Chapter Text
Robert Robertson peeled the headset off his ears with the practiced relief of a man who had spent the last four hours saying, “I understand your frustration,” while understanding absolutely none of it. His frustration was mocking and jeering at him on the other end of his headset. And they got all of the praise when a mission went right, despite the fact that they really deserved none of it with how they made his life a living hell.
But he didn’t need to worry about that for at least the next 30 minutes.
Lunch break.
Freedom.
Or, at least the illusion of it.
He swiveled his chair, grabbing the leash hung next to his jacket and glancing down toward the small dog bed tucked beside his cubicle wall. It was the same routine he had gotten into since bringing his dog along to the office. He’d scoop Beef up, watch him waddle around outside, listen to Beef snort at pigeons and growl at a few of his team members if they were around. Simple.
Or, it should have been.
The dog bed was empty.
Robert blinked. Once. Then again, slower this time, as if Beef might pop back into existence.
“…Beef?” he said quietly, picking up the pillow and looking under it with increasing panic like the chihuahua might have somehow found a way to fit under there despite his weight.
Nothing. Just the faint impression of a dent where 14 pounds of dog absolutely should have been when he placed the pillow back into position.
His stomach dropped. His brain did that fun, useless thing where it screamed “oh no oh no oh no,” while offering zero solutions.
Beef did not wander.
Beef did not explore.
Beef considered walking from the bed to the water bowl too much work most days.
Robert stood up so fast his chair rolled back and bumped the cubicle wall. He scanned the aisle. No Beef. No tiny nails clicking against the carpet. No indignant wheezing.
Okay, he thought. Okay. Breathe. He’s probably with Chase. Chase likes Beef. Everyone likes Beef. He is shaped like a potato and has no enemies.
Robert half-jogged toward the next row of desks where Chase sat, the older man leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, glaring at his monitor like it had personally insulted him, which it may have considering Chase was taking over his team for his break.
“Hey, uh… Chase?” Robert said, trying to sound casual in a way that fooled absolutely no one. “You wouldn’t happen to have Beef, would you?”
Chase looked up instantly. “Why?”
Robert swallowed. “Because he’s not in his bed.”
The air shifted.
Chase’s chair hit the floor as he stood, eyes sharp. “I don’t have your dog,” he said flatly. Then, after a beat, “But I swear to god, Robert Robertson, if something happened to that baby, I will murder your ass and hide the body under HR’s filing cabinets.”
Robert nodded rapidly. “That’s fair. Completely fair.”
Chase was already scanning the office, hands on his hips. “That dog can’t get far. He’s got the stamina of a baked ham.”
That did not help, but Robert appreciated the confidence.
“I just took my headset off,” Robert said, voice thin. “He was right there. He always sleeps through my calls. Even the yelling ones.”
Chase grabbed his jacket. “Alright. We’ll find him.”
Robert took a shaky breath, glancing once more back toward his cubicle, the empty dog bed staring back at him like an accusation.
They turned toward the rows of desks, eyes scanning, and started looking around the office.
Robert and Chase had made it approximately three steps into their search (Robert crouching to peer under a desk Beef absolutely could not fit under, Chase already lifting a potted plant like he expected the dog to be squatting behind it) when the office speakers crackled.
“Um… attention all available personnel,” Blonde Blazer’s voice rang out, strained in the way that suggested things had already gone deeply wrong. “We have a situation.”
Chase straightened. Robert froze, one hand still gripping the edge of a recycling bin.
“We need to issue an alert,” Blonde Blazer continued. “There is a feral, naked child running wild around the office. He is small, fast, slippery, and has already overturned a snack cart. No one knows how he got inside. We need help locating and securing the child and finding his parents so we can return him safely.”
Robert slowly turned to Chase. Chase stared back at him.
“…Did she say feral?” Robert asked.
Chase nodded grimly. “She said naked, too.”
Robert closed his eyes for half a second. Of course she did.
Somewhere down the hall, there was a distant crash followed by a high-pitched shriek of glee.
Chase was already moving. “Dog later,” he said, taking off toward the noise at a speed that suggested he wanted to use his powers but was doing his best to repress his instincts as another louder crash echoed down the hall. “Civilian child now.”
Robert hesitated only long enough to glance once more toward the general direction of his cubicle. Beef was still missing. His chest tightened at the realization that he had avoided having his own child out of a fear of having to put his job first, and now he was doing exactly that with his fur baby. And not for the first time. He was lucky his neighbor had checked in on his dog while he was in a coma for a few months, because he wasn’t sure if he would have been able to handle coming back to his apartment and finding his beloved companion dead along with his Mecha Man Career being destroyed. But, chase was unfortunately right. Priorities. And if he solved this quickly, he would be able to get back to finding Beef before something happened to him.
“I’ll get eyes on the kid,” Robert called, already turning back toward his cubical.
He slid into his chair, headset back on, fingers flying across the keyboard as he pulled up the building’s security feeds. Camera grids popped onto his screens. Hallways, break rooms, the lobby, the gym.
“Dispatch, this is Robert again. Break was cut short” he said into the comms, voice settling into calm professionalism like a switch had flipped, despite how a part of his brain was focused on the fact his dog wasn’t right beside him. “I’m accessing security. We’re looking for a small, unclothed toddler moving at unsafe speeds. Any of you who are not currently on mission, we need your assistance tracking and capturing him.”
A chorus of rude comments and boasting erupted, but he had gotten so much better at blocking their voices out over time.
On one screen, something blurred past the camera.
“…Found him,” Robert muttered.
The child appeared again on a different feed, streaking through the west hallway, holding what looked like a donut and screaming triumphantly.
“Okay,” Robert said into the comms, “target is in the west wing, currently armed with a pastry. Chase, he’s heading toward the conference rooms.”
Chase’s breathing came through the line, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of furniture being knocked over. “Copy that. He just slid between my legs like a greased goblin.”
He jumped to a screen just in time to see the small child run out of view and Chase sprawled on the floor, clearly out of breath. Robert winced. “Yeah, that tracks.”
He glanced at his team alerts to see who was on standby. A few members of his dispatch team were still there, geared up and waiting to be sent out.
“Change of plans,” Robert said, pulling up all of their profiles and assessing their skills. “We need eyes and gentle hands. There is a rogue toddler.”
There was silence for once.
“… he also is declining to wear clothes, so as little force as possible to avoid damaging him?” Robert added.
Chaos erupted once more. Enough that he had to pull his headphones back and wince at the combined voices of his team.
“Awe, HELL NAW! I don’t do kids.” Prisim was the loudest voice. “I’m kid free for a REASON! My content is very much not toddler friendly. That kid better be thanking his lucky stars I ain’t there and got my own mission to deal with. Because that shit’s nasty! I’m not tackling a streaking toddler on a Tuesday. That would ruin my image if that got out!”
Flambé was the next voice to crackle through, “I mean, sure, kids love me and everything, but I throw fire, Robitch. Don’t think you want me chasing a kid around accounting where there is so much flammable paperwork.”
Invisigal snorted. “Wow, Robert. First you ask me to stop making HR-violating jokes, now you want me to have a baby? Which is it?”
“I punch tanks. I do not wrangle slippery children. That’s a different union.”
“What’s the payout? Like… is there a bonus to deal with someone’s spawn without hurting it?”
“Bats, baby, don’t try to monetize anything to do with a naked child unless you want to be added to a list. You people can’t even keep your chaos clothed. And Robert? If this thing turns out to be yours, I’m never letting you live it down.”
“Of course it’s not mine! Shut up all of you. He is faster than I can track on my monitors. And your voices overlapping is not helping.”
Robert turned back to the monitors, tracking the tiny menace as he zigzagged through the building with alarming confidence.
Okay, Beef, Robert thought grimly, fingers tightening on the desk. Please still be alive by the time I finish dealing with this.
Robert tracked the child’s progress across the security feeds like he was watching a very small, very naked hurricane.
“Alright—Flambé,” Robert said into the headset, zooming in on a camera near the east hallway. “You’re closest. He’s heading toward the bathrooms. East side. Moving fast. Please try not to scare him, and don’t make me regret this.”
A crackle, then Flambé’s voice came through, confident and warm. “Copy that, Robert. Like I said, kids love me.”
Robert winced a little at the attempt at a boast but kept it to himself. Hopefully Flambé was speaking the truth and this could all finish, the faster the better.
On the monitor, Flambé jogged into frame, tall and broad-shouldered, fire-themed hero suit somehow managing to look both intimidating and deeply out of place in an office hallway decorated with motivational posters about teamwork.
The toddler skidded to a halt when he saw him.
Flambé immediately softened, crouching down and spreading his hands in a way that suggested he had once watched a parenting video.
“Hey there,” Flambé said gently, voice calm, warm, and impressively non-threatening for a man who could melt steel. “You look like you’re having a big adventure, huh? Why don’t we find your mommy, yeah? I bet she misses you.”
The child stared at him, eyes wide, donut crumbs and pink icing smeared across his face like war paint.
Robert leaned closer to the screen. Okay. Okay. This might actually work.
“Why don’t we take a little walk together?” Flambé continued, smiling. “We’ll get you a towel, some clothes, maybe—”
The toddler lunged.
“Arg!” Flambé yelped as the child launched himself forward with shocking athleticism and latched onto Flambé’s leg, teeth sinking in through the fabric of his suit.
“HE BIT ME,” Flambé shouted over the comms, hopping backward on one leg. “THE CHILD HAS TEETH.”
Robert slapped a hand over his mouth, biting back a sound that was definitely not appropriate for a dispatcher.
“Flambé, disengage if you can,” Robert said, trying to keep his voice steady as the hero shook his leg, the toddler clinging on like a feral koala.
“I AM DISENGAGING,” Flambé grunted. “HE IS NOT.”
With a final, indignant growl, the toddler released his grip, hit the floor, and immediately bolted, bare feet slapping against the tile as he disappeared into the bathroom hallway.
“Target escaped,” Robert said, watching the feed as the child vanished off-camera. “Repeat, target is still mobile.”
Flambé leaned against the wall, breathing hard. “I would like to officially retract my statement about being good with kids.”
Robert exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples.
“Noted,” he said. “Go to medical and get that bite checked. Everyone else, bathrooms are now a high-risk zone.”
Somewhere off screen, the audio picked up the sound of a toilet flushing. Then flushing again. Then again. That was probably where the kid went. And there were no cameras in the bathrooms.
Robert stared at the screen.
This is my lunch break, he thought flatly.
Robert pinched the bridge of his nose and forced himself to keep watching the monitors.
“Okay,” he said into the comms, tone professional despite the fact that he had a feeling the toddler had just flushed something he absolutely should not have before running out of the bathroom, giggling. “New visual. He’s running north, towards the break area. Ouch… Toppled a trash can at full speed and now… appears to be… playing in it.”
On-screen, the child sat happily amid overturned coffee cups and napkins, pulling items out of the garbage and biting them experimentally. One plastic lid was shaken violently side to side like prey before moving to the next object.
Robert swallowed. “And…uh… death-shaking a banana peel now.”
A sharp sigh crackled through his headset. “Please tell me you are not sending me after that,” Invisagal said.
“Invisagal,” Robert replied carefully, “you are uniquely qualified.”
“For espionage,” she snapped. “Not… that.”
Robert watched the feed as the toddler paused, head tilting slightly, eyes unfocused as he gnawed on a receipt. “He’s distracted,” Robert said. “If you go invisible, he won’t see you coming.”
There was a beat. “I hate children,” Invisagal muttered. Then, resigned, “Fine.”
Her figure flickered and vanished from the camera feed she was on.
Robert leaned forward, tracking the child. The toddler suddenly stopped chewing. He dropped the receipt. His nose wrinkled.
“Oh no,” Robert whispered.
The child sniffed the air. Once. Twice. Then he growled.
A low, warning sound.
“Invisagal?” Robert asked. “He might be—”
Too late.
Invisagal reappeared mid-lunge, arms outstretched. “Got—!”
The toddler spun with uncanny speed, dodging her grasp with ease and sprinting away down the hall, shrieking victoriously.
Invisagal sailed forward and crashed directly into the already-toppled trash can, disappearing in a mess of coffee grounds, wrappers, and something unidentifiable but wet.
The monitors shook slightly at the impact with the floor.
Robert winced. “Target escaped again.”
Invisagal sat up slowly, garbage clinging to her suit and hair. “I turned invisible,” she said flatly into the comms. “Invisible. And he still sensed me.”
“Yeah,” Robert said gently. “That’s… concerning. Maybe he has powers?”
She peeled a banana peel off her shoulder. “I smell like trash.”
“So better than normal?” One of her teammates jeered over the coms.
“Fuck you. This child is a menace.”
“Duly noted,” Robert replied. He zoomed out on the map as the toddler reappeared on a different camera, still running, still naked, still winning against all of them.
Invisagal’s voice dropped, sharp. “Robert, if you send me after him again, I will defect back to villainy.”
Robert stared at the screen, jaw tight.
“Copy that,” he said. “Stand down.”
He exhaled slowly, eyes flicking back toward the hallway near his cubicle on the map.
Please don’t let this all be connected, he thought, a creeping dread settling in his stomach.
Somewhere off-camera, the child howled in delight.
The toddler vanished from the cameras for a merciful thirty seconds before popping back up near the gym.
“Found him,” Robert said, straightening in his chair. He zoomed in. “He’s by the gym entrance.”
On the feed, the child toddled onto the mats, slapping at hanging jump ropes like they had personally offended him before biting and pulling them down from the hooks and making the rack they were on tilt dangerously.
Robert’s stomach tightened. “That’s not good. That area is full of things that can concuss an adult, let alone a child.”
He switched channels. “Sonar,” Robert said firmly, “you’re in the gym, correct?”
A lazy voice crackled back. “Define in.”
The camera tilted up just in time to show Sonar hanging out in the rafters like the cryptid he resembled, bat-like head cocked. He was chewing something that absolutely was not gum.
“Yes,” Robert said. “That counts. I need you to redirect the child away from the gym. It’s dangerous.”
Sonar squinted down at the toddler, nostrils flaring. “…That kid smells weird.”
Robert closed his eyes briefly. “Please don’t sniff the child.”
“I’m just sayin’,” Sonar continued. “I’m really more of a people guy. Amazing rizzer. Adults love me. Kids? Nah. Bad vibes. Sticky hands. No scams. No drugs. We don’t mesh.”
“He is a civilian,” Robert said, voice tight but calm. “And he is going to hurt himself if he stays there.”
Sonar clicked his tongue. “You sure this is a good idea?”
“Yes.”
“Because if he bites me, I’m biting back.”
“Do not bite the child,” Robert said flatly.
Sonar sighed and dropped lightly from the rafters, crouching a safe distance away. “Heyyyy, little man,” he said, forcing a grin that showed far too many teeth. “What’s up? You like… gyms?”
The toddler stared at him.
Then he picked up a plastic water bottle and hurled it with surprising accuracy.
It bounced off the mat by Sonar’s feet, who instinctively leapt back up into the rafters with a screech. “HEY. VIOLENCE.”
Robert pressed his lips together. “Sonar.”
“That thing is armed,” Sonar said, clinging to a beam. “And loud.”
The toddler giggled. Then scampered to the floor directly beneath the man-bat and barked.
Sonar recoiled. “…I swear to god, I will eat you.”
The child shrieked with laughter and bolted.
“No no no—!” Robert leaned forward as the toddler skidded across the gym floor, beelining straight for an air vent in the wall. Tiny fingers pried at the loose cover with practiced ease.
“Sonar, stop him!” Robert snapped.
“I am not crawling after that,” Sonar replied immediately. “That’s how you get tetanus.”
The vent cover clattered to the floor. The toddler shoved himself inside head-first and vanished into the ductwork, laughter echoing faintly.
Robert stared at the screen in silence.
“…Target has entered the vents,” he said finally.
Sonar peered down. “Wow. Fast little guy.”
Robert slowly leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face with both hands.
I am never getting lunch, he thought.
From somewhere deep in the building, a delighted shriek echoed through the ventilation system.
Eight minutes was not a long time in the grand scheme of the universe.
It was, however, an eternity when you were tracking a feral toddler through an office building’s ventilation system with no cameras and only the occasional echoing shriek to mark his passage.
Robert clicked uselessly between feeds anyway, as if a vent camera might suddenly manifest out of nowhere. Hallway. Lobby. Stairwell. Nothing. Break room? Someone was quietly eating soup, blissfully unaware.
“Come on,” Robert muttered, fingers drumming against the desk. Pop out. Do something unhinged.
Right on cue, the comms exploded with a shrill, panicked voice.
“D-D-Dispatch?” Water Boy stuttered. “There is—there is a child in the st—storage cu—closet.”
Robert straightened so fast his chair squeaked. “Repeat that, Water Boy.”
“He’s—he’s naked and he’s hissing at me!”
Robert pulled up the storage closet feed.
The camera revealed Water Boy, tall, gangly, soaked, and sprawled on the floor, scooting backward on his elbows as the toddler stood victorious beside an overturned bucket. Water sloshed everywhere.
The child promptly flopped down into the puddle, licking the floor and rolling in the water with visible delight, like it was both a snack and a slip-and-slide.
Robert stared.
“…Okay,” he said calmly, professionally, and with the dead-eyed tone of a man who had accepted his fate. “Water Boy, listen to me very carefully.”
“I don’t think he likes me,” Water Boy whimpered as the child splashed happily.
“That’s fine,” Robert said. “He likes the water. Use that. Keep him distracted. Splash gently if you have to. Do not scream. Do not run.”
The toddler looked up at the sound of Water Boy’s voice and barked again.
Water Boy made a small, terrified noise.
Robert pushed back from his desk and stood. His headset cord tugged slightly as he unclipped it and started toward the storage area.
“Robert?” someone asked over comms. “Who are you sending?”
“I’m not,” Robert replied, already walking. “I’m coming.”
There was a pause. “You’re… leaving the computer?”
“Yes.”
“Are you—”
“Yes,” Robert said flatly. “Why send someone else for a job I can clearly do better myself?”
He rounded the corner into the hallway at a brisk pace, jaw set, expression determined in the quiet, resigned way of a man who had lost his dog, his lunch break, and his patience.
Behind him, on the monitors, the toddler splashed gleefully while Water Boy trembled.
Robert cracked his knuckles once as he walked.
“Hang tight,” he muttered. “I’ve got this.”
Robert rounded the corner and nearly walked straight into Chase.
The older man was planted in front of the storage closet door, one shoulder braced against it, arms locked like he was holding back a hurricane. From behind the door came shrill giggles, splashing, and the unmistakable sound of something plastic being chewed on.
“Hey,” Chase said, relieved and grim all at once. “The problem child is in there.”
Blonde Blazer stood a few feet back, arms crossed, expression somewhere between exhausted and deeply confused about her career choices. “We haven’t been able to locate any parents,” she said as Robert approached. “City-wide alert is out. Someone is missing this kid. I hope.”
Flambé leaned against the wall nearby, his suit torn at the thigh and a fresh bandage wrapped beneath the rip. He looked furious in the quiet, simmering way of a man who had been humbled.
Invisagal stood off to the side, still speckled with trash remnants, flicking a coffee stirrer off her sleeve. “You better help me shower after this,” she said flatly.
Before Robert could respond, Prism rounded the corner, laughing outright. “Oh my god,” she said, pointing at Flambé. “I heard over comms you got taken out by a baby. That is the funniest shit I’ve heard all week.”
Flambé glared. “He bit me.”
Robert raised a hand. “Focus.”
He stepped up to the door and knocked once, firm but not aggressive.
“W-Water Boy?” he called through the door.
“Yes!” Water Boy squeaked back immediately. “He’s still in here! Still—uh—very wet!”
“Good,” Robert said. “I’m coming in.”
He turned slightly, looking at the gathered heroes. “You guys are my backup. Block the door. Do not let him out no matter what.”
Chase nodded and shifted his stance. Blonde Blazer straightened. Prism sobered just a touch. Invisagal cracked her knuckles.
Robert took a breath, reached for the handle, and opened the door.
Water sloshed under his shoes as he stepped inside.
The room went silent.
The toddler stood in the middle of the storage closet, dripping wet, eyes wide and shimmering with excitement. He stared at Robert like he’d just found a new, very interesting problem to solve.
Behind Robert, the others tensed, ready to grab if the child bolted again.
Robert met the boy’s gaze and thought, not for the first time that day, I really should have just taken lunch.
Finally, chaos won.
It took all of them by surprise.
Water splashed, someone shouted, Invisagal slipped but recovered out of pure spite when the boy rushed Robert, Prism dove and missed, and Flambé yelled something in another language that sounded like a prayer and a threat combined. The child darted for the door again, shrieking with laughter, slick as an eel and twice as smug.
Chase moved like a man who had decided this ended now.
He lunged and scooped the kid up under the arms just as the boy kicked off a shelving unit, lifting him clean off the floor.
“Gotcha, you little menace!” Chase barked, bracing himself.
The child wriggled violently, filthy and wild-eyed, grinning from ear to ear like this was the best game he had ever played.
The room finally stilled. Heavy breathing. Water dripping from the floor. Everyone staring.
Robert stepped closer, heart hammering, and crouched down despite every instinct in his body screaming that something was deeply wrong here.
“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. “What’s your name, buddy?”
The boy tilted his head back to look at him, eyes bright, shining with feral delight and pride. His grin stretched impossibly wide.
“My name’s BEEF!” he announced in a gravelly, triumphant little voice. “AND IM NAKED!”
The words hit the room like a flashbang.
Silence slammed down.
Then it happened.
Perk!
Two floppy, unmistakable puppy ears popped up through the tangled mess of the boy’s filthy hair, twitching happily. A tail burst into existence behind him, wagging so hard it smacked against Chase’s leg with an audible thump.
Chase froze.
“What,” he said slowly, looking down. He looked again. “The. Hell.”
The tail wagged harder.
The boy sniffed the air enthusiastically, tongue lolling out for a second before he giggled again and kicked his feet, delighted with himself.
Robert’s stomach dropped straight through the floor.
The joke he used to do, that stupid voice, the way he would say it just to make Chase groan and Beef bark. It stopped being funny all at once.
“Oh,” Robert breathed.
Blonde Blazer stared. Prism stopped smiling. Invisagal swore softly. Flambé just looked confused.
Robert’s voice came out thin and disbelieving. “That’s… that’s my dog. I think.”
Every head snapped toward him.
“In what universe,” Flambé said carefully, “is that kid your dog.”
Robert stepped closer, hands shaking. The boy immediately leaned toward him, nose working furiously, and sniffed Robert’s wrist.
Then the boy laughed a huffy little wheeze
It was the same sound. The exact same wheezy, joyful noise Beef made every single day when Robert came home.
“Beef?” Robert whispered.
The boy’s face lit up like a sunrise. “ROBERT!”
The tail wagged so hard it nearly knocked Chase off balance.
Somewhere in the room, someone’s cellphone rang and rang and went unanswered.
Chase finally exhaled, long and slow. “Okay,” he said. “Cool. Coolcoolcool.”
He looked at Robert. “We are gonna need a child leash. And maybe a blanket.”
Robert nodded numbly and reached out just as Beef, his dog child… his very naked no-longer-a-dog child, launched himself into Robert’s arms with all the trust and joy in the world and licked a very disgusting wet stripe up his face.
And Robert Robertson realized, with sinking certainty, that his dog had not gone missing.
His dog had evolved.