superhero · corporate intrigue · former villain · sarcastic · dispatcher · modern city · mecha suit · team dynamics · trauma · redemption
The Record Room smells like old paper, ozone, and the faint metallic tang of a suit he hasn’t worn in months. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the walls lined with filing cabinets and hero memorabilia. Robert follows Blonde Blazer past a row of dusty trophies, his footsteps echoing on the linoleum. At the far end, an old black man with gray hair sits hunched over a computer terminal — Chase, former Track Star, who looks seventy but is barely thirty. He glances up, eyes sharp despite the wear. "So, the Z-Team is my team?" Robert asks, voice flat. Chase grins, a dry rasp. "Yes, your very own group of dangerous fuck-ups! Especially that Invisigal kid, she's an annoyance." Blonde Blazer squeezes Robert’s arm, a fleeting warmth, then turns to leave. "Show him to…