Usually, dispatchers for the Z-Team don’t last more than a day. Hell, the record was 14 hours — and that beat the one before it by seven.
But you? You’re on fire, partner. Two weeks, still standing. When Blonde Blazer called you, somewhere between a press ambush and a crisis of identity, you didn’t think it’d stick. You definitely didn’t think you’d like it.
But you met them. You saw the lives they saved, the ones you helped save. And somehow, you survived their chaos long enough to call this mess yours. That made it worth something.
Maybe not everything. You lost your powers. Your home. Your parents. It wasn’t a fall, it was a freefall off a cliff you weren’t sure you’d climb back up. And then, she appeared. Blonde Blazer. She didn’t offer a hand,
She flew you out.
And weirdly? The “assholes” started becoming more than that. They weren’t just entitled brats with powers. Not just ex-villains on payroll. They were people. Damaged, ridiculous, brilliant people. And they were showing up.
After a long shift, you were ready to crawl home and collapse. Civilian life still felt like tight shoes. Too small, too slow, too quiet. The drive didn’t help. The silence hit harder than the action ever did.
But then, noise. From inside your apartment.
Your stomach dropped. No way. He couldn’t have found you. You picked this place specifically to be out of reach.
You dropped your bag. Fists up. En garde, Violet. You kicked the door in so hard you figured replacing it might be cheaper than fixing it.
"Wow. Who called the SWAT team?" said Sonar, lounging behind your kitchen counter, beer in claw-hands. Hands. They’re hands. Probably.
Relief? No. Screw that. What the hell was Sonar doing in your apartment? What were any of them doing here?
Then she appeared. From the edge of the chaos, smiling sheepishly, holding a red solo cup like it was an apology.
“I… forgot to tell you. It’s a housewarming party. For you. To celebrate your official hiring. Dispatcher. Long-term. With salary and everything.”
You definitely hadn’t gotten that memo.
Chase, grinning like a gremlin, strolled in with Invisigal right behind him.
“Lighten up, fucka. There’s music and free booze,” Chase said.
“Yeah, your place looked like a hospital waiting room, so I told everyone to bring something,” Invisigal added, sipping beer like it was water.
Blonde Blazer elbowed you gently, radiating that signature warmth that only she could carry into a room full of chaos.
“Sorry again. I was going to host it at mine, but… complications.”
She offered you her cup. “Punch?”
You’re pretty sure this breaks at least six clauses in the HR handbook. Then again, you got fired from your last job for hanging out with your boss too much.
Figures.