And certainly not this one. What's going on with him?" Nobody asks, his eyes filled with concern as he looks at Bdubs as the vigilante leans back on his couch.

Impulse quickly explains the situation, leaving out their identities as heroes. "He's been having severe headaches. Nothing seems to help."

Nobody nods, his gaze assessing. "Okay, I can work with that. He got you to the right guy. You can just sit back and I'll do my work." He says, his voice soothing despite the tension in the air.

The three concerned friends stand back out of the way as the other two talk quietly between themselves.

Bdubs can feel the weight of their stares, their unspoken worries hanging heavy in the air. But he's too caught up in his own pain to say much. He's just trying to keep his breathing steady, to not pass out.

Nobody decides banter could help keep him distracted from the pain, so in a style he'll always possess, he speaks so calmly and clearly it's as if it's some regular night. "Long time no see Dubs. You caught me on the right night. I'm not usually here."

Bdubs manages a weak smile. "Lucky me," he says, his voice strained. "So Joel, how's the family?" He tries to keep the talk as casual as the other, Joel, started.

Joel's smile turns genuine for a brief moment. "Oh, you know. The usual. Kids are growing up too fast. The wife is still mad about that time I accidentally froze the goldfish."

The room relaxes a bit with the mundane conversation. It's clear Joel, or rather NobodyEpic, is trying to keep the mood as light as possible.

"Well, I'm sure they've thawed out by now," Bdubs quips, trying to add a little humor to the tense atmosphere.

The healer doesn't have to do much to prepare, just checking over Bdubs's head for any other injuries his power could focus in on that aren't the headache. "I'm going to need you to relax as best you can." Joel says, his eyes serious again. "This could get a bit... intense."

Bdubs nods, bracing himself for whatever comes next. He's not entirely sure what Joel's going to do, but he's seen enough to know that the healer's methods are occasionally unorthodox.

Joel moves closer, his eyes focusing on the pulse point in Bdubs's neck. He takes a deep breath and places his thumb to Bdubs's forehead. After a moment of concentration, his eyes glow in the blue color they are before that becomes slowly overtaken in orange, his hands glowing that same color as he brushes his hand across his old friend's head.

It feels like a whiteboard eraser is slowly traveling across his mind, taking all his pain and thoughts with it. It's overwhelming immediately as everything simply stops. He can't even think about thinking.

"This should last about 20 minutes or so." Joel says, his hand lingering in the air before it flickers out along with the rest of the orange. "Still hurt? I'm a little rusty."

Bdubs takes a deep breath, feeling the tension in his body slowly melt away. "No," he says, his voice clearer than it's been in hours even with a slight amount of slurring in his speech. "It's gone."

Joel nods, his smile returning. "Good. Now tell me, what's been going on? Stress? Overuse of his powers?" He looks at the stunned 3 at his side.

Impulse steps forward, "Both, probably. I don't think it's ever gotten like this though. He would barely use his powers, then get a terrible headache."

Skizz nods in agreement. "And it's been getting worse, even with rest and trying to keep his power usage low."

Joel nods again. "When did this start?" He looks to the three friends for answers, his gaze thoughtful.

Impulse looks to Skizz and Tango, who exchange glances before Tango speaks up, "A couple of weeks ago, after a particularly nasty fight with a new villain. He's been pushing himself harder than usual."

Joel looks over the boy better, his medical knowledge catching his gaze to an older Scar on his upper arm. It looks to him about a few weeks old with pinkish tissue still showing on the roughly inch long, half inch wide scar. "How did he get that?" He asks, pointing to the scar.

Impulse and Skizz share a look, unsure how much to say. Tango clears his throat, "I mean, I don't know. Honestly, we don't keep track of every injury we get, but I've never seen that before."

"I can look into it, if you'd like. It's a part of my power set. I can see like a dream how someone got an injury." Joel says, his eyes still focused on the scar.

Bdubs nods slightly, not really caring anymore as he's just happy the pain has ceased for now. "Do what you need to," he mumbles, his voice still slurred a bit.

Joel nods and places his hand over the scar. His eyes close, and for a moment, the room feels eerily silent. The three friends watch in anticipation, their hearts racing in their chests. They've seen enough now to know that Joel's power is more than just healing.

Behind his eyes, Joel seen dim images of a warehouse, the winged hero in his living room tied in black wire, an Bdubs from the angle. He sees as Bdubs approaches Skizz and frees him from the wire, the wire is released from the pause he'd had them in. One swipes his arm as he tosses it away, catching his arm and drawing too much blood.

The sharp end of the wire shiny with blood shrinks back to it's still paused master further away.

The vision only lasting long enough for Joel to see Bdubs get back to helping his friend with little mind to the small injury.

He relays this information to the others while trying to find a good explanation of this himself. If he'd barely been using his powers, they shouldn't be giving him this much trouble.

"It's definitely related to your powers, Dubs," Joel says, his tone serious. "But it's not just from overuse. There's something else here, something deeper. It's like your power is fighting against something."

Bdubs frowns, his mind still pretty blank. "What could it be?"

Joel looks to the others to try and make sense of it. They all talk worriedly with each other.

This definitely has something to do with The Puppeteer and the blood she must have from Bdubs. It looks like Skizz won't be the only one that's at risk with the blood she had of his from that same fight.

But that just raises more questions. Skizz almost never needs to use his electric power. He's nit great at using it, and it isn't strong enough to do much against an enemy.

But his wings are connected to him in a way that works with power suppression.

He learned that once when a good friend of his, Cub, a part-time worker in the labs, but mostly one of the few assigned to help heroes with tasks, asked him to test the power cuffs they made for heroes in the tower.

They made his wings feel stiffer, and for a few moments, there were random spikes of sharp pains through them.

And, now that he thinks about it, once he heard about when Bdubs got into a fight with a hero a while back, he got stuck with a power suppressor on his arm that he had to break off before showing back up at the base.

He remembers being told by Bdubs what he felt. A bit of a migraine after he tried to use his powers, even though it was suppressed. It's clear to him now, it's the same thing happening here.

Impulse's eyes widen in realization. "The Puppeteer," he murmurs, the pieces clicking into place. "She's been using your blood, isn't she? That's what's causing this." He gestures to both Bdubs and Skizzle's wings.

Skizz nods solemnly. "It's the only explanation that makes sense. She's been using us as test subjects."

Bdubs's eyes narrow, his mind racing with the implications of their suspicion. "That bitch," he says through gritted teeth. "We need to get that device from her. And fast." His mind clear enough to remember what they're talking about.

He stands, steadying himself using Joel's offered arm. "You guys come right back here if anything happens. I'm the only healer in town that's good with headaches." He says with a small laugh that doesn't quite match the situation. He leads the four others to the door.

The group exchanges solemn nods, understanding the gravity of the situation. "We will," Impulse promises, his hand squeezing Bdubs's shoulder before letting go.

As they step out into the night, the cool air is a stark contrast to the warmth of the room they've left behind. The gravity of their situation settles heavily on their shoulders. They walk quickly but quietly, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention. The streets are mostly deserted, but the occasional sound of distant sirens or the murmur of a passing group reminds them that the city is still a battleground, even in the quiet moments

Chapter Text

It's not a long walk, as it turns out. Once they're back to the apartment they quickly realize none of them will be getting any sleep.

There's too much to think about and too little they can do about it now, so they use that time to renovate the old office space Imp and Skizz almost never use into a room for Tango.

They leave the old desk and chair already in it and now it's just onto moving all the larger tech equipment into Impulse's room.

"No, you take that side and we'll get the box into the hall." Impulse yells at Skizz for about the 80th time as the two struggle with the heavy box.

Tango has found himself sitting on top of the desk eating out of a bag of stale pretzels he found in the kitchen. The sound of the box scraping against the floor fills the room.

"Come on, Skizz, you're stronger than me. Get a grip!" Impulse says with a laugh, sweat beading on his brow as he tries to help lift the last piece of tech into his room.

Skizz, his wings fluttering slightly with the effort, gives a half-hearted grumble. "If you're so concerned about the floor, you could at least help!" Despite the grumbling, he's laughing, the camaraderie between them unshaken by the gravity of their earlier conversation.

Unshaken by anything, always.

Bdubs sits on the couch, watching them with a hint of a smile, the pain mostly forgotten. It's these small moments of normalcy that keep them going. They're a stark contrast to the chaotic lives they lead, fighting for justice and trying to keep the city from falling apart.

"I think imma try getting into hockey." Tango says, mostly into his bag of pretzels.

Bdubs almost scoffs. "Where are you going to get the time for that? Hockey cost a lot of time and money, Tango. It's not just something you can pick up." He hangs over the back of the couch to look at Tango through the angle it is away from his door. "I'd suggest basketball instead if you're looking for a hobby."

Tango smirks. "I don't exactly meet the height requirement for that, now fo I?" He jumps down from the desk and tosses a pretzel at Bdubs playfully. "But seriously, I might give hockey a shot. Or I could stick to video games, I guess."

"You still don't exactly have time for much, Tango. You're always working." Bdubs retorts, catching the pretzel with surprising reflexes and popping it into his mouth.

Impulse wipes his brow with the back of his hand. "Yeah, about that. Do you want to tell him, or should I?" He glances at the others, now leaning against the wall, watching the banter with a small smile.

Tango lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Well, I may or may not have gotten a lot of foreseeable time off."

"So you got fired."

"Yeah, pretty much."

The room falls silent for a moment, the only sound the rustling of pretzels as Tango shakes the bag.

Meanwhile Bdubs is honestly trying not to laugh. He'd be a lot more compassionate if he was actually worried about Tango being unemployed. But if he's moving in with Impulse in Skizz, he's not worried at all.

Impulse works from home for a high end tech company and Skizz makes hero money. That doesn't leave too much to worry about when it comes to finances.

Skizz and Impulse finish moving the last piece of equipment, stepping back to survey their handiwork. The room looks almost unrecognizable from the cluttered office it once was.

It's now pretty empty, with just a desk, chair that Tango refused to sit in, and a chest of drawers they had in the room already.

Tango was going spend all of Skizzle's money furnishing it. That's what he thought, at least.

"Well, that's settled," Impulse says, clapping his hands together. "Welcome to your new room, Tango. It's not much, but it's home."

The room feels empty, but the promise of a new addition to their makeshift family fills the space with a warmth that overpowers the cold silence.

"Thanks, guys," Tango says, his voice filled with genuine gratitude as he looks around the bare room. "It's perfect."

The group shares a brief, relieved chuckle, the tension from earlier momentarily lifted. They stand together, a ragtag group of friends, each with their own secrets and struggles, yet bound by their shared commitment to fighting for a safer city.

There might be a villain in their midst, but he has his reasons. And very nearly every villain in the city want their city safe. No one wants an evil city.

But the Puppeteer isn't just any villain. Her reach is long, her goals unknown, and the potential consequences of her experiments are dire. The group knows they have to act soon, or she'll only get better and more bold.

They huddle around a makeshift map of the city, spread out on the floor of what is now Tango's new room. The walls and floor are bare, save for a bag of Tango's gear and only current possessions he carries with him usually, but the room feels alive with the energy of their determination.

He supposes he won't have to bring everything he owns around with him now. And he can actually get attached to things he owns without being terrified of them being stolen.

There was one winter, a couple years back. Way back when Zed was still just a vigilante. For Christmas, he'd given Tango a white sheep plushy that Tango had treasured until the day he lost it when a building he had been using to keep his possessions burned down while he was on patrol. It had been a small, cheeky gift, but it meant something to him. Damn it, it meant a lot to him.

After that he started leaving all the gifts he was given for holidays or birthdays with either Zed or his now roommates.

Now he actually had a designated place where all his stuff could go.

"We should get some sleep," Skizz suggests, his wings drooping slightly with exhaustion. "We'll come up with a plan tomorrow."

"Yeah," Impulse agrees, his voice echoing the weariness in his eyes. "We need to be at our best if we're going to take on The Puppeteer."

"Bdubs, you staying the night or getting your beauty sleep in your own bed?" Tango asks, breaking the silence with a playful nudge.

Bdubs nods, "Yeah, I'll crash on the couch. Don't want to leave you guys without backup." His voice is a mix of fatigue and determination.

They all decided to leave out the facts that if he'd decided to go home, either Impulse would walk him all the way home or he'd end up passing out from exhaustion in an alley. They weren't ready to deal with that kind of drama tonight.

The room was filled with the sounds of the city outside, distant sirens and the occasional shout. The night was alive, a stark contrast to the quiet warmth of their apartment.

"Guys, I don't know about you, but I'm wiped," Skizz says, rubbing his eyes. His wings droop slightly, a testament to his fatigue. He stands and leans against Tango's, he loves being able to say that now, door.

Impulse nods, "Me too, let's get some rest. Tango, are you in my room or Skizzle's tonight?"

Tango shrugs, "I guess Skizz's. He's got more room."

The room falls quiet for a beat before Impulse laughs. "Yeah, because my room is full of tech now. Thanks for that, by the way." He shoots a teasing look at Skizz, who just shrugs, smiling.

"It's your tech, I'm not putting it in my room." Skizz says, sticking his tongue out playfully at Impulse. "But yeah, you're welcome to stay with me." He adds, his voice gentle and welcoming.

The four of them start to get ready for bed, their movements weary but methodical. Both Tango and Bdubs steal Impulse's clothes for the night, while Skizz and Impulse share a knowing smile at their friends' antics.

Bdubs flops onto the couch, pulling a blanket over him. "I'll keep an eye on the city," he says, his voice thick with the beginnings of sleep.

"In you're dreams, sure." Impulse tries to say this to Bdubs but he's asleep before Impulse had opened his mouth.

Tango and Skizz share a look and laugh quietly before heading into their room, leaving Impulse to lock up and set the alarms he usually does. Always paranoid because for some reason, heroes's addresses get displayed online and Impulse isn't a fan.

The bed dips slightly as Tango climbs in, and Skizz moves over to make room. Despite the seriousness of their situation, the comfort of their shared space is a balm to Tango's nerves. He's used to the cold, hard ground of rooftops and the occasional couch of a friend. Though he never stays on the couch unless someone else is close by.

For some reason, the nightmares he gets are proximity based. If he isn't sleeping in he same room as someone, they show up, and he's burned something.

So tonight, he's staying close.

As they settle down, the quiet whispers of the city outside lull them into a tense stillness. Skizz, ever the thoughtful one, turns to Tango. "You okay?"

Tango nods, trying to keep his voice steady. "Yeah, just tired." But the unspoken weight of their recent revelations hangs heavily in the air.

Skizzle's wing ends up across Tango's back and Tango's thin tail wings it's way wrapped around Skizz's ankle.

"Thanks for letting me stay." He whispers into the darkness.

"You're family. We'd never turn you away." Skizz whispers back, his voice filled with sincerity. His wing tightens slightly around Tango's form, a silent reassurance.

Impulse finishes his rounds and locks the last window, the final click echoing through the quiet apartment. He heads into the bedroom, his footsteps almost silent. He's careful not to disturb the others, a testament to his experience living with light sleepers.

Not Bdubs thought, he sleeps like a rock.

Impulse sighs quietly and shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips. He switches off the lights and heads to bed, leaving the three of them to their rest.

Skizz's drift to sleep is evident in the way his wing feels just a little heavier on Tango's back, lulling him to sleep himself like a weighted blanket.

The quiet is soon pierced by the high-pitched squeal of a distant alarm, jolting them from their slumber. Instantly alert, Bdubs throws off his blanket and rushes to the window, peering into the night. The alarm is insistent, a siren's cry for help.

"Guys, we've got a situation," he calls out, his voice sharp with urgency. Impulse is the first to join him, followed closely by Skizz and Tango, both still bleary-eyed but quickly sobering up.

Skizz takes a quick moment to rub at his ankle, the alarm having scared Tango enough that his tail had burnt him just slightly, not even bad enough to blister but it was a shock to bothof them.

"What is it?" Impulse asks, his hand already reaching for his phone to check for any alerts.

Bdubs points to the flickering light outside. "Looks like a fire. A big one."

Tango looks out the window, whistling at the sight. "Definitely big enough to set off whatever disaster alarm Impy has."

Impulse checks his phone. "It's a factory fire. No casualties reported yet."

Skizz stretches his wings. "Let's go, then. We can't ignore that."

Tango and Bdubs share a knowing grin. One that says, 'okay, let's go over there and take anything we can find.' It's not something they'd say out loud, but the unspoken understanding between them is clear.

Tango would be the only one actually able to walk right in, but Bdubs can't pass up the opportunity to use chaos to his advantage.

They throw on their gear, the fabric of their costumes whispering as they slide over their bodies. The room is a flurry of activity, the light from the nearby fire outside casting eerie shadows on the walls as they prepare for the metamorphic battle. Impulse slips on his extra heat resistant gloves as he's sure he'll be carrying most of whatever the other two steal, and he nods, ready to face whatever the night holds.

Skizz is the first to the door, his wings flapping slightly as he tests their strength. They're feeling a bit weighted tonight, but he's sure he'll manage. "Let's go, guys." He says, his voice firm and resolute.

Tango's the last ready, still rubbing at his eyes and running his hands through his hair to get them their signature blue he uses as a vigilante.

They move as a unit, a well-oiled machine of chaos and good intentions. Down the stairs, through the quiet hallway, and out into the night that's been painted with the fiery hues of the distant inferno. The sirens are closer now, a symphony of urgency that sends a shiver down their spines.

Skizz makes sure to show up just a bit behind the others, can't let the public know he's showing up with the villain and vigilantes.

Chapter Text

Their boots hit the pavement with a rhythmic thud, their eyes fixed on the towering flames in the distance. The heat is already intense, even from this far away, and they can feel the energy of the city around them, panicking and scared.

As they get closer, they can see the outlines of people running, the flashes of fire trucks, and the distant shouts of first responders. The smell of burning plastic and metal fills the air, making it difficult to breathe with their masks.

Well, Bdubs's mask. Both Tango's and Impulse's have high tech filters and Skizz has the luxury of getting to choose to only cover his eyes.

But it's not just the smell of burning materials that fills the air. There's something else, something faint, but it's definitely there.

"Do you guys smell that?" Tango asks, his nose wrinkling up as they get closer.

Impulse nods. "Yeah, it's not just the fire. It's... different."

They quicken their pace, the urgency of the situation setting their hearts racing. As they arrive at the perimeter, the intensity of the heat and smoke forces Skizz to keep more of a distance. The smell becomes overpowering, a noxious mix of burning chemicals and something else, something almost metallic.

That's not a fun smell. But it's one Tango has smelled hundreds of times after accidents.

"It's the smell of fear," Tango says, his voice low and grim. "It's the same smell you get when a bunch of people are trapped." He prefers the term 'fear' much more than the real alternative.

Bdubs nods, his eyes scanning the crowd for any signs of distress or someone who might need their help. His time as a mugger had taught him to spot anything from a mile away.

"We've got to get in there," Impulse says, his voice tight with determination. He starts to fiddle with his gear, his mind racing with the best way to approach the scene.

Skizz nods, his wings fluttering with anticipation. "I'll fly above, see if I can spot any trapped people or where the fire might have started." He takes off into the night sky, leaving Tango and Bdubs to deal with the chaos below.

Bdubs's eyes narrow at the mention of fear. He's used to using it to his advantage, but not when it comes to innocents. "Alright, let's go," he says, his voice firm. "We'll split up and cover more ground. I'll walk through the perimeter, Impulse goes in the areas he can get to without it getting bad. Tango, looks like you're going all the way in."

Tango nods, already preparing himself for the sights. His power might make him immune to burns but the smoke and fumes were still a concern. "Got it."

Once he checks the filter he has is working properly, he heads in through a busted window.

Impulse takes a deep breath and nods. "Be careful," he says to Tango before turning his attention to the surrounding buildings. His mind blinking to life, yellow eyes scanning the area for any signs of danger or weakened structures.

The scene before them is chaotic, flames dancing menacingly across the night sky, casting a hellish glow over the desolate streets. Firefighters are working tirelessly, hosing down the flames and guiding the panicking civilians to safety. The crackling of the fire is a constant reminder of the destruction it wields.

Tango sprints into the blaze, his eyes searching for any signs of life trapped within the fiery maw. His pyrokinetic gear allows him to navigate the inferno without it getting burned, the blue flames flickering around his edges as he goes. He knows the layout of the factory from his previous missions, making him the perfect choice for this rescue operation.

He thrives in the heat, almost using the time he has to bask in it. But, no. He has a job to do. A vigilante's job.

As Tango runs through the burning corridors, the smell is only getting more potent. The stench of burnt flesh fills the air and he knows that time isn't on their side.

"Over here!" Tango's voice echoes through the smoke-filled halls, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. He's found a group of workers huddled together, eyes wide with terror as the flames lick at the edges of their clothing.

With a great amount of focus, Tango manages to drop the flames around them, leaving a path clear in the direction he came from.

He helps a brunette boy with bleached ends to his feet. He can't be over 20, maybe 18 if he was lucky. He's got a few bad burns on his arm and cheek, coughing up a lung.

"Come on, we've got to get out of here." Tango says, his voice tinged by his mask.

The boy nods frantically, his eyes watering from the smoke. Tango wraps an arm around him, leading the group towards the exit. The intense heat bears down on them, but Tango holds firm, his blue flames flickering protectively around them, aiding in the separation of a path.

Meanwhile, Impulse uses his brute strength to lift a heavy metal beam that's trapped a group of panicking employees. His muscles strain, his arms flexing with power, as he moves the obstacle aside.

"Go! Go!" He shouts over the roar of the flames, guiding them towards safety.

Skizz circles above, his enhanced vision through his mask piercing through the smoke, searching for any signs of life to save.

In the fiery hell below, Tango moves swiftly, his boots barely touching the scorching ground as he leads the workers out. The boy with the bleached hair stumbles, his burns too severe to keep going. Tango scoops him up, noticing his pyrokinetic gear is starting to fail him. "Hold on," he murmurs, the fabric of his hoodie smoking slightly. He sprints faster, his heart racing not just from the adrenaline but from the fear of losing someone in the fire.

The group emerges into the cool night air, gasping for breath. Impulse is there, his skin slightly pink from the heat, his eyes a concerned yellow. "You okay?" he asks, reaching out to help support Tango.

"I think so," Tango says, his voice raspy. The smell of burnt fabric swirls around him, but he shakes it off, focusing on the boy in his arms. "We need to get him medical attention."

Impulse nods, his eyes darting around the area. "I've got it. Stay here."

"You a villain-! and he's gone." Tango faintly tries to keep Impulse from running off as he is very much a villain, but there's no point in yelling at the wall as the other bolts off.

Bdubs's eyes scan the area, looking for any signs of trouble. His instincts are on high alert. He catches Impulse by the back of his shirt as he tries rushing towards a group of first responders with their backs to them as they focus the crowd.

"Hold up," he says, his voice low. "You can't just run over to the cops. You're a big villain Impulse, they'll think you did this."

Impulse stops, panting slightly. "You're right," he says, his shoulders dropping. "But we can't just leave him here."

"I'll go." Bdubs sprints over as non-threatening as he can and points out the injured boy with Tango. The authorities hardly question the vigilante much, one getting a bit too close for comfort but he can slip away in the chaos once again.

The boy is taken out of Tango's care and straight to a waiting ambulance. The EMTs work quickly, their gloved hands moving with precision and care.

"Thank you," Tango whispers to Impulse as the boy is whisked away, his voice strained from the smoke.

"No problem," Impulse replies, his chest heaving from the exertion. "But we can't just stand around here."

Bdubs nods. "Agreed. Let's check the perimeter again."

They slip back into the shadows, their eyes and ears tuned to the cacophony of the scene. The fire is now under control, but the smell of burnt materials and 'fear' still lingers. They move swiftly, searching for any clue that could lead them to the source of the fire.

They come up with nothing in the next few minutes, so it's hearing Zed report on it early tomorrow morning it is.

They get back to he apartment, sweaty and smelling like burnt things and smoke.

Tango pulls off his dark top to examine the scorched hole in the top of his hood. Having made the article of clothing himself, he was surprised it made it this long before fault.

"Well, that's not going to be fun to fix," He mumbles to no one in particular.

Impulse claps him on the shoulder, his own armor showing some wear from the intense heat. "You did good, Tango."

Tango gives a small nod of appreciation before his eyes widen at the sight of his damaged hood in better lighting. "Damn, the fire really did a number on this."

Skizz looks over his shoulder before pulling away and laughing, knowing Tango was going to be complaining until he has the right stuff to fix it.

They peel off their gear and masks, the relief of fresh air palpable. The smell of smoke clings to them like an unwanted shadow, a grim reminder of the night's events.

Bdubs heads straight to the kitchen, grabbing bottles of water and passing them around. "You guys okay?" His eyes linger on Skizz, who nods with a tired smile.

"Just tired," Skizz admits, his wings drooping slightly. "But we did good out there. Very heroic, boys." He cracks a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

Impulse takes a swig of water, the cold liquid soothing his throat. "Thanks, Skizz. Couldn't have done it without you." He looks over at Tango, who's inspecting his damaged hood with a frown. "What about you, Tango?"

"Everything's stupid and fire's stupid and flamey and it sucks." His voice had gone all high pitched as he complains.

Impulse and Skizz exchange glances, the tension of the night melting away into amusement. "You're just upset your hood's ruined," Impulse teases, poking Tango's side gently.

"Well, yeah," Tango grumbles, holding up the charred fabric. "This took me forever to make. And now look at it!"

Skizz laughs, "It's not the end of the world. We can find a way to fix it."

"Or we could just get you a new one," Impulse suggests, his tone playfully mischievous.

Tango glares at him, his cheeks flushing. "It's not the same! Besides, I like fixing things." He says with a hint of pride.

Bdubs smirks. "You and your DIY projects."

Tango rolls his eyes. "Someone's gotta keep us in gear."

"Speaking of which, how's your wings?" Impulse asks, noticing Skizz's wince as he sits down heavily on the couch.

"Better than I thought it was going to be. Flying was a bit scary with the threat of pain dropping me like a rock, but nothing. All good." Skizz's voice was light but the tightness in his smile said otherwise.

Bdubs nodded, "Good to know." He looks at his watch as he turns on the TV. "Do you think they would get Zed this late to report on this?" He asks, referring to how the news program never had any late-night workers so whenever something happened at night, which was a lot, past 11pm someone had to rush into the studio to bluff their way through a report.

"Probably," Impulse says, his voice still a bit gruff from the smoke. "Poor guy never gets any sleep."

They all sit down around the TV, the flickering screen casting an eerie glow over their tired faces. The news comes on, and sure enough, there's Zedaph, his sheep-like features looking slightly more disheveled than usual. He reads off the teleprompter, recounting the events of the night with a calm, professional demeanor that seems almost out of place to those that know him.

"It's probably for the best, him getting a bit less sleep. I mean he's been getting worse dreams recently." Tango says, not really looking at the TV, his eyes still focused on his hood.

"Worse?" Bdubs questions, his curiosity piqued.

Tango nods. "Yeah, he's been talking in his sleep a lot more than usual. Nightmares, I'm guessing." He shrugs. "But he won't tell me anything about them."

Tango, being the former street boy of the group, would know exactly what Zed would do in his sleep as they stayed in the same room when he was over for both of their sakes.

That way, Tango wouldn't have nightmares, and Zed wouldn't be able to get too far if he started sleepwalking or something.

They watch Zedaph on the screen, his voice a stark contrast to the horrors of the fire they've just left behind. His words are carefully chosen, designed to soothe the public's fears rather than stir them up.

The fire apparently started after some machines malfunctioned and caught something on fire, which lead to one if the heat-sensitive machinery to explode. It was a tragic accident with no signs of The Puppeteer's interference.

They sit in silence for a moment before Impulse breaks it. "Well, we did what we could. Time to get some rest before we face whatever's next."

"There's always something next." Tango says, his voice trailing off as he looks at the TV, the image of Zedaph reporting fading into the background.

Chapter Text

Now. Doc wasn't quite sure how he ended up in the situation he's in now, but within the last few days, more has happened with him than the rest of his little group.

He'd been out on a solo mission, trying to get intel on some new tech that could be a potential threat to the city. It wasn't until he was halfway through the mission when he heard about the experimentation being done in the facility.

He had to see it for himself.

By the time he got there, a jailbreak had already been issued. Cages upon cages lined a giant storage room, an odd chemical smell throughout. All but one, small cage has been broken open.

Once he saw what was inside, he assumed the reason was because the small thing wouldn't be able to survive itself like all the other, presumably older creatures.

Now, he was sat in his home with a tiny goat hybrid in his lap, looking up at him with the cutest little eyes.

The little thing couldn't be older than 5. Doc's guess was they were probably closer to 3.

"You're safe now," he whispers to the creature, his robotic arm moving to stroke its head. It's hair was soft, and it's eyes were a mix between innocent and terrified. It's horns were small, not even half the size of his pinky.

"What am I gonna do with you?" Doc asks, the creature bleating softly in response.

"Papa?" Doc was surprised by both the word and the slight hint of a German accent in the toddler.

The creature looked up at him with a hopeful expression, it's eyes swimming with innocence and fear.

"I...I'm not your papa, kid," DocM says, his robotic arm pausing mid-stroke. The little goat hybrid sniffs the air, then seems to decide that Doc is safe, curling up closer to him.

"Papa."

The word echoes through the apartment, leaving a silence so thick it could be cut with a knife.

"Fine."

With a sigh, DocM picks up the little goat hybrid, cradling it in his arms. "I guess you're staying with me for now." He's not sure what to do with the creature, but he can't just leave it to fend for itself in the city, not after what he's seen in that facility.

The creature wraps its small arms around Doc's neck, the warmth of its tiny body a stark contrast to the cold metal of his robotic limb. Doc can feel its heart beating rapidly against his chest. Despite his tough exterior, the hero's heart softens.

"Alright, alright," he murmurs, "Let's get you settled in."

Doc carries the little creature into one of the extra bedrooms, which he had converted into a makeshift lab. The room is filled with gadgets and gizmos, a testament to his mechanical genius. He carefully sets the goat hybrid on a desk. The creature looks around, eyes wide with curiosity.

He looks directly at the small little goat and decides he definitely needs backup to concur this.

So, he calls someone he knows is experienced with small children as he has many younger siblings.

Once he arrives, Ren stairs at the toddler the same way Doc had been since he called.

"Well, this is new," Ren says, his voice a mix of surprise and amusement as he looks at the little goat hybrid. "I guess you're dad now Doc. This is your little Doccy."

Doc rolls his eyes, "I'm not calling it that." But his smile says a different story. The resemblance between him and the toddler is nearly uncanny. And he kinda likes how it would truly be his if he gave it his name.

Just- don't ask him to admit it.

The tall German watches as Ren starts cooing at the toddler, the creature's eyes lighting up at the sight of a new person. It jumps down from the desk, stumbling a bit before it runs over to Ren, wrapping its small arms around his legs.

"Hey there, little one," Ren says, bending down to pick it up. The toddler nuzzles into his neck, making a comforting sound. "Oh, you are just the cutest."

Doc watches with a mix of amazement and skepticism. "How do you do that?"

Ren laughs. "Years of practice with my siblings." He looks down at the goat hybrid.

"But seriously, Doc, what are we going to do with it?"

DocM sighs, "We can't just leave it here. It's not safe." He looks around the room, his eyes scanning over the dangerous tools and chemicals scattered on the tables. "And it's definitely not safe for it to be in a room like this."

Ren nods in agreement, his expression turning more serious. "We'll have to find somewhere more suitable, maybe one of the safe houses that are set up for the heroes. Or maybe even talk to the Council about it, see if they know of any facilities that could take it in."

"No! Um.. I mean, I think I've got it. I don't need the Council to know." Doc's voice is firm, his eyes flickering over to the window. He's already gotten so protective over the itty goat.

Ren nods, "Alright, but we need to keep it safe and hidden. Maybe we can set up something here, make it a bit more child-friendly. A shopping trip is in session, my dude!"

They walk to the store, Ren keeping the baby on his hip during the walk, cooing at them as the pet his ears.

The baby giggles, it's little feet kicking lightly against Ren's chest. It was clear that the little goat hybrid was happy to be out of the lab and in the fresh air.

It definitely doesn't look like anything had been done to them in that lab, other than some small teething scars around their lips, they are completely untouched.

"So, no Council," Doc confirms, his mind racing with possible solutions. They couldn't risk the Council finding out about the creature, not with their track record of 'handling' things. "We'll take care of it ourselves."

The baby goat hybrid giggles again, babbling incoherently but sounding like it agrees with the proposal. They make their way to a 24-hour supply store, the neon lights casting an odd glow on the trio of unlikely shoppers.

Two heroes and a tiny toddler. This was definitely not what Doc had signed up for when he became a hero.

The shopping trip is an adventure in itself. They navigate through the aisles, the little goat hybrid pointing and babbling at everything that catches its eye. Ren's experience with his siblings comes in handy as he picks out essentials while keeping the toddler entertained.

He makes sure they get teething supplies as the giat keeps biting at things, and several soft stuffed animals and blankets as they love grabbing at the soft fur on Ren's ears.

They nearly jump out of the dog hybrid's arms when a butterfly plushy catches their attention. The baby goat's eyes light up and it squeals with delight. Doc, never one for baby talk, feels his heart melt just a little. He points to the plush toy. "This one?"

He pauses for a moment, still regarding the toddler's accent. "Dieses hier?" He asks, this time, in German to see how they respond.

The baby giggles again, nodding its head. It's definitely picked up some words, which is more than Doc expected. "Der hier! Der hier!" They babble, insisting they want the butterfly.

"Okay, okay," Ren says, placing the plush in their basket with a chuckle. "We'll get it."

The baby claps its hands, the joy on its face making Doc feel a warmth that was foreign to him. They continue shopping, filling the basket with items that would make his house feel more like a home for their new charge.

Once they arrive back at home, the transformation begins. Doc clears his office, moving dangerous items into his lab and locking it. Ren sets to work assembling a small bed, complete with the plush toys they'd bought. They cover the bed with soft blankets and set up a play area with a baby gate to keep the curious goat hybrid safe.

"So we sticking with Doccy, then?" Ren asks, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches the little goat hybrid snuggle into the new bed they've made, clutching the butterfly plush tightly.

Doc rolls his eyes, but there's a hint of a smile as he shakes his head. "The name's growing on me."

They watch the toddler, who has already fallen asleep, their chest rising and falling gently with each breath. The soft glow from the nightlight casts a warm hue over the new living space.

"I wonder if the have powers." Ren mused as they watched the little goat hybrid sleep peacefully. He leans against Doc who puts his arm around his shoulders instinctively.

"If they do, it's going to be something...unique." Doc says, his gaze never leaving the sleeping toddler.

The room is quiet, the only sounds being the faint snores of Doccy and the humming of the city outside. The two heroes stand there for a moment longer, watching over their newfound potential liability, before turning to each other.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Doc says, shaking his head.

"What? Being heroes with hearts?" Ren teases, poking him gently.

Doc sighs, but the affectionate look in his eyes says it all. "Something like that."

"You're going to be a great dad, dude." Ren says, his voice filled with warmth and a hint of mischief.

Doc snorts, "Don't let that get around." But the way he looks at the sleeping child, it's clear he's already attached.

The day that followed was a whirlwind of diaper changes, midnight feedings, and a whole new set of challenges. The little goat hybrid, now dubbed Doccy, was a handful, but also a surprising source of joy amidst their struggles in life. They had to keep their new addition a secret, especially from the Council, who would likely see the creature as nothing more than an experiment gone awry, destined for the foster system.

But baby goat shenanigans are not something Doc ever wants to pass up. And neither does the other hero that had been staying over to help Doc with the toddler.

The two of them had taken turns watching over Doccy, and the day had turned into a strange mix of fighting crime and changing diapers. Ren had even started teaching the little one simple phrases in Afrikaans, which was met with a mix of adorable babbles and a lot of headbutts.

The toddler loved to climb. They learned that pretty quick. Doc had the suspicion they might, most goat hybrids do at a young age. It wasn't a big surprise Doccy did too even with the strange start to life.

It was the middle of the night and Doc was up again, for the fourth time, checking on Doccy. He had hoped the baby would sleep through the night, but apparently that was too much to ask for. As he walked into the room, he saw the empty bed, his heart skipped a beat.

Then he heard the soft thumps coming from his lab. He rushed in to find Doccy sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by wires and gadgets. The baby goat hybrid was holding a screwdriver in its tiny hand, looking up at him with wide eyes and a cheeky grin.

"How did you get in here?" Doc's voice is complainy and tired, immediately scooping up the three-year-old and bringing them back to bed.

Doccy giggles, squirming in his arms. "Papa!"

"Don't you 'Papa' me, you little gremlin," DocM says with a tired smile, setting the toddler back into bed. "You're going to break everything."

He looks around the room, making sure nothing's been damaged, then locks the door to the lab. He's going to have to install a better security system, or maybe just move his work to a different room. For now, he's just relieved that Doccy seems to be okay.

They settle down in the makeshift nursery, Doc sitting on the edge of the bed, watching as Doccy's eyes slowly close. Ren comes in, holding a warm bottle of milk. "Here, let me take over." He says, gently taking the sleepy goat hybrid into his arms.

Doc nods, his robotic arm flexing slightly as he tries to fight the fatigue. "Thanks, I've got patrol in a few hours."

Ren takes the bottle, his brunette hair sticking up in all directions from his restless sleep. "Don't worry, I got it," he says, his voice gentle. "You need to keep your strength up, go sleep, I'll take care of it."

Doc nods gratefully, retreating to his own room for some much-needed rest. Ren sits in the chair by the bed, watching as Doccy drinks their milk with a determined focus that is almost comical on such a small face.

Once they've finished their bottle, Ren sets them into the bed, standing up to leave.

"Puppy!" Doccy complains as the older hybrid reaches the door. Ren chuckles and sits back down, stroking the toddler's hair.

"Okay, okay, I'll stay for a bit," he says, his eyes drooping slightly. "But you need to go back to sleep, little one."

Doccy nods sleepily, cuddling into the blankets. Ren watches for a few minutes to ensure they're truly out before he stands up, stretching his muscles with a quiet groan. The baby monitor is on the nightstand, ready to alert him if (when) the little gremlin decides to wake up again.

As he heads back to his own room, he can't help but feel a strange sense of fulfillment. The last few days have been hectic, but there's something about having a little one to care for that makes it all feel worthwhile.

Ren's room is a stark contrast to Doc's cluttered lab, with a neatly made bed and a few personal touches that hint at his South African heritage. He falls onto the bed, the springs squeaking slightly under his weight.

Though Ren has his own place, he stays over at Doc's so much that he has his own room.

The days that followed were a blend of heroic missions and child rearing. They figured out a schedule that worked for both of them, with Ren handling the night shifts with Doccy and Doc handling the day ones. It was chaotic, but it worked.

Then, the day arrives for a scheduled meeting with their group. It's been a few hectic days and so much has happened with either end of the group. A meeting is greatly needed to get them back on the same page.

The only question is if they should bring along the new addition to their lives.

Well, they can't just leave them home alone. That would be like leaving a grenade with the pin pulled.

"Doc! My dude! I have the best idea!" Ren's voice echoes through the house, interrupting Doc's focus on his latest gadget.

Doc emerges from his lab, wiping his hands on a greasy rag. "What's up?"

Ren grins, "How about we take Doccy out with us? Like, in a baby carrier or something?"

Doc raises an eyebrow. "You want to bring a toddler to a meeting?"

Ren shrugs. "Well, we can't just say you have a toddler now, and I'm sure we trust them enough to know."

Doc nods, considering the idea. "You're right, we can't hide them forever. They're going to need to know, especially if we want them to help us keep them safe from the Council."

Ren beams, "Exactly! Plus, they're going to love them. Imagine Etho's face when he sees the new little goat."

Once it's decided, Doccy watches as Ren gets into his overly regal hero outfit for the first time. The little goat hybrid seems fascinated by the red fabric and the gold trim, reaching out to touch it. Ren laughs, letting them playfully tug at the cape.

"Puppy!" Doccy squeaks, their eyes lighting up at the sight of Ren's heroic attire.

Ren chuckles, scooping them up. "Ready to see friends?"

Doccy nods eagerly, their little hooves bobbing in excitement. Ren looks at Doc with a grin. "I'll go get the little one situated. You finish getting ready."

As Ren leaves the room, Doc can't help but feel a mix of pride and trepidation. He's never had to balance his hero life with fatherhood before, and the stakes feel higher than ever.

"Okay, little one," Ren says, picking up Doccy. "Let's get you dressed for the big day out."

The toddler giggles as Ren rummages through the clothes they've bought, finally picking out a cute outfit of green overalls with a pink butterfly on the front and a white shirt. He dresses the baby goat hybrid with ease, fastening the buttons and buckling the overalls. Doccy seems to enjoy the attention, babbling happily as they get ready.

Once everyone is dressed and the last of the gear is packed up, they make their way to the secret underground base where the group usually meets. Ren carries Doccy in a baby carrier, the toddler's excitement bubbling over as they look around at the new sights and smells.

As per usual, they are the first there, giving them plenty of time to show the toddler around and make sure there's nothing sharp or dangerous for them to get into.

When Etho and Bdubs arrive, they are met with surprise and a little bit of shock.

"What the...?" Etho says, his eyes going wide as he spots the baby leaning on Ren's chest.

"Surprise!" Doc says, trying to sound casual.

Etho's eyes widen, his gaze shifting between Doc and the baby goat hybrid in the presence. "Is that... a child?"

Ren nods, a proud smile playing on his lips. "Meet Doccy, our... little project."

Bdubs has two initial reactions. First, he giggles at the name. Second, he asks a question with a wild grin on his face, evident even with the bandana. "Doc, did you give birth?"

"No!" DocM says quickly, "We found them, actually." He starts to explain their discovery at the lab, and the events that led to the little goat hybrid becoming a part of their lives.

Etho's shock turns into curiosity as he approaches, staring at the toddler. "Wow, they're... adorable?" He looks up at Doc and Ren, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement.

Ren rolls his eyes. "They're a handful, but worth it."

The base isn't exactly child-proof, but they make do. They set up a safe play area for Doccy, with pillows and toys that won't break easily. The baby seems to sense the excitement in the air and is surprisingly well-behaved, watching the adults with a keen interest as they set up their meeting.

Zed, Impulse, Tango, and Skizz are next to show up, each reacting differently to the newest addition to their makeshift family. Impulse's eyes light up with mischief, already planning some pranks for the little one, while Skizz looks on with a gentle curiosity. Tango, on the other hand, seems lost in thought, his gaze lingering on the sleeping Doccy with a hint of longing in his eyes.

"So, we're running a daycare now?" Zedaph says with a smirk, his British accent thick.

"Looks like it," Doc responds, his own smile a mix of amusement and fatigue.

As the group gathers around the conference table, Doccy starts to stir in the playpen. Ren stands, gently picking up the baby goat. "Why don't we introduce everyone properly once the others get here?"

"Good call," Doc agrees, watching as Ren coos at Doccy.

The base, usually a hub of planning and gear maintenance, now had a new section dedicated to a toddler's needs. Colorful toys scattered the floor, and a child's laughter echoed through the halls.

Chapter Text

Soon enough, Cleo and Gem show up, both immediately gasping and cooing at the baby who's now wide awake in Doc's arms.

"What in the world?!" Gem says, her eyes going wide.

"Doc! You're a mother!" Cleo squeals, rushing over to get a closer look.

DocM chuckles, shaking his head. "Not quite. We found them. Long story short, they're a result of experiments."

Cleo's expression shifts to one of concern, her gaze softening as she takes in the hybrid's innocent face. "The Puppeteer?"

"Luckily, no. Some busted experiment ring. We don't think this one was affected much at all." Ren says, watching as Doccy grabs onto the fabric of Doc's coat. "But we're keeping an eye on them."

"Do they have any powers?" Skizz asks, peering with a mix of curiosity and wariness. "Are they even old enough to present with powers?"

Ren nods. "They seem about three. So if they're going to start presenting it should be soon."

The group falls into a discussion about the hybrid's origins, theories flying around like confetti. Meanwhile, Doccy is passed around like a hot potato, each member eager to hold and interact with the child. The creature's eyes light up with excitement at all the new faces and smells.

They seem to like Tango the best out of all of the new faces. Maybe it's the gentle way he holds them, or the way he smells faintly of smoke and metal. Or maybe it's just that Tango has the same energy as a hyperactive puppy, which Doccy seems to be drawn to.

The group's conversation turns to other updates, like the presence of Vex in the space and Bdubs and Skizzle's threat of being tested on from a distance.

Then it goes to more personal updates, like Tango's lack of job, and Zed's increasing dreams.

"How's the job hunt going?" Ren asks Tango, who's been pacing around the room with Doccy.

"Ehh, Skizz and Impy have it covered enough that I won't have to worry about work for a while. I think I'll work more on my passions instead." Tango says, a hint of excitement in his voice.

"What kind of passions?" Cleo asks, genuinely curious.

"Well, I've been eyeing game design and hockey recently." Tango says with a shrug, bouncing Doccy slightly in his arms. The child giggles, reaching out to tug on one of the vigilante's pointed ears. "But I'm not sure if I'd be any good at it."

Etho raises an eyebrow. "Hockey?"

"Yeah, I've been watching some games. It's surprisingly... intense." Tango admits, a hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Well, you're definitely not lacking in the intensity department," Impulse quips, earning a glare from the pyromaniac. "But I can't say ice would be your strong suit."

The group shares a laugh, the tension in the room momentarily lifted by the playful banter. As they continue to catch up on each other's lives, the conversation naturally shifts towards their ongoing mission.

"So, what's the plan for the device?" Skizz asks, his blue eyes focused on the table where a map of the city is spread out.

Bdubs leans in, his hoodie pulled back slightly to reveal his styled brown hair. "We need to find out where the Puppeteer's hidden it."

"And fast," Skizz adds, his wings fluttering slightly with agitation. "Every day it's out there, it's a risk to us."

Doc nods solemnly. "We need intel. We can't just go in blind."

"Agreed," Ren says, his hand absently stroking Doccy's back that has found its way back to him. "But where to start?"

"We could start with the black market," Zed suggests, his fingers tapping on the conference table. "There's bound to be some chatter about something so powerful."

"But we can't just waltz in there and ask around," Tango says, his eyes flicking to the map. "It's too risky."

Bdubs nods. "We'll need to be smart about this. Maybe we can get Vex to help us out."

"Vex." Skizz repeats, raising an eyebrow. "Can we trust them?"

Bdubs considers for a moment before responding, "We have to. They've been on the right side of things so far."

Ren nods in agreement. "And they know the streets better than we do, it seems."

"Der Tango!" Doccy interrupts in the most adorable way possible, reaching for what they called "the Tango".

Tango chuckles, taking the baby hybrid into his arms again. "Looks like someone's a fan."

"Like you need any more of an ego boost." Bdubs rolls his eyes.

"You're just jealous."

"No! I'm not jealous!"

"Jealous."

The group's laughter fills the room, a welcome sound in the usually tense atmosphere of their underground base. Doccy giggles at the playful banter, babbling incoherently as Tango jostles them gently.

"Okay, okay, let's get back to business," Zed says, leaning back in his chair. "Vex could be a good asset, but we need to be cautious. We don't know their full story yet."

"True," DocM agrees. "But we can't ignore the potential information they might have."

"How about we invite them to the next meeting?" Ren suggests, looking at Doc for approval. "Maybe a limited one, just like, me, Doc, Tango, or something?"

Doc considers this for a moment before nodding. "Could be risky, but if they have intel on the device, it's worth the shot. We'll need to be careful, though."

The group agrees, the decision made with the understanding that trust is a valuable currency in their world.

As they discuss the logistics of the mission, Doccy starts to fuss, reminding them that even superheroes have to deal with the realities of parenthood. Ren takes the cue, standing up to tend to the toddler. "Looks like someone needs a break. I'll take Doccy for a walk."

"Be careful." Doc's protective manner forces him to worry over two of the most important things to him. But he lets Ren leave into the city for a walk against his own judgment.

Ren nods, a gentle smile on his face. "Don't worry, Doc. We'll be fine. Just need some fresh air."

As they make their way through the city, the evening sun casting long shadows, Doccy points and babbles at various sights. Ren's eyes dart around, vigilant for any signs of trouble despite the peaceful setting. His mind, however, is preoccupied with their mission. The weight of their new responsibility to Doccy, the looming threat of the Puppeteer, and the need to find and destroy the device all tug at his thoughts like an overstretched rubber band.

He gets a few stares as the beloved hero walks through the daylight in full gear, caring for a small fussy goat hybrid.

Ren walks into a nearby park, the cool breeze ruffling Doccy's hair as they approach the swing set. Carefully, he sets the child down, watching as their legs wobble for a moment before they toddle over to the swings. The sight brings a proper smile to Ren's face, a stark contrast to the tension etched in his features from constant uneasy thoughts.

With a gentle push, he sets Doccy swinging, the baby giggling as they move back and forth. The sound is music to his ears, a sweet melody that helps drown out the sirens and alarms of their usual world. For a brief moment, he allows himself to just be a caretaker, a guardian to this innocent being who knows too much of the chaos that exists beyond the playground's metal fence.

As they swing, Ren's eyes catch a glint of metal in the corner of his vision. He freezes, his heart skipping a beat. A figure emerges from the shadows, their features obscured by a hoodie and a mask.

He immediately scoops up the toddler and braces to use his powers. Of course he doesn't want to set an example of fighting for the little goat, but he doesn't care as much about impressions as he does safety. He's a hero after all.

He keeps the figure in his sight but doesn't engage with them as they slightly approach.

"Ren," the figure says, their voice a soft whisper.

Ren's grip on Doccy tightens. "Who's there?" he asks, his voice firm but not yet hostile.

The figure is dressed completely in black, their arm concealed within the front of their black coat.

"Ren," the voice repeats, a hint of urgency this time.

Ren's hand instinctively moves to the pocket where he keeps his communication device. "I don't know you. What do you want?" He presses both the signal of his location and a feed button to record what he says and hears.

The figure stops a safe distance away, their posture unthreatening. "I... I need to talk to you. Alone," they murmur, the urgency in their voice palpable.

Ren's instincts are on high alert. Usually, he might take this offer of information. But he has a child in his arms and won't take any risk associated with them. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"This is something you need to know." The voice grows more insistent, coming slightly closer.

Ren's eyes narrow. "You can tell me here, or you can leave." He shifts his weight, ready to protect Doccy at any moment. The child seems oblivious to the tension, their eyes fixed on the way Ren's ears lower.

The figure hesitates before speaking in a rushed tone. "There's something on the flash drive you took from that warehouse. Something that explains everything."

Ren's heart races, his mind going back to the chaotic night of their last mission. "Who are you?"

The figure takes a step back. "I'm... a friend."

Ren's gaze is unwavering. "If you're a friend, show your face."

Without another word, the figure turns and darts back down the way they came, leaving Ren confused, and frankly, scared.

Ren clutches Doccy closer, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of trouble. The park remains as peaceful as before, the children playing and parents chatting, oblivious to the tension that had just been introduced into their tranquil evening.

The figure's words echo in his mind. 'A friend with something on the flash drive.' Ren's thoughts race. Could it be true? Could there be something game-changing on the drive he didn't dare touch since seeing the first few frames of it?

He wanted to know what happened that night. But would seeing it all again, reliving that night, hurt him more than closure would help?

Chapter Text

With the sun setting, Ren decides it's time to get back to the base. He whispers reassurances to Doccy as they walk back, his mind racing with the encounter's implications. What if this 'friend' was telling the truth?

Back at the base, the group is still deep in discussion, their voices a mix of strategies and concerns. Ren's entrance is met with questioning glances about the alert, which he deflects with a forced smile.

"Everything okay?" Doc asks, his eyes searching Ren's.

"Yeah, just a... false alarm." Ren says, his voice strained as he sits Doccy down in the playpen they had set up. "Let's get back to the plan."

The group turns their attention back to the map, the tension in the room palpable. They know that every second counts, especially with the cryptic message from the mysterious figure in the park.

The group turns their attention back to the map, the tension in the room palpable. They know that every second counts, especially with the cryptic message from the mysterious figure in the park.

There's not much to talk about after that, so the group focus in on the adorable little surprise.

"So, what's the plan for Doccy?" Impulse asks, leaning back in his chair.

Ren looks up from where he's been playing with Doccy, who's now busy chewing on a rubber duck toy. "We keep them safe, obviously. But we also need to think about their future."

"Should we tell the Council?" Skizz suggests, looking around the table. "They could provide more protection and resources."

"No," Doc says firmly, his hand on the table, knuckles white. "Not until we know more. We can't risk them taking Doccy into foster care, it messes kids around here up."

The room goes quiet, everyone nodding in solemn agreement. They've all seen what the Council does to those deemed 'different'. Specifically, children. Almost all the kids placed under the eyes of the Council had gone into the foster system without a second thought.

The system in the city was frankly just terrible. It was rare to see a kid make it through that without all kinds of mental and physical scars.

Doccy was not going to go through that.

"We're keeping this between us for now," Ren says with a firmness that leaves no room for debate. "We're their family."

The room nods in unison, a fierce protectiveness flaring in each of their eyes as they look at the small hybrid playing with their toy.

"I can't wait to see if they get powers! You said any day now, right?" Etho shows a moment of doting excitement at the toddler.

"It's hard to say." Doc replied, his ear twitching slightly, a sign of his nervousness. "But we're prepared for anything."

"Powers or not," Skizz says, leaning back in his chair, "Doccy's one of us now."

The group nods, their bond strengthened by the shared commitment to protect the innocent creature. As they continue to brainstorm, Tango's eyes light up with a new idea. "What if we could use Doccy's presence as bait?"

The room goes still, all eyes on Tango. "Bait?" Skizz repeats, his expression a mix of horror and disbelief.

Tango cackles for a moment before struggling to catch his breath. "I'm kidding! This is the most adorable little thing I've ever seen in my life!" He takes a few deep breaths, laughing a bit more at the exhale everyone in the room seems to let out. "You should have seen all your faces!"

"Not cool, Tango." Ren says, though he can't hide his smile. "But we do need to think about how we're going to keep them safe."

"Agreed," Doc adds. "We're a team, and Doccy is a part of it."

For a while, they discuss the possibility of powers the toddler might posses based on their personality.

Powers people have mostly play off their personality, for example, Tango's chaotic nature gives him the chaos of fire and flames. He's also a big hot-head. Cleo, a tough-love support to her close friends and family present her with regeneration and a few healing properties.

So, when they talk about Doccy getting powers, they can't help but wonder if it'll be something fiery and energetic like Tango, or something more creative and imaginative similar to Zed, the ever creative chaos turned human.

"We need to be prepared for anything." Zed says, his eyes on Doccy, who's now playing with a toy car, zooming it across the floor and onto Doc's foot.

"Agreed," Skizz says, his expression serious. "But we also have to consider that if they do manifest powers, it could be anything."

"And no matter what, they're not going to be involved in any of this. That's not up for debate." Doc says, his voice firm, the room nods in agreement.

The evening stretches on, and the discussion turns to the regular talk any friends would have after a bit of distance.

Doccy finds their place in Tango's lap as he discusses technical things with Doc and Etho, Cleo and Ren catch up and dramatize every detail of the last several days. Zed, Impulse, and Skizz talk about Zed, Impulse, and Skizz things. And Bdubs and Gem start dragging themselves down the rabbit hole of discussing color theory and design with each other.

The group's dynamic is a cacophony of laughter, debates, and brainstorming, a symphony of friendship and unity in a world where trust is scarce.

By the time it's Doccy's bedtime, Tango is eating out of a bag of frozen fruit no one knows where he got, and most of the others are arguing over the right way for a dog to wear pants.

"IT'S ALL FOUR!"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT! A DOG'S CHEST SHOULDN'T BE COVERED BY TROUSERS!"

"WELL, ZEDAPH, STOP BEING BRITISH AND MAYBE YOU'LL BE RIGHT!"

"Hey, don't blame the British for this one, Tango. We had nothing to do with this." Cleo just seems incredibly fed up but amused none the less at the antics of the boys.

The room quiets down as Doccy starts to yawn, their little eyes drooping.

"Okay, okay, Doccy needs to sleep," Ren says, scooping up the toddler. "We should get going, Doc."

Doc nods, his eyes showing his reluctance to leave the warmth of the base. "You're right, let's go."

As Ren carries Doccy to the exit, the toddler reaches out to each of the others, cooing and giggling as they receive gentle pats and kisses on the forehead. They are now not just a team, but a makeshift family, with all the love and fear that comes with it. All the right dysfunction and hate-to-love moments that make them perfect.

The way they respond so well to each other's banter and jokes, no matter how many times they'd faces against each other in the past. One day, this alliance would have to end. But the memories and bonds between every member would last a lifetime.

As the two heroes start walking back with a tiddler in tow, they decide to stay out just a little later to have some fun after a great day.

They change into some normal clothes and go out to a coffee shop on the end of town with Doccy. The place is almost empty at this hour, which is exactly what they need. They find a quiet corner booth, where Doccy can sit between them without causing a scene. Barely able to reach the top of the table without standing up or climbing up onto one of the men on either side of them.

The barista, a young woman with a bright smile, looks at them with a bit of confusion, but quickly recovers. "What can I get for you all tonight?"

Ren gets a hot chocolate for Doccy and a London Fog for himself, Doc gets a black coffee, despite the late hour.

As they sit and sip their drinks, Ren looks at Doccy, who's playing with a sugar packet, their eyes full of wonder. "You know, Doc, we're going to have to teach them everything."

Doc nods, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Everything from not burning down the house to how to be a good person."

"Alphabet, numbers, spelling, colors, words." Ren adds to the list.

Doc laughs. "And not to eat everything that fits in their mouth." He takes the packet away from the toddler as Doccy tries to eat it.

"Yeah, that's definitely on the list," Ren chuckles, his eyes never leaving the child. They were both first-time caretakers, and the responsibility weighed heavily on them. But the joy and love they felt for Doccy was worth it.

The trio sits in companionable silence for a few moments, watching the city outside the window. The neon lights and dark pavement, casting a warm glow into the otherwise dimly lit coffee shop. It's a stark contrast to the chaos they usually face, but here, in this little bubble, they could almost pretend they were just a couple of guys out with their kid.

Yup. Just two guys out with the toddler they coe-parent.

You love to see it, honestly.

Ren looks down at Doccy, who's now playing with a straw. "It's like we're actual parents."

"Don't scare me like that," Doc jokes, sipping his coffee. "But yeah, it's weird."

Ren nods. "We're going to be the coolest dads ever."

Doc snorts. "I'm not sure 'cool' is the right word, but we'll do our best."

Ren nods solemnly. "We're going to have to teach them how to control their powers too, if the time comes." He absently spins the straw in the air with his power, delicately booping Doccy on the nose with it in air.

Doc's smile turns slightly sad. "If they get them. I know we're all hoping for the best, but we can't ignore the fact that Doccy might not get powers."

Ren nods, understanding Doc's concern. "True, but we're here for them no matter what. And we're going to make sure they grow up in a world where they don't have to be afraid of who they are. Powers or not, we know we'll love them forever none the less."

They share a moment of silent camaraderie, both lost in their own thoughts about the future of their little hybrid child. The night outside is still, the only sounds being the distant sirens and the occasional car passing by.

As Doccy starts to nod off in Ren's arms, the two heroes look at each other and decide it's time to head back home. Ren finishes the half cup left of hot chocolate, not being bothered by the probable stomach ache he gets from chocolate.

Sometimes you just have to tough it out and have something tasty.

They pay for their drinks and head back to Doc's place, the night air feeling colder now that they're outside. Doccy's head lolls onto Ren's shoulder, fast asleep.

"Looks like we wore them out," Doc says, his voice low so not to wake the child.

"I'm surprised they lasted this long," Ren whispers back, his voice filled with affectionate amusement.

The walk home is quiet, with only the occasional yawn or snuffle from Doccy to break the silence. Ren and Doc are both lost in thought, contemplating the future and the challenges ahead.

"Y'know man, I've been thinking recently."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, I mean, things have gotten immensely busy with Doccy, but I've just- I dunno."

Doc looks over at Ren with curiosity, his eyes reflecting the street lights above. "What is it?"

Ren takes a deep breath. "I've been thinking about us. Our... situation."

Doc nods, understanding the weight of the words left unsaid. "I have too."

Chapter Text

They walk the rest of the way home in a contemplative silence, each lost in their thoughts about the implications of their newfound family dynamic.

When they arrive at Doc's place, Ren carefully lays Doccy down in the crib they had set up in the spare room, which was now filled with toys and stuffed animals. The child sleeps peacefully, oblivious to the gravity of the conversation that will be happening in the room next to their's.

The two men sit in the living room, the silence between them thick with unspoken words. Ren breaks it first. "I don't know how to say this, but I think we need to talk about our... relationship."

Doc nods. "I've felt it too, Ren. We've become more than just teammates. It's like we've become... a real family."

Ren swallows hard. "But we can't ignore the fact that we're two guys raising a kid together. It's not exactly... conventional."

Doc's smile is gentle. "Conventional isn't our strong suit. Look at us, we're superheroes and we're not exactly the poster boys for normal either."

Ren chuckles nervously. "True. But we're not just talking about hero stuff. I mean, this has got to be more than that, right?"

The two of them have had something unspoken for years now. No one ever brings it up, nor is it ignored. It's just a dynamic they have that feels like it's more than what they say it is.

They sit there for a moment, the only sound being Doccy's soft snores from the room next door. "What do you mean, Ren?" Doc asks, his voice gentle.

Ren looks down at his hands, fidgeting with the fabric of his sweater. "I mean, we've always had something between us, you know? And now, with Doccy..." He trails off, looking back up at Doc. "I don't know. It feels like it could be more."

Doc's gaze is intense, searching Ren's eyes for any hint of what he might be feeling. "More than just friends?" He asks carefully, his heart racing in his chest.

"I mean, two best friends raising a kid together is pretty rare. But, to me at least, it's not just about having a kid now." Ren's eyes searched Doc's, looking for any sign of understanding or reciprocation.

"I know what you mean," Doc says, his voice low and sincere. "We've been through a lot together, and I can't imagine doing any of this without you."

Ren's heart skips a beat at the admission. "You think... you think we could be more than friends?"

Doc takes a deep breath, his hand shaking slightly. "I've always felt something for you, Ren. And now, with Doccy... it just feels like it's all coming together."

Ren's eyes widen, hope blossoming in his chest. "You do?" His voice going up about 2 octaves.

"Yeah," Doc whispers, reaching out to take Ren's hand. "I've felt it for a long time. And I know it's weird with everything else going on, but I can't ignore it anymore."

"You're my best friend Doc, but that title has never felt like enough to describe how much you mean to me." Ren says, his voice cracking with emotion.

The room feels like it's spinning around Doc as he looks into Ren's eyes. "I feel the same way." He says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"So, how about we give each other a better one? The one after 'best friend'." For some reason they both feel too nervous to actually say it. As if they'll both crumble to the ground if one dares utter the word 'lovers'.

They both nod in agreement, their hands still entwined on the coffee table. It's a small gesture, but it feels like a monumental leap. They're both in this together, no matter what happens.

The silence stretches on, filled with the unspoken words and the promise of a future neither of them could have anticipated. They're not just heroes anymore; they're a family. And now, perhaps, something more.

"What now?" Ren's small voice aided by a smaller smile.

"What now?" Doc echoes. "I don't feel any different."

Ren laughs, the tension in the room dissipating. "Well, we're definitely not going to figure it out in one night. But we're in this together."

Doc nods, smiling back. "Always."

They sit in quiet comfort, their joined hands a silent promise of support and love. The weight of their decision doesn't feel heavy but rather like a warm embrace. They've been through so much together, and this feels like the most natural step.

"We should probably get some rest," Ren says after a few more moments, glancing at the clock on the wall. "We've got a lot to figure out, but we can tackle it tomorrow."

Doc nods, squeezing Ren's hand gently before standing up. "You're right. We've got a busy day ahead. It's pretty cold though, I know you're not a big fan of the cold."

Ren stands as well, stretching a bit. "It's not bad, actually. It gets pretty warm in my room- wait," He gives Doc a cheeky smile. "Are you trying to say I should stay the night in your room?"

Doc blushes more than he slready had been, his goat ears flicking slightly. "Well, we are a family now, aren't we?" He says with a smirk.

"Yeah, I guess we are." Ren says with a laugh, his cheeks red. "Such a forward man."

They both laugh it off, the tension in the air lightening as they walk down the hallway. Doc opens the door to his room, revealing the mess that's been building up since he's been busy with Doccy. "I'm sorry it's a mess."

"Trust me, mines a wreck too." Ren says with a grin as he steps into the room, his eyes scanning the mess.

They both chuckle at the sight of the unmade bed, discarded clothes and various gadgets scattered everywhere. It's a stark reminder of the lives they lead outside of their superhero personas. The room feels smaller with both of their presences, the air charged with a new kind of intimacy.

Ren decides to steal one of Doc's hoodies even though he has plenty of clothes in his room. There's something comforting about the scent of Doc's clothes and the way they fit him just right. "It's okay, it's not like I can't handle a bit of mess." He says, picking up a stray screwdriver and placing it on the bedside table.

They both change into more comfortable clothes, and after making sure Doccy is still fast asleep, they settle into Doc's bed. Ren's head on the pillow next to Doc's, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. The warmth from the hoodie and Doc's body is almost too much for Ren to handle, but it's a comforting kind of warmth. One that makes his tail extra sore after the last 15 minutes of wagging.

They lay there for a moment, not saying a word, just basking in the warmth and the quiet. Ren's mind is racing with thoughts of what tomorrow might bring, but he's too tired to voice them. Doc, on the other hand, seems to be in a daze, his mind a whirlwind of emotions and questions.

"You know," Doc starts, breaking the silence. "We're going to have to figure out how to handle this with the others."

Ren nods, his eyes already half-closed. "We're going to have to figure out what exactly we are first." He says, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Doc sighs, his arm wrapping around Ren's waist. "Yeah, we will. But for now, let's just focus on getting some rest."

Ren nods into the pillow, his eyes finally closing. "Are we currently in agreement that the press won't know about us being whatever we decide we are?"

"For now, yeah," Doc whispers, his thumb making lazy circles on Ren's side. "We don't need the extra drama."

Ren snuggles closer, his tail thumping once against the bed. "Good. I just want to focus on you and keeping Doccy safe."

Doc nods, his eyes also drifting shut. "Me too. And maybe get some decent sleep for once."

"What, am I keeping you up or something?" Ren asks with a teasing smirk, his eyes fluttering open.

"No, not at all." Doc's voice is warm, his hand still resting comfortably on Ren's side. "I just can't believe how much has changed in such a short time."

Ren chuckles sleepily. "We've been through worse, Doc. We'll figure it out."

"Worse is an understatement. This is arguably some of the best change I've ever experienced." Doc murmurs, his voice filled with a warmth Ren hasn't heard in a long time.

Ren's eyes open to meet Doc's gaze, the room's light casting a soft glow on his features. "You're not wrong." He agrees, his voice equally gentle.

They lay there, their bodies entwined, feeling the rhythm of each other's breathing and the warmth of their shared embrace. It's a strange, yet comforting sensation, like finally finding the piece of themselves they didn't know was missing.

"You know," Ren says after a while, his voice low and thoughtful. "I never thought we'd end up like this. Whatever it is."

"Yeah," Doc murmurs, his eyes closed. "But somehow, it feels right."

Ren nods slightly, his eyes drifting closed. "It does."

They fall asleep like that, wrapped in the warmth of their newfound love and the quiet comfort of their shared burdens. The night is peaceful, the only interruptions being the occasional whimpers from Doccy in the next room and the distant sound of sirens, reminders of the chaotic world outside their safe haven.

When the first light of dawn creeps through the curtains, Ren is the first to stir. He carefully extricates himself from Doc's embrace, not wanting to wake him, and pads our to check on Doccy. The child is still sleeping soundly, their small body curled up in the crib like a little ball of fur. Ren can't help but feel a pang of protectiveness looking at them, a feeling that's grown stronger with every passing day.

He heads back to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, his thoughts racing with everything they'd discussed last night. The silence of the house is comforting, giving him a chance to process everything. The smell of the brewing coffee fills the air, and soon enough, Doc is stumbling into the kitchen, his robotic eye whirring as it adjusts to the light.

"Morning," Ren says softly, handing him a mug.

Doc takes it with a sleepy smile. "Thanks. Did Doccy sleep okay?"

"Like a rock. How about you?"

Doc takes a sip of the steaming coffee, the warmth seeping into his hands. "Surprisingly well, considering." His voice is low, not wanting to disturb the quiet of the morning or the sleeping child.

Ren nods in understanding, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Yeah, I know. It's a lot to take in."

Doc takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "It's just... I never thought I'd have a family. And now, here we are."

Ren smiles at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "We're pretty good at it, aren't we?"

Doc laughs, the sound low and warm. "We're doing our best."

They sip their coffee in companionable silence, the tension from the night before dissipating with the rising sun. The mundane task of preparing breakfast feels almost sacred in the light of their newfound relationship and responsibilities.

"So, we said we would discuss what exactly we are today," Ren says, setting his coffee down on the counter, his hand trembling slightly.

Doc nods, his smile fading a little. "Yeah. We should." He takes a deep breath, bracing himself for the conversation ahead.

Ren starts, his voice tentative. "Well, we could be... partners?"

Doc considers it, his eyes on the frying pan. "More than partners, I think."

Ren nods. "Lovers, then?" His voice is steady, but his heart races.

Doc looks up, his eyes meeting Ren's. "Lovers, partners, fathers... Whatever it is, it's more than I ever dared hope for."

Ren steps closer, his hand finding Doc's. "Me too." His voice is barely above a whisper, but the words carry the weight of his heart. "We're us, right? Always just us."

"That's it. That's what we are. No complicated labels to put on our relationship. We're us." Doc says, his grip on Ren's hand tightening slightly.

Ren nods, his eyes shining. "Yeah. Us."

They both know the world outside won't be so simple. They're heroes, caretakers to a child with potential powers, and now, a couple. But for now, they bask in the simplicity of their dynamic, the warmth of their bond. They start to prepare breakfast, the smell of eggs and toast filling the air. Doccy wakes up, and their little giggles echo through the hallway as they toddle into the kitchen.

"Puppy, Papa," Doccy says, reaching for Doc and Ren, their eyes sparkling with joy at seeing their two favorite humans.

Ren chuckles, bending down to scoop up Doccy. "Good morning, little one." He kisses the top of Doccy's head, feeling the warmth of the hybrid's energy.

"guten morgen, meine Süße," Doc says, his voice still a little rough from sleep. "You ready to eat?" The mixed language becoming natural to the tiny hybrid's fast learning.

Doccy nods, their itty tail wagging in excitement. Ren sets them in their high chair, already set with their favorite cereal. The little one's eyes light up at the sight of the colorful puffs.

"Okay, so, we're going to have to get used to this whole 'mum and dad' thing," Ren says with a playful wink to Doc.

Doc chuckles, his robotic arm setting a plate of toast down next to Doccy. "I think we're doing pretty well, considering."

The three of them sit at the kitchen table, the mood light and filled with the gentle hum of a new day. Ren watches as Doccy devours their cereal, their little hands getting ironically sticky. It's moments like these that remind him of the reality of his situation and the love that has grown between them.

"You know," Doc says, spreading jam on a piece of toast, "We can't hide this from the others forever."

Ren nods, his eyes on Doccy. "I know. But we need to make sure they understand this doesn't change anything about our mission."

"They're our family," Doc says firmly. "They'll get it. We just have to explain it right. I mean, it doesn't really feel much different now."

"Except for the whole 'sharing a bed' part." Ren quips, but there's a seriousness underlying his tone. "We need to be careful. The last thing we want is for this to affect the team dynamics."

After a second, he adds, "I'm certainly not complaining about it, though."

Doc nods, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watches Ren interact with Doccy. "They'll be happy for us, I think. We've all been through so much together."

"Yeah, but we also have to consider the potential repercussions from the Council." Ren says, his eyes drifting to the window and the city beyond, where their vigilante personas are well-known. "They might not be as understanding of they find out."

Doc nods solemnly, taking a bite of his toast. "We'll deal with that when it comes. For now, let's just enjoy this, okay?"

Ren nods, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches Doccy smear jam on their cheeks. "You're right. We'll handle it together."

Breakfast after that is a mix of laughter and sticky fingers, with Doccy's innocent curiosity and energy acting as the perfect balm for their weary souls. They clean up the kitchen, the warmth of their newfound love seeping into the mundane task.

"Okay, little one, it's play time," Doc says, lifting Doccy into his arms. Ren watches them with a fond smile, feeling a sense of peace that's been missing for so long.

As Doc carries Doccy to the bedroom, Ren can't help but think about the implications of their relationship going public. The Council's stance on heroes forming personal relationships was murky at best. But for now, they had each other, and that was all that mattered.

Once Doccy is settled to their toys, Doc returns to the kitchen, his expression thoughtful. "We need to keep this between us, at least for now," he says, pouring himself another cup of coffee.

Ren nods in agreement, his gaze following Doc as he moves around the kitchen. "We can't risk the Council finding out."

"Not until we're ready," Doc says, his eyes serious. "We need to make sure Doccy's safe first. And that we have a solid plan for when they do find out."

Ren nods, his tail swishing in thought. "Agreed. We'll have to be careful with missions, too." He takes a deep breath, the gravity of their situation setting in. "We can't let anything happen to Doccy."

Doc nods solemnly. "We'll need to coordinate with the others. Make sure they understand the stakes."

"It's just our luck that something big changes right after a meeting." Ren sighs, leaning against the counter. The mood in the room shifts from light to heavy, the weight of their secret pressing down on them.

"Yeah, but we can handle it." Doc's voice is firm, a steely resolve in his eyes. "We've got each other's backs."

Ren nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "Always."

Chapter Text

They finish their coffee, the warmth of the liquid a contrast to the cold reality of their situation. As the sun rises higher, the city outside their window begins to bustle with activity. The sounds of sirens and distant shouts remind them of the world they're fighting to protect.

"We should probably get ready for the day," Ren says, setting his mug down.

Doc nods, his gaze lingering on Ren for a moment. "Yeah, we can't let our personal lives get in the way of the job."

Ren crosses the kitchen to stand beside him, their shoulders brushing together. "But we can't ignore it either. We're in this together."

Doc nods, his hand reaching out to cover Ren's. "Always." He takes a deep breath, the warmth of their connection grounding him. "Let's get dressed and head to the Tower."

The two of them get ready for the day, the silence between them charged with a newfound understanding. They move around the large apartment, each in their own world of thought but together in their purpose.

Ren pulls on a plain button-up and slacks, his hero gear fitting in his bag though he still decided to dawn his crown and glasses. Both a staple in his look.

"Ready?" Ren asks, turning to Doc who's already dressed in his lab coat, his robotic arm gleaming under the sun.

Doc nods, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "As ready as I'll ever be." He's in a simple black t-shirt and jeans, neither hero liking to leave without being dressed in something toned down to what they usually wear in a day.

Now especially, because they need to make a quick stop at a coffee shop much closer than the one they went to last night. Cleo was in today and she said she could watch Doccy while the boys were at work.

"Thank you so much, Cleo," Ren says, kissing the top of Doccy's head as he hands her over to the barista with a gentle smile. She had a way with children and Doccy had taken a shine to her.

Cleo coos at the small hybrid. "It's no trouble at all, handsome. Go kick some villain butt, and I'll make sure she doesn't turn mine into a playground."

The two men chuckle, sharing a look that says 'we've got this' before heading out into the city. The Tower loomed in the distance, a beacon of hope and a reminder of the secrets they now hold.

While talking to Cleo, they somehow forgot to mention their new secret, but that could be a topic for the next meeting in a few days.

As they walk towards the Tower, the streets are alive with the sounds of the city waking up. Ren's eyes dart around, vigilant for any signs of trouble. Doc follows, his robotic arm swinging slightly at his side, the mechanical whirring a comforting reminder of their unique bond.

They enter the Tower, the bustle of heroes coming and going a stark contrast to the quiet of their apartment. Ren's heart races, the weight of their secret feeling heavier with each step. They head to their makeshift lobby a few floors up and get started with their day.

Chapter Text

The first mission of the day is a standard patrol, a chance to keep their skills sharp and their presence known. They suit up, each in their distinctive attire—Ren with his royal red and Doc with his white lab coat—and head out into the streets. The wind tugs at their capes, the chilly reminder of the city's mood matching their own.

As they glide over the rooftops, the city below unfurls like a tapestry of light and shadow. Ren can't help but feel a twinge of anxiety about what the day may hold, his thoughts drifting to Doccy's safety. "Do you think we're doing the right thing?" he asks, his eyes scanning the horizon.

Doc gives him a reassuring pat on the back. "We're keeping them safe, that's what matters. The Council can't be trusted with something as delicate as this."

They land on the next rooftop, their booted feet echoing in the quiet of the early morning. The city is waking up, and the first rays of sunlight kiss the skyscrapers.

It's easy for the seasoned heroes to tell which days will be more chaotic during patrols and which ones they can really spend messing about. This, they could tell, would be a very layed back day.

The cold air, the clear skies, all were a big sign of it being low on major crime. None of the villains or criminals in the city work in clear views.

So, instead of working, the two heroes find a nice view and talk about the potential to host a party of sorts in the holiday spirit now that it's getting close.

And by close, they mean "what's the date today again?"

"It's the 22th," Doc says, checking his phone. "Plenty of time to plan something."

Ren nods. "We could use a bit of cheer around here. Maybe something at the base? Invite everyone, make it a surprise."

Doc grins, the idea sparking excitement in his eyes. "Yeah, and we could get a real Christmas tree!"

"Might be a little hard to come by in the middle of the city, love, but I like the spirit!" Ren teases, a smile playing on his lips.

The two of them spend the morning discussing potential party themes and decorations, their conversation a mix of laughter and serious planning. It's a rare moment of lightness in their lives, a chance to focus on something positive amidst the constant chaos.

They talk until Ren's dispatched out to help with a robbery, mostly taken care of by the police force already, but the media loves to see him.

Speaking of media, when he heads into the tower to go on break much later in the day, he catches up with Martyn and Cheri, his PR "team".

"How's it going, you two?" Ren asks, leaning against the wall of their lobby/office, his crown slightly askew.

"Fine, fine," Martyn says, his British accent as sharp as ever. "Just going over the latest press releases."

"I finished my work ages ago. I'm designing Martyn a hero outfit." Cheri leans back against the couch, wisps and sparks dancing around her head with a table in her lap.

Ren chuckles, glancing at Martyn's unenthused expression. "Let me guess, you didn't like the last one?"

"Nothing really has the right kick to it. It's all symbols and shapes with nothing really telling about my incredibly useful hearing abilities." Martyn mocks from his spot.

Cheri rolls her eyes. "Well, I can't just throw a giant ear on your chest."

"Why not?" Martyn asks, playing along. "It's not like anyone would miss it."

"For having superhuman heading you can use at will, you're not a very good listener." Ren laughs, walking into the office and taking a seat at the table opposite Cheri.

All in the span of a few seconds, the blonde Brit rolls his eyes, nearly knocks over a glass of water, and trips over his own feet while standing up.

In the midst of his embarrassment, the teasing comment from his coworker becomes expected by now.

"Nice fumble, king!" Cheri laughs, her hands busy sketching away on the tablet.

Martyn barley retorts as he straightens himself out on his feet. "I'd have you know I've got the reflexes of a cat!"

"Maybe a dead one. Have You lost all nine lives yet?" Cheri mocks, the banter an everyday appearance since they started working together.

Ren laughs, leaning back in his chair, his eyes drifting to the clock on the wall. "I'd better get going before the next crisis hits. Keep the pirate design idea i gave you in mind, yeah?"

Cheri winks, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, I will."

Ren leaves the office, his footsteps echoing down the hall. He can still hear their banter and laughter as he makes his way to the training room for a quick workout with the remainder of his break. The routine of the Tower grounds him, a familiar rhythm that reminds him of who he is beyond the chaos of his personal life.

As he enters the room, the smell of sweat and effort is heavy in the air, a testament to the hard work of his fellow heroes. The clang of metal and the grunts of exertion are music to his ears, a symphony of dedication. He finds an empty punching bag and begins to work out his stress, his fists flying in a blur of motion as he uses his telekinetic ability to power his punch, focusing the energy in a singe spot and distributing it explosivly into his current enemy.

The training montage goes by in a flash, with Ren pushing himself harder than ever before. His mind is clear, his movements precise, and his power is at its peak. He knows that the stakes are higher now, not just for the city but for his new family. By now, they're much more than a found family. They're a real family now, heart and soul. The thought fuels his determination, turning each blow into a declaration of his readiness to protect them all.

The rest of the day goes by as smooth as expected, both heroes meeting, changing into regular clothes, and walking to the coffee shop to pick up their toddler and see Cleo.

"Hey, how did it go?" Ren asks, leaning over the counter to catch a glimpse of Doccy playing in the corner. Cleo smiles, handing over a bag of toys.

"Perfect angel," she says. "But I think they miss you both."

Doccy runs to them, their arms outstretched, and Ren's heart swells with love and relief. The little hybrid's giggle fills the coffee shop, bringing a warmth to their hearts that not even the cold outside could contest.

"Thank you, Cleo," Doc says, his voice genuine. "We really appreciate it."

"Sure, Doc. I guess it wasn't too bad helping you out." Cleo says, her smile softening the edges of her usual sarcastic tone. "Seriously, though. I'll take them any time you need, you know where to find me."

"Y'know, Cleo." Ren starts, putting the toddler on his hip. "We don't usually plan much around holidays, but we were thinking of throwing something soon for the holidays."

Her eyes light up, a spark of excitement. "Oh, really? That would be amazing! I'd love to help!"

"Really?" Doc asks, hopeful.

"Yeah, sure!" Cleo says, her eyes brightening. "I've got some great ideas for a party."

"We'll take all the help we can get," Doc admits, taking Doccy's little hand in his.

Chapter Text

The trio walks back to Doc's place, the chill in the air not dampening their spirits. Ren opens the door to their sanctuary, the warmth of the space wrapping around them like a comforting blanket. Doccy squeals in excitement as they enter, pointing at the Christmas lights out the window.

"Looks like someone's eager for the festivities," Ren says, smiling as he watches them.

Doc nods, his own smile mirroring Ren's. "We'll make it special for them."

The planning for the party begins in earnest once they're back at the base. They pull out laptops, sketches, and color-coded lists (curtesy of Ren who demanded organization), their excitement palpable as they brainstorm decorations and games. Doccy watches them, her eyes wide with wonder as they speak in hushed tones about the surprise.

Things were turning out much less festive for everyone's favorite news reporter, though. Lost in his own thoughts and memories while trying to sleep.

Zed lies perfectly wake as his mind runs a million miles a minute.

On one hand, it's less time for him to play his favorite game "where will I end up when I wake up", on the other, his thoughts aren't exactly pleasant enough to want to stay up without a way out.

Well, "unpleasant" is a pretty big understatement for how he went from a lovable, goofy, and mischievous vigilante, to a revered villain in a night.

His overactive imagination is his downfall as he vividly recounts each detail.

The hot summer night, the full moon.

The smokey air from the recent kitchen fire in an apartment next to the alley, the smokeier air in the ally from Tango's distressed hyperventilating as he was cornered by a hero ready to arrest him.

The hero had a water power which distressed the poor vigilante even more as he was backed into a corner.

This, is where Zed found him, threatened with his very life and normality by a hero.

And this, is where the true extent of Zed's power comes in.

Mind manipulation.

At least a sort of it. He can manipulate what someone thinks by trapping them in his hypnotic gaze. The default setting seeming to be just a harmless day dream of absolutely anything crazy and impossible and wild.

But, if he focused teal hard, he could make someone think or do anything he wanted.

Before that night, he'd only ever used it to get Tango to order food. He didn't know what the extent of it was.

He really didn't mean to. He didn't.

He would take it all back if he could.

At least, that's what he would think if he wasn't defending Tango.

But he was. So he doesn't regret making the hero think of experiencing excruciating pain both physical and mental, of sending the hero to three years of extensive therapy before they retired entirely.

He lets everything think he is entirely regretting his decisions when he isn't. Sure, he might feel bad, he might have praised the hero in his reports about them, he knew they were just doing their job after all.

But Tango was important to him. He'd do the same thing over again if warranted. For any of his friends.

He might not regret it, but the night haunts him either way.

The screaming was what did it, really. The awful, blood curdling screaming of someone experiencing the worst mental torture possible. Just the image of feeling pain so awful it could truly be felt.

After that night, Zedaph became a high-ranked Villain. And he hasn't looked back.

Impulse knew he wouldn't survive in the world as a villain alone, so he had himself rebranded by committing higher-end crime and working with Zed. Tango was too scared of the community turning against him to join them.

Zed learned from it, though. He's never used that side of his power while being that angry again.

In a world where he can make anyone think about anything, why use that to cause anything but sweet chaos?

Zed had always been the one for a good laugh and a prank, his mischievous streak a mile wide and twice as bright. But as the nights grew colder and the city's fear grew hotter, he found himself with a newfound sense of purpose. If he could use his powers for fun and be a vigilante, why not for protection?

The Council had never seen someone like him before. A villain with a heart of gold, or so it seemed. They had to be careful, they had to be smart. But he couldn't help the thrill that coursed through his veins when he thought about the upcoming tricks or pranks.

Though he was never rebranded back to a vigilante after the few years he hasn't done much villainy, he doubts he ever will be. But he has people there to support him when all he can think about is how he'll never truly get the chance to support people like he dreamed he could.

All he did was dream.

Dream, and think, and wander, and trip, and call Cleo in the middle of the night after breaking his nose tripping over someone for the second time in 8 days while sleepwalking.

Cleo, bless her, comes over with ice and a stern lecture about safety. They're not mad, just concerned.

She keeps his head leaning forward, blood staining a towel until she can start healing it.

Zed was more apprehensive the first time he called her but on the second it wasn't so bad.

Her hands got super hot and by the time she stopped incubating his nose, it stopped bleeding and felt normal aside from a bad ache which was balanced by the ice.

"You really should be more careful," Cleo says, her expression a mix of concern and amusement. "You're going to give me a heart attack with all these accidents."

"Alright, I guess I'll only call you after falling down the fire escape then." Zed laughs nervously, his cheeks reddening as he sits back in the chair, scrunching his nose at his newly bloodstained sweater.

Cleo rolls her eyes. "Or maybe just don't fall down the fire escape."

"Locks on my windows don't work if I know where or how to open them. And I can't get Tango or Skizz or something to hide a key because they're too predictable." Zed grumbles, his nose still tingling from the healing.

Cleo chuckles, shaking her head. "You really do need to stop being so clumsy."

Zed laughs right back. "My powers really need to stop throwing me around."

"They're your powers, Zed. Maybe it's more like you're throwing yourself around." Cleo teases, tossing the towel into the sink. She turns to him, her expression softening. "But seriously, you need to tell someone if you're okay. You can't keep this up forever."

"It was easier with Tango around most of the time. Now that he's full time with Impulse and Skizz I'm a little more prone to sleep-throwing myself-off-things." Zed admits with a small laugh, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Of course, I'm really happy he's officially staying there, but his sleepovers helped me just as much as they helped him."

Cleo nods sympathetically. "It's a big change. For all of you. But you're doing a great job, really. I know you're trying."

Zed's expression relaxes a bit, the warmth in her voice reaching him like a gentle embrace. "Thanks, Cleo. It means a lot."

They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sound being the distant sirens of the city that never truly sleeps.

Two villains with opposing reasons.

One, mistake, the other, simply fed up with being the bigger person.

That's that she says, anyway.

The party planning was in full swing, with DocM and Ren at the helm. They were the organizational powerhouse of the group, and their excitement was infectious. They'd decided on a masquerade theme, something that would allow everyone to let their hair down and enjoy themselves without the constant pressure of their vigilante personas looming over them.

The base was a whirlwind of activity, with each member of the team pitching in to help. Skizz, with his creative flair, was tasked with making the decorations because Impulse thought it would be funny to see what he'd make. He was a blur of glitter and paint, turning the usually stark and functional space into something that looked like it had been plucked straight from a fairy tale about metal music. Meanwhile, Zed and Tango worked on the food, Tango's pyrokinetic abilities surprisingly useful in the kitchen when it came to cooking in bulk. Impulse, ever the handyman, helped with the setup of the games and the sound system.

The days flew by as the group worked tirelessly, their anticipation for the party growing with each passing hour. They were a well-oiled machine, each member playing to their strengths. They'd all been through so much together, and this party was more than just a celebration of the season; it was a declaration of their unity and resilience.

On Christmas day, every member joined the party at varying times, including a very short appearance from Scar and Grian on their way to visit Grian's brother. The few they didn't/weren't supposed to know we're in the group weren't in their normal gear and were in masquerade masks like the rest of them, each designed intricately by Ren.

The party was a smash hit. Doccy, dressed as a little elf with a candy cane hat, was the star of the show, their laughter and giggles echoing through the base.

"Look at them," Ren said, watching as Doc spun Doccy around in circles, their cheeks rosy with delight. "It's like they were made for this."

Cleo laughs at the antics from Ren's side. "You really love them, don't you?"

Ren glances at her, his eyes shining with affection. "More than words can say."

The evening progresses with laughter and joy, the kind of warmth that could thaw the coldest of hearts. The friends mingle, sharing stories of their own holiday traditions and the little moments that make their lives feel more human amidst the chaos of their roles. It's a reminder that even heroes need a break from saving the world.

Chapter Text

Eventually things devolve into their usual chaos as Bdubs and Gem get into an arm wrestling match with Bdubs faking struggle for the younger vigilante.

Any other type of fight and he'd be wishing he could say he let her win. He doesn't quite have her skill or quick thinking against people he lets his guard down with.

But an arm wrestling match? That's his domain.

He isn't losing anything by putting up a struggle against someone learning from him.

The others are all spread out around the room.

Tango somehow ended up on the fridge, a regular occurrence seen usually from the Z.I.T part of Z.I.T.S. Skizz doesn't bother trying as it's a tough spot for Zed to get to.

Etho, the quiet one, is surprisingly good at charades, his mimicry of various animals keeping everyone in stitches.

He basically just imitated Ren and Doc when he needed to get across a dog and a goat, surprisingly affective.

Impulse is off in the corner, he watches the scene before him. He's not much of a party person, but the laughter and the smiles, they're like a balm to his soul.

Skizz is leaning against him, the shorter has given up complaining. The moment calls for a little comfort and warmth.

"You know, I never thought I'd be celebrating Christmas like this," Impulse says quietly, his gaze following the flickering lights of the makeshift decor.

Skizz looks up at him, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, me neither. It's usually where I end up dragged to a company party at the tower, or we have take-out and trade gifts." He shrugs at the first thought and wholly smiles at the second.

"I think I would be correct in assuming you like the second better?" Impulse asks with a knowing smile, watching as Skizz nods, his eyes never leaving the lights.

"I much prefer the latter. Especially last year, when Tango and Zed came around." Skizz's smile grew a bit wider at the memory, the warmth of the room enveloping them like a comforting blanket.

Impulse nodded, his eyes softening as he remembered the first time the two had crashed their Christmas. "It was a bit of a surprise, but it was... nice." His last word punctuated with a heartfelt smile.

Skizz chuckles, his cheeks flushing a little. "We didn't have anything to give then so you made something on the fly. I still see both of them sporting those bracelets all the time."

Impulse thinks back, remembering how he'd shaped some loose wire into bands and found a few flat circles of metal he cut a while back, carving their letters into each of the 4 he made within the 45 minutes it took with a reliable pocket knife.

"They liked those?" Impulse asks, surprised. He knew they didn't hate them, but the thought that they liked them enough to still wear them was... unexpected.

"If you look, Zed's wearing his now." Skizz jabs his roommate in the side, motioning to where Zed is eating a bag of "crisps" while watching charades. The thick wire is barely visible under his thick sweater sleeve, but it is certainly there. The purple tinted metal, having been colored later on, of the circle charm with the letter 'Z' carved out just visible.

Impulse's eyes widen and he looks at the charm before looking back at Skizz, who nods solemnly. "And Tango's got his around his tail. It's what we do."

He nods towards the fire tail gently flicking against the front of the fridge, his own red charm being tied to it with twine as an incident on patrol broke the wire holding it.

"They're important to us." Skizz says, his eyes reflecting the warm glow of the room, lifting his own hand to show off the deep blue charm around his wrist.

Impulse nods, his gaze flickering to the charm before looking back at the party, fidgeting with the yellow 'i' carved circle that sits perfectly in his palm when he has his arm down.

"It's... it's good to know," he murmurs, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

The party goes on, the laughter and cheers mixing with the crackling of the makeshift fireplace. It's a small comfort in the cold, concrete room, a beacon of warmth and hope amidst their chaotic lives.

Soon enough, the night grows late, while most people there are more than willing to stay up all night with their friends, Doccy is not.

Not allowed, at least.

Gem is also very willing to stay up, but her day job calls for an early morning shift the next day.

So she turns in for the night, offering to babysit Doccy for the night so the two heroes can enjoy more of the night with their friends.

"7am Doc, don't forget!" She nudges the tall hero with her elbow as she cradles his half-asleep toddler. "If you don't open the door I'm not leaving the child on the doorstep, they will come with me to work." She warns him with a smirk, knowing full well that Ren and quite possibly, Doc himself would have a heart attack if she did so.

Ren nods his head, walking her outside and handing her a small box, tied simply with a bow.

"It's nothing special, just though it wouldn't feel like a good holiday party without gift giving." He shrugs, trying to play off his own hard work in finding the perfect gift for all his friends. "Happy holidays, Gem."

Gem takes the box with a smile, her eyes lighting up. "Thank you, Ren."

'Alright, just shoot the GC a message when you get home and let me or Doc know if there's any questions or trouble with Doccy. By now they don't get up at night often but this is their first night sleeping without either of us." Ren says as he helps her out, his voice a bit more serious than usual.

Gem nods, her eyes understanding. "I've got it covered. You have a great night, Ren. Happy holidays."

Ren waves her off before shutting the door, turning back to the party.

"Alright, who's up for a round of truth or dare?" he calls out, a twinkle in his eye.

After several shrugs and smiles and nods, the group collectively Sit in a circle of cleared space. When all your friends are superhuman with complex and interesting pasts, every question is a lot more interesting.

The game starts off tame enough, with Etho being dared to do an impression of each person in the room, which he nails. Each one more spot on than the last, until he gets to Skizz, who laughs so hard he snorts a bit.

"Your turn, Skizz." Ren says, a glint in his eye as he holds out the bottle.

Skizz nods, taking a deep breath as he spins the empty glass bottle.

It stops, pointing directly at Zed.

"Truth or Dare, Zed?" Skizz asks, a smirk playing on his lips.

Zed's eyes flicker to Tango for a split second, who nods almost imperceptibly. "Dare," he says, his voice firm.

Skizz grins mischievously. "Alright, I dare you to tell us the most embarrassing thing that's happened to you while using your powers."

Zed thinks for a minute, be boring with the expected answer, or be extra?

Can you guess what the extravagant sheep hybrid chose?

"Well, the obvious answer is the time I fell down the fire escape while my powers affected my sleeping, but, one time, I really didn't want to do a report about a topic so I tried to change my boss's mind using my own. What I didn't consider was the written documentation of scheduling and topic placement." Zed laughs, his cheeks turning a darker shade of pink. "I ended up causing mass confusion in the station that was only resolved after almost two days. And I still had to do the stupid report!"

The room erupts in laughter, the tension of their usual battles and missions momentarily forgotten in the face of Zed's humorous anecdote. The game of truth or dare continues, each person sharing stories that are met with equal parts shock and amusement.

But, there are a few dares and secrets that are refused to be shared. For example, when the bottle lands on Tango, and he's dared to share the worst lie he's ever told. He looks around the room, his red eyes scanning each of his friends' faces before shaking his head. "I take a drink."

The smirk he wears keeps anyone from worrying about it as Bdubs grabs a drink and takes a seat back in the circle.

He hands Tango the shot of mixed vodka as punishment for refusing the dare. The room quiets down a bit as the drink goes around, the game taking a slightly more interesting turn. It's not often that they get to see this side of each other, the side that isn't about fighting or saving lives. It's about the little moments that make them who they are, the quirks that make them human.

The bottle stops spinning again, and this time it's pointing at Impulse.

"Truth or Dare impy?" Tango says from his glass, trying to chase the lingering strength of alcohol.

Impulse's eyes narrow. "Truth."

The room goes quiet, expectant.

Impulse swallows hard, his gaze flicking around the room. "What is something you've never told anyone else here?" Tango asks, his voice gentle, but with a hint of curiosity.

Impulse takes a moment, his mind racing with secrets and half-truths. He considers lying, playing it safe, but the warmth and acceptance in the room compels him to be honest. "I never told you all... I've always been afraid of losing control of my powers. Of hurting someone I care about," he admits, his voice low.

The mood shifts just slightly to focus more on the moment. "It's a fear everyone has at some point. Those with more destructive powers, at least. It's just not a fear I've told anyone about outwardly." Impulse says, his voice a bit more confident in his words. His confidence and all around security in his insecurities helps bring the mood back up, spinning the bottle in front of him.

Chapter Text

This time, it lands on Doc.

"Dare," he says, his voice a mix of excitement and nerves.

Impulse immediately has a very threatening smirk on his face, giggling to himself.

This worries the goat.

"Y'know, it wouldn't really be a holiday party if there wasn't a kiss under the mistletoe." He gestures to Ren.

Ren looks at Doc, who's cheeks are a rosy red that would put any apple to shame, his eye wide.

"You said earlier you hated this brand of alcohol." Bdubs smirks knowingly at his friend.

Without much else than I sigh, he stands under the mistletoe hung in a doorframe just a meter or two away with Ren in front of him.

Ren smiles, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he walks over. "Ready?"

Doc nods, his expression a mix of embarrassment and amusement. The room goes silent, everyone watching the unfolding scene like 12 year olds. As Ren leans in for a quick peck, Doc's robotic arm wraps around him, pulling him in for a full, lingering kiss that takes them both by surprise. The group erupts in cheers and whistles, breaking the tension.

Ren pulls back, his cheeks redder than the mistletoe berries above them. "Well, a dare's a dare," he murmurs, a small smile playing on his lips. Doc chuckles nervously, his eyes avoiding everyone's gaze.

To break the tension, Ren gives him a quick peck on the cheek and returns to his spot next to Cleo.

"Your turn, Doc," Ren says, his voice filled with mirth as he tries to suppress his laughter.

"Bdubs, you take mine." Doc says, still outwardly flustered as he returns between Ren and the American vigilante.

Bdubs spins and it almost immediately lands on himself. The exact same way it has the entire time he's spun it.

"Well, that's just not fair," he grumbles, trying to hide his smile behind his hand. "It's four times in a row now!"

The group laughs, the tension dissipating as they all agree to let him take a break from the drink he would have to have for getting himself. He's already 3 shots in and he's barely been asked a question.

"Cleo, truth or dare?" He asks the wildcard of the group.

Her eyes glint in the flickering firelight, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Truth."

"Who's the weirdest person you've ever healed?" Bdubs asks Cleo, his curiosity piqued.

Cleo's smile turns into a grin at the memory. "There's this one vigilante I helped a little while back. He's a complete wildcard and his powers reflect that. Everyday, his powers shift to something else, but after a month, they cycle back through. He was an absolute joy to be around, I think his vigilante name is Hills. Something along those lines."

Her words spark a round of laughter from the group, each of them sharing their own stories of the peculiar people they've encountered in their line of work. As the night goes on, the drinks flow and the secrets come out, turning the small party into a night of bonding and camaraderie.

Soon enough, Ren clears his throat, gaining the others' attention. "Since this is a holiday party, I thought I'd get everyone something as a gift." He brings it up trying to be casual, but his anxiety about what his friends will think about their gifts radiates off of him.

He starts handing out small, neatly wrapped packages to each of them. They all look at their gifts with surprise and curiosity, the paper crinkling in their hands as they try to guess what's inside.

Everyone shares their surprised thanks and go around opening their presents.

Impulse opens his first, revealing a pair of custom-made, fireproof gloves with a small yellow 'i' on the back of each hand. "Who knew these would come in handy?" He says with a smirk, holding them up to show off to the group.

Skizz's gift is a rubik's cube, seemingly simple but holds sentimental meaning.

"I heard you complaining about how much noise the poker chips you fidget with make, I thought this could be a better alternative." Ren says, his cheeks tinted pink from the warmth of the room and the alcohol. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that everyone is looking at him.

Skizz laughs, spinning the cube in his hand. "Thanks, Ren."

The others continue to unwrap their gifts, each revealing an item tailored to their personality and abilities. Etho receives a book titled "The Art of Chaos," which makes him chuckle, especially after Ren whines about how difficult he is to shop for, and a few small designed pins which are clearly handmade and personalized. For Zed is a sheep-themed pen with the words "I've herd enough" spelled on the side.

"How much do you pay attention, dude? I was just talking about how the pen I use for interviews and news stories is almost out of ink. Thanks man!" Zed laughs, holding up his new sheep-themed pen with a wide grin.

Cleo unwraps her gift, her eyes widening. It's a custom-made notebook designed like a fantasy book for her to keep track of her DND campaign she works on during the weekends.

"Ren, this is amazing," she whispers, her eyes misting up.

"It's nothing, really," he says, his voice tight with emotion. "I just thought it would be nice for you to have something that represents what you love outside of all this..."

Next to be ecstatic to open a gift is Tango, receiving a high-quality, professional toolkit, the kind you'd expect from a master of engineering. His eyes light up as he pulls out a tiny, yet incredibly intricate gear-shaped keychain with a tag that reads "For the gear-head in your life, love Ren. Awe! Dude, this is awesome!"

The last to open something is Bdubs, Doc was told his was a surprise for later.

Bdubs opens his gift with excitement, his eyes light up when he sees a handcrafted, intricately designed watch, the same model he's always talked about but could never afford. "Dude! This is insanely expensive! What the heck?!"

"I'm a pretty big hero, I don't exactly struggle for cash most of the time. It's a luxury I have and I want to use that to make my friends happy." Ren shrugs, his cheeks darkening slightly from the compliments.

The second thing Bdubs receives is a new set of guitar picks as he was just complaining about only having 3 he hadn't lost.

"Thanks man, I've been needing these." He says with a smile, holding them up. "You really do pay attention."

As the party winds down, the group gathers around the room, the warm glow of the lights reflecting off their smiles. The laughter and stories have brought them closer, their shared experiences as individuals and friends weaving an unbreakable bond.

"Alright, everyone, it's getting late," Ren says, glancing at the clock. "But before we all head out, I just wanted to say how much I appreciate you all. The past few months have been nothing but supporting and genuinely life-changing."

There's a round of nods and murmurs of agreement. They all know what he means. They've faced danger together, discovered hidden truths, and grown into a tight-knit group that's more than just a team. They've become a makeshift family, each filling a void in the others' lives.

"To the best crew in the city," Etho says, raising his glass. The others clink their drinks together, the sound echoing off the walls of their cozy base. "And to the many more nights we'll spend as Hermits."

And for the night, for the moment, nothing else matters. No one else exists beyond their found family. They're all they need, continuing to support and protect each other from every challenge that might threaten them.

Chapter Text

But, as with every hero's life, reality has a way of crashing the party.

Skizz, Doc, and Ren are all alerted to an All Units call from the Tower, given no information other than show up in 10 minutes at the very most in gear or out.

Typically, the hero committee mandates heroes to show up to calls in their gear. This adds that separation of their "work life" of the hero they portray from who they actually are as people.

Some suspect that it's to make the heroes seem less like personified humans than their workforce.

Whatever the reason, showing up as heroes being mandatory is definitely strange.

But it's not really a problem given the time frame and proximity, all three are able to get changed and to the Tower in about 7 minutes, just in time to see the scene unfolding.

It doesn't take long to figure out what's going on. There's images of a low priority vigilante on every screen in the main meeting room. All the staff in the building being herded into the auditorium-sized space.

Ren hears talk of an "injury report" and mention of a hero, sees worried and tired faces all over the room given the sudden call and late night.

He finds Cherri in the crowd, looking nervously around for someone before her eyes land on him.

"There you are. Have you seen Martyn yet? There's talk of someone in the tower being injured and I haven't heard anything from him."

Cherri's voice is frantic, her eyes darting around the room as she speaks to Ren.

"What have you heard? Me, Doc and Skizz just got here." Ren asks, his eyes searching the room for any sign of his friend.

"It's all over the internal channels, but they're being pretty hush about it. Just said to be ready for anything." She bites her bottom lip, her eyes betraying her concern. "Can you call him? I've tried about a hundred times, but if he's fine he'll probably answer to you."

Ren immediately takes out his phone, calling his friend. As nervous as they both are, it's in vain, given he answers at the third ring.

"Where are you." It's not a question. It might seem like one, but it very clearly is more of a "You scared me".

"Uh..? At home? What's going on and why did I wake up to a million and one notifications?" The very tired Brit responds with a slightly apologetic tone.

"Something happened, All Units call to the Tower. How did you not wake up to the alarm but you woke up to my ring tone?" Ren gives Cherri a thumbs-up, letting her know her blonde accomplice is perfectly fine.

"It's not like I sleep with my phone on loud, especially not after the last time we got called in the middle of the night. I don't need to wake up the whole neighborhood." Martyn says with a yawn, his voice groggy from sleep.

"Still doesn't explain my call waking you." Ren teases, the tension in the his shoulders somewhat lifted.

"I guess I was just waiting for your lovely voice to serenade me out of slumber," Martyn jokes, and Ren can almost hear the roll of his eyes through the phone.

"Cherri said she called you about a hundred times, and my call was the one that did it?" Ren laughs, the tension in his voice dissipating as he watches the rest of the heroes file into the room.

"Well, your ringtone is a classic, can't blame a man for having good taste." Martyn retorts, the sound of rustling fabric as he likely stretches out of his bed. "Cherri's been blowing up my phone, but she's got that ringtone that sounds like nails on a chalkboard. I thought it would bring my attention to it better but apparently I sleep well with uncomfortable sounds after living so long in this city."

"Think you can make it here quick enough or does Cherri need to transcribe another group meeting for you?" Ren teases, the lightness in his voice belying the underlying tension in the room.

"Very funny," Martyn retorts, the sound of his bedroom door closing in the background. "But, yeah, I'm on my way. Just tell me what I missed when I get there, and save me a seat." His voice lowers quite a bit after leaving his room in attempt to not wake up his roommate, Oli, a different blonde (though dyed) Brit with a knack for music, theater, and quick wits. Safe to say he and Martyn get along great as he is very similar.

Ren nods to Cherri, who looks visibly relieved, and puts his phone away. "Looks like he's on his way. We'll fill him in when he gets here."

The room grows quiet as the Council members file in, their faces stern and serious. The Council leader, a stern-looking man with a sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes, takes the podium.

"Thank you for your swift response to the All Units call," he says, his voice echoing throughout the room. "We have received disturbing news of an incident that has occurred tonight."

The Council leader's words hang in the air, a pregnant silence following. The heroes exchange worried glances, the jovial atmosphere of their party replaced by a palpable tension. Ren's mind races, thinking of all the potential dangers that could have called them here.

As his nerves worsen, he scans the room. Everyone in the tower did happen to respond. Though he can't get eyes on where a couple of certain heroes are.

Maybe they sleeped through the alarm? It is late. Or they're just running late, or even too sick to get out. The winter for some heroes gets tough as they can't typically seasonally change costume. So they need something that'll work while moving in any weather, which leads to many colds in the winter months of the city.

There are a hundred and one different excuses he can make, he won't be prepared for the answer.

As the Council pause to find the best way to word the news, Ren looks at the vigilante on screen.

Black hair, black and red designed chemical mask, red eyes. His description is listed next to his image.

Name: Mumbo Jumbo

Current Status: Vigilante

Height: 6ft 5in

Age Range: Young Adult

Priority: Low

Power: Explosive Weaponization, Blood Manipulation.

Ren's stomach sinks. He knows that name all too well. It's a vigilante he had met once before, during one of his first missions as a hero. They had worked together to stop a small-time thief and had a good laugh after it was said and done, the vigilante "escaping" before he could "arrest him".

Mumbo Jumbo was a bit of a legend among the lower-tier heroes and vigilantes. Known for his explosive entrances and dramatic exits, his antics had earned him a reputation for being more of a nuisance than a threat, despite his very real and powerful abilities.

Scary powers too, blood manipulation made almost every hero terrified of him. But he almost never used it, Ren got that much from him. It felt too overwhelming to have that much power over someone, being able to manipulate them to his every wish.

He only used it when he was scared or in danger, close calls with heroes and police usually. And it never caused lasting damage.

The Council leader clears his throat, bringing the room back to the present. "It appears that Mumbo Jumbo has been involved in an incident that has caused significant damage to heroes and multiple civilian injuries. We have reports of a chemical explosion, with three heroes and several civilians in hospital care, our own healers turning away due to the severity of the chemical burns."

Ren's eyes are still on the screen as it changes.

Name: Mumbo Jumbo

Current Status: Villain

Height: 6ft 5in

Age Range: Young Adult

Priority: High Until Further Inspection

Power: Explosive Weaponization, Blood Manipulation.

The room fills with whispers as the Council leader's words sink in. Ren's eyes widen, disbelief etched on his face. The very idea that the laid-back, quirky Mumbo Jumbo, who was always living up to his name, could be involved in such a heinous act is almost too much to fathom.

It's exactly how it felt when Zed became a priority villain. Knowing what he does, he stays apprehensive about this. He's waiting for a true sign of malice from the ex-vigilante, instead of the out of proportion displays the committee will show to villainize him.

Until he sees anything but a scared and misunderstood person who made a mistake, costing them more than they were ready for, he's not going to treat him any different than what he's experienced.

He's made that mistake before with Zed, and now, he knows that Doc, and most definitely Skizz, will have the exact same thought process.

He knows better than to trust his bosses. They work for themselves before they'll ever work for the city. They take any chance they get to make heroes seem more important and more needed by blowing situations with villains and vigilantes far out of proportion.

The story of Zed helping Skizz from what feels like decades ago never came to fruition. That way, no one would see how human villains actually are.

Ren's mind races with memories of that one night, the way Mumbo Jumbo's eyes had lit up with a child-like excitement when they had captured the thief. How he had talked about his love for explosions and his dreams of becoming a professional technician if he didn't have his powers. It just didn't add up.

The Council leader continues, "We need all heroes on high alert. This incident may just be the beginning of something more sinister. We must work together to ensure the safety of this city. This villain's powers put it at high priority until it becomes a less active threat. We're hoping it'll just retire after the pressure but we have suspicion that it will continue this line of villainy."

"It." Ren mutters, just quiet enough for only Cherri to hear. Despite her much different thought process, she definitely seems off-put by the blatant dehumanizing in just the words they choose to say.

Martyn finds his way to his friends and immediately takes note of the screen displays. Listening as Cherri near silently fills him in, not having to speak very loud at all considering the other Brit's powers.

When she finishes, Ren adds his own personal notes to the mix. This includes the dehumanizing, the out of character displays from the ex-vigilante, and the thoughts to keep an open mind about him until clear evidence of him being more than human, capable of fear and mistakes.

"Got it," Martyn whispers, nodding solemnly as he looks at the screen. Ren can see the wheels turning in his friend's head, the same doubt and skepticism reflected in his own eyes. "Honestly, if the committee said the sky was blue I'd still look up to check."

The Council leader starts to assign tasks, but Ren's focus is elsewhere. He's lost in thought, trying to piece together what happened. The Council's narrative doesn't sit well with him; something seems off. He can't shake the feeling that there's more to this story.

There are currently 5 heroes unaccounted for. The latter 3 most likely the ones injured because the first 2 that come to mind are Scar and Grian.

If the number 1 and 2 heroes were injured or involved in this, the committee would have undoubtedly said so. If those 2 were injured, Doc and Ren, 2 of the closest to the top of the roster besides them would have to take more shifts and patrols. They 100% would be informing everyone that a former vigilante injured the top 2 heroes.

So? Where are they?

Chapter Text

"What am I going to do Grian!? I'll have to quit! Or- or- change my name!" Mumbo's frantic rambling and pacing are 2 of many indicators of his distress. More being his quick breathing, his wide eyes, his unkempt state, his usual British voice having gone up several octaves.

Grian frowns, sitting on the couch, his eyes never leaving the TV as he speaks calmly to the taller man, trying desperately to calm his roommate. "Mumbo, you know it wasn't your fault. You're not a villain."

"WELL NO ONE ELSE KNOWS THAT, GRIAN!" The taller Brit's panic rising more by the second, still not even changed out of his gear.

"Mumbo, if you didn't do it on purpose, then it's just a mistake, you know that," Scar's voice is firm but calm. "We're going to figure this out."

Mumbo Jumbo's eyes dart around the room, searching for any way out of the situation. He's a towering figure in the dimly lit living room of his apartment, his costume a stark contrast to the worn-out couch they've had for years. "But what if it's not enough? What if they don't believe me?"

"Then it won't be you they won't believe, it'll be me and Scar. We'll go public to explain it right and, I mean, we're the most popular heroes in the city, we're loved by the public, of course they'll believe us!" Grian says with a hint of hope in his voice.

"But what if they don't? What if we tell them and it makes it worse? What if people think we're hiding something?" Mumbo's panic is palpable, his hands visibly shaking. "What if they find out I'm your roommate and then find out who I am and put pieces together andIgetarrestedandneverseeyouguysagainand-"

"Mumbo." Scar's unusually firm voice cuts off the trembling nerves in his friend's head. "We'll work through this one day at a time. And-"

This time, Scar's the one cut off. The sharp knock on the door sends Mumbo spiraling again, having to be consoled by Grian as Scar gets the door.

Out of all the people he was expecting to see, Zedaph wasn't one of the first few.

Initially he's shocked to see a villain at his door, then he's surprised it's the only other villain in the city that was forcefully rebranded. Then it's how he got the information he clearly has to know where Mumbo would be and who he is because that's no doubt who he's there to talk to.

"Truce?" The first word out of his mouth to the number 1 hero, keeping an edge about him incase it immediately goes south.

"I have so many questions I doubt you will answer, sure." Scar responds, clueless to the ways of the villain but let's him in anyway. "We have a guest." Is all he says as he leads the Brit in.

Zedaph looks around, taking in the state of the apartment. It's clear they weren't expecting company, especially not the kind with a bounty on their head. Grian's eyes narrow but he doesn't move from Mumbo's side, protective instincts kicking in.

"What do you want, Zed?" Grian asks, his voice a mix of suspicion and weariness, though not moving to anything threatening.

"I heard about the incident," Zedaph says, his eyes on Mumbo, who has gone eerily still in Grian's embrace. "I'm here to speak with the man of the hour, figure he could use a conversation with someone experienced in the field of forced rebranding."

Mumbo's eyes widen further as he looks up at Zedaph, the realization dawning on him. This villain had once been a vigilante too. If anyone understood what he was going through, it would be Zed.

"Wait, how did you know where I would be?" Mumbo's voice is a hoarse whisper, fear and hope tangled together.

"I have ways to figure things out better and easier than the hero committee does, just don't tell them that." Zedaph says with a head tilt in place of a wink, taking a seat opposite to Mumbo as the 2 heroes give the others a little more than a glance before letting them talk alone.

Grian nods, though he's still eyeing the villain like a hawk watching a snake. "Alright, we'll stay in the kitchen if you need anything just scream." He says, pulling Mumbo into a hug before letting go.

"Thanks," Mumbo whispers, his eyes never leaving Zed's.

Zedaph's gaze is intense, but not unkind. He can see the fear in Mumbo's eyes, the same fear he had felt when he was first labeled a villain. "I know you didn't mean for this to happen," he says, his voice soothing. "But you have to be smart now, Mumbo. The Council and public won't be as understanding as your friends are."

Zed pulls down his goggles, leaving them around his neck to give the new villain a little more to trust.

"Wait- you're-?" Zed brings a finger to his lips to quiet Mumbo as he is so easily recognized by his public appearance.

"Kinda hard to miss me." Zed shrugs. "But we're not here to talk about who I am, but rather, what I can do to help you."

Mumbo Jumbo looks at him with a mix of curiosity and hope. "How can you help me?"

"Well, on the way over here, I was speaking to some friends of mine. Close friends I trust with everything I have. I hope you don't mind that they are able to hear our conversation, given what I'd like to ask." Zedaph says calmly, reaching into his pocket to pull out a small, sleek device.

Mumbo nods, his eyes darting to the object and then back to Zedaph's. "Who are they?"

"That, is something you'll find out if you agree to the offer I'm giving you." Zedaph holds up the device, a small black square with a glowing red dot on the top.

Mumbo's eyes widen further, his curiosity piqued. "What is it?"

"Right now, I'm offering you a spot on my little team. We work together to support each other and fight the major threats to the city before the public even really know about them." Zedaph explains, placing the device on the coffee table between them. "But we're not just about fighting. We're about truth and justice, like you, and we know how the Council works. They're going to use you as a scapegoat for whatever narrative they're trying to spin. With us, you won't have to hide anymore. We'll help you clean this up as much as we can, even providing proper immunity from a select few heroes apart of the group."

Mumbo's mind races, his heart thumping in his chest. He's heard the rumors about Zed's group, a bunch of rogue vigilantes working outside the Council's jurisdiction. He's always wondered if they were just as crazy as the Council painted them, but now, they're starting to seem like a beacon of hope. "I just really can't hide anything from my roommates. I'll spill everything in an instant."

Zedaph nods, knowing just what to respond. "They know about. They've known for a while now. And while they don't know everyone apart of our group or most of the identities within it, they know what we do together is greater than the current corrupt hero committee."

Mumbo looks at him skeptically. "You can trust me with this?"

"Yup. And you won't have to reveal anything to the group. We do that ourselves as we add people we trust. We know each other's names, faces, personalities after a while. We become a secure group, and there's no doubt in my mind youll fit in. I honestly have no idea what happened tonight, but your record has always been clear." Zedaph says, leaning back in the chair, his hands steepled in thought.

"What if I've fought with one of the heroes or villains there? Wouldn't that be awkward?" Mumbo asks, his voice still a whisper.

"Trust me, we have a villain and a hero that have fought a dozen times. Inside our walls, we're like family. Dysfunctional or not." Zedaph chuckles, trying to ease the tension in the room. "But let's get serious for a second. If you come with me, you're not just joining a team, you're joining a cause. One that questions the very fabric of what it means to be a hero in this city. We're not like the Council; we don't force labels or narratives. We let actions speak for themselves."

Mumbo's heart skips a beat. The offer is tempting, but he's always been one to follow the rules. "But if I join you, doesn't that make me a villain in their eyes?"

Zedaph smirks. "In their eyes? Perhaps. But in your heart, you know who you are. And we're not just about fighting. We're about truth, justice, and doing what's right, even if it means going against the grain." He leans in closer. "Think about it. If you stay, you're at their mercy, living a lie. If you come with me, you'll be part of something bigger, something that actually makes a difference. It let's me be the hero I wanted to be."

Mumbo's eyes flicker to the TV, where the news is still playing in the background. The Council's spokesperson is giving a dramatic speech about the dangers of Mumbo Jumbo, calling for his immediate capture. Grian and Scar watch from the kitchen, their expressions a mix of concern and anger.

Mumbo's black eyes land on the 2 most important things to him. "Can I keep them?" An underlying worry that he might have to leave his best friends behind to try and clear his records of his mistakes.

"Of course, everything in your personal life can stay exactly as it is. We just might need to call you in for backup once we get back in to fighting crime. And we'll steal you for a few meetings every once in a while." Zedaph says with a wink. "But your life is your own outside of our operations. I mean, it's never stopped me from being a news caster, has it?"

Mumbo's eyes dart to the TV again, then to the device on the table, and finally back to Zedaph. He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"I'm in."

Chapter Text

The words come out of Mumbo's mouth before he can even fully process his decision. It's a leap of faith, one that could either save him or be his downfall. But with Zedaph's calm demeanor and the promise of a truth that resonates with his own beliefs, he feels a glimmer of hope for the first time since the incident.

Zedaph nods, a hint of satisfaction in his gaze. He presses the red dot on the device, and the room fills with a faint static before going silent again. "Good," he says, picking up the device. "Now, let's talk about what happened tonight. We need to get our story straight before the Council starts twisting it."

"You think you can come down to our base with me? There's a meeting happening in a few minutes. That's where you'll meet everyone." Zedaph says, slipping his goggles back on. "Might be pretty risky going out in your gear, if you're alright with it, it would be best to go without."

Mumbo nods, his costume feeling like a weight that's suddenly too heavy to bear. He quickly changes into street clothes and follows Zedaph out the door, his heart racing. The night air is cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of the apartment, but it feels like a slap of reality. This is his new life now, he thinks.

"So, tonight, you'll learn the name and face if almost everyone in our group. Two are pretty iffy with their identities but are really trustworthy guys. I think we have one and a half members not sowing up entirely." Zedaph says, his voice a low murmur as they navigate through the dark streets.

"You have half a person in your group?" Mumbo asks, raising an eyebrow as he tries to keep up with Zedaph's brisk pace. The alleyways are dimly lit, the occasional streetlamp casting long, eerie shadows on the walls.

"It's complicated," Zedaph laughs. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. You'll see."

They arrive at an unassuming abandoned store on the outskirts of the city, the kind of place that would be easy to miss if you didn't know what you were looking for. Zedaph leads Mumbo passes a boarded entrance, then down a narrow alleyway between two dumpsters. Open the back doors and down into the medical area for quick access.

Zed motions for Mumbo to stay back a bit as he goes in first, wanting to properly introduce him to the group already in the main room.

The room is filled with an assortment of gadgets and screens, a stark contrast to the dilapidated exterior of the building. The walls are lined with weapons and tech that Mumbo can't even begin to identify. A group of figures, some in costumes, not including Zed, 3 specifically, 3 heroes that Mumbo wasn't expecting. The rest, other than a silver-haired man are in casual wear.

"Alright everyone, I've got our new member!" Zedaph calls out, and the room goes silent.

Mumbo steps into the room, his heart racing as the eyes of the vigilantes turn towards him. He sees a mix of curiosity, skepticism, and a glimmer of recognition from some of them.

"So this is guy everybody's talking about?" Skizz smiles, trusting Mumbo enough already after working with Zed for so long.

Mumbo nods nervously, his eyes darting around the room. "Yeah, that's me."

Zedaph claps a hand on Mumbo's shoulder. "Everyone, this is Mumbo Jumbo. He's had a bit of a rough night, and we're going to help him sort things out."

"Should we start by introducing ourselves? Like last time?" Cleo asks, setting down a book.

Zed nods. "Makes it easier for everyone to get to know each other."

The group take their seats at their meeting table, Mumbo taking an empty chair and trying to get comfortable under all the attention he's getting immediately.

"I think it'll probably be hard to find someone he doesn't recognize once we say who we are." Bdubs says with a smirk, the room filling with a slight chuckle.

"None of us are what you would call, subtle, about anything." Etho adds, identified as the silver mask man.

"It's tradition at this point, I'm going first." Tango leans forward a little. "My name's Tango, I'm the vigilante named DeepFrost." He says, a small smile playing on his lips. "When I'm out of costume, just call me Tango."

Mumbo nods, his eyes wide as he looks at Tango. "It's nice to finally meet the man behind mask," he says, his voice shaking slightly. "I was definitely expecting more blue than red and yellow, though."

Tango laughs, the sound echoing through the room. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

"Alright, I'm Scott. I'm the vigilante impulse, out of costume, just call me impulse unless we're talking with other people." The dark-haired man says, his eyes flickering to Zed on his left and Skizz past Tango on his right. "Who's next?"

"I'll go. I'm Andy, you can call me Skizz all the time. I'm a hero, Skizzleman." He slides up the mask on his head and sits it on the table in front of him.

Mumbo nods, a small smile on his face. He glances around the table, trying to keep the tremor from his appearance.

"I'm Etho. Vigilante." The fox hybrid says simply, not bothering to explain his lack of movement to reveal anything about himself. No one questions it, so Mumbo won't either.

"I'm the vigilante B00100, call me Bdubs." The shorter man leans forward against the table, obviously suppressing a yawn. This gets Tango bugging him about his bedtime and a stern stare from the other.

"My name's Cleo, I'm the villain Arson, call me Cleo outside of gear." Cleo says, her eyes meeting Mumbo's with a warmth that surprises him. "And I'm also a healer, so if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

He can't help but feel like he's being reassured by a teacher but it makes him feel a little more comfortable.

"I'm Ren, a hero, you can call me Ren all the time." Ren says, his voice firm and strong, his dog-like wondering eyes meeting Mumbo's with a nod after taking off his glasses.

"DocM77, call me Doc, I'm a hero. Nice to meet you Mumbo." The tall, ravenette man says with a robotic arm clicking slightly.

"And you've already met, me. We do have one member you'd have to meet not currently here. That would be Gemini, a vigilante. She typically goes by Gem." Zedaph says, looking around the room.

"I guess you can just call me Mumbo. For emergencies, though, my name's Oliver Brotherhood." The group nod in acknowledgment, letting the topic shift.

"And we're here to talk about you." Ren says, leaning back in his chair. "What happened tonight, Mumbo? In as many or few details as you'd like."

Mumbo swallows hard, trying to organize the jumbled mess of the evening in his mind. "I was busting some sort of potion trafficking deal from these guys in black trading these vials of red liquid under an apartment complex. Things got heated, literally. I used my explosives what I thought was far enough away, just as a few heroes were showing up after Gri- um.. they were called in.. for suspicious activity. Apparently these things are really flammable, because one must have been open close to it and immediately exploded, causing a chain reaction of the rest of them. I swear, it was all an accident!"

The group exchanges glances, some nodding in understanding, others scribbling notes on a pad of paper. "Go on," Skizz prompts gently.

"I didn't get injured because of the way my gear is designed. I made it myself to absorb impact and protect from dangerous materials in air fields. Everyone else there wasn't so lucky."

Mumbo's eyes drop to the table, the weight of the evening's events settling heavily on his shoulders. "The only thing I could get myself to do was get out without causing more damage."

Cleo's gaze rests gently on Mumbo. "It's okay, we've all had days like that," she says softly, her voice filled with empathy. "But now we're here to help you through this."

Bdubs nods, his eyes narrowing in thought. "So, the Council's spin on this is that you're a villain now?"

Mumbo nods, his expression tightening. "They're saying I caused the explosion on purpose, that I've gone rogue." His jittery appearance adding an almost comical amount of irony. "And I don't know if you'll believe me when I say I'm not."

"Dude, you're a nervous wreck. Of course we believe you. You're apart of our group now. We trust you." Skizz says, his voice calm and steady, trying to reassure Mumbo.

Tango nods in agreement. "Yeah, we've got your back, Mumbo. We're all just trying to make the world a better place in our own way, you know?"

Mumbo looks around the table, his eyes searching for any hint of doubt. But all he finds is a tableau of understanding and support. The room feels less tense, the air thick with a sense of camaraderie.

"We're going to work this out. And until we do, you have immunity from everyone in this group for as long as we work together." Ren says, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Mumbo looks around the table, his eyes wide with hope. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice barely audible. The weight on his shoulders feels slightly lighter, and for the first time in what feels like hours, he takes a full, deep breath. "You have no idea how much I needed this company."

"Well, some of us do. We understand what this is like, more than you realize." Zedaph says with a knowing smile, his sheepish nature giving way to a seriousness that commands the room. "We've all had our run-ins with the Council, and we've seen the lengths they'll go to control the narrative."

The room nods in unison, the shared experiences of being misunderstood and vilified by the very institution they once trusted. It's a bond that runs deeper than their costumed personas, and it's clear that each of them has a story to tell.

"But we can't just ignore what happened. We need to come up with a plan," Impulse says, his horns twitching slightly. "We can't let the Council keep lying to the people and controlling the narrative."

"Agreed," Ren says, his tail swishing behind him. "But we have to be careful. We can't just go in guns blazing. We need intel, a strategy, and we need to keep Doccy safe from them."

"Who's Doccy?" Mumbo asks, curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar name.

"You'll find out soon enough." Zed brushes off the question, ready to call it a night. "Everyone ready to call it a night? It's past 3 already."

Everyone (bar Mumbo) looks expectantly at Bdubs who's very nearly asleep on Etho's shoulder.

"What?!" He jolts up suddenly, his eyes wide.

At his disoriented look from being up far too late, everyone in the room laughs, Tango and Cleo both cackling as he looks around and asks if there was something he needed to answer.

"Let's get you to bed before you pass out in a stairwell again." Etho stands with his arm around Bdubs's shoulders as they walk out. Barely audible at this distance is Bdubs complaining about Etho bringing up such an old story.

Mumbo watches the scene with a smile, feeling a strange sense of belonging amidst these misfits. "Thanks for everything, guys. I really mean it," he says, his voice a little less shaky.

"No problem," Impulse says with a grin. "It's what we do. Now, let's get you set up with our gear. After that, we'll get you home."

Mumbo nods, his eyes scanning the room. "I appreciate that."

Impulse and Zed bring him into a side room filled with lights and technology. "Don't touch anything, Doc will saw your arm off."

Mumbo nods, a bit nervously, taking in the sight. "I don't think I could even if I wanted to, it's all so high-tech." He says, his eyes wide. "I'm used to working with more of the older models of things. This is all so futuristic."

Impulse chuckles, "I bought most of this with Skizz's money and Doc's been working on stuff in here."

Once Mumbo has everything he needs, Impulse heads home with Tango and Skizz. Leaving just Zed and Mumbo to go.

Zedaph leads Mumbo through the streets of the city, his mind racing with thoughts of his newfound alliance and the challenges ahead. The cool night air brushes against his face as he follows Zedaph's quick pace, his mind still reeling from the evening's revelations.

"So, what's the deal with the Council?" Mumbo asks, breaking the silence as they navigate the dimly lit streets. "They've never been like this before."

"Oh they have. They've been corrupt for a long time. It just takes a skilled eye to see it." Zedaph says, his eyes scanning the rooftops out of habit.

Mumbo's eyes widen. "But we're the heroes. Aren't we supposed to trust them?"

"I trust those who earn it. Actual heroes tend to earn that, like Skizz. I don't trust big business corporations that refer to a human being as 'it'." Zedaph says, his voice carrying a hint of bitterness. "But let's not get into that right now. We've got your homecoming to worry about."

"They refer to people as objects?" Mumbo's voice is filled with horror.

"They did today, at least. Either that or Ren, Skizz, and Doc are all mistaken about hearing them call you 'it' through the whole meeting." Zedaph says with a shrug, his voice holding a hint of anger.

Mumbo frowns, trying to process this new piece of information. "That's messed up."

"It's dehumanizing. They hope that if enough people see villains as objects, the less they'll care when they eventually starting taking them out. I've heard rumors about the committee plotting to dehumanize villains enough to kill them without the public caring." Zedaph says, his eyes narrowed.

Mumbo's stomach turns at the thought. He's seen the Council's ruthless side before, but never anything this extreme. "Why would they do something like that?"

"Power. They want our city to eventually be a utopia. Where everyone listens to them. If those that oppose them are gone after the public are shown how much heroes are needed and should be funded more, they'll have everything they need to run the city as a perfect world with enforcement to keep people in line." Zedaph's words are a harsh reality check for Mumbo, his eyes reflecting the anger burning in his heart. "I do a lot of thinking instead of sleeping."

Mumbo nods, trying to digest the information. His mind swirls with the implications, making him feel even more conflicted about his place in this world of heroes and villains.

The world is so much bigger than him, but tonight, he felt dead center in a world where he used to fly under the radar. He wishes he could go back to his simple vigilante life, but knowing what he does now, brings a whole lot more to fight for.

Chapter Text

"It's a little odd, having a villain walk me home." Mumbo says, trying to lighten the mood.

Zedaph smirks, "You think I'm going to turn on you now?"

Mumbo chuckles nervously, "Well, I wouldn't put it past you guys."

Zedaph stops, turning to face Mumbo. "Look, we're not all monsters. Sure, we might not always be on the right side of the law, but we're not the ones trying to control people's lives. We're just trying to live our own in the only way we can."

"I guess it's all just so new. Getting all friendly with heroes and villains isn't what I'm used to. Well, other than.. y'know. I feel very vulnerable around people I've learned not to trust." Mumbo says, his voice filled with the uncertainty of his new reality.

Zedaph nods, his sheepish smile fading into something more serious. "It's a tough pill to swallow, but you're not the only one who's been through this. We've all had our moments of doubt and confusion. I was lucky enough to have someone willing to become a villain with me, it's the least I can do to give you some comfort with this."

They walk in silence for a moment, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the alley walls. Mumbo's thoughts are racing, trying to piece together this new puzzle. He's never had friends like this, a mix of heroes and villains and vigilantes who seem more like a family than anything else.

But another question bugs him quite a bit.

"How have you not gotten recognized yet? I mean, you don't hide much of your appearance and your face is literally all over the city." Mumbo asks, breaking the silence as they walk.

Zedaph laughs, a sound that seems almost too genuine for the villainous persona he puts on. "You'd be surprised how much a pair of goggles can change a person. Plus, when you're not expecting someone to be right in front of you, it's easy to miss the obvious."

"Has anyone ever questioned it? Or does everyone just think it's common to be a sheep hybrid with blonde hair?" Mumbo asks, curiosity piqued by the revelation.

"A couple people have. Luckily, it only takes a second for me to make them blissfully unaware." Zedaph says with a smirk, tapping the swirling glass hiding his eyes. "Plus, I'm like a comic book character. I hide one part of myself and I'm completely unrecognizable as a very public figure."

Mumbo nods, understanding the logic but still slightly skeptical. "So, what happens now? With me being... well, not exactly a villain but not quite a vigilante anymore either."

"We'll figure that out. Just lay low for now and let our group and your roommates work out some things." Zedaph says, his tone reassuring as they near Mumbo's apartment.

Mumbo nods, his grip tightening on his bag of new gear. "Okay, I trust you guys."

They near the apartment in one of the more high-ends of the city as both his roommates make a lot of money as the top 2 heroes. Zed's area of town isn't quite as nice, but it's not a bad spot. The Hermit living in the worst end compared to the others is Bdubs, constantly living paycheck to paycheck when he gets busy. Zed really isn't a fan of thar part of town considering that most of what his friend has needs to be locked in a safe so it isn't stolen.

The 2 walk up to the door and Mumbo knocks after realizing he forgot his keys.

Grian is almost immediately opening the door, most likely having been up waiting for his friend to get back.

"I told you I'd get him back safe." Zedaph says, his voice low as Grian's eyes search Mumbo for injury.

Grian's eyes widen and he pulls Mumbo into a tight embrace, the tension in his body visible. "You're okay," he whispers, his voice filled with relief.

"I'm fine, G. Just like I always am. Thanks for everything, Zed. I'll see you around." Mumbo says, his voice muffled against Grian's hair as he leans down to return the hug.

Zedaph nods, giving him a knowing look. "Remember what I said. Stay safe and keep your head down." With that, he turns and heads back into the night, leaving Mumbo and Grian standing in the doorway.

Grian pulls back, his eyes searching Mumbo's face. "What happened? Tell me everything."

"It's all pretty confidential, G. But I think I trust them. I know them all pretty much by face and name. They all seem really willing to help and listened to my side of the story. They didn't act like they had any doubts at all." Mumbo says, his voice filled with a mix of wonder and fear as he steps into the comfort of his home.

Grian nods, his eyes still searching Mumbo's for any signs of trouble. "I'm just relieved you're okay. Scar and I have been worried sick. We had no idea where you were being brought or if you were going to be okay." He says, his arms tightening around Mumbo for a brief second before letting go.

Mumbo nods, "I know, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you guys." He steps inside, the warmth of the apartment wrapping around him like a blanket.

Scar emerges from the living room, his eyes red from lack of sleep. "Mumbo! Are you okay?" He asks, rushing over.

Mumbo nods, feeling the weight of their concern. "I am, thanks to Zedaph. He got me there and back safe."

Grian nods, his gaze still lingering on Mumbo. "We'll talk about it more in the morning. Get some rest," he says, his voice gentle.

Mumbo nods, his eyes already drooping with fatigue. He heads to his room, feeling the comfort of his own bed for the first time in what feels like an eternity. As he falls asleep, he can't help but think about his newfound allies.

Can he really trust them? Can he really trust anyone?

Chapter Text

"Pleasepleaseplease?" Martyn is tugging at his boss's arm like a toddler, the hero in question laughing at his friend's antics.

"If it's what you want," Ren says, his smile wide and genuine. "But only because it's you."

"Thank you, thank you!" Martyn practically jumps up and down. "I'm going to be the greatest hero in the world!"

"Does this mean you'll actually settle on a design for an outfit? And will I have to be PR for both of you idiots?" Cherri doesn't even look up from her spot on the couch in their lobby, having heard Martyn begging for Ren's mentorship for the last 45 minutes.

"Cherri, don't be so negative. This is going to be epic," Ren says, nudging Martyn towards the elevator. "Besides, I can't think of anyone better to handle our PR than you."

"You're just saying that because you know I'll keep you two from causing an international incident," Cherri replies with a roll of her eyes, though the smile playing at the corners of her mouth betrays her amusement.

"I probably do need to hire more help, though. But getting you and Martyn was a terrible headache of interviews and reports. I'm probably just going to hire the first person that responds." Ren says, his voice a mix of joking and seriousness.

"I'm flattered," Martyn says with a grin. "But I think you're selling yourself short. You're pretty good at this whole hero gig."

Cherri huffs. "You're only saying that because you don't get the things I need to sort before going public."

Ren chuckles, "Maybe. But you're the best at keeping us out of trouble. Though more help is actually due."

The elevator doors slide open and Ren leads Martyn down a hallway lined with various doors, each leading to their individual living spaces and labs that are hardly used. Ren's is the last one on the left, a sleek metal door with a biometric lock.

"Are you actually going to teach me how to be a hero?" Martyn's eyes are wide with excitement as they step into Ren's well-organized living space. Posters of historical heroes and blueprints of various gadgets adorn the walls.

Ren opens a filing cabinet and pulls out a few pages of blank documents. "Right after you fill this out."

"What is it?" Martyn asks, taking the papers.

"Liability forms," Ren says with a straight face. "We wouldn't want any accidents to be traced back to negligent training, now would we?" His tone indicates a slight disdain for the first few sheets of paper. "And these," his tone brightens back up, "are the wavers for official hero registration and mentor request forms."

"Oh boy," Martyn says, his enthusiasm slightly dampened by the sight of the paperwork. "Do I have to tell them everything?"

"Just about." Ren chuckles, handing Martyn a pen. "They need to know what they're getting into. And I need to know you're serious about this." He sits on the edge of his single unused bed, watching as Martyn eagerly starts filling out the forms.

The living space is simple but functional, a stark contrast to the plain-modern lobby room they had just come from. The walls are lined with bookshelves filled with comics and textbooks, a clear indication of Ren's dual life as a hero and a scholar.

"So, where do we start?" Martyn asks, looking up from the forms with a hint of apprehension.

Ren claps his hands together. "First, we need to figure out what kind of hero you want to be. What are your strengths? Your weaknesses?"

Martyn thinks for a moment, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for inspiration. "Well, I'm pretty good at trivia... and I can run fast?"

Ren laughs at the poor attempt before rattling off the strengths and weaknesses he sees in his friend. "Strengths, hearing, wit, physical combat. Weaknesses, sight, agility, and easily influenced."

"How can you be so sure?" Martyn asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I've worked with you everyday for years now, Martyn. Since I returned to being a hero from my break. And I've known since college, pretty much."

Ren's voice is filled with fondness as he reminisces, the room momentarily filled with the warmth of their shared history. "I know your abilities almost as well as I know my own."

"Okay, okay," Martyn says, scribbling down the words on the paper. "But what about a code name? And a cool outfit?"

"Cherri is most definitely making your outfit. Your name can be anything from a nickname, like mine, to something completely different." Ren muses, pondering over the possibilities. "But it has to be something that fits your persona, something that strikes fear into the hearts of the villains or gives hope to the people. In other words, make it recognizable."

"Okay, how about... 'inthelittlewood'?" Martyn suggests. "A play on my last name and pretty catchy."

Ren nods, scribbling it down on a sticky note. "It's definitely got a ring to it. But remember, a good hero name is more than just catchy. It's your brand, your identity. Think about what you stand for. You got to be sure its what you want so that when you're all big and famous it's what you want to be called."

"I think it fits well enough. I think I'm happy with it." Martyn says, a hint of excitement in his voice as he signs the last of the forms. He hands them back to Ren, who quickly glances over them before nodding in approval.

He grabs himself a pen, running through the pages before he gets to the mentorship of a hero. Ren signs his signature onto the line, sealing the deal on his mentorship.

"Alright, let's get started," Ren says, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "First, we're going to need to work on your combat skills. I can't have you out there getting beat up by a bunch of thugs because you didn't know how to dodge a punch."

"We haven't even turned in the paperwork and you're already planning training?" Martyn sighs as he's handed back his forms, stepping out of the room and back to the elevator.

"Why wait?" Ren grins as they ascend back to the lobby. "Besides, I've got a feeling we're going to need all the help we can get soon. Plus, it'll be fun to get to patrol with you after you're cleared for it."

The doors open to the lobby and Cherri looks up from her spot, setting down her book. "You're both alive, I take it?" she deadpans.

Ren laughs, "Barely, but we're getting there." He claps Martyn on the shoulder, who rolls his eyes.

"Is it official? Are you actually going to teach this train wreck to be a hero?" Cherri asks, her eyes on the forms in Martyn's hand.

"Train wreck? Excuse you, I payed half your rent for 6 months when we started working together." Martyn says, sticking his tongue out at her.

"That doesn't mean you're less of a train wreck."

"Well you're more of a train wreck." Martyn grumbles, still filing through the paperwork he holds to fidget with.

"Let's not start a petty argument. We have work to do," Ren says, his eyes focused on the tasks ahead. He grabs a duffel bag from behind the couch and tosses it to Martyn. "Here, you're going to need this."

The blonde Brit nearly falls back with the force. "What's in here? Bricks?" He jokes, looking into the bag that is obviously too heavy for his own good.

"It's my training stuff. I don't need most of it anymore after my relearning in the field, so most of it will be yours" Ren says with a knowing smile. "Don't worry, it's not bricks. Just some gear to get you started."

They head out into the night, the air cool against their skin. Ren leads the way, his movements smooth and silent. Martyn tries to mimic his friend's grace but ends up stumbling over his own feet. "You're going to have to work on that stealth," Ren says without turning back, his voice filled with amusement.

"Well, it's your fault for making me carry all your shit." Martyn grumbles, but he's smiling too, the excitement of the night ahead of them too palpable to ignore.

"Fine, I'll help." Ren rolls his eyes, plucking the paperwork from Martyn's hand and backing into a room labeled 'Requests and Forms' conveniently. "Stay here."

"But-" Martyn starts to protest, but Ren is already gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

For five minutes he stands there, struggling with the increasingly heavy bag that most definitely is full of lead.

"I'm back," Ren says, re-entering the lobby. "Let's head to the training room." He effortlessly takes the bag out of Martyn's hands, his own freed after turning in Martyn's hero request forms.

For a moment, Martyn is completely stunned by how he so effortlessly carries the bag. Then he notices the slight red glow around it and feels a lot less upset.

They make their way to the training room, which is located in the basement of the building. It's a sprawling space filled with every conceivable type of training equipment, from a punching bag that can simulate the weight of a car to a full-sized obstacle course that would make any ninja sweat.

Ren sets the bag in a free spot in a corner, having showed up at the perfect time so there were very few already in the room. He chucks a few things at Martyn which he catches, looking at each and grows increasingly confused.

"What do I need a black fabric face mask for?" He turns the fabric in his hand.

"That, is for breath training. Learning to control your breathing and being able to thrive on less." Ren explains, pulling out a pair of gloves and tossing them to Martyn. "And these are for the bag over there."

Martyn looks at the slightly intimidating piece of equipment, shoving his fear into his stomach. If he's going to be a great hero, he'll have to be as confident in his fighting as he is with his wits.

"So this is the training montage?"

"Yes, Martyn. This is the training montage."

Ren smirks as he watches his friend's face light up with excitement. The training montage is a staple in any hero origin story, and Ren is more than ready to turn Martyn into a force to be reckoned with.

He schools Martyn on more of the basic training and drills and preparation. Hours go by, Martyn's shift ends but he stays, continuing to practice under Ren's experienced eyes.

"Alright, that's enough for today," Ren says after Martyn lands a particularly wobbly punch on the bag. "Learning to fight tired is important but not necessary right now. Endurance comes later." He hands Martyn a water bottle.

The room echoes with the sounds of his labored breathing as he take a breather. The sweat on Martyn's forehead glistens under the fluorescent lights, a testament to his determination. "Thanks, man. I've got a lot to learn," Martyn says, taking a swig.

"You're a really good fighter, you just need to learn how to focus your energy and gain more confidence." Ren says, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "And maybe not throw your entire body into every swing."

"Easy for you to say," Martyn mutters, taking a seat on the floor. "You've had powers your whole life that help with movement. I can hear good."

Ren isn't able to laugh or comment on how much Martyn is always downplaying himself and his powers. He would if there wasn't a giant crack spiraling in the supposedly bulletproof glass right next to his head.

Chapter Text

Usually, this would be concerning. The glass just a meter away cracking from the center outward, exactly eye-level with the hero.

And this situation most definitely falls into the usually category.

Ren's eyes narrow at the sound of the glass cracking, his instincts flaring. "What the..." He's on his guard in a flash, his hand reaching for Martyn to pull him away from the area. The glass explodes outwards, shards flying in a shower of danger.

He stands instinctively in-between the danger and his friend. His black boots adding a few inches of height on the other where as without, they're the same height. He uses the added height to cover his friend behind him.

He's a hero. He's trained for this.

Except, he's never actually dealt with a break-in at the tower before.

Let alone someone breaking the glass that is mandatory to being bulletproof.

Ren's heart races as he assesses the situation. "Go call a hero, Martyn," he orders, his voice shaky but calm. He takes off his glasses, his pupils dilating as he activates his powers, his hearing reaching out to detect any signs of life beyond the shattered glass. "Doesn't matter who. Just get anyone."

He dots blood from his cheek as Martyn doesn't dare argue or comment on the forced calm tone he has, despite the large pit of fear in his stomach.

He should have used his power to block the glass instead. He should have- nope! Nope. Not going on that road again. Danger is clearly imminent. He has no time to doubt himself.

Ren's eyes dart around the room, searching outside on the streets for any clue as to who or what caused the destruction. The silence is eerie, a stark contrast to the usual hum of the training room's machinery.

Despite being what they would vall the basement of the building, it's actually just the ground floor. Everything else is just much higher up and there isn't really a basement that isn't random storage.

The silence outside the room is suddenly broken by the sound of footsteps, two sets, heavy and deliberate, approaching from the direction of the elevator. Ren's enhanced hearing picking up the unmistakable sound of boots against concrete. He glances back at Martyn, who's being trailed by Scar.

"Heroes are on their way," Scar says, his voice taut with urgency and a confused, uncertain fear.

"Good," Ren says, his eyes never leaving the shattered glass. The sound of boots gets closer behind him as his allies get stand behind him.

He feels the familiar heat in his veins, welling under his palms, beating through his mind like his own drumming heart seems to be.

His powers are on direct standby, with nothing to aim for without an actual culprit.

"Who's coming?" Ren asks, his eyes still focused on the shattered glass.

"They dispatched Doc and G. They have a few others on the ready if someone is actually here to threaten the tower." Scar's voice is low, the glow of his eyes piercing through the shadows of the room. "What were You two still doing here anyway?"

Ren takes a shaky breath, still not turning away from the potential threat. "Martyn's going into hero training under my mentorship. I was staying after my hours to help him. I guess we got caught in whatever this is around the space between night shift heroes coming in and the day patrol clearing out."

The footsteps come closer, the tension thick in the air. Ren can almost feel the weight of his friends' concerns pressing against his back. The doors open, and two figures step out into the hallway. One of them, DocM, strides over to the group, the other, Grian, just trailing behind.

By now, Ren's palms are glowing red with the build up of his powers, nerves and anticipation.

"What's going on?" DocM says, his robotic arm scanning the room, looking for any signs of trouble.

Ren still hasn't moved at all since he sent Martyn for help. A crimson red line runs down his cheek. A different one from above his brow. He can't even feel the pain of either, let alone feel how much his hands are shaking.

He's fine. He has more than enough back-up. If someone attacked right now, he'd be just fine. But his own head is telling him that everyone else are what he needs to protect. A good trait in a hero until they would rather get themselves injured than need a friend to get in the fight.

"Someone broke the glass," Martyn says from his spot behind Ren, his voice quivering. "We don't know who."

"Or how. This stuff is supposed to be bulletproof." Ren adds, his voice tight, his eyes never leaving the shattered glass. "They've gotta be using something big. Or something really sharp. And I don't see anything big."

"But there is something sharp." Grian tentatively picks up what looks to be a regular household threading needle, on the end is a red string, tied and cut after a few inches.

Ren's eyes widen, "A...needle?" He takes the needle from Grian's hand, inspecting it closely. It's definitely not something that should have the capability to shatter such reinforced glass. "This isn't right," he murmurs to himself, turning it over in his hand.

"No, it's not." DocM says, stepping up beside him. "We need to find out who did this and why." When he glances at Ren's face for the first time after arriving, he's immediately concerned by the small cuts from the glass.

"We've got it," Ren says, turning to face his friends. He can feel the weight of their collective anxiety, but he forces a smile. "I'm okay, really. It's just a few cuts." He touches his face, and his hand comes away sticky with blood. Maybe he was a bit more injured than he realized.

Judging by the way Scar sucks in a breath as he sees him, both arms scraped in a few places, at least two places where the glass tore at his jeans, the blood dripped from a larger cut near his hairline. He was probably pretty hurt.

"I'll patch you up." Grian says, moving to the side to grab a first aid kit from the wall. He's one of those heroes that's surprisingly good at first aid despite his usual carelessness.

Ren nods, letting Grian work his magic. The pain is there but it's more of a buzzing than a sting so far. He's sure he won't have to wait long. By tomorrow he's going to wish he was still on his little adrenaline high.

As Grian works, his eyes flicker back to the shattered glass. "It's definitely not a typical break-in. It's too unfinished." He says, his voice tight. "No signs of actual entry, no culprit."

"Yeah, something's off," DocM agrees, his gaze scanning the room. "This is more like a message than an actual attack."

"The only evidence at all is that needle and string." Scar adds, more clueless than usual. "Does it mean anything to anyone?"

The room falls silent as they all ponder the question. Ren's mind races, trying to piece together any information he can. Who would do this? Why? And how did they manage to get so close without being caught?

Then, it clicks in Ren's mind.

String.

Something so simple. It can be used for lots of stuff. Repairing clothes or making something with fabric.

It can tie things up.

It can puppeteer things.

But her 'strings' Were always black. This is red.

Ren's main color is red.

It was directly eye-level to Ren. If there wasn't any glass, he would have been hit in the temple from where he was standing.

Now that he thinks about it, Zed was talking about finding an advertisement flyer pinned to his door by a needle with a bright, vibrant purple string tied to it.

This isn't a coincidence. It can't be.

She knew Ren would be staying late at the tower. And she knew Who Zedaph was and where he lived.

There was no way she wasn't out there, watching right now. She must be. If she knew Ren was staying late, she had to be just a few feet away.

Not to mention she was just toying with him and his friends. Just dropping hints that she knows everything about them.

Shewas playing with her food. And Ren was determined to show her why she shouldn't.

How she could be left hungry by letting her food get away after being too confident.

But if she's arrested, she'll rat out the identities of the rest of his group, no doubt if she knows.

She knows they lose either way.

So, maybe Ren will just have to get a little creative with his ways of dealing with the threat to not only his own life, but his close friends as well. He'll have to get a little colorful with how he handles this.

He glances over to Martyn, who is staring at the shattered glass with wide eyes. The new hero is definitely shaken up, but he's holding his ground. Good. Ren can't have him running scared when they're about to go into a battle they hadn't even anticipated.

A battle they still can't actually see.

"Everyone stay alert," Ren says firmly, his gaze flicking to the shattered glass. "We're not safe here."

"That's not ominous at all." Scar says, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he steps closer to the shattered glass. "What do you mean by that?"

Ren sighs, "It's a message, that's for sure. But from who, I'm not entirely certain."

With Grian, Martyn and Scar in the room, he has to be conscious of what he says. Especially if she's listening. But he shoots Doc a glance that tells him all he needs to know.

With some sort of mind-reading look, Ren wills Doc into scheduling an emergency meeting with the whole group, he separately messages Cleo to bring the very important toddler she has taken the responsibility of watching during the day. No where else will be safe for the child, might as well bring them to the meeting.

Grian finishes patching Ren up with the first aid kit, his hands moving deftly despite the tremble in them. His eyes never leave the shattered glass either. "We can't just sit here and wait for an outright attack," he says, his voice low but firm. "If they're gone, they're gone."

"But we can't ignore it," Martyn points out, his voice a little shakier than the others'. "It's like...they're watching us."

"Exactly." Ren nods, his eyes back on the shattered glass. "I really need to get home, though. My powers are way too spiked for waiting around." Ren emphasizes the white lie with a little more glow. Hoping he can get out with Doc and to the meeting.

"Alright," Doc walks over, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get you clocked out and I'll walk you home. Do you guys have it from here?" He looks back at the other three heroes.

"Me And G have got it covered. Martyn, you should head out too." Scar's voice demands the room exactly how it usually does. His voice is always given a great amount of respect from others, not because of his title, but because of how he's strived to earn that respect from the city throughout his entire hero carrier.

"Got it, see ya tomorrow boss man." Martyn gives Ren a look of upmost gratitude, thankful he's getting away from this incident without a scratch thanks to him. And a deeper gratitude for the mentorship he's offering.

Ren nods before turning to Grian and Scar, "Thank you, guys." He says, his eyes lingering on the shattered glass. "You guys call someone to fix that, yeah?" After a few nods, Ren and Doc take their leave.

Once they're a safe distance from the tower, Doc asks, "What's really going on?"

"For someone so smart you really can't put too many pieces together, can you, love?" Ren huffs with slight fondness despite everything, fidgeting with the end of a bit of gauze on his arm.

Doc raises an eyebrow at him, "You think it's someone from the Council?"

Ren shakes his head, "No, it's not them. This is more... personal." He grips the needle tightly in his hand, the red string wrapping around his finger. "It's someone we've fought before. I'll explain everything once we're at the meeting."

The two of them hurry through the streets, Ren's heightened senses scanning for any signs of danger. The cool evening air does little to ease the burning in his veins. He's eager to get to the base and strategize with the others. As they turn the corner, they see a flicker of movement from the rooftop. Ren's eyes narrow, his grip on the needle tightening.

They manage to get to the base, everyone else already there to bare witness to Ren's bandaged and on edge state.

The moment Ren walks in, everyone's eyes are on him, the room feels like it's spinning with the weight of everyone's gaze. They all knew something was wrong from the message, but none of them could have anticipated the gravity of the situation.

Zedaph's eyes widen when he sees the state of Ren's face, his heart skipping a beat. "What happened?"

Ren just sets the needle and thread down on the table, Zed immediately recognizing the similarities to the one he found on his door a week back.

"We're being watched," Ren says, his voice low but firm. "And I think it's time we take this threat seriously."

"You still haven't told us what happened to you." Tango's voice has an unusual amount of deep concern to it. "You look like you got hit by a truck and then bandaged up."

"It's a long story," Ren says, taking a deep breath. "But it's not just me. It's all of us." He glances around the room, meeting the eyes of his fellow vigilantes. The group is tense, their usual jovial banter absent as they wait for his words. "Simple explanation is that a window at the tower broke and I was next to it. This was the probable cause." He points back to the needle.

"A needle? A needle broke a window?" Etho's voice is filled with incredulity, his eyebrows furrowed as he leans in to inspect the crimson string and the tiny, insignificant-looking needle. "I literally found one just like this when I was leaving to get here. I put it in my pocket because I had nowhere else to put it."

There next to Ren's, he sets his own muted and dusty colored green thread tied to the same needle. "Actually, maybe that is a bit too similar looking. Like, that is almost exactly the same thing." He looks a little closer, skepticism quickly wavering.

"It's not just us," Ren says, his voice calm but the tension in the room thickening. "Everyone's been getting these. It's a message from The Puppeteer. She knows where we live, where we train, and where we work."

"I told you about the one I found a week ago. It's exactly like that." Zed leans back in his seat, nerves spiraling off of him.

Impulse looks at Skizz with a mix of fear and recognition, the taller speaking up after a minute. "I went in for a physical appointment two days ago and there were two needles just like that sitting on a chair in the waiting room. I remember pointing them out to Impulse because they were our colors. Blue and yellow."

The room feels both freezing with a cold sweat and burning from the terror. How much have they been getting clues that were just completely ignored?

"What does any of this mean?" Mumbo's voice cuts through the silence, his eyes on the needle and thread. "I'm still incredibly new to all this and it awful to follow along like this." He looks apologetic to the others, clearly just wanting to help but completely confused on what's going on. "Like, what does it mean if I got one but I have no idea who you're even talking about? I swear I saw something like this but white on the ledge of my widow before I went to bed last night."

The room share bated breath.

She knows Mumbo joined the group.

But how? How could she possibly be getting all of this information do soon?

"Impulse? Remember when we went into that building? Well, while we were looking around I found a prototype print of a technical frequency type thing. No idea what it does or if it has something to do with this but I have the pictures." Bdubs sets the older pictures of instructions for assembly and building projects in a prototype device on the table, mostly in front of Tango to see, while Cleo starts filling Mumbo in on all their troubles with the Puppeteer.

Tango's eyes light up as he looks through the images on the phone. "This is definitely some sort of frequency manipulation device," he says, his voice filled with excitement. "This could be how she's been keeping tabs on us. It's a frequency emitter that can be used for surveillance. Looks mostly like audio but on the prototype device, that fight there is definitely a camera. We definitely do not have the actual device here so that itself isn't the issue. She must be manipulating the tech we have around us for the data it stores about us.."

He looks through the building of the device again. "The camera and audio recording on the device itself must be a theft protocol. Or a bate for us, for giving this to us instead of the one we're looking for."

The room goes silent again as they all process this new information.

"So, she's using our own tech against us," Zedaph says, his voice cold. "That's clever. And incredibly concerning."

Ren nods, "We need to be more cautious. She's always been one step ahead, but this is... different."

"But what do we do about it?" Skizz asks, his concern etched into the lines on his face.

Ren's gaze flicks to the needle and thread. "We need to find out where she's broadcasting from. If we can pinpoint the source of these signals, we might be able to disrupt her surveillance and maybe even find out what she's planning next."

"But how do we do that?" Bdubs asks, his voice wavering.

Ren turns to Tango, his expression determined. "We need your expertise. Can you reverse-engineer the frequency she's been using? Maybe find a way to trace it back to her?"

Tango nods, his eyes never leaving the photos. "It's possible. But it won't be easy. She's got to be using some serious tech to bypass our security."

"My only worry is what she's going to do with the information she has. She seems like she literally knows everything by now. even is we catch her and arrest her, we're screwed if she decides to spill all our secrets." Skizz's voice is a mix of fear and frustration.

"Well, I guess special circumstances call for special solutions." Ren's voice pitches a little, a testament to what he means for the consequences. "Not everything can be solved easily and without someone sacrificing something. I'm here to make sure not a single one of us has to."

"Does that mean what I think it does, Ren?" Cleo looks almost surprised at the hero's bold and almost violent ideas to keep his friends safe.

"It means," Ren says, his eyes never leaving the needle, "We may have to get our hands dirty. But I'll be the one to do it."

"Ren. You're one of the only heroes here. You're not going to be the one to do it if that's the way it turns." Impulse's voice is firm, a clear challenge in his tone.

Ren looks at him, a sad smile playing on his lips. "And what if it's the only way?"

"I think anyone else here is more than capable, Ren. A hero should be the last option." Cleo chimes in. "You don't need to have that a part of your career. If a hero does it people will ask a lot more questions than if a villain does."

"But it's not just about me anymore. It's about all of us, and the people we care about. And I'll do whatever it takes to keep everyone safe." Ren's voice is unwavering, his eyes reflecting the gravity of his words.

"No."

At least 4 separate people chime in at once. They all agree that a hero would draw a lot more attention to the situation by getting their hands dirty than I higher ranked villain would.

"Look, we've all done things we're not proud of," Zedaph starts, his eyes dark. "But that doesn't mean we should just throw our morals out the window. We need to think strategically about this."

"Nah, my morals can go. I'll do it." Bdubs buts in, before adding, "if it comes to it... of course."

The room goes silent again, each of them weighing their words. They knew he wasn't actually joking, no matter how much his tone said he was, but none of them wanted to be the first to acknowledge it.

Finally, Ren speaks up. "Look, let's not jump to conclusions. Tango, can you work on tracking the signal? Maybe we can catch her before she does anything else."

Mumbo's eyes are locked up on the ceiling, leaning back with an uneasy tension that glows with the 'what did I sign up for?'.

Chapter Text

Tango spends the entire rest of the spent night and next morning trying to get through to something. Anything at all.

He can't find anything, through.

The pure frustration boils in his veins, threatening to burn everything in his still relatively new room to the ground.

Thankfully, most of it is pretty fireproof, but the heat's definitely getting a little much for even him to stand.

Not to mention the thin layer of smoke that's found it's way to the top of his room from all his heavy breathing.

Maybe not investing in a smoke alarm was a pretty solid idea anyway.

With a final frustrated noise, he turns from his desk and throws himself into bed. Angrily kicking at the blankets as he buries himself in the fireproof comfort.

He's boiling with anger and frustration at anything and everything with no idea what to do that will help himself or his friends.

He doesn't even know why he's so angry.

He's just so overwhelmed with stress that all he can process is a simple feeling like anger.

So, instead of getting much needed rest, he seethes at everything and anything at all.

Soon enough, Impulse is sent to check up on him.

He first came in around 6 after waking up, checked in with the already moderately angry Tango.

Now, he's a very angry Tango.

Skizz would have been the one to check in, but he smelled smoke and sent in the more heat resistant friend.

"Tango? Buddy? You doing okay?" Impulse's soft tone is met with an angry cat-like noise from the hot-headed roommate. "Okay. Just try and get some sleep, man."

It's almost funny how he's actually learned what most of Tango's angry sounds mean.

High-pitched sounds indicate more momentary rage or spikes in his anger or frustration and is usually not a very serious spike. Lower sounds are typically much more serious or threatening sounds out of more threatening situations of anger at someone. Typically that goes for fights with heroes, villains and the like. The former usually is used on friends or general situations.

The sound that comes from Tango now is definitely not a friendly one, but it's not threatening. It's just about on the cusp of the second category but is still too high to be ment as a threat.

Especially pointed at Impulse.

Impulse, who's been trying to get some rest, frowns, his tail swishing in annoyance. "Tango, you've been at it for hours. You're going to burn out, literally."

Tango rolls over, his eyes glaring at Impulse, "Do you know how much she's got on us? She could expose us all and then what? We're screwed. So, I'm going to keep looking until I find something."

Impulse nods, understanding the gravity of the situation. "But you can't do this alone. You need to rest, we'll figure it out together." He sits down on the edge of the bed, his yellow eyes filled with concern. "We're a team, remember?"

Tango sighs, his eyes finally meeting Impulse's. "Yeah, I know. It's just..." He trails off, the anger in his voice fading. "I'm just tired of feeling helpless."

He chooses not to mention that even the concept of being a team with anyone is not exactly something he's been used to for a while. Only really getting that comfort for the first time with his roommates and Zed a few years ago.

"You're not helpless, Tango. You have a lot of people around to support you and let you live easier. You've lived to help yourself for a long time. Not being able to get every answer at once doesn't make you helpless." Impulse pauses to let Tango process the words, making sure he understands them instead of just hearing them.

"Why don't I help you get back on track? Instead of finding out everything at once, let's focus on collecting the little information that leads to it. That way, it'll be easier to find through other sources."

Tango nods slightly, his shoulders relaxing. "Okay, fine. But I'm not giving up on finding her base." He says it as a declaration more than a statement, his eyes still holding the fire of determination.

"We'll get there." Impulse promises, placing a comforting hand on Tango's shoulder. "But we have to be smart about it. We can't let our emotions cloud our judgment."

He pokes Tango in his temple, playing it off as a teasing gesture but actually gages how warm his friend's skin is to the touch.

"Just sleep, okay? When you wake up, we'll get started right away." Impulse's voice is firm but gentle, his hand still on Tango's shoulder. "We're in this together."

Tango nods again, his anger slowly dissipating into exhaustion. He closes his eyes, and within minutes, his breathing evens out into the slow rhythm of sleep. Impulse watches him for a few moments before standing up and leaving the room, his own mind racing with thoughts of the Puppeteer and the danger she poses to their newfound family.

He makes himself his second cup of coffee and tells Skizz how Tango's doing.

Skizz looks over, his expression one of relief and concern. "Thanks for checking on him, Impulse. We're all feeling it, but Tango's always been the one to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders."

"I just wish he would stop stressing about doing everything himself. He's not alone anymore. He's got us." Impulse sighs, sipping his coffee.

"It's not simple. As much as we all wish it was. He's not used to being able to do something without it needing to he productive." Skizz's voice is filled with understanding as he looks over at Impulse. "Now that he isn't working, has an unwavering home, doesn't have to worry about money. He doesn't know what to do with himself."

Impulse nods, setting his coffee aside. "We'll need to be there for him, then. Show him that he doesn't have to do everything alone."

Skizz smiles gently. "We will. Just like he's always been there for us. But we need to take this slow for him. Give him some chores to be helpful? Ask him to run errands?"

Impulse nods thoughtfully. "Yeah, that's a good idea. Maybe it'll help him feel more useful without the pressure of solving everything."

"Alright. Once this whole life-as-we-know-it-on-the-line thing is over, we'll start that." Skizz's voice is gentle, but there's a hint of firmness there too. "For now, we all need to focus on the mission."

Impulse nods, his gaze turning towards the monitor showing the city's layout on the desk in the living room. "We'll keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Maybe she'll slip up and leave some clues."

Chapter Text

And slip up she did.

The next day, while out on patrol, Etho spots a peculiar pattern in the security footage he's been sifting through to fill his time. "Guys, I think I've got something." His voice crackles over the comms, urgent but measured.

After a few minutes, they're all together, making sure almost every piece of tech they have is completely off for the security of their meeting.

On the other ly tech powered on, Etho pulls up footage he's tracked from the last few night. Remarking how a certain area of rundown buildings, in the same area Bdubs got his makeshift doctor's appointment what feels like forever ago, had been experiencing strange effects of power surges and outages.

The area is marked an almost perfect circle, with a single building at the center, seemingly unaffected by the chaos around it. The building's lights flicker in an erratic pattern, unlike the others, which are either dead or pulsing erratically. It's like the heart of a disturbance in the city's electrical grid, beating to its own sinister rhythm.

"Looks like we might have a lead," Ren says, leaning in to study the map with a furrowed brow. "We need to check it out."

Now it just comes down to who was going to be the one to check in.

Bdubs, with his power of time manipulation, was a solid choice, but his recent health crisis and risk with using his powers made him less than ideal for the mission. Same with Skizz.

"I can go," Doc offers, his robotic arm flexing slightly. "I can handle myself in a fight, and if it's a trap, my tech manipulation might come in handy." Doc alludes to his little known power. Hardly ever getting the chance to use it as it's pretty short distance.

"Or we could go together," Mumbo suggests, looking around at the group. "It's safer that way, and we can cover each other's backs."

"I think sending three people is probably the best option. It gives us the security in numbers and it doesn't leave anything unprotected." Gem adds, her voice hinting at the excitement of a battle.

They quickly decide to send Tango, Doc, and Mumbo on the reconnaissance mission. Bdubs, Cleo, and Skizz will stay behind to watch over the base and keep an eye on any potential Council activity. Etho will continue to monitor the city's security feeds for more information. And the others are crucial for backup in case things go south.

The trio heads out, Tango dressed in his deep frost gear, Doc in his usual lab coat, and Mumbo wearing his outfit for the first time since being rebranded. His roomates were home but didn't question him about it, just hoping they wouldn't be called out to deal with him or see him on the news again.

The trio move swiftly through the city, sticking from alleyways to the rooftops to stay off the radar of security footage.

Tango's eyes scan the area, looking for anything that might be a clue to The Puppeteer's location. His heart races with anticipation and a hint of fear, his pyrokinetic power simmering just beneath the surface.

Mumbo, on the other hand, is a picture of calm.

Yeah, right.

He's shaking like a leaf. No idea what to expect from this, nor what he's looking for. Terrified that someone will recognize him with Doc and call to report him, terrified of whever this person is they're looking for, and terrified of making a bad impression on his first mission as a member of the team.

Doc is more focused, his mind racing with the potential for mechanical traps or devices that could be used against them.

The building in question looms ahead, a stark contrast to the chaos around it. It's an old factory, long abandoned and forgotten by the city's booming tech district. The three of them exchange a look, a silent acknowledgment that this could be the break they've been searching for.

Tango leads the way, his dark clothes and hood blending him with the shadows. Doc follows closely, his robotic eye scanning the perimeter for any signs of a trap. Mumbo, despite his nerves, holds his own, his eyes sharp and alert to the environment around them.

"Before we go in," Tango starts, keeping his voice low and his eyes still on the factory, "Mumbo, you might have to use your blood power thingy if things go south."

Mumbo nods, his heart racing faster than ever before. "Alright, I'll do my best."

They approach the factory, the air thick with the scent of burnt wires and stale dust. The door is surprisingly unlocked, swinging open with a low, tortured groan. Inside, the place is eerily quiet, save for the distant hum of machinery.

Doc's eyes and ears quickly adjust, letting him make out the sound of distant movement somewhere inside. Now he's got confirmation of something inside the building.

He points it out to Tango silently, who nods in understanding.

Mumbo's grip tightens on the handle of the door, his heart thumping in his chest. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

The inside of the factory is a maze of rusted machinery and tangled wires. The floor creaks beneath their feet as they tiptoe through the darkness, the occasional flicker from a faulty lightbulb casting eerie shadows across their path.

Tango admires the old machinery, seeing inside of rusted-through conveyor belts and places where the inside wires and bolts spill from its casing.

"This place looks like it hasn't been used in decades," he whispers, his voice echoing slightly in the vast, open space.

Mumbo nods, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of life. He's the newest member of the group and feels the weight of their trust in him. He's determined to prove himself.

As they venture deeper into the factory, the humming grows louder. It's an unsettling sound, not quite mechanical, not quite organic. It's as if the very air is vibrating with a malevolent intent. The three heroes move cautiously, their steps echoing in the cavernous space.

They go up a level of rusted metal steps with varying levels of difficulty. Tango gets up easily, Mumbo struggles a little and Doc has some level of issue. But all get up with a good amount of silence.

The second floor is a mess of abandoned offices and storage rooms, the only light coming from the occasional shard of moonlight piercing through the broken boards on windows.

That is, until they reach a larger office. Door sealed tight with a slight hint of movement beyond the door.

Tango reaches to the top of his head under his hood, pulling down a pair of intricately designed goggles to see straight through the wall.

When he does, his hand drops down to his communicator on his belt.

'Code 8'

He then presses the button on the side of his communicator to mark his location. Sending an immediate notification to the waiting backup. Other than Doc and Mumbo, of course. They had turned off the notification sound as to not get there cover blown if they needed to send for backup.

With the others on the way, they had a few choices.

1.) They could wait right where they were until backup got there.

2.) They could start the fight and try and hold out until they were safe.

Well, it's not like the woman just a few meters away on the other side of the metal wall was expecting the attack.

But they also didn't have anything to hold her there in the meantime.

It was three on one. They could keep her busy.

Chapter Text

The decision made, Tango nods to Doc and Mumbo. Without a word, they understand the plan. The room goes quiet, their breaths the only sound, and then, as one, they burst through the door.

There isn't time for her to react as fire swirls the room, blocking the exits. Tango grins under his mask, his veins running hot as he takes in his element.

She's going to regret what she's done to his friends tonight.

A glowing white, magenta and purple light crashes into the operable tech she'd been using, curtesy of Mumbo.

Doc renders the minimal amount of tech she has on her useless with his own power. The loose tingling feeling he gets from activating it for the first time in a while winding with his adrenaline.

Mumbo, his eyes glowing a soft red, steps back to give the two more room, his power ready to activate in case she gets too close for comfort.

The Puppeteer, caught off guard, stumbles backward. Her once meticulously organized room now in a fiery mess. She sneers, raising her hands, her eyes flickering with malicious intent.

The second something wiry starts winding it's way to Tango, Mumbo is using his blood-bending ability to direct her hand away, the black wire directed away with it.

The trio control the room. Giving the villain they face no room to take an inch of power back.

Soon after, Impulse, Ren and Zed are on scene. It's immediately clear that Impulse hasn't forgotten how she'd hurt his best friend and made him feel useless to stop her. Zed's own furious energy practically wraps around himself.

The sheep hybrid is close to contemplating whether or not to use the simple little trick that made him a villain. Maybe give a little more bite to his record.

The Puppeteer's eyes widen as she realizes she's outmatched. The fire roars around her, the heat intense, but she's not one to back down easily. She sends a barrage of wires at Doc, but he's too quick for her, his robotic arm moving in a blur to swipe them away.

Her mind races, trying to find a way out of this predicament. But Mumbo's power is like a cage, keeping her movements erratic and unpredictable. She tries to retaliate, but her own creations are now her prison bars.

Something deep in Ren's mind hopes she knows she'll not be able to get the chance to be behind real prison bars. Knows how she's meeting her end. The rest of his mind simply doesn't care.

The room is a chaotic dance of fire, metal, and the unpredictable movements of their foe. Ren's mind is sharp, his instincts honed from countless battles with Doc by his side. The two of them have fought so many times together, they could easily predict each other's movements, so much so that they are never able to sparr together because of it.

Zedaph, on the other hand, is a wildcard. Ren's eyes dart to him, watching his every move. Despite their recent alliance, the sheepish villain's intentions are still a question mark, especially against someone that hurt people close to him.

There's something so chaotic about the way he holds himself now. Completely unpredictable and wild. If Ren could see his eyes, he's sure he would see the intent he begins to set. But just looking at him it's easy to tell.

The Puppeteer's eyes narrow as she tries to outsmart her opponents, but every time she makes a move, it seems like she's playing into their hands. Tango's flames keep her pinned, Doc's mechanical prowess disarming her gear, and Mumbo's blood control keeping her from using her abilities.

Zed pulls the goggles off his face, holding them at his side as he glares at his enemy. His eyes swirl with a furious energy in the magenta spiral of light.

"You're going to pay for what you did," he says, his voice cold and steady, his British accent cutting through the chaotic cacophony of the battle.

Tango has only ever seen his friend like this once. That single time is what made Zed a villain. He's thought for a long time that Zed regretted what he did. And to some degree, he does. But he knows that Zed wouldn't regret it if he did it again. Not against the Puppeteer.

They spoke minimally about it a long time ago. He remembers the only reason Zed was remorseful of what he'd done was because the hero was only doing his job.

This is not a hero. This is someone who hurt many of his friends both physically and psychologically.

'I'm not going to regret this.' His mind rings. He doesn't go as far as to think he'd enjoy bringing pain to someone. But he won't regret it.

In thinking the words, the same ones run through the villain's own head, trapped finally in his gaze.

Impulse draws the remaining attention. His words cut through the air, wanting to at least warn the others before Zed did something he wouldn't regret.

"If you value your perception of Zed, I'd recommend leaving. I think we've got it covered from here." His voice is firm, the message clear.

Mumbo, Doc and Ren all decide it's best to leave them to it. They know the three they're leaving in there wouldn't dare let her get away.

Once the trio is gone, Tango looks back at his friend, carful not to meet his eyes. "Alright Zed. If you're sure you want this on your conscience."

Zedaph's gaze remains on The Puppeteer, his teeth bared in a snarl. "This is what she deserves. For what she's done to all of us."

"As much as I wanted to be the one to do it, you can give her what she deserves a lot better than I can." Impulse adds from his spot just behind Zed, longing for revenge himself.

"I swear, becoming a villain has affected both of you more than you realize." Tango shakes his head, standing next to Impulse. "Any last words for our enemy?"

"This is far too long awaited revenge." Zedaph says, his voice filled with a mix of anger and relief.

"Karma has it's way." Impulse leans against the shorter vigilante at his side. His tone almost nonchalant but his undertone holds malice.

The smallest part of each of the boys, the humanity seeking one, feels bad. None of them are without their second thoughts or emotions that are expected to come at having a life in your hands. It almost feels too simple and easy to do this. Like putting down an aggressive animal.

But that part is far too small for them to really care after their friends had been hurt physically and they themselves had to witness it helplessly.

"Go ahead, Zed. I think it's about time we'd settled the score."

Chapter Text

Zed and Tango cover their ears, learning from limited experience. Impulse follows suit.

Zed has the misfortune of needing to look her in the eyes as he gives his command in mind. Windows to the soul, he supposes, is true. He has to see the way she's trapped inside her own head, the pain she sees mentally becoming physically painful quickly.

He's not cruel enough, no matter what, to let the pain go on for more than a couple minutes before he turns the feeling into an overwhelming, blinding sort of fog until he can't feel the connection anymore.

After a few seconds of confirmation, he kets his eyes dim and the swirling fades, leaving his eyes their normal heterochromatic hazel and dusty lavender before putting his goggles back on.

The other two drop their hands from their ears, Impulse rests a hand on Zed's shoulder as Tango goes around and hugs the sheep hybrid.

"Thank you," Zed whispers, his voice hoarse. The room, now a mess of charred metal and fried wiring, feels eerily calm. The fire dims from the walls, Zed buries his face In Tango's shoulder and excuses it as keeping himself from the limited smoke. That hadn't filtered through the broken windows in the room.

Impulse nods, his expression a mix of pride and fear. Proud that Zed had the strength to do what was necessary, fear that he even had to in the first place. "Zed," he waits for his friend's attention, it takes a little longer for him to process hearing and thinking much after using his powers to such extent as the foggyness sets in. "You're staying with us tonight."

There's no arguing with Impulse's tone. Not that he currently has the mind capacity to. Not that he would even want to.

Zed nods into Tango's shoulder after a minute of processing the words he heard, his grip tightening. "Okay," he murmurs, the word muffled against the fabric of Tango's hoodie.

The three of them make their way out of the factory, leaving the smoldering mess behind. The night air is a stark contrast to the heat they'd just been in, but it does little to cool the fiery passion inside them. They regroup with the others who are waiting anxiously outside, their faces a mix of concern and anticipation.

Tango helping Zed to walk straight wasn't the best sign to them, expecting them to say she'd gotten away or hurt him. But then they take in his dreamy haze and set into the fact that he'd used his power to a great extent, which obviously suggests the job was done.

"Is it... is it over?" Ren asks, his voice shaking.

Tango nods, his arm still around Zed's waist. "Yeah, she's down for good. Zed took care of it."

Ren's relief is palpable, the tension draining from his body. He rushes over, his eyes scanning Zed for any visible injuries. "Are you okay?"

Zed mumbles something incoherent in response. But he doesn't seem hurt or in any distress. He looks perfectly content to lean on Tango.

Mumbo, who had been pacing nervously, stops when he sees them. "What happened? Is she...?"

Impulse nods, he other three letting out small amounts of relief at the stress being over. "Let's call it a night. Zed wouldn't be happy if we did anything with him all loopy. We're calling him off work tomorrow so he can rest. He hasn't used his powers that much in a long time." Impulse says, a hint of light concern lacing his voice.

They all nodded in agreement. The night had taken a heavy toll on all of them, not just physically but emotionally as well. They had taken down a formidable enemy, one that had caused them all so much pain and stress.

As they walked back to their base, the gravity of what had happened sunk in deeper. They had crossed a line, but it was a line that needed crossing. They were all silent, lost in their thoughts, their footsteps echoing in the night as the city slept, unaware of the battle that had just been won in its shadows.

Doc uses the time to make sure no cameras can see them, distracting himself from the somewhat bad-mannered relief.

The walk back to the base is quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving them all feeling a bit drained.

Once they're through the door, Bdubs is immediately rushing to ask what happened. The relief of the group spreads into his shoulders, realizing he won't have to worry as much about the terrible headaches or something using his powers against him. It nearly brings him to tears.

They get Zed into the medical bay, with Etho already waiting, ready to help. The room is equipped with everything they need to take care of someone after a battle, something that had become a common occurrence in their lives.

After coming to the conclusion that Zed has a bit of a migraine after way too long, Etho pulls out a pill bottle and hands it to Tango for him to help. The white fox hybrid is swiftly filled in of the battle and how no injuries were really sustained other than Zed going loopy from power exertion.

"How often does that happen?" Etho asks, his voice low and concerned.

"Almost never. He doesn't really use his powers for very long. Even if he does he doesn't do much other than give short commands or hold them still as they day dream." Tango explains, his voice tight with his own concern as he takes the bottle from Etho and helps Zed to swallow the pill with some water.

"What are the side effects? He seems like he understands but also doesn't." Etho inquires, watching Tango's careful ministrations with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Well, he gets really loopy and out of it. He can only really process information after a minute. The effects set in after about 30 seconds or so. Makes him dizzy at first then generally stays the same. Apparently it will also give him a small migraine." Tango explains as he helps Zed back onto his feet.

Etho nods, scribbling down notes in a note pad. "We'll need to keep an eye on him for a while. Make sure there's no permanent damage."

"Other than the toll of a life, he should go back to normal by noon tomorrow. Just give him more time to process information until then." Tango assures Etho, his hand still resting on Zed's back as they guide him to the couch in the common area.

"Thanks, Tango." Etho says, his voice genuine as he takes a seat next to the exhausted villain. "For letting me know."

They sit Zed down on the couch, his legs feeling like jelly. The room is spinning a bit and the sounds are a little too loud, but he knows it's just temporary. He's felt worse before.

It's not unlike just getting off a thrilling rollercoaster. Dizzy and disoriented but happy just the same.

Tango helps Zed get comfortable, his hand resting on Zed's back as he sits down. "You did good, Zed." He whispers, trying to soothe the villain.

The blonde rests his head on Tango's shoulder, giving him a small bleat in response.

"You should rest," Tango murmurs, stroking his hair gently.

Zed nods after a minute, his eyes fluttering closed. "Will do."

He's too out of it to think of his sleeping habits. Just hoping they'll dim while he's being comforted.

Impulse watches for a moment before looking around the room, his gaze lingering on the TV. He's about to suggest a movie to distract them from the tension when Gem's phone beeps loudly.

Gem looks at the screen, her brows furrowed. "Just work. I have another late shift tomorrow so I need to call another early night." She sighs, really not wanting to leave her friends.

"You do what you need to do, Gemstone," Skizz says, giving her a small smile. "We're here if you need us." His nickname for her definitely doesn't help the fact she sees him as a father figure.

Gem nods, standing up and stretching. "Thanks, guys. Try not to get into too much trouble without me." She winks before heading out the door.

They all know they will.

They always will.

Chapter Text

I'm taking a small break between my writing as I debate if I want to continue with unloading chapters to this story or make a 2nd book to continue as a sequel.

I'm also currently pretty busy with sports, having to go to game after game after practice almost every night leaving me exhausted. (Basketball player here, for anyone curious.)

If you have an opinion on this or ideas on which I should do, those are greatly appreciated as I can't make up my mind on anything.

Other than that, I just want to get some feedback on the story so far.

What are things you picked up on? References you've seen or want to be included in the future?

Who's your favorite character so far and what character do you want to see more of or hear more about their story?

What headcanons do you have for the story characters or the Hermit's personas themselves?

I'm really interested and very welcoming of any and all recommendations and ideas as I want to create something for my viewers as well as myself.

As my story nears 700 views on Wattpad 1k hits on Ao3 (crazy and hype tysm <3) I want to really get my viewer's perspective and what they like and are exited for in my story.

I'm enjoying writing so much and definitely have no plans of ending this story soon, so, what do you think?

Should this just be a really long book? Or should I start a sequel and continue with my inconsistent uploading in that once I have more time?

With all the love in the world

-Aegro

Chapter Text

Doc scoops his beloved toddler into his arm, weeks past the stresses that used to be a player.

"Come along meine Süße. We're visiting your onkel." Doc says with a warm smile, his German accent thick as he cradles Doccy in his arms.

"Der Tango?" Doccy's eyes light up at the mention of their favorite uncle, their tail flicking with excitement.

"Ja, Tango." Doc confirms with a chuckle, carrying Doccy through the living room.

"Tango!" Doccy squeals in excitement as they approach the coffee shop they would meet at, the toddler reaching out to hug their favorite uncle.

Tango's smile is wide as he opens his arms, catching the hyperactive Doccy and spinning them around. "How's my little sidekick?"

The small hybrid rambles in a mix of German and slurred English as their father orders from the counter.

Tango nods along and meets Zed, Impulse and Skizz where they sit together in a booth, already drinking coffee and talking.

Meanwhile, at the hero tower, most of the main lobby is void of people. Most either on lunch break or doing something else in the building.

This opportunity of security being lower gives Etho no worry at all as he strolls in decked out in his vigilante outfit.

While he sticks to a few dead spots in security cameras' sights, he pays little mind as he walks by VintageBeef.

"Hey Etho." The Canadian hero barely glances up from his phone as the vigilante passes.

When he eventually does a double-take, he immediately pulls the vigilante into an empty office room by his fur-lined hood.

"What are you doing here!?" The hero whisper-shouts at his Canadian counterpart.

The vigilante shrugs,completely nonchalant about waltzing into the hero tower as a vigilante. "Y'know, just came in to help Pause with some stuff in person." He waves off the question as if it's the most simple thing in the world.

"You- I mean- You can't just-" The butcher struggles to string together proper thoughts as he faces the other half of his PR team. "Etho. You can't just waltz in here and do things wearing..this." Beef shakes the fox hybrid by the shoulders, gesturing to his more than extremely recognizable outfit.

"Why not?" Etho asks, his own voice low but his expression bored. "They're busy. They don't care."

VintageBeef's eyes widen in disbelief. "They're always watching! You can't just ignore that!"

Etho leans back with a smirk. "Oh, I'm not ignoring it. I'm just... working around it."

"You work around everything." Beef rolls his eyes, feeling like a mother scolding a child that refuses to listen.

Etho laughs, "It's part of the job description."

"I made your job description. Though, I don't remember 'scold misbehaving staff members' being on mine, but, here we are." Beef says, his voice a mix of exasperation and fondness.

"Well, it's good to know I'm versatile," Etho smirks, his eyes glancing around the room.

The meeting room is thankfully empty, a bookshelve filled with books that no one ever touches lines the back wall of the rectangle room. He's pretty sure at least most of them are fake, but he's only been to the Tower very few times in person.

"Okay, okay. But keep your hood up. At least until we get to Pause's office." Beef says with a sigh, resigning to his fate of guiding the rogue vigilante through the hero tower.

The tower's quiet today. Etho would think it was too quiet, but that would only lead to something happening to derail everything and make it everything but quiet.

They only pass one person on their way through to Beef's hero quarters where Pause's office resides.

A raven-haired man with glow-y Blue eyes behind black rimmed glasses wearing a simple, dark button-up shirt. He looks an awful lot like a manager at a DMV then the similar title the man has to his own.

He recognizes him as Cub Fan, working under Scar, mostly, but pitching in whenever Grian needs something done efficiently.

The man passes with not as much as a glance to the hero and semi-covered vigilante passing by.

While this seems a little strange for a simple social media manager, which occasionally works around the lab of the Tower, Etho brushes it off as the other being distracted by other tasks, rather then being used to seeing vigilantes around.

They make their way through the hallways of the Tower, the footsteps echoing against the marble floors. The air is filled with a faint scent of antiseptic, hinting at the medical bay nearby. Beef glances around, his grip on Etho's hood tightening slightly as his arm and hand blocks most of the other Canadian's sight.

"Relax," Etho whispers back, his voice a stark contrast to the tension in the air. "I'm just here to check in with Pause. Nothing crazy. Am I not allowed to see my roommates while working?"

VintageBeef sighs heavily but doesn't argue further, leading the way to Pause's office.

They pass into Beef's hero quarters and through to a small hall with 4 doors, 2 to each side. Each labeled with a name except for the one Etho was assigned that he never uses being labeled 'Lab' and one door being labeled a bathroom.

The second door on the right reads 'Pause'. Beef knocks lightly before pushing it open.

The room inside is dimly lit, with a large desk cluttered with paperwork and screens displaying various data. The walls are adorned with a mix of certificates and superhero memorabilia, hinting at a love for the job despite its administrative nature. Pause looks up from his work, his eyes widening when he sees Etho's hooded figure.

"What are you doing here in THAT?" He gives a very similar reaction to his roommate's, though instead of a worried expression, he wears a surprised grin.

"Just thought I'd drop by. Check in, you know. Make sure my favorite hero and co. isn't burning the place down with paperwork." Etho says with a playful jab.

Pause laughs nervously, glancing around before gesturing them in. "Close the door."

Once the door clicks shut, Etho pulls back his hood, revealing his fox features and the mischief in his eyes. "So, what's the scoop?" He asks, leaning against the desk.

"Not too much, that reporter, Playn, I think? Whatever, he put in a request for an interview with Beef and a couple sample questionsto go over. Other than that, nothing's really popping off." Pause says, shuffling papers around his desk after pulling up the message.

Etho's ears perk up at the mention of Zed's name. "Kris Playn?" He asks, trying not to betray his interest. "I can handle that, go over everything and let him know if we'll have a good time to schedule for."

Pause nods, handing over the usual paperwork with the filing attached. "Sure, just don't let him push us around. I've been having a lot of trouble with reporters and stuff lately."

"I've got it," Etho says confidently, taking the papers and skimming through them. "He's the one that did Beef's last interview. His stuff is usually pretty tame. And if it has a few things we wouldn't want answered, he's good at cutting through it and getting points through without it, even on the fly." He praises his friend, hoping he doesn't sound suspiciously fond.

"Oh, that one? I really liked him when we spoke regarding Beef's last interview." Pause nods in approval, his eyes glancing over the paperwork before returning to Etho.

"I'll make sure to keep an eye on it," Etho promises with a smile. He's actually relieved to hear that Zed is so well-regarded within the hero community. Well, as a civilian, that is.

The conversation shifts to more casual topics, with Beef joining in and sharing stories of their latest escapades. Pause laughs and shakes his head, but there's a hint of admiration in his gaze. The bond between the group is undeniable, a stark contrast to the formal setting of the hero Tower.

"So, what else 's new with you guys?" Pause asks, curiosity piqued as he leans back in his chair.

"Usual vigilante stuff. Beef?"

"Usual hero stuff. Pause?"

Beef laughs, his eyes lighting up as he tells them about the latest Council meeting drama and the new regulations they're trying to pass. The conversation is lively, filled with inside jokes and shared experiences that only those who walk the line of heroism and vigilantism could understand.

"Can I tell you guys a secret?" Etho asks, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. His eyes dart around the room, as if expecting someone to pop out of the shadows and overhear.

Pause and Beef exchange glances before leaning in as well, their curiosity piqued. "What's going on?" Pause asks, his tone a mix of amusement and concern.

"Well, I just thought I'd mention as this came to mind that there are a lot more heroes working with and living with vigilantes then you would expect. Both knowingly and unknowingly." Etho says, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Beef raises an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

"I shouldn't disclose much, even telling you this is a little pushing it. As we know, you both live with me. Let's leave it at, there are a lot more situations similar to ours within the tower." Etho says, his smile mysterious from under his mask.

The other two look at each other, surprised. Pause nods, leaning back in his chair, "I suppose it's good to know we're not the only ones."

Beef nods in agreement, "It's a tough balance, but we make it work."

"We do," Etho says with a smirk. "And all because I decided being a hero would be overrated and restricting."

Pause chuckles, "You've always had your own way of looking at things but that's the first time I've heard you describe your situation like that."

"Well, it's the truth, isn't it?" Etho counters with a cheeky grin.

"Do you really expect us to say yes?" Beef asks, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

Etho leans back, his eyes gleaming with challenge. "Why wouldn't you?"

"Just because you don't like talking about how you became a vigilante doesn't mean it didn't happen, man." Pause retorts with a smirk, his eyes not leaving Etho's masked face.

"I never said I didn't like it," Etho says with a shrug, "It's just not as fun when you guys know the story." He messes with his cuff, pouting.

"Why not? So you can't lie to us?" Beef teases, his eyes twinkling.

Etho rolls his eyes, "Please. Like I'd ever lie to you."

"Yeah, right," Beef laughs, slapping him on the back. "You're about as subtle as a bull in a china shop, buddy."

"I've got my moments," Etho retorts, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"Sure you do," Pause says, shaking his head in good-natured disbelief. "So, are we going to talk about how you became a vigilante again? I mean, the story's pretty funny."

Etho sighs dramatically, "Fine. But only because you begged." He starts to spin his tale, one that's been told many times before, but never gets old among friends. His words paint a vivid picture of a young man, idealistic and full of hope, who slowly became disillusioned with the system he once revered.

Chapter Text

He was much younger then. Hardly considered a functioning adult but with the dreams to become something great.

Back then, great was hero. So, hero he would be.

He watched heroes on TV and wanted nothing more than to prove he could do just that.

It took a few years of hard training and dedication, but he became a hero. He grew to be respected and an idol for many of the heroes to come.

He met a few close friends in that time. Some of which being Beef, Pause and Doc.

But it wasn't until he met a shorter vigilante, wearing mostly black and white at the time other than the distinct red bandanna around his nose and mouth, that he started to really see a corruption within the hero committee.

He'd met B00100 during a robbery he was dispatched to, seeing the vigilante not much older then him ending up needing to fight off police even after stopping the robbery himself.

Through the earpiece he was obligated to wear as a hero, he was told to try and arrest the vigilante before worrying about the robbers he'd stopped.

It had always felt off to Etho, needing to arrest someone for saving people or helping the community.

There had always been 2 kinds of vigilantes.

The ones trying to be what heroes weren't and couldn't be, doing everything in their power to keep people safe.

And the ones that did end up hurting people that did wrong while helping people. Not worrying about injuring or fighting those that opposed them.

When Etho met him, Bdubs was the latter. He never really minded getting in trouble to help people.

Etho, of course, had to obey his obligation to at least try and catch him. And he did, his powers spinning around the vigilante. It wasn't until he'd gotten away from view did he let Bdubs go, not really having moral reason to turn him in.

Through the next few months, whenever the two would face off or meet by surprise, Bdubs would start taking, using one of his greatest defenses and actually getting Etho to think about what being a hero and working for a committee that would hunt down the very people that stopped robberies and petty crime on the streets really entailed.

Talking about it in hindsight, Bdubs had said he was really just talking off his head about anything he could to slow down the hero when they faught.

But Etho listened. And eventually resigned as a hero. He'd managed to keep his name and identity to himself in the years he'd been a hero and rebranded easily to a vigilante.

Several of his old fans recognized the style of their old favorite hero and was a beloved vigilante quickly.

And as his fans recognized him, so did his old friends. And, of course, his roommates.

He first planned to keep his acts a secret from Beef and Pause but sneaking in was always difficult when one was always up doing something in the middle of the night.

He moved in with the 2 boys after going through a few different housing issues while waiting to get paid for his hero work. Of course the Canadians couldn't turn down a kind act.

Well, that and the three immediately all clicked.

They'd had their fair share of late-night talks, sharing their fears and aspirations for the city and the world of heroism.

But the nights grew longer and the talks grew quieter as Etho's convictions grew stronger. He saw the cracks in the system, the injustices that heroes were forced to uphold from the beginning.

Beef saw it too. Even before their talks. But he felt like he could change the system. Maybe one day it could be what it should.

And that leads them to the present, still talking, still learning and still working towards a better future in their own ways.

"I always like hearing that story. It reminds me that there are things to change and stuff to work for." Beef smiles easily, his constant mellow personality soothing the air. "And it reminds me what Bdubs used to wear. I'd love to talk to that guy sometime about his philosophy." He snickers at his first remark, just humming at the second.

Etho laughs, "He'd love to hear that. I'm sure he'd have a lot to say to you, Beef." He shrugs it off, knowing very well his vigilante friend is an avid fan of his roommate.

The conversation shifts back to their shared experiences, the camaraderie between them a comforting warmth in the cold, sterile environment of the Tower. As they sit together, the weight of their secrets and the balance they each strike in their lives is palpable. They are a family of sorts, bound not by blood, but by their shared commitment to a world that desperately needs people to stand up for what's right, regardless of the cost.

"You know," Pause says thoughtfully, "I've always wondered how you guys manage to keep your identities a secret. It's like you're living a double life."

"I've never really hid much. When I started out, I hid my face a lot more, but I don't feel that need to hide much anymore." Beef shrugs, leaning against the desk. "But, it's definitely a balancing act juggling being a popular hero and a civilian off the job."

"And you think it's any easier for us?" Etho laughs, slapping him lightly on the arm. "You guys have rules and regulations. We have to dodge the very people you work with to stay free."

"True," Pause nods, "but you guys get to do the fun stuff without all the paperwork that I have to do for Beef. You should be helpful sometime and take literally anything and get it done." Pause glares playfully at Etho, shoving a stack of papers his way.

"See, I would.. but there's a new video game I just got hyperfixated on and that's what I've been using all my free time on." Etho laughs, dodging the papers that Pause throws his way.

Beef laughs, "You've got the life, Etho. You can just tell people you're busy with tech stuff and they'll buy it."

Etho grins, "Well, it's not all fun and games. Sometimes I have to actually do the tech stuff." He ducks as Pause tosses another paper wad his way.

Pause shakes his head, "You're one of a kind, Etho. I'm surprised you haven't gotten caught yet. You've never actually had even a video interview but have a high-demand tech job."

"Yeah, well, that's the beauty of being a techy vigilante. You can say you're working from home and actually be fighting crime," Etho quips back, dodging another paper missile.

"Doesn't your friend Tango help you code most of it?" Beef asks with a smirk.

"Hey!" Etho laughs, "I do my fair share, alright? Besides, you guys wouldn't have half the gadgets you do without me!"

Pause finally stops chucking paper at Etho for a moment to laugh before returning to the arsenal. "Oh, Etho. We would be so lost without you, our tech savvy vigilante."

"And don't you forget it," Etho says with a smug smile, catching one of the papers in mid-air and tossing it back at Pause.

Eventually, the trio find there way back to a more normal and, as they would call it, boring topic. Soon after, settling in to call it a night, Pause's shift ending and Beef being out of things to do before clocking out.

Now, they just need to figure out how to sneak the vigilante out of one of the most heavily guarded buildings in the city now that it's evening and the tower returned to it's usual fortress.

"You've got this, right, Etho?" Pause asks, his voice low.

"I've done it before," Etho says shrugging, his confidence unshaken.

"But with the new security upgrades?" Pause looks at him skeptically. "last time you showed up like this was months ago. Maybe even a year. They upped evening security after an incident where a window was broken through a little while back."

Etho nods, "I know. I've kept tabs on the changes, but fear not, I've got a plan." He winks, his tone light and mischievous.

There's a notable break of silence as the other two wait to hear Etho's master plan.

"..Beef, gimme your hoodie."

Both of the other two roll their eyes snickering as Beef takes off the dark gray sweatshirt he changes into after his hero gear. "This is your master plan?"

Etho pulls the clothing over his own, dropping his white fox ears down and pulling the gray hood over his head. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Beef laughs, "Because you look ridiculous."

"Looks can be deceiving," Etho quips, pulling the hood lower over his eyes to hide the grin that easily meets them. "Now, if you two are done questioning my genius, let's get to it."

They make their way through the dimly lit halls of Hero Tower, the sounds of their footsteps echoing faintly. Beef's sweatshirt is surprisingly warm, and the scent of his cologne lingers faintly, offering a comforting sense of familiarity amidst the tension in the fox hybrid's shoulders.

Etho keeps his senses sharp, his heart beating a steady rhythm as they navigate the corridors. The Tower's grandeur looms over them, a stark reminder of the chance they all take walking through.

"You know, I've always wondered how you manage to keep your cool when you do this," Beef whispers, his hand brushing against the wall as he peeks around the corner.

"Years of practice," Etho murmurs, his eyes darting from side to side, looking for any signs of movement. His hand rests lightly on the handle of a gadget-filled bag at his side, ready to whip out a device at a moment's notice. "Both with being sneaky and wandering these halls when I got bored as a hero. I memorized them a while ago."

They reach the lobby, the sound of the grand clock ticking downstairs echoing through the vast space. Hearing it always reminds Etho of Bdubs in the back of his mind.

The night guard by the lobby door nods at them as they approach, a simple smile playing on his lips. Etho's heart skips a beat, but Beef waves back casually, his arm slung around Etho's shoulder. Pause pretends to be absorbed on an email.

"Just clocking out," Beef says with a yawn, flashing his hero ID. "I was helping my PR team with some work so it ran a little late."

The guard nods, his eyes barely glancing at Etho. "Right then, see you tomorrow morning VintageBeef."

Etho's grip tightens slightly on Beef's borrowed sweatshirt, his breath held as they pass by. The click of the lobby doors closing behind them is the sweetest sound he's heard all night. They step out into the cool air of the city, the lights casting a warm glow over the streets below.

"You okay?" Beef asks, his voice a gentle murmur in the quiet night.

Etho shakes off the nerves, though knows he can't lie to either of his roommates without them knowing. "Just a little nervous, I guess. It doesn't really get easier to risk my livelihood to visit you guys at work."

Beef nods, understanding in his eyes, "But you always do it with style."

"And with a bit of luck," Pause adds with a wink.

"Soon enough the patrols and security is going to spike for a bit." Etho glances at his surroundings as they walk.

Beef looks at his friend, a little confused on how he would simply just know that. "What makes you say that?"

Etho drops the hood as they get closer to home, fixing the hairs brushed out of place. "The vigilante activity is going to spike as some are less busy now then they were a little but ago."

"How do you always know these things?" Pause questions, looking at him with curiosity.

"I can't tell you yet, but sometime soon I'll be able to clue you guys in." Etho says with a knowing smile under his mask, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Pause nods, "Just don't get us fired, okay?"

"No promises."

Chapter Text

Several days of simple work and surveillance pass at the base, and there's yet another time where Cleo and Ren find themselves in conversation.

This time, the conversation is centered more on Cleo and her own adventures and experiences as a vigilante.

"How did you end up a villain anyway? It's like a just woke up one day and you were patrolling and committing arson." Ren barley glances up as he speaks, trying to get the stitching right to his regal jacket which had torn in a scuff earlier that morning.

Cleo thinks for a moment, pausing her own drawing to think. "I guess that's kinda how it went." They shrug, an easy smile playing on her lips. "But, if you want the story, I'll tell you."

Now, who would Ren be to turn down a good story?

"It started out quite a while ago. I'd always had a nag for chaos and destruction. Usually it was just toying with good friends and family, tricking people." She pauses, reflecting a little more. "Then I started getting a little more comfortable around fire."

She thinks back to when she first started out, her first experiments with the lives of heroes and villains.

She was always told she couldn't be a hero. Their powers of relatively basic healing and the power of regeneration that they couldn't fully control at the time telling her she couldn't be a healer with such basic limitations, and she couldn't be a hero with her level of agility and strength.

So, being a vigilante was the easiest option. Not being hated by the mass majority of public while still being able to do things heroes could with a lot less repercussions if something untasteful was done.

So, that's what they tried for a while, but the nag for causing chaos was brimming at the surface.

Still being a new character on the scene, it was easy to change to being a villain instead, not having to rebrand or anything, just claim villainy.

Arson was always her favorite crime, a staple to her wrongdoings, not to mention that burns of any sorts were always the easiest for her to heal. So, the name was easy to claim. But it also led her to meeting someone she wouldn't expect to enjoy the same energy flames brought.

After burning a rundown convenience store after closing down, she stuck around a while to simply enjoy the sight of flames licking at rotted wood. She expected the fire department to have been the first of her worries, not a high-grade hero.

At the time, he hadn't been the number one hero like he is now, but HotGuy was a highlight of a hero from the beginning of his career.

Scar was sent to the scene as a monitor as Cleo was suspected to have been the cause of the fire, he'd just gotten there a lot faster than the actual emergency services.

She remembers the conversation well, even after the last few years of chaos she thrives keeping up in.

"Hi!" She even surprised herself at the time with her cheerful tone, especially after going through a few hiccups with a particular hero that same week (cough cough Doc cough).

"Well hello there." Scar wore his signature easy smile, hands behind his back and a slight lean as he walks closer to Cleo and her project. "I'm assuming this was you?" He nods in the direction of the burning building.

"Yes! Yes, it was." Cleo's own smile doesn't falter, keeping her gaze on the potential threat of a hero as she turns to the flames.

The conversation was surprisingly... friendly. She was expecting some sort of attempt at being turned in an arrested, but no. Scar just stood a safe distance away and watched the flames for a moment.

"It takes an odd kind of person to appreciate the fire. I mean, it can be a symbol for so much all at once while being both beautiful and traumatic." Scar's voice held a strange sort of lightness to it, almost as if he was speaking to the the fire itself.

But it was true. Fire could mean destruction, rebirth, pain, flourishment, excitement, chaos. It could be a symbol of a new start and chapter of creation and life, or it could be a symbol of destruction and blinding chaos of everything coming to a point of loss.

"It does. But I have a feeling you wouldn't be stood here admiring it with me if you didn't share that part of the mind." Cleo had said, tension dropping between the two as they meet on the same level of appreciation for something so mixed in moral reason.

"No, I guess I wouldn't. Doesn't this just go to show that, no matter what kind of person you turn out to be, villain, hero, vigilante, your own draws and interest doesn't define you. I guess it makes us truly human as we share a strange interest in fire but lead completely different lives." Scar had mused, his eyes never leaving the flames.

He wasn't often a well-spoken man, but he boils down to being a good hero and insightful person when it counts. And that day, it did.

Cleo still hasn't forgotten that conversation, or the way Scar had dropped back about a block when he heard the approaching sirens, giving Cleo ample time to make her escape.

Ren looks up from his stitching, "You know, you two have a strange relationship. It's like you're... friends?"

"I've run into him a few times in the past and he always seems like a rowdy kid to me. It's like im always babysitting when he's supposed to be there to arrest me." Cleo smiles into her sketchbook, working through a mythical design for a dnd campaign.

"Babysitting, huh?" Ren snickers, his own hands busy with the stitching he makes far more complicated than it's supposed to be.

Cleo nods, her smile widening, "Yeah, you know how it is. Sometimes you just need someone to keep an eye on you, make sure you don't get into too much trouble." She looks directly into the brunettes soul from over her art, almost bursting into laughter as Ren pauses his own handiwork with a smirk. "I'd say you know better than anyone what that's like."

"It was one time." Ren tries to reason with a small voice, covered mostly by his laughter.

"One time is more than enough to have been up with you for several hours when you were convinced you were dying after eating expired chocolate and cream, Ren, from behind a cabinet, Ren." Cleo giggles, the sound bouncing off the walls of their small base.

The brunette rolls his eyes, but his cheeks color slightly, the memory a fond one despite the absurdity of the situation. "It was a learning experience, okay?"

"A learning experience for you to not swallow things that are bad? You are such an actual dog." She sighs, laughing as the boy's ears lower in moch upset. "You don't have to swallow everything you attempt to eat, Ren."

"I didn't know where you expected me to spit it out." Ren retorts, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he ties off the last knot in the thread.

"On the floor, a trash can, toilet, sink, your hand, literally anywhere like everyone else who's sensible enough to know not to eat questionable things," Cleo teases, her laughter subsiding into a gentle chuckle. "You took a bite, realized it was nasty, and swallowed the bad chocolate anyway. You're not even supposed to eat regular chocolate."

"I can eat some chocolate, just not a lot or else I get sick." Ren defended, setting down his needle and thread, the jacket patched up enough to wear for the next few weeks without issue. "And I didn't feel like having to clean it up if I spat it out."

"So you called me instead?" Cleo raises an eyebrow, their smile turning playful. "I'm touched, really."

Ren sighs, his eyes dancing with amusement, "It was more like you found me before I could call anyone else. Besides, who else would I call when I've done something so stupid?"

"Someone who's not going to give you grief for it later?" Cleo suggests, her pencil pausing over her sketchbook. "Or Martyn."

"You know how dramatic Martyn would have been. 'Oh my goodness Ren, what have you done to yourself?' And then he would have called Cherri because he'd have no clue what to do," Ren points out, a smirk playing on his lips.

Cleo laughs, "Okay, okay, fair point. So, what's the plan for tonight?"

Chapter Text

Before the two are able to talk more about plans, Cleo's phone rings from it's place beside her on the table.

Pausing their discussion, Cleo answers when she sees the caller ID being Zed's.

"Hello?" She almost deadpans, expecting some sort of minor injury being sustained as the sheep hybrid attempted to sleep.

Though it's usually something minor like running into a wall a bit too hard and needing his nose reset by someone, or tripping and cutting his arm on an end table, something about the beat of silence on the other end told her subconscious it was different.

In the silence, she assessed there were street sounds so Zed was likely calling from outside. She didn't have to wait for very long before she was filled in.

"Hey, Cleo. Sorry for a call this late, but, I may or may not have fallen off my fire escape and feel too dizzy to stand." Zed's voice is tired and a little shaky but he doesn't sound pained.

It's times like these where everyone is very thankful the reporter started sleeping with his phone on him in case of sleepwalking emergencies.

"Stay right where you are. Lay down, I'm on my way." Cleo shuts her sketchbook and leaves it on the table, quickly filling Ren in on her needing to go while holding her phone on her shoulder. "Stay on the line until I'm there, just in case."

She's out the doors quick, hurrying through allies to shorten the trip to Zed's apartment.

She keeps his attention over the phone, making sure he's updating her on his current physical pain, which he says is pretty much nonexistent, and how dizzy he's feeling, which is a bit better while laying still.

She puts her phone away when she turns into the relatively clean ally outside of Zed's apartment.

Cleo's boots echo loudly in the quietness of the night. The light from the street lamps dimmer here, but it's not a problem for her heightened night vision.

"Hey, Cleo." Zed's voice is faint in the night as she gets closer, but he says he isn't in any pain.

"How did this happen?" She finally gets the room to ask after giving him instructions on not moving from his back and telling them his current physical condition. As she listens, she addresses his state.

"I don't know. I just... woke up falling. It's a bit fuzzy." Zed's voice is strained, Cleo can feel his tension. "It was like waking up thinking you were falling and then the feeling not going away after waking up."

Her boots come to a gentle stop beside him, his face illuminated by the soft glow of his phone screen, which he's dropped next to him on the cold, concrete ground. That definitely wasn't a joy to meet head-on.

"Okay, okay. Let's get you up," she says, her voice calm despite her racing heart. She's seen Zed in some tight spots before, but something about his current state is setting off alarm bells in her head. Maybe it's the quietness of the alley or the way his eyes seem to be searching for something that isn't there. "Wait. Don't move."

She keeps a hand on his chest, keeping him from sitting up on his own. Before she even attempts to get him standing, or even sitting up, she needs to make sure he doesn't have a spinal injury.

Her hand is gentle as it slides to his neck, checking for his pulse. It's steady, if a little fast, but that's to be expected after a fall like that. Her eyes flick over his body, checking for any signs of injury that might have been missed in his initial assessment.

Her powers attempt to channel in on a spot on the back of his head, other than that and a few scrapes on the back of his arms, there aren't any new injuries. Within her deeper power, she doesn't feel anything internal going wrong along his back or neck.

"Alright, I think we can get you standing. Let me know exactly when or if you feel any sensation at all." She puts her arm behind his shoulders and helps him stand, letting him grip her arm for balance as he stands.

"I guess I just feel really dizzy. And everything is a little blurry." He struggles to stand without loosing his balance. "Maybe a little nauseous?"

"Okay, let's get you inside." Cleo's voice is calm and soothing, trying to keep him from panicking. She wraps an arm around his waist to support him, his arm sliding over her shoulders as they start the slow walk to the apartment door.

As they walk, Cleo looks at the back of Zed's head. Nothing is bleeding, which honestly worries her by how her powers had wanted to work there.

She assesses his symptoms. Everything is a little varying. He's nauseous and dizzy with blurred vision, but He's followed the conversation well. He doesn't remember the event leading to his injury but he was asleep.

By the time they get to his apartment, she checks him over in better light. He isn't bleeding anywhere other than small scrapes on his elbows. And he wasn't sensitive to the lights any more than she was after solely seeing through dim street lights in the dark. Sound to him seems fine as well.

Cleo helps him sit down on his couch and sighs in relief. "You're okay." She says more to herself than him.

"Well, mostly." He smiles weakly. "I think I just need to lie down."

"You definetely need some rest," Cleo agrees, her eyes still scanning his body for any signs of hidden injuries. "I do want to give you a round of healing, though. You probably have at least a small concussion. That wasn't exactly a short fall, Zed."

"Definitely doesn't feel like one now." Zed winces, the dull ache of the fall finally setting in after his shock.

Cleo nods, "It's usually like that. The adrenaline can mask the pain for a bit." She carefully checks his pupils with a flashlight from her small medical bag. "They're not dilated, so that's a good sign."

Zed tries to smile, but it ends up more of a grimace from the pain. "I guess I'm not dying then."

"Well, if you're making jokes, you're not too far gone." Cleo says, a hint of relief in her voice. She opens her bag, pulling out a small bottle of something that looks like a potion. "This should help with the concussion. It'll clear your head and let you sleep. I definitely don't want you alone tonight, though. Do you have anywhere you can stay that has at least one other person to keep an eye on You?"

Zed nods, "Yeah, I can probably go to Tango's place." He says, leaning back into the couch. "But I don't know if they'll be too happy about it."

"They'll be happy you're okay." Cleo says, her voice firm. "Right after I give you a run over with some healing, I'll call Impulse to come get you. He's the biggest night owl out of that group anyway." She places her hands carefully on either side of Zed's temples, allowing her hands to heat up with power.

Zed's quiet after that, the drumming in his head becoming less and less until all that's left is a small pain similar to holding a finger against an old bruise.

Cleo, as promised, called Impulse to come get Zed, explaining the situation in a way that would put the imp at ease instead of worrying.

She opens the door for him, mid-way through a glass of water she poured because of the way healing sometimes drains her.

"Thanks for coming." She says, her eyes tired but not overly concerned. "He's not in the best shape, but I don't think it's anything some rest and monitoring can't fix."

Impulse nods, his gaze moving to Zed who's now sitting up with a slightly more color to his face. "I'll make sure he's okay." He promises, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

He walks over to his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You ready to go, Z?"

Zed nods slowly, still looking a bit dazed. "Yeah, I think so. Thanks for coming, Impulse."

Impulse helps him stand, noticing the improvement in Zed's stability. "No problem, buddy. Let's get you home."

As they make their way through the city, the cool night air helps to clear Zed's head. They pass by the neon lights of a bar, and the smell of fried food from a nearby street vendor wafts over them. Zed's stomach turns, and he grips Impulse's arm tighter. "Maybe no food for a bit," he murmurs, his voice still shaky.

"You got it," Impulse says, his eyes scanning the area as they walk. The streets are mostly empty, which is a comfort, but the occasional sound of distant sirens keeps him on edge. "How's the head?"

Zed winces slightly, "Better, thanks to Cleo. But I've had worse hangovers." He attempts a chuckle, but it comes out more like a groan.

"You're not exactly the poster boy for safety, are you?" Impulse teases, his grip firm but gentle as he steers them towards his place.

Zed laughs, the sound echoing hollowly through the alleyways, "What can I say? I've got a knack for finding trouble."

As they reach Impulse's apartment, they find Tango and Skizz already waiting for them, concern etched on their faces. "What happened?" Tango asks, his eyes immediately going to Zed's scrapes.

"Fell off the fire escape," Zed mumbles, his voice still a little shaky.

Tango's expression morphs from concerned to exasperated in an instant, "You're kidding me. Again?"

"It's not like I do it for fun," Zed retorts, but his voice lacks its usual bite.

"Don't make it a habit." Skizz gives Zed a very stern look, his voice serious and a little scolding. Zed wants to retort saying he doesn't have the control over it to fix it, but he's known Skizz long enough to tell that the bite in his tone is just his concern.

"We'll keep an eye on you tonight, okay?" Tango says, his voice a little softer, showing his own brand of worry. "You can stay in my room so I can keep an eye on you."

Zed nods, "Thanks, Tango."

As they settle into the apartment, the group's collective concern for Zed's well-being is palpable. The room is filled with whispers and gentle movements as they set him up in Tango's room. The warmth of their care is a stark contrast to the cold concrete he'd found himself on earlier.

Skizz hovers nearby, his wings ruffled with anxiety, "Do you need anything, Zed?" His voice still has a serious edge to it, nothing like his usual careless nature and silly speaking habits.

"I think I'm okay," Zed replies, his voice still weak but the dizziness has subsided. "Just need to lie down for a bit."

Tango nods, his expression a mix of relief and worry, "Alright, let's get you settled." He guides Zed to the bed, pulling back the covers and helping him get comfortable. "Are you taking work off tomorrow?"

Zed winces a little, "I don't think I can. I have a big project i need to finish writing and gathering resources for, as well as an in person meeting with one of the higher-ups." He lies down, the softness of the mattress feeling like heaven compared to the unforgiving alleyway.

Tango nods, "Alright, I'll keep tabs on you through the day. If you need anything, just call." He settles into the chair at his desk, video game code splayed across the dimmed screen of his laptop.

Skizz, unable to sit still in the living room with Impulse, flaps his wings, "Should we call the others?" His eyes dart around the room, his nerves palpable.

"I'm sure he'll be fine. He's gotten healed by Cleo and wasn't acting too different on our way over." Impulse tries to reassure his friend, finding it a little jarring to be the one providing the comfort instead of needing it.

Skizz nods, his eyes still glued to the doorway, "But what if something happens when we're not looking?"

Impulse sighs, "We're not helicopter parents, Skizz. Zed's a big boy. He can handle it."

Skizz's eyes narrow, "You don't understand. He's our family."

"I know that. Come on, buddy. He's perfectly fine and Tango will be close by if he needs anything. I know you're worried about him, but I promise it'll be okay." Impulse says, his tone gentle as he walks over to Skizz, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Skizz nods, his wings still twitching, "Okay." He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "But if anything happens, we're going to be there for him."

"We always are." Impulse looks into his best friend's eyes, giving him a knowing look at the worry playing through them. "Do you want him in your room so you can keep an eye on him?"

Skizz nods, "If it's okay with him."

When they walk into Tango's room, the door slightly cracked, they see the two still briefly talking while Tango works.

"Zed, do youthinkyou canmanagestayingin Skizz's room instead?" Impulse whispers as to not cause an unneeded potential headache. "He's worried."

Zed nods slowly, "Yeah, that's fine." He's still a bit out of it, but he can understand the concern in Skizz's... well, everything.

They all make their way into Skizz's room, which is surprisingly neat for someone with wings. Skizz's bed is bigger than Tango's, but it's definitely more worn-out. He'll manage.

Of course, Zed would be arguing with the other boys about taking their beds, but he's learned by now that they are all far too stubborn when it comes to one of them being hurt or sick.

Skizz drags a deep blue beanbag a little closer to the bed, settling in it in a way so that he can keep an eye on his friend.

"You guys are too much," Zed murmurs, his eyes half-lidded as he watches them fuss over him. "I'm fine, really."

"You will be," Tango says firmly, placing a hand on Zed's shoulder. "But we're not taking any chances." After that, he retreats back to his own room.

Impulse and Skizz share a look before turning back to Zed, who's now lying down with his eyes closed. "Rest now," Impulse says. "We're right here if you need anything." He runs a hand through Skizz's dark hair as he passes him and leaves the room.

The silence that follows is filled with the muffled sounds of the city outside and the faint buzz of Tango's computer in the next room. Skizz watches over Zed, his own eyes growing heavy with the weight of the day's events. Despite his exhaustion, he remains vigilant, his hand pulling up resting lightly on the inside of Zed's wrist.

Time seems to stretch out, each second feeling like an eternity as they wait for the quiet to be broken. Zed's breathing evens out, and his face relaxes into something closer to peace than they've seen all night. The sight only makes Skizz more worried.

"You really okay, Zed?" Skizz whispers, not wanting to disturb him if he's already asleep.

Zed doesn't open his eyes, but he speaks easy. "I'm good, Skizzy. Really." His voice is a little slurred, but the affection in his tone is clear. "Just tired."

Skizz nods, not fully convinced, but deciding to take him at his word for now. He settles in closer, his wings folded around his body like a protective cocoon. "If you need anything, just say so, alright?"

"Why are you so scared and worried anyway? It was just a fall. I've fallen off the fire escape before, this was just the first time I hit my head." Zed says with a tired smile, his eyes still closed.

Skizz sighs, his grip tightening on Zed's wrist slightly. "You don't get it. You're... you're important to us."

Zed opens one eye to peer at Skizz, "I know. But I can handle it. I've had worse."

Skizz's expression softens, but his eyes remain serious. "You always say that." He whispers back.

Zed sighs, "Because it's true." He turns to look at Skizz fully, his eyes searching. "You guys don't have to hover over me all the time. I'm not made of glass."

Skizz's grip on his wrist tightens for a moment before he lets go, "I know, but it's hard not to worry."

"You hardly ever worry like this, Skizz. What's really set you off?" Zed's question hangs in the air, a gentle prodding that Skizz feels deep in his chest.

Skizz looks away, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for the right words. "It's... I don't know. You guys are like... you're all I've got, you know?" His voice is low, barely above a whisper. "When something happens to one of us, it feels like a piece of me is... missing."

"What else is there? Come on, I know there's more." Zed's voice is insistent, his eyes closed but his mind clearly searching for the right tone. He's very aware that what Skizz is saying is true, but knows there's more on his mind.

Skizz sighs, his wings twitching slightly with the weight of his thoughts. "I just... I don't like seeing you hurt, okay?" He admits, finally looking back at Zed. "And with all the craziness going on with the Council, and the way things have been... it just makes me more paranoid, you know?"

There's a beat of silence, each waiting for the other to speak. When Zed doesn't, Skizz sighs and finally spits it out.

"You've just been acting really off recently. You've been being super reckless as a villain and it's been stressing me out." Skizz admits, his eyes searching Zed's for any sign of understanding.

Zed's eyes open fully now, meeting Skizz's gaze. He sighs, "You're right. I've been pushing it too much."

"Why?" Skizz's voice is quiet, filled with a mix of concern and curiosity. "I mean, you are acting like you want to get caught. You have even started dying the ends of your coat the same colors you wear on camera."

Zed's eyes narrow slightly, his mind racing. "It's... complicated." He sits up, the room spinning a little. "But I'll be more careful, okay?"

"Okay. Just, get sleep." Skizz's voice is firm, his eyes searching Zed's for any signs of disagreement. "You're gonna need it if you're going to work tomorrow."

And with that, Zed pulls his phone out of his pocket, setting it aside and eventually falling asleep, with Skizz not far behind.

It's not until 5am, when his alarm goes off that anything of note happens.

Something that has always been odd about Zed, well to be honest, what isn't weird about the sheep? He's been using the same alarm for years. While that doesn't sound particularly weird, it's what he uses as an alarm that is.

Right at 5am, Skizz is awakened by what he can only assume is an air raid and that the city must be in the midst of an attack.

His wings are immediately ruffled with fear as he falls right off the bean bag he'd been laying on and hits the floor face first.

The ominous siren is shut off just seconds later by a very tired sheep hybrid, said hybrid looks down at Skizz whose now sprawled out on the floor, catching his breath after the scare.

"I forgot your alarm sounds like the apocalypse," Skizz groans, pushing himself up off the floor, his wings flapping slightly to help balance him as his legs wobble beneath him from sleep.

"Yeah, probably should have reminded you before knocking out." Zed rubs at his eyes, laying back down and wanting to refuse getting up ever again.

His head doesn't hurt as bad as he expected, a little sore if anything. But that's never stopped the blonde from complaining about it and being dramatic for pity before.

"You okay?" Skizz asks, his eyes still a little sleepy.

Zed nods, "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks for keeping an eye on me, though." He decides that he probably doesn't need to be dramatic, that can wait until after work.

Skizz nods, his expression still lined with concern, "Of course, buddy."

Zed pushes himself up with a groan, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Alright, let's get this over with." He says, his voice filled with dread for the day ahead.

Skizz watches him, his wings twitching nervously. "Are you sure you're up for this?" He asks, his eyes scanning Zed's face for any signs of the headache returning.

Zed nods firmly, "I'll be fine. I've got a meeting with the big boss, I can't miss this." He stands up, his legs wobbly for a moment before he steadies himself.

Skizz doesn't look convinced, "Okay, but promise me you'll text if you need anything."

"Of course, do you think Impy would mind if I stole some clothes?" Zed says with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood a bit. He's seen Impulse's collection of clothes, and he knows there's bound to be something that'll make him look professional.

Skizz nods, his concern still etched on his face. "I'm sure he'd let you. Just don't go through his underwear drawer." He says with a hint of a smirk, the tension in the room easing slightly.

Zed giggles as he leaves the room, walking the short distance to Impulse's door, knocking quietly and opening the door. When he sees the imp still fast asleep, he opens his closet and pulls out a dress shirt and a pair of beige slacks that could work. After a little more looking, he finds a worn sweater that would work well over the white shirt.

He takes the stolen clothes and changes in the bathroom, taking care of his appearance and such as well.

Skizz, now far too awake to go back to bed, gives him a cup of coffee and let's him borrow a pen and notepad for his meeting.

After that, he's out the door by 5:45 and on track to be productive.

With Zed gone, Skizz tries to get a few things done after being so rudely woken up earlier than he usually is.

On a regular day, he's up at around 7 or 8am, then leaves to work at the hero tower. Patrol or paperwork always await him.

Sometimes, he finds himself longing for a life like his roommates. Impulse mostly working from home with a tech job that gives him the freedom to get things done on his own while nothing ever seems to challenge him. He's always able to finish an assignment and use his spare time to work on things for the other Hermits.

He's spent his last few days of free time modifying Gem's communicator after an incident where it was broken in a fight. Before that it was fixing Bdubs's laptop for him.

Impulse walks into the kitchen, looking half dead, "Someone's alarm went off," he mumbles before grabbing the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup, not bothering to look up to see if anyone's there.

"Yeah, like an hour ago." Skizz smirks at his half-asleep roomate, carding a hand through his wings to fix the feathers that were stuck out of place. "Zed is borrowing your clothes, he's said you were asleep when he went in there."

Impulse just yawns, not bothering to respond properly. He finishes half the cup of coffee in one sip, his hair sticking to his forehead.

"How's he doing?" Impulse finally asks, looking at Skizz with bleary eyes.

"Better than I expected, but he's going to work. He has a meeting with the big boss or something." Skizz shakes his head, his concern still evident.

Impulse nods, sipping his coffee. "He'll be alright, Skiz. He's a tough one."

"I know," Skizz says, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and affection. "But he's pushing it too far."

"He has been a lot more obvious than any one of us likes with his identity." Impulse says with a sigh, leaning against the counter as he takes a sip of his coffee.

Skizz nods, his eyes flicking over to the clock on the wall. "I know, it's like he's begging to be caught."

Impulse nods in agreement, taking another sip of coffee. "We'll have to keep an eye on him."

"I know," Skizz says with a sigh. "But it's just... I can't shake this feeling." He looks down at his hands, which are fidgeting with a pen he's picked up from the counter.

Impulse places his hand on Skizz's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "We're all worried, but Zed's a smart cookie. He knows what he's doing."

Skizz nods, not fully convinced. He knows Zed's reckless streak all too well. "I guess." He sets the pen down with a frustrated sigh. "I just don't understand. He's being so outright obvious about his identity. Any closer and he'll be outright pulling off his glasses on national television while in costume."

Impulse chuckles, the sound a little rough with his morning voice. "Well, at least he's not going full Clark Kent on us." He says, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Skizz gives a half-hearted laugh, "I know, but it's still nerve-wracking. What if someone big figures it out?"

Impulse nods, his expression more serious now, "We've all got our risks. But we're all in this together, right?"

"I just don't understand why he's been so obvious with his identity. I mean, have you seen his last few live reports? He's dropping hints about him being a super villain left right and center." Skizz says, his voice tinged with worry.

Impulse nods thoughtfully, "Yeah, it's like he's playing a dangerous game of hide and seek with the Council." He takes another sip of coffee, his eyes thoughtful. "But maybe he's got a plan we're not seeing yet."

Skizz can't shake his unease, "I hope so. I just can't help but feel like we're all one misstep away from everything falling apart."

Chapter Text

By the time Ren's shift ends at the hero tower, he's exhausted and sore from the day.

He'd spent most of his lunch and afternoon with Martyn, working through training. And just before and for a while after that he'd been working with Cherri as she ran through a few questions that needed answered for a PR report.

She had been stressing about getting things done now that she was pretty much working on her own as Martyn put most of his day towards his own progress in becoming a hero. Honestly though, if you asked her, he never really worked much anyway.

After Ren had spent several hours training and a couple more answering questions, he'd been called out to handle a robbery on the opposite side of town and then a building collapse from a small chemical explosion on the other.

Then, before doing anything else, he was to report straight to the Tower for a check in case any of the chemicals were damaging.

It's safe to say that his patrol after that was also much more eventful than he would have hoped, leading him to putting in over an hour of overtime dealing with a villain.

The only good thing to come out of it was the conversation he had for about 5 minutes with the vigilante, Vex, that had been in the same area he'd had to patrol before being dispatched away.

Within that conversation he did learn a few things.

1.) Vex's voice wasn't modified in any way and for some reason Ren felt like he recognized it.

2.) The vigilante had shown Ren the multicolored explosives he uses and how they work. Turns out they are very similar to the small fireworks that pop when thrown in their function. Just a lot larger, more mechanical, and extremely colorful with both small amounts of smoke and sparks.

3.) Vex was very determined to prove that working within the tower there were both good and bad people, as seen in most work environments. He was looking to out the bad and bring the good into major power.

But before he could ask more about that, he was called to some strange activity notice and forced back on the job.

Now, he was walking home with a few new bruises and a layer of exhaustion.

And 'home' would technically be Doc's home as the two heroes had started to make the living arrangement they had more permanent.

If they were still on the fence about their feelings, they would have probably played it off as Doc needing an extra hand to help with Doccy. But being able to be closer was very much an added bonus to the changes the toddler made.

He glances up over a smaller building, the full moon glancing back at him. No wonder he's had such a day.

For some odd reason, Ren could never have an uneventful day with a full moon approaching. Call him superstitious, but being something of a canine hybrid in a full moon was blasting his luck.

But as he walked, he couldn't help but think back to his conversation with Vex. The vigilante had been surprisingly candid, and the way he talked briefly about the Tower's corruption made him wonder if he had known some of it first hand.

Of course, almost all vigilantes and villains knew almost off the bat about how misleading the committee was to the public. But there was something on the way he spoke so indefinitely about it made Ren sure he had to know more.

Another think he'd spoken to him about, early in the run-in, was that he'd known exactly which heroes would arrest and turn him in and which would just sit and chat.

Ren had found that to be quite the statement, considering he was one of the few that had ever been able to get that close to Vex without a fight or a chase.

But then again, he knows that none of the heroes in the Hermit group would turn Vex in and none of them have had a run-in yet. It had only been heroes Ren knows to follow what they're instructed that have fought Vex.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts, focusing on the quiet night around him. It's peaceful, almost eerily so, given the day he's had. The streets are mostly empty, the very rare car passing by, their headlights briefly lighting the sidewalks before speeding away into the darkness.

Really wasn't much point for a car in this city. Everything was close together and unless you were traveling from one side of town to the other, it was much easier just to walk instead of weaving through roads.

He reaches Doc's place, his body feeling like it's made of lead. He's pretty sure if he didn't have his dog-like stamina, he'd be out cold on the couch in his office by now.

The door is unlocked, and as he enters, he's met with the faint smell of something baking. It's Doc's way of winding down from a long day, a habit he picked up from his mother, a human who owned a bakery when he was young. It's one if the earliest memories the hero has of anything.

The lights are dimmed, and Doc is sitting at the kitchen counter with a glass of milk and a plate of freshly baked cookies. He looks up as Ren comes in, his eyes lingering on a particularly deep bruise on his cheekbone that he'd gotten a tidal wave of apologies over from Matryn. "You're home early." His voice holds an obvious sarcasm to it as Ren's shift technically ended about 2 hours ago.

Ren chuckles, "Yeah, I know. The moon is really messing with my schedule." He says, heading straight for the kitchen, his stomach growling. The smell of cookies is too tempting to ignore after having next to nothing but training for lunch.

"How was your day?" Doc asks, pushing the plate towards him. "You look like you've been through the wringer."

Ren grabs a cookie, his stomach giving a grateful rumble. "You know, the usual. A bit of paperwork, a bit of fighting, a chat with a certain vigilante." He takes a bite, the sweetness mixing with the metallic taste of his own blood lingering on his tongue after a good hit from some mugger he'd fought split the side of his lip.

"A chat? Did that chat include you getting wrecked? And with who?" Doc asks with a raised eyebrow, gesturing to the bruises.

Ren shrugs, taking another bite of the cookie. "Vex. He showed me his explosives."

"It was Vex, now? Do i need to start hunting this brother down or was he actually showing you how his stuff worked?" Doc asks, his voice carrying a hint of amusement as he pours a glass of milk for Ren.

Ren takes the glass with a nod of thanks, "Yeah, it was educational. He's got some pretty fancy tech for a vigilante. And before you ask, he didn't blow anything up in the city. Just showed me how they work in a safe spot."

"So you didn't get the injuries from him?" Doc asks, his voice tinged with relief as he hands the glass to Ren.

"No, most of it was the building collapse." Ren says, taking a sip of the milk. "But he was surprisingly... nice. And somewhat familiar."

Doc raises an eyebrow, "How so?"

Ren shrugs, "It's hard to explain. Just something about the way he talked, his voice... I feel like I've heard it before." He takes another cookie and munches thoughtfully.

Doc watches him, his eyes narrowed slightly. "Could it be someone we know?"

Ren considers it for a moment, "Possibly. But it's just a gut feeling. Could be anyone. Maybe he's just got one of those voices that's easy to recognize. I've never been one to look too much into identities of the people I meet. Keeping myself with as little information as possible is safer."

Doc nods, understanding the sentiment. "True enough. Though it does raise some questions about his intentions."

Ren leans against the counter, his eyes distant. "Yeah, he talked about the Tower's corruption like he knew it from the inside. It was... unsettling how much he seemed to know."

"But what's his game?" Doc asks, his gaze sharp as he studies Ren. "Is he trying to get something from us or just testing the waters?"

Ren shrugs again, "Could be both, could be neither. With Vex, it's hard to tell." He takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the weariness that clings to him. "But he's right about one thing. The Tower isn't as shiny as they make it out to be."

Across town, some people are actually enjoying the light of the moon.

Mumbo? Is the moon big?"

"Well, yes, Grian."

Grian and Mumbo lay on their backs atop the roof of their apartment building, the two firing easy stories and banter back and forth.

Scar had just left the late-night talk for bed as he'd always been the one to need more sleep to function then his roommates.

Since Mumbo's rebranding, he's barely touched his vigilante, now villain, attire, though the news of his rebranding had faded very fast.

"You know, I actually miss the thrill of the chase sometimes," Grian says, his eyes on the moon above them. "Being a vigilante rocked before I got caught."

Mumbo chuckles, "Yeah, I can see that. But you're doing good work now, helping people in your new way." He glances over at Grian, his expression turning slightly serious. "Though I don't really remember a whole lot from your vigilante breakthrough."

Grian rolls his eyes, "You and your selective memory. I was like Batman, minus the billions and the gadgets. Just a guy with a mask, a hat and a good pair of running shoes."

Mumbo laughs, "Yeah, right. More like a squirrel with a cape, if we're being honest. From what I remember, at least."

"Hey!" Grian protests, smacking Mumbo's shoulder playfully. "I had style!"

"I saw one picture that Jimmy showed me. You looked like an elf." Mumbo teases, his laughter echoing off the rooftops.

"Like he was any better! Knockoff Captain America." Grian retorts, his grin wide.

Mumbo laughs, "At least he had the decency to look intimidating!"

Grian sits up, both grinning and glaring at Mumbo simultaneously. "Timmy?! Intimidating?!"

Mumbo's laughter subsides into chuckles. "Okay, okay. Maybe 'intimidating' isn't the right word."

"It's definitely not the right word," Grian says with a smirk. "But he had heart. That's what counts. B kept him out of trouble most of the time. I guess it makes sense that B became a hero when he got caught."

Mumbo nods, his gaze following Grian's to the moon. "And you became a legend, the infamous Grian, the uncatchable. Though I'd say your legacy as the one heroes couldn't catch didn't last long."

Grian laughs, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, I had to leave them guessing for a while. But it's all water under the bridge now. We've got bigger fish to fry."

"Yeah, you got caught and started working alongside Scar as CuteGuy." Mumbo says with a smirk. "Though I still don't get why you picked that name. It's so... not you."

"It was Scar's idea, mostly. He already had his whole 'HotGuy' bit. Thought it would be funny to have 'CuteGuy' as his sidekick," Grian explains with a shrug, taking a sip from his thermos of tea. "And honestly, it's not so bad. Keeps people guessing."

"So, out of that whole group of vigilantes you were apart of, who chose what when you got caught?" Mumbo asks, curiosity peaking through his teasing.

"Well, there's quite a few of names. I'll tell a few. Of course, I became a hero along with BigB. Pearlescentmoon chose to spend a while working in the tower as a cleaning lady to cover her community service." Grian rattles off names, placing penalties to people, most of which were a lot more lenient then they would be now.

"Timmy managed to sneak under the radar and quit himself. Oh, and Martyn did pretty much the same thing. No idea what made him start working at the tower himself, though." He continues, "Tom worked at the tower as a video editor last I heard, and Netty went completely off-grid for a while until she could come back as a civilian."

Mumbo nods, taking a sip of his own tea. "And what about the others?"

"I can't remember all of them," Grian says with a sigh.

Mumbo nods, his gaze drifting to the distant skyscrapers of the city. "I get it. It's been a while. But it's just weird to think we're all connected through this weird web of heroism and... well, not-so-heroism."

Grian takes another sip of his tea, his eyes reflecting the moon's glow. "Yeah, but that's the thing about this life, isn't it? We're all just trying to make a difference, even if it's not always in the most conventional ways."

"True," Mumbo agrees, his voice a little quieter now. "But sometimes I wonder if we're just fooling ourselves."

Grian pokes His taller roommate in the rib. "You're always fooling."

Mumbo laughs, slapping Grian's hand away. "You know what I mean."

Grian's expression turns contemplative. "Yeah, I do. It's just... Sometimes you've got to do what you believe is right, even if it's not what everyone else expects of you."

Mumbo nods, his eyes still on the moon. "That's what I've been thinking too. But it's hard to know what's right when everyone's got their own version of the truth."

"We're starting to sound like we're going on one of Scar's deep rants." Grian says, his tone lightening the mood.

Mumbo snorts, "Speaking of, his birthday's coming up and he's been talking nonstop about getting a cat."

"A cat?" Grian repeats, his eyes widening. "For real?"

Mumbo nods. "Yeah, apparently he's had his heart set on it since we moved in together. Says it's 'good for the soul' or something like that."

"Awe Mumbo, please! Can we get a cat?" Grian says with a hopeful look on his face, his eyes bright with excitement.

Mumbo laughs, "You know how much work a cat is right? And have you seen our apartment?"

"Me and Scar will clean the apartment. And we'll take care of it."

Mumbo's skepticism was clear, "I'm not sure if a cat is the best idea for us right now, Gri."

"Come on, think of the cuddles and the meme potential!" Grian's enthusiasm was infectious, his eyes pleading.

Mumbo sighs, his own smile growing. "Alright, alright. We'll talk to Scar about it. But if we're going to do this, we need to be serious. We can't just get a cat because it's fun. It's a responsibility."

"Yes, mum." Grian rolls his eyes at Mumbo playfully before jumping to his feet, the conversation of a cat effectively breaking the tension. "Let's go talk to him now! I want five!"

The parrot hybrid is already halfway down the stairwell before Mumbo can say a word.

Mumbo chuckles, shaking his head as he follows Grian down the stairs to their apartment. "You know we can't have five cats," he says, trying to sound firm, but his resolve is already crumbling.

"You're right." Grian pouts a little. But just when Mumbo thinks he's got the upper hand, "We'll need six to balance it out."

Mumbo sighs, "We are not getting six cats." But he can't help but smile at Grian's childlike excitement.

"But think of the chaos!" Grian exclaims, his eyes twinkling with mischief as they enter their apartment, the walls adorned with various superhero and villain memorabilia from their past.

"I am thinking of the chaos, that's exactly why we're not getting six." Mumbo says, trying (failing) to hide his smile.

Scar is in the living room, scrolling through his phone with a content look on his face. He looks up as the other two enter, his eyes widening at the sight of Grian's excitement. "What's gotten into you?"

"Mumbo said we can get eight cats!" Grian announces, unable to contain his excitement as he bounds into the room.

Scar's expression shifts from amusement to bewilderment. "Eight? Did I miss something?"

Mumbo facepalms, "We are absolutely not getting eight cats, Grian, you know I didn't say that."

"So six, then?"

Mumbo's head snaps up at Grian's hopeful voice. "Absolutely not. We're not getting six cats. Or eight. Or any number of cats that would result in our apartment being overrun by furry chaos," Mumbo says firmly, though his tone is light.

"Awe, but Mumbo! What if the kittens are being raised together? They'll miss each other." Scar leans over the side of the couch to give Mumbo his saddest look. The deep gray cat ears of his own dropping and adding to the sad look.

Mumbo sighs, "We can talk about it. But if we do get a cat, it's gotta be one, okay?"

"One cat?" Grian repeats solemnly, trying to hold back his mischievous look. "But he'll get so lonely."

Scar nods in agreement, his cat-like eyes sparkling with hope. "Exactly, Mumbo. It's cruel to leave a little furball all alone in this big, scary world."

Mumbo can't help but chuckle at Scar's dramatics, "Okay, okay. But we're not going to the shelter until we're absolutely sure we're ready for the commitment. I don't even know if our lease allows pets."

"It does I wouldn't have signed it if it didn't." Scar says with a smug look. "But we're getting cats."

Mumbo looks over to him, raising an eyebrow, "You checked our lease?"

"Well, I checked the pet policy," Scar corrects, "And it's fine, as long as we don't have anything massive or exotic in here."

Grian claps his hands together, "Then it's settled! Cat time!"

Mumbo catches Grian by the collar of his shirt as he starts back towards the door. "It's the middle of the night, Grian. We'll do this tomorrow morning."

"But what if all the good ones are gone by tomorrow?" Grian whines.

"You're gonna be the death of me." He drops Grian and runs his hand through his hair. "You coming, Scar?"

Chapter Text

Scar nods, setting his phone aside and standing up. "Always ready for a little adventure." He says with a smirk.

Mumbo shakes his head, but he can't help but feel a small thrill of excitement at the idea of bringing a new member into their little family. He's always been the "responsible one" if that, but even he can appreciate the joy that a pet could bring into their lives. Plus, it might be good for Scar, who's been working long hours at the Tower lately.

The trio hit the streets, all three keeping a keen eye on their surroundings, a trait most people in the city dawn when walking at night.

Grian leads the way, his steps light and swift as he navigates the alleyways. "We're not far from the shelter now," he says over his shoulder, his voice filled with excitement. "They've got a bunch of cats that need homes. Maybe we'll find one with superpowers!"

Mumbo snorts, "Don't get your hopes up too high. We're not looking for a sidekick, just a companion."

"Or eight companions." Scar quips, a hint of mischief in his voice.

Mumbo shoots him a look that says 'not happening'. "We're sticking to one. For now." He reminds Grian and Scar, who both nod solemnly, though the glint in Grian's eye suggests he's not fully giving up on the idea of a furry army.

They arrive at the shelter, a cozy building with a glowing neon sign that reads 'Paws and Claws'. Inside, the air is filled with the comforting smells of litter and wet fur. The cacophony of meowing cats reaches them, each crying out for attention. Grian's eyes widen as he takes in the sight of so many furry faces staring back at them from their cages.

"Okay, let's start slow," Mumbo says, trying to keep a lid on Grian's boundless enthusiasm. They walk down the rows of cages, each cat more adorable than the last. Grian makes a point to greet every single one, his voice filled with cheer and hope.

Grian quickly gets distracted from his words by a small Egyptian Mau with green eyes and silver and black fur, batting lightly at his finger through the grate.

"Oh, Mumbo, look at this one!" He says, his voice a high-pitched squeal. "And this one matches!" He sets his eyes on a bigger Bronze Egyptian Mau with the same eyes and brown and black fur.

Mumbo raises an eyebrow, "Matching cats, Gri?"

"Well, yeah," Grian says, his voice filled with excitement, "It'd be like having twins!"

Mumbo chuckles, "Alright, we'll take a look. But remember, we're not leaving with an entire litter."

They make their way down the row, with Grian oohing and ahing at every feline that crosses his path. Scar, ever the strategist, is more subdued, eyeing each cat with a critical gaze. Finally, they reach the end of the row, where three cages line the back wall.

One sits empty, the next holds two young cats, a male and female domestic short-hair, both tiny and perfect with dark fur and curious eyes. Both awe Scar with their snuggling.

The last holds another short-hair, one that reminds Scar a lot of his own features. Her ears are the same gray, her tail just the same as his. Her white and gray fur and striking eyes leaving nothing for debate. This is going to be his cat.

Mumbo watches the interaction with a knowing smile. "Looks like you've found your match, Scar." He says with a chuckle.

Scar nods, unable to take his eyes off the kittens. "They're perfect. But what about you, Gri? Any takers?"

Grian is still sat utterly distracted by the cats he'd first layed his eyes on.

"What do you think, Mumbo? They're so cute!" He exclaims, his voice high pitched with excitement.

"We're not getting five cats."

They leave the shelter, Mumbo's arms full with a bundle of paperwork and a cat carrier. An utterly defeated look on his face.

Grian and Scar on the other hand, are beaming so much it's visible from space, a cat carrier of their own in each hand.

Mumbo sighs, "You two are going to be the death of me." But his grumbling is light-hearted, the joy on their faces too contagious to resist.

As they exit the shelter into the cool night air, Grian and Scar are already making plans for the new additions to their apartment. "We're going to need catnip," Grian says, scrolling through his phone. "And litter. And toys. And cat trees. And..."

Mumbo groans, "We're going to need a bigger apartment."

They walk down the street, the cats in their carriers purring contentedly. Grian and Scar discuss potential names for their new companions while Mumbo tries to keep up with their enthusiasm.

"How about 'Maui'?" Grian suggests for the Bronze Egyptian Mau with a hopeful smile.

Mumbo chuckles, "Alright, that's a good one for the big guy. What about the little one?" He nods towards the smaller silver and black cat that Grian had his heart set on.

"She's so much smaller than he is." Grian coos for a moment before focusing. "She looks like a Pearl." He settles.

Mumbo nods in approval, "Pearl it is."

Scar, stroking the gray and white cat in his carrier, adds, "And I'll call her 'Jellie'." He than glances to the carrier he has Mumbo carrying. "And for the twins? How about Katy Bee and Mr. Finnegan."

Mumbo nods in agreement, his eyes reflecting the warm glow from the street lamps, "Sounds good to me."

"So you really mean we can go back on my birthday?" Scar asks, his voice filled with excitement, his eyes lighting up.

"This was supposed to be something we would do for your birthday but I guess someone couldn't wait that long." Mumbo stares daggers at Grian, who's too busy fawning over his new cats to care.

They arrive at their apartment, the cats' meowing echoing through the halls. Grian fumbles with his keys, his hands trembling slightly with excitement.

"Let's get them inside before they wake the whole neighborhood," Mumbo says, his voice a mix of amusement and exasperation.

They hurry into the apartment, the cats still meowing in their carriers. Grian sets Pearl and Maui down on the floor, and they immediately start to explore, their tails high and curious eyes darting around the room.

Mumbo places Jellie and the twins, Katy Bee and Mr. Finnegan, on the living room rug. The twins stick close to each other, their fur brushing together as they cautiously take in their new surroundings. Jellie, however, seems more adventurous.

With a leap, she lands on the couch, her gray tail flicking as she sniffs the cushions. Scar laughs and scoops her up, holding her against his chest. She purrs, nuzzling into his neck, and he can't help but melt at the contact.

Mumbo sets the carriers aside and starts to unpack the supplies they brought. "Alright, let's get these two set up in the spare room for now," he says, pointing to Katy Bee and Mr. Finnegan. "With them most accustomed to each other they'll be fine. Scar, Grian, you other respective cats will stay in your rooms while no one's home."

Scar nods, his eyes still on Jellie, who's now sitting on his shoulder like a parrot. "Got it," he says, stroking her gently.

Grian, meanwhile, is already setting up the litter box and food dishes, his movements efficient despite his excitement. The sight of the twins exploring their new home brings a smile to Mumbo's face, despite his initial reservations about getting a pet. He'd have to admit, they did seem to fit in perfectly with their little found family.

The rest of the night is a blur of setting up cat trees and playing with their new companions. Mumbo can't help but feel a sense of warmth and belonging as he watches Grian and Scar bond with their new feline friends. It's moments like these that make all the danger and uncertainty of their chaotic lives seem a little less overwhelming.

By the time everything is settled down, Pearl in sitting on Mumbo's lap, Scar is babying Jellie, the twins off exploring the living room, and Grian is lifting Maui, looking the cat dead in the eyes and whispering something about that cat being "his son".

Mumbo can't help but laugh, "You're going to spoil them rotten, you know that, right?"

"What's even the point if we don't." Grian says, not taking his gaze off the adoring face of Maui, who is purring with the same enthusiasm.

Mumbo rolls his eyes, "Alright, alright. But remember, we have to keep this place clean. I don't want fur everywhere."

Scar nods in agreement, "We'll set up a cleaning schedule. And I'll make sure to keep Jellie out of your office." He smiles, already feeling the stress of the day melt away with her purrs.

Grian, noticing Mumbo's skepticism, jumps in, "Don't worry, I've got a plan. We'll train the cats to be superhero sidekicks. They can help us keep the city safe and the place clean!"

Mumbo raises an eyebrow, "And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"

Grian's eyes light up, "It's simple! We'll start with the basics, like 'sit' and 'stay'. Then we'll move on to more advanced commands, like 'fetch the remote' and 'deflect laser beams'."

Mumbo laughs, "Yeah, it's quite simple really."

The three of them sit in the living room, surrounded by their newfound family, the cats exploring their new environment. The tension from their active lives momentarily forgotten, replaced by the soothing purrs and the occasional mischief of a cat knocking over a lamp.

But just because the night for the trio is settling down, doesn't mean it is for everyone.

Chapter Text

Bdubs decided he was due for a late-night patrol, so he called the day and the following day off work and dawned his vigilante gear for a full night of patrol and activity.

The night was cool, a perfect contrast to the warmth of the day, as Bdubs made his way to the rooftops. His mossy green hoodie and red bandanna were the only things visible to the untrained eye as he moved swiftly and silently across the city. The moon was high and full, casting a pale glow on the rooftops.

Usually, he'd never get to see a proper night in the city. He would go to bed right at sunset and wake up shortly past sunrise. But not tonight. Tonight was different. Tonight, he was B00100, and he had the whole city to watch over.

He leapt from one building to the next, his time manipulation allowing him to land with ease and precision now that his headaches were gone.

The streets below were a tapestry of shadows and neon lights. His heart raced with excitement and a touch of nervousness. It had been a while since he'd done this solo.

But he was a great vigilante. The best, some might say. In all seriousness, his powers of time manipulation made him a force to be reckoned with. He could slow time to a crawl to dodge bullets or speed himself up to catch fleeing criminals. The criminals of the city had come to fear the sight of his mossy green hood and the red bandanna that covered his identity.

He'd been hearing whispers of a new player in town, someone that had been causing a ruckus in the East End. It was time to pay them a visit. He landed gracefully on a rooftop near the epicenter of the recent crime spree. His eyes searched the streets for any signs of trouble.

A scream pierced the night air, cutting through the quietude like a knife. Without hesitation, he sprinted to the source, his legs a blur as he sped through the cityscape.

The alley was a cacophony of shouts and clanging metal. He spotted a group of thugs surrounding a terrified bystander. Bdubs took a deep breath, focusing his energy. Time slowed around him, and with a burst of speed, he dashed into the fray. The thugs were caught off guard, their punches and kicks moving like molasses as he weaved between them.

With swift precision, he disarmed one, his fist connecting with the jaw of another. The thud of a body hitting the ground echoed through the narrow space. The remaining thugs, realizing the gravity of the situation, turned tail and ran. But not before he grabbed one by the collar and tripped another.

"Let me ask you this one time. What master do you serve?" He growled, his grip tightening. Maybe they have something to do with this new player. If not, it's a good scare to them.

The thug squirmed, eyes wide with terror. "What master do I serve? What am I supposed to say, Jesus?" The man's voice is panicked and somewhat frustrated.

"You're from the city?" Bdubs asks the three still close enough to hear him.

"I'm not from the city. I'm from South Bay." The one holding the side of his jaw from the hit responds.

"Yeah that's in the city, dipshit." The one scrambling back to his feet shouts at his apprentice.

Already tired of the bickering, Bdubs waves his hand, pausing all three criminals. He drops his hand from the collar of the man now suspended in air, turning to the bystander he'd been helping.

"Are you alright?" He asks, his voice calm and collected despite the chaos he'd just stirred up.

The bystander nods, visibly shaking. "Yes. Yes, thank you." They whisper, their eyes never leaving the frozen figures before them.

"Police station's down the block. Run down that way, give your story. Tell them Bdubs sent you. They should be down here to arrest them within the ten minutes I'll leave them paused."

The bystander nodded, their eyes wide in disbelief at the sight before them, but also a hint of gratitude. They scurry away, leaving the three suspended criminals in the alley with a vigilante.

Bdubs promptly leaves, setting a ten minute timer on one of his clocks for later. Leaving the three paused wouldn't drain him too much for ten minutes. His power has been on a major high for weeks now.

The adrenaline from the fight was coursing through his veins, but he knew he couldn't let it get to his head. There was more to be done. He continued his patrol, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, the city stretching out before him like a map of shadow and light.

As he moved deeper into the East End, he felt a disturbance in the air—something was off, something powerful was nearby. His senses tingled with anticipation. This was the kind of challenge he lived for, the kind that would test his skills and resolve.

Rounding a corner, he found himself face to face with the new threat. The figure was tall, draped in metal, with a sinister aura that seemed to suck the very light from the air around them. A chilling grin spread beneath the villain's mask, revealing a set of gleaming metal teeth.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the infamous B00100," the villain's voice was a cold, metallic echo. "Heard you've been playing hero around here."

Bdubs' eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the clock he'd been fidgeting with as he walked. "You're the one causing trouble in the East End?"

The metal-clad villain took a step closer, the sound of his heavy boots echoing through the alleyway. "Trouble? I prefer to think of it as a little... renovation. The city's gone stale. Time for a fresh coat of chaos."

Bdubs plays casual, an easy confidence settling in his shoulders after the successful fight. "What kinda chaos? I've heard there's been a few reports of mischief but I'd like to know what you specialize in."

The villain laughs, a sound that makes the hair on the back of Bdubs' neck stand up. "I'm a wildcard, really. But tonight, I'm just here to collect a little... answers."

Bdubs tenses, sensing the danger. He's heard of wildcards before—villains with no clear motive, no affiliation, just a thirst for chaos. "What answers are you looking for?"

"I have a couple questions for you. After I ask each one, I'll give you a few minutes to answer, you can ask any person you'd like what the right answer is." The metal-clad villain says with a chuckle, a hint of madness in their voice.

Bdubs' heart skips a beat. This wasn't the typical greeting from a new player in town. It was more like a twisted game show host. He nods slowly, keeping his guard up, "What will I get if I get it right?"

The villain's grin widens. "Oh, if you get it right, I might just let you walk away. If not..." He shrugs, his metal shoulders clanking together. "Let's just say you won't be missed."

"And if I refuse to play?" Bdubs challenges, his voice steady despite the fear that tries to creep in.

The metal-clad villain tilts their head, a metallic creak echoing in the silent alley. "Refuse?" They laugh, the sound sharp and cold. "That's not really an option."

"Right." He pauses, coming to the conclusion that he really only has one option. "Ask away."

The villain raises their hand, fingers splayed as if holding an invisible card. "Question one. What is the true identity of the villain known as Zedaph?"

Oh. That's the type of game this villain played.

Bdubs' mind races, trying to think of a strategy. He couldn't risk anyone in his inner circle, especially with how close Zed had gotten to them. He'd need to be smart, cautious.

Could he answer wrong and hope the villain bought it, assuming they were looking to him for the answer?

Bdubs knew he couldn't take that risk. His friends' safety was too important. But he had to stall, buy some time. "Ah, a trivia fan, are you?" He asked, his tone mocking. "Well, you're in luck. I've got all the answers right here." He tapped his head with a smirk, his eyes flicking around the alley, searching for an advantage.

The metal-clad villain's smile grew colder. "You're stalling."

"Am I?" Bdubs replied, his tone light. "I just need a moment to remember. You know, with so many faces in this city, it's hard to keep track."

The villain's patience was clearly wearing thin, but they allowed the stall. "You have five minutes. Don't waste them."

He can't just give up Zed's identity. Not now, not ever. But what other options did he have?

Bdubs took a deep breath, his eyes darting around the alley, searching for anything that might give him an edge. His eyes fell on a nearby payphone, a relic of a bygone era. An idea began to form. "I need to make a call," he said calmly, his voice carrying an air of confidence he didn't quite feel.

"Feel free." The villain says with a wave of their hand, clearly amused by the idea of a vigilante using a payphone in the digital age.

Bdubs walks over to the phone, his hand hovering over the receiver. He needs to be smart, he can't risk giving away anything that would lead back to Zedaph. His mind racing, he dials a number he knows by heart—Etho's personal line.

Etho answers on the third ring, his voice groggy with sleep. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me, Bdubs. I've got a situation," Bdubs whispers urgently, keeping his voice low.

Etho's sleepiness vanishes immediately. "What's wrong?"

Bdubs quickly fills him in on the metal-clad villain and the game of answers he's been dragged into. "I can't give up Zed's identity, man. You know that."

Etho's voice is sharp with alertness on the other end of the line. "Don't you dare. Give them anything but the truth, understand?"

"But what happens if this crooked game show host knows the right answer and is just messing with me to see if I'd give it up? Zed's not exactly subtle." Bdubs whispers into the phone, his eyes never leaving the villain who was watching him intently.

"Then you lie," Etho says firmly. "Make something up, but keep Zed safe. Turn on your location, I'll be there. Hold out as long as you can."

"I have less than five minutes to answer." Bdubs says into the phone, his voice a mix of urgency and strategy.

"Then use that time to figure out what you're going to say," Etho responds, the line crackling as the call ends.

Bdubs nods to himself, his eyes never leaving the villain. He turns to face the metal-clad figure, his mind racing. "Alright, I've made my call. What do you say we get this over with?"

"Two minutes, thirty seconds." The villain announced with a smug smile.

Bdubs' mind was racing. He knew he couldn't reveal Zedaph's identity, but he needed to give them something. He thought of all the aliases they'd discussed, the false trails they'd laid. Nothing too obvious, but something plausible enough to throw them off.

"Alright," he began, his voice calm and steady. "I've got your answer. Zedaph is actually..." He paused for dramatic effect, watching the villain's grin falter slightly. "A disguised hero, working undercover to infiltrate the villain underworld. His identity is a disguised hero."

Bdubs holds his breath, hoping his lie was good enough.

The metal-clad villain's grin falters for a moment before it returns, wider than before. "Very clever, B00100. But you forget who you're dealing with. I know a lie when I hear one."

Bdubs nearly bites his own tongue off in surprise. He'd hoped his bluff would hold, but apparently, he'd underestimated this new player. The villain's eyes narrowed, the metallic gleam in them sharper than ever. "Let's try again, shall we? New question."

The villain leaned in, their voice a whisper of malice. "Who among your 'hero' friends is the most vulnerable to the Council's influence?"

Deciding he has to at least answer something truthfully, and dubbing this answer fairly harmless, he thinks for a moment before deciding. "Rendog."

The villain tilts their head, seemingly surprised by the ease of his response. "Why him?"

"Is that a genuine question or another quiz?" Bdubs asks, his tone still calm but with an edge of annoyance.

The villain chuckles, "Oh, a bit of both, I suppose. I've heard tales of your group, the ones who dare to stand against the Council. Tell me, what makes him so vulnerable?"

"He's close with heroes, mentoring one, and he's gotten it drilled into his head by them that he owes the Council everything."

The villain nods thoughtfully, as if considering the information. "Interesting," they murmur. "And what about your own vulnerabilities, B00100? What makes you tick?"

He sighs in defeat, thinking to his weaknesses.

"Well, you've got me there," Bdubs admits, leaning against the alley wall. "My biggest vulnerability is probably my past. I've got a lot of regrets, a lot of things that could come back to bite me if anyone ever found out. But I've moved on from that, I've got a new life now. A purpose."

The alarm he'd set rings, he eases his tension and drops his effects, focusing more now on what's in front of him.

The metal-clad villain's eyes narrowed, their grin fading. "I don't appreciate your lack of seriousness, vigilante."

"Then you picked the wrong vigilante to ask questions." Bdubs says with a smirk, sliding the red bandanna down to reveal his identity. "I don't have time for games."

With that, he breaks the hidden camera on the villain's mask, spinning behind it and digging into a bulk of wires under a thin metal panel in the neck of the figure. After that, the dismantled robot drops lifeless to the alley floor.

"Well, that was anticlimactic," he says with a chuckle, watching the metal shell collapse with a thud.

He knew it was risky, but the smugness of the villain had him convinced it was a trap. And traps were something he knew how to deal with.

The alley was silent now, the robotic villain's clanging footsteps ceased. The metal shell laid lifeless, revealing the emptiness beneath. A sense of relief washed over him. He'd outsmarted it.

Bdubs pulled out a small device from his pocket, it looked like a USB stick but had a tiny screen and buttons. He plugged it into the robot's neck, accessing the data stored within. The screen flickered to life, displaying blueprints, intel on the Council's operations, and a few encrypted messages. It seemed he'd stumbled upon something important.

He downloads and saves the logs for himself and promptly deletes it off the bot itself.

Etho arrives with a flash of light, his partially dawned outfit obviously suggests he'd rushed into what was important and left the rest. "You okay, man?" He asks, surveying the scene.

"Yeah, it was a robot." Bdubs says with a shrug. "But it had some intel on it." He holds up the USB stick, the glow of victory lighting up his eyes and toothy smile.

Etho looks around, his eyes scanning the alley, "Where's the mastermind?"

"No idea." Bdubs says, holding up the USB stick with a smug grin, "But it had some juicy details about the Council's next move. We might've just struck gold."

Etho nods, his eyes scanning the alley as if expecting an ambush. "Good work, but we can't stay here. We need to get this to the others." He punctuates his words with a yawn, walking over and yanking the bandana back over Bdubs' face.

"It can wait until tomorrow. Give notice about a meeting tomorrow night and go back to bed." Bdubs says, clapping a hand on Etho's shoulder. "I've got a patrol to finish."

Etho nods, his expression torn between concern and fatigue. "Be careful, alright?" He says, his hand hovering over the USB stick before finally letting it go.

Bdubs nods, the weight of the new information heavy on his mind. "Always am," he says with a wink, before Etho stalks back down the alley.

The night air feels cooler now, the moon's glow dimming slightly as the clouds drift overhead. He pulls the bandana back into place properly, the fabric sticking slightly to his damp skin from his earlier exertion. The alley is quiet, save for the distant wail of a siren echoing through the city. He can't help but wonder if it's the thugs he'd left suspended for the cops to find.

Chapter Text

Bdubs takes a moment to catch his breath, the adrenaline from the fight slowly wearing off. He's learned that these quiet moments are often the most dangerous. The city holds its breath, waiting for the next act of chaos to unfold. He starts to walk away from the metal heap, the USB stick tucked safely in his pocket. His senses are on high alert, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum.

As he rounds the corner, he spots a shadow flit across the rooftops, disappearing into the night. It's not uncommon for other vigilantes to be out this late, but the timing is too perfect to be a coincidence. His instincts scream that the real villain is still watching, biding their time. He quickens his pace, the weight of his hoodie feeling heavier with each step out of stress.

He doesn't know exactly who he was expecting to see, but he knows it wasn't Vex. The figure lands in a graceful crouch beside him, their eyes meeting his through the white slits in their mask, clearly able to see through them despite them looking solid against the dusty blue of the rest of the mask.

"You're not going to tell me it's a coincidence you're here, right?" he asks, his voice tight with suspicion.

"I think you'll that's exactly what I'm going to say." The telling lack of change in the vigilante's voice despite having the right design of mask to easily work in a voice changer was a little surprising to Bdubs. "I saw your fight a little while ago, I like your style." Vex crosses his arms, his posture unthreatening. "Then I saw your run-in with whatever that thing in that alley was, and I've got to hand it to you, catching onto it being a robot was really smart."

"Oh, come on, man." Bdubs puts his own faux relaxed attitude, pocketing his hands and shrugging. "Keep giving me compliments and my head will be too big to fight crime."

Vex laughs lightly, "You're not wrong, but seriously, you're making waves. The Council's got their eyes on you."

Bdubs frowns under his bandanna, the mood shifting from playful to serious in an instant. "They do? How'd you figure that out?"

"I have my ways," Vex says, his tone enigmatic. "But I'm not here to start a fight. I want to talk. You've got guts, B00100, and I respect that. But playing hide and seek with the Council isn't a game you can win alone."

"Trust me, I'm not alone." Bdubs says with a hint of pride, his eyes never leaving Vex's masked face. "Y'know, speaking of not being alone. The group I'm apart of haven't gone unfamiliar with your name."

Vex tilts his head slightly, curiosity piqued. "And what have you heard?"

"Not a whole lot other than stuff on the news, which we usually take pretty lightly, and things you've told people." Bdubs admits, his eyes never leaving the masked figure in front of him.

Vex nods slowly, his gaze unreadable behind the mask. "Then let me tell you something they won't have you believe. The Council isn't just watching you because you're a nuisance. They're watching because you have potential. The kind of potential that could either make or break them."

"They've been on my tail for years now. Even if they did catch me after all this time, I don't know if they'll even bother having me forced into heroism like other vigilantes with 'potential' have been." Bdubs says, his tone a mix of skepticism and wariness.

Vex nods, his head tilts slightly to the side, "I know the feeling. But let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? For now, I need to know what you plan on doing with that information you took from the robot." He says, his voice firm but not aggressive. More curious.

"Well, for starters, I need to get it encoded and figure out what exactly is on it. After that, I don't see why I should tell you." Bdubs replied, his hand casually hovering near the USB stick in his pocket.

Vex chuckled, his mask muffling the sound slightly. "I can see why they're worried about you. You're a smart cookie."

Bdubs couldn't help but feel a smug satisfaction at the compliment. "Thanks, I try."

Vex leaned against the alley wall, his posture suggesting a casualness he hadn't seen in anyone who talked about the Council. "Look, I'm not here to take it from you. I just want to know if you're going to be a problem for them or for me. I've got my own beef with the Council, but I need to know whose side you're on before I decide if we're going to be butting heads or not."

Bdubs studied him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was telling the truth or playing another game. "Alright, let's say I believe you. What's your angle?"

Vex's posture remained unthreatening, his voice even. "My angle is simple. I want to take the Council down. If you're going to be a thorn in their side, I need to know if you're going to be an asset or a liability."

"I've been described as such before. But I'm good at what I do and I can definitely agree that the Council needs a big reword." Bdubs says, his tone measured.

Vex's posture shifts slightly, a hint of respect in his stance. "Then we may have a common goal. I've been gathering intel on them for a while now. If you're willing to share what you've found, I might be able to help you decode it."

"I don't exactly need much help with it, but I would definitely like you to join me and my group. You're a smart vigilante and you're someone we've found pretty interesting lately." Bdubs says, his eyes squinting slightly as he looks at Vex's mask.

Vex nods, considering the proposal. "And what's in it for me? Besides the pleasure of your company, of course."

"Well, there's immunity given by all the members of the group for the duration we work together, there's a reliable tram of backup whenever needed. As well as the opportunity to learn more about the supers of the city." Bdubs says, his eyes never leaving Vex's masked face.

Vex considers this for a moment, his arms still crossed over his chest. "Alright, but only if you promise to be transparent with what you find. I don't work with people who keep secrets."

"I can assure you, at a certain point, the group becomes more like a second home. There's no a whole lot we keep hidden from each other. There's a few guys that don't share much about their real identities, but anything that pertains to our missions, is out on the table." Bdubs says, his voice carrying the weight of experience.

Vex nods thoughtfully, his eyes still unreadable behind the mask. "Fair enough. But I need to know if you're willing to take this seriously. I'm not interested in playing superhero with people who don't understand the gravity of what we're up against."

"I'm telling ya, we're some of the least serious people you'll ever meet, but we always get the job done." Bdubs's eyes shine with a hidden smile, through the truth in his words are clear.

Chapter Text

Vex tilts his head, his gaze contemplative. "Alright, you've got yourself a deal. But remember, the Council isn't known for playing fair. If we're going to take them down, we're going to have to be ready for anything."

"Trust me, if my group is known for anything, it's being prepared. We weren't once and learned the hard way what that cost." Bdubs says, his expression not faltering even as he recounts the incident at the warehouse.

Being unprepared cost them a lot of setback, no one's making that mistake again.

"Congrats, Vex. You're now a member of the Hermits. Welcome to the team." Bdubs holds out his hand to the vigilante, giving it a firm shake and pressing a button on the side of his communicator, ending his end of an open mic he started when he was departing with Etho.

Soon later, a meeting is called and all the members are able to show up despite the late hour. Half the responses to his message was being surprised the vigilante mocked most for his love of sleeping in to be awake so late.

He'd also let those with jobs that called for an early morning shift, the meeting could be rescheduled, but Gem said she was already up, Zed's workload for the morning was all work from home, Doc had the next day off for a physical therapy appointment around noon, and both Skizz and Ren had late shifts.

Other than that, all schedules were fine with a very late meeting.

The run down was the same as when Mumbo was introduced, Gem being able to introduce herself, as well as Doccy making an appearance, both under the conditions of Vex's blatant hate for the hero Committee and that there was no way Doc and Ren were leaving the toddler home alone.

Speaking of Vex's hate for the Council, those that recognized the civilian behind the mask were surprised to learn about such hatred due to the fact that he worked under them.

"As a couple of you already know, my name's Cub Fan. Out of the mask you can call me Cub. I work at the hero tower, mostly with HotGuy." Vex, or Cub, shrugs from his seat.

Skizz is by far the most surprised to learn that one of the managers he sees almost everyday is a vigilante, even though the voice of him really didn't change.

The group go over the typical greetings and move on to planning their next moves.

One thing that is brought up is Bdubs's encounter with whatever game show robot he met in the alley was and what they do with the flash drive of information.

Tango offers to take and decode the encryption on some of it with his spare time, and from there the conversation shifts to the usual random chatter of a meeting, though evergy levels are a bit lower this late into the night.

But, Mumbo and Cub both get to meet the wonder of the world that is Doccy, the tiny goat hybrid blinking and cooing up at the two tiredly from Doc's lap.

"This might be the cutest thing I've ever seen." Mumbo kneels to be level with the little one, a notable scratch on his cheek from one of his many cats.

Cub is equally adoring, his voice going from it's usual nonchalant state to a light sweet tone at the sight of the tiny goat. "I'd die for this thing."

"Welcome to the club, Cub. Hey, that sounds finny, club Cub." Skizz remarks from the new recruit's side. Impulse just smiles at his best friend's easy amusement from his seat while listening to Tango tell a story as the fiery blonde fidgets with a busted circuit board.

Ren, on the other hand, had a thought pulled to the front of his mind when Bdubs brought up a flash drive. The one he hiself received likely still sitting in a drawer in the office through the door behind him.

He sighs, deciding to put off the watch any longer. He stands and walks through the door to a mostly unused office area that likely used to be a manager's office when the store was open.

It's a small, windowless, square room with a couple filing cabinets that are occupied with codes and designs and plans the more tech-savy members have somewhat organized, and an old desk, chair, and a computer setup. The rest of the space mostly empty.

Ren sits down, opens the bottom drawer of the wooden desk and pulls out the flash drive from under a few office supplies.

He decides that it's best to plug in the drive and watch the video he's been dreading for months now rather than waiting for his mind to change again.

He tries not to turn away much as he is ran through the fight from so many years ago, though as he watches he does take notes of the faults in the much younger Ren's combat, he goes through better moves to combat the ones he sees mentally.

It's does get to the point where he needs to close his eyes, just the memory of he injury that brought his scar making his stomach twist.

He opens them as the screen shines bright behind his eyelids, watching to see what had happened after the fire.

Thought the camera lens gets a little distorted from the heat, his own likely unconscious body is still visible in the corner of the frame.

After just a few seconds, he sees the flames of the fire being blown backwards by a pair of brown wings as a villain steps into the frame.

She sees the limp hero on the ground, her steam punk styled outfit glinting in the burning light.

Ren recognizes her almost immediately, the steam punk style, the wings, the bright blonde hair tied back.

The villain, definitely even younger than the young hero she stumbled upon scoops up the boy and disappears back off frame the way she came from with a small amount of struggle, flames creeping back into the area as the footage cuts.

The villain in question, someone that has been involved with crime throughout the city for years, someone that Ren fought just a handful of months ago while stopping a big robbery, someone that Cleo spends a lot of time working with while being a villain.

FalseSymmetry. A steam punk villain with powers of strength and agility when engaged in combat, not to mention her powerful wings.

She's the reason Ren is alive? A villain he's fought countless amounts of times is the reason he was able to grow as a hero beyond his own and his employer's near fatal mistake? Why? And what was she doing just waltzing into a burning building? Just on chance to find a dying hero in need of aid?

Chapter Text

Ren isn't able to answer his questions for himself, or even really process the information before his phone is blaring the familiar All Units alarm call.

Through the door, he can hear Skizz, Cub and Doc's phones blaring the same alert.

Ren stands from the desk, putting his new information to the side and rushing out of the room to join the other two heroes and his new coworker in two aspects at the door.

Whatever it is, can't be good. It's also not exactly the right place for Vex to show up, so Cub takes off his gear and leaves it in the area, left in a dark blue button-up and slacks he just so happened to wear under his vigilante get up.

The four of them get there pretty quick and go their separate ways, Cub sits over near the, now present, Scar and Grian. Skizz sits a few seats away from them, speaking with the PR representative, Dot. Doc sits by Beef, Pause, and a few other members of the older team in the tower.

Ren, once again, is able to spot Cherri easily in the growing crowd. This time, Martyn is by her side, looking sleep deprived and all around unbothered.

After addressing that neither of them know what the meeting is about and that there aren't any injuries to worry about that have been recorded, they start getting into more normal conversation.

"So, how was the day off, Martyn?" Ren asks blonde, trying not to sound like he was going through a world of emotions.

"Eh, it was fine. I did some paperwork Cherri needed finished and helped my roomatr with some stuff. Nothing too big." The trainee shrugs, acting almost too nonchalant about his day.

Both of the other two clock it almost instantly, and he knows it, just refuses to elaborate. "Martyn." Cherri's tone is lined with a worried warning, clearly picking up on how off Martyn's complete nonchalance was.

"What did you help Oli with?" Ren asks, trying to get something more out of him.

"Just some program thing he was doing. He asked me to do a couple voices and play a few characters to get my voice cadence to mix with some Ai to write lines with." Martyn messes with the black headband holding back his mess of blonde hair.

"You know, for those skits he does." He adds as an afterthought, his eyes flicking around the room to see if anyone was listening, not noticing the tension in Ren's shoulders.

"Skits?" Ren repeats, his voice tight. He tries to keep his face neutral, but it's clear he's not buying it.

Cherri gives Martyn a knowing look, "You know he's going to find out eventually."

"Fine. I'll just tell you about them later, Ren. I'll explain everything." Martyn says, looking down at his phone as he sends a quick text, the screen lighting up his face briefly.

Ren nods, letting it drop for now. They all knew he'd find out eventually, but the pressing issue was the alarm call they all received. The Council was not one to summon everyone for trivial matters.

The Council members file into the room, their expressions a mix of solemnity and urgency. The crowd of heroes falls silent, tension thickening the air as everyone waits for an explanation. The Council leader, a stoic figure in a deep blue robe, steps forward.

"It has come to our attention that the information kept here at the tower has been breached. What information was stolen before we were able to track the breach is undetermined at this time. However, we suspect that it may be related to the recent activities of a vigilante group operating outside our jurisdiction." The Council leader announced gravely, his gaze sweeping over the assembled heroes.

Ren pauses, this must be what is on the flash drive Bdubs had. The information from that robot he busted tonight was gathered on it and likely contained Council information based on the type of encryption that was used, not very tricky ones, as the Council often get cocky and shrug off even the idea of information being found and stolen.

The Council's revelation sends a wave of unease through the room. Ren's mind races, trying to piece together the implications of this breach. Could it be related to their undercover work? Had they been found out? The Council's eyes bore into him, and for a moment, he felt like they could see through his disguise and into the hero's mind.

Could they? Did they know he was working with vigilantes and villains? Did they think he stole information for them himself? But the eyes are gone as soon as they appeared, shifting through the room.

The Council leader's next words are a weight that crashes into the room, knocking the air out of everyone's chests. The room is filled with murmurs of confusion and concern, but Ren's thoughts are a tornado, spinning with the realization that the stakes have just gotten higher.

"Through our current state of investigation, we have determined that there was at least one insider providing the information to an outside source. Who this may be and who the information was transferred to remains a mystery."

Ren's heart skips a beat as the Council's words hang in the air. He glances at the others, trying to gauge their reactions. Skizz, Doc, and even Cub seem equally shocked, while the others exchange nervous looks. The Council's suspicion of an internal leak is a dangerous turn of events.

It wasn't any of the Hermits. Ren would know if it was. But anyone else in the building would have no real reason to extort information.

It wouldn't really be for money, despite his constant indifference to the hero committee, he can admit the pay was pretty good all around.

It's something else entirely. Something that has nothing to do with any of them and everything to do with the Council's own greed and pride bringing them problems with outsiders.

The Council leader continues, "As such, we are implementing a strict curfew for all heroes. No patrols will be permitted outside of designated times and areas until further notice. Additionally, we will be increasing security measures within the tower."

Ren's eyes narrow, his mind racing as he considers the implications of this announcement. It's a clear attempt to control the flow of information and limit their ability to operate outside the Council's purview. But it's also a tacit admission of vulnerability, something the Council rarely shows.

Some other members on the Council begin handing out sheets of paper to select heroes. Once Ren receives his, he sees that is is a set of surrounding areas of town, as well as exact times of what he's allowed to spend in each area during his shift.

Every end of town is listed on his sheet except for South Bay, the most crime-heavy place in the city. It's, of course, the south-most end of town, and it's quite densely populated, being the, (quote from the Council,) "lower class area" as the oceanfront property was not anything to dream about.

Ren's eyes widen as he reads over the restrictions, his hand tightening on the paper. South Bay was where most of the vigilante activity occurred, where their secret base was located, and where the majority of their intel came from.

That's not to mention the very high crime rates and activities there. But maybe it's just not a place he patrols this week. As the schedules were being passed out, he heard the Council leader say something about receiving weekly schedules. He's probably just not a hero with that area listed this week.

Another hero probably doesn't have the North energy grids listed, or the warehouse district. As much as the Council does to their heroes, they probably wouldn't want them running all over town through schedules all shift like it's their first day on a college campus.

Ren will talk with Doc and Skizz about it after the meeting.

The Council's announcement has the room buzzing with whispers and concerns. Ren can feel the tension rising in his chest, his thoughts racing. He can't let this new curfew hinder their work with the vigilantes, especially if the Council suspects foul play from within their own ranks.

As the meeting concludes, the heroes begin to disperse, each contemplating the new restrictions. Ren pulls Martyn aside, his voice low and urgent, "You need to tell me everything about those 'skits' you've been helping Oli with. This is no time for secrets." Martyn's eyes widen, but he nods, understanding the gravity of the situation.

In a quiet corner, Martyn confesses that Oli had indeed been working on a program that could potentially hack the Council's systems. "It's just a side project, Ren. Nothing serious," he insists, his voice trembling. Ren's grip tightens on his shoulder, trying to keep his anger in check.

"Martyn.

What side project?"

"I-it's just, you know, to see if we can do it, to make sure our security systems are good, and they're not." Martyn stammers, looking away. "And Oli wanted to try out these realistic bots he was working on with a couple friends."

Ren sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. "You can't tell anyone else about this, not even Cherri. We're going to have to keep an eye on this and make sure it doesn't get out of hand. I already know what you're talking about. A friend of mine got caught up with one answering questions."

"But it's just for fun, right?" Martyn's voice is hopeful, searching for reassurance that he hasn't just landed himself and his friend in serious trouble. "You've met Oli. He wouldn't do something malicious. He just likes playing games and messing about."

Ren nods, trying to keep his concern from showing. "I know, but the Council doesn't see it that way. If they find out he's been poking around their systems, it won't end well. For any of us."

The group gathers outside the building and then start walking back to base, the weight of the Council's words still hanging in the air. Doc's eyes are alight with curiosity, while Skizz looks tense. Cub had been leaning against the wall, arms folded, his mind visibly racing.

Ren sent Martyn off, telling him he'll send him a message if he needs anything. "Doc, Skizz. What are your schedules?"

"Let's check," Doc says, pulling out his own paper. "Looks like I've got the industrial sector, North end, East end, and the downtown area. No South Bay, which is a little odd, considering."

"Mine is the shoping district, Western area, and a few other places. I don't see South Bay either." Skizz says, his brow furrowed as he reads over the paper.

Ren nods, "Mine's the same. It's like they're keeping us all out of there. We've got to find a way to keep tabs on it without arousing suspicion."

"But how do we manage that without violating the curfew?" Skizz asks, his voice a mix of frustration and worry.

Ren thinks for a moment, then looks at the others, a spark of determination in his eyes. "We need to get creative. Maybe we can use our connections in the vigilante community to keep an eye on things. They don't operate on Council time, after all." He glances at Cub, who nods.

Cub suggests, "I know a few folks who owe me some favors. I can ask them to keep an eye out in South Bay. Maybe we can set up a system to relay information without breaking the curfew yourselves. I'll definitely up my patrolling there."

Skizz nods, "And I can use imp's tech to monitor the area's cameras during my downtime. Maybe I can spot anything suspicious and report it to one of the patrolling vigilantes."

"Good plan," Ren says, his mind racing. "We've got to be smart about this. If we're not careful, we could all be in serious trouble."

The group agrees, their bond stronger than ever as they face this new challenge. Ren can feel the stakes rising, but he knows that with his friends by his side, they can navigate through the Council's web of control. They decide to meet back at the base to regroup and strategize further.

Chapter Text

The next week is a blur of planning and sneaking around loopholes for the heroes. Etho usually just pokes around Beef's schedule and relays information he can.

It's not until a particular news story gets out about an escaped prisoned vigilante hits the air.

Etho had worked with said vigilante before. In fact, they spent the weeks leading up to the man's capture as a duo. He was quite fond of his usually effective fighting style and his energetic personality.

"The imprisoned vigilante, SmallishBeans, has reportedly escaped containment earlier last night and is currently on the run. As of right now, the files that were on him were erased and have gone missing through both physical and data copies." Zed happens to remark from his reporting office, in his usual brightly colored blazer. "If you have seen anything suspicious in your neighborhood, do not hesitate to inform the closest enforcement to you."

The sheep hybrid goes through his description (shorter stature, mostly colored in greens, browns, and off-white, a colorful bask covers the bottom half of his face), powerset (matter manipulation and very minor explosive knock-back), and that he appeared to escape alone, though those looking through the footage insist the shadows bend too odd to be ignored, though it promptly was.

Sitting home alone, as his roomates were busy at work, Etho wasn't all that surprised by what Zed reported on. Of course, he would never admit to planning or helping someone escape from prison even if he had done it.

He didn't, though. Bt that's not saying he didn't know about it.

So when he received a rather panicked knock at his door, he still wasn't very surprised.

He opened the door to see on the surface one vigilante and one civilian. Though SmallishBeans wasn't the one in costume.

The brunette man, a little shorter than himself with a green streak faded down in a stripe of his hair, clearly not re-dyed for months, in a black jumper and worn-out track shoes, was breathing like he ran a marathon.

Besides him was a woman with bright pink hair and a blue, black, and silvery white sporty but flourishing outfit. Within her hair were pins decorated by dark artificial, but gorgeous, blue and black roses, keeping the out of place pink hair out of her eyes, which are then covered with a floral masquerade mask in the same colors.

She was a very rare vigilante to meet in person, she doesn't patrol much but used to run the city as a vigilante. Her powers of shadow manipulation and the ability to vanish into shadow makes her as mysterious as she is wonderful. Her name fit her well.

"Joel, ShadowLady, lovely seeing you both." Etho remarks, letting the two in.

"Hey, Etho." The brunette, Joel, waves off the taller figure as he crashes onto the couch. His British accent twisting his pronunciation to sound more like 'Eefo' than 'Etho'.

"Thank you again so much for agreeing to let us stop here on our way back into town." The vigilante's voice is just as bright and inviting as her hair as she slides off the masquerade mask, setting it on the coffee table.

Etho shrugs, leaning into a desk chair at a computer against the wall in the room. "It's nothing, Lizzie. Plus, I'm happy to see my old friend a free man again. How was containment?"

Joel groans from where he's sprawled oner the couch. "About as rubbish as you'd expect prison to be for a vigilante."

ShadowLady, or Lizzie, laughs lightly. "He's just being dramatic. He complained the entire way here as soon as we were out of earshot. It wasn't that bad, but it's definitely better to be out." She looks over at Etho with a knowing smile. "Thanks for the tip-off, by the way. The guards really should check their pockets more often."

"I've gotten pretty good at getting places I shouldn't be without being caught. Just a little observation told me thst no one really kept up security there. And passing the information to you was easy enough." Etho winks at Lizzie as she sits on the armchair opposite of him. "So, what's your plan now?"

"Get home and lay low, mostly. I wouldn't was my husband getting caught again by patrolling too soom." Lizzie says with a roll of her eyes at the husband she was referring to, now with his arm covering his face from his spot of the couch.

"I know you're not exactly 'lay low' material, but I'm sure you can keep your head down for a bit, right?" Etho teases, leaning back in his chair with a pointed look at Joel.

Joel lifts his arm to give a thumbs up, his voice muffled by the couch cushion. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. No heroics for a while."

"Are you sure it's alright we stay here? My powers will take about an our to be charged up enough to get us home safely, and I know you have roommates." Lizzie says with a hint of concern.

"They're both caught up in work. And if they come home to a vigilante and her partner here, they might not think much of it. I mean, they put up with my own vigilante shenanigans often enough." Etho laughs, gesturing to the occupied couch. "Make yourselves at home."

"Means a lot, Etho. Really. I appreciate the help getting me out." Joel turns to look at the man still in his deeply colored mask.

"It's nothing. We're all in this together, aren't we?" Etho responds with a firm nod, his voice steady. "Plus, without you, Bdubs is the only short, angry, brunette I can bully."

Lizzie laughs. "You two are terrible together."

"Boat boys forever, Etho." Joel nods at his old accomplice, briefly mentioning their old time as a duo.

Etho smirks. "You know it."

Chapter Text

The three spend a while over the time they need to just talking and catching up. Eventually, Etho brings up a certain group that might interest the two vigilantes.

"There's this group I work with that are kinda focusing in on the hero agency now that it's leaning more towards gaining power." He starts, testing reactions. "I think it's something that could be of interest to both of you, especially because you want to get right back to fighting, Joel."

Joel lifts his head, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean, 'leaning towards gaining power'?"

Etho leans forward, his expression turning serious. "The Council's been acting strange lately. Imposing curfews, changing patrol zones, keeping the heroes all on a tight leash. It's like they're trying to control everything we do." He glances at the clock, Beef and Pause a few minutes from being able to clock out.

"But there's more to it," he continues, lowering his voice. "Some of us have noticed that the Council might not be as clean as they claim to be. And there's a group of us, villains, vigilantes and heroes alike, who are looking into it. We call ourselves The Hermits."

Lizzie's eyes widen, "The Hermits? I've heard rumors about them. They're supposed to be a secret society working against the Council's control."

Etho nods, "Exactly. And I think it's time for us to join forces. With your skills and knowledge, you two could be a valuable asset to us."

Joel is immediately in, practically hunting for the opportunity to get back into the roll of a vigilante. Lizzie, on the other hand, is less interested.

"I don't know, Etho," she says, sounding hesitant. "I've been out of the game for a while. And with Joel's... situation, I'd rather not get too deep into the Council's crosshairs myself."

Etho nods understandingly. "I get it. But just think about it. You've seen how the Council operates. They're not always looking out for the best interests of the city. And with Joel's experience and your unique skills, you could really help us out."

"I'm not opposed to helping on occasion, but I think I'll just stick to myself for now. Joel can do what he wants, I trust you to keep him out of trouble when I can't." Lizzie smiles at Etho, patting her husband's arm.

Joel sighs, sitting up. "Fine, I'll join you and your Hermits. Maybe it'll be a good way to keep an eye on things without getting caught again with the support of some allies."

Etho claps Joel on the shoulder. "That's the spirit. And Lizzie, if you change your mind, the offer stands. We could use someone like you."

Lizzie nods, her smile a bit more genuine. "Thanks, Etho. I'll keep it in mind." She stands, resting a hand on Joel's shoulder. "Does he need to do anything with your little group tonight? I can probably make a pit stop somewhere if needed."

"That can wait until tomorrow. You two get back safe and I'll shoot you a text when I need Joel for a meeting." Etho says, standing as well. He walks them to the door, patting Joel's back. "Happy you're back, Boat Boy."

After they leave, Etho locks the door and heads back to the computer. He quickly sends a message to the group chat, updating them on the situation with SmallishBeans and ShadowLady. The responses come in almost immediately.

aren't they like the og vigilantes around town?

does it have to be him??? he literally HATES horses!! who does that?!

didn't that guy go to jail? I just heard his name on the news

ethoooo? Are you harboring refugees??

I wouldn't say that

that's not a no

so gem's questions are the only ones you answer??

Etho decides then that he has said all he needs to at that time.

He doesn't want to push too much information onto the group without them all present to process it together. It's a sensitive subject, and he knows that trust is the most important part of their alliance.

The next evening, the group gathers at the base, the tension palpable as they sit around the large table, each with their own thoughts on the Council and their new ally. Etho starts the conversation, recounting Joel and Lizzie's visit, their escape from containment, and their suspicions of the Council all while waiting for the man of the hour.

"So, Joel's in, but ShadowLady is still on the fence," Etho concludes, looking around the table. "But she's open to the idea of helping us out if she can keep a low profile."

"Low profile, huh?" Ren raises an eyebrow, his hand stroking the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "With her powers, that shouldn't be too hard. But we have to be careful. The Council's been watching us closely."

Skizz nods in agreement, his eyes flickering to the monitors displaying the South Bay streets. "We need to keep an eye on our backs, especially if we're bringing in new members. I don't trust anyone who's been in their custody for long."

"Trust me," Bdubs starts, still not quite over the discussion over text. "Joel's stubbornness probably would have gotten him out of jail or in solitary eventually. Nothing's getting through to him from the Council."

The room chuckles slightly at the remark, but the underlying seriousness remained. The Council was a force none of them wanted to be on the wrong side of, but it was becoming increasingly clear that their intentions were not pure.

"Alright, so what's the plan with Joel?" Tango asks, his mechanical hand tapping out a rhythm on the table. "Do we bring him in or keep it casual?"

"We keep it casual for now," Etho says, his gaze shifting to the screens showing the quiet South Bay streets. "We can't risk the Council catching on to us with him drawing attention by mistake."

"Speaking of which," Doc interjects, "we need to be careful with our patrols. With the new zones and curfews for heroes, we can't be seen together too often. It'll be suspicious."

"Agreed," Ren nods, his gaze serious. "We've got to keep our eyes and ears open for anything that seems off."

The base's door opens after a knock and in walks Joel, looking slightly more refreshed than the previous night. He's now dawning his vigilante outfit.

"Hey everyone," Joel greets, looking around the room. The group greets him back, some more enthusiastically than others.

After the initial introductions, it's back to planning.

"Alright, let's get down to business," Impulse says, taking charge. "We need to figure out how to keep tabs on the Council without raising their suspicion."

Etho nods, "I've been working on a new piece of tech that could help us. It's a small device that mimics the Council's communication frequencies. With it, we can listen in on their conversations without them knowing."

"That's genius," Ren says, leaning in. "How close is it to being finished?"

Etho holds up a thumb and forefinger with a small gap between them. "This close. I just need to calibrate it to the latest Council encryption. Doc, I could use your help with that."

"Of course," Doc says, pushing back his chair and standing up. "Let's get to work."

Chapter Text

The room buzzes with excitement and tension as the group dives into their new mission. Ren and Tango start planning their next move in South Bay, while Skizz and Impulse brainstorm ways to keep the Council's attention away from their base. Cub and Zed are tasked with gathering intel on the Council's recent activities and connections.

Etho and Doc retreat to the tech room, a space cluttered with gadgets and screens, to work on the communication device. The air is thick with the smell of solder and electronics as they tinker away, their focus unwavering.

Eventually, the night wears on, the group separates after a pretty productive day.

There's only one particular member that doesn't plan on calling it a night.

Impulse tacks through the city until he reaches the old base of The Puppeteer. A name and place he long wanted to forget.

But, something had been bothering him for weeks.

He slips through the building, into the main control room. There he finds the out of commission machine that was once used to plague some of his closest friends.

His grip on the crowbar tightens.

As much as he feels bad about wrecking perfectly good mechanics, keeping this assembled is a risk he doesn't want to take.

The "disassembly" doesn't take too long, but by the end of it, Impulse is sweaty and tired, with a sore arm from swinging on end.

At least he can sleep tonight.

Well, at least, he thought he would be.

He wasn't exactly expecting to meet something that has only been described to him from Bdubs as a 'quiz bot'.

Though, it looks different than the one Bdubs met.

It's a lot shorter, though it hovers off the ground, built of boxy metal shapes and several different colors.

Impulse stares at it, his eyes narrowing. "What the hell is that?"

The quiz bot chirps to life, spinning in place. "Welcome, villain! I am Quizbot 3000, your friendly neighborhood knowledge dispenser! Are you prepared to answer my questions and prove your worth?" The voice is somewhat familiar.

He can't explain it. It's metal tinged and distorted and covered with a tacky game show theme, but it sounds very familiar.

Impulse sighs. "Look, I've had a long day. I just came to take out some frustration, not to play your little game."

The bot doesn't seem to really care much for his words, instead beginning to pose it's first question.

"Question one! What is the most common element found in the human body?" It asks with a cheery tone.

Impulse rolls his eyes, but decides to humor the bot for the time being. "Oxygen," he says, leaning on the crowbar.

Quizbot 3000's lights dim for a moment before brightening again. "Incorrect! The most common element found in the human body is hydrogen!" It exclaims, a buzzer sounding.

Impulse frowns, his grip on the crowbar loosening slightly. "That's not right. Everyone knows it's oxygen."

"Ah, but you see," Quizbot 3000 responds, "I'm not asking for the most abundant element in the human body by mass. By number of atoms, hydrogen wins the race!"

Impulse's frustration grows. "Look, I don't have time for this. I've got real work to do." He takes a step toward the exit, but the bot quickly zips in front of him, blocking his path.

"Question two!" The quizbot exclaims, ignoring his protests. "What is the square root of 64?"

Impulse grits his teeth, "8."

The lights on the quizbot swirl, considering his answer. "Correct!" It exclaims, the buzzer replaced by a cheery ding. "You may proceed to the next round if you wish!"

"I don't."

"Next round!"

"Question three!" The quizbot's lights flash, its cheerfulness undiminished by Impulse's clear lack of interest. "Which continent has the most countries?"

Impulse sighs, his patience wearing thin. "Africa."

Quizbot 3000's lights dim again. "Incorrect!" It proclaims, the buzzer sounding once more. "The continent with the most countries is Asia!"

Impulse's temper flares, his grip on the crowbar tightening. "You're just messing with me now," he growls.

The quizbot seems unfazed. "Question four! Name the largest organ in the human body!"

Impulse's patience is wearing thin, but he decides to indulge the robot for a bit longer. "The skin," he says flatly.

Quizbot 3000's lights flicker, and it takes a moment before it responds, "Incorrect! The largest organ in the human body by volume is the liver!" The buzzer sounds again, and the bot's cheerfulness seems to falter slightly.

Impulse's eyes narrow, the crowbar rising. "Alright, that's it." He says through gritted teeth.

The quizbot seems to pick up on his agitation and floats closer to him, its lights dimming to a less obnoxious level. "Question five, your final chance to prove your worth. Who is the most important person in your life?"

Impulse's grip on the crowbar relaxes slightly, his expression softening at the unexpected turn. "My family," he says, his voice a low murmur.

"Which one?"

This brings pause. For once, Impulse doesn't know how to answer.

Of course, he cared about his family by blood when they were around. He still likes to think he does. They were extremely important for obvious reasons.

But, he has another family.

His found family.

Skizz, Tango, Zed, Bdubs. Just to name a few.

The people who fight with and for him at every turn.

The once he knows he'd do anything for. Hell, the reason he isn't sleeping right now was because he needed to make sure something couldn't be a threat to them anymore.

But is that love greater than his biology?

Is his blood truly thicker than water?

His throat is dry. He doesn't know when he blinked last.

"Impulse?"

Where has he heard that voice before?

Impulse's thoughts are racing as he stares down the quizbot, his hand tight around the crowbar. It's not just the words that sound familiar, but the tone, the inflection. It's eerily similar to someone he knows, but he can't quite place it.

He doesn't know how many times he's even heard it before.

Maybe on the radio.

He's heard it on the radio.

The realization hits him like a ton of bricks.

It's Martyn's voice.

Chapter Text

Impulse isn't even rewarded or punished for his score on the quiz. Nor can he answer the last posed question before the bot is just gone.

Vanished like it was never there.

Impulse stands still for a moment, the crowbar hovering in the air. He's heard that voice before, he's sure of it.

That cadence was unmistakable.

It was Martyn.

Part-time radio host with his roommate Oli, full time worker in the hero tower...

...training alongside Ren.

How was the dog hybrid going to take this news? Martyn was pretty much his best friend.

Did he already know? How could he know? Why would he keep this from the rest of the group if he knew? Was he protecting Martyn?

Did his roommate know?

Why is he doing this?

Was it even actually Martyn's voice?

Impulse's mind raced with questions, the silence in his room now deafening. He needed answers, and he needed them fast.

It's now been an hour of sleepless worry. 5am fast approaching.

Impulse can't shake the encounter with the quizbot. The voice... It had to be Martyn's. But why? And how?

That would explain how Council information was stolen, but why would it be? Martyn has access to all of that anyway.

Impulse shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He decides to text Ren, knowing he's probably the only one still up.

The moon was almost full, making Ren's night almost full energy.

He was sitting in his room at Doc's place, separate so he wouldn't keep him up, scrolling through the news feed on his phone when he heard the buzz.

It was a message from Impulse.

"Hey, got a weird situation at the old Puppeteer's place. Found a quizbot. It talked like Martyn. What's going on?"

Right off the bat, Ren was stressed. He immediately wanted to know everything that happened, so he messaged back requesting more information while he sat and worried about what to do.

Should he fake ignorance and pretend he had no idea what was going on? Should he try to convince Impulse that whatever he heard was wrong?

No. That's wrong of him and he shouldn't even consider gaslighting a good friend of his.

Well, that, and he's a terrible lier, he'd know immediately.

Ren's thumbs fly across the screen of his phone after reading through what happened, typing out a response as quickly as his racing thoughts allow. "Meet me at the base. We need to talk, face to face."

Impulse reads the message and nods to himself. It's definitely time to talk things over. He sends back a simple, "Be there soon."

Sneaking out has always been easy for Ren. He might not be able to lie to save his life, but he can sneak put of anything. Though a part of him felt a little guilty about leaving. He had told Doc he would take care of Doccy if they woke up through the night, because he would be up anyway.

There goes that.

Ren quickly packs up his things, not bothering to get dressed beyond a red jacked over a t-shirt, blue sweatpants, black glasses (yes, in the dark, they help with his color blindness) and shoes. The cold air of early morning is a stark contrast to the warmth of his bed, but he can't ignore the urgency in Impulse's message.

He arrives at the base, the streets eerily quiet at this hour. The building's exterior is as unassuming as ever, but the tension in the air is palpable.

Ren slips in and heads straight for the meeting room, where he knows Impulse will be waiting.

And of course he is, sitting at the table with the communicator still in his hand, looking as tired as Ren would usually feel at this hour.

"Impulse," Ren starts, his voice low and urgent. "What happened?"

Impulse recounts the encounter with the quizbot, his words coming out in a rush. "It had to be Martyn's voice, Ren. I know it."

Ren's eyes widen. "Are you sure? Maybe it was just a recording or something."

"It definitely sounded kinda scripted and recorded until the end." Impulse explains, leaning against the table with a furrowed brow. "But it knew my name right off the bat, and it talked in response to what i was saying most of the time."

Ren nods thoughtfully, his mind racing. "Okay, okay." He paces the room. "This is... have you told anyone else?"

Impulse shakes his head. "No, just you. I didn't want to cause a panic without talking to you first."

"Good. Okay, Impulse. I'm going to tell you what I know about what's going on and you're going to keep this hush hush. Got it?" Ren says, his voice tight.

Impulse nods, his curiosity piqued. "What's going on with Martyn?"

"Martyn and his roommate are working on some project, Oli doing most of the work with Martyn helping with voices." Ren starts, keeping the pace slow. "I found out about it after the last hero meeting. After that, I made Martyn and Oli promise that the questions they ask not be too invasive. That means, no identity talk or deep trauma questions."

"Well, what I was asked was pretty invasive. It was about family, and it threw me off," Impulse admits, his eyes searching Ren's face for any signs of deception. "But, okay, I get it. They're just trying to keep things light."

"They promised nothing too bad, just silly trick questions and trivia." Ren's voice is tight, his hands shaking slightly as he speaks. "But if you recognized his voice so easily, I'm worried about who else will."

Impulse nods, understanding the gravity of the situation. "We need to keep an eye on them, Ren. We can't have the Council finding out about this. Especially not after all that information being stolen."

"I'll try to keep them more in check. Just, keep this on the down-low. The more people that know the more risky it is." Ren says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Impulse nods solemnly. "I won't say a word."

Chapter Text

"Skizz! SkizzSkizzSkizz! I need to tell you a secret!"

As it turns out, Impulse isn't the best at keeping secrets.

He pulls into his best friend's room right as his alarm is starting to wake him up, a soft light already filling the space. "Impulse?" Skizz's voice is groggy, his eyes blinking open.

"You got a minute?" Impulse asks, his voice low and urgent.

Skizz sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "What's up, buddy?"

Impulse takes a deep breath, deciding to break his promise to Ren. "I found a quizbot at the old Puppeteer's place, and it sounded exactly like Martyn."

Skizz just pulls a wing over is face like a blanket. "It's too early for this shit," he mumbles.

Impulse sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I know it sounds crazy, but you've got to believe me."

"Have you slept since this happened?"

"..."

"Go to sleep, Impy."

Skizz's voice is muffled by his wing, his eyes still closed. Impulse opens his mouth to protest, but the truth is, he's exhausted. Maybe a few hours of sleep would clear his head.

"Okay, okay," he says, his voice defeated. "But we have to talk about this later. And don't say anything to anyone else, I promised Ren I'd keep quiet."

Skizz nods sleepily, his wing still over his face. "Fine, fine."

"You still have to get up for work, though." Impulse says with a smirk.

"No."

"I'll only go sleep if you get up." Impulse says, poking Skizz's wing.

With a dramatic sigh, Skizz stretches out his wing and sits up, glaring at his friend. "Fine, but I'm not happy about it."

Impulse grins, knowing he's won that battle. "Come on, I'll make you coffee," he says, heading towards the kitchen.

"No, you'll sleep." Skizz groaned, standing up and shuffling out of the room. "I'll get the coffee."

They part after that, Skizz heading to the kitchen and Impulse to his own room, feeling both relieved and anxious. He knows he can trust Skizz, but he also knows how much the avian hybrid loves to gossip.

He throws himself onto his bed, the sheets cold against his skin. His thoughts are racing, trying to piece together the puzzle. What was Martyn's involvement with these quizbots? Was it just a harmless side project or something more?

If they were caught, they would face thousands of dollars in fines and likely prison time. What was this worth it? Fun?

Martyn himself isn't fairing much better. Both himself and Oli sat on their living room couch, getting an earful from a very upset Ren.

Ren doesn't yell often. Not out of anger, at least.

But the way his voice echoes in the confined space of the living room makes it clear that he's not happy. "What the hell were you thinking?!" He nearly spits at Martyn and Oli.

Oli shrinks into the couch, looking like a scolded puppy. "We were just having fun, man. We didn't mean for it to go this far," he stammers.

"You didn't mean for it to go this far?" Ren repeats, his voice rising. "You've got a quizbot using Martyn's voice, barely altered at all, mind you, asking personal questions! This isn't a joke!"

"I know, I know," Martyn says, his hands up in a placating gesture. "We just wanted to keep the community guessing, you know? It's all in good fun."

"I was willing to look past this before, but I'm not letting either of you go without a good scolding about this. Oli, your power is literally altering your voice and sounds, why are either if you letting this pass with such little alters to voices?" Ren's frustration boils over as he paces in front of them.

"I'm sorry," Martyn says meekly. "I didn't think it would be a big deal."

"It's the biggest deal! If Impulse can recognize your voice so easily, the coworkers you talk to at the tower every day are going to recognize it when you eventually get reckless enough to be recorded and put on the news." Ren says, his voice a mix of anger and disappointment. "You guys have to be more careful. If you ever do end up newsworthy with this, i don't know if even Z-Playn can spin a story that doesn't point to you two."

"We're sorry," Oli says, looking down at his hands. "We'll be more careful."

Ren sighs heavily, his shoulders dropping. "I know you guys didn't mean any harm, but you have to think about the consequences. If the Council finds out, it'll be bad. And with everything that's been happening lately..."

"Yeah, yeah. You don't need another thing on your plate. We'll get it taken care of, boss." Martyn's tone was a mix of apology and defensiveness. He knew Ren had enough to worry about without having to babysit them.

"You're right, I don't," Ren said, his voice softer now. "You're already the cause of most of my grey hairs. Now, get some sleep. Martyn, be at the tower by 10 for training." He turns to Oli. "And you, I'll expect to see some serious changes in the quizbot's programming by the end of the week. No more personal questions, no more tradable voices. Got it?"

Oli nodded quickly. "Understood, Rendog."

Ren left the apartment, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. As much as he believed in second chances, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was a precursor to something more dangerous. The Council had a history of turning a blind eye to certain heroes' indiscretions, but if they found out about his connection to the quizbots, there would be hell to pay.

Chapter Text

The cool morning air hit Ren as he stepped outside, and he took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. As he walked towards the vigilante base, he couldn't help but feel like he was walking into a minefield. Every step could potentially be the one that sets off an explosion of trouble.

Well, he wasn't going to get much sleep anyway.

He's in his second home before dying of stress, some of which lessons as he checks on the peacefully sleeping Doccy as well as their equally adored father in the next room.

He makes and sets out some coffee for his lover as he decides that heading to work a few hours earlier than usual would do good in clearing his head.

Patrol usually does that anyway.

His bag is heavy on his shoulder when he gets there, changing in the tower rather than risking knocking anything over and waking anyone at home.

It's a good thing he did, both as he nearly trips lacing his boots, and as he's directed to a call just three minutes after carding into the building.

He wanted to train with Martyn before going out for a patrol or mission, but the blonde will just have to wait.

It turns out that early morning is a nearly dead spot in the new schedules, just before sunrise being a switch between whoever patrolled at night and who would be out in the day. This means that Ren would have to settle whatever this was himself for a while.

That is, unless he got desperate and a "well timed vigilante" just so happened to "be so kind as to help a hero in need".

Bdubs mocked him for a month the last time that happened, he'll be damned if that'll happen again.

He's always felt so badass dropping into a fight from a rooftop. Red patterns spiraling into the concrete under his boots as his powers stop the damage that could have been caused.

His powers are intricate. Unique. Similar to teleconetics but more than just movement.

Matter manipulation.

He can manipulate a piece of concrete into a battle axe. Stop the material world from damaging him in ways like gravity or elements.

The energy itself being able to solidify into a field of red, glowing particles all packed together to stop a blow.

He's used to his powers. They're used to him. He's learned over the years that it's a delicate balance of understanding your power and respecting the energy.

His control is what makes him feared. Unlike how he'd been feared while not in control of his abilities. Then, he was a loose cannon, a danger to anger. Now, he's unpredictable just the same, easily able to change the arena to fit his vision of battle.

So, when two masked thieves sprint out of the building they'd robbed, their only option left is to fight through it.

They're not prepared for what's waiting for them.

Ren lands in front of the fleeing figures, his eyes glowing a fiery red behind his signature shades. "Freeze!" He commands, his hand outstretched, the red energy swirling around his fingers in a dramatic flare. Testing how much control these small time thieves will let him take.

The thieves, however, seem to be having a bad day already. One of them trips over their own feet, while the other stumbles into a trash can, knocking it over with a clatter. They're clearly amateurs, but their fear is palpable as they realize they're not dealing with a newer hero that would have usually been assigned to the call if available.

Ren sighs internally. He doesn't need a showdown, especially not when he's still so worked up about the quizbot fiasco. He's about to repeat his order when he hears the distant wail of police sirens. "Looks like backup's coming," he says, his voice calm but firm. "Now, you can either come quietly, or we can make this interesting. Your choice."

The thieves exchange a look, the fear in their eyes briefly giving way to panic. The one who'd tripped over his own feet starts to scramble back up, a hand reaching for something in his pocket.

Ren's instincts kick in. He doesn't need them to make this difficult. "I wouldn't," he warns, his hand tightening around the glowing energy in his palm.

But apparently, today isn't their day for good choices.

The thief with the hand in his pocket pulls out a gun, his hand shaking as he points it at Ren. The hero's mental grip on his power tightens, ready to manipulate the weapon out of the thief's grasp.

"Hold it right there, dude," Ren says, almost bored, his glow dimming slightly. "You really don't want to do this."

The thief's hand shakes even more, the barrel of the gun wobbling between them. "Back off, hero," he spits, his voice thick with nerves. "We ain't goin' back to the slammers."

"You shouldn't have robbed a place than. I don't know what to tell you."

The thief's eyes narrowed, sweat beading on his forehead. "Shut up!"

Ren should know better then to taunt a man pointing a gun at him. But it's not like this nervous wreck is actually going to pull the trigger.

Or so he thought.

The thief's finger tightens around the trigger and the gunshot echoes through the early morning air, the bullet's trajectory a straight line aimed for Ren's chest. Every detail sharp and clear as the crimson light of dawn breaks through the clouds above, and for a moment, time seems to slow down.

No.

It does slow down.

Ever the life saver, Bdubs is never far off.

He'd been patrolling nearby, the early morning calm usually his favorite. It was when the streets were almost empty and the air still held the coolness of the night. The sun rising was usually his sign to call it a night, but he'd been bored all night with very little activity, he thought another few hours wouldn't hurt.

Right place, right time. He'd gotten the intercept on the robbery report and heard Ren taking the case, sticking it out on a roof to watch.

He'd heard the thief's words, seen the gun.

And he'd acted faster than he ever had before.

Its been a while since he's slown a gunshot. Longer since a time that it wasn't a shot at him. But at a time like this, rust fades fast.

With time slowed to a stop, he hops from the low roof of a corner store he'd been watching from, rounding the side of the scene, taking his time to focus his energy as he takes a dramatic position in front of Ren, hand in front of himself for some flare, unpausing everything but the movement of the bullet.

He feels the air around him, the energy of the world around him catching up, and with a flick of his wrist, the bullet falls to the asphalt. The thief's eyes go wide, the other thief frozen in shock.

Ren doesn't miss a beat, his own powers springing to life as he lifts the gunman and his accomplice in air. "You really should have chosen differently," Ren says, his voice cold.

The thief's eyes go wide with terror, his hand dropping the gun. "Please, don't!"

"What do you say, Double0? Keep these two troublemakers suspended until police arrive?" Ren asks, his grip on the thieves steadying.

Bdubs nods, a smirk playing at the corner of his bandanna-covered mouth. "Sounds like a plan to me."

"Thanks for the save, by the way. New you'd be around somewhere."

Bdubs shrugs casually, his eyes never leaving the terrified thieves. "Yeah, yeah. Don't make it a habit, Rendog."

The sound of police sirens grows louder, and Ren nods. "I'll keep that in mind."

With a two-finger solute, Bdubs takes his leave. Sauntering down an alley just in time for police to miss his appearance.

Ren can't help but let out a sigh of relief, his heart racing in his chest. That was too close for comfort. He should know better than to let his guard down. He maintains his grip on the thieves, the energy around his hands pulsing in rhythm with his racing heartbeat.

The sirens are deafening now, blue and red lights painting the alley in a frantic dance. Ren pins his ears to his head, the noise just a little too stimulating for his current state of mind.

The second thief has gone still, his eyes fixed on the ground below as if contemplating the gravity of his situation. The one who'd fired the gun is begging, sweat soaking his clothes, his eyes darting around like a trapped animal.

Ren sighs, letting his powers ease up slightly. "Look, I'm not going to drop you or anything, okay? Just stay still until the cops come."

The thief's eyes dart to Ren's, hope flickering in their depths. "You're not gonna kill us?" His voice is shaky, a stark contrast to the bravado from moments before.

"Dude, I'm a hero. Why would I do that? It was just some petty theft. Sure, you tried to shoot me, but that will just be an addition to your charges. I don't need to punish you more on top of that." Ren's voice remained calm and continuously bored despite his racing thoughts.

He knew how these situations could escalate if not handled with care.

The police arrived, their boots pounding the ground as they rushed towards the scene.

"Good morning, officers," Ren called out, not bothering to look away from the thieves.

The two cops looked up, eyes widening at the sight of the two floating men. "What the hell?" one of them muttered under his breath, but the more seasoned one simply nodded at Ren. "Good work, Rendog. We'll take it from here."

With one last petty move, Ren lowers the two a bit, dropping them the rest of the way.

Look, an attempt was made at his life. He's allowed to be at least a little petty.

Okay, maybe he's spending a bit too much time with Cleo.

Ren hands the thieves over to the officers with a smirk, watching as they're cuffed and read their rights. The sirens are still ringing in his ears, and he knows he's going to have to deal with the aftermath of this. His hands were already shaking.

He takes his leave back to the Tower and up to his office. By now it's around 6:15, giving him almost three hours before Cherri and Martyn will be clocking in, and four hours before training with Martyn.

Yeah, that sounds like enough time in his schedule for a breakdown with a hint of recognition of mortality.

The adrenaline rush from the confrontation had worn off, leaving him feeling shaky and weak. He's seen a lot of things in his time as a hero, but the sight and sound of a bullet being fired, aimed at him, was something he could never get used to.

He sat against the far wall of his office, all his accessories tossed to his desk as everything feels too overwhelming all at once. The quietness of the his office is eerie, usually filled with the hum of technology and the chatter of his friends. But now, it's just him and his thoughts.

His hand hovered over the phone, should he tell Doc? Maybe wait till he's home? Maybe tell him now? Maybe he's already heard and is on his way? The questions swirl around his head like a tornado, leaving him feeling more disoriented than the fight had.

It turns out he had heard about what happened as his phone buzzes with a message from Doc, just asking if he needed anything.

Bdubs must have told him about it.

Ren's heart skips a beat. He's not sure if he's relieved or if he should be more worried that Doc might be worried. He sends back a quick text, trying to play it cool.

Just had a little run-in. Nothing serious

You sure? I could be down there in 20

I'm all good man. Really

Just a little shell shocked but I'm okay. Thanks for checking in

I'm coming in early anyway

I'll swing by your office before 7 if I can

If you insist

see you then <3

<3

That gives Ren around forty minutes to have his breakdown and pull himself together before Doc checks in. Unless he can hope on Doc being dispatched before then which could easily add up to giving him another twenty minutes on top of that, maybe more, depending.

But he's not going to hold his breath for that.

Ren takes a few deep breaths, his hand shaking slightly as he sips the cold coffee he'd made earlier. He tries to push down the rising nausea, his stomach in knots. It's not his first close call, but every time it hits differently.

He's not good at pulling himself together. Never has been, never claimed to be. He's not good with nausea either, but his breathing is too uneven to bring it down, which only makes him more stressed, sending him spiraling more.

The door swings open and in comes a rush of cold air, the scent of rain from outside. Ren's eyes snap up, expecting Doc, but it's Etho instead.

"What are you doing here?" Ren's voice cracks, his hand tightening around the coffee cup. Taken slightly by surprise that Etho was bold enough to enter the most heavily surveillance ridden buildings in the city dressed as a vigilante. And partly surprised to have him walking into his office as he's not supposed to be in the building at all.

Etho's eyes scan the room, taking in Ren's shaking hand and the tension in his shoulders. "Heard you had a rough morning, " he says gently, closing the door behind him. "Bdubs called. Said you might need someone to talk to."

"Of course he did. Probably told half the city by now." Ren's voice is a mix of amusement and annoyance, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He's grateful for privacy, but Etho's unannounced presence is unnerving.

"Just me, and probably Doc." Etho assures, taking a seat across from Ren. "So, what happened?"

"You don't know? I was sure Bdubs would have told you to brag or something." Ren tries to laugh it off, but his voice is tight, the tremor still present.

"Nope. All he told me was that you were dispatched and might need someone to talk to after how it went." Etho's position almost reflects Ren's own; sitting with his knees up, arms resting over top. Though Ren's are still clutching his coffee like a lifeline.

Ren takes a deep breath, the cold liquid doing little to calm his nerves. He recounts the events, trying to keep his voice even, his eyes locked on the cup in front of him. Etho listens intently, his understanding eyes producing an air of calmness that Ren appreciates more than he's willing to admit.

"So, I've got to admit, I'm a little shaken up." Ren says finally, looking up to meet Etho's gaze.

Etho nods solemnly, his own eyes filled with empathy. "It's normal. I've been there myself more times than I care to count."

Ren looks up, surprised by the admission. "You have?"

"Close calls and being saved by Bdubs, he's got a knack for showing up when things get bad. But, yes, it's normal to feel shaken. It's a mortality inducing experience. And even though we're not exactly...normal, doesn't make the fear any less real." Etho pause fir a moment, internationally debating something.

"Did I ever tell you about the time when I was just starting to work with him?" Etho leaned back in his chair, his eyes distant as he remembered.

"Tell me about it."

Chapter Text

Ren's curiosity is piqued. Stories about Etho's early days with Bdubs are rare, and he's heard enough whispers to know they go way back.

Etho is a mysterious man, usually keeping stories about himself out of conversation. And though Bdubs is much more chatty about his goings on, he doesn't talk much about the early years of his working as a vigilante.

But Etho's voice is soothing, even the usually icy stare of the famous vigilante is softer as he begins his story, searching the hero's face as the promise of a story guides his attention away from his worries for just a moment.

"It was before he had his full control," Etho says, his voice dropping to a whisper, "back when we were both trying to figure out how to be vigilantes without getting killed. We had a run-in with a guy, a hero. We weren't a team, not like we are now, just two idiots trying to do the right thing."

Etho remembers the day well. Calm on crime, loose laws for heroes. Just settling into evening.

He'd asked a newer vigilante to meet him around a plaza in town, just to talk about how things were working for him as a vigilante. What he was learning, what his style was.

Etho had started vigilante work just a few months, maybe up to a year before. He'd already grown in popularity as he was one of the only vigilantes around at the time.

Even in the worst part of the city, it was still breathtaking during sunset. Rays of golden light filtered through buildings to get to the heart of the small courtyard plaza, food trucks lined a wall, picnic tables scattered around the grassy square below as Bdubs and Etho shared the small amount of fried chicken their combined expenses could pay for at the time.

All while sitting on a low roof sheltered by tall buildings. Talking about whatever came to mind as Bdubs had the old black and white opera mask he wore back then pushed up as he ate, Etho turning away every time he'd drop the mask.

It was an hour after they'd started when shots started ringing down below them, both half stuttering into action for their first fight of many as a duo.

Nothing quite exciting was really happening. Some overexcited and trigger-happy robbers deciding to remind the people enjoying a tranquil evening where in the city they were.

Wrong place, wrong time for them to pull something as the two vigilantes dropped from the low building.

You'd think Bdubs's power was teleportation as he jumped between time, the only real portion of his abilities he'd had down all those years ago.

Even without much experience, the 2v3 was easy enough as they caught the robbers by surprise.

Though it was a little too late when Etho found out that it wasn't actually a 2v3 as shots from a fourth person rang from where they'd returned from getting a payout from one of the food trucks.

The old saying goes that if you hear the shots, it wasn’t meant for you. And that was true for this case. But none hit their mark as Bdubs jumped through time near constantly.

The robber was only inclined to fire at Etho after that as he wasn't much of a moving target.

By present time, Etho is now more than able to stop bullets with his teleconesis. Much younger Etho, could not.

Etho's eyes refocus on Ren, the memory of his own near-death experience clear in his voice. "He was so new to his powers, but he threw himself in front of me, dodging bullets like he'd been doing it for years all while pulling me along. And after the ammo was out, all that was left was to drop the four of them until a hero showed up."

And show up one did.

Etho worked his powers out for a while, snatching weapons and keeping the four down as Bdubs caught his breath against the wall next to him, trying to still the motion sickness and nausea that hit him hard.

At the time, hero activity was very new, police was mostly at work. But with report of two vigilantes on scene, especially when vigilantes were rare in of themselves, a hero would be assigned without a doubt.

The civilians had gone once he'd shown up, leaving the vigilantes to face an imposing figure alone.

But he wasn't all too imposing at all. No matter how scary or dangerous he'd looked, even without the robotic arm.

Doc had shown up ready for a fight, though quickly eased up as he was met with one vigilante struggling to control a group of robbers, and the other struggling worse to hold down his last meal.

He'd worked fast and near silent cuffing and securing the robbers, turning back to take a look at the vigilantes.

Etho was gradually leading Bdubs towards a back alley, The latter swaying a lot on his feet.

Doc trotted over to the two with a Styrofoam cup full of water from an abandoned food truck as a peace offering, using his slight medical knowledge to help navigate the sea of nausea Bdubs had shoved himself into.

The constant use if his powers didn't mix well with the repeating stop and start of all the movement in his vision, sending spiraling messages to his brain, making himself fairly sick.

"Here," Doc had said, his voice surprisingly gentle as he offered the water.

Things cooled off a lot after that, keeping cops out of the alley Etho and Bdubs hid out in as the robbers were arrested.

Once he returned to the two vigilantes, Bdubs was still nursing the water he was given, the black biker jacket he used to wear set beside where he was sitting, letting him get some much needed air in just the thick, black high-collar sleeveless number he'd started out in.

Etho was helping to talk him through it, promising not to leave him alone with a hero, no matter how much Doc was helping.

Even as he'd been nauseous and put of breath, Bdubs could still crack jokes about how Etho could effortlessly fight with a mask over his nose and mouth without struggling to breathe.

"You've got to teach me that," he'd said with a shaky laugh, taking another sip of the water.

"Yeah, maybe one day we can get you into something better than a plastic Halloween mask."

Etho kept an eye on Doc as he stuck around, trying to pick out his motive for helping some young-blood vigilantes after the police had left. But his main focus was his friend, seeing the effects of pushing himself too far for the first time.

The nausea didn't go down well, like all three had been hoping. Just left Bdubs struggling to breathe without feeling dizzy.

When he'd started looking faint, both Etho and Doc decided simultaneously that neither of them were going to keep this hero-vigilante-villain separation for much longer.

So, Doc stepped in to help just as Etho was willing to let him. The latter sat next to Bdubs, giving him something to ground to as Doc hesitantly pulled the mask off his face.

Bdubs hardly even noticed, medical treatment starting around him as a light was shined into his eyes. All his mind was going to was that he felt really shitty and now Etho's hand was in his.

Etho swapped his hand closest to Bdubs for his other, pulling his arm around his side to block anyone's view of him incase he was spotted.

Doc narrowed most of his symptoms down to him being dehydrated on top of the power overuse, sticking with the two vigilantes for an hour to help as Bdubs got his bearings back in order.

As promised, there was no arrest, no reprimand, no blackmail. Just a simple "get home safe." and they were sent on their way, masked up once more and a lot less nauseous.

They didn't know it yet, but that was the night their friendship had started to cement. The night they'd gone from awkward acquaintances to trusted allies.

It was the day that both Doc and Etho learned what Bdubs looked like, and from what he's told Etho, anytime Bdubs would catch Doc's eye while in civilian form, they'd share a glance, maybe a small smile. Just enough to remind each other of both the trust and vulnerability they have experienced.

But that's all it was for a while. They'd help each other out from afar, maybe throw each other a bone during a tough fight, but they weren't friends yet. Just three guys with a flimsy truce.

Ren nods along with Etho's story, a small smile playing on his lips. It's hard to imagine the stoic DocM77 as anything but the powerful, intimidating figure he is today. Even harder to think back to the time before he'd lost the arm. It just felt wrong to imagine Doc as anyone other than the man he'd come to know.

"It's funny, how we all have these moments that define us." Ren murmurs, taking a sip of his coffee, now cold.

"Yeah, I guess." Etho agrees, his gaze shifting to the window, watching the world pass by outside. "But those moments aren't always the ones we expect. I still don't know why Bdubs saving me, then needing saving in return means as much to me as it does, but it was a defining moment between the fight and first meeting Doc."

The room falls into a comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Ren can't help but wonder how many more of these moments they'll share, and if they'll all be like this: a mix of chaos and camaraderie.

Chapter Text

Quick a/n to obsesse over past life and the like

I'm literally so exited to watch every episode of the cabin crew, they are so iconic already and NinjaStar is a duo I didn't know I needed until now

Also good news, Bdubs just hit 2 million subs on yt!

I think we can all agree that this was a long awaited and very deserved milestone, even tho I'm a little biased because he's currently one of my favorite ccs

And since I'm working on the next chapter, here's a small teaser for what's up next:

"Hey impy?"

"Yeah, Skizz?"

"Wanna fight on live TV for dramatic effect again? I'm bored."

-Aegro

Chapter Text

"Hey impy?"

"Yeah, Skizz?"

"Wanna fight on live TV for dramatic effect again? I'm bored."

The suddenness of Skizz's question breaks the quiet of their apartment. For a moment, Impulse doesn't even dignifty it with a response, but with Tango out of the building doing shenanigans, there's really nothing better to do.

"Fine," he says with a sigh, setting his coffee aside. "But this time, you're going down."

"I'm the hero, I can't go down." Skizz says with a cheeky smirk, already jumping to his feet as he stretches. "And watch my wings this time. Last time we fought, you nearly chicken fried 'em."

Getting into gear is easy, second nature of both the hero and villain at this point. They set up a scene; impulse acts sketchy in one of the areas Skizz normally makes his rounds patrolling, they meet, fight, impulse escapes, they watch their acting on TV later.

Easy, funny, and foolproof.

But things never go as planned for Hermits, does it?

What they didn't account for was the chance of another hero being on patrol close by.

And, of course, Skizz didn't check to see who was patrolling where, when. He was too distracted by being able to cure the constant boredom he gets during days his shift starts late!

All goes according to plan until about step 3.5. They start up a battle between the two of them, Impulse's electric shocks crackling in air as Skizz winds through static thst would probably hurt a good amount if he and impulse weren't so attuned to each other's movements and fighting paths.

The footage is captured from helicopter feed just like they hoped, exaggerating anything just to make it believable.

Until feed from the earpiece Skizz is mandated to wear, similar to police bodycams, signals to him that another hero is being dispatched to his location because of the close proximity of where they were fighting.

"Oh for the love of..." Skizz murmurs, dropping the act for a second to glare at the wall, his wings fluttering slightly from agitation. He tries to signal discretely to get impulse to bail early, but his eyes just look confused.

He eventually does get the message though, when a dark mass is split in the center of the battle.

Confusion spikes for only a moment until realization hits. A Doom-like appearing hero emerges from the void, face completely obscured by a gray helmet with a purple visor.

His name is quite a reflection of his power; void creation and ascension. XisumaVoid, or Xisuma, or most commonly, X, is one of the very first heroes to start working in the system. Over a decade running now with no sign of stopping.

Usually, impulse quite likes the hero. He's funny, sweet, slightly chaotic and daft in the interviews he's seen. And Skizz always has nothing but kind regards for the well-versed hero. But while being on opposite sides, he could likely be a scary competitor.

Xisuma's power was simple enough to guess from his name: he could manipulate the void, creating and moving through it. He was known for his dramatic entrances and exits, but the actual fighting style was more about precision and timing than flashy moves.

The two looked at each other, the energy in the room suddenly palpable. Skizz had to think fast. If he didn't want X to suspect them, he needed to make this look good. And he had to keep Impulse safe.

"Alright, Impy, let's make this quick. Remember the plan," Skizz whispered through their coms, a hint of urgency in his voice. Realistically, he should have said something a little sooner, but he didn't want it picked up by his earpiece. But, oh well. They'll figure it out.

"This wasn't. A part. Of the plan." Impulse sounds more tense than he looks as he sets up in a mire defensive stance for the potential of a real fight.

Skizz's eyes widen a fraction. "No shit, Sherlock. But we've got to improvise. Don't let him suspect anything." He whispers back into his wrist, his heart racing.

To his credit, X isn't blind to the immediate tension his arrival causes, sparing Skizz an off glance through the tinted visor that only partially shows his eyes at all, the only part visible in the slightest.

He relaxes his own stance slightly, turning back to impulse. "Seems I stepped in at an odd time. Listen, impulse. Run now and this doesn't have to get out of hand." The Brit holds his hand out low, gloved palms showing.

Impulse looks at him for a moment, then over to Skizz who nods invisibly. The villain takes a step back, then another, until he's sprinting through a back alley he planned to dip through originally.

Skizz turns to X, giving his best 'I'm a good boy' look. "Sorry, he's a slippery one," he says, trying to play it cool despite his racing heart.

"I think we should have a talk, Skizz."

And just like that, Skizz is pulled into X's break room. The latter changing the helmet out for a simple black face mask and purple hoodie as he clocks out, galaxy purple eyes now on display, shifting from purple to black depending on the angle.

They dut in silence for a moment before Xisuma breaks it. "So, are you going to tell me what that was about, or do I need to start digging myself?"

Getting questioned by X felt like being written up by his boss as Skizz fidgeted with the end of his wing. And he kind of was, considering X was one of the most senior heroes in the city. Right there with Hypnotizd as the two had originally started together when the training program opened up.

"Well, I-" Skizz starts to say, trying to come up with a lie that isn't too far fetched, but the truth was, he hadn't quite figured out what to do. He had no idea how to explain fighting with impulse without giving away their friendship.

"Come on. You can tell me, Skizz, no one else will hear. I disabled the security in my areas ages ago for my own secrets." X says, his voice soothing as always, lulling anyone into rightful security.

Skizz lets out a shaky breath, his wings folding in slightly as he nods. "Okay. But it's... It's a bit complicated." He says, his eyes darting around the room.

X nods, his gaze unwavering. "I've got time, bud. Spill it."

Skizz takes a deep breath, his heart still racing. He knew he could trust X, but this was different. This was personal.

He doesn't tell everything, but it's more than he probably should. Impulse being his friend, the boredom that lead them where they are now, the working together. And in all the secure venting, he let's slip that he's working with multiple villains and vigilantes.

X's eyes widen slightly. "You know that's against the rules." It's not accusatory, just a statement of fact. But it's one Skizz knows all too well.

"I know, I know," Skizz says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "But you've got to understand, we're all just trying to do the right thing."

"Doc's in on this too, isn't he?" X says, his voice calm, but with an underlying seriousness that makes Skizz's stomach drop.

His expression is enough confirmation in of itself. Just in case Xisuma wasn't sure if he was right. Though he'd known for a long while about Doc’s favor towards vigilantes.

"Look, I know it sounds crazy. But we're just trying to help where we can, without getting bogged down by the Council's red tape." Skizz explains, hoping he can convey their intentions without making X suspicious of their true allegiance.

X sighs, his gaze thoughtful. "I understand where you're coming from, Skizz. The Council isn't perfect, and sometimes we have to bend the rules to make sure the right thing is done."

Silence stretches for a moment.

"That being said," X adds, thinking over his own words.

"How do I help?"

Chapter Text

The words hang in the air, and Skizz's eyes widen in surprise. X isn't the type to take things like this lightly, especially when it comes to the Council. Yet here he is, offering assistance.

"What do you mean?" Skizz asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Look, Skizz. The Council isn't driving the city in a direction I particularly agree with. Changes in management over the years has made it... difficult. I've seen things from the inside that aren't exactly hero material." X leans forward, his gaze intense. "If you're working against them, or at least something like that, I want to help you."

Skizz's heart skips a beat. This was a pivotal moment, one that could either strengthen their cause or blow it wide open. He looks at X, his mind racing with the implications. If a hero like X, with his experience and reputation, was willing to help, it could be a game-changer. But the risks were just as significant.

For starters, the hero could just be lying for intell and blackmail later on. Though that isn't coming too close with anything X would do.

He's a real sweetheart with his colleagues and friends. Skizz doesn't realistically believe he'd ever intentionally betray them, but he's aware of the Council's power and influence.

That means that Xisuma would be risking just about everything he has just to help a cause he doesn't know that much about.

"Why?" Skizz asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why would you risk that for us?"

X sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Because I've seen enough. I know the Council isn't all it's cracked up to be. And if you guys are actually making a difference out there without them breathing down your necks, I want in."

Skizz stares at X, his mind racing. "You... you're serious?"

X nods, his expression resolute. "More than you know. I've had my suspicions for a while now. But I need to know who I'm working with. Who's pulling the strings here?"

Skizz takes a moment to gather his thoughts, weighing the potential risks and rewards. Finally, he decides. "Alright, but only because you're one of the good guys, X. And only if you promise to keep it to yourself." He whispers into his coms, hoping that Impulse is listening and that he's not making a huge mistake.

He receives a quick response reminding him of the recording device all the members carry. The same one Zed was using when he recruited Mumbo.

A sleek black box, about the size and shape of a small portable phone charger. The design simple enough with a couple small buttons and a red light to signal use.

"I won't tell a soul, Skizz. You have my word. Well- Keralis always has a way of weaseling out information, but PR's gonna PR. If he gets this out of me, he won't say anything out of spite of the system and love of chaos." X chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

Skizz can't help but smiles, a little of his tension easing. "Okay, okay, I trust you. But let's keep it between us for now, yeah?" He says, nodding his head slightly.

With X's agreement, Skizz fishes the recorder out of a pocket, holding it between them.

"Alright, here goes," Skizz says, pressing the button with a soft click. The red light flickers on, signaling it's recording. He quickly recaps the group's origins, their suspicions about Council corruption, and their recent work taking down threats. He keeps the identities of his fellow members as vague as possible, using only small descriptors and avoiding any specifics that could give them away.

X's gaze remains focused on Skizz, his expression unreadable behind the mask. "So, what do I need to do to get in on this?" He asks finally, once Skizz has finished his recount.

Skizz considers for a moment before speaking, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. "We'll need to set up a meeting. A safe one. Just you and a few of us. We can't risk you knowing too many members at once." He suggests, his voice low and measured. "It's different doing this with a hero, then say, a vigilante. You carry more risk joining us with the Council tracking patrols and such. Nothing against you, bro."

X nods, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Fair enough. Where and when?" He asks, his voice steady despite the potential peril.

Skizz thinks for a moment, his mind racing through various locations that would be both safe and inconspicuous. "How about the old warehouse district, by the river? Two days from now, at midnight. It's usually deserted at that hour." He suggests, his eyes searching X's for any signs of hesitation.

"Sounds good to me. Anything else I should know before walking into a truce with known enemies of mine?" X asks with a hint of a smile on his tongue, though the gravity of the situation isn't lost on him.

Skizz shakes his head. "Just be you, X. That's all we ask." He says with a small smirk. He knew X was more than capable of handling himself.

"Good thing I'm kind of an expert in that department." X chuckles, his purple eyes lighting up with a bit of mischief. "But seriously, Skizz, I've got your back on this. If the Council's gone sour, someone needs to set them straight." He stands up, stretching his legs. "Now, I've got to get home. But I'll be there. Count on it."

"Wait. X?" Skizz checks the request through his coms again. "Bring Keralis and xB."

Chapter Text

In case anyone reading are writing their own story, I was recently introduced to some commissioning work

And while I'm not currently in the position for getting work of my own done, i know that if/when I am, this will be where im going

https://mfmdesigns.carrd.co/

https://www.instagram.com/mfm._.designs/

https://facebook.com/mfmdesignn

The work seems great, and while I can't currently commission anything of my own, I encourage you to check out their work for yourself!

This is also a good moment to add that while I can't pay for commissions from readers, I'd still love to see your adaptations of characters or scenes, as well as your own hcs of characters and ideas of your own for the future of the story along with a shout out of your own!

-Aegro

Chapter Text

Two days runs fast when something exiting is concerned. The only thing of note keeping the Hermits busy being the usual patrols and their personal lives. They were all nervous, not just Skizz. Impulse had his usual jitters before any mission, Doc was more cautious than usual and Etho was... well, Etho was Etho.

The group planning to attend the meeting were as follows; Skizz, Impulse, Etho, Doc and Bdubs. And with Xisuma hopefully bringing along Keralis and xB, it'll be a full meeting.

The night of the meeting, the group waited anxiously in the cold, open warehouse, the sound of the river rushing by outside the only company. The air was thick with anticipation and a hint of dread. What if X had turned on them? What if he brought the Council along for an ambush?

He wouldn't, of course. But the possibility was real enough to plan for. If anything went sour, Tango, Zed, Cub, Gem and Mumbo were on standby.

The sound of a distant door creaking open had everyone on edge, their eyes glancing towards the entrance. A figure emerged from the shadows, their silhouette unmistakable against the moonlit background. It was X, his purple eyes gleaming in the dim light as he approached the group.

In gear, as requested and trailed by two other figures. One, a wide-eyed brunette who looked like he stepped out of the Teen Beach movie and a ravenette man who looks pretty ocean-oriented in a different way if the orange and teal fins behind his ears paired with scales and gills along his neck were any hint at what he was.

"X, Keralis, xB. Thanks for coming." Skizz says with a nod, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

"No problem, Skizz. Just doing my part for the greater good." X says, a hint of pride in his voice. Keralis and xB nod in agreement, though their expressions are more cautious and confused.

It had been Bdubs's idea to bring them along. Apparently he'd saved the two from a mugging a while back and they'd had some pretty good banter back and forth, he got the vibe they'd work well in the group if X had agreed to show up, being their employer.

The three of them walk closer, and Skizz notices the subtle tension in their stances. Keralis's hands are in his pockets, his expression making him look like everything was suspicious. xB looks more relaxed, his fishy tail swishing lazily behind him, his eyes scanning the room with a practiced ease.

"So, we know who's who here?" X asks, his gaze moving over the group. "I know you're B00100, and you're obviously Etho." He nods to Bdubs and Etho.

Bdubs nods back, his hoodie pulled up a little tighter around his face. "And you know Skizz and Doc." He says, his voice a bit strained. "And impulse is always around somewhere, so you’ve surely heard of him."

X nods, his gaze lingering on Doc for a moment, before looking back to Skizz. "So, what's the plan, then?"

Skizz takes a deep breath, stepping forward. "We need to know that we can trust you. This isn't just about fighting crime. It's about exposing the Council's corruption and making sure the right people are in power." He says, his voice firm.

X nods solemnly. "I get it. And I'm with you. I've seen enough to know something's not right." He looks to Keralis and xB. "What do you guys think?"

"You know me, Sashwammy. I've said it for years, it's time to blow the lid off this whole Council corruption!" Keralis says with a grin, his teeth glinting. It's hard to make out his words right away, a fairly strong Polish accent shining right through paired with quick speech, but with context clues, he sounds on board enough.

"I mean, yeah. You know I'd follow you into battle. And this is a battle that's needed fighting for a while." xB adds, a light smile on his lips.

The group relaxes slightly, their trust in XisumaVoid extending to his trusted friends. Skizz explains their suspicions in more detail, laying out the evidence they've gathered and their theories about the Council's true intentions. X, Keralis, and xB listen intently, their expressions growing more interested with each piece of information.

xB leans against a rusted beam, his tail flicking thoughtfully. "So you're saying the Council's been manipulating hero assignments? Covering up certain incidents?" His voice is calm, analytical. "Sounds about right for people in power."

Keralis paces, hands gesturing wildly. "Oh, yes! The inconsistencies! The sudden budget cuts for rescue ops but unlimited funds for those creepy surveillance additions? I've filed complaints!" His Polish accent sharpens with frustration. "They called me paranoid!"

xB's gills flare as he inhales deeply, a habit when processing information. "The real question is how deep this goes. Are we talking a few bad apples, or is the entire orchard rotten?" His eyes narrow, scales along his eyes shimmering under the warehouse's dim, broken emergency lighting.

Doc's robotic arm whirs softly as he steps forward, his goat-like pupil fixed on Xisuma. "I say it's out with the lot of them. Overthrow and reestablish." His voice is low, gravelly with conviction.

xB raises an eyebrow, fins twitching. "That's... ambitious. But I like it." He glances at Keralis, who's practically vibrating with excitement.

"Revolution! Yes! We'll be like those French guys with the guillotines, but less... head-choppy!" Keralis declares, waving his arms. "More paperwork audits! Very dramatic audits!"

xB chuckles at his partner's antics, the sound like water over stones. "Let's start with evidence gathering. If we're going to dismantle the Council's corruption, we need concrete proof that can't be ignored." His gaze sweeps over the group. "I've got access to some underwater data relays the Council thinks are obsolete. They might hold backup logs of altered mission reports."

Keralis snaps his fingers, eyes gleaming. "And I know which filing cabinets in Records have the real incident reports—the ones they 'lose.' I've been mapping their rotation schedules for months!" He grins, sharp and eager. "Just need a distraction when the night shift changes."

Bdubs shifts his weight, the cold warehouse air biting through his mossy hoodie. "Distraction's my specialty. A little latency hiccup near the main gate? Guards'll be too busy wondering why their coffee's suddenly cold to notice you slipping in." His bandanna muffles a chuckle, but his eyes are sharp behind the fabric. Time manipulation was perfect for misdirection—small, untraceable chaos.

Subtly, Etho steps closer to Bdubs, pulling an arm over his old friend's shoulder to help warm him up. The Canadian being much warmer by nature. At least that's the reason he'd give if anyone asked. It's not like he was worried about the guy or anything. "So, we've got a plan then? xB and Keralis hit the archives, Bdubs handles the distraction, and the rest of us provide overwatch?" His voice is calm, steady—a grounding force in the tense air.

Xisuma nods, pulling out a sleek, encrypted tablet. "I'll coordinate where I can. My access codes should bypass most internal alarms." He taps the screen, projecting a holographic map of Council headquarters. "Keralis, you'll enter through the maintenance doors here during shift change. xB, the data relays connect via these sub-basement tunnels." His finger traces glowing paths. "Bdubs—cause a little ripple at the main gate. Nothing catastrophic. Just... make time stutter."

"You got it. Maybe some streetlights nearby flicking on far too early, cold coffee, the works." Bdubs grinned beneath his bandanna, already envisioning the subtle chaos as he leans right into Etho's side. "Just say the word."

Keralis clapped his hands together. "Ooh, this is exciting! Like a spy movie! I'll wear my sneaky shoes—the ones that don't squeak!" He bounced on the balls of his feet, wide eyes darting around the map.

"Once this plan is complete, the three of you will be locked right into our alliance. Consider this a trial process to get into the group." Doc stated, his robotic arm folding across his chest. His tone left no room for negotiation—this was their proving ground.

X exchanged a glance with xB and Keralis, then gave a firm nod. "Understood. We'll get you those files." Keralis merely grinned, already mimicking tiptoe movements in his "sneaky shoes."

Chapter Text

The warehouse fell silent as the group dispersed into the shadows. Bdubs lingered near the river entrance, Etho's arm still draped loosely over his shoulders. The cold bit deeper now, seeping through his hoodie despite Etho's warmth.

Now alone, just the two of them. Old friends. Allies. Partner's in both crime and justice. Y'know, close friends. Colleagues.

Etho's arm tightened slightly around Bdubs' shoulders, a silent anchor in the chilling warehouse air. The river's rush outside seemed louder now, a constant, whispering backdrop to the tension hanging between them. Bdubs shifted, his gaze fixed on the spot where X and the others had vanished into the night. "Feels weird," he muttered, his voice muffled by the bandanna but carrying an edge of exhaustion. "Trusting heroes. After everything."

"You trusted me."

"I trusted a lot of people. You just happened to be one of the good ones."

Etho's chuckle was a low rumble against Bdubs' side. "Flattery won't warm you up faster." He paused, the playful tone fading. "Seriously though, B. You look like you got hit by a truck. Twice. What happened before you got here?"

"Nothing. Just patrol." Bdubs shrugged, the movement stiff. Etho's stare was a physical weight. "I'm fine. But it's really nothing Council related, just, well as normal as my business gets."

Etho's grip shifted, his thumb pressing lightly against the curve of Bdubs' shoulder. "Try again. You're favoring your left side. And that limp you're trying to hide? Not subtle."

Bdubs sighed, the sound swallowed by the river's roar. "Got caught up in a robbery near the North border. I didn't think they had any powers, but i was sorely mistaken. " He tugged his bandanna down, revealing a split lip and a bruise blooming along his jawline. "One of them had some kind of... kinetic redirection. Threw my own punch back at me twice as hard." He winced as Etho's fingers brushed the swelling. "Made me trip over my own feet mid-dash. Landed hard."

Etho's expression darkened. "Why didn't you call for backup? Or at least ping me?"

"I don't need you to fight my battles, Etho. I got it taken care of."

"Did you?" Etho's voice was dangerously soft. He tilted Bdubs' chin toward the dim light. The bruise spread like spilled ink across his jaw, disappearing under the hoodie's fabric. "Because this looks like someone took a sledgehammer to you. And that's just what I can see."

"I'm alright. Just a little scraped, really." But Etho knows him better. The last time he broke four ribs falling backwards off a building he'd sworn he was just a little winded.

Etho's gaze swept over him, assessing. "You're shivering." He shrugged off his own jacket—thick, insulated, smelling faintly of pine and fresh snow despite the lack of it in the city—and draped it around Bdubs' shoulders before he could protest. "And don't say you're not cold. Your teeth are chattering."

Bdubs pulled the jacket tighter, the residual warmth seeping into his bones. "Fine. Maybe I'm a little cold." He leaned against the damp warehouse wall just a little too heavily. His upper arm twitching every time he moves it.

He'd hoped Etho wouldn't notice, or at least just ignore it and let him handle it himself, but as with just about everything in his life, he doesn't get what he'd hoped for.

Etho's eyes narrowed, zeroing in on the subtle flinch as Bdubs shifted his weight. "Arm." His voice was flat, leaving no room for argument. "Show me."

The was no point arguing, though he does try. Managing to get Etho to agree to wait to examine his many injuries in the comfort of his own home.

Etho's arm tightened around Bdubs' shoulders, guiding him toward the exit. "My place is closer. And I've got actual medical supplies, not just duct tape and wishful thinking." Bdubs grumbled about being fine, but the way he leaned into Etho's support betrayed him.

The cold night air hit them as they slipped out a side door, the city lights reflecting off wet pavement. Every step sent a jolt up Bdubs' left leg, the limp becoming more pronounced despite his desperate attempts to not draw Etho's attention to it.

He really hoped that Pause and Beef weren't home. Mostly because Beef would go all mother hen on him and Pause would just look at him with those concerned eyes. And, well, partly because he wanted to just stay alone with Etho after a while of not really having the time to spend alone. But mostly because he didn't need more people fussing over him.

And apparently, today was his lucky day, stepping into the warm apartment vacated of any other tenants.

Etho guided him to the worn couch, already pulling a med-kit from under the coffee table. "Shirt off," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for debate. Bdubs hesitated, then peeled off the mossy hoodie and the thin t-shirt beneath, wincing as the fabric tugged at scrapes and fresh bruises blooming across his ribs. His left arm hung stiffly, the shoulder swollen and discolored. Etho’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly. "Kinetic redirection, huh? Looks like they redirected you into a brick wall."

"They did. More than once." Bdubs admits stiffly. His better arm rested over his thighs, really hoping the mild burn on his stomach would be overlooked.

Etho knelt beside him, fingers gently probing the swollen shoulder. "Dislocated. You popped it back in?" His touch was clinical, but the tightness around his eyes betrayed concern.

"It's not like I've never done this before." Bdubs sighs. Trying not to flinch in Etho's grip. The Canadian pulling his mask down around his neck, finally.

Etho's fingers pressed lightly around the joint. "You did it wrong." He didn't look up, focused entirely on the swollen flesh. "The humeral head's still anterior. You just jammed it back crooked." His voice was low, steady. "This is going to hurt."

"Of course." He responds bitterly, waiting for the reset.

Etho's hands were steady, his movements precise as he guided Bdubs' arm into position. "Brace yourself." A sharp twist, a sickening pop, and white-hot pain lanced through Bdubs' shoulder. He bit down on a curse, knuckles white where they gripped the couch cushion. Etho held the joint firmly, ensuring it seated properly. "There. Now it's aligned." He swiftly wrapped the shoulder with a compression bandage, immobilizing it. "Keep it still. No patrols for at least forty-eight hours."

"You suck." Bdubs sulks, already having recovered from the dull pain in his arm. After so many years of this, he tends to just drown pain out. That's probably a deeper issue, but he'll just lock that one away for later.

Etho ignores the complaint, his gaze dropping to the angry red burn blooming across Bdubs' lower ribs. "And this?" His voice is dangerously soft, fingers hovering just above the blistered skin. "That's not kinetic energy."

Bdubs flinches away instinctively. "Got too close to their getaway car's tailpipe. Stupid mistake." The lie tastes bitter. Etho's eyes narrow—he knows exhaust burns don't curve like grasping fingers or radiate that faint, unnatural heat signature.

And trust him, he's dealt with Bdubs being burned by Tango more times than he's even seen the two in the same room. He knows what burns look like from powers.

Etho’s fingers hovered over the angry, blistered skin. "Tailpipe burns don’t leave energy signatures." His voice was low, cutting through Bdubs’ flimsy excuse. "That’s pyrokinetic. Tango-level, even." He didn’t look up, already reaching for the burn gel in the med-kit. The cool, numbing salve hissed as he spread it gently over the wound. Bdubs sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t pull away. "Who was it really?"

He was very used to the treatment by now, after so many burns. He didn't like lying to Etho. In fact, he hated it. Hated the way he say right through every excuse and dismissal. The way his lips tightened in displeasure when he knew Bdubs was lying right to his face, the small divit in his scarred lip making his frown uneven.

But he couldn't tell him. He couldn't tell him that he'd gotten into a fight with a hero. An unrelated one, sure, but a hero nonetheless. He couldn't tell him that he'd been called a menace, in a way he hadn't realized he hated when it wasn't affectionate. That he'd been told he was no better than the criminals he fought. That he'd been told he was a danger to the city and its people.

He couldn't tell him that he'd been called a villain.

Etho's gaze lingered on the burn, his expression unreadable as he finished applying the gel. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken words. Bdubs kept his eyes fixed on the coffee table, tracing a scratch in the wood with his good hand. Etho finally sat back on his heels, wiping salve from his fingers with a clean cloth. "You know I can't help if you don't talk to me, B." His voice was quiet, stripped of its usual calm certainty, leaving only raw concern.

Bdubs swallowed hard, the phantom sting of the hero's words echoing louder than the burn. Menace. Villain. He flexed his bandaged fingers. "Just... a misunderstanding. With a cape. One of the shiny new ones patrolling Northside. Didn't recognize me." He forced a shrug, instantly regretting it as fire lanced through his shoulder. "Told me I was 'escalating civilian risk.' That vigilantes like me... make things worse."

Etho went very still. The med-kit lid clicked shut with finality. "And you fought him?" His voice was dangerously low.

"Hey, he fought me."

Etho's knuckles whitened around the med-kit. "You let him land a pyro hit? You know better than to engage hotheads alone, especially Council lapdogs." His voice was ice, but his eyes burned with protective fury. He began cleaning the scrapes along Bdubs' ribs, the antiseptic stinging far less than the memory of the hero's sneer. 'You're just a villain with a martyr complex.'

But he did know better. He really didn't want to fight a hero. He'd much preferred avoiding new heroes until an elder kept them in check with how it usually went around vigilantes. He let his mind wander in the fight due to some kid throwing insults and he lost his footing. Got himself hurt. Made Etho disappointed in him.

He was usually so much better than this. He rarely gets banged up this bad in one night. Even after multiple fights. He's off his game. And it shows.

Etho finished taping the last bandage over a scrape on Bdubs' ribs, luckily none broken (by miracle). The silence stretched, heavy with the weight of the unspoken. Etho finally sat back, his mask still pulled down, revealing the tight line of his mouth. "You're reckless tonight." It wasn't an accusation, just a weary observation. "What's really going on in that head of yours?"

Bdubs stared at his hand, the knuckles as raw and bruised as they are split on the other hand. The hero's words echoed, sharp and unwelcome: Menace. Villain. "He... he said I was no better than the criminals. That I was part of the problem." His voice was rough, barely above a whisper. "Said the city doesn't need 'half-trained vigilantes playing hero.'"

"Half trained? Bdubs, you're one of the most experienced fighters I've ever met." Etho's voice was low and fierce. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his mismatched eyes locked onto Bdubs'. "That shiny cape doesn't know what he's talking about. He hasn't seen the people you've saved. The kids who sleep safer because of you." He gestured sharply at the bandages. "This? This is proof you put yourself on the line when the 'real heroes' won't."

Bdubs flinched, looking away. The praise felt hollow against the phantom sting of the hero's fire. "Maybe he's right, Etho. What if we are making it worse? The Council's cracking down harder because of us. People like Doc get caught in the crossfire— you KNOW how hard he has it with him being openly sympathetic with vigilantes."

Etho's hand clamped down on his uninjured shoulder, grounding him. "The Council was corrupt long before we started pushing back. Doc chose his side knowing the risks." His voice softened, the ice melting into something weary. "And you? You fight because it's who you are. Not because some Council puppet told you to."

Bdubs slumped back against the couch cushions, exhaustion hitting him like a physical blow. The warmth of Etho's jacket, the familiar scent of pine, the low hum of the city outside – it all felt suddenly overwhelming. He closed his eyes, the hero's sneering face flashing behind his lids. Villain.

He hated how much he saw of the hero's face. How much he was allowed to see. He couldn't show his face as a vigilante. Then people would know who he was. But why was that so bad? Isn't he doing something good? He can't be if he's not even allowed to show his face.

Is this how Zed felt? He was getting reckless with his identity. Was this why?

Everything hurt. It all ached bad, no sign of adrenaline he'd long since run out of. He felt every bruise, every scrape, the deep throb in his shoulder, and the sharp sting of the burn. The hero’s words echoed louder than the pain: Menace. Villain. He wasn’t supposed to care what some shiny new hero thought, but the accusation had found a crack in his armor, seeping in like cold water. Was he really just escalating things? Making it worse for everyone? For Doc, for Etho, for the city itself?

Was he really better off going back to being a civilian?

Etho sighed, the sound heavy in the quiet apartment. He moved to sit beside Bdubs on the couch, careful not to jostle his injuries. "Look at me, B." When Bdubs finally met his gaze, Etho’s mismatched eyes held no judgment, only exhaustion. "That hero? He’s scared. The Council’s tightening the screws, and new kids get fed propaganda with their morning coffee. They see chaos, not the cause." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "But you? You see the people. The shopkeeper Zedaph mind-tricked into safety last week. The family Mumbo pulled from that collapsing tenement. That’s why we do this. Not for glory. Not for their approval."

Bdubs flexed his bandaged fingers, the split knuckles stinging. "Feels like I’m drowning, Etho. Every punch I throw just... sinks us deeper." The phantom heat of the pyro-burn flared across his ribs. He could still smell singed fabric, hear the hero’s contempt. Villain. The label clung like smoke.

Would he actually be relabeled? Would all vigilantes eventually be called villains? He'd hoped he was powerful enough to be considered for being turned into a hero, but maybe his ego was talking. He's been a vigilante for too long to be branded a hero, now. He's been a vigilante for years. Since his youth. He's helped countless people in his years of experience.

Etho watched him, the silence stretching. He knew that look—the distant stare, the slight downturn of Bdubs' mouth. He recognized the spiral. "You're not drowning," Etho said firmly, shifting closer. His knee brushed Bdubs' uninjured leg as he tugs up the fabric on the other to get a look at the damage. "You're just tired. And hurt. And letting some rookie's ignorance get under your skin." He reached out, his calloused fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from Bdubs' forehead. The touch was fleeting, grounding. "Remember the factory fire? When you froze that entire floor so Doc could pull those workers out? That wasn't villainy. That was you."

Bdubs closed his eyes, leaning into the faint warmth of Etho’s proximity. The memory surfaced—the choking smoke, the screams, Doc’s frantic shouts as beams collapsed. Him, channeling every ounce of focus into slowing the flames, buying seconds that felt like hours. The hero’s sneer faded, replaced by the stunned gratitude on a soot-streaked face. "He called me a menace," he murmured, the words thick.

"Then he’s blind." Etho’s voice was a low rasp. His fingers traced the edge of the bandage on Bdubs’ thigh, assessing a deep bruise blooming beneath. "You carry the weight they refuse to lift. That’s not villainy. That’s conviction." He pressed a fresh gauze pad against a split scrape, the antiseptic bite sharp but clean. "But conviction needs rest. You’re no good to anyone if you push until you break."

"But who are you if not my overachiever?" Etho's voice softened, the ghost of a smile touching his lips as he secured the gauze over a rough gash.

My overachiever.

He switches a single vowel with the word "my" and it changes the entire sentence in Bdubs's eyes.

Etho’s words hung in the quiet air, a lifeline thrown into the churning sea of doubt. Bdubs let out a shaky breath, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction. He leaned his head back against the worn couch cushion, the familiar scent of Etho’s jacket behind his head – pine and ozone and city grit – a small comfort against the relentless ache. "Yeah, well," he mumbled, avoiding Etho’s gaze but unable to suppress the faint, reluctant curve of his lips. "Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes, sweetheart." The old nickname felt rusty but right.

He hasn't called him that in years. A decade, maybe. Probably less, but who knows, really?

It still has the same ring it always has coming from Bdubs.

Etho’s fingers paused on the bandage tape, just for a second. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face – surprise, maybe, or the ghost of an old ache. He didn’t look up, focusing intently on smoothing the tape over the gauze on Bdubs’ thigh. “Haven’t heard that one in a while,” he murmured, his voice devoid of its usual dry edge. It was just… quiet. Thoughtful.

"Is there something you prefer?" Bdubs is back on his usual teasing, already feeling much better after his pep talk.

Etho finishes taping the bandage, his movements precise. "Just 'Etho' works fine." He gathers the used gauze and antiseptic wipes, avoiding eye contact. The air feels charged, thick with unspoken history. He stands, the med-kit clicking shut.

"C'mon. Maybe I'll go back to calling you Easy."

Etho snorted, a genuine, rusty sound. "Don't you dare." He stood, stretching the stiffness from his own limbs. The med-kit vanished into its usual spot under the coffee table. "You're staying here tonight. Pause and Beef are out for the night." It wasn't a question. "Couch or spare room?"

"But Etho, what if I roll off the bed and hurt my shoulder again? You really aren't letting me sleep all on my own are you?" Bdubs' grin was pure mischief despite his bandaged state. He shifted on the couch, wincing only slightly as he tested his injured shoulder.

Etho leveled him with a deadpan stare, already pulling spare blankets from the hallway closet. "You're not sharing my bed, Bdubs." The words were flat, final.

Bdubs does, in fact, share Etho’s bed that night.

Chapter Text

...Not because Etho relented. Oh no. Etho deposited him firmly in the spare room with a stack of blankets and a pointed reminder about the location of the ice pack. But Bdubs, true to form, waited precisely seventeen minutes after Etho’s door clicked shut. Then, navigating the darkened apartment with the silent precision of a man who’d dodged Council drones in tighter spots, he slipped into Etho’s room. The floorboards didn't creak; he knew exactly which ones to avoid.

Etho lay rigidly on his side, facing the wall. Bdubs didn’t ask permission. He just slid under the covers beside him, the mattress dipping with his weight. Etho didn’t flinch, didn’t turn. He just sighed, a long, weary sound that filled the quiet space between them. "You're impossible."

"Comfortable, too," Bdubs mumbled, already burrowing deeper into the pillow, the scent of Etho’s shampoo – cedar and something faintly chemical – enveloping him. The pain was a dull, manageable throb now, muffled by exhaustion and the sheer relief of not being alone. "Your spare room smells like Beef's gym socks."

Etho remained frozen, facing the wall. "Go back to the couch."

"Nope." Bdubs burrowed deeper, the warmth radiating from Etho's back a balm against his bruised ribs. "S'cold in there. Your heating's busted." A blatant lie. The apartment was stiflingly warm, Doc's latest geothermal tinkering working overtime.

Etho didn't move. "My heating is fine. You're a furnace." His voice was flat, muffled by the pillow. "And you're going to kick me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Bdubs lied, already shifting closer until his forehead brushed the tense line of Etho's shoulder blade. The fabric of Etho's sleep shirt felt thin and worn. "Just... stay still. Pretend I'm a particularly lumpy pillow."

Etho remained rigid. "You smell like antiseptic and singed hoodie."

"Better than gym socks," Bdubs mumbled into his shoulder blade. Silence stretched, thick with the city's distant hum and Etho's unnerving stillness.

Bdubs traced a phantom pattern on the sheet between them. "Remember that busted hydrant job? Summer, about five years back? We slept crammed in Doc's van for three days 'cause the safehouse got raided." He felt Etho's breath hitch, almost imperceptible. "You kicked ME then. Twice."

"It's been a few more years than five." Etho's voice was a low rasp, barely audible. He didn't turn, but the rigid line of his shoulders softened a little.

Bdubs grinned against Etho's shirt. "Still counts. Point is, I didn't complain." He shifted carefully, trying not to jar his shoulder. The burn on his ribs throbbed faintly beneath the bandages.

Etho finally rolled onto his back with a sigh that sounded like surrender. Moonlight from the window sliced across his face, highlighting the scar bisecting his eye. "You complained about the humidity. And Doc's snoring." He stared at the ceiling. "And the lack of decent coffee."

"Details," Bdubs waved a bandaged hand dismissively, the movement clumsy. "Main point is, we survived. Like we always do." He shifted onto his side to face Etho properly, wincing as the pyrokinetic burn pulled.

The silence settled again, comfortable this time, filled only by the distant sirens and the rhythmic click of Doc's geothermal unit cycling outside.

Bdubs studied Etho's profile – the sharp line of his jaw, the tension still lingering around his eyes. That Council hero’s accusations felt distant now, muffled by the warmth and the shared history in this room. "You think... you think Zed and the others ever feel like this? Like maybe the heroes have a point?"

"With what?" Etho snorted softly, turning his head on the pillow to meet Bdubs' gaze. Moonlight caught the unmarred deep silver of his better eye. "That we're glorified criminals? That we're making things worse?" He shifted, the mattress springs groaning faintly.

Bdubs nodded, the movement stiff against the pillow. "Yeah. That maybe... maybe we're just causing more trouble than we're stopping."

"Come on, you've been saving lives since half the people working as heroes were learning what their powers even were." Etho's voice was blunt, cutting through the gloom.

"Exactly." Bdubs frowned. "That's... that's a long time to be breaking rules. Maybe too long."

Etho's hand moved—slow, deliberate—until his fingers brushed Bdubs' bandaged forearm. The touch was grounding, calloused skin against gauze. "Rules?" His voice was a low hum in the dark. "Since when have those ever stopped you?"

He tries to keep it light, but when Bdubs doesn't perk back up, he has to go a little deeper. "The Council's rules are the same rules letting buildings burn to the ground because heroes aren't allowed to respond to things without orders."

Bdubs flinches at the mention of fire. "Yeah, well... maybe they've got a point about the chaos. That hero today... he wasn't wrong about the collateral damage."

"Two months ago there was a hotel collapsed in a fight between a villain and a hero. The hero was the one damaging the building and caused the collapse. Now you're convincing yourself it's not the heroes causing collateral?"

Etho's voice sharpened, slicing through the gloom. "That rookie today was scared and stupid. You know better." His fingers tightened slightly on Bdubs' forearm. "Chaos? We saved seventeen people from that flash flood year. Doc pulled three kids out of the rubble you froze solid. That's not chaos. That's precision."

Bdubs closed his eyes, the phantom heat crawling up his ribs again. "Precision that got me roasted."

Etho's thumb rubbed a slow circle over the bandage. "He got lucky. You got distracted." His voice dropped lower. "What did he actually say? Before he hit you?"

Bdubs swallowed. The hero's sneer flashed behind his eyelids—vigilante scum, playing hero while people die. "Called me a villain. Said I escalate risks. That I... that I enjoy the chaos." The words tasted sour. "Said I had a martyr complex."

Etho's silence was heavy. Then, a low, humorless chuckle. "Martyr complex? You?" His thumb stopped its circling. "You hate pain. You complain about bruises longer than Doc complains about council paperwork." He shifted, turning fully onto his side to face Bdubs. Moonlight carved deep shadows under his eyes. "He saw the hoodie. The bandanna. Saw 'vigilante' and filled in the blanks with council propaganda. You know what I see?"

"..What?"

Etho's gaze held Bdubs'—steady, unflinching. "I see the guy who spent three hours rewiring Doc's busted comms array last Tuesday when he was struggling with phantom pains in his arm. Who gives Impulse hell about his coffee addiction but always brings him an extra thermos on stakeouts."

He paused, voice dropping to a near whisper. "You don't crave chaos, Bdubs. You hate it. You stitch order into every moment, you can't pive without a plan. That hero? He saw a label. I see you."

Bdubs felt the tight knot in his chest loosen fractionally.

Etho saw him.

Not the moss-green hoodie, not the vigilante label, but the frantic organizer who color-coded Doc’s tool bench and memorized patrol rotations within a week. "Yeah, well... plans go sideways." He gestured weakly at his bandages. "Like today."

"Plans always go sideways," Etho countered, his thumb resuming its slow circle on Bdubs' forearm. "You just stitch 'em back together faster than anyone." He paused, listening to the rhythmic hum of Doc's geothermal unit outside—a sound as familiar as the city's heartbeat. "That hero... he saw chaos because he doesn't understand the pattern. Doesn't see the why."

"You see the why."

The words hung in the quiet dark. Etho didn’t deny it. His thumb stilled on Bdubs’ arm, a silent anchor.

"Someone has to," he murmured, finally. "Council sees assets. Threats. Expendable resources. They don’t see…" He trailed off, the unspoken 'people' heavy between them.

Bdubs shifted, wincing as the movement tugged his ribs. "So what do we do? Keep patching things up? Waiting for the next enemy?" The exhaustion was creeping back in, thick and suffocating.

Etho rolled onto his back again, staring at the ceiling's faint cracks. "We adapt. Like we always do." His voice was steady, practical. "Keralis and xB gave us tools. Proof. We use it." He paused, listening to the distant wail of a siren—too far to be theirs tonight. "That Council hero saw a villain because he was told to see one. We show him different. Show them all different."

"What if I'm tired of always having to prove my worth? I mean, I'm always proving superiority. Let's be real, I've taken on well over half the employed heroes, and, well, I'm not caught yet."

Etho's chuckle was a dry rustle against the pillow. "Caught? You? You'd freeze time and lecture them on inefficient arrest protocols while adjusting their tie."

Bdubs grinned despite the ache. "Damn right." The bravado felt thinner than usual. He traced a seam in Etho's worn sheet. "Still... proving it gets old. Feels like digging the same hole deeper."

Etho shifted, the mattress springs groaning like Doc's old van suspension. "Then stop digging." His voice was quiet, pragmatic. "Use their shovel against them. Keralis gave us incident reports. xB has data relays. Proof the Council's rules got people killed." He turned his head, moonlight catching the scarred corner of his mouth. "We show them why we break rules. Show them the holes they dug."

Bdubs huffed, the sound muffled by the pillow. "Easy for you to say, Mister 'I-Steal-Council-Blueprints-For-Fun'. They're not calling you a villain."

"They called me worse," Etho countered flatly. "Remember back when I first left?"

Bdubs did remember. Etho had been labeled a traitor, a liability—a ghost story Council trainers used to scare recruits. "Yeah, well... they were wrong about you too." He nudged Etho’s shoulder gently. "Guess we're both trouble."

"Have we ever claimed to be anything but?"

Etho's question hung in the dark, stark as the scar across his eye. Bdubs felt the truth of it settle deep—a familiar weight, not a burden.

They were trouble.

Necessary trouble.

He let out a slow breath, the ache in his ribs a dull counterpoint to the warmth radiating from Etho beside him. The Council hero's sneer felt smaller now, drowned out by the steady rhythm of Etho's quiet breathing and the city's distant heartbeat.

"True enough," Bdubs murmured. His bandaged hand shifted slightly on the sheet, fingers brushing Etho's wrist. "Just... tired tonight."

"It's way passed your bedtime," Etho mocks, "I'd hate to keep you away from your beauty sleep any longer."

"Oh, shut up!" Bdubs laughs, shoving Etho lightly with his good shoulder. The movement sends a sharp twinge through his ribs, but the warmth blooming in his chest dulls it.

He settles back, the worn cotton sheets rough against his skin. Etho’s quiet chuckle vibrates against his side—a low, familiar sound, lulling Bdubs into his ideal place; asleep with etho by his side.

And once Etho confirms the unconsciousness of his... friend..? Doesn't matter. He cards a hand through the soft, thick brown locks.

"I also see a boy, worthy of the world, and stronger than he knows. Caring, and strong, and so bright."

Etho’s voice was barely a whisper, rough with uncharacteristic tenderness. His fingers lingered in Bdubs’ hair, tracing the curve of his skull as his breathing deepened into the slow, steady rhythm of sleep.

The moonlight painted stark lines across the room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the stillness.

Etho didn’t move for a long time, his hand resting lightly on Bdubs’ head, the city’s distant sounds a faint counterpoint to the quiet. The warmth radiating from Bdubs was a tangible comfort against the chill seeping through the old windowpanes. 'He’s safe. For now.' The thought was a fragile shield against the Council’s looming shadow.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Etho wouldn't let's Bdubs out of bed.

From the lack of him being a morning person making him simply incapable of doing anything to move from his comfy spot cuddling Bdubs, to just not wanting him to irritate his wounds.

Etho’s arm stayed draped possessively over Bdubs’ waist, pinning him to the mattress long after dawn bled through the cheap blinds.

Bdubs stirred with a groan, blinking blearily. Every breath felt like sandpaper scraping the pyrokinetic burn beneath his bandages. “Etho...” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “C’mon. Lemme up. Gotta...” He trailed off, wincing as he tried to shift Etho’s dead weight.

The vigilante didn’t budge, his breathing deep and even, face buried in Bdubs’ shoulder. A masterful performance.

"Move your elbow," Bdubs hissed, jabbing weakly at Etho’s ribs. "It’s digging into my side!"

Etho grunted noncommittally, tightening his hold instead. "Too early," he mumbled into Bdubs’ shoulder. "Sun’s barely up. Doctor’s orders." His arm rested heavily across Bdubs’ hip.

Bdubs squirmed, the movement sending sparks of pain up his ribs. "Doctor's orders?" He snorted. "Since when are you qualified? And since when do I listen to orders?" He tried to pry Etho's fingers loose, but they were iron bands against his waistband. "Seriously, man—"

"Rest," Etho interrupted, muffled against Bdubs' shoulder blade. "Healing. Non-negotiable." He didn't lift his head, but Bdubs could feel the subtle tension in his arm—the unspoken worry beneath the stubbornness.

The scent of old coffee grounds and ozone clung to Etho's hair, mingling with the sharp antiseptic tang from Bdubs' dressings.

"Fine," Bdubs grumbled, surrendering to the mattress. His eyes traced a crack in the plaster ceiling—a jagged lightning bolt above the dresser where Doc's makeshift taser had once misfired.

Etho's breathing deepened again, a deliberate rhythm. Fake sleep. Bdubs knew the tells: the slight hitch before each exhale, the unnatural stillness. A tactic. Etho wanted him immobile, healing, safe. The thought warmed him more than the shared blankets.

Etho’s logic was perfect. If Bdubs wasn't moving, he wasn't getting more hurt. And if he wasn't getting more hurt, he was safe, and Etho didn't have anything to be stressed over.

It was perfect.

Etho’s arm stayed locked around him, effectively trapping Bdubs against the mattress. Sunlight crept higher, painting stripes of gold across the dusty floorboards. Bdubs shifted experimentally—a tiny wiggle—and Etho’s grip tightened instantly.

Not asleep.

Not even close.

Bdubs sighed, letting his head thump back against the pillow.

The phantom sting of fire lingered beneath his bandages, a dull echo of yesterday’s failure. He focused instead on the solid warmth of Etho beside him, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

At least he could move his legs fine.

He kicked Etho’s ankle lightly. "My ribs aren’t falling apart, you control freak."

Etho didn’t move. "Risk assessment," he murmured into Bdubs’ shoulder blade. His hand flexed unconsciously against Bdubs’ hip. "Pyrokinetic burns require twelve hours minimal mobilization. Fact."

"Well, considering my track record with Tango, you're lying." Bdubs kicked Etho's ankle again, sharper this time.

Etho finally shifted, lifting his head just enough to glare with bleary eyes. "Fine. Ten hours." He shoved his face back into Bdubs' shoulder. "Still not time."

Bdubs huffed, defeated. The warmth radiating from Etho was dangerously comfortable.

A door opening in the front room shattered the quiet. Etho jerked upright, instantly alert, his arm sliding away from Bdubs’ waist. Cold air rushed in where warmth had been.

Beef's heavy footsteps echoed, followed by Pause's lighter tread. Just his roommates returning from, whatever it was they had been up to that night.

No threat.

Cuddling can continue.

Etho’s entire posture relaxed, melting back against Bdubs like a weighted blanket. His arm slid possessively around Bdubs’ waist again. “See?” he mumbled. “No emergencies. Stay.” The command was softened by the sleep-rough edge of his voice. Bdubs felt Etho’s nose press against the nape of his neck, warm breath ghosting over his skin. Fine. He’d stay. For now.

The smell of toast drifted from the kitchen—Beef was cooking. Bdubs’ stomach grumbled loudly. Etho chuckled, low and muffled. “Patience,” he murmured. “Food later. Rest now.” His fingers traced idle circles on Bdubs’ hipbone through the thin fabric of his sleep pants.

The touch was grounding, hypnotic. Bdubs let his eyes drift shut, lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of Etho’s chest against his side. The ache in his ribs faded to a dull throb beneath the haze of comfort.

Usually, he had a schedule. Bed at sundown, morning routine starts at dawn. But sometimes healing requires some things to go off schedule. Plus, he was very late going to sleep last night, he can sleep a few more, warm, safe, protected hours.

Chapter Text

Someone who can't get that sleep is Joel.

Lizzie told him he shouldn't patrol. Shouldn't risk it. But it was just too tempting.

Plus he had a rivalry to revive.

Vigilante Smajor. The sworn enemy and rival of one SmallishBeans.

At least that's what Joel said. The Scot really didn't have an issue with Joel, and being honest Joel didn't have an issue with him. It was just really fun to go against each other.

Joel had always been on the more reckless side of being a vigilante. Destructive and usually violent with how he fought enemies, all in order to help people.

While Smajor. With the suited name, Scott, played the social game better than anyone in the city. Hardly ever had to get his hands dirty, but he was almost as dangerous to fight as he was with his words.

Out of the superhero scene, the two had known each other for ages. The man had been to Joel's wedding of all things.

But it was really fun to toy with one another.

He'd visited not long after Joel had escaped. Promising help and aid whenever needed.

And that aid was needed now.

The plan was to meet him somewhere cameras would catch it, they would reinstate their rivalry, some fun and games, jokes, have a real good time.

But when has a plan ever worked for a hermit?

I'll save you the thought: Never.

Now, he was on the run into early morning hours, trying not to lead the police trailing him somewhere important.

Well, he got his camera. The helicopter over him made sure of that. Now he needed his Scott.

He wasn't incredibly fond of the times he was helped by Scott live, like a while back, being saved the trouble of his mask breaking when Scott had an extra to give him while they were live in a fight with a hero.

But he was much less fond of being incarcerated again.

A few seconds on his watch and Scott hopefully got the message:

scorr, quick questiob

helpm

sos

where r u

nwar ciry center

right

be right there

And before Joel knew it, he was nearly running face-first into a blur of teal and purple.

Scott—Smajor—caught him by the shoulders, already scanning the street behind Joel with narrowed eyes.

His glowing purple and teal hair was windswept with stardust, mask askew, as if he'd pulled it on mid-flight. "You absolute disaster," he hissed, but there was no real venom—just exasperation laced with urgency.

He shoved Joel sideways into a narrow alleyway beside an antique bookstore, its scent of old paper and damp brick enveloped them.

Even barley in costume, Scott was nothing but stunning. A blue jacket over a white striped t-shirt is one thing, but decked in the dazzle of stardust and liquid confidence is completely different.

Accented with the dark fingerless gloves speckled with stars to match the mask over the lower half of his face down his neck. And the multitude of pins and patches all over his clothes. It was simultaneously busy and so simple that it worked so well.

Gifted with powers like the stars themselves, it was hard not to be charmed.

But, of course, Joel never gets charmed. He has a loving wife that he loves so dearly and much hatred for Scott. He's lucky to be allowed the privilege of saving him. No, not saving him. Accompanying him on his escape from the police.

The alleyway smelled of damp brick. Joel leaned against the wall, catching his breath, wincing as his ribs protested. "Took you long enough," he wheezed, flashing a grin beneath his mask. "Almost thought I’d have to start a riot without you."

Scott’s eyes narrowed, glowing faintly purple over his star-studded mask. But he did smile back. Even when it was covered, it was hard to find him without a smile. "You were supposed to meet me at the docks, Joel. Not drag half the city’s patrol units into a chase." He gestured sharply upward, where the drone of the police helicopter still hovered. "Care to explain that?"

Before Joel could retort, boots pounded on the pavement outside the alley—heavy, rhythmic, closing in fast. Scott grabbed Joel’s arm, yanking him deeper into the shadows just as two officers skidded past the alley entrance, radios crackling.

"Suspect last seen near Hawthorne and Elm. Proceed with caution—armed and volatile."

Scott gives Joel an unimpressed stare.

"Really?" Scott sighs, pinching his nose beneath the mask. "Volatile?"

Joel shrugs, wincing as the motion pulls at bruises. "Okay, maybe I got a bit... enthusiastic with a trash can."

Scott groans, rubbing his temples. "Enthusiastic? Joel, we were supposed to have a controlled scuffle near the docks! Not incite a city-wide manhunt!" His voice drops to a frantic whisper as torchlight sweeps the alley entrance.

"Like you've never been in a manhunt." Joel mutters under his breath, pressing deeper against the damp bricks. The torchlight sweeps past their hiding spot again.

Scott's hand tightens on Joel's arm, fingers digging into his sleeve. "Well," he breathes, barely audible over the helicopter's thrum. "I'm actually good at fleeing from people chasing me. You, sir. Are not."

Torchlight sweeps the alley entrance again, closer this time. Shadows leap across crumbling brickwork as footsteps echo—boots scraping concrete, radios spitting static orders. Scott scans upward, eyes narrowing at the narrow strip of sky between rooftops. His free hand flexes, fingertips glimmering with faint starlight. "Up," he commands, shoving Joel toward a rusted fire escape ladder hanging crookedly overhead. "Before they box us in."

He has to help Joel up, considering using his powers to help himself, then figuring he'd waste too much energy, boosting a boot off a bin and gripping a rusted rung, pulling himself into a climb behind Joel.

The ladder groans under their weight, flakes of paint showering down onto the asphalt below. Joel scrambles onto the first landing, pressing flat against the wall as torchlight slices the alley floor beneath them. Scott follows, silent as smoke, his breath frosting in the predawn chill. Below, voices carry sharp and clear: "Check the dumpster! Alley's clear otherwise—must've doubled back."

They sit there in silence for a while. Even after the coast clears.

"You know," Joel says, "you could've flown us up."

"And waste all that energy along with giving them our exact location? No. You just wanted more of a chase."

Joel grinned, the motion pulling at fresh scrapes on his cheek. "Maybe I did. Where's the fun in an easy escape?"

Scott didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, he peered over the fire escape railing—rust flakes drifting downward—toward the distant wail of sirens converging nearby. His starlit fingers tapped a rapid rhythm against the corroded metal. "We're pinned until that helicopter shifts grid. Any bright ideas?"

Joel shifted, hissing as a bruised rib protested. "Distraction?" he offered weakly. "I've still got... uh..." He patted his pockets, coming up empty save for lint and a half-melted chocolate bar. "Never mind."

Scott sighed, the sound swallowed by the helicopter's persistent drone overhead. He scanned the rooftops opposite—flat, tar-papered stretches dotted with ventilation units.

His gaze lingered on a billboard advertising synth-coffee, its flickering neon casting sickly green light across the alley. The image of a steaming mug seemed to taunt them.

Too exposed, Scott thought. No cover.

He glanced back at Joel. The man was pale beneath his mask, sweat beading at his temples despite the cold. Bruises bloomed along his jawline, darkening by the minute. Scott’s jaw tightened. This was supposed to be playful theatrics—not Joel getting battered halfway to a med-bay.

The helicopter’s spotlight swept across the alley mouth again, illuminating discarded crates like accusing fingers. Time to improvise. Scott leaned close, his voice a low hum against Joel’s ear. "Follow my lead. And try not to scream."

Before Joel can process why he would scream, he nearly does just that. Scott's hand snaps out, fingers curling into his jacket collar as he yanks Joel sideways—straight through the solid brick wall beside them as the center of it goes inky black with tiny white specks like stars.

The sensation is like sinking into icy tar, pressure crushing his ribs, darkness swallowing sound and light. Then they spill out onto a rooftop several blocks away, stumbling out onto the stone. Joel gasps, coughing brick dust.

"Dude!" Joel wheezes, doubling over, hands braced on his knees. "Warn a guy!"

The rooftop is slick with dew, overlooking a quieter street lined with closed shops. The distant thrum of the helicopter is faint now. Scott sags against a ventilation unit, breathing hard, starlight flickering weakly throughout his hair before fading.

The usage of one of his more tricky abilities along with the sunlight now hitting his skin and dimming out his view of the other stars above, the glow he had fades out, leaving him feeling fatigued and dizzy for a few moments.

Scott straightened, wiping sweat from his brow. "Consider that payment for dragging me into your chaos." His voice was strained but triumphant.

Below, sirens wailed in the wrong direction—toward the antique bookstore alley. Joel grinned, despite the ache in his side. "Worth it. Now they'll think we vanished into thin air. Adds to the mystique."

Scott was leaning heavily against the vent, knuckles white where he gripped the metal. "Mystique... costs energy," he panted, his breathing shallow. Sweat beaded along his hairline, mixing with grime. The starlight in his eyes had dulled to a faint shimmer of teal mixed with the usual denim blue.

Joel’s grin faltered. He grabbed Scott’s arm—solid muscle beneath the thin jacket—and steadied him as he swayed. "Hey. You good?"

Scott waved him off, but the tremor in his hand betrayed him. "Fine. Just… need a minute." His gaze drifted to the horizon where the sun bled orange-gold into the cityscape.

Dawn was his weakest hour; starlight drowned by daylight always left him drained, but the first moments was the worst of it. Losing all that power and freedom all at once, left feeling all stuffy after.

Scott blinked hard, trying to clear the blur from his vision. The rooftop gravel dug into his palms as he pushed himself upright, ignoring Joel’s concerned grip. "I’m fine," he insisted, voice steadier than he felt. "Just… sunrise tax." He forced a grin beneath his mask, though it wasn't visible.

Below them, the city stirred—early delivery trucks rumbling, shop shutters clattering open. Safe, for now. No sirens close by.

"Y'know the sun's just a big star, right?"

Scott snorted, leaning harder on Joel's shoulder as they shuffled toward the rooftop access door. "Feels more like a spotlight pointed directly at my eyeballs." He blinked rapidly, pupils dilating unevenly. A leftover spark of starlight fizzled weakly in his hair like dying embers. "Coffee. Need coffee."

In the stairwell, they make a quick wardrobe change into civilian clothes. Joel looking like every other brunette British guy of perfect height and devilishly good looks other than the green stripe in his hair. And Scott looking like an actual model. His hair going blonde from the purple and teal.

He has a lot of freedom with his hair unlike most people. His hair shifts when he puts his powers into use. Meaning he can dye his own any color and still look the same as a vigilante. Originally, he's a brunette, but he hasn't had undyed hair in years.

The café smelled of burnt espresso beans and cinnamon rolls. Joel slumped into a booth, hissing as bruised ribs met vinyl. Scott slid in opposite him, already flagging down a tired-looking barista. His hair was now a perfectly ordinary ash-blonde, eyes dimmed to denim blue without their starlight. The transformation was unsettling—like seeing a chameleon lose its colors.

"Two black coffees, please," Scott ordered, his voice stripped of its usual melodic confidence. "And whatever pastry hasn't been sitting since yesterday."

Joel prodded tenderly at his side beneath the table. "Make mine a double espresso. And a croissant." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "That stunt with the wall... you really okay? Looked like you were about to faceplant into that vent."

Scott waved a dismissive hand, but the motion was sluggish. "Just peachy. Teleporting through solid matter isn't exactly a Sunday stroll." He drums his fingertips on the table, revealing knuckles scraped raw from the brickwork. The faint tremor in his fingers was unmistakable. "Sunrise always hits harder when I push it so close."

The barista slid their drinks, a cinnamon roll, and a slightly stale croissant onto the table. Scott wrapped both hands around his mug, inhaling the steam like it was oxygen. His gaze drifted past Joel's shoulder toward the café window. Outside, a news van sped by, sirens off but lights flashing—headed toward the antique shop chaos.

Joel ripped into his croissant, flakes scattering. "So much for our 'controlled scuffle.' Council's probably drafting another memo about us reckless vigilantes." He winced, shifting to ease the pressure on his ribs. "Thanks for the assist. Even if it involved nearly liquefying my organs."

Scott took a long, slow sip of coffee, the warmth visibly grounding him. The tremor in his hands lessened slightly. "Don't mention it. Literally. If Lizzie finds out I helped you escape a police chase..." He trailed off, managing a weak smirk. "She'll skin us both."

Joel chuckled, then immediately regretted it as pain lanced through his side. He tore off another chunk of croissant, chewing thoughtfully. "But seriously, that teleport... felt like being stuffed through a vacuum hose. You sure you're not gonna collapse?"

Scott's knuckles whitened around his mug. He didn't answer immediately, staring into the dark liquid as if it held secrets. Outside, the distant wail of an ambulance joined the city's morning symphony. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, stripped of its usual playful lilt. "Used more juice than I planned. That brick wall... denser than it looked. Felt like pushing through concrete."

"You were actually pushing through bric-"

"You know what I meant, Joel."