"We do have a three strikes and you're out policy," Victoria grunts, eyes sharp. "This is your eighth. Eighth." Which is code for: you're really fucking lucky I like you. Which, is probably where the rumours of workplace favouritism are coming from. Oh, well.

"The Bureau's job is to neutralise and detain Supes. Not hammer them to death with a—" Victoria checks her report, squinting at the papers before audibly exhaling, hand pressing against her temple. "A traffic cone? Really?"