Chapter Text
Robert handed out the drinks reluctantly. He was fairly certain they only invited him so he would be the one paying. When he set Sonar's drink down on the edge of the pool table, a hand clamped around his forearm, stopping him.
"Wait, uhm." Sonar’s voice wavered, uneven. "This is kinda hard for me-but-" He muttered, ears slightly lowered, gaze darting away from Robert for a moment. It was the first time Robert had ever seen him like this.
Reliable. Dangerous, sure, but reliable.
"I-I know it was probably by the books. Bottom line kinda decision but..." Sonar finally met his eyes. "Thanks." He managed to say at last.
It hadn’t been long since Robert started working with Team-Z. They were all interesting in their own ways. The beginning had been rough, everyone sneaking sabotage and shade, but they’d gotten there in the end. Sadly, he had to let Coupe go.
Sonar stood out to him: sharp-minded, calculating, and impossibly confident in his own abilities. Too confident. Cunning and arrogant—the kind of man Robert never expected to hear a “thanks” from.
Robert smiled and gave Sonar a quick pat on the shoulder. He started to turn away, but Sonar wasn’t finished.
"You wanna go bar hopping with me and Malevola?" Sonar asked, back in that flat, uninflected tone that made it impossible to tell if he was joking or issuing a public service announcement. "We could start at that place with the sticky floors, or maybe the one that charges extra for ice cubes, like it’s a luxury item. And I’m thinking after that we hit the dive with the jukebox that only plays sad 90s hits, because why not, right? Honestly, it’s not just a night out, it’s a full cultural experience of regret and questionable life choices."
Robert raised an eyebrow. "Wow, truly a once-in-a-lifetime offer," he said dryly. "But I’m gonna pass before I end up explaining to local authorities why one of you hisses while hanging on ceiling fans."
Sonar tilted his head. "Nahh, I’m sure it'll be fine."
Robert, however, wasn’t so sure. He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah… I wouldn’t bet on it."
Before they could exchange another word, Malevola strode in, smirking, her arm draped over Sonar’s shoulder. She leaned on him casually while juggling down her drink. "Actually," she said, voice dripping with amusement, "you have turned before. Remember that night we went out? After hooking up with one of the strippers?"
Sonar blinked slowly. "Oh yeah… that totally rings a bell."
Malevola grinned wider. "I remember her running away. Thankfully that wasn’t our money wasted."
"She couldn’t handle my freak," Sonar said. Then, with a slow, deliberate point at himself, he added, "Then she can’t handle all this."
Robert threw up his hands. "Yeah, I rest my case. Don’t think I want to deal with you two, especially when I’m off work."
"Oh, come on," Malevola protested, grinning. "It’ll be fun. The night didn’t end badly at all… if I remember correctly."
"Firstly, I feel like you’re going to use my wallet as your bank, and that you’re hoping I’d spill about who I am when I’m wasted." Malevola raised her hands in surrender, chuckling. "Damn, okay. We just wanted to get to know you more. I promise, this time you won’t be buying drinks."
Sonar lifted his drink and drained it in one smooth, almost cinematic motion, then set the glass down with a soft clink that echoed like punctuation on a speech. "You’re already here, Bobby Boy. You should get the most out of this night. Since when have you gone out like this?" His monotone made it impossible to tell if he was teasing or genuinely curious, which, knowing Sonar, was probably the point.
"Not that long," Robert said, a crooked grin spreading across his face. "I like to keep my debutante appearances rare. Makes them memorable." He tilted his head, pretending to sip air as if it were fine wine, the kind only rich people in movies complain about.
"Come on, we’ll take care of you. I can portal all of us home," Sonar added, flat as ever, casually offering to move entire civilizations instead of just a few people across the city.
"I'm not going to tell you which superhero I am, okay," Robert said, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed in mock defensiveness. His tone carried the perfect blend of self-importance and amused resignation, the kind that made everyone silently question why they were even trying to pry answers out of him.
"But the money’s on the line. You didn’t give us great hints," Malevola interjected, smirking as she leaned on the table, clearly enjoying the absurdity of Robert pretending to be mysterious while everyone else pretended to take him seriously.
"It’s supposed to be a secret," Robert replied, rolling his eyes so hard it was a minor miracle they didn’t get stuck. With a final, theatrical sigh, he excused himself toward the bar, half-listening to Malevola’s sing-song voice trailing behind him: "We’ll get him next time."
His eyes scanned the room, landing on Invisigal sitting alone brooding. He decided she looked like better company tonight and made his way over, perfectly aware that even this small choice wouldn’t keep the night from going south. Not that he expected it to.
Robert had just started talking to Invisigal, settling into what looked like a rare, quiet moment, when it all began to unravel.
A guy with short hands, clearly annoyed that someone like Robert was even in a villain’s hangout, shouted at him. In the next instant, Robert found himself thrown across the room, colliding with a menacing figure wielding a pool cue, only to get smacked in the head by it.
That one hit was all it took. Chaos cascaded through the room like a line of falling dominoes. Glasses shattered, chairs toppled, and people shoved and scrambled over each other. Fists flew, drinks spilled, and screams bounced off the walls.
Punch-up was a whirlwind of pain, delivering strikes to knees, stomachs, and, most memorably, dicks, with an efficiency that made everyone reconsider their life choices. Malevola handled herself like a force of nature, her big glowing sword carving through tables and chairs who dared approach while her tail swept foes off their feet with brute precision. Waterboy did his best to stay alive, weaving and dodging through the chaos. Flambae definitely added more fire then needed. Invisigal was everywhere at once, or at least it seemed that way, covering as much ground as she could.
Meanwhile, Prism remained blissfully, terrifyingly unfazed on stage, singing and dancing as if the room hadn’t descended into a full-blown battlefield in the span of a single second. Spotlights swept across the room, illuminating the pandemonium: villains grappling in the aisles, unlucky souls sliding across the floor, and Robert ducking just in time to avoid a flying bottle.
It was pure, unrestrained chaos, every action triggering the next, each person’s reaction feeding the storm. But Sonar wasn’t part of it, at least, not yet.
He was in the bathroom, in one of the stalls snorting a line of something that promised a little edge to the night. Even with his super-hearing, he didn’t need to strain to know something had gone wrong outside. The shouts, crashes, and the occasional thump of a thrown body against the wall carried themselves just fine.
A frown tugged at his lips. Robert had rejected their invitation. Again. That alone was enough to sour his mood, even amidst the drugs and the faint echo of chaos. He’d been absolutely, annoyingly, hopelessly hoping to get Robert wasted tonight, and hopefully slip up or kindly tell both him and Malevola his identity, he can't just be just a guy.
Sonar let out a slow breath, straightening from the toilet. The night was already slipping sideways, but he could still salvage it. Somehow. Somehow, he would make Robert… bend.
The room shook violently as the stall door burst open. Sonar spun, eyes wide, his mind swimming in a haze of drugs and adrenaline. Robert lay sprawled on the floor, blood darkening his clothes, but the edges of the image blurred and pulsed like a half-remembered nightmare, unmoving, or so it seemed.
Before Sonar could process it, the massive figure swept Robert up with terrifying ease, moving slower than time itself yet impossibly fast. The world seemed to stretch and bend, colours bleeding together, as Robert was hurled through the air.
Glass erupted in a violent spray when he slammed into the mirror, shards spinning like frozen stars in the warped haze of Sonar’s vision. The sharp clang of breaking glass echoed, reverberating through his skull, mixing with the ragged hiss of Robert’s breath. Every sound, every fragment of motion seemed amplified, surreal.
Sonar’s mind throbbed; he could feel the pulse of the chaos more than see it, every scream and crash vibrating through him. The world seemed to twist in slow motion as he watched Robert move, body colliding with the splintered mirror. For a split second, the horror was almost beautiful, a distorted ballet of violence, and Sonar couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Robert didn’t look like much, just a guy who could throw a few punches, but seeing him here, in the middle of all this, was intoxicating. The way he moved, how he reacted to every threat, the determination and raw edge… it had Sonar’s pulse spiking in ways nothing else could. Yep, he's definitely not just a random guy.
The guy with tattoos fired a jet of flame, which missed Robert and shattered against the broken mirror. Robert was pinned, pressed against jagged shards, but somehow—somehow—he twisted free, deflecting the fire with a shard and striking back with brutal precision. The mirror shard smashed into the attacker’s head, sending tiny splinters scattering across the floor.
Robert stumbled back, blood running in thin rivulets down his face and arms, clothes torn and stained, bruises blossoming across his skin. His hair stuck in sweaty strands to his forehead, and there was a wild, feral gleam in his eyes that made every movement seem sharper, faster, more dangerous. Each strike he landed carried the weight of desperation and skill, controlled chaos wrapped in brute force, and Sonar felt a jolt of something he couldn’t quite name, thrill, heat, a pulse of dark excitement that made him lean closer.
Sonar’s gaze lingered on him, heart hammering, heat pooling low. The chaos, the fight, the danger, it all sharpened his senses, made everything feel impossibly vivid. Every motion Robert made, every brutal, precise strike, seemed magnified in Sonar’s mind, intoxicating in its intensity. He wasn’t just watching a fight. He was watching Robert, and that, somehow, made everything far too…
“Hot,” Sonar muttered, a flicker of a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Thanks for the help Batboner.” Robert says.
“You’re welcome.” Sonar replied, watching Robert slowly limp out of the bathroom and out of frame.
He could feel himself twisting, changing, it was perfect timing. Might as well join them.
The next thing Sonar knew, the fight was over.
The night air hit like a cool wave as they spilled out of the bar, bruised, bloodied, and still buzzing with adrenaline. Faces were swollen, clothes torn, and cuts stung with every movement, but laughter was already sneaking through the pain, ragged and shaky but undeniably triumphant. Somehow, by sheer magic, or maybe fate, tacos had appeared, and they clustered on the curb outside Tago, tearing into them with the same reckless energy they’d thrown into the fight minutes before. Grease and salsa smeared across hands and cheeks, bits of tortilla littering the ground, every bite tasting like victory, chaos, and the absurdity of surviving a night like this together.
“Yeah, we know this Robert guy is a front,” Punch Up said, his voice cutting through the laughter. Sonar’s ears twitched, sharp as ever, and he subtly shifted the rest of the team’s attention toward Robert, focusing on him like a predator circling prey. Finally, Robert spoke, letting the revelation fall into the night like a bomb: Mecha Man. An actual real superhero. Sonar felt heat spike low in his chest, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. The fight, the adrenaline, the chaos, it had all been building to this moment.
Yep.
Sonar was definitely going to bang him.