Ninety-six.
Concrete bit into the raw meat of his palm on the down count, balcony floor still cold under the light of the sun peeking up over the edge of the world.
Ninety-seven.
It was just enough to help Sky stay focused as a drop of sweat rolled down his nose to splash against the floor beneath him. Ninety-eight.
He drove up off that one palm, the rusted weight of a dead washing machine cinched tight against his back the only thing making this worthwhile. Gutted and old, the metal was still a hassle to balance and the yellow straps digging deep into his collarbone made sure he felt every single pound.
Ninety-nine.
He pushed off again, elbow of his right arm locking out while the machine groaned a complaint like it had an opinion. Loose metal rattled louder and louder with every single explosive thrust off one arm, the sound loud enough to echo out over the smog-choked Torrance air heavy in his lungs. One-hundred.
He dropped his chest back toward the ground, low as he could, before switching hands; left palm flat on the grit and his right got to spend the next hundred against his side.
One.
Two.
Three.
It wasn't a struggle.
Not anywhere near as much as it sounded.A workout, sure, but so were a lot of things. It didn’t have to mean they were all that effective or strenuous. Still, this was as close as he could get on his own.
One hundred each arm.
Two hundred in total.
You repeat that total ten times, that made enough reps to make his muscles feel it right. Sure, it was more sweat than strain by the end of it, his body damp and shirt dark with the last nine reps worth, but it was good enough.
Sure, yeah, he could put a luxury four-door sedan over his head if he dug deep enough, and the washing machine weighed maybe five percent of that, but nothing about this had a thing to do with building muscle.
Nah, this was more about friction. Just enough resistance to convince a body that spent five months in a hospital bed and another six flat on a jail cot that it still belonged to somebody who used it. Something to grind against. And if grinding meant hauling a busted washer from a junkyard up three flights and tying it to his own spine every morning, then that was what it meant.Not like he was enough of a bitch to whine about it, anyway.
The muscle fibers in his shoulders pulled tight, tendons flexing against dark skin as he worked through the last rep of his low-intensity cardio for the morning. Sky pushed off his left, machine and all, weight snapping up before he lowered himself back down; rinse, repeat, as he kept the count as accurate as he could.
Ninety-seven. Ninety-eight.Two more per side and he'd hit two hundred even, the same number he hit every morning, ten sets of the same twenty split across two arms until his muscles finally admitted they'd done something. Good enough.Good enough was the whole bar these days.
Ninety-nine.
One hundred.
He dropped his chest all the way down, cheek almost brushing the cold as he reached up. With a single motion, the metal carabiner on his chest came loose — yellow nylon going slack. The washing machine slid off his slick back, thudding against the balcony floor with a sound that probably rattled the ceiling of the guy in 2B. Alright.
Sweat coated his dark skin, dripping down the ridges of his lean muscle as he wiped his face with the back of one wrist. Alright, run it back.
The young man sat back on his heels, legs folded criss-cross as his palms opened up over his thighs facing the smoggy sky; eyes shut, spine loose, and knees down while you breathed like you were trying to find your center. Sixteen and stupid, Sky had hated this part of training from Back Alley Brawler, too focused on throwing hands to try and ‘find the inside of himself’ or whatever.
Funny how it was about the only piece of that man he had left now.
He pulled in a deep breath, air held inside his lungs for a solid five counts as it filled every inch of him. Past the burn in his shoulders and the smog in his chest, all the way down to the same spot in his stomach where the blue used to live like a second heart.
C’mon. The breath guttered in his lungs as he held it past the five. Little bit.
A flicker answered him. Thin and pale, it was still a burning match head — spiky and bright like he knew it, a spark of his blue. Unfortunately, it was a spark in a wind tunnel, there and gone before it could catch on anything. He chased it anyway, the way he'd been chasing running it down every morning for a month straight, Sky doing his best to get a bonfire burning from a pilot light ever since he crashed into a Circle K parking lot.
There. Right there. Hold it—
Green plasma streaking down out of a torn sky, War Wall humming blue at the edge of Peregrine with a sound of someone screa—
He pulled air through his nose, breath snagging in his chest. N-nah, nah, c’mon…
A breath slithered out slow through a jaw clenched tight as he reached in again. Another flicker of blue, weaker than the first, died in his mind’s eye before it turned into anything he could even hope to grip tight. C’mon, man. Focus.He knew he had to—
Asphalt too smooth under his hands, wrong asphalt, fresh as his fist swung out into a tank of white through the smoke a—
The smell of gasoline flooded his sinuses.
No.
The blue spark sputtered as the heat of a detonating fuel tank washed over his face.
Sky sat there, both eyes twitching as they snapped open — fingers curled into rigid claws against his knees. He sat there breathing through his nose, staring out past the railing at a skyline of stucco and satellite dishes as the blue stayed quiet.
It always stayed quiet.
"Yeah. Okay." With a sigh, his shoulders came down on their own. Sky gritted his teeth, pushing himself up off the concrete. "Let's just go to work."
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
The comm was already chirping that little SDN startup tone in his ear, Sky only turning it on as he made his way down the hallways. By the time the door to the Z-Team common area opened up, the noise hit him a full step after the smell did.Burnt coffee, somebody’s over-layered body spray, and cherry lip gloss.The last one was at least familiar, especially as the owner smirked at him from right beside the coffee pot with Prism right next to her. …no.
His eyes trailed away from Invisigal across the common room, the sight of Flambae fussing at the gelled front of his own hair in the reflection of the turned-off television with a three-fingered hand. Malevola took up most of the couch like usual, filing a black nail and the usual amount of blood-red skin on display for all to see. For entirely different reasons, Sky forced his eyes in another direction completely, tracing over to the far less distracting forms of Golem and Punch Up; the former a mass of landscaping mulch posted up in the corner.
Eight bodies worth of Z-Team, if you included himself, milled around the room — the count in Sky’s head as the door clicked shut behind him. One missing.
They were a whole bat short.
Sky frowned as he found his way into a seat. "Where's Sonar?"
“Don’t look at me.” Prism didn't even look up from her phone, acrylics tapping out a text. "Like I know where that bat nigga is."A small smirk crossed Coupé’s face for all of a second, Sky blinking as the woman fixed her face in front of him — fast enough that it left him wondering if he imagined it.
He blinked at that, mouth opened to ask Coupé if she’d seen the Harvard graduate fly into a plate-glass window or something. Before he could get the question all the way out, the sound of heels clicking down the hallway forced another blink from him as the door opened again and the room went gold."Oh, good — you're here!" That smile found him first as Blonde Blazer stepped into the Z-Team room, bright and steady and never fully making it all the way up to those blue eyes no matter how much the rest of her committed.
“Can I grab everybody for a sec?” The SDN branch manager clapped both gloved hands in front of her as if she was about to lead a prayer circle. "Real quick, I promise."
The room didn’t settle so much as it stopped pulling in eight different directions, even Flambae managing to pull himself away from his preening to look over.
The room went quiet.
"So..." Blazer breathed in once as she stepped to the center of the carpet, folding her blue-gloved hands together at her waist. "I want to be completely honest with all of you because I’d love to receive the same from all of you…”“Oh, God…” Ms. Cherry Lip Gloss let out a groan. “This is gonna suck, isn’t it?”“Corporate has reviewed the quarterly metrics for the Z-Team here in Torrance.” Blazer didn’t even look over at Invisigal, the woman still beaming that same smile out at everyone else. “And they’ve decided to streamline some things. So, to ensure the Phoenix Program remains viable, we need to optimize our roster."Sky’s jaw tightened. …optimize.“As your individual performance is tracked and Z-Team remains the lowest performers — on a weighted scale of course — we’re implementing a new performance metric.” Blazer nodded to no one. “At the end of the week, one member will be released from the program; the lowest performing member of Z-Team.”
"You are fucking joking!” Flambae’s baritone climbed straight into a roar, hands thrown up in the air. "The fuck you mean, cut?! I am not competing for scraps! This is — what, some game? Some team-building bullshit y—”
"She ain't jokin', would ye look at her face." Punch Up was already half up off his seat, whatever he was drinking left behind in the mug. "Ah, for fuck's sake. Grand. Just grand."
"This is bullshit!" Invisigal materialized halfway across the room, doing her best to look up into Blazer’s eyes. "You expect me to race these losers for a paycheck?"
"Yeaaah, that sucks man," Golem rumbled from the corner, words arriving a full second after the outrage. "Real late-stage capitalism shit."Coupé simply sighed. “I already heard of this yesterday.”
Blazer rode the explosion, smile still fixed as she held her hands up and out — patiently waiting till everyone’s boiling heads simmered down. “I know. I know. I know, alright?” Her eyes slid to the winged woman of the team for a second. “Although I don’t know how you did…”Coupé shrugged silently.Blonde Blazer shook her head and turned back to everyone else. “I just want you all to know that this was not my choice and there’s no bad blood in this.”“Oh, trust me, darling.” Malevola hummed out from the couch, yellow eyes flickering up. “There’ll be blood alright.”
Blonde Blazer seemed to not hear that last comment, the woman’s hands still raised as she turned those bright blue eyes directly toward Sky. “One member, but not you.”Oh… Sky’s index jabbed at his chest. “Me?”
"Not you," Blazer repeated, voice dropping into something she probably thought was real comforting. "You're immune. It's your second day, after all."
Every other set of eyes in the room turned right towards him, seven glares — at least half of them hostile — locked right onto his face as the heat in the room literally spiked.
Sky, on the other hand, kept his attention firmly on Blonde Blazer; the young man in the gi wishing more than anything he was still strong enough to make her feel a punch to the front teeth. Don't do that. Don't put that on me.
“No, actually…” “No?” Blonde Blazer blinked.
While he didn’t have the strength to hurt her anymore, he still at least had one grenade left to use and he didn’t hesitate to pull the pin on it. “Not that immune, ma'am."
The smile finally faltered, her blonde eyebrows pinching together. "What?"
"'Your employment with the SDN is on an at-will basis.’” Sky rolled his eyes as he pulled the words from memory, doing his very best to ignore the rising heat of Flambae's gaze aimed at the side of his head. “‘This means that your employment may be terminated at any time, with or without notice and with or without cause.'"
He offered her a smile as fake as hers. "Top of page six of the SDN Employee Handbook."
Blazer’s mouth actually dropped open a little. "You read the handbook?"
Before it went in the trash, yeah. Being honest, he’d memorized the handbook and all the rules and bylaws in it, just so that the company couldn’t pull anything too shady. He lifted an eyebrow her way. "...you gave it to me, didn't you?"
Blazer closed her mouth. "I — right. Yes, I did. I’m just… just so surprised that you..."Blue eyes found blue, one set narrowed and the other wide. “...did the bare minimum?” “Sure, let’s call it that if you want.” She caught herself quick as she stepped forward to where he sat, a hand coming down to rest on his shoulder with two soft little pats. "You're gonna be amazing, Sky."Sky went dead still under it, eyes dropping to the blue glove still on his person, before he raised his eyes up to meet the boss. “...thank you, ma’am.”As if getting the message, Blazer pulled her hand back quickly, clearing her throat as she turned back to the rest of them with a smile firmly in place again. "Anyway! That's my news for today. My door's always open, you all know that. Just… well, knock first, please!”
With her piece said, the gold cape flared behind her as she practically sprinted out into the hallway, a vacuum of silence left in her wake and all those questioning — and hostile — eyes still locked on him.
Sighing loud enough that he was sure they all heard it, Sky turned around and scowled back at the room. “Y’all got something to say?”
"Nothin'." Invisigal scoffed, a nasty little hack of a laugh leaving her as she leaned up against the wall with a smirk. "Just wondering how hard you had to lick her clit to be teacher's pet."
His jaw locked tight as he stared back at her, a slow breath forced out through his nose. "...Mind rephrasing that."It wasn’t a question.
"Yes."
But she gave an answer anyway.
"Yes." Invisigal didn't blink, the street-corner sarcasm dripping off the single word.
"She kinda got a point though." Prism adjusted her visor, the colorful supe’s voice as flat as he’d ever heard it. "Blazer been talkin' 'bout you for like — weeks. 'Fore you even walked in the door. Weeks."
"Had most of us thinkin' ye were a ringer, so." Punch Up leaned toward him, grin already tipping toward a laugh as the midget jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Well, all of us, ‘cept for Golem there.”
"Nah, I thought it too." Golem’s syrupy bass rolled out of the corner. "Just ain't say nothing."
"Ah, there you go, lad.” Punch Up jerked another thumb at the mud pile like that closed the case. “‘Nother one for the ringer vote.”
"I'm not a ringer." Shoulders squared to the room, Sky spoke his answer in a voice flatter than Prism’s. “Never heard of SDN before a month ago.”“Never heard of SDN?” Malevola blinked glowing yellow eyes his way. “What, were you livin’ under a rock, darling?’"Who are you even?" Coupé aimed the question from her spot on the wall.
"Yeah, what she said." Invisigal came off the wall, the woman tapping her chin as if she was punk-rock Sherlock. "Cus I hear a lot of stuff. Three guesses how.” Sky’s frown deepened, a growl working its way up his throat. “Pass.”“Never once heard of no Sky.” The invisible woman inched her way forward, eyes tracing him up and down. “Not unless we talkin' Breaking Bad."
"It's not..." His jaw worked, eyes tracing the movement around him as Coupê joined Invisigal in circling him now. "Not really important."
"Oh, come on now, lad." Punch Up took a half-step forward. "Give us somethin'. A crumb, would ye."
"I don’t really wanna—"
"Nigga, just talk." Prism's phone hit the table as her volume jumped with it.
Sky sat there a second with all of them leaned in on him, every eye in the place waiting. A short laugh — harsh and rough — blasted out of him before any words. “Fine, fuck y’all. You wanna know who I am?”“Duh.” Invisigal snorted. “That’s the whole point.”
His hands clenched tight into fists for a second, before he forced them to ease up. Words. Words. Use your words. “That Circle K thing, last year? Yeah. That was me." Sky didn't blink as he spoke, shrugging like the words didn’t fight him for every syllable past his teeth. "Spent the twelve months after it in a box with a collar on my neck. That do it for you? We good?"
Judging from the silence, they seemed pretty damn good.
“Hey, Z-Team, good morning.” The comm piece in Sky’s ear chose that moment to scrape to life with the half-bored voice of Robert Robertson III, the man clearly unaware as to what he’d just interrupted. “So, yeah, uh… Sonar’s stuck in the gym.”
“...huh?” Sky blinked, brain stuttering for a half-second. “What, is he getting a pump in?”"Cuffed to a squat rack, looks like. Been there a while." Robert paused with a sigh, the sound of a man rubbing his own face distinct enough to be heard. "Coupé's work, from what I'm piecing together here."
Sky’s eyes slid over as Coupé let out a little laugh from the wall. "I asked him if he wanted to see something in the gym. For some reason, he believed it would be my breasts. He was incorrect.”“Sonar, sweetheart…” Malevola groaned and Punch Up lost it, one big bark of a laugh sounding out as the small man nearly tipped himself backwards off his chair.
"Right, okay?" Robert didn't even pause to evaluate the absurdity of the statement. "Just a reminder, sabotaging other members of the roster does not mathematically guarantee your spot on the Z-Team."
"Bullshit!" Flambae yelled at the ceiling. "Survival of the fittest!”“...that’s not how survival of the fittest works.” "Says who?" Flambae shouted again, carrying as much anger as the rest of the team combined.
"Says me. Says the sheet. Says—" A tired breath came down the line from Robert’s end. "Can somebody just go get Sonar loose? Please."
Sky pushed a sigh out through his nose and was up out of the chair before he'd fully signed off on the decision. "I'll do it, sir."
"...Thank you, Sky."
"Sir." Invisigal drew it out slow, the word trailing behind Sky all the way to the door. . "Look at you. Spit-shinin' the man's dick before you even get to jack him off."
Sky cut his electric blue eyes her way and turned on his heel to hit the door release. In complete silence, he stepped out into the sterile emptiness of the SDN hallway, door slamming shut behind him. "...this place don't got an HR?"