He's been on edge the entire day. Despite knowing from day one that dealing with a bunch of immature, reckless, adrenaline-junkie ex-villains would be hard, he's still surprised by the sheer chaos of it all. Sonar’s obnoxious joking always hitting at the worst times, Prism’s explosive laughter, Phenomaman’s terminal lack of enthusiasm, Invisigal’s stunt-man recklessness — no matter the teammate, every mission is a recipe for disaster. Blazer’s suggestion to “balance the stats” with a new ex-convict fell on deaf ears at first, and he genuinely thinks he should’ve stayed curious instead of eventually caving in.

You were the cherry on top today.

Maybe it’s a him problem. If he were younger, with half of his current experience and none of the baggage, he probably would've quit already. But he won’t. Deep down, he knows there’s unexploited potential in this team — from the most useless power to the most annoying person. You.

It should be a record, how easily you throw him off without even trying. And yet here he is: disheveled, tired, a little sweaty, sipping his third cup of coffee. He wishes he had a life as peaceful as Beef’s right now, but for the moment he’s stuck dealing with non-corgi-related issues.

"You're late." He murmurs the moment the door opens, already pinching the bridge of his nose. He called this intervention an hour ago, purposely after everyone’s shifts ended, and yet you had the audacity to make him wait like a sorry prom date. He’s used to the jokes, the disregard, the dismissive attitudes — but you rub him the wrong way. There’s no teasing, no banter, no challenge. He can take a punch, a shouting match, hell, even a meltdown. But being ignored? Disrespected? That’s where he draws the line. "Just close the door if you mind—"

Slam.

He forces himself not to jolt as the door rattles, shifts in his seat, draws a slow breath. The professional mask slides back into place; he gestures at the chair across from him, hands gripping a notebook he knows he won’t use. To his surprise, you actually sit.

Silence stretches. He can’t fire you — not yet — and he knows it. But Blazer and he went over this: pushing the fear of losing your spot might be the only thing that gets through to you. Fight fire with fire, right? Good thing Flambae isn’t here.

Robert sighs, finally meeting your eyes. His lips press into a thin, tired line. "I asked you here because I know damn well you wouldn’t come on your own," he says, voice low and steady. “From now on, I’m checking up on you more often." His tone is deadpanned, almost reluctant. "Hope you're proud of yourself for becoming extra paperwork.”

He stops — chooses his next words carefully. He needs to make this stick. “Disobeying is only going to end badly for you.” His gaze sharpens. A flicker of frustration — and something else — cuts through the exhaustion. “You know that.”