[AMY IN DISPATCH (2025)] CHAPTER SIX

Chase had learned, over the years, that there were exactly three kinds of days at the SDN.

Normal days, where everything was on fire but in a way you’d planned for. 

Bad days, where everything was on fire and somehow blamed on you. 

And weird days, where something fundamentally wrong walked into the building smiling at you like it was excited to be there.

Most would say the third was oddly specific, but it was for a good reason. Today was one of those weird days. 

“—and if you touch anything on my desk without permission, I will haunt your ass from beyond the grave,” Chase finished, not looking up from his screen. “And not metaphorically. I will learn necromancy out of spite.”

“Okay! Noted!” a voice chirped back.

It was too cheerful. That was red flag number one.

Chase finally glanced to his left.

The young woman—no, intern, technically—stood there clutching a tablet, wearing an SDN visitor badge that very clearly said DIMENSIONAL TRANSFER – TEMPORARY, like that was a totally normal thing to print on plastic and let loose in an office building. She was small, brown-haired, and vibrating with barely-contained enthusiasm like a soda can someone had just shaken violently.

She was smiling at him.

Chase immediately distrusted her.

“…You must be Amy,” he said, tone flat. “AKA that Panacea stray our resident heroine literally picked off the street last night.”

Her smile widened. Red flag number two.

“Oh! You’re Chase!” she said. “Mandy said you were grumpy but in a fond way.”

Chase pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to file a complaint against her for slander.”

Amy leaned forward slightly, peering at him. “You are grumpy, though.”

“That’s because I’m at work.”

“That doesn’t stop some people,” she said cheerfully, then paused after reaching out to him with her hands. Her head tilted to the side, and her smile… didn’t fade, exactly, but it shifted. Like a dimmer switch nudged a fraction lower.

Chase caught it immediately.

Red flag number three.

“…Hey,” she said, more quietly now. “Are you okay?”

Chase stared at her.

He had a lot of experience with people asking him questions they had no business asking. Cops, heroes, villains, bureaucrats, and therapists he definitely didn’t need, thank you very much. He had a well-worn internal script for all of them.

This was not on the script.

“I don’t know what gave you that idea,” he said dryly, “but unless you’ve suddenly been promoted to my personal emotional support intern, I’m fine.”

Amy didn’t laugh, but she didn't back off, either. She just… watched him, eyes flicking, taking in details he hadn’t even realized were visible: the faint tremor in his left hand as he reached for his coffee, the way his shoulders stayed a little too tense, even sitting down, and the barely-there hitch in his breathing when the emergency board chimed behind them.

Her brows knit together.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Yeah, no. Something’s off.”

Chase felt a cold, unpleasant sensation settle between his shoulders.

“…Care to elaborate,” he asked slowly, “before I ask Blazer why the hell she let a psychic loose in my department?”

Amy winced. “Not psychic! Just… observant. And also my power cheats. A lot.”

Of course it did.

She hesitated, then added, almost apologetically, “There’s something weird about your biology.”

Chase didn’t respond right away. Around them, the SDN floor was alive with its usual controlled chaos—phones ringing, dispatchers talking, and heroes arguing about logistics—but for half a second, it all felt very far away.

Then he snorted, took a sip of his coffee, and shrugged.

“Kid,” he said, “that’s just called growing old.”

Amy didn’t look convinced.

Yeah, Chase decided, watching her carefully. This was definitely going to be a weird day.

Lunch, for Chase, was a sacred thing.

It wasn't in a spiritual sense—he wasn’t blessing his leftovers or anything—but in the deeply personal, “this is the only calm twenty minutes I get all day,” way. The microwave gave its distinctive hum, his food slowly rotating in it, and for once the emergency board was quiet.

Peace.

Which, naturally, meant someone had decided to tempt fate.

“—Okay, okay, but don’t do anything flashy,” someone hissed from behind him.

Chase did not turn around. He didn’t need to. Years of experience told him this was hero dumbassary and hero dumbassary was best ignored until it became paperwork.

“That is literally my superpower, dumbass!” Prism protested in a whisper that was still far too loud for an enclosed space. “It’s literally me just a light filter on steroids and—”

“Just make it funny,” another voice interrupted. “Like, confetti-light. Harmless.”

Chase sighed, stabbing at his container with a fork while the microwave ticked down the last few seconds.

“Heroes,” he muttered. “Can’t even prank responsibly.”

There was a sudden shout: 

“Wait, someone’s coming—!”

And then, light.

It wasn't an attack, or an intentional blast.

It was a cascade.

Someone—Chase didn’t see who—triggered something at the same time Prism reflexively flinched, her power reacting on instinct instead of intent. The overlapping effects collided and were magnified in a way that absolutely no one had planned for.

The break room lit up like a camera flash caught in a hall of mirrors.

“AH!”

Chase turned away just in time, vision spotting, but the scream that followed was immediate and panicked.

“I can’t see! I can’t—everything’s white—!”

“Shit, shit, shit—!”

“Prism, cancel it!”

“I DID, I DID—!”

Chase spun around fully now. An analyst—with her badge dangling, and coffee spilled everywhere—had staggered back into the counter, hands pressed to her eyes, breathing fast and shallow.

“I can’t see,” she repeated, voice breaking. “Please, I can’t see anything—”

Prism stood frozen, hands shaking, her glow already gone. “I—I didn’t do that,” she said, horrified. “I swear, that wasn’t—”

“Save it,” Chase snapped, already moving. “Intent doesn’t matter right now.”

The microwave beeped cheerfully.

Chase ignored it.

“Clear the room,” he ordered. “Now. And someone get medical—”

“I’m here!”

Amy barreled into the break room like she’d been summoned, skidding slightly on spilled coffee. She took one look at the analyst, at the way her eyes were screwed shut and her shoulders were climbing toward her ears, and for all intents and purposes, teleported there.

Her voice was soft as she spoke. “Hey. Hi. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

“I can’t see,” the woman sobbed. “It’s just—light—too much—”

“I know,” Amy said gently. “That’s alright. That happens. I promise I can fix this.”

Chase stopped mouth agape, eyes narrowing.

Amy closed her eyes, placing her fingers just beneath the analyst’s eyes. “Okay… yeah. Temporary overload, but your retina’s fine.” Then she paused. “Wow, that was a stacked light event. Who pranked who?”

No one answered.

Two seconds passed.

Then:

“Oh,” the analyst whispered. “Oh—I can see.”

She blinked rapidly, hands lowering. Her pupils adjusted normally, color returning to her face like someone had turned the saturation back on.

“I can see,” she repeated, half laughing, half crying.

Amy opened her eyes and smiled, relief immediate. “There we go.”

The room was dead quiet.

Prism looked like she might vomit from sheer relief, but Chase simply stared.

He had seen powers do impressive things. He had seen regeneration, reversal, reality cheats that came with cooldowns and side effects and a mountain of paperwork.

This had been none of that.

“It isn't like Malevola’s wound transferal,” he said to himself, lowly and slowly, without anyone being able to hear him, “or ‘normal’ healing.”

Amy looked up at him. “Hi again, Mr. Chase.”

Chase exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.

He looked at the analyst that was fully healed, then at Prism, who almost looked ready to apologize to anyone who’d listen. Then back to Amy.

“Kid,” he said flatly, “you just turned a prank-related disaster into a non-incident.”

Amy brightened. “Oh! Does that mean I didn’t mess up my first day?”

Chase glanced at the microwave, still beeping, at the heroes and regular employees now awkwardly dispersing, and at the very healed, very seeing analyst.

“…Yeah,” he said. “You’re doing fine.”

And for the first time that day, he meant it.

Two hours later, Chase was reconsidering every life choice that had led him to sitting in Blonde Blazer’s office.

It wasn't because he’d done anything wrong; on the contrary, the incident report had gone through clean, the analyst had been cleared by medical, and the prank had been officially reclassified as “an unintentional compound power interaction” instead of “hero bullshit in the break room.”

No, the problem was that he was in a room with both of them.

Blonde Blazer stood near her desk, arms crossed, expression carefully neutral in that way that meant she was listening very closely. Amy sat on the edge of a chair, swinging her legs slightly, badge lanyard twisted around her fingers like she was trying not to fidget.

Chase leaned against the wall, arms similarly folded, but his jaw was set.

“…So to summarize,” he finished flatly, “no malicious intent, no lasting damage, and our newest intern here resolved the issue before medical even arrived.”

Blazer exhaled through her nose, some of the tension easing. “Alright. I’ll handle the disciplinary side. Chase, thank you for stepping in.”

“Someone had to,” he replied. “Apparently lunch is optional but chaos is mandatory.”

There was a brief pause.

Amy cleared her throat.

“…Um. There’s one more thing.”

Both of them looked at her.

Chase already didn’t like that tone.

“I noticed something earlier,” Amy continued carefully, “before the incident when I touched you. And I think I know what it is, but I don’t want to be wrong, because that would be awkward, and also possibly illegal.”

Blazer’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What kind of something?”

Amy glanced at Chase. “About him.”

Chase straightened. “No.”

Amy flinched. “I haven’t said anything yet!”

“You don’t need to,” he said flatly. “Whatever you’re about to suggest, the answer is no.”

Blazer held up a hand. “Chase. Let her finish.”

He shot her a look. She did not back down.

Amy took a breath. “I don’t think your power is what it is commonly known as.”

The room went very still.

Chase laughed once, sharp and humorless. “Kid, my file’s been reviewed by three departments and a federal oversight committee. It says superspeed because I move fast.”

Amy nodded. “Yeah. That’s the thing. You don’t.”

Chase frowned. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t move fast,” she repeated. “At least, not biologically. When I touched you, I could see that your musculoskeletal system was completely normal, just worn down from use, and the same was true of your cardiovascular and respiratory systems. You don’t have a hyper-efficient metabolism to sustain extreme speeds, nor the specialized neural adaptations for temporal awareness and perception that someone would need to avoid crashing at them.”

“In short,” she added, “you don’t show the physiological changes consistent with other speedsters I know.”

Blazer’s posture changed subtly, but Chase noticed it. She became alert. “Amy.” Her tone was warning.

The young woman swallowed. “I think you’re… affecting time. And that also affected you, locally.”

Chase felt a strange chill crawl up his spine.

“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “I don’t freeze time.”

“I know,” Amy said quickly. “It’s not that dramatic. It’s more like… because you don’t have any advanced cellular repair to offset the wear and tear of your high-speed lifestyle, your body burns out faster. Your cells divide and age at the same accelerated rate you move, so you could end up living through years of biological time in just a few days of real time.”

Silence.

Blazer looked at Chase now. Really looked.

“…I know you move 50 times faster than a normal human,” she continued quietly. “Is it also possible that you aged 50 times faster too?”

Chase opened his mouth, then closed it.

“…It’s…” he trailed off, unable to complete his sentence. 

Amy shook her head. “Yeah, I know it is a lot to take in. Most powers have no cost back home, but the ones that do—like Oni Lee’s—are pretty terrible. If I remember correctly, his mind had been ‘wiped’ by successive teleportation.”

Blazer’s eyes snapped back to Amy. “What?”

Amy winced. “Yeah, his powers cause mental degradation.”

Before Blazer could voice her obvious horror, Chase pushed off the wall. “Alright. That’s enough.”

Amy raised both hands. “I won’t do anything without permission. I just—if I could check longer, I could confirm it. I won't try to change or fix anything. Just… another look.”

Blazer studied Chase’s face as long, silent seconds passed.

“Chase,” she said finally, “do you feel comfortable with that?”

He hesitated, then scoffed. “If this is just another weird intern thing, I’d like to get it over with.”

Amy brightened immediately. “Really?”

“Yes,” he said. “But if you give me a third arm or something, I’m suing. And I’m not joking this time”

Blazer sighed. “I’ll allow it. But be careful, Amy.”

Amy nodded rapidly. “Absolutely. Scout’s honor.” She stood, stepping closer. “Okay. You won't feel anything. It will just be weird because I’ll be quiet for a while.”

“Kid,” Chase muttered, “everything about today is weird, so don't sweat it.”

Amy placed her hand on his, and as she said earlier, became quiet. For a moment nothing else happened, then her expression brightened. Chase didn't like being the source of someone’s fascination. 

“Oh,” Amy breathed. “Oh wow.”

Blazer tensed. “Amy?”

“I am right,” she said. “You suffer from hyper-accelerated metabolism, causing you to age physically and mentally at a rapid rate whenever you use your powers.” 

Chase tried to speak, but such was the shock of the confirmation that his legs gave out instead.

Blazer lunged forward, catching him as he collapsed, her strength more than enough to keep him from hitting the floor.

“Chase!” she snapped.

Amy yanked her hand back, eyes wide. “Oh—oh no—that’s not supposed to happen!”

Chase’s last coherent thought before everything went black was deeply, profoundly unhelpful.

‘Well. That explains a lot.’

Then darkness took him.