Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She had texted her, and she had replied immediately. Robin was supposed to be at the hospital, paying her a visit—but she never came. At first, she told herself that she was just running late. Still, the small, giddy flutter in her chest and the persistent butterflies in her stomach were impossible to ignore, no matter how much she refused to admit it—even to herself. A small, nervous smile tugged at her lips as she waited. And waited. An hour passed, before the doubt began to creep in: was she really coming?

Was Robin coming at all?

Another hour passed, and by now she was seething with frustration. She wanted to throw a tantrum, the glass vase that held flowers in it looked throwable, but thinking of the disturbance it would cause at the hospital, she settled for muttering curses under her breath, directed at the woman in her thoughts. 

She’s not coming, is she?

The clock continued to tick, and late into the night, darkness met the rain as it poured heavily. Courtney pulled the blanket over herself, resigning to the fact that she wasn’t coming. Yet, despite her anger, she still wanted to see her—more than she cared to admit. Just like a certain blonde, she supposed, who probably held the same fragile hope.

Blonde Blazer.

Courtney had her suspicions, and it didn’t help that whenever she and Robin shared a moment, a quick glance toward the woman would always confirm it: Blazer was watching—watching them, watching Robin—when she thought no one else was looking. To be honest, just thinking about it makes her jealous, so she pouts and turns in her bed.

More doubts invade her mind. But then she is put to ease whenever she recalls all the time and faults Robin had made by believing in her, despite all she’s done. Even Blonde Blazer too, she supposed. With that comforting thought prevailing over the rest, her eyes grew heavy, and soon she drifted into sleep. Content, that someone like Robin, was in her life.

Meanwhile, Mandy was still awake at her house, a cold bottled drink in hand. Buzzed but sober, she sat lost in thought—pondering the “what-ifs,” wondering if she had just been more upfront with her feelings. Robin Robertson the third. A small, soft smile tugged at her lips at the thought of her—the one who had been occupying her mind endlessly. Their first meeting had been something—something right—that she was sure that the other woman felt it too. And oh if only she had kissed her that night. 

But she wondered how she would have reacted back then. She was still with Phenomaman at the time, yet even if Robin hadn’t shown any interest, she knew she would have ended things with him anyway. Just like what exactly had happened. Though she can’t lie for the fact that Robin had a factor in it.

She sighed. Tipsy now—drunk and a little too vulnerable without her amulet, which she’d lent to Chase for the meantime since the showdown with Shroud—Mandy found herself strangely at ease. Maybe it was the buzz, or maybe it was the freedom that came with letting go for once. Like being The Superhero that everyone thought her to be.  

Robin Robertson.

She saw right through her, and saw the real her. Mandy. Just, Mandy. Underneath it all, that was who she was and Robin seeing her, was just the push she needed that started the domino effects. Breaking up with Phenomaman, putting herself out there, that was Robin—whether the woman knew it or not. And now, being able to let her own thoughts and feelings free, she entertained them. Even if they’ll only be known to her and lived only as fleeting fantasies. At least then, she can keep those eyes—calm brown and chocolate sweet—in her mind.

And with Robin in her mind, she fell asleep with a bottle in hand. Sound asleep as she dreamt what could have been. Almost daring to never wake up from it.

On the same night, while the important people in her life drift to sleep, Robin has been kidnapped. Kept awake and tortured, Robin is turned into a plaything by a sick, prankster villain. With unknown motives, Robin is in the dark, only that she hopes she can make an escape, or someone finds her. Fast. 

Or she may just not make it out alive.

Chapter Text

When the sun finally rose, the world woke unchanged—still unaware of what had happened to Robin, and just how long she’d already been missing. And it wasn’t until the start of shift that Mandy noticed her absence. At first, maybe she may have just been late. Though, she’d never be. She was always a punctual person, she wouldn’t be tardy for much less of anything. 

A tight, gut-wrenching unease began to settle in her chest, something she couldn’t explain, couldn’t shake. Just that all she knew was that something was wrong. Especially when Beef was already here when she came to work. She wouldn’t have possibly left Beef alone at work over the night, did she? She wouldn’t. 

At this, Blazer wandered through the place, eyes scanning every corner for a hint of auburn hair or those familiar freckles—but as the hours slipped by, hope thinned. Furthermore, without Track Star—or rather Chase not being there—as he had been pulled by the research department to help create a substitute amulet for him, using hers—Blonde Blazer’s amulet—as a template before it could be returned. She was powerless to do anything to help her in her search for Robin.

And so, with no one left beside her, Mandy found herself truly alone. But she didn’t panic—at least, not yet. Though worried, she knew she still had a job to do. So, without her superpower, she took over for Robin in the meantime. She’ll continue her search for the woman in question later. To say the Z-Team were surprised yet again to hear her voice where Robin’s should have been was amusing, it was—but they would have to make do once more with her ability of dispatching.

“So, why’s the famous Blonde Blazer taking over for Robino?” Flambae questioned, though immediately reprimanded by Prism and Malevola. “Shut up fool’! You wouldn’t want to disclose a Superhero’s identity would you?!” “She’s not in her costume right now!” 

“Alright! Alright! Quit with the whining!.. So… where’s Robin?” The man asked yet again, and this time the whole team was listening, and very much curious. “I don’t know. She hasn’t messaged any of you?” Blazer’s question was met with silence, and it was eating the atmosphere that it was becoming hard to hide the concern that was dwelling on the team. “ But we can talk about it later. For now, let’s focus on the tasks ahead.”

“Don't tell me twice, I’m already itching to get that break lunch at the conference meeting.” Sonar commented before the rest followed with strong opposition, forgetting the mood and gloom just earlier, “We don’t need to see you eat a rat, mate.” Punch-Up regarded before Mandy shut their conversation down and got the party started. Worries still evident in their hearts and minds still.

“Okay team, that’s the last call. Return back to SDN, we’re having that meeting conference,” Mandy said over the comms before removing the headset and standing up. As she did, she gave a quick glance over Robin’s setup, taking in the view and noting all the small decorations Robin had put up at her station. Minimalistic, yet filled with the important things Robin wanted to showcase—a photo of everyone at that night party.

Prism had taken the shot—more of a chaotic selfie than a proper photograph—but it didn’t matter. It held everyone in a single frame, their energy, their bond, the warmth they shared. Of course Robin had set it up; it was the kind of memory you wanted close.

Without meaning to, Mandy felt a small smile tug at the corner of her lips before she even realized it—and realizing that she was part of it. 

Not long after, or maybe it has, Bruno’s entrance snapped her out of her trance—the giant Golem stepping into the building with heavy, echoing footsteps as he started up the stairs. And it didn’t take Mandy long to realize where she should be.

Right! The conference!

While she hadn’t meant to, she must’ve seriously lost track of time, because by the time she hurried up the steps and pushed through the doors to the meeting room, everyone else was already there. She was the last to arrive.

“Ma’am,” Waterboy was the first and only one to vocally greet, while the others opted for a silent gesture of acknowledgement as they regarded her. All warm and kind as they smiled, waved or nodded her way. “Alright, so no sense to be alarmed. But, I got to ask. Has anyone seen Robin?”

“Nope,” Prism answered first, followed by the others with their own similar sense of “I haven’t,” “Nada,” “Not since I saw her eating those twinkies again,” or “Probably trapped under all those weight she’s doing at the gym” Flambae cheekily said.

“Okay, noted. For the second part of the shift, I’ll still be taking over for Robin, and so I’ll need you all to do your best out there.” Mandy said, before a smile creeped in as she added, “Make her proud.” 

Pretty much after, the second shift was nothing successful. And with the shift nearly done, Mandy gave herself the exception to pull out her phone to scroll until it landed on a message, their message and conversation. “Rain check”

Mandy’s mind drifted back to that night. The answer she’d gotten wasn’t what she’d hoped for—not by a long shot. It stung, enough to bruise her feelings and force her to hold onto whatever dignity she could. But what she didn’t expect was Robin showing up anyway, seeking her out when she thought she’d be left alone.

“I know I said ‘rain check,’” Robin said, her voice low, warm, and edged with her usual dry humor. “So I figured I’d come do a little checking… if you don’t mind.” Her heart kicked up sharply, and she could practically feel her pupils dilate the second her eyes met Robin’s. Robin, who was looking straight at her—steady, calm and giving that sense of safety and comfort—and Mandy tried to play it cool. She really did. But the moment she opened her mouth, the attempt fell apart. Her words tangled, her voice caught, and the confused look on her face probably said everything she didn’t want it to.

“Cat got your tongue?” Robin teased, her smile curling up enough to make her eyes wrinkle—little crescent-shaped smiles all their own. It was the kind of expression someone could get lost in, and both Blonde Blazer and Mandy easily could have. They easily did. 

“I thought you were busy?” Blazer asked, rising from her seat in the blue dress she had worn since much earlier in the day. “I am,” Robin replied, her smile, small and effortless, “just taking a little detour.” Again, it was the kind of smile that pulled at Blazer without warning—so easy, so genuine—that she caught herself returning it almost automatically. 

“Huh, is that right?” Blazer shot back, seemingly having gathered herself after the initial surprise. “Yup,” Robin said, still grinning, “and I can’t imagine it happens every day that a hero like the Blonde Blazer personally texts you, asking you out for a late dinner. Who in their right mind would say no to that?”

At the mention of the Blonde Blazer, her gaze dropped to the floor. She knew Robin had noticed, but she stayed silent—until she couldn’t.

“Wait.”

Blazer’s words tumbled out too quickly, and Robin’s smile faltered due to it. “Sure… what’s up?” Robin asked, concern threading her voice, her brown eyes locked on her. That steady gaze gave Blazer—Mandy, really—the courage to speak.

“This… isn’t what I look like.” 

Ever so slightly, Robin tilted her head, confusion mixed with respect in her expression. “I… don’t totally get what you mean, but… okay,” she said gently. With a scoff, perhaps at how ridiculous she was making this be, Blazer continued her attempt, “The powers make me… doesn’t matter. I’m just going to show you.” Her rapid speech made it clear it was important, and Robin noticed, just as Mandy noticed as Robin listened intently as she continued, “Are you good with that?”

“I… have absolutely no idea what’s about to happen, so this is kind of exciting,” Robin said, her voice warm, trying to put her at ease. And it worked—her disarming smile and casual confidence made everything feel lighter, almost effortless. Mandy felt it in her chest, a pull she couldn’t ignore. She wanted this. Wanted her.

Robin.

Blazer chuffed before saying, “Temper your expectations.” And without a moment later, she removed her red amulet and there. There it was. There. She was.

Mandy.

After a brief back-and-forth, Robin decided to stop Mandy from further brushing herself off. She stepped closer, closing the gap until Mandy could feel her breath. Then, soft but deliberate, Robin spoke:

“Hey… I’m Robin… it’s really nice to meet you…?”

“Mandy,” she whispered, voice tight. “Name’s Mandy.”

With a firm, soft and gentle handshake, Mandy felt seen and alive than she has for years.

Chapter Text

The memory dissolved, and Mandy blinked herself back into the present. Her phone screen glowed in her hand, Robin’s name waiting at the top of the chat. She already knew what she wanted to say, but finding the right tone—friendly, casual, not too intense—felt like stepping over a tripwire. 

Still, the worry beneath everything pushed her forward. 

She typed the words she’d been holding in her chest, read them once, then again. Until her thumb hovered over “send,” nerves tightening her breath. Then she exhaled—and tapped. 

“Hi, Robin. I know it’s random, but… are you alright? You were on my mind. Text me back when you get this.” 

The message shot off to Robin in a matter of seconds. Mandy barely had time to register the whoosh of it being sent before the panic could set in. She forced herself to focus on anything else—tasks she needed to finish, errands she’d been putting off—anything to keep herself from spiraling over a single text. And without Mandy noticing as she rushes off, Prism was watching SDN’s poster girl gushing over a message and she had an idea who it was regarding. 

Robin.

With a mischievous grin, Prism fired off a message to Visi, then another to Robin, demanding to know where on Earth she’d disappeared to—because without her on shift, Flambae had been talking nonstop, and nobody had been granted a single moment of silence. Not even someone like Blonde Blazer, or Mandy, to be exact.

“Gurl, you better text Robin before she ends up texting someone else… and it sure won’t be you, Visi. Oh! And ask her how she’s doing. She hasn’t shown up since the start of the shift, and it’s got everyone on edge—Blazer included.”

To say Courtney was surprised didn’t even come close. A dozen emotions flared at once—small, sharp bursts like fireworks—crackling through her chest and ricocheting through her mind. Shock that Robin hadn’t shown up. Worry that something might have happened. And jealousy—quiet, stubborn, and obvious, even without explanation. Some feelings just spoke for themselves. And it was a telling sign for Courtney.

She dragged herself upright, a soft hiss slipping out when the motion sent a dull ache through her body. For a moment she just sat there, breathing through it, before letting her gaze fall to her phone waiting quietly on the bedside table.

“Hey, Robin,” she typed and sent before she could overthink it. The second message took longer—her gaze flicking between Robin’s name and her steady fingers hovering over the letters, unsure how to phrase the worry tightening in her chest without sounding worried. Until finally, she settled on the simplest version of the truth: “Where are you?” And with one breath, she sent it.

As for Prism, a message came from her as well to Robin—on behalf of the whole team—expressing their growing concern at her whereabouts. 

Each message was opened in order—tapped, read, and abandoned without a shred of dignity. A low, velvety laugh slithered through the room as the woman prowled toward the main attraction: Robin, bound and dangling upside down like a trophy.

She dropped to a crouch before her, holding up Robin’s phone between two fingers.

“Oooh, popular girl,” she purred, scrolling with erratic flicks of her thumb, her grin stretched too wide, too sharp. “Look at them—worried sick about you. Adorable.”

Then, without warning, the grin evaporated. Replaced.

Her whole face slackened into an unnervingly serene calm—voice soft, almost tender, as she whispered, “They really care about you, you know.”

A beat. Silence, except for their breathing—shallow, uneven—and Robin’s sharp brown eyes locked onto the villain’s green ones with a dagger-like intensity. Not a word, not a blink. Then, a tiny twitch. One eye spasming, a crack in the stillness, like something breaking loose behind the villain’s calm façade. And just like that, the manic smile snapped back into place. She laughed—high, delighted, unhinged—and mocked the next message with theatrical cruelty.

“What is it that you want?” Robin rasped, forcing the words out past the ache in her throat. “Do I even know you?” It was the first thing she’d managed to say since the ambush—since being captured, strung up, and dragged through whatever twisted “fun” this woman had in mind. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, tilting her head as if Robin had said something adorable. “If you knew me, this would be a lot less fun. But you wound me by not.” She tapped Robin’s cheek with the phone—light, teasing, cruel. With a smile, she stood up as she pretended to be deep in thought. “What I want? Mmm… everything you’ve been pretending not to notice.”

What could that mean?

Robin had no idea what the woman was talking about, and her bewildered stare only seemed to amuse her captor further. The kidnapper burst into sharp, delighted laughter, as if Robin’s confusion was the punchline to her favorite joke. 

“I refuse to believe you haven’t noticed it yourself,” she purred. “But denial is the first roadblock to greatness. And I won’t let you hide behind it, Robin.”

Her face shifted again—so fast it almost made Robin flinch—snapping from chillingly serene calm, to unhinged delight and wildness. The kind of calm that didn’t belong on a human face. And when she leaned in and whispered Robin’s name, soft and intimate, the creepiness of it crawled all the way down her spine.

“So I’m going to start with your friends.” At her words Robin tensed, every muscle pulling instinctively against the ropes—pointless, but automatic. “Leave them out of this,” she said, voice low but steady. It was all she had left to control.

The woman’s smile froze.

Then, slowly, impossibly, it grew wider.

“Oooh,” she breathed, her tone turning sing-song. “There it is. The heroic plea.”
She clapped once, delighted. “I was waiting for that.” For a brief moment her silhouette jittered in the dim light, but she continued on without regard, “See, the thing about your friends is…” she spun once, gracefully, like she was dancing to music only she could hear. “...they’re so loud. So bright. So… easy to track.”

Her voice cut to a whisper mid-spin. Almost childlike. “But you… you disappeared so beautifully.” She stepped close again—too close—placing two fingers beneath Robin’s chin and then to her cheeks as if caressing a lover’s face.

Okay, I should definitely know who this is… but who?

Robin’s head spun—the fear she had been burying since being kidnapped finally catching up. The severity was much worse than she had imagined. Tied upside down, the world tilted around her, and every flicker of movement from the woman above made her stomach lurch. It felt like Flambae’s situation all over again—but worse. This one knew her identity. This one didn’t care about reform. 

Her chest constricted, blood rushed to her head, and her pulse pounded in her temples. Thoughts collided, scrambled, and slipped just out of reach. She tried to steady her breath, but it came in shallow, frantic gasps. Every second stretched, every shadow threatened, and helplessness gnawed at her with a cruel, unrelenting bite.

She watched in silence, studying every flicker across Robin’s face, savoring the way fear and panic twisted her features. Then, almost gently, she spoke. “And I worked so hard to catch you.” Her sharp eyes softened for just a heartbeat, betraying a fleeting, eerie hint of mournfulness. 

“It really hurt my feelings… when you fought back.” The words dripped with false tenderness, though she could sense some genuine in them, while all the same Robin could feel the menace hidden just beneath the softness.

Robin swallowed before biting back. “Then why do this?” 

Another twitch. Her expression cracked wide open again. 

“Because I can.”

“And someone like you? Someone who pretends to be unbreakable? Another layer of your little pretenses. Ohhh, you make the best noises when you’re scared.” Robin’s eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, ready to fire back a sharp retort—but a soft, commanding finger pressed to her lips silenced her before the words could escape.

“Shh.”

“Don’t lie,” the woman whispered almost lovingly. “I can hear your heartbeat.” She leaned in, her breath warm against Robin’s ear. “And soon… they will hear it too.” In a split moment, she stepped back, twirling the phone around her finger, a manic grin tearing across her face.

“Shall we send them something fun?”

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do this,” the doctor said, his tone gentle yet unyielding. The nurses moved in quickly, trying to keep Courtney from tearing out the IV line snaking from her arm to the fluid bag swaying beside the bed.

Courtney twisted, panic flaring bright in her eyes. “No–no, I have to go! You don’t understand—I have to!” Her voice cracked into a desperate cry. The nearest nurse, a woman with soft eyes, met Courtney’s amber gaze—concern sharpening her own expression—before placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Please, sweetheart. Don’t move. You’re going to hurt yourself.” 

But Robin! She’s hurting!

She shook her head violently, breath hitching, and uncaring about her own health and the stitches that were reopening her bullet wound. “She’s out there—she’s out there somewhere. I–I… she needs me–” 

“Courtney.” The doctor spoke once again, leaning in just enough for her to hear over her own frantic breaths. “You’re in no condition to stand, let alone go anywhere. Your body is still in shock, still recovering. If you pull that line out, you’ll only be hurting yourself and collapsing before you reach the door.” 

Fuck!

She stopped—frozen and contemplating—as her fingers twitched toward the IV again before another nurse caught her wrist, holding it gently but firm enough to not leave a bruise. “We’re not your enemies,” the doctor this time said softly. “Let us help you.” 

For the first time, Courtney’s eyes wavered—anger mixing with fear, fear mixing with something deeper, something broken that could shake her to the core. Losing someone that made her world whole. Her voice came out much smaller than before, but the feeling behind them was more than can be said in words. “I… I can’t lose her.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. The doctor and nurses exchanged a look—professional calm softening into genuine understanding. “Then let us make sure you don’t lose yourself first,” the doctor said gently. 

But Courtney only shook her head, pain tightening her voice. “I’m sorry… but I can’t afford to.” 

Okay. This is getting out of hand. Where is Robin?

The discussion in the conference room had taken a grim turn. It had been days—too many—and still no response from Robin. The silence pressed on the Z-Team like a weight. 

The first day, they joked, even placed a few harmless bets about where she was or what trouble she’d gotten into this time. But by the second day, the humor had died. By the third, worry had settled in like a fog, creeping into their thoughts, slowing their reactions, dragging their performance in the field down with it. 

Something was wrong. And they all knew it.

The tension in the conference room didn’t just thicken—it strangled. It pressed against the walls, seeped beneath the door, settled heavily onto every person present until breathing felt like effort. 

Blonde Blazer paced in a tight line, boots striking the floor in sharp, clipped beats. Her arms were crossed so tightly over her chest, her shoulders trembled, knuckles bone-white where her gloves strained. She kept glancing at the clock, then at the silent comms device on the table—as if sheer willpower could make it buzz.

Waterboy sat hunched forward in his chair, shoulders drawn up around his ears. He gnawed on his thumbnail so aggressively he nearly broke skin, eyes dark with sleeplessness. Every few seconds, his leg bounced, then stopped—aware he was being anxious—only then to start again. 

Coop sat apart from them, spine stiff, hands clasped so tightly her bandages wrinkled around her knuckles. Bruises still peeked from beneath her suit and along her jaw. Her eyes stared ahead—unblinking, distant—like she was replaying something awful over and over.

Sure—Robin had been the one to cut her from the team. Sure—she’d lashed out, taken the worst path possible, and thrown herself into Shroud’s arms out of spite. Sure—she’d ruined everything, like half of the city. And sure—Robin had still forgiven her, still reached back for her when she didn’t deserve it at the end of it all.

Therefore, even if she wasn’t as close to Robin as the others, the fear still carved into her the same way—deep, unexpected, and merciless. Robin had believed in her still when she hadn’t even believed in herself, not after the mess, of course. And that mattered. More than she’d ever admitted. 

The thought of losing someone like that. It hurt in a way, she supposed. A sharp, nauseating pain that sat just beneath her ribs and refused to move. It was uncomfortable, and she didn’t like it one bit. 

And beside her, Punch Up looked just as wrecked—maybe even worse. For once, he wasn’t pacing or ranting or demanding another search route. All that noise he’d been making during the first few days had burned out, leaving only this quiet, exhausted shell in its place. He sat slumped forward at the desk, fingers laced so tightly his knuckles had gone white, his forehead resting against their trembling cage. 

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe too loudly.

Just sat there—small, stubborn, steady Punch Up—trying with everything he had not to fall apart. He looked like a solid little boulder placed under the weight of something far too heavy for it, holding on out of pure will even as cracks threatened to split him open. 

Looking around the room, Coop took in the sight of her teammates—each of them unraveling in their own quiet way. While Flambae was showcasing a sight of uncaring nonchalance, she knew better than what he was actually feeling, despite having his legs prompted on the desk. Meanwhile, Malevola stared at the floor deep in thought, quiet yet loud at the same time at the sight. 

Everyone was fraying. Everyone was worried.

And finally—finally—something broke the suffocating silence.

Blonde Blazer drew in a sharp breath, straightened, and spoke. 

“It’s been nearly a week.” Blonde Blazer’s voice cracked through the room like a whip. She stopped pacing, turning to the others with a jaw so tense it looked painful. “Robin never disappears this long. Not without leaving a damn note. Not without—anything.”

“We checked her apartment twice,” Malevola said, voice hollowed out from worry. “Her old usual routes, her favorite snack place—she’s not anywhere. It's like she…” Malevola swallowed hard, throat clicking. “Like she vanished.”

“I know…” Mandy agreed, thinking back to the billboard sign that seems to be their special spot, and even there, Robin wasn’t there. 

“And that,” Sonar whispered, barely audible, “is what has us on the edge the most.” The silence bites back—heavy, and drowning the room with it. Until it shattered.

The conference doors burst open so violently they ricocheted off the wall. A young junior dispatcher staggered in, chest heaving, eyes wide with terror so raw it sliced through the room like ice water.

“All of you–y–you need to see this! Right now! The TV—someone hijacked the broadcast!” Without waiting for context or explanation, the words hit like a shockwave. It felt like something related to Robin. And with their hunch, some of the team were already on their feet, as the rest leapt from their chairs and scrambled after them. Chairs screeched against the floor, and footsteps thundered down the hall as the Z-Team surged into the office bullpen, hearts pounding.

As they spilled into place in a rush of pounding hearts, a few dispatchers and others were already kept waiting—staring up at the wall of monitors. The screens were still black—unnervingly black—reflecting the team’s twisted faces back at them in fractured pieces.

Mandy stepped closer, chest rising and falling too fast. Coop hovered beside her, arms rigid at her sides, eyes flicking between the blank screens like she was supposed to wait for a punchline from a joke. The others were in a similar spot—waiting in gruelling anticipation.

Then the screens glitched.

A sharp crackle of static ripped through the speakers, jagged and violent enough to make a few people flinch. The blackness warped—flickered—struggled like something clawing its way out from behind the broadcast.

And then she appeared.

Robin.

Upside down.

Hanging by her ankles from a steel hook, her body swaying slightly as if the slightest movement of the air disturbed her. Blood matted her auburn hair, dark streaks trailing down toward the floor. The blood, fresh, wet still—a clear sign of recent torture. Robin’s face was swollen, cut, bruised and spotted with violent splashes of purple and red. Then a wet, rattling cough escaped her lips, and her eyes—God, her eyes—were half-open, glassy, unfocused, drifting without anchoring to anything. 

She was barely hanging on to consciousness. 

Without meaning to, Mandy’s breath hitched at the sight, her fingers curling instinctively against her chest. Prism, meanwhile, stumbled back a step—wide-eyed, pupils darting like she expected the image to leap off the screen. Sonar, for his part, let out a small, sharp curse, the kind he only used when genuinely shaken. He dragged a hand down his face, jaw tight, forcing himself to look away for a heartbeat before snapping his gaze back to the screen, equal parts dread and determination tightening his posture.

Just then the picture sharpened just enough to reveal movement beside Robin. And stepped into frame a woman. Her smile was painted on—too wide, too bright—smeared red lipstick sketching like a child had drawn it with trembling hands. Her hair cascaded around her face in soft curls that did nothing to soften the deranged gleam in her eyes.

At just the sight of her, everyone in the Z-Team glared, hard, as they focused on the clip. “Hellooo, Z-Team,” she sang, voice lilting like she was hosting a show. “You can call me…” She tapped her chin, eyes flicking playfully from one camera to another, before grinning with all her teeth.

“Jester.”

With a soft, almost satisfied hum, Jester turned from the camera and shifted her attention to the captive hanging just behind her. The woman dangled upside down, swaying faintly with each shallow breath, her strength long since drained by blood rushing to her head and the restraints biting into her ankles. Jester regarded her with the calm fondness of someone admiring a wind chime rather than a suffering prisoner.

Then, with that same theatrical lightness in her step, she strolled over to Robin. She crouched just enough to meet the woman’s inverted gaze, cupping Robin’s cheek with a disturbingly affectionate touch. Her thumb dragged through a streak of blood, smearing it lazily across Robin’s skin as though adjusting a line in a painting. 

“Always the bleeder, aren’t you?”

Then bringing back her attention to her audience, “Tsk. Look at you,” she chided sweetly. “Your poor dispatcher has been waiting for you. Days and days and d–ays.” 

Robin coughed, body trembling, and Jester immediately shushed her, pressing a finger to her cracked lips. “Easy now, sweetheart. Don’t make too much noise. You wouldn’t want them to worry more than they already are.” 

“Fucking asshole,” Punch Up retorted, before Jester continued, “You want her back?” she asked softly. Tilting her head, and blinking slowly like an animal savoring its prey, she cuts through the build-up and hype. “Come find us. Clock’s ticking.”

Then the screen glitched again. And it cuts to Jester holding a syringe filled with a glowing red fluid—unnatural, sickly, ominous.

“What– No!” Mandy choked out, her voice cracking under the weight of panic. She lurched forward as if she could somehow close the distance in time, but the moment had already slipped away. 

Before anyone else could breathe a word, Jester seized Robin’s jaw with a snap of cold precision. The needle pierced her neck in one swift, practiced motion.

Robin arched upward instantly, a strangled scream ripping free—a raw, broken sound that made Prism flinch and Sonar’s stomach twist. Her back tightened against the restraints as her body reacted violently, every muscle locking at once. She trembled uncontrollably, fighting the invisible surge tearing through her nerves, her breath shattering into desperate, quivering gasps.

The scream dwindled into fractured whimpers as Robin struggled to stay conscious, her limbs shaking from the force of it all, while Jester watched with an almost curious patience—like she was waiting to see what shape the suffering would take next.

It wasn’t just hurting.

It was pain.

Pure, unbearable, burning pain—like acid pumping through her bloodstream.

The sight—the sound—the sheer wrongness of Robin’s agony hit the Z-Team like a physical blow. 

Punch Up’s knees nearly gave out; he staggered as though someone had knocked the wind from his lungs. His breath came in a shocked, uneven rush, eyes wide and disbelieving, as if the world had tilted under his feet. Something akin to a boxer being caught so off-guard it freezes him. 

While Golem slapped his hands over his ears, but it barely helped. His face twisted, jaw clenched tight, and he squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head away from the screen. Even in the darkness behind his eyelids, the sound still cut straight through him—sharp, merciless—making his shoulders hunch like he was bracing for impact.

Mandy didn’t move, not at all.

Didn’t blink.

Couldn’t breathe.

Stuck, frozen in place, horror carved rigidly across her face as she watched Robin writhe, powerless to even look away.

On the screen, Jester slid an arm around Robin’s shaking body with chilling tenderness, holding her through the agony she caused. She whispered something against Robin’s ear—soft, almost soothing, though the microphone didn’t pick up a word. However, the expression on her face said enough.

She enjoyed this.

Then Jester lifted her head. Slow. Deliberate. Her eyes found the camera with unnerving calm, her smile serene in a way that made the room feel colder and Robin’s life ebbing away with every moment she was with her.

“Time’s running out.” 

The screen snapped to black. Silence fell—heavy, suffocating—broken only by the jagged, uneven breathing of the Z-Team as the horror of what they’d just witnessed sank in, sharp and devastating.

Chapter Text

The moment the broadcast cut to black, the whole place froze. It felt as though time itself had latched onto their bones, locking every limb, every heartbeat, every breath. For a heartbeat—then another, then several—no one inhaled. They were too stunned, too suspended in that horrible silence, to even realize they’d stopped breathing at all.

The television lurched back to the studio—no smooth transition, no polished calm. The news anchor stared into the camera, stunned, their face a mirror to everyone else’s. The stack of papers in their hands were steady, fixed, but the underlying edges of being caught off guard was there. The studio lights also seemed to reflect off their glassy eyes, making their shock impossible to hide. 

“W–we… apologize,” they stammered, voice thin, “we were not informed… that footage–” they swallowed hard, visibly reeling. The broadcast room behind them buzzed with frantic movement, silhouettes scrambling, someone whispering urgently into the anchor’s earpiece.

The world was reacting. And for starters, for once, even the news didn’t pretend everything was fine—and the honesty of their fear only made the situation feel more real, more dire, more horrifying. Especially to them. 

The Z-Team. Their small circle of friends—family. 

Before anything else could happen, Prism broke first. She shook off just enough of the suffocating shock to speak, drawing a few pairs of eyes toward her, speaking everyone’s mind. “What the fuck–” The words—laced with absolute confusion—trembled out of her as they wondered why was Robin there. It didn’t make sense. None of it was.

But Prism didn’t get the chance to finish. The sound of her voice snapped Sonar violently back into himself. His fork slipped from his fingers and hit the floor—far too loud in the dead-silent office—but he didn’t spare it a glance.

He just stood there, eyes locked on the television, the plate of food still clutched in his other hand—the same plate he’d carried in from the conference room at the start of the meeting, now held like he’d forgotten it existed.

Then, in a voice at once flat, numb, and trembling with agitation, he muttered, “I’m eating that lady. Because, what the fuck.”

As the rest of the Z-Team erupted into overlapping questions—everyone talking over everyone else—Waterboy didn’t join in. His reaction wasn’t verbal at all. His face flushed a deep, angry red, heat rising all the way to his ears. It was unlike his usual demeanor—that was the opposite of Flambae. His hands curled into fists so tight the tendons. His breath turned harsh; short, hot bursts of air flared from his nose, each one sharper than the last.

Then he turned slowly but sharply toward Mandy. The movement brought her attention—she blinked, pulled from her own spiral of dread. “We have to rescue him… ma’am– Mandy…” His voice broke on the second word, softer, more human. Waterboy didn’t often speak with conviction. And he almost never did. Yet, he looked at Mandy like she was the last anchor in the spinning room.

Despite feeling as though her heart had dropped into her stomach, her fingers slowly curling into her palms—her nails digging crescents into her skin without her noticing, a habit she fell into when trying to stave off anxiety—she nodded silently. The worry in her eyes was raw. Too raw, perhaps. And if anyone had looked closely, they would’ve seen the truth she kept buried deeper than her badge allowed.

Robin wasn’t just a teammate to her.

But Mandy swallowed it all back, her lips pressing into a thin line as she forced herself to stand straighter. Just as she was about to get the team’s attention, a gust of wind and a blur of lightning rushed in, and Track Star skidded to a stop at the entrance. His chest rose and fell rapidly, sweat glistening on his temples—not from exhaustion, not from sprinting across half the city, but from the moment he saw the broadcast.

He swept his gaze across the team, cold and laser-focused, until his eyes landed on Mandy. They softened just a fraction, but enough for Mandy to understand he was with her on whatever comes next, that he’d seen everything, and that she wasn’t going in it alone. Then, much like Mandy, Track Star straightened his back, jaw tight, and said, “I ain’t say nothin’ but this—we getting her back.” 

All around them, employees had stopped in their tracks—hovering, watching, waiting for something to happen. The tension in the room clung to the air like static, everyone expecting… something. 

Track Star stepped forward and waved them off. “Nothing else to see here, folks,” he called out, doing his best to keep his voice steady and casual. And, while it wasn’t perfect, it worked. Slowly, reluctantly, the crowd began to disperse. Whispers washing over the SDN.

Turning back his attention to the team, he addressed them, “I saw the clip,” he said, each word chosen carefully, like he was building a wall around his emotions. “It was broadcast all over LA.” He met the eyes of Prism, Sonar, Waterboy, Mandy, and the rest of the Z-Team. “We’re finding Robin.” No one argued. Not when that was the only thing on their mind. 

“Alright, you certified shits—conference room. Don’t want anyone else crowding the floor more than it already is–” Chase barked, already herding them like unruly livestock. The team started toward the stairs, murmurs still buzzing between them. 

Then the elevator dinged. 

It wouldn’t have been enough to snap every head around. But the blur of familiar purple that flashed into their peripheral vision—that did. Courtney. She stumbled out—loud, chaotic, hair whipped into a frenzy, and her signature jacket thrown over her arm, with a bag swinging open like she’d sprinted the whole way to the place. But no one reacted to her disheveled state. No.

The shock came from something else. 

She was there. Here.

Not at the hospital. Where she was supposed to be.

“Isn’t she supposed to be resting? What—everybody suddenly tanking hits like Phenomaman now?” Flambae blurted out, but no one dignified it with a response—not even Invisigal. She approached the group with deliberate, steady steps, ignoring the tension and the stares as she cut straight to the heart of it. Her gaze swept over the team, paused on Mandy, then locked onto Chase. “Whatever it is… count me in,” she rasped. 

She held Chase’s stare—a silent challenge, a plea, a promise—for one brief, charged breath before Chase exhaled once and nodded. As much as Mandy would have wanted to refute, seeing the exhausted and really-needed-recovering state Courtney was in—she understood her. Therefore, choosing her feelings over procedure, she and Malevola stepped toward Invisigal, noting once again the exhaustion in Courtney’s uneven breaths and shaky stance. 

With a silent gesture, she signaled for the rest of the team to head on to the conference room. All the while Malevola crouched in front of Courtney, tilting her head to the side as she offered a small, teasing smile—softening the grimness hanging over them since the broadcast. “Come on, love. You’re beat,” she murmured. 

Malevola braced herself as Courtney slumped onto her back, securing her grip before rising to her feet while Mandy stayed close at her side, hands half-raised, ready to catch Courtney if she slipped even an inch.

“You okay?” Mandy asked quietly as they made their way up the stairs.
There was a long pause before Courtney breathed out, “No. But I sure as hell will be once we get her home.” Her face tightened—stern, shaken, brimming with emotions. In response, Mandy reached out, placing a steady hand on her arm, grounding her. Maybe grounding herself, too. Maybe grounding all of them. 

“We will,” she said—soft, certain, and exactly what everyone needed.

A smile that appreciated her comment broke from Courtney’s face. Before silence fell on them until they reached the conference room.

After hours upon hours, with a lot of moving, and a whole lot of work put into finding Robin, Royd had been brought in with Galen to search through the internet, electronics—anything that could help. Down at the labs, Royd already had three monitors glowing while Galen tapped into a portable rig beside him. Wires sprawled across the table as streams of code rolled like water across the screens.

“We’re tracing the IP that hijacked the broadcast,” Royd muttered at first—then corrected himself with a low, resigned sigh. “Eh… this one, they messy, yeah. Real messy. Kinda arrogant too. They want us to see it.”

Galen added, “Nodes bouncing through Eastern Europe and Mexico City. Old darknet tunnels. It’ll take time. But that’s just where this woman has been. And she’s been through every part of the continent.”

Track Star nodded. “Take it. You two handle support on this. Find what you can—but be careful,” Chase instructed, speaking through the earpiece that had been distributed among the team so they could maintain constant contact. So while the ‘support team’ was down in Royd’s lab, the ‘task team,’ as Chase had put it, remained in the conference room for one last briefing before dismissal.

But that plan hadn’t started smoothly.

Most especially when Courtney wasn’t meant to go with them. So when Chase first laid out assignments, he hadn’t even looked at her at first until only at the end of his sentence. “–with that Invisigal stays here,” he said, tone final. “You’re not cleared for field work yet. You’ll stay in the lab with Royd—Galen too.”

Courtney stiffened. “I’m not sitting behind a desk while she’s out there.” From her seat, she pushed the chair back when she stood. Mad and frustrated, which only seemed to be fueled when Chase replied, arms crossed, “That’s not up for discussion.”

“It is for me,” Courtney snapped. The raw edge in her voice made a few of the Z-Team shoot her a concerning look. “I’m fine. I can walk, I can think, and I can get things done!” 

Mandy stepped in before the argument escalated. “Courtney, you should rest–” 

“I did rest,” Courtney shot back. “I rested while someone tied Robin to a chair and dragged her God-knows-where.”

The room went painfully quiet.

Chase exhaled hard. Courtney has never been easy to deal with. He knew that. “Courtney, we’re not risking you. Not when we don’t have to. And you can help us by helping Royd or Galen at the lab–” “Then send someone else to the lab,” she growled. “I’m going.”

Royd, who had been half-listening through the comms, suddenly scoffed. “Eh, Chase… send her with the team.”

Galen looked up from his rig and nodded. “She’s not gonna sit still down here anyway. And we need someone who can actually keep up if things go south.” At their response Courtney pointed at Chase with both hands, as if to emphasize further. “See? The nerds agree.”

Mandy pinched the bridge of her nose. “Courtney, you’re–”

But Chase raised a hand, stopping her.

For a long moment, he stared at Courtney as though weighing the risks, the stakes, and sheer stubbornness radiating off her. It seems he has been doing that frequently now since. “...You better not get yourself fucked up, you hear?” Chase said, before muttering something along, “Team B takes Invisgal with y’all.” 

She didn’t expect it. Honestly. Therefore, when she exhaled shakily—not with relief, not victory, but rather a heavy feeling of understanding instead—she gave Chase a firm response. “I won’t disappoint you, old man.”

“Okay motherfucker, and everyone else—dismissed! Get to your tasks!” Immediately, the team split, attending to their objectives as Invisigal stood with Mandy, Sonar, Golem, and Flambae. As they exited SDN, Flambae stopped at the entrance to ask, “Okay so who’s car are we using because I’m not carrying all of you at once.”

Chapter Text

When Flambae abruptly halted at the entrance, causing Sonar to bump into him with an indignant “Hey–!” Flambae planted his fists on his hips and announced to the world: 

“Okay so who’s car are we using because I’m not carrying all of you at once.”

Sonar blinked at him. “Why would you carry us? Why is that even your first option? I can fly myself. Though… it’d be hard to carry big guy here.” He gestured toward Golem, who shrugged. “Please don’t attempt to carry me. You’ll break something.” Before Flambae cut in, “Yeah well only when you’re in your wild triggered bat-form.” 

Silence. Until Sonar fully agreed without so much as a rebuttal. “Eh.” 

Relenting to the situation that hadn’t been properly thought out, Mandy took control, a sharp inhale before speaking. “Flambae, you’re carrying Visi. Sonar, on me. Bruno…” she gives him a sympathetic look and a soft smile, “...how does taking the scenic route sound to you?”

Without missing a beat, he nonchalantly replied, “Sounds good to me.” With a nod, Mandy and Visi got to their ‘planes’ as Courtney put it before they took flight and skipped ahead. As cold wind struck their faces, the weather was humid, and to break the uneasy silence, Flambae spoke up. “So, I can’t believe anyone would kidnap Robin. An ordinary person without talent. Honestly I can’t think why.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice, until he was met with the same from Visi. “Can’t believe that to whistle—all you needed to do was to knock your front teeth out.” 

Mandy chuckled at her comment, apologizing immediately after when both of them looked over to her, Courtney smiling and Flambae looking seemingly done with Visi. “I will drop you, Visi. Do not tempt me. I will.”

“Hate to break what may be entertaining but we’re nearly there,” Sonar interrupted, bringing all of their attention to the tall corporate tv studio that broadcasted the news. Pulling into the parking lot of the LA Broadcast Center. The station’s large glass facade reflected the sunny sky—bright, cherry, and offensively normal for the gravity of the day. 

Sonar stretched like he’d aged fifty years, bones not at all cracking, as he spoke out to them like children out on a school trip. “Okay. Professional faces on, people.” That of which Flambae cracked his knuckles, swung his arms, tired from having to hold Visi in a bridal style, only to say “I only have one face and it’s gorgeous, so—done.”

“Alright pole-dancer and hobo rat, let’s do more searching and less talking.” Visi says with a teasing tone as she follows Mandy who already has moved on ahead. 

Inside the station, the receptionist seemed absolutely taken by surprise not by the sight of superheroes from the SDN, but who they were—the ones who had defeated Shroud and the Red Ring. As Mandy neared, she flashed her badge. “SDN. We’re here about the broadcast intrusion.”

“Y-yes—of course,” the receptionist stammered, before she composed herself and gestured toward the secured hall after providing them clearance with the ID she had for each of them. As they entered the broadcasting floor, after an awkward silence throughout the long elevator ride, Sonar immediately cupped his ears, scanning soundwaves like radar—already sensing something.

“I’m picking up… faint buzzing in the walls. An echo of something broadcast externally, not internally. Weird. Just what we’re looking for.” At once, Mandy follows him as she gestures to the rest to split up to look for any other clues. “Great working, Sonar. Try to find where it is. The others try to find if there’s any other beside what we just picked up.” 

Investigating the place—or rather loitering and snooping—Flambae put his hands behind his head, wandering like a bored cat. “Do we get snacks? Crime investigation always has snacks in shows.” 

He was ignored. And just before it could continue on in silence, the floor vibrating announced Golem’s arrival. “Hey Golem,” Visi greeted, happy to see Bruno made it. Simultaneously, as he just came into the studio he also noticed something already out of place. Curious, Golem knelt beside the server racks, running thick stone fingers across the metal. “I’m not a computer genius—but someone opened this panel. Recently. If the slight terrible cover-up is an indicator.” 

Being behind his massive shoulder, Visi looked over and her gaze followed the cable before she pointed at it. “This one’s… out of place. Seems like someone tempered with it in a hurry—plugged somethin’ in that didn’t belong.”

“Got something over here!” Visi called out, and in moments the rest of the team came over, each falling into their groove. When they’ve gathered, Visi moved to the main console with Mandy watching as she gave Flambae an order, “Check the external roof receivers.” 

“Sonar—track the direction of the audio anomaly.” He nodded in response to Mandy, eyes narrowing before leaving to check. “Golem—open that panel. Carefully.” Mandy emphasized to an extent, especially if there was a tripwire that would set up an explosion. Golem peeled it open like it was a fragile pastry.

After minutes passed with tension and the anticipation of a lead. 

CLANK.

Golem froze. “I found something.” Visi and Mandy gathered, leaving the main console briefly as they inspected what Bruno discovered. Inside the panel was a thin, sleek device—plugged into the station’s fiber line. Black, unmarked, humming faintly.

Just then, Sonar returned, leaning in. “What the hell… it’s a–” Mandy exhaled. “A broadcast jacker. Whoever inserted this wasn’t just hijacking the station—they were puppeteering all frequencies.”

Flambae whistled. “So like… supervillain Chromecast?” “No,” Mandy said grimly. “Worse.” Upon the mention of the situation being worse than it is, Visi squinted as she spotted something else. “Wait… hey… this brand on the side. Isn’t that—?” 

Everyone stared.

Sonar cursed. “Oh, that’s familiar.” Everyone turned to look at him. While others waited for him to continue, Flambae frowned. “Why? What’s that symbol anyway?” In a grand reveal, Royd spoke through the comms. 

“…It’s a manufacturer Mecha Man used to work with.”

Silence.

“Well,” Flambae said softly. “That’s not good.”