Work Text:
Generally speaking, every workplace has its own superstitions. People are simple-minded creatures, they like patterns. And when there are none, they invent patterns to satisfy that primitive part of brain. Which is why workplace superstitions exist. Superheroes weren’t special in that regard. Everyone at SND knew – do not wish your colleagues a peaceful shift. If you do, everything will go south. Among other unspoken rules was one particular that had every team of the branch hold their collective breath every morning. The rule was simple: first call of the day will define how the entire shift will go. Naturally, Z-team started every day with placing bets on how the first call will go. They usually gathered in break room to do just that while simultaneously drink some coffee.
“Five bucks it will be something child-related,” – Sonar started. He swore he had a completely foolproof algorithm figured out for call prediction. He was yet to prove it working.
“Ten on Vanderwank’s girlfriend coffee run,” – came Invisigal’s fast reply.
“T-t-ten on m-m-main…” – unfortunately, Waterboy wasn’t able to finish his sentence because a familiar ring of an incoming call went off on the line. For some reason someone in upper management decided that heroes will be more effective if they will be able to hear subscribers directly. This line was one-sided, caller couldn’t hear them, but they could able to hear the whole dialogue.
“SDN, my name is Robert, how can I help you?” – dispatcher’s voice sounded way to preppy for someone who was complaining about inflamed knee and chronic pain just a few minutes ago. It never ceased to amaze them all how Robert managed to just switch between “team manager” voice and “customer service” voice. It was as if there were two completely different Roberts in one shitty office chair.
“Villains!” – wailed unpleasant nasal voice. The whole team collectively shuddered. Judging by this voice, nothing pleasant will come from interaction with this guy. Punch Up, who had the foresight to bet on shitty first call in advance, extended his hand.
“Not yet, bitch. Let’s hear it first,” – Prism batted his hand away. No money before confirmation.
“Sir? What is your emergency? Are you in immediate danger?” – Robert attempted to get any useful information from subscriber. Nasally-sounding guy, however, didn’t give any.
“Villains!” – he wailed again, - “They are on my cables!”
“Sir, please, calm down. Tell me about those villains so I can send the best suited hero your way.”
“Oh my god, are you an idiot?” – team didn’t even have time to exclaim anything about how only they can insult their dispatcher, before subscriber dropped an absolute bomb of moronism, - “There are villains on my cables! They are sucking internet out!”
“Are you serious?” – Malevola just lost her twenty bucks she bet on actual emergency.
“Shift that starts with internet blowjob will suck,” – Visi sounded almost resigned. Almost.
“Sir, do you mean you have no internet connection?” – it is a wonder how Robert stayed patient. Like an elementary school teacher. Must be fifteen years of hero experience. Or too many painkillers. Probably both.
“This sounds dumb,” – Golem concluded.
“Just send someone already, what am I paying you clowns for?”
“Sir,” – there was a pause filled with keyboard clacking, no doubt Robert working his hacking magic that could even fix bidet leakages, - “I see a minor glitch in your hardware. Have you tried switching your router off and turning it back on? This should help.”
This was definitely not what subscriber wanted to hear. And he made his displeasure knows, spewing insult after insult as if Robert personally came to his house and fucked his sister or something. Guy sounded very punchable.
“Sir, I remind you that this conversation is being recorded for customer service improvement purposes.”
“Record your ass, you braindead bitch! I’m filing a complaint. Consider yourself fired for refusing to do your job!”
“Sir, I’m sorry you feel like SDN didn’t provide adequate service. I am merely trying to help you with your problem. Could you please reload your router?” – there was this quiet, barely audible sigh which meant the only reason Robert didn’t disconnect the idiot is because dispatchers are not allowed to hang up on subscribers.
“You are refusing to send me help when there are villains stealing from me in my own house!”
“Can you see or hear them, sir? Could you give any description or estimated amount of them?” – judging by rhythmic creaking sounds, Robert started rocking his chair slightly, which he did when customers were annoying but he couldn't say so.
“I told you already, they are sucking internet out of my cables!”
“One dollar for every minute of this circus,” – Coop proposed. Others placed their new bets, varying from five minutes (optimistic, Waterboy) to a whole hour (completely not optimistic, Flambae). The idiot – Z-team agreed to call him Jerkenson – continued his verbal diarrhea of insults, calling SDN a scam, Robert a minimum wage illiterate immigrant and Robert’s mother a dirty leg spreading turkey. Robert, apparently, muted his side of line with Jerkenson and switched to main line.
“Guys, I know you are still in a break room. I’m out of coffee and it looks like this guy will be at it for a while. I’m not medicated enough today to deal with it without a lethal dose of caffeine,” – just to show some empathy – because they all would prefer to fight Shroud all over again than deal with assholes like Jerkenson – Malevola added a twinkie to Robert’s requested mug of coffee. Thirty minutes passed, Sonar was keeping track of time. Jerkenson pulled put his copy of subscription contract and was now reading it out loud. All fifty-seven pages of legal corporate bullshit. He occasionally paused to add insult, or to accuse Robert of not listening and add insult. Jerkenson also repeated the same line about knowing his rights a lot.
“Uhhh, we get it, you can read, bitch. Stop causing our Mecha Bitch a migrane,” – Flambae theatrically raised his hands, as if addressing God directly.
“We should find his address and give him a good nut punch,” – grumbled Punch Up, - “Lad, just send one of us to him already.”
“I am not dispatching any of you on this call for exactly this very reason. No assault on subscribers,” – Robert’s voice was slightly off, migrane probably really forming, - “We wait until he gets bored. He is just looking for a cause to have an argument.”
“We are missing real calls!” – Invisigal protested. That was true. As long as there was an active call on the line, other calls were redirected to other dispatchers who weren’t currently talking to any customers. As long as this call continued, Z-team had to sit on their asses instead of getting some action.
“I know, this is frustrating. Consider it training. We are training your patience... Yes, sir, I’m listening…”
“How are you not going crazy? You have to, like, actually talk to him,” – at least Z-team didn’t have to. They only had to listen.
“Oh, I absolutely am. Every five minutes my will to live is dropping by three percent, I calculate that I’ll inevitably kill myself in twenty-six minutes,” - there was a pause, a hissed curse and new request, - “I need a heating pad or something. I think my knee locked, it won’t bend at all.”
“Fuck you, Bob-bob,” – Flambae replied but rose from his chair, presumably walking to Robert’s desk to fulfill his duty as resident human-shaped heating pad. Prism was busy ordering pizza, since Jerkenson was only twenty pages deep into reading.
Two hours since the call accepted, Jerkenson kept going. At this point Z-team already destroyed two pizzas and was playing a game of “coffee shot when he makes another threat.” Robert still pretended to be his best customer service self, only to fail miserably when he realized he forgot his pill box.
“Don’t fuck with me, asshole, I play golf with governor!” – Robert could think of at least ten people he knew who played golf with governor. It never actually was a solid connection like the one Jerkenson tried to use, - “I know my worth, deepshit, I’m friends with Mecha Man. The actual hero, not SDN scam.”
That earned a few almost hysterical laughs from Z-team. Oh, big guy so tough, he is friends with Mecha Man. As if that accounts to anything in terms of influence. Jerkenson quite obviously thought being famous translated into being powerful. Additionally, the irony of Jerkenson unknowingly trying to use his supposed connection to Mecha Man on, well, Mecha Man, made this even funnier. He sounded like a guy that never had been told no before. Nobody could understand how Robert kept perfect neutral face.
By hour three members of Z-team were slowly walking around dispatch floor, resembling a bunch of extremely sad ghosts. They glared jealously at dispatchers who accepted call after call. They almost made a scene when X-team got a call about actual bank robbing. Finally, they decided on circling their own dispatcher like a pack of hyenas. Robert was slightly slumped in his chair, gritting teeth, though nobody could tell if it was from frustration or from pain. Probably both, if they had to guess.
“Five bucks he will call out sick tomorrow,” – Sonar stage-whispered.
“Second that. Bitch is about to keel over,” – in response to that, Robert sent Flambae an air kiss just to properly confuse him. Flambae reacted by grabbing his junk in dominating gesture with one hand and flipping Robert off with the other. Robert smiled and made a heart with both hands.
"I know my rights!" - Jerkenson said for god knows what time, - "I could file a civil lawsuit based on..." - Robert glanced to his left, pleading Chase for some help with his eyes. Chase quickly dodged back into his own cubicle, definitely not intending to help at all. Robert turned to Galen, who immediately ducked and pretended to be very busy with his own call. Tratiors. Mr Whiskey stopped by with a cup that was just whiskey with a few drops of coffee in it. Special treat for dispatchers stuck on the call with Karen. Robert considered his medication and decided that any potential side-effecrs of mixing his meds with alcohol are completely worth it in this scenario and gulped everything in five seconds.
"Don't get shitfaced, dude," - came Sonar's awfully delighted jab.
"It's basically life support right now," - Prism snapped a photo for her Instagram stories to complain about stupid customers. Another twenty minutes passed. Jerkenson was reading constitution out loud as intimidation tactic. Robert leaned back, glanced at Malevola's tail that was gently rubbing his bad knee, muted his mic again and lightly pulled at the wire connecting his headset to computer.
"It would take me about three minutes to kill myself. But death by strangulation is often accompanied by dedication and post-mortum erection... Guys, if I die shitting my pants and popping a boner, will it be an upgrade or downgrade from my dad pissing his pants in his last seconds?
"Downgrade!"
"Upgrade!"
"Thanks, team. I knew I could rely on you," - Robert unmuted himself to let Jerkenson know that he is still listening.
"I could give you a quick painless and dignified death," - Coop offered, grinning.
"Nah, Robbo, you should die overdosing, at least it will be fun. I can find you something," - Sonar was only half-joking, judging by his twitching ears.
"Fuck off, if someone kills him, it will be me," - Flambae made a small fire in his hand for more dramatic effect.
"Yes please, Robert. Choose inceniration. We'll seal your ashes in a butt plug and take turns carrying you around on missions," - nobody even turned their head at Visi's new HR violation. Every dispatcher of this branch was used to hearing shit like that from Z-team.
"How generous of you to assist me with my desperate suicide. You can inherit my SDN uniform," - Robert snorted, forgetting to mute. Jerkenson heard his laugh and took it personally.
"Listen here, you, blue collar wet rat! I am a customer! I am your god! You should be on your knees begging for my forgiveness!"
"Sir, please, I remind you again that this call is being recorder..."
"Eat shit! Because of you villains got away with my internet! They sucked my cables dry!" - at that Robert banged his head on a desk, groaning. Yes, he will definitely call in sick tomorrow.
Like a saving grace, Blonde Blazer chose this exact moment to leave her office. She saw the entire Z-team gathered around their dispatcher instead of working. They were very actively gesturing for her to come closer.
"Okay, what is going in here? Robert, are you alright? Should we call someone from infirmary?" - knowing this team, Blazer immediately assumed that Robert must be dying. Robert silently pointed at the screen, where call time was displayed at four hours an sixteen minutes in bold red font. Blazer frowned.
"Another inappropriate use of SDN hotline?" - everyone nodded frantically. Blazer extended her hand. Robert instantly sat up straight.
"One second, sir, I'll transfer you to my supervisor," - he pulled off the headset and thrusted it in Blazer's waiting hand with a bit too much force. Blazer geared up, her whole body language switching to "corporate perfect" mode.
"Hello, this is Blonde Blaze, director of SDN Torrance branch, how can I help you?"
"Finally, someone with authority!" - Jerkenson screeched, - "That braindead incompetent piece of shit dispatcher refused to help me! Villains sucked all my internet off!"
"I'm so sorry to hear that, sir," - Blazer's entire face was an epitome of question "what the fuck?", - "Of course, we will take appropriate action to make sure our services maintain within standarts. Robert, clear your desk, you are fired effective immediately!"
"Serves you right, fucker!" - Jerkenson laughed.
"Oh no, how will I provide for my wife and our three kids without my minimum wage salary," - Robert deadpanned, making Blazer chuckle and the whole team wheeze. These performative "firings" happen at least twice a week.
Five minutes later Jerkenson finally hung up. It was time forlunch break anyway. Nothing was done through the entire first shift.
"Alright, team, thank you for your patience. Go enjoy your lunch," - Robert said, his face growing pale with worrying speed, - "And I will go and throw up because five cups of coffee, whiskey and my meds apparently didn't mix well," - he attempted to stand up, but his knee gave out. If it wasn't for Golem, Robert would have faceplanted to the floor. Golem just picked dispatcher up in his giant hands and moved like a muddy uber.
"I'll help you get there," - construct rumbled.
"I'll make sure Rob... Robert.... D-d-don't choke... Drown..." - Waterboy hurried after them.
"So, any idea how to find that micro dick bitch?" - it was a serious question. Jerkenson said a lot of things that only Z-team is allowed to say about their bitch dispatcher. Jerkenson was a reason Robert made bad decisions about mixing medication, coffee and alchohol.
"I'm on it. I can hack call logs," - Sonar didn't even use opportunity to remind everyone that he is a very smart Harvard graduate.
"Great. So, whose turn is it to feed the bitch today?"