Chapter Text
Robert had considered just about every way this heist could go wrong. More guards on site than usual. Out of date building plans. Early police response time. Sure, he didn't have Shroud's foresight or algorithms or superpowered brain, but he could still plan a hundred different contingencies for a hundred different ways a job could go south. And he'd spent months on this one. Months. Yet somehow he hadn't considered that he might succeed at the theft only to end up chased through a burning building by an unhinged hero with a costume bordering on public indecency.
Judging by the still-smoking hole in the wall just shy of his head, that had been a pretty major oversight.
Something to consider for next time.
“Not too late for us to sit down and talk this out, you know,” Robert called out, his voice filtering through his helmet and coming out almost robotic. He scanned the hall, eyes darting left and right as he searched for any sign of his pursuer. He could barely make out shapes through the dense smoke. Chairs. Desks. No sign of the hero yet.
Good. That gave him a moment to take stock. Catch his breath.
Alerts were flashing across the HUD of his helmet’s visor, screaming for his attention. Hydraulic pressure critical. Left knee joint failure imminent. Power cell temperature exceeding safe operational limit.
His suit’s exoskeleton was slowly failing.
Shit.
He wished he had something to fight with, but he'd ditched his weapon, his kinetic pulse rifle, early on. It was diverting too much of his rig’s power and he needed the life support system more. Fuck him for needing fresh air to breathe, right?
A figure emerged from the smoke just ahead, marking the end of his little break. He was tall, but not lanky tall. But not broad, either. Firm. A firm build. His arms were wreathed in flames, the light from which cast dramatic shadows across his body. His eyes, too, were glowing in the firelight, and they were fixed on Robert with unsettling intensity. Despite the heat, Robert felt a shiver crawl down his spine.
“Any chance you're down for that friendly chat I mentioned?”
“Not going to fucking happen, Mecha Bitch.”
Robert's augments reacted to the next attack faster than his brain could, reflexes throwing him to the side as a jet of flames roared past. He hit the ground hard, sliding a few feet across the floor and doing something atrocious to his shoulder in the process. Dislocated? Whatever happened, it hurt badly enough for Robert to see stars, curl in on himself, and dry heave for a moment.
“Hey,” he grunted, dragging himself back up to his feet slowly, his left arm hunched forward unnaturally, “That felt personal. I don't even know who you are.”
"You're really going to act like you don't remember me?" The hero's flames flared brighter, his face twisting with anger.
Fuck, this was personal.
Robert pissed off a lot of heroes. Came with the territory. Running with Red Ring had earned him more enemies than he could count. But when had he pissed off a fire hero? The only name that came to mind was that one girl… Wyldfyre, was it? Something dumb like that. However, she was some barely out of school corpo hero trying to make a name for herself and this guy was decidedly… not that.
The only other person with fire powers he might’ve pissed off was-
“Wait, shit,” Realization hit him like a sack of bricks, “The mall guy? You're the guy that torched the Pavillion a few years back. You're a villain? My operation is getting destroyed by a rival villain right now? You've got to be fucking kidding me.”
"It's Flambae, Mecha Dick. And I'm a superhero now.” He stalked closer. Robert stumbled back, keeping a healthy amount of distance. “In fact, once I'm done frying your ass, I'm thinking they give me a medal. Maybe two.”
“A hero?” Robert couldn’t help the disbelief in his voice. Nearby, a chunk of the ceiling caved in, sending up a cloud of debris and smoke. “Might want to reconsider your employment, Flambae. I’m pretty sure when they sent you to apprehend the bad guys, they didn’t want you to burn the entire building to the ground.”
“Whatever, it’s worth it. They have insurance anyway.” Another fireball formed in his hand. “Look, you want to stand here and have a fucking debate about my methods, or you want to run? Because honestly, I’m good either way. But it makes it more fun if you try.”
Robert didn't need to be told twice. He turned and hauled ass.
Flambae followed, but he was clearly toying with Robert. Narrowly missing him. Letting Robert gain a little ground just to close the distance. Pulling punches. He knew there wasn’t a damn thing Robert could do about it.
God, Robert hadn’t felt this fucking powerless since he was in high school.
"Toxic," he barked into his comms, vaulting over a toppled filing cabinet, "Could really use some backup right about now!"
“Sorry, busy- Shit! Busy dealing with my own problems over here, M!” Toxic's voice came back breathless, punctuated by a loud crash, “Most of them being knives. A metric shitload of knives.”
“Figure it out!” Robert cut left, trying to recall the building blueprints. He was pretty sure there was an emergency stairwell up ahead. If he could reach it, he might be able to regroup with Toxic on the first floor. Not that knives sounded much easier to deal with, but Robert had no firepower. He desperately needed an assist.
He didn’t get much further.
A blast of heat caught him from behind, bursting against the armored plating across his upper back and sending him flying into the far wall. Alerts lit up across his helmet’s display like fireworks, adding to the already cluttered screen. They all amounted to the same thing: His suit was fucked.
Robert's vision swam as he struggled to push himself up. The frame of his mechanized exoskeleton twitched and fought back, the joints stiff and locked into place without the assistance of a hydraulic system to force them into motion. He could move it manually but every motion was resisted by pounds of unyielding steel, forcing him to strain his muscles to get it moving. Even with his augments, it was like wading through molasses.
Footsteps approached, followed by the crackle of flames. Then, suddenly, his vision lurched as he was hauled upward by the armor plating of his good shoulder, the smoke-filled ceiling spinning by briefly just before he found himself face to face with his assailant.
At least if this was the last face Robert ever saw, it wasn't a bad one, honestly. It was one of those frustratingly handsome faces. As if this Flambae guy hadn’t already won the genetic lottery by being born with superpowers, he had to be attractive, too. Sharp jawline lined with well manicured stubble. Warm amber eyes that would probably look even better when they weren’t filled with murderous intent. Robert could even admire the set of perfect teeth hiding behind Flambae's scowl.
“You know,” Robert said, struggling to get his feet back under himself. His augments were doing most of the work now, forcing the exoskeleton into submission inch by inch. “In any other situation, this would be kinda hot. More than just… You know, literally.”
Flambae’s eyes widened slightly, brows knitting together. Once Robert’s words seemed to process through his mind, his scowl deepened. He pulled Robert a little closer, studying him. “Did you just- are you fucking flirting with me right now?”
“Maybe? I mean look at us. You. Sweeping me off my feet. Me. Helpless in your arms.” Robert rambled, the toes of boots finally finding purchase on the floor beneath him. He dug his toes in, stabilizing himself as much as he could manage. “Just saying. Different circumstances? I could be into it.”
“Yeah? Well, too fucking bad for you. I'm going to fucking kill-”
Robert hated to cut off the moment short, but he had to take his chances where he could get them. Once his footing was stable, he reared his head back then slammed forward to deliver a brutal headbutt. Even with his helmet shielding himself from the worst of the blow, pain bloomed in his skull and shot down his neck to his already aching shoulders. The satisfying crunch as Flambae’s head snapped back made the pain worth it, though.
"You fucking-" Flambae hissed, releasing Robert and stumbling back to clutch his face. His voice came out wet and muffled behind his hands.
Robert took advantage of Flambae’s distraction to fire off a mental “release” command through his neural interface to the exoskeleton. It was too far gone at this point. The magnetic locks of the support straps across his arms, legs, and torso disengaged and flew open at the command, allowing him to step out. As he did, he felt a bone-deep tug at the base of his skull, the neural jack linking him to the exoskeleton sliding out from the port installed in his body.
He shuddered.
Every disconnect felt the same - yet even years after getting the implant installed, he couldn’t get used to it. The sensation of metal sliding out of somewhere between his brain and spine. Tickling his nerves. Made his skin crawl.
Robert turned his attention back to Flambae, the abandoned exoskeleton collapsing to the ground behind him. Unfortunately for the hero, Robert couldn't afford to let him recover. Instead he snapped forward, faster without the suit holding him back, and cracked his fist across Flambae’s temple. It landed clean. Flambae dropped in a boneless heap on the floor.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, tapping at Flambae's side with his toe, just to be sure. No movement. Good.
His earpiece crackled to life, Toxic’s voice steady and unharried this time. “All clear, M. Need me to head up?”
“Nah, I’ll meet you on the first floor. East stairwell.”
Robert turned away, already running through his exit route. Three flights down, through the lobby, back entrance. He would rendezvous with Toxic to extract together and-
He made it maybe five steps before his conscience got the better of him.
“Shit.”
This fire was getting worse by the second. The heat was brutal and Robert’s helmet was struggling to filter the smoke into something somewhat breathable, but the taste of soot was starting to coat his tongue and thin wisps of smoke were curling against his cheeks. In a few minutes, this hall might be an inferno. Or the roof could cave in. Either way, if he left Flambae here, unconscious, there was a real chance he would end up crushed by debris or suffocate.
Robert was a villain, but he wasn’t a total asshole.
He turned, jogging back to where Flambae was sprawled across the floor, dead to the world, chest peacefully riding and falling. Robert's eyes lingered there for maybe a second too long, the traveled, drawn by the orange ‘V’ of the hero costume down to his abs and-
Nope.
Focus, Robert
Dropping into a squat, he assessed just how in the hell he was going to do this with one good arm, making it a point not to look at Flambae directly this time. In fact, he rolled the hero over onto his chest to start with, turning Flambae's head to the side as he did to avoid smashing his injured nose into the floor. He then pulled one of Flambae’s arms up over his right shoulder which gave him enough leverage to wrap his arm around him, hold his breath, and haul him up in the most painful squat Robert had done all year.
Flambae was heavier than he looked, but manageable, even if his shoulder was screaming in protest with every step as Robert half carried, half dragged the unconscious man towards the stairwell.
“Consider us even ” he groaned, kicking open the door the moment he reached it and quickly jamming himself through before it swung shut. The air was marginally clearer here and Robert was thankful for the cooler, fresher air. He descended as quickly as he could, Flambae’s limp feet rhythmically thunk-thunk, thunk-thunk-ing against each step as Robert climbed down.
“Uh, you jerking off up there or what?” Toxic’s voice sounded over the comms again, exasperated. “Hurry up, let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“Sorry. Had to, uh, grab something.”
The door below creaked open and moments later, Robert spotted Toxic’s neon green head peeking up at him from ground level. Once he spotted Robert, Toxic froze, just staring up at him and the man he was carrying. Robert just kept moving, waiting for whatever dumb shit Toxic was about to say. Thunk-thunk, thunk-thunk.
“Hey, M?”
“Yeah?”
“Okay, so either the smoke fucked up my brain, or you're carrying one of the heroes that just tried to kill us. Seriously, dude?”
“Oh, this?” Robert shrugged a little, wincing at the movement and instantly regretting it. He took another step down. Thunk-thunk. “I told you I had to grab something.”
“Follow-up question?”
“Shoot.” Thunk-thunk.
“Yeah, so uh. Why?”
“Been thinking about turning my back on Red Ring lately. Going straight. Maybe become a real life superhero. Figure saving one of them would get me an in.”
“Ha ha.”
“Hey mind helping me with-”
“I'm not helping you carry-”
“No, jackass. My shoulder.” Thunk-thunk. “It's killing me. Dislocated it during the fight.”
“Ohh, so that’s why you’re walking all fucked up.” Toxic lifted up off the ground, floating up through the stairwell to meet Robert on the stairs. He eyed the dislocation. “Thought your fancy metal suit was supposed to prevent shit like that.”
“Can you shut up and-”
“Yeah, yeah. You need a countdown or something? Or should I just-?” Without waiting for an answer, Toxic gripped Robert’s shoulder with one hand and his arm with the other.
“Wait-”
Pop.
Robert couldn't even be mad, not when immediate relief washed over him. The pain wasn’t completely gone, but the dull ache that remained was much more manageable. He rolled it experimentally. Much better. Robert adjusted Flambae’s body a little, holding him up higher, his grip tighter. “Thanks.”
"Yeah, yeah." Toxic dropped back down to ground level, landing with barely a sound. "Now can we please get the fuck out of here? I don't want to have to tell the boss man that his favourite normie burned to death in a bank stairwell on a simple job and died, okay?”
“Oh yeah. He'd kill you.” Robert laughed, taking the stairs a little faster, the thunk-thunk thunk-thunk picking up speed.
Once he finally made it to the bottom, Toxic pushed open the door for him. The small courtesy was immediately erased by the hellscape on the other side.
The first floor of the bank was a raging inferno. Flames climbed the walls and licked across what remained of the ceiling, sections of burning tile and debris sloughing off and crashing to the floor. The air itself wavered and distorted from the heat, embers rising up and dancing through the lobby.
Robert took an instinctual step back, cringing away from the heat and smoke. Fresh sweat was pouring from his forehead, running into his eyes and sending him into a blinking frenzy. “Fuck.”
The door fell shut again.
“Yeah, you're not making it through that in one piece.” Toxic sighed, backing away from the door. “I could.” He clarified, glancing over at Robert. He didn't even bother to act worried. Robert's mouth curled down unhappily. If it was that bad in there now, he doubted it had been that much better a minute or two ago. This escape route was dead from the start. Which Toxic already knew. He just wanted to rub it in his face.
There had to be another way out. He just had to think of it first. Robert squeezed his eyes shut, conjuring the bank's blueprints in his mind. There were no doors near enough to the stairwell to make a run for down here, but there was a window on the third floor. Probably wouldn't be viable by the time he got there, though - and the fall would break him without the exoskeleton. Did the stairs have roof access? No, not from here. Same falling problem, anyway.
No matter how he mapped it, there was no easy way out.
Robert's eyes popped open and he stared at Toxic. There was no currently existing easy way out. That could be rectified.
“Hey Tox, that wall on your right, yeah, right there. That's an external facing wall. Can you do me a huge favour?”
“Let me guess, use my incredible powers to bust a hole in this wall and save your ass for the millionth time? Good thinking. That's why they pay you the big bucks.”
Robert rolled his eyes and motioned for Toxic to get to it, then, if he was so damn smart. Once he turned towards the wall, acid already dripping from his fingertips and sizzling on the tile, Robert withdrew into the furthest corner. There, he carefully set Flambae down and hunched over, shielding the hero with his body as Toxic blasted acid through the wall, droplets splashing across the walls, the stairs, and Robert.
Robert always planned for this, at least, when it came to running jobs with Toxic. The whole point of partnering with Toxic was the highly corrosive firepower he offered. Robert's leathers were designed with that in mind, offering him full protection from his acid.
Didn't keep him from yelping when a stray drop slipped past his clothing and landed on his neck, searing his skin. There was always one.
“Whoops, sorry, M.”
He wasn’t.
“It's fine,” Robert sighed, glancing back over his shoulder, “You got it?”
Toxic nodded, gesturing toward the gaping hole in the wall still dripping with acid. “You're joking. I could do this in my sleep.”
Robert resisted the joke he was formulating in his head - maybe I don't need to know about your wet dreams or something like it - and hoisted Flambae back up, his heart leaping in his chest when the man groaned in pain.
“Oh, looks like Sleeping Beauty is waking up,” Toxic laughed, stepping through the wall, “Not too late to dump the dead weight!”
Robert frowned, taking a tentative step forward and hoping that the hero was still mostly out of it.
“Wha… the fuck…” Flambae mumbled. He sounded raspy and stuffy, like he had a cold. That'd probably be the broken nose. He kicked his legs a bit, but otherwise remained mostly still.
Robert picked up the pace, scooping Flambae up into a bridal carry just before they reached the newly minted exit so he wouldn't end up dragging the hero through the corrosive puddle on the ground. The shift seemed to kick some life into the hero.
“What the fuck?” He repeated, more lucidly, trying to push away from Robert.
Robert high-stepped through the wall and carried Flambae over to the far side of the alleyway before finally setting him down on the ground. He hopped back instantly just in case Flambae decided to lash out, but the hero just sat there. His amber eyes were fixated on Robert, brow furrowed, face absolutely caked in dried blood. Dark bruises were blooming beneath each eye. He looked decidedly less perfect than before, which was a shame, but he still managed to make two black eyes and a broken nose look good.
"You good?" Robert asked, which was an absolutely stupid question given the circumstances.
Flambae blinked slowly, like he was having trouble processing, and there was a promising lack of flames erupting from the hero. He glanced from Robert to the hole in the wall. "Did you just...?”
Robert put his hands up, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. Like he was dealing with a feral cat and not an adult man. Robert edged backward. No sudden movements. “Just sit tight. And try not to set anything else on fire. Maybe get checked out at the hospital?”
Flambae stared at Robert like he'd grown a second head, then pushed himself up the wall, standing. He was only a few inches taller than Robert, but it felt like he was looming over him. Staring down at him. Every muscle in Robert's body tensed, ready to dive in and slam Flambae's skull against the brick, to put him back down rather than start another fight. Afraid that if he did, he'd be doing so permanently. Which meant he wouldn't do it. Couldn't.
Instead, the hero settled against the wall, leaning against the bricks and just watching Robert back away. Robert put a few feet between them before he felt brave enough to turn his back on Flambae and picking up the pace, jogging out of the alley.
Toxic was already gone, sick of waiting around, probably. That was fine. Toxic couldn't exactly stick around on the streets for too long while powered up. He was too obvious, especially with the streets crowded with news vans, fire trucks and police cars. Robert had an easier time slipping out of the alleyway alone, speedwalking his way past the next building and into the adjacent alley where he'd stored his bike behind a dumpster.
All things considered, it wasn't the worst job he'd been on. And these weren't even the worst injuries he'd taken on a job. If the lockbox in the pouch at his hip contained what they thought it did… if the intel had been good… it would all be worth it.
He would finally be able to bring the Astral Pulse home.