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The fluorescent lights of the SDN building buzzed like angry hornets in the dead of night, casting long shadows across the empty dispatch room. Robert, once a renowned hero, now just a guy in a rumpled shirt with a headset, rubbed his temples with a sigh, the weight of the day's shifts pressing down on him. This shift had been hell. The Z-Team was infighting again, the team's synergy was down majorly, and now Waterboy, the kid with the stutter and the endless sweat, hiding in the janitor's closet like a drowned rat.
Robert had found him there after the final call, perched in a bucket overflowing with murky water, his wetsuit trying its best to keep the water out. His grey eyes were rimmed red, his lanky frame trembling not from cold, but from the kind of hurt that sinks deep into the bones.
"They.. Hate me, Robert,"
Herman had whispered, his voice cracking like ice on a frozen lake.
“The-e whole t-team. They.. I- I'm just the janitor. The w-water-spitter. They laughed when I messed up that c-c-call.. when I accidentally.. Did the.. When I hosed down Flambae.. They t-think I'm a joke. Why'd you even pick.. c-choose me for Z-Team?"
Robert had knelt down, ignoring the puddle seeping into his knees, and placed a hand on the kid's shoulder. It was slick with that constant, unnatural sweat, Waterboy's curse, his power.
"Listen, Herman. You're not a joke. You've got strength in you, real superhuman stuff. And heart. That's more than half these capes out there. The team's rough because they're scared too. Messing up? That's part of it. But you gotta believe in yourself. Stand tall. They'll come around."
Herman had nodded, but his eyes, those haunted grey pools, told a different story. He hadn't taken the advice. Not really. He'd mumbled a thanks, sloshed out of the bucket, and shuffled home to his grandmother's house, the one crammed with cats and faded Phenomaman posters. Robert had watched him go, a knot twisting in his gut. The kid idolized heroes like Phenomaman, like the old Mecha Man. But heroes didn't always save the day.
The next morning dawned grey and relentless, the kind of Torrance fog that smothered everything in silence. Robert arrived early, coffee in hand, ready to face whatever fresh hell Blonde Blazer had cooked up. But the office was too quiet. No clatter from the break room, no snarky banter from Invisigal or Sonar’s new coin he needed everyone to invest in. Just an eerie stillness.
It was Golem who found him. Or what was left of him.
The scream echoed through the halls, pulling Robert from his desk like a magnet. He burst into the janitor's closet, the same one from last night, and froze. Herman lay slumped against the mop rack, his body unnaturally pale, veins stark blue against his skin. Water pooled around him, not from a spill, but from him, seeping out in rivulets, as if his body had given up holding it all in. His eyes were open, staring at nothing, the grey dulled to slate.
"Overdose."
the paramedics said later, after the chaos of sirens and flashing lights.
“Dehydration, ironically. Mixed with some pills from his grandma's cabinet. Looks like he tried to... Dry himself out."
Robert stood in the hallway, fists clenched, as they zipped the body bag. The Z-Team gathered in stunned silence, Golem averting his eyes and shifting uncomfortably at the sight. Even Blonde Blazer looked shaken behind her perfect facade. But it was the note clutched in Herman's rigid hand that shattered everything.
Scrawled in shaky handwriting, damp and smudged:
"Robert, sorry I couldn't stand tall. They were right. I'm just the waterboy. No one needs a puddle on the team. Tell Grandma I love her, tell Bruno I’m sorry.”
The words blurred as Robert's vision swam. He crumpled the note, shoving it into his pocket before anyone else could see. How had he missed it? The kid's admiration for Mecha Man, the way he'd lit up when Robert tied his tie for that interview months ago. The bullying, the taunts, the team's eye-rolls when Waterboy's "Holy Water Spit" backfired in training, healing the wrong side or flooding the comms. Herman had defended Robert once, spitting a stream at Flambae after the big reveal about Robert's past. And this was how it ended?
Guilt clawed at Robert's chest, a villain worse than any Red Ring thug. He should've pushed harder, followed him home, something. The kid had potential, but the team had chipped away at him, piece by piece, until he was hollow.
In the break room later, the Z-Team sat in a circle, the air thick with unspoken regrets. Invisigal wiped her eyes.
"He was... sweet. Remember when he helped that baby kaiju with Golem instead of fighting it? Led it back to the water like it was a lost puppy."
Flambae grunted, staring at his boots.
"I called him 'Puddle Boy.' I thought it was funny. Didn't think..."
"No one did,"
Robert snapped, his voice raw.
"We were too busy with our egos, our shifts. Blazer's 'restructure' firing Sonar or Coupé, bringing in fresh blood like it was nothing. But Herman wasn't nothing. He was one of us."
Blonde Blazer hovered at the door, her usual poise cracked.
"This isn't on the team. He was unstable. Powers like his, constant leaking, the jokes he endured... it wears on a person."
Robert whirled on her.
"Unstable? He was a kid! A fan who applied here because of an SDN ad with Phenomaman. He lived for this. And we broke him."
The argument escalated, voices overlapping like crossed signals on a bad dispatch. But underneath, the anguish pulsed. Robert thought of Herman's room, posters, cats, a grandma who now had to bury her grandson. The super strength wasted, the water expulsion that could've been heroic. Instead, it drowned him from the inside.
That night, Robert sat alone in the office, headset off, staring at the empty Z-Team roster slot. The fog outside pressed against the windows, mirroring the haze in his mind. He'd lost teammates before, in the field, to villains like Shroud. But this? This was different. This was a failure at a desk, where words were supposed to save lives.
He pulled out the note, smoothing it flat.
"Sorry I couldn't stand tall."
The words echoed Robert's own advice, thrown back like an accusation. Mecha Man had been invincible once, suit and all. But Robert? Just a man, watching heroes crumble.