Project ROWDY 17

Cecil’s office smelled like old war and colder secrets. Steel walls, lightless corners, glass that didn’t reflect. Brick could tell with an idle look around the place that Cecil didn't allow any surveillance in here.

Which meant there was nothing keeping him from speaking the truth but his own choice.

No cameras, no recorders, just the three of them and the director.

They didn’t sit. Brick stood center, arms loose but his stance set—feet apart, weight even, not relaxed. Boomer hovered on the left, tugging at the corner of his uniform like it might unravel if he didn’t keep an eye on it. Butch leaned into the right side like the wall might fight him first—shoulders cocked back, chin lifted, one foot tapping like it was daring the floor to say something.

Across from them, Cecil didn’t move, the man staring at each of them in turn.

"I been real patient with you boys," Cecil said finally, voice low, molasses slow, like he was halfway through a thought he didn’t need help finishing. "Three months now. World about to bury it's golden team of heroes. And guess who’s next in line."

Brick didn’t blink. "We figured."

Cecil’s gaze sharpened, but not at the words—at the tone, not but cautious but calculating, like he wanted to make sure of something. "That so? Then let’s skip the little song and dance and make one thing clear. We're on a timetable right now. At least once a year, something happens that puts our little blue ball at risk of being cracked in half. Above everything else, I need to know if I can trust you."

Butch met the director's words with a shrug. "Yeah, okay."

Boomer chimed in as fast as usual, already grinning wide and clear. "Totally."

Brick’s jaw tightened. "That depends on what you’re asking."

"I’m asking," Cecil leaned forward, fingertips steepled, voice cool enough to frost over, "where you really come from."

Boomer’s head tilted. "Oh. Like—origin story stuff?"

Butch grinned. "You want the tragic flashback or the epic one?"

Brick let out a breath through his nose. "Alright. But you’re not gonna like it."

"Try me."

A red-eyed glance from Brick locked onto his brothers. Blue and green ringed eyes stared back at him, silent and focused. They didn’t need to nod.

"We're not from here," Brick said, voice starting off slow with what he already knew Cecil was aware of. "We're from another Earth. Another dimension. One with different rules."

"Tell me something I don't know, Brick." Cecil’s tone didn’t change as he raised an eyebrow at the softball the Red Rowdyruff threw his way. "That much we figured. You came in surfing a dimensional rupture and smashed into the Atlantic like it owed you money."

Butch’s eyebrows shot up. "Wait, so you knew?"

Brick rolled his eyes. "Of course he knew. He probably knew what color boxers I had on the second we landed."

"Red," Cecil said without blinking.

Boomer blinked. "Wait, seriously?"

Cecil smiled just enough to make it a threat. "Relax, son. Lucky guess."

Boomer hesitated. "You’re not... mad we didn’t tell you?"

Cecil’s expression didn’t soften, but the edge dulled. "Mad? Nah. I’m in the business of cleaning up messes, not whining about how they got made. What I am curious about is what you’ve been working on. That interdimensional ping I caught off your little tech stash is more than just research."

Brick’s shoulders pulled taut. "Backup plan. Insurance."

Butch muttered, "Wasn’t like we were tryin’ to run away. I like it here. We get all the food we want."

Brick tilted his head to the side, aware that they already had all the food they wanted. They just had to take it before. "On top of that, this place actually more..." He wasn't sure how to put this, "structure? Yeah, let's go with that. Structure."

Cecil raised an eyebrow. "And your world doesn’t?"

Brick hesitated. "Ours was... noisier."

Cecil gestured, permissive. "Go on."

Brick's eyes narrowed as he continued his softball. "We weren’t heroes there."

"Didn’t expect you were," Cecil said, the man rolling his eyes at Brick's attempt to dripfeed him a story. "Last I recall, your first few days in our fair dimension involved a police chase, three military jets, one robbed bank, and several dozen insurance claims."

"We were made," Brick continued his story, skipping right past their earlier escapades. "Built. Created. Whatever term fits. We were made to kill our town's protectors."

That got Cecil's attention, as Brick finally admitted what he'd been avoiding for months. "Made by who."

"First by Mojo Jojo," Boomer blurted. "He’s like, this evil genius monkey. Real big brain. Real big mouth. But the brain is the biggest part, I mean like huuuuge," the blond boy gestured with his hands high above his head. "He made us with... snips of armpit hair, snails, puppy dog tails. Dropped us in a prison toilet that had some of his DNA. Boom. Instant boys."

Cecil didn’t react.

Butch added, "Then we got kissed to death, so then our other dad, Satan, rebooted us. Gave us upgrades."

Boomer grinned. "Yeah, made us stronger," After a second, his face fell in a frown. "I wish he would wear pants though."

Brick didn’t flinch. "Yes and no. Im mean, yeah, it's technically accurate. Mojo did make us but we're not really monkeys. Mojo had some human DNA in him from... something and he's more human than monkey, because of that. He even has a Japanese accent, too." The Red Rowdyruff frowned, realizing the correction was getting away from him. "Long story short, we're biologically human, sort of. Post-human biological androids, if you want to split hairs."

The silence snapped.

Cecil’s fingers tapped once. Then stopped.

"I’m gonna need you to back up quite a bit."