Chapter Text
As the last customer signed their order name and address, the florist flashed a beaming smile and lugged a large bag of soil over the counter.
“Thank you for your purchase! We’ll have your order delivered around four to five business days.” She said cheerfully, tossing her marmalade hair over her deep mint sweater. “Make sure to keep on the lookout for packages.”
The pale-haired crone glared. “How many real days is that?”
“Considering today is Thursday,” The florist frowned. “I’d say it should arrive around next Wednesday.”
“Wednesday!?” The customer screeched, leading the florist to flinch. “I’m out of town Wednesday! What if some rabid teenager steals my package while I’m gone?”
The florist brushed a strand of hair out from over her eyes and sorted through the audit log on the countertop. “We could move it to Friday—”
The woman shot her hands on the counter. “Friday!?” She stared, offended. “I never do anything on Fridays! Four years ago on Friday, my husband—”
“Look, lady, are you going to get through this order or not?” The florist cut in with an exasperated glower. “We close in four minutes.”
“Four minutes? Don’t you know the number four is—”
Her complaint was cut short by a sudden whirling sound.
The front door slammed open, the small bell above the door chiming over the sound of the metal rim hitting the cream wall and the floral paintings shaking. Cold night air was thrown into the small floral shop.
“Have a nice day.” The florist smiled.
The customer stared at the door and turned back to the florist, mouth agape.
The florist simpered, quite pleased with herself.
Eyes darting from the door back to the florist, the woman sputtered, “You. You’re—”
“—Going to find you and treat you to a slow, cruel end if you dare say anything you should be wary of.” The florist finished, words dripping in a malicious sweetness.
The woman slowly pulled her soil bag off the counter and started for the door.
“Your package comes Wednesday!” The florist called after her.
The door shut promptly behind the woman, leaving the shop quiet and quaint again. The florist sighed with a grin and stepped to the sign, flipping the pale wooden plate to ‘closed’ and shutting off the main lights. She had already had her bag looped over her shoulders before the entitled old crone had walked in, demanding things and screeching over certain days.
The sky had already darkened from a deep coral and misted into a dark sapphire, heading into a deep midnight-indigo. The perfect cover.
She reached into her pocket and lifted a small device out, pulling out the disk from the case in and pressing it into her right ear.
“Noctis? Seraphim?” She spoke, opening the door. “This is Poltergeist, coming in.”
Taking in the rising moonlight over the dark sky, the villain rose her face.
“Are we ready for tonight?”
“You didn’t tell me this place had a hot tub!” Bdubs exclaimed, tossing his suitcase onto the rough oak floor of the cabin. “How could you keep it a secret from me!?”
Scott unclipped his navy raincoat and held in a laugh, dropping his own bags in the living room and taking in the forest scents of the oak cabin. “Because I knew you would go in and never come out. We’d be done with the vacation just to find out we left you fermenting in there.” He smirked. “Besides, I know Scar would love to follow you in soon after.”
“Can a man and a man not sit shirtless in a hot tub together?” Scar called from the kitchen, offended. The smell of pasta and meat soon drifted into the room, mixing with the pine and floral scents.
Etho threw himself on the couch, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
The sound of a door shutting reverberated throughout the entire cabin, indicating Bdubs had retreated to the porch. Scott called out something indistinct before disappearing upstairs, leaving Etho sinking into the living room couch and Scar whipping up dinner in the kitchen.
“It’s kind of a shame we’re only here for what…a month or two? This is my natural environment.” Etho mused.
Scar’s eyes widened over the steam of the draining pasta. “You think it’s a shame that we earned a two month vacation?” He asked incredulity before moving onto the simmering meatballs.
Etho shrugged. “Definitely the longest paid vacation I’ve ever had. Still a shame.”
The stairs creaked to announce Scott’s return, sporting a white t-shirt striped with color, tucked under a buffalo plaid hoodie around his waist and gray sweats. A moment later, the porch door hitting the log wall joined into the cacophony of sudden noise, marking Bdubs’ had come back. If the door wasn’t enough to show he had retreated back inside, the wet splat of his dark sage jacket being discarded on top of his suitcase was.
He shivered and seated himself besides Etho, shrinking into the warmth of the couch. “Who was gonna tell me that the rain is absolute hell out there?” He hissed through gritted teeth.
Throwing his hoodie over the shaking man’s shoulders, Scott left back to the kitchen to get out bowls and utensils for dinner.
“Maybe you should’ve taken my advice and packed some more rain clothes,” Scott quipped, setting down four bowls and starting on his search for tongs. “And then you could’ve actually been comfortable enough to eat dinner.”
“Oh, don’t take this as a hint that I’m not starving! The hike yesterday was bad enough!” Bdubs replied.
Scott rolled his eyes and grinned. “Mhm.”
Bdubs opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off as four chimes suddenly rang out at once throughout the cabin floor. All four men raised their wrists to check the silver bands around them, then locked eyes with each other. The same green hologram showed what had warranted the noise: a villain alert in the main city.
“...so much for a paid vacation…” Etho mumbled. “And we didn’t even eat yet.”
The spaghetti remained untouched in the pot, Scar giving it a mournful look as he thought about how much time it took to prepare.
He looked up, looking between everyone.
“Does anyone know if spaghetti needs to be refrigerated…?” Scar asked sheepishly.
Scott practically materialized in front of Scar, already putting the food in tupperware. “Quit complaining and go get ready! I’ll do the food!”
With one last collective groan, the other three men hurried upstairs, leaving Scott alone in the kitchen. When it was clear nobody was near anymore, he tucked a lock of cerulean hair behind his ear and clicked on his earpiece.
Static came over the device, then a voice hummed in through the white noise, a telltale Australian accent twinged with mania accessorized with the sound of a dog barking in the background.
“Yeah? I’m kind of busy right now, mate” Noctis’s voice flickered through the sound. Scott noted how the word ‘busy’ sounded strained. As if to affirm his suspicions, two voices shouted indistinctly as the sound of what was most certainly a punch connected with what sounded to be a wall. “The Rejects decided to grow a pair and attack me while I was escaping from our latest—AH—heist—I’M ON A BLOODY CALL, YOU—”
Whatever Pearl had spewed, it was cut off by static.
Something thumped upstairs, and Bdubs shouted. Scott rolled his eyes and hushed his voice.
“Well, I called to tell you that the Cabin Crew is on their way. So whatever mess you three got yourselves in, I suggest getting out of it.” He scolded quietly, making a point to noisily slam the cabinet door as he took out a tupperware lid.
Noctis yelled out again, another blow being heard through the earpiece. “Thanks for the advice, o’ wise and mighty Mission Control! It’s almost like we haven’t been— ERGH— trying!” She hissed.
Scott knew all too well what that groan had been. Noctis had been hit. He could tell by the way he heard one of her companions call out her name.
The top stair creaked, and Scar’s voice trailed down from the landing.
“Well try harder.” Scott whispered. Before Noctis could shout again, he disconnected the call and threw his hair over his ear again to conceal the earpiece. As the other men came down, he clicked a button on his wristband, immediately cloaking him with his costume.
Scar emerged from the hall first, clad in sage green, maroon red and light blue armor over a khaki leather suit. His hair was tied back in a short ponytail, and a matching green mask covered the top half of his face, save for his green eyes. Glowing cyan lines trailed down the outer side of his legs, marking where cyborg support had kicked in.
Then followed Bdubs, wearing a simple white armored top and black armored pants tucked into steel-lined boots. Slung over his top was a leather band lined with weapons and different kinds of bombs, and his red bandana was tied tightly to cover his eyes. Unknown to the public, his vision was perfectly clear through it.
Next was Etho, dressed in forest green and bluish black Chūnin themed armor, white hair kept back with a silver-stamped black headband—though, tufts of hair fell over it like crow-picked bone over ink.
Finally, Scott met the group. His navy-blue jumpsuit glittered like a clear night sky shining with millions of stars. A silver sleeveless jacket hung over his shoulders, complementing the navy-blue armor over his forearms. A ring of silver star pins glittered in his hair, and a matching mask covered his eyes.
“Are we ready to go?” Scar asked, tugging on his gloves. “I’m itching to get the Villies tonight!”
“We gotta meet up with the Rejects, remember?” Etho reminded the hero, nudging his shoulder. “Canary had some crazy plan with the others.”
Scar groaned. “I don’t wanna wait for them again! Trap is just gonna make a big—”
“Not to alarm anyone,” Scott chimed in. “But the Rejects are already on site.”
The three all looked at each other, then immediately started complaining, voices overlapping incoherently.
Scott sighed, his eyes landing on the crescent moon tattoo on his wrist. He looked up and clapped his hands, calling the attention of the heroes.
“We won’t even be close to getting near a fight if you three keep whining! Are we going or not?”
Again, the other three looked between each other, then Etho’s gray eyes locked with Scott’s. Scott’s hand fidgeted a bit, but Etho simply tossed him a knowing wink.
“Well then!” He concluded, brushing a strand of silver-white hair out of his eyes. “Let’s go apprehend some criminals, shall we?”
Noctis threw her scythe forward, leaping forward to retrieve it from the ground. Her hands landed on it just a second too late, leading her to jump backwards as an arrow whizzed in front of her face. The point tore off a small shred of crimson fabric from her cape, then another drew a shallow cut down her cheek. She glanced up and ducked from another arrow, catching sight of Seraphim fighting off Trap and Hyperdrive while Poltergeist was forced to solo against Spanner.
“You guys are absolutely pathetic today!” Canary quipped, vanishing into the air and reappearing behind Noctis to dodge right as she swung her scythe again. “You guys are getting leveled!”
“Do you ever shut up!?” Noctis sneered, dragging the blade of the scythe along the asphalt of the street. The scraping seemed to slightly intimidate the golden-armored hero in front of her.
Canary flipped back and laughed. “I’m being serious! And ‘ere I was thinking you three were the big, bad nemesis of everyone in the city, now you’re all—”
Noctis swiped the scythe up, the blade eerily close to his throat.
“You love to hear yourself talk, don’tcha?” She crooned. “Wonder how quickly you’d shut up if I just nudged forward a little.”
The hero vanished and drew back, reappearing a foot back in a plume of smoke.
“I mean, I’m not all that far off from the truth!” Canary continued. “Polty over there’s taken a lot of hits from Spanner and he doesn’t even have powers!”
The battle paused for a moment, both the heroes and villains stopping their fighting, then turning to Spanner.
Spanner threw his hands in the air. “You gotta out me like that, man?”
The Villains all exchanged looks, then turned back to Spanner.
“That’s kind of stupid.” Noctis muttered.
“That’s pathetic.” Seraphim murmured with a grin.
“That’s…weird.” Poltergeist shuddered.
The three all rolled their eyes in perfect sync, then turned to Canary.
“What type of superhero doesn’t have any powers?” They all asked in unison.
“Oh, shut up with your little group-bullying thing!” Spanner yelled.
He reached onto his red toolbelt and took out a small grappling hook, aiming it straight towards Poltergeist.
Noctis dived forward, shoving her companion out of the way just to be caught instead.
The hero yanked his hands upwards, sending Noctis launching a hundred feet into the air. She flailed her arms, then crossed them with an unamused look.
The other two Villains exchanged looks, pretending to be worried as they continued to spar. But as they caught sight of Noctis frantically trying to release the crimson glider wings on her back, the worry became less of an act.
Seraphim pulled out of his quarrel with the two heroes and slid forward to where Noctis was set to fall, locking eyes with her, then pressed a button on the violet armor on his wrist. Two white angelic wings accented to an umbra of violet sprung out, and the Villain leapt into the air.
He grabbed Noctis out of the air and glided back down to the cleared street where the brawl had gone on, then went as pale as the white wings on his head.
Four other heroes had arrived.
They were fighting a three versus eight battle right now.
Eight.
The Cabin Crew had entered the scene—a group of four male heroes, each donning entirely contrasting armor tied together only with a campfire crest embroidered on a cloth armband colored to match the wearer. Each had powers many viewed as overpowered, lending them to be a resort on only two conditions: the first group of heroes was being overpowered, or the criminals were weak and ready to be apprehended.
Judging by how Noctis had avoided death by a hair just a second ago, Seraphim had just reentered the scene, and Poltergeist was currently fighting a one-versus-four fight, it was clear that the Cabin Crew hadn’t arrived for the former.
But the Villains were the most powerful group of criminals in the city, and they weren’t about to be taken down because of a group of rejects.
Seraphim dashed forward, pulling out a violet tube from his leather belt. The tube contracted, then expanded and elongated into the sharpest sword the heroes had ever seen—a violet handle with a blade wrapped in thorny vines designed to make any slash, stab or slice deal thrice the pain.
A new weapon debuted by a criminal was very rare, considering all black marketers in the city were secretly monitored and all delivery services had strong detection against deliveries. This had to mean…
Trap flung out a hand to the side, suddenly forming a barrier in front of Seraphim of nine other clones. He shifted out of the way, causing the villain’s intended blow to strike a holographic clone instead of the hero. Hyperdrive stood in front of the wall, eyes fixated on Seraphim.
Before the villain could get away, he suddenly felt like he was swimming.
Half a second later, he found that Hyperdrive had used his power and switched positions with him.
“How did you get that sword?” Hyperdrive interrogated.
Seraphim looked around for his teammates, his desperate look invisible under his tinted blindfold. Poltergeist was now combatting two of the Cabin Crew heroes—Brawn and Aeromancer, the green-eyed mutant and white-haired wind controller—and Noctis was holding back Tripwire, the engineering maniac of the group.
Coincidentally, the last member of the Cabin Crew—Solaris—was nowhere to be found. He had appeared with the group, then vanished. But knowing his abilities, Seraphim knew the hero could be anything as small as a spider on his back right now.
Just the thought had him running his hand down his back, feeling for any small creature that might try to take advantage of his distraction.
As Seraphim pulled his hand away, he felt another grab it.
“Thinking I’d fall for the oldest trick in the book?” Solaris cooed.
Wasting no time, Seraphim threw himself towards the shapeshifter, hurtling straight towards one of the clones. The clone and hero vanished, the others following as Trap himself rushed forward. Though he didn’t have superstrength like Brawn, the man prized himself on his muscle and ability in hand-to-hand combat.
Solaris had just been a distraction.
Though he only had appeared for a second, his short appearance was meant to give Trap just that second to complete his power’s cooldown.
Seraphim drew his sword, but then sheathed it and bared his fists, but Trap had already picked him up by the collar of his cape and threw him back. Seraphim hit the ground with a thud, and something cracked too loud to be normal.
“You never answered his question, dude.” Trap rolled his eyes under his fluorescent blue eye cover.
Seraphim glared and opened his mouth to talk, but instead a hacking, pained cough escaped in the place of words.
Trap’s eyes widened, and he leaned down, cursing under his breath. Through the pain, Seraphim let out a small laugh—he knew that Trap had just broken a vital rule: the heroes under the city government weren’t ever supposed to break a bone outside of a fight. His headcam footage would show Seraphim bracing for a fight, only to be thrown back before given the chance.
The other villains seemed to see their companion fall, as they immediately retreated from their quarrels and rushed to the violet-clad villain. Noctis shoved Tripwire aside, ignoring the objective shout he replied with.
Noctis’ eyes glinted with rage as she glanced between the heroes, then she swooped up her injured companion. He gave a small hiss in turn, clutching his chest. Noctis’ earpiece booted up, and Solaris’ voice flooded in.
“I refuse to believe that wasn’t planned.” He hissed.
The villain glanced around, Seraphim letting out another cough. She caught sight of a stray cat watching them intently on the side of the street. She let Solaris’ comment go silently dismissed.
He sighed through the comm. “Take him back to the lighthouse. I’ll send a list of herbs for Poltergeist to get on the way back.” He paused. When Noctis turned to the side, she saw that the heroes had moved back, and that cat was gone. “...I’ll keep them busy. We need to talk.”
Those words ruptured through her ears. No matter how naturally sweet the hero’s voice was, she had never heard it more disappointed and menacing. Though she followed the advice, gesturing for Poltergeist to leave before shooting into the air.
The heroes watched them leave in silence, still stunned by what their teammate had done.
“We’re seriously rethinking your team’s credentials after this, Canary.” The first Watcher tutted.
Canary rested a hand on a fist, his eyes never leaving Trap, whose head hung low.
He turned up to the Watcher. “You can’t make this decision without a full council. Where’s Grian?” He interrogated.
The second Watcher shook his head. “We received an email today that he is attending a funeral. We sent our condolences and did not require him to come today.”
Trap pursed his lips and finally raised his head. “So I’m suspended until he’s able to come back in?”
“Precisely.” The first Watcher confirmed.
“Wow.” Canary murmured.
Then, he slammed a hand on the desk in front of the Watchers, suddenly raising his voice.
“Why are you always out for me and my team anyways? All the deadliest missions, anything that goes wrong, just every minor inconvenience always somehow comes back to me! Is there anyone else you target like this?”
He panted, out of breath from his sudden yelling.
The Watchers exchanged looks.
“Watch your tone before we reconsider the extent of your partner’s screw-up.” The second Watcher responded.
Trap sighed heavily, and Canary went practically red with anger. But he calmed himself down, bearing the warning.
“Fine then.” He seethed. “Contact me the second Grian is back. And send my…condolences too.”
The two heroes left the office, Canary being very careful with how hard he closed the door. They made their way to the elevator, then the lobby, then the entry hall in complete silence.
When the two were finally outside, they immediately let out their anger.
“He tried to kill me with an unauthorized weapon earlier, and suddenly I become a villain just for injuring him!? What type of logic is that!?” Trap shouted.
“What the heck are these rules anyways?” Canary scoffed. “We can’t injure the kidnappers and robbers and murderers? Aren’t we heroes!?”
Trap kicked over a trash can in a fit of rage, then ran over and carefully picked it back up.
“Guess this means you gotta call me my civilian name now, huh…” Trap muttered.
Canary blinked, lowering his head. “...Yeah.” He replied. “Doesn’t mean I won’t still talk about your traps, Trap.”
Trap laughed bitterly, then checked his phone. “Dang, I gotta go. The Scottage needs me on shift.”
“Well, see you tomorrow, B.” Canary said awkwardly.
BigB rubbed his head. “Yeah. See you tomorrow, Jimmy.”
