Chapter Text
“SDN, what is your emergency?”
“Help! Someone's settin’ shit on fire! Can you see where I’m callin’ from? Bar’s on fire, I think the office next to it, too. And… and, holy fuck, everything’s on fire! Send someone now! … Shit, what the– Hey, hey, hey what the– Get down! The fucker’s still here!”
Robert pinches the captured man's chin and unkindly jerks his face towards him. Bruised and bloodied skin tremble under his touch. Their eyes meet, harsh indifference mirrors terror, bright in the dark room illuminated only by a single desk lamp. “Look, I'm getting a little bored of this,” he says with a tilt of his head, unamused. “Either tell me where he is, or you'll die.”
Blunt, to the point, much like Chase's death at the hand of Elliot. Of Shroud.
The Red Ring grunt hardens his expression, a tough front belied by the tremor in his hands and the twitch in his eyes. “I… I ain't telling you shit!” He struggles against the restraints. “You got nothin’ on us. You're just normie garbage that played dress up thanks to your daddy and Shroud. Now your bitch dad is gone, the suit's destroyed, the fuck are you gonna do now? You can't do shit to me!”
Robert rolls his eyes. He releases his hold on the tattooed man and leans back into his own chair, exasperated. “I've been playing this game of cat and mouse for too long now. With Shroud for the past ten months, and now with you.” He heaves a tired sigh. “Shroud can't recreate the Astral Pulse, so he's trying to steal the one in my possession. I want Shroud to pay for what he stole from me. It's kind of an annoying back and forth we have going on here.”
The brunet stands. This way, he towers over the goon in his pitiful state of capture. He bends, his voice is low with contempt. “You want to live another day. I want nothing more than to see your body burn until there is nothing left of you to mourn… But, you do have information that I need on Shroud. The difference with our little dance is…”
The nameless man cries out as the first punch strikes him in the face. “I don't really gain or lose anything with your death. I'll just move on to the next guy I see with Christmas lights stuck in their head. You're not the first or last that's going to be in that chair.” Another punch, a jab into his stomach that forces a pained gasp.
“Fuck! Ow, shit… Stop–”
“No no,” Robert tuts. “If you're not going to cooperate, I don't see a reason to keep your company. Like I said, I'm bored of this.” He raises his fists again, but is stopped by a strained noise from the other's throat. Was that a laugh?
The man cackles, almost maniacally. “You don't have the balls!” A desperate attempt to regain his life. “Mecha Man the Third is starting these targeted fires? Killing innocent people? No fucking way.”
Robert straightens himself. “We don't… we never intend to hurt any civilians,” he corrects, voice strangely distant. “We follow any Red Ring leads and smoke you lot out. I don't care for your lives. I wouldn't feel remorse in killing anyone licking Shroud's feet.”
Despite his dismal situation, the Red Ring criminal actually scoffs at his words. “No balls,” he reiterates, triumphant in his claim. “How would daddy in hell react if he saw his bitch boy trying to play the bad guy? Trying to get revenge?”
Rather than verbally acknowledging his words, and more so to protect what little self respect he has of himself, Robert walks past the seated man and towards the large window behind him. He draws the curtain slightly with his fingertip, allowing moonlight to slip into the room. His gaze is soft as he breathes in the quiet corner he has made base in. The stars are strong in their resolve, persistently shining. He can faintly trace Chase's loud kindness, strong will, and unwavering protectiveness in the detailed expanse above. A gentle and cruel reminder of why he is seeking vengeance. His chest aches painfully at the memory.
“What was your name?” Robert asks.
He does not need to see his expression to know the man is frowning suspiciously. He can basically taste the hate directed at him. “They call me Toxic.” He hears him struggling against his binds. “I happen to be a bigshot in Shroud's group, you know.”
Robert knew that. He had planned to trap him specifically; he knew his position of importance, knew how to subdue him so that his powers won’t be able to activate. The brunet approaches him again. “Well, I'll give you one last chance, Toxic.” A bandaged, bloody hand points an unyielding finger at Toxic. “Tell me where Shroud's hiding, and I'll let you leave… in mostly the same state you arrived here.”
“Fuck off!” A stronger tug, a stronger bite to his words. “Again, you ain't got shit on me. You're gonna die just like your dad, just like Track Star! I'll make sure of it. Bullet through your fuckin’ head, with the same gun–”
A blaze, stronger than any light in the sky, fills the room. Hot and angry, rivaled only by the sun, that it makes Toxic scream out in pure fright. “Fuck! How long were you here?!”
“Since you first woke up, bitch,” an accented voice says, heavy with distaste. “You and Mecha Dick kept on running your mouths, it was so annoying to sit still and listen to you.”
Robert huffs. “Not my fault, he was being difficult.” He crosses his arms, a stern expression painting his features darker. “I didn't give you the cue, Flambae.”
The flames flicker, a hint of uncertainty, then diminish completely. Amber irises still glow alight, narrowed and brimming with fury. “I don't like how he's talking about you like that.” Robert adjusts to the darkness once more, and he can faintly see the older man cross his arms. “What gives him the right to talk shit? Bitch doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you.”
Toxic stares dumbly, then guffaws at the fire user. “Damn, cringe,” Toxic remarks, gleefully chortling at the way Flambae heaves angrily. As the latter steps closer to them, an enraged flame ignites his entire hand. Senses gathered, familiarity sinks into Toxic as he lifts his gaze to meet Flambae’s. “It’s you, isn’t it? Mecha Man’s dog — has you on a damn leash.”
Flambae bristles at that. “Bold words for the fucker seconds away from being incinerated,” he threatens lowly. “It’s going to fuckin’ hurt, I can promise you that.”
Toxic sways his shoulders with a false bravado. If Flambae’s intimidation was affecting him, he was doing a good job at hiding it. “Everyone knows that the matchstick ain’t a killer,” he says with that annoying lilt.
“Killing filth like you is easy for me,” Flambae boasts, but Robert sees his fire dwindle so slightly it might have not happened at all. “It would honestly be my pleasure to be the last thing you see.”
“Try it,” Toxic clenches his hands, tightly, desperately. “Fuckin’ try and kill me, Flambitch! Neither you, nor Mecha Piss over here… Fuckin’ sad, sad excuses. Too scared to be a villain, but too scummy to be heroes. How does it feel to suck that much?”
Another twinge of deep, quiet anguish hits Robert at the mention of how he is terribly lacking. So quickly it stings as if he was slapped. His failure to continue on his family’s legacy, to make his father proud, to keep Chase alive…
“Shroud told us about how he killed them,” Toxic sings, some deranged tune in his head. “How when he shot your daddy right in his chest, he pissed himself scared! And, well, with Track Star, he made it quick, but heard he didn’t really have to do much to the old fuck. I mean, he can’t even use his powers, so when he pulled that hero shit tryin’ to save you? He was basically asking to die! I think Shroud did him a favor.”
Bones broken and ears ringing, Robert was at the mercy of whoever had swooped him up from death’s door. Not that he wasn’t a frequent visitor, he had always just managed to turn away at the last second every time. This was the first time he was without his suit, the first time he had dared step a foot through. Well, if he could somehow destroy the Astral Pulse along with himself, then that would be a sort of win-win against Elliot, Robert thought.
So tell him why he was being cradled with a gentle love that felt so foreign to him. Save for one person in his life, one who had cared when his own family did not. Tell him why, even with his vision a blurry haze, he recognized that scolding tone, that hand that had always comforted him, and that weary face worn from age… age?
“W-wait,” Robert gasped, his voice coarse, throat burning from the blood he’d spit out moments prior. “Who, what are you–”
“Think you could get far from me, Track Star?”
“Fucker,” A growl snaps Robert out of his agony. He tears his eyes from the floor to the pair in front of him. “Fucking shit, I’ll kill you myself–”
Robert intervenes with a loud foot forward. “No, Flambae,” he lifts his left hand, while his right flexes. “That’s enough. Toxic isn’t proving to be useful to us. If he doesn’t want to tell us where Shroud is…”
A cool metal touches Toxic’s head. “Might as well get rid of him.”
An uneasy chill startles Toxic out of his pretend swagger. “W-wait, no, I do know where Shroud is.” Cooperative now that his life is truly in danger. “He’s… he’s at the steel mill! He’s hiding out at Llewelyn Steel Works, I swear. Let me go, and I can even sneak you in–”
Toxic was about to turn his head to bargain with Robert, but Robert presses the barrel deep into his skin, imprinting a lasting fear that renders Toxic silent. “Thanks, I’ve already listed that as one of his possible hideouts. You’re basically confirming it… But a part of me doesn’t quite trust you.”
Robert detracts the weapon, sauntering over to stand beside Toxic. The bound villain follows Robert with his eyes, nervous. He gulps. “I swear it, man. Seriously, I’m close with Shroud. I could get you two in the same room–”
“Right, that doesn’t sound like a trap,” Robert comments sardonically. “Sounds like we could have afternoon tea and complain about marital issues.”
“Fucker,” Toxic’s teeth grind. “Tryna give you an in. There’s no one better in the Red Ring that could get you to meet Shroud. He won’t know you were even coming–”
“Is this a fucking joke?” Flambae lights his other hand, looking pointedly at Robert. “It’s a bluff. Must’ve hit his head so hard he went stupid if he thinks that we’re going to agree.”
“Working with me might be the only way you can avenge your dad and that fuckass Track Star–”
“You fucker, you did not just say that.” Flaming hands raise with a deadly promise, and Toxic braces for the imminent blaze that will consume him.
A deafening bang fills the room.
Ten years ago, he'd lost his dad.
One year ago, the suit was damaged beyond repair during a mission gone terribly wrong. But the Astral Pulse was still in his possession, so there was a chance. There was always a chance.
Ten months ago, he'd lost his best friend when Shroud broke out of prison. If he was given that single second chance, he would have given it to Chase.
In Robert’s head, the gunshot echoes a deafening clatter. His heart stammers just as painfully. It never gets easier.
“Robert,” Flambae starts, and Robert notices belatedly that he had extinguished his flames. The hint of moonlight entering the room makes his eyes grow brighter with worry. A touch to his cheek shakes Robert to his core. He breathes in slowly as Flambae’s thumb wipes away a silent tear. “Are you okay? Shit, that was crazy and all but you have to be careful.”
Robert’s thoughts run a little behind him. He wonders why Flambae was still rubbing his cheek, and it turns out he’s attempting to clean off the blood that had splattered on his face. “It… I don’t feel great, no,” Robert admits, layers of emotion weighing heavily in the few words he managed to choke out.
Flambae’s expression tells Robert that he would like to converse more, but both know that the shorter man is not in the right headspace at the moment. “I’ll dispose of this garbage. Go get cleaned up.” He retracts his hand, and Robert already misses his warmth.
“Okay,” he relents with the tiniest nod.