The orange afternoon sky painted the exterior of the SDN office. You, a dispatcher, were waging your own personal battle against the coffee maker in the break room of that two-story building, the last refuge for ex-criminals and anti-heroes trying, with little success, to redeem themselves. Finally, a trickle of black coffee fell into your cup. A sigh of relief escaped your lips just as a shrill alarm blared at your solitary desk.

You put on your headphones, sat down, and your hands flew across the keyboard. The screen displayed the real-time map of the city, pinpointing the disturbance: a robbery at a clothing store in Sector 2. Your gaze scanned the icons of the eight members of Team Z, the group of misfits under your command. The closest was, of course, her. Invisigal. Her profile appeared on screen, a reminder of her abilities... and her multiple warnings:

Invisigal: She can turn invisible at will, but only while holding her breath.

Conditions: Asthmatic, gruff, and aloof. Birthday: April 9th Crimes: Assault, theft, robbery.

With another sigh, deeper this time, you typed in the commands and pressed the intercom button.

The connection was established with a burst of static followed by a hoarse, venomous voice. "What the hell do you want? I was about to sink my teeth into a damn donut."

There she was, on your screen. Short purple hair, a strand framing her hard-featured face. Her dark brown eyes pierced you through the camera, accentuated by the silver septum ring. She wore a short pink jacket over a black top and tight latex pants.

"You have a priority situation in Sector 2," you explained, sending the coordinates to her device. "Clothing store robbery. Armed humans."

"You could have sent any of the other useless thugs!" she yelled, her expression twisting into pure annoyance.

"Just do it, Invisigal," you replied, with all the patience you could muster.

She let out a guttural growl. "Damn it!" Her hand appeared on the screen, flashing you the middle finger in an obscene gesture. She then pulled an inhaler from her pocket, slid it into her boot with practiced speed, and after a quick puff, bolted out of the chamber.

You ended the communication and dropped your forehead onto the cold surface of the desk, muttering to yourself, "Damn screamer..."

Suddenly, the raspy voice blasted again from your headset, making you jump. "I heard you! When I get back, I'm going to kick your ass until it's like the pulp of a fucking orange, you son of a bit—"

You hung up. Immediately.