Paragon to Pavement 8

“How the fuck did you make the kid cry again?” 

Invisigal’s voice buzzed in his ear the same way she’d been doing for the last couple minutes. 

Sky bit down a sigh as his legs ate up the suburban California pavement on his way back to the SDN branch. At a solid sustained twenty-five miles per hour, his sneakers pounded a heavy rhythm against sun-baked summer asphalt. Wind whipped across more exposed skin, Sky’s tracksuit left behind in his newly-assigned locker at the SDN.

So, his bright blue gi was on full display and it did its job. 

People made way.

Civilians pushing strollers and carrying iced coffees eased towards grassy laws as they saw him coming, allowing a wide berth for superhuman legs to do the work. The speed was a distraction at least, one he welcomed because it allowed him to spend a little more time ignoring the random collection of voices rambling into his earpiece.

“I don't know!” Sky scowled, a middle-aged lady ducking out of his way with a terrified goldendoodle. “I got the kid his balloon.”

“I don’t know, bro.” Sonar droned over the comms. “You think you might have ambushed him with the balloon or something?”

“I didn’t ambush nobody.” He shook his head. “It was a balloon. It was stuck in a tree. I jumped down with it.”

“You descended from a high-altitude trajectory with hostile intent.”

“It’s a fucking tree, man-bat!”

“Yeah, no. No issue here, it’s fine.” Robert Robertson III made himself heard, the dispatcher’s voice drifting over the channel. “Don’t worry about it, Sky.”

“Not. Worried.”

“And besides, the mom said it was a successful dispatch and she’s very sorry about her son hurting your feelings.”

Sky’s soles dug into concrete. “The kid didn’t hurt my f—!” 

He bit back the shout as his sneakers screeched against pavement, grinding to a halt in the middle of the crosswalk. An SUV slammed on its brakes three feet away, the driver staring at him through the windshield.

Fuck. Even people were eyeing him on the public street. Chill, bro.

Sky forced his shoulders down as he took a sharp breath in through his nose and picked up his jogging pace again. He tapped the comm in his ear again, dropping his tone into the tight fake-preppiness he learned to use since the SuperMax.

“The kid didn’t hurt my feelings, sir.”

Sonar snorted. “Sounds like it did, bro.” 

Sky took a breath, one as long as he could pull in; anything to keep from cursing at the furry on the other side of the line. 

“It's okay, Sky. I promise that.” Robert’s voice scraped through the earpiece again. “It's your first day. No one's expecting you to be perfect. Public relations takes time to build.”

“Why not?” Flambae’s thickly-accented baritone detonated over the open channel, vowels stretching out with an arrogant flair. “I’m pretty damn perfect. When I rescue a balloon, the children weep out of sheer gratitude for my presence.”

“Be fuckin’ for real.” Sky’s eye twitched. “I've read up on you. You'd burn the tree down and the park with it.”

“It is called a controlled burn, fucking teacher's pet.” The pyro spat a whole breath’s worth of insults in a language Sky wasn’t even gonna pretend like he knew. "Why don't you just suck his dick while y-"

Sky reached up and tapped his earpiece, killing the channel.  If the dispatcher wanted to contact him, he still could but the rest of them? Yeah, no. Enough of that.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Ten minutes later, the sliding doors of SDN-Torrance parted open, spitting Sky out of the California heat and into the aggressively air-conditioned lobby. Can’t believe I ended up in California of all places. 

He’d been East Coast all his life and, apart from some missions, the farthest he’d ever moved in his life was from Galaxity City to Paragon; just New York to Rhode Island. Why California, though?  Part of him was sure he should feel lucky he didn’t end up at the bottom of the ocean or in deep space or above a volcano or something but it didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t a fan of the place; back home or here. 

Grunting, Sky made his way back inside, not even bothering to look at the receptionist as he kept his head down and traced the rat-maze halls all the way back to the Z-Team Common Room.

Just need some sugar. Some silence wouldn’t hurt either, but he wasn’t really expecting a miracle right now.

Tapping the door release, Sky pushed the heavy door open. The room was mostly empty, except for the low hum of the white refrigerator and the clicking of acrylics against a phone screen.

Prism sat at the center table in her hot pink and purple bodysuit, visor pushed all the way up into her split-dyed hair; both eyes firmly on her phone even as his sneakers squeaked against the linoleum. 

Sky didn’t pay the pop star any mind either as he made his way over to the vending machine, a crumpled sweat-damp dollar bill quickly pulled free from his gi pants. He fed the thing into the slot, mashed the buttons for a Mountain Dude and stood there waiting for the coils to whirr his choice free.

A few seconds later, the green bottle thunked to the bottom of the vending machine. 

Sky grabbed the bottle and turned around only to pause where he stood. “...what?”

Prism was no longer looking at her phone. The woman had her chin propped on her hand, a slow smirk playing on purple lips as a pair of brown eyes stared him up and down. “Nothin’."

Condensation dripped onto his knuckles as he twisted the cap on his soda open, fizz hissing in the quiet room. “Don’t seem like nothin’.”

Prism shifted in her chair, nails tapping the table. “A bitch can’t look? Damn, nigga.”

Sky’s jaw tightened again, muscle jumping under his scars. “So, it was somethin’ then.”

“Whatever, Mr Nonchalant,” Prism rolled her eyes toward the ceiling tiles, the woman picking her phone back up. “Just a pretty nigga to act like a bitch.”

…pretty? Pushing everything else she said out of his thoughts, Sky brought the green bottle to his lips, eyes closed to take a drink of the radioactive-looking sugar water. You got some weird damn taste if you think this is pr-

The air shifted, something moving fast toward his blind spot, cutting right through the space next to the refrigerator.

The Mountain Dude dropped from his hand before his tongue tasted a drop. Before the plastic bottle even hit the floor, Sky twisted his entire body; right hand whipping out in a viper-fast grab fueled by raw survival instinct.

His fingers slammed into something solid.

They wrapped tight, an industrial vice around a throat.

The stealth field shattered instantly as something materialized out of thin air, eyes wide and limbs thrashing. Sky’s grip was unyielding and unshifting, low-single digit tonnage coiled and ready in one arm. His momentum carried him, driving the attacker backward until he slammed it against the vending machine. The metal and glass rattled under the impact, snacks shuddering inside as he kept his arm locked out.

Combat boots kicked uselessly at empty air, rubber squeaking against the machine’s glass front.

For one single second, Sky’s electric blue eyes were entirely dead. Rikti Infiltrator. Crush the windpipe before it cloaks again. Kill it.

Then, the fluorescent lights buzzed, the smell of cherry gloss and cigarette smoke hitting his nose.

Sky blinked.

Life came back to his eyes as he ripped his hand back, stumbling back two frantic steps and nearly slipping on spilled soda.

Invisigal dropped to the floor. The woman’s combat boots hit the linoleum with a heavy squeak as she leaned back against the vending machine, holding her throat.

Sky’s heart hammered against his ribs, hands visibly shaking as he stared at his new coworker with a real fear. “I—fuck.” All other words escaped him as his mouth fell open. “Fuck.”

Invisigal took a breath — the sound of it ragged and wet — as she looked up at him through spiky violet bangs. For a second, Sky saw fear.

That only lasted a second as a smirk slowly pulled tight at the corner of her mouth. “Holy f-f-fuck.” Her voice scratched on the word as a purple inhaler appeared in her hand, seemingly pulled from nowhere. 

She brought it to her lips and, with a sharp hiss, white mist escaped her grinning lips a second later. “Kinky.”

“Bitch, is you cool?” If Sky didn’t think his jaw could hang open any wider, he was wrong. “Seriously?”

Invisigal rubbed the bright red handprint blooming on her neck as she pushed back off the vending machine. One hand on her throat, she stepped towards him again like she didn't know the meaning of personal space. “You're one to talk, Mr. Hands. Didn’t know you liked to play rough.”

“You don’t jump somebody from behind!” Sky's voice cracked high, the feel of her soft flesh under his palm still there. “I-I could have killed your dumb ass!” He knew the feel of normal human flesh and this… this invisible psycho wasn’t that far off from it. “Seriously!”

“Like I said.” She winked at him, completely unbothered. “Kinky.”

“Hey, Visi-bitch,” Prism slammed her phone facedown, the woman rising to her feet. “Back off. I saw him first.”

Invisigal didn't even look at her, dark eyes locked on Sky. “I'm invisible, babe. You don't know when I saw him.” She licked her lips, looking Sky up and down. “He’s a little young for me, but I could get him if I wanted him. Catch him in the dark.”

A massive pulsing migraine announced itself directly behind his right eye as he looked between both of the paroled super-criminals. Do they even know they have a leash too or...?

Judging from the complete lack of self-preservation and the glaring in the middle of a corporate breakroom, they didn't care one bit.

“Would you two kindly,” Sky took a breath, voice flat as pavement “shut the fuck up?”

Before either woman could respond or escalate the hostility any further, the comm in his ear crackled to life.

“Sky?” Robert’s voice piped in, completely and thankfully oblivious to the near-murder that had almost gone down. “Are you back at base? I have another solo dispatch if you’re up for it.”

Sky pressed two still-shaking fingers against his earpiece, desperate for a distraction. “Yeah, sure. What is it?”

“Need you to break up a fight at Crypto Night.”

Sky frowned, brow furrowed like one long caterpillar. “...what’s Crypto Night?”

“Oh, it’s a hero bar downtown,” Robert hummed low, the man clearly reading something before he spoke again. “A couple of D-listers are getting into it over having the same name or something.”

Sky blinked. "...it's the middle of the day."

"Some heroes work at night, Sky." The response was as blunt and as honest as he could appreciate, even if he didn’t like it.

“Oh great,” Sky sighed. “These dickheads day drink.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Sky turned his back on Invisigal and Prism, walking toward the door. “Just send me the location.”