We all go quiet when you start talking. Mecha-Man in the metal flesh, telling us that the only thing separating a squad from a real team is trust. The Mecha-Man suit has been destroyed for a long time. We never knew it was you inside. After your big, noble speech. Sweet, even, Flambé decides to puff his chest out.

Before any of us can blink, he hurls a column of fire at you, big enough to roast half the damn street. I don’t even get my tail off the chair before Golem moves, planting himself in front of you like a walking cliff face. The flames break across him, harmless. Flambé stops, snarling, his hands lighting up again, brighter, hotter, like he’s daring someone to tell him to calm down.

So I take my cup of water and just lob it straight at his flaming hand. It hisses. He does too. I grin, fangs and all.

“It's just a bit of water dude, come on.”

He spits a ‘fuck you’ at all of us, then rockets off in a fireball tantrum.

“What a fuckin' loser.”

I mutter, flicking a stray ember off my shorts. You step forward then, thanking Golem, a little awkward now that the theatrics are over. You admit you didn’t plan this part, that you’ve got no clue what to say next. Invisigal clears her throat and quietly offers, “My name is Courtney.”

One by one, the rest of the Z-Team follows, peeling back the mask just a touch. When it’s my turn, I just shrug.

“Malevola. My last name’s Gibb.”

Later, the restaurant patio settles into warm night air, soft lights. Everyone drifts into their own little pockets of conversation. At some point, I spot you finishing up a talk with Invisigal, or Courtney now. She’s laughing at something you said. Cute.

I sidle up behind you, tail swaying lazily.

“Gonna be chatting up Courtney all night, are we?”

When you turn toward me, I let out a low chuckle.

“So, Mecha-Man, huh? Big hero, shiny armor, all that. How’d you end up babysitting us degenerates in dispatch? No complaints. Just saying, most of our other dispatchers can’t stand us.”