Chapter Text
The ground below trembles and shakes from intense force. A large cube of ice rocks the asphalt of the roads, fierce and intense, as it hits the street. It sends the pavement below cracking, each line spreading fast as if they were running. They trail up, up, up, spreading in each and every direction from the initial origin of the crack. The ground breaks up into chunks as a result, large pieces that fit together weirdly.
Buildings stand tall, either crowded together or separated by crosswalks and sidewalks. There are apartment buildings, corporations, small businesses. Some buildings are sturdy, made of brick and stone. While others have fronts that are windows, large and made of glass. They’re relatively unharmed by the fight, so long as it’s contained.
Cars are parked, some even abandoned in their driver’s haste to escape the cause for the damage. There aren’t many left stationary, traffic wasn’t heavy. And there usually aren’t many cars being driven. They shake and rattle over the road. A few of them have cracked windshields or other sorts of damage done.
Luckily, there is no one out on the street. It’s usually a popular spot, filled with plenty of people living out their everyday lives. Students walking home from school, office workers driving back after a long work day, parents walking their dogs or picking up groceries. It’s one of the many streets in the city that experience the hustle of life. But today, it is empty. There isn’t a person to be seen.
Well, except for two individuals that is. And they aren’t alone.
“On your left, Hotguy!” a shrill voice shouts with warning, piercing the air in time with the arrow that’s shot.
It zips through the wind, cutting it with its sharpened end as it flies. The arrow meets its target, hitting the large sheet of ice at full force. The sheet cracks and falls apart, long before it can hit anyone or anything. A second arrow follows that, aiming for the fabric bag held right in their criminal’s hand. It lands, startling the holder, and the force of the arrowhead rips it from his grip. The bag lands pinned against the wall of a building behind him.
He looks at the two heroes with a frustrated noise, aiming the weapon in his hand at them.
Coliseum City is a place that could be described as that straight out of a comic book. It’s one where every nerd alive wishes they could live, could experience the life they’ve read in the hand crafted pages of their graphic novels. Frankly, most do. In a world where mutations were just another, everyday thing (hybrids, those mutated were called), nearly every person alive lives a life akin to those drawn on paper. But what most do not have, is a superhero. Let alone two.
And these two? They’re the heroes of Coliseum City, Hotguy and Cuteguy. With the crime fighting duo around, the people are at peace, sleeping a bit easier knowing they have two superheroes watching over them. It’s something one could be jealous of, with the proper terms. After all, who wouldn’t want to live in a city with two heroes? Symbols of hope and peace, and a mere fantasy for those who enjoy a good hero comic.
The arrow’s archer stands with co*cky satisfaction, lips curling into an arrogant smirk as he sees his arrow landed. He pulls his arm back, allowing the bow in his hand to lower. “No need to worry about lil ol’ me, Cuteguy! I’ve got things all under control!” He sets a hand on his hip. He turns his back to their criminal for a moment, addressing Cuteguy, “Why don’t you—”
His words are cut off as a noise sounds right by his head, causing him to jerk back. To his right he finds a swirling mass of purple and blue colors, where a bullet is sent right through it. Eyes wide, he looks to his partner, where a second mass appears, the bullet passing through with ease.
Smirking, Cuteguy co*cks his head, twirling a pink pistol in his hand around. “You left your back open again,” he teases.
“Only so you and your handy portals could watch it for me.” Hotguy shoots him a wink, quickly recovering from his shock. Trust his partner to cover his weak spots for him.
Cuteguy rolls his eyes in return, “Would it kill you to keep your flirting to yourself?”
“And miss my chance at charming you? Never!” Hotguy laughs, reaching for the quiver on his back and drawing out a fresh arrow. He looks back in the direction of their opponent, finding him trying to make a hasty escape now that his stolen goods have been taken from him. Must not think it’s worth it to continue to fight. Unfortunately for him, Hotguy and Cuteguy’s jobs aren’t finished.
“Maybe you should focus on our guy trying to make a run for it instead!” Cuteguy huffs at him as he takes off running, chasing their ice user. His dark pink wings twitch and flap, offering him a bit more speed.
Hotguy is quick to follow after him, now tightly gripped in his hand. “Keep him distracted for me!” he shouts, reaching into his quiver for his arrows. He runs ahead, easily catching up to his partner. Cuteguy glances over at him, exchanging some sort of mental communication before Hotguy swerves to the right. He keeps himself hidden as Cuteguy continues to chase their criminal. He has a good guess of where Cuteguy is trying to push him, and Hotguy knows exactly how to get there. He takes a few short cuts, running as fast as he can.
(Unbeknownst to him, their criminal notices Hotguy’s absence. And he taunts Cuteguy, “Seems like your number one left you to do all the hard work!”
Cuteguy only smirks in return, “Not quite.”)
It all comes together when Hotguy rounds a corner, right where he sees the approaching figures out his partner and the ice user.
Hotguy readies his bow, setting the three arrows in place. He grins the moment he sees the other two realize he’s there, and aims. “Betcha weren’t expecting to be cut off by the—”
The short sleeves of his black shirt hug his biceps, showing off the well toned muscles as he pulls the drawstring of his bow back. Fingerless gloves sit on his hands, which are sturdy and confident. His fluffy brown hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, only messed up by the visor strapped to his head. His stance shows off a nice view of his chest, where his iconic orange and teal insignia sits. And with a loud exclamation of “Hotguy!” three arrows are fired, each heading right toward their criminal.
Every arrow opens up into a net, causing three separate nets to fall on the man. He lets out a yell of shock as the nets land on him, panic striking his expression. Before he’s sent to the ground, he makes some sort of hand movement with the weapon in his possession, chucking it into the sky seconds later.
Hotguy’s eyes widen and he tries to run for it, but he’s not nearly quick enough. The weapon explodes in a small burst of color, leaving nothing behind. “Too late to grab it again.” He frowns slightly as he glances at the hybrid wriggling around on the floor for some sort of escape. He’s not going anywhere with three nets on him.
Cuteguy lands beside Hotguy, pointing his boot down as the front edge of his shoe meets the ground before the rest of his foot. A soft click is heard as his heel sets down, along with his other foot. His wings close in behind him, curling in close to his back. “Three net arrows, really?” he questions, disbelieving. “Don’t you think one is enough?” He looks over at Hotguy, who meets his gaze with a grin.
“You can never be too careful, he’s securely trapped! And firing three arrows instead of one is way cooler as a finishing move!” Hotguy defends, setting his hands on his hips triumphantly. Cuteguy playfully rolls his eyes at him.
“On the bright side, I see you managed to do less damage than the enemy this time,” he quips, his smirk slipping into something cheeky.
Hotguy huffs lightly in return, crossing his arms over his chest. “We all can’t have super cool portal opening abilities like you,” he playfully retorts. “Besides, I save the day! What more could you want from Hot-guy!” He flashes his pearly white teeth in a smile, directing it over to a crowd of nearby civilians. They all scream and cheer, watching Hotguy flex an arm, as if needing to really send his message of strength.
Cuteguy rolls his eyes at the display, keeping his own fondness for the hero tucked away for himself. He opens his mouth to answer, but a third voice beats him to the punch.
“You can bet your bottom that we appreciate the damage being at a minimum this time ‘round.” The two heroes turn their attention to the side, where a woman with long brown hair walks up to them. She’s dressed in a soft periwinkle button up, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She has a shoulder holster over her top, which sits empty. A badge sits on the belt looped around her waist, a pistol at her hip. Her sky blue eyes are light with amusem*nt and cheer as she sets a hand on her hip.
“Detective Moon!” Hotguy cheerfully greets her, a suave smile dancing along the edges of his lips. “Lovely to see you, as always.” He winks behind his visor.
Detective Moon only chuckles in answer, “Well, the Captain decided to send us out today, so you’ve just got us normies here to deal with things.” She grins, something satisfied and proud all at once.
“You’re the best normies though!” Hotguy declares brightly, and Cuteguy finds himself inclined to agree. He certainly prefers her and her squad over the others.
He peers past her, spotting the officers that have arrived with her. A few are standing around talking, while others are surveying the damage. Just as Cuteguy looks, he spots a tall man with fluffy brown hair and a scar on his right eye escorting the hybrid he and Hotguy just fought. He looks back at the detective, “Might wanna be careful with him. He’s a little icy.”
She looks at him with a smile, “Thanks for the heads up. We’ll be careful, don’t you worry. Sausage is a pro at this point with escorting hybrid criminals.” Still, she throws a cautionary glance behind her at her partner. After getting him in her sights, she addresses the heroes once again, a furrow settling between her brow. “You wouldn’t happen to have gotten a glimpse at the tech he was using, did you?” she questions.
Cuteguy frowns in answer, shaking his head. “As usual, it managed to self-destruct before we could get our hands on it.”
Detective Moon bites the inside of her cheek, frustration pulling at her expression. “Damn. These hybrid attacks are already dangerous enough, but unidentifiable tech on top of it makes it ten times worse.” She brings her thumb up to her mouth, biting at her fingernail.
He almost instinctively tells her not to do so, but holds it back. Not when the mask is on.
“You’re telling me,” Hotguy sighs, arms falling from their crossed position. “I don’t see why they’d even need the fancy weapons on top of having superpowers. They’re already plenty powerful!” He shakes his head, disapproving at his own words. It reminds Cuteguy of a parent scolding a child; except there is no child here, no one to listen to such scolding. He drops the act seconds later, face softening into something reassuring as he looks at her. “Don’t you worry, Detective Moon, we’re doing everything we can on our side to find our mysterious source,” he says gently.
She sends him a grateful smile, releasing her nail from her teeth. Cuteguy hides his sigh of relief. “Thanks, Hotguy. What would we do without you both?” Her smile widens into something lighter, near teasing but still coated with relief.
“That hybrid specialized unit’d be having a field day, that’s for sure,” Cuteguy scoffs, a hint of disdain bleeding into his tone like watercolor on paper.
Detective Moon shares his sentiment, a similar look on her face. “I’ve had it up to here with those guys,” she sneers. “They’re not getting this case from me, not this time.” She puffs out her chest, stubborn.
“That’s what you like to see!” Hotguy cheers. He then leans in close, covering his mouth with his hand. “Don’t tell anyone but I prefer working with you a lot more,” he whispers.
Cuteguy is inclined to agree. Not that he’ll admit that out loud. Number one, it’s her, and number two, he’s a professional. Unlike a certain someone. He opens his mouth to say something, probably to scold Hotguy for being so unprofessional with the detective, when the sound of stomping rapidly grows louder. The two heroes tense on instinct before realizing it’s a civilian wandering up to them. And he doesn’t look happy.
“Whoa sir.” Hotguy blinks, holding his hands out in front of him, placating. “Are you alri—”
His words are cut off as the man reaches forward, grabbing Hotguy by the front of his suit. “You!” the man snarls, face twisted in anger. Cuteguy and the detective step forward, ready to defend Hotguy if need be. “You’re one of the guys responsible for all this! These — these hybrids running around! Destroying the city!” His fists tighten in their hold of Hotguy’s collar. “This is all your fault! My shop is completely totaled thanks to you freaks!”
Cuteguy grimaces slightly at that, acutely aware of how a small portion of the population looks at them. Even if most of the city are fans of them, there will always be those who don’t share that opinion. For every five positive opinions, there will always be one or two negative ones. It’s not like he can exactly blame them either. Hotguy’s origins were quite… controversial when he first appeared a year ago.
“When the hell are you gonna fix this?! Huh, you hero?!” From behind them, two officers come running up, hurriedly grabbing the man and pulling him off of Hotguy. He yells and thrashes in their hold, demanding to be released. “Let go of me! I want compensation! Guys like them are ruining the city!”
The lighthearted mood fades away with the man, leaving Cuteguy with a heavy feeling in his stomach. He slowly looks over at Hotguy, “Hey, you okay?” He meets the tinted glass of Hotguy’s visor, unable to read his face clearly.
“Oh me?” Hotguy lifts his head up, eyes coming through his visor again, the angle allowing it to shift to something translucent. “I’m peachy! Can’t please everyone, y’know. Gotta just let it roll off your back like waves over a rock’s surface,” he chuckles brightly, a smile on his face.
Cuteguy can’t help but frown at him. He’s worked with Hotguy long enough now that he likes to think he’s pretty good at reading the man. He knows a fake smile when he sees one (he’s also painfully aware of how big a heart the man has, the one that he likes to hide behind the act he puts on for the public. He too had fallen for that act once, but now he knows. It’s part of what draws him in. What made him—).
“I see that frown, Cutie,” Hotguy hums. “I’m fine, I promise.” His smile turns to something softer, and he’s lucky Detective Moon is right here or else he’d press. Or well… try to, anyway.
“It’s easy to forget some people aren’t your biggest fan,” Detective Moon sighs, shaking her head. “That guy’s got a serious attitude problem.” She grimaces, glancing in the direction he was pulled off to.
“Tell me about it,” Cuteguy grumbles.
Hotguy looks at the two of them. “Poor guy’s shop got messed up in the fight! Who can blame him for being a little hot headed?”
Detective Moon sighs with a soft shrug, shaking her head. “All that aside, we can handle the rest from here, thanks for the help you two. She pats Cuteguy on the shoulder before stepping back and walking off.
Hotguy and Cuteguy share a look, the former grinning bright and wide. “It seems this is where we part ways for the time being!”
Cuteguy snorts, “Unless someone else decides to attack.” He shakes his head, eyeing his partner, “I’ll be expecting you for patrol later.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Hotguy exclaims in answer, offering him a small bow.
Cuteguy rolls his eyes fondly at the display, letting his wings unfurl. “See you later then, Pretty Boy!” he calls as he takes off, grinning down at his partner as the sky meets him. He hears Hotguy call back with some sort of comment, but it’s lost on him. The most Cuteguy can do is smile and shake his head, flying off.
Grian all but races back to the apartment to get home before Pearl does. Realistically he knows that he’s got some time before she walks through the front door, but it’s about the principle, okay? He zips through the sky with an easygoing smile on his face, feeling the wind brush against his face with gentle caresses, soft and loving with every movement of his wings.
He flies over the bustling city of life, looking down at the little specs of people below. It always amazes him; each and every spec below is a person, someone with a life, a story to tell. And he’s one of the two heroes to protect them. Grian never exactly imagined this path of life for himself, it definitely wasn’t an option on his resume when he became a reporter. But then again, he wasn’t expecting to wake up one day with miniature portals opening from his fingertips. He supposes he can’t complain all that much, considering everything he’s been able to do with it.
Spotting his and Pearl’s apartment building come close into view, Grian slows his descent, keeping a careful eye on his surroundings. It wouldn’t be very good if someone spotted Cuteguy climbing into the apartment that belongs to Grian and Pearlescent Moon. Secret identity shenanigans and all that. With no prying eyes around, Grian reaches the fire escape of his building, the one that sits just below his window. He lands on it seamlessly, the action graceful and practiced as his wings close. Reaching forward to the window, he slides it open before stepping back.
He looks down at the straps around his chest and waist, unbuckling them. He starts with his chest, using his fingers to press on the side of the plastic buckle to undo it. The clasps release with a soft click, and Grian feels the weight on his back lessen. He does the same with the belt around his waist, causing the wings that were once strapped to his back to fall off. He manages to catch them easily enough, long used to the weight that drops into his arms. He tucks the mechanical wings in as close as he can before pushing them in through the window of his bedroom. He climbs in after himself, shutting the window behind him.
Releasing a soft sigh, Grian stands in the center of his room. He glances at the messy bed, where he moves to set his wings down. He’s grateful he managed to avoid damaging them today – Mumbo would have his head if he did.
Free of his wings, Grian hurries to change out of his hero outfit, removing his pink scarf and black short sleeved cropped jacket, followed by the pink fingerless gloves. He kicks his boots off, setting them down in the corner. He nearly falls while getting out of his pants (it’s hard, okay? One pant leg is much shorter than the other!), replacing them with regular pajama pants. He tugs the top half of his suit off, grabbing at the logo over his chest. It matches Hotguy’s, though the shape resembles more of a heart, and his is colored pink and red. He grabs a t-shirt as he removes the heart shaped goggles from his head, tossing those on his bed too.
Now in regular clothes, he hurries to stuff all of his Cuteguy related things into the closet. He gives a survey of his room and nods to himself in approval before grabbing his laptop and glasses, heading to the living room. He flicks the television on and drops himself on the couch. As soon as he sits down, there’s a relieved breath that spills from him, a knot loosening in his chest. Pearl won’t be home for another hour, he doesn’t have to rush around.
But Pearl is a detective, and she’s scarily observant. If even the smallest thing is out of place, she’d definitely catch on. Something that doesn’t lead to any good result for Grian. He’s… not the greatest liar (honestly it really is amazing that he’s managed to keep the people in his life from discovering that he runs around as a superhero in his free time).
No one would expect one of Imp & Skizz’s best reporters to be the superhero Cuteguy, partner to Hotguy. Grian intends to keep it that way.
With a quiet exhale and the white noise of some random show, Grian opens his laptop up, attempting to do some work for his day job. He ends up pausing, catching sight of something online.
He spots an article mentioning Hotguy and Cuteguy, and he stares at it for a second, mouse hovering over the link. It feels weird to think that this is what his life is like now, reporting and reading about living breathing superheroes, being one himself. It all feels like something straight out of a comic book, the type that Grian would read with his siblings as a child. But it’s things like this article that remind Grian he isn’t dreaming, and this isn’t some comic book that he’s reading.
Maybe it’s even crazier to think that this was all an accident, something that was never supposed to happen.
Two years ago, the night sky went white, mixed with little bits of orange and black, crackles of lightning bursting through the storm clouds. It had originated right from the center of the city, causing a blackout that lasted for hours. Grian remembers it like it was yesterday, remembers walking home from a late night at work and the force of the air knocking him off his feet. He had hit his head when he landed on the ground, going unconscious for a few hours. Ironic for him, a reporter, missing out on the most crucial details that he would later report on.
He wrote the article himself, about everything that had happened a few weeks following the event. The origin had been traced back to H.E.P, a laboratory in the city working under the government. They released a statement at a press conference, but they never quite explained what happened. The public explanation was they were working on a project, one that encountered a malfunction, an oversight on their part. The details of what the project was were never released, not even when Grian marched his way up to the head of H.E.P, Xisuma Void, to press for more answers.
Unknown to everyone, the little accident of a malfunctioning machine brought more consequences than they realized.
The creation of hybrids, people genetically mutated with a wide range of abilities. Grian himself is one, not that any of his friends and family know; er, outside of Mumbo (that one wasn’t by choice).
From there it was just one crazy game of dominos, which leads him to where he is today, fighting those who decide to use their abilities for crime alongside Hotguy.
Grian shakes himself out of his thoughts, returning to the task at hand: his article. It’s easy enough for him to lose himself in it, letting his fingers move freely across the keyboard in front of him as words appear on the page.
He’s not sure how long he’s doing it for, but by the time he’s got almost two pages, the front door of the apartment is being unlocked and pushed open. He doesn’t look up as his sister walks inside, setting her bag down on a nearby surface. “I’m home!” Pearl calls out, and it’s only then that Grian pulls himself out of his work.
“Welcome back.” He peeks over the top of the couch, arm coming to rest on the edge. “How was work?” he innocently questions, as if he hadn’t been at the crime scene himself.
Pearl heaves an exhaustion laced sigh as she walks into the apartment, “Had to deal with a hybrid today.” She walks over to the kitchen counter, where envelopes of mail rest on top. She picks them up as she speaks, “Can tell ya that you’re gonna get some fun details for your next article.”
Grian hums, feigning a noise of interest as he closes the top of his laptop slightly to give her his full attention. “Another weird piece of tech?” Impulse and Skizz asked him to handle any coverage on the mysterious technology that’s been appearing with hybrid attacks as of late. It makes sense, considering Grian was the one who initially started covering the hybrid appearances. Granted, it was usually tied to the eccentric hero known as Hotguy, but he supposes out of everyone in the office he would be the most qualified.
Whatever that means.
“Sure was,” Pearl answers. She shuffles the mail in her hands with a soft hum. “And for once I was able to get there first before those Octagon guys.” Something is smug in her voice as she says it. “It was starting to get frustrating honestly, with how fast they’re always popping up. I’ve hardly managed to work any proper hybrid cases thanks to them!” she bemoans, frustration taking over the smug tone.
Grian frowns in sympathy. It’s one of the things that Pearl has complained about with the introduction of the Octagon Unit’s introduction to the force. They were put in place by the mayor to deal with the hybrid cases specifically, but unfortunately for Pearl, her mysterious weapon’s dealer is inexplicably tied to most of the hybrid sightings.
“Sounds like things have been stressful on your end,” he notes, empathetic. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t also feeling the stress on Cuteguy’s side. He and Hotguy have been patrolling practically every night in search of the source of the weapon supplier. He can only imagine how much more stress is added when you constantly feel like you’re racing against the clock. It makes him worried, knowing how reckless his sister can get when clawing her way through a problem.
Pearl drops the mail back on the counter, walking over to the couch. She falls back on the cushion next to Grian with a groan, “Like you wouldn’t believe!” Grian pulls himself back a bit so he doesn’t get squished by his sister as she plops. “I think the most frustrating thing of all is how nice Bdubs and Etho are. It’s so hard to hate them!” she cries, throwing her arms up in the air. Grian’s pretty sure the only one they’re nice to is Pearl. They’re like grouchy old men to Hotguy and Cuteguy. And everyone else who isn't Pearl. “At least Hotguy said I was his favorite between us and them.”
Grian can’t help his snort at that, shaking his head. “A bit unprofessional if you ask me,” he comments.
“Go easy on the guy, Mr. Reporter,” Pearl teases, shaking her head. She heard quite a bit of Grian’s rants about the egotistical hero when he first began reporting on the man. “He’s not as bad as you think he is.”
I know, Grian wants to say, but it’s better for him to keep up the whole ‘hating Hotguy’ act. Even if that’s the farthest thing from the truth now. But it’s safer for his identity and those around him if he tries to make himself as different from Cuteguy as possible. Granted, sometimes it’s easier to fake the annoyance – despite having a thing for his heroic partner, Hotguy still manages to annoy him with his carelessness.
Regardless, he fakes an eye roll, “Yeah well, I’ll believe it when I see it.” He sticks his tongue out at her in return, causing Pearl to huff and shove at him. Grian squawks, hurriedly reaching for his laptop as he’s shoved to the side. “Careful, careful!” he exclaims.
“You started it.” Pearl shrugs in answer before standing up from the couch. “Anyways, take out for dinner?” she questions, glancing at him.
“That’s the third time this week,” Grian comments, but he doesn’t disagree. “Menu’s already on the table.”
Smirking, Cuteguy co*cks his head, twirling a pink pistol in his hand around. “You left your back open again,” he teases.
“Only so you and your handy portals could watch it for me.” Hotguy shoots him a wink, quickly recovering from his shock. Trust his partner to cover his weak spots for him.
Cuteguy rolls his eyes in return, “Would it kill you to keep your flirting to yourself?”
“And miss my chance at charming you? Never!” Hotguy laughs, reaching for the quiver on his back and drawing out a fresh arrow. He looks back in the direction of their opponent, finding him trying to make a hasty escape now that his stolen goods have been taken from him. Must not think it’s worth it to continue to fight. Unfortunately for him, Hotguy and Cuteguy’s jobs aren’t finished.
“Maybe you should focus on our guy trying to make a run for it instead!” Cuteguy huffs at him as he takes off running, chasing their ice user. His dark pink wings twitch and flap, offering him a bit more speed.
Hotguy is quick to follow after him, now tightly gripped in his hand. “Keep him distracted for me!” he shouts, reaching into his quiver for his arrows. He runs ahead, easily catching up to his partner. Cuteguy glances over at him, exchanging some sort of mental communication before Hotguy swerves to the right. He keeps himself hidden as Cuteguy continues to chase their criminal. He has a good guess of where Cuteguy is trying to push him, and Hotguy knows exactly how to get there. He takes a few short cuts, running as fast as he can.
(Unbeknownst to him, their criminal notices Hotguy’s absence. And he taunts Cuteguy, “Seems like your number one left you to do all the hard work!”
Cuteguy only smirks in return, “Not quite.”)
It all comes together when Hotguy rounds a corner, right where he sees the approaching figures out his partner and the ice user.
Hotguy readies his bow, setting the three arrows in place. He grins the moment he sees the other two realize he’s there, and aims. “Betcha weren’t expecting to be cut off by the—”
The short sleeves of his black shirt hug his biceps, showing off the well toned muscles as he pulls the drawstring of his bow back. Fingerless gloves sit on his hands, which are sturdy and confident. His fluffy brown hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, only messed up by the visor strapped to his head. His stance shows off a nice view of his chest, where his iconic orange and teal insignia sits. And with a loud exclamation of “Hotguy!” three arrows are fired, each heading right toward their criminal.
Every arrow opens up into a net, causing three separate nets to fall on the man. He lets out a yell of shock as the nets land on him, panic striking his expression. Before he’s sent to the ground, he makes some sort of hand movement with the weapon in his possession, chucking it into the sky seconds later.
Hotguy’s eyes widen and he tries to run for it, but he’s not nearly quick enough. The weapon explodes in a small burst of color, leaving nothing behind. “Too late to grab it again.” He frowns slightly as he glances at the hybrid wriggling around on the floor for some sort of escape. He’s not going anywhere with three nets on him.
Cuteguy lands beside Hotguy, pointing his boot down as the front edge of his shoe meets the ground before the rest of his foot. A soft click is heard as his heel sets down, along with his other foot. His wings close in behind him, curling in close to his back. “Three net arrows, really?” he questions, disbelieving. “Don’t you think one is enough?” He looks over at Hotguy, who meets his gaze with a grin.
“You can never be too careful, he’s securely trapped! And firing three arrows instead of one is way cooler as a finishing move!” Hotguy defends, setting his hands on his hips triumphantly. Cuteguy playfully rolls his eyes at him.
“On the bright side, I see you managed to do less damage than the enemy this time,” he quips, his smirk slipping into something cheeky.
Hotguy huffs lightly in return, crossing his arms over his chest. “We all can’t have super cool portal opening abilities like you,” he playfully retorts. “Besides, I save the day! What more could you want from Hot-guy!” He flashes his pearly white teeth in a smile, directing it over to a crowd of nearby civilians. They all scream and cheer, watching Hotguy flex an arm, as if needing to really send his message of strength.
Cuteguy rolls his eyes at the display, keeping his own fondness for the hero tucked away for himself. He opens his mouth to answer, but a third voice beats him to the punch.
“You can bet your bottom that we appreciate the damage being at a minimum this time ‘round.” The two heroes turn their attention to the side, where a woman with long brown hair walks up to them. She’s dressed in a soft periwinkle button up, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She has a shoulder holster over her top, which sits empty. A badge sits on the belt looped around her waist, a pistol at her hip. Her sky blue eyes are light with amusem*nt and cheer as she sets a hand on her hip.
“Detective Moon!” Hotguy cheerfully greets her, a suave smile dancing along the edges of his lips. “Lovely to see you, as always.” He winks behind his visor.
Detective Moon only chuckles in answer, “Well, the Captain decided to send us out today, so you’ve just got us normies here to deal with things.” She grins, something satisfied and proud all at once.
“You’re the best normies though!” Hotguy declares brightly, and Cuteguy finds himself inclined to agree. He certainly prefers her and her squad over the others.
He peers past her, spotting the officers that have arrived with her. A few are standing around talking, while others are surveying the damage. Just as Cuteguy looks, he spots a tall man with fluffy brown hair and a scar on his right eye escorting the hybrid he and Hotguy just fought. He looks back at the detective, “Might wanna be careful with him. He’s a little icy.”
She looks at him with a smile, “Thanks for the heads up. We’ll be careful, don’t you worry. Sausage is a pro at this point with escorting hybrid criminals.” Still, she throws a cautionary glance behind her at her partner. After getting him in her sights, she addresses the heroes once again, a furrow settling between her brow. “You wouldn’t happen to have gotten a glimpse at the tech he was using, did you?” she questions.
Cuteguy frowns in answer, shaking his head. “As usual, it managed to self-destruct before we could get our hands on it.”
Detective Moon bites the inside of her cheek, frustration pulling at her expression. “Damn. These hybrid attacks are already dangerous enough, but unidentifiable tech on top of it makes it ten times worse.” She brings her thumb up to her mouth, biting at her fingernail.
He almost instinctively tells her not to do so, but holds it back. Not when the mask is on.
“You’re telling me,” Hotguy sighs, arms falling from their crossed position. “I don’t see why they’d even need the fancy weapons on top of having superpowers. They’re already plenty powerful!” He shakes his head, disapproving at his own words. It reminds Cuteguy of a parent scolding a child; except there is no child here, no one to listen to such scolding. He drops the act seconds later, face softening into something reassuring as he looks at her. “Don’t you worry, Detective Moon, we’re doing everything we can on our side to find our mysterious source,” he says gently.
She sends him a grateful smile, releasing her nail from her teeth. Cuteguy hides his sigh of relief. “Thanks, Hotguy. What would we do without you both?” Her smile widens into something lighter, near teasing but still coated with relief.
“That hybrid specialized unit’d be having a field day, that’s for sure,” Cuteguy scoffs, a hint of disdain bleeding into his tone like watercolor on paper.
Detective Moon shares his sentiment, a similar look on her face. “I’ve had it up to here with those guys,” she sneers. “They’re not getting this case from me, not this time.” She puffs out her chest, stubborn.
“That’s what you like to see!” Hotguy cheers. He then leans in close, covering his mouth with his hand. “Don’t tell anyone but I prefer working with you a lot more,” he whispers.
Cuteguy is inclined to agree. Not that he’ll admit that out loud. Number one, it’s her, and number two, he’s a professional. Unlike a certain someone. He opens his mouth to say something, probably to scold Hotguy for being so unprofessional with the detective, when the sound of stomping rapidly grows louder. The two heroes tense on instinct before realizing it’s a civilian wandering up to them. And he doesn’t look happy.
“Whoa sir.” Hotguy blinks, holding his hands out in front of him, placating. “Are you alri—”
His words are cut off as the man reaches forward, grabbing Hotguy by the front of his suit. “You!” the man snarls, face twisted in anger. Cuteguy and the detective step forward, ready to defend Hotguy if need be. “You’re one of the guys responsible for all this! These — these hybrids running around! Destroying the city!” His fists tighten in their hold of Hotguy’s collar. “This is all your fault! My shop is completely totaled thanks to you freaks!”
Cuteguy grimaces slightly at that, acutely aware of how a small portion of the population looks at them. Even if most of the city are fans of them, there will always be those who don’t share that opinion. For every five positive opinions, there will always be one or two negative ones. It’s not like he can exactly blame them either. Hotguy’s origins were quite… controversial when he first appeared a year ago.
“When the hell are you gonna fix this?! Huh, you hero?!” From behind them, two officers come running up, hurriedly grabbing the man and pulling him off of Hotguy. He yells and thrashes in their hold, demanding to be released. “Let go of me! I want compensation! Guys like them are ruining the city!”
The lighthearted mood fades away with the man, leaving Cuteguy with a heavy feeling in his stomach. He slowly looks over at Hotguy, “Hey, you okay?” He meets the tinted glass of Hotguy’s visor, unable to read his face clearly.
“Oh me?” Hotguy lifts his head up, eyes coming through his visor again, the angle allowing it to shift to something translucent. “I’m peachy! Can’t please everyone, y’know. Gotta just let it roll off your back like waves over a rock’s surface,” he chuckles brightly, a smile on his face.
Cuteguy can’t help but frown at him. He’s worked with Hotguy long enough now that he likes to think he’s pretty good at reading the man. He knows a fake smile when he sees one (he’s also painfully aware of how big a heart the man has, the one that he likes to hide behind the act he puts on for the public. He too had fallen for that act once, but now he knows. It’s part of what draws him in. What made him—).
“I see that frown, Cutie,” Hotguy hums. “I’m fine, I promise.” His smile turns to something softer, and he’s lucky Detective Moon is right here or else he’d press. Or well… try to, anyway.
“It’s easy to forget some people aren’t your biggest fan,” Detective Moon sighs, shaking her head. “That guy’s got a serious attitude problem.” She grimaces, glancing in the direction he was pulled off to.
“Tell me about it,” Cuteguy grumbles.
Hotguy looks at the two of them. “Poor guy’s shop got messed up in the fight! Who can blame him for being a little hot headed?”
Detective Moon sighs with a soft shrug, shaking her head. “All that aside, we can handle the rest from here, thanks for the help you two. She pats Cuteguy on the shoulder before stepping back and walking off.
Hotguy and Cuteguy share a look, the former grinning bright and wide. “It seems this is where we part ways for the time being!”
Cuteguy snorts, “Unless someone else decides to attack.” He shakes his head, eyeing his partner, “I’ll be expecting you for patrol later.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Hotguy exclaims in answer, offering him a small bow.
Cuteguy rolls his eyes fondly at the display, letting his wings unfurl. “See you later then, Pretty Boy!” he calls as he takes off, grinning down at his partner as the sky meets him. He hears Hotguy call back with some sort of comment, but it’s lost on him. The most Cuteguy can do is smile and shake his head, flying off.
Grian all but races back to the apartment to get home before Pearl does. Realistically he knows that he’s got some time before she walks through the front door, but it’s about the principle, okay? He zips through the sky with an easygoing smile on his face, feeling the wind brush against his face with gentle caresses, soft and loving with every movement of his wings.
He flies over the bustling city of life, looking down at the little specs of people below. It always amazes him; each and every spec below is a person, someone with a life, a story to tell. And he’s one of the two heroes to protect them. Grian never exactly imagined this path of life for himself, it definitely wasn’t an option on his resume when he became a reporter. But then again, he wasn’t expecting to wake up one day with miniature portals opening from his fingertips. He supposes he can’t complain all that much, considering everything he’s been able to do with it.
Spotting his and Pearl’s apartment building come close into view, Grian slows his descent, keeping a careful eye on his surroundings. It wouldn’t be very good if someone spotted Cuteguy climbing into the apartment that belongs to Grian and Pearlescent Moon. Secret identity shenanigans and all that. With no prying eyes around, Grian reaches the fire escape of his building, the one that sits just below his window. He lands on it seamlessly, the action graceful and practiced as his wings close. Reaching forward to the window, he slides it open before stepping back.
He looks down at the straps around his chest and waist, unbuckling them. He starts with his chest, using his fingers to press on the side of the plastic buckle to undo it. The clasps release with a soft click, and Grian feels the weight on his back lessen. He does the same with the belt around his waist, causing the wings that were once strapped to his back to fall off. He manages to catch them easily enough, long used to the weight that drops into his arms. He tucks the mechanical wings in as close as he can before pushing them in through the window of his bedroom. He climbs in after himself, shutting the window behind him.
Releasing a soft sigh, Grian stands in the center of his room. He glances at the messy bed, where he moves to set his wings down. He’s grateful he managed to avoid damaging them today – Mumbo would have his head if he did.
Free of his wings, Grian hurries to change out of his hero outfit, removing his pink scarf and black short sleeved cropped jacket, followed by the pink fingerless gloves. He kicks his boots off, setting them down in the corner. He nearly falls while getting out of his pants (it’s hard, okay? One pant leg is much shorter than the other!), replacing them with regular pajama pants. He tugs the top half of his suit off, grabbing at the logo over his chest. It matches Hotguy’s, though the shape resembles more of a heart, and his is colored pink and red. He grabs a t-shirt as he removes the heart shaped goggles from his head, tossing those on his bed too.
Now in regular clothes, he hurries to stuff all of his Cuteguy related things into the closet. He gives a survey of his room and nods to himself in approval before grabbing his laptop and glasses, heading to the living room. He flicks the television on and drops himself on the couch. As soon as he sits down, there’s a relieved breath that spills from him, a knot loosening in his chest. Pearl won’t be home for another hour, he doesn’t have to rush around.
But Pearl is a detective, and she’s scarily observant. If even the smallest thing is out of place, she’d definitely catch on. Something that doesn’t lead to any good result for Grian. He’s… not the greatest liar (honestly it really is amazing that he’s managed to keep the people in his life from discovering that he runs around as a superhero in his free time).
No one would expect one of Imp & Skizz’s best reporters to be the superhero Cuteguy, partner to Hotguy. Grian intends to keep it that way.
With a quiet exhale and the white noise of some random show, Grian opens his laptop up, attempting to do some work for his day job. He ends up pausing, catching sight of something online.
He spots an article mentioning Hotguy and Cuteguy, and he stares at it for a second, mouse hovering over the link. It feels weird to think that this is what his life is like now, reporting and reading about living breathing superheroes, being one himself. It all feels like something straight out of a comic book, the type that Grian would read with his siblings as a child. But it’s things like this article that remind Grian he isn’t dreaming, and this isn’t some comic book that he’s reading.
Maybe it’s even crazier to think that this was all an accident, something that was never supposed to happen.
Two years ago, the night sky went white, mixed with little bits of orange and black, crackles of lightning bursting through the storm clouds. It had originated right from the center of the city, causing a blackout that lasted for hours. Grian remembers it like it was yesterday, remembers walking home from a late night at work and the force of the air knocking him off his feet. He had hit his head when he landed on the ground, going unconscious for a few hours. Ironic for him, a reporter, missing out on the most crucial details that he would later report on.
He wrote the article himself, about everything that had happened a few weeks following the event. The origin had been traced back to H.E.P, a laboratory in the city working under the government. They released a statement at a press conference, but they never quite explained what happened. The public explanation was they were working on a project, one that encountered a malfunction, an oversight on their part. The details of what the project was were never released, not even when Grian marched his way up to the head of H.E.P, Xisuma Void, to press for more answers.
Unknown to everyone, the little accident of a malfunctioning machine brought more consequences than they realized.
The creation of hybrids, people genetically mutated with a wide range of abilities. Grian himself is one, not that any of his friends and family know; er, outside of Mumbo (that one wasn’t by choice).
From there it was just one crazy game of dominos, which leads him to where he is today, fighting those who decide to use their abilities for crime alongside Hotguy.
Grian shakes himself out of his thoughts, returning to the task at hand: his article. It’s easy enough for him to lose himself in it, letting his fingers move freely across the keyboard in front of him as words appear on the page.
He’s not sure how long he’s doing it for, but by the time he’s got almost two pages, the front door of the apartment is being unlocked and pushed open. He doesn’t look up as his sister walks inside, setting her bag down on a nearby surface. “I’m home!” Pearl calls out, and it’s only then that Grian pulls himself out of his work.
“Welcome back.” He peeks over the top of the couch, arm coming to rest on the edge. “How was work?” he innocently questions, as if he hadn’t been at the crime scene himself.
Pearl heaves an exhaustion laced sigh as she walks into the apartment, “Had to deal with a hybrid today.” She walks over to the kitchen counter, where envelopes of mail rest on top. She picks them up as she speaks, “Can tell ya that you’re gonna get some fun details for your next article.”
Grian hums, feigning a noise of interest as he closes the top of his laptop slightly to give her his full attention. “Another weird piece of tech?” Impulse and Skizz asked him to handle any coverage on the mysterious technology that’s been appearing with hybrid attacks as of late. It makes sense, considering Grian was the one who initially started covering the hybrid appearances. Granted, it was usually tied to the eccentric hero known as Hotguy, but he supposes out of everyone in the office he would be the most qualified.
Whatever that means.
“Sure was,” Pearl answers. She shuffles the mail in her hands with a soft hum. “And for once I was able to get there first before those Octagon guys.” Something is smug in her voice as she says it. “It was starting to get frustrating honestly, with how fast they’re always popping up. I’ve hardly managed to work any proper hybrid cases thanks to them!” she bemoans, frustration taking over the smug tone.
Grian frowns in sympathy. It’s one of the things that Pearl has complained about with the introduction of the Octagon Unit’s introduction to the force. They were put in place by the mayor to deal with the hybrid cases specifically, but unfortunately for Pearl, her mysterious weapon’s dealer is inexplicably tied to most of the hybrid sightings.
“Sounds like things have been stressful on your end,” he notes, empathetic. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t also feeling the stress on Cuteguy’s side. He and Hotguy have been patrolling practically every night in search of the source of the weapon supplier. He can only imagine how much more stress is added when you constantly feel like you’re racing against the clock. It makes him worried, knowing how reckless his sister can get when clawing her way through a problem.
Pearl drops the mail back on the counter, walking over to the couch. She falls back on the cushion next to Grian with a groan, “Like you wouldn’t believe!” Grian pulls himself back a bit so he doesn’t get squished by his sister as she plops. “I think the most frustrating thing of all is how nice Bdubs and Etho are. It’s so hard to hate them!” she cries, throwing her arms up in the air. Grian’s pretty sure the only one they’re nice to is Pearl. They’re like grouchy old men to Hotguy and Cuteguy. And everyone else who isn't Pearl. “At least Hotguy said I was his favorite between us and them.”
Grian can’t help his snort at that, shaking his head. “A bit unprofessional if you ask me,” he comments.
“Go easy on the guy, Mr. Reporter,” Pearl teases, shaking her head. She heard quite a bit of Grian’s rants about the egotistical hero when he first began reporting on the man. “He’s not as bad as you think he is.”
I know, Grian wants to say, but it’s better for him to keep up the whole ‘hating Hotguy’ act. Even if that’s the farthest thing from the truth now. But it’s safer for his identity and those around him if he tries to make himself as different from Cuteguy as possible. Granted, sometimes it’s easier to fake the annoyance – despite having a thing for his heroic partner, Hotguy still manages to annoy him with his carelessness.
Regardless, he fakes an eye roll, “Yeah well, I’ll believe it when I see it.” He sticks his tongue out at her in return, causing Pearl to huff and shove at him. Grian squawks, hurriedly reaching for his laptop as he’s shoved to the side. “Careful, careful!” he exclaims.
“You started it.” Pearl shrugs in answer before standing up from the couch. “Anyways, take out for dinner?” she questions, glancing at him.
“That’s the third time this week,” Grian comments, but he doesn’t disagree. “Menu’s already on the table.”
“Knew it!” She walks over to said table, humming to herself. Grian can hear her shifting papers and notebooks around until she makes a noise of success. The telltale fwomp of the menu opening hits his ears. “Oh! Did you see all the fliers being put up for the Scarland 50th anniversary celebration?” Pearl inquires, curiosity lilting her voice as she says it.
Grian makes a face at the mention of the city’s biggest and most popular amusem*nt park. It’s been around for as long as Grian can remember. When he was younger, the other kids his age were constantly talking about wanting to go there. He never got the excitement over the park, it was just another place to get unhealthily greasy popcorn while stuffing your face with cotton candy. But his classmates and friends were always so obsessed with it, as if it were the most magical place on earth. Grian’s view of it hasn’t changed much. It’s just another amusem*nt park.
Besides, he knows how… shady the Goodtimes family is. A coworker of his, BigB, did an article on them once. An article that revealed a scandal and cost the family quite a bit of money. Turns out they were trying to cut corners where they could — specifically with the food they were selling. A lot of cases of food poisoning were popping up, which led both Grian and BigB to look into it together. BigB had quite the field day with all that research. The Scarland legal team did not like what they had to say about the amusem*nt park. It was a bit of a dark time for the Imp & Skizz office.
“I’ve seen them around town, but I think I’ll pass on the celebrations,” Grian answers with a slight shrug. “If you need me I’ll be right here on this couch, enjoying a quiet day.”
“Aw, but it’ll be really fun!” Pearl frowns at him lightly. “Think of it as a nice day out of the apartment! I’m worried you’re going to become a hermit at this point,” she sighs, shaking her head in disappointment. “Social interaction is good for you, you know.”
Grian throws her a scandalized look. “I get plenty of social interaction!” he declares.
Pearl raises her brow at him, “Work doesn’t count. That’s mandatory.”
“Mumbo’s there!”
“He doesn’t count either! You see him all the time!”
“Doesn’t sound like an issue to me.” Grian pouts, frowning back at her. He glances at the menu in her hand. “Are you just gonna stand around with the menu like a fish out of water or do you know what you want for dinner?”
Pearl huffs at him, throwing the menu in his direction. “We’re coming back to this, Griba, you’re not escaping that easily.”
Grian grumbles when it hits his face.
“You pushed the braces too far again,” Cub scolds as he fiddles with some wires attached to Scar’s body. After parting ways with Cuteguy once the hybrid was taken care of, Hotguy had headed right back to the one place that most don’t get to see; H.E.P’s personal laboratory. Or as Scar knows it, Cub’s science cave.
Which leads him to now – seated on a medical examination table, shirtless and hooked up to a bunch of machines to run diagnostics. His hero suit is off to the side, along with the braces he has for boots. His cane rests against the table just a few inches away, close enough for him to grab later.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Scar protests, smoothing his hands down the aching muscles of his thighs. “Legs are just a little sore, noth– ow!” He jerks back, a sharp pain blossoming in his left arm as he covers the spot with his hand. “Why’d you pinch me?!” Scar pouts.
Cub’s deadpan expression doesn’t change as he pulls his hand away from Scar. “Because you’re being a self sacrificial idiot again. That’s the third time this month you’ve done that.” He frowns at him as he plucks the sticky pads (electrodes, Cub had called them once) off of Scar’s skin. “Your vitals seem normal, otherwise,” he notes, setting the wires aside to reach for his clipboard instead.
“Well there you have it! Clearly I’m fine.” Scar grins at him as soon as he’s free of the wires, catching the black cotton t-shirt Cub throws at him. “The numbers don’t lie, Cub!”
His cousin exhales, the sound strained and short. “All I’m saying is that you need to take it easy, Scar.” He points his pen at him, threateningly, “Your enhanced body doesn’t make you invincible, but you always seem to think it does.”
Scar flinches back as the pen is shoved in his face, nervously chuckling as he gently pushes it away. “Of course, of course!” He nods in agreement. “Although, I did have a building fall on me once and I walked it off like it was nothing!” Scar exclaims, pulling the t-shirt over his head. “Now that seems kinda invincible, doesn’t it?” He wiggles a brow.
“You had a broken arm and multiple bone fractures,” Cub points out, unimpressed. “You’re lucky that was the worst of it.”
Huffing, Scar tries to argue, “Yeah, and they all–”
“–healed within hours, I know,” Cub sighs. “Just don’t forget that you’re not working alone, Scar.” He turns around and walks over to his desk, where he sits his clipboard down. “All that aside, good work out there today.”
Grabbing his cane, Scar gets off of the table, following after the scientist. “Thanks.” He smiles lightly, yet there’s a quiet voice in the back of his mind that wonders differently. He finds himself thinking back to the civilian from earlier, his anger and frustration.
“When the hell are you gonna fix this?! Huh, you hero?!”
He’s used to the negative opinions, those who think of him as a part of the problem. He’s used to people turning their heads and spitting on the ground he walks on. Scar can’t blame any of them for it. They’re all right, he is a part of the problem. He’s one of the people responsible for it, in some way. He knows that he is, and it’s why he’s working so hard to fix it, to help them all. He’s trying to right their wrongs, but lately it feels like he’s hardly been able to do that.
“Scar,” Cub tries, catching his attention.
“Huh?” Scar looks over at him, watching the way concern falls over his expression.
The other lifts a brow at him, “Were you spacing out on me again?”
“Spacing out?” Scar blinks at him before quickly shaking his head. “Me? Never! I’m one hundred percent focused all the time!”
Cub hums, “What was I just saying then?”
Scar tries to grasp for something, some sort of answer that makes sense. Except he draws a blank, feeling nothing but exhaustion and weariness clouding his thoughts instead. It weighs on any sort of idea he can come up with, creating a fog in his mind. He stares at Cub with his mouth hanging open just slightly. “Uh…”
“You weren’t listening, were you?” Cub questions, though not unkindly.
Guilty, Scar winces and scratches his cheek. “Caught red handed, I suppose!” he weakly chuckles. “Sorry, just got a lot on my mind.”
“Still thinking about that guy from earlier?” Cub guesses, easily reading him. He’s one of the few people that Scar can never fully seem to fool. On some days he’s grateful for it. He knows that no matter what version of himself he wears, Scar or Hotguy, Cub will see through it. And other days, he hates it, wishing that he can hide or shrink away from the knowing gaze.
Today though, Scar is neither. He simply nods and sighs. “I’m supposed to be the city’s hero but… moments like that make me question if I’m even doing any good at all,” he admits, the grip on his cane tightening.
“You’re doing the best you can.” Cub shrugs. Deeply emotional conversations have never quite been his thing. He’s more of an actions guy than words. “I’d like to see him walk off a building falling on him.”
Scar can’t help it, he snorts with laughter. Cub offers him a side grin, pleased at the sound.
“Everyone here is more than aware of the mistake we made that night. And we’re all trying to make up for it.” Cub’s grin falls a bit, expression turning serious as he looks back to the four monitors on his desk. “You’re good at what you do, Scar. Never question that.”
Looking at him, Scar smiles gratefully. “Thanks Cub.” He then glances over at the screens in front of him. Each monitor is turned on, all displaying different things. There’s a bunch of information that Scar can’t even begin to process – a screen with his vitals, two with cameras and a 3D map of the city, and the fourth has a bunch of graphs. “Now. Have we found anything new on Mr. Techie?”
“Mr. Techie?”
“Well I don’t know his actual name, so! I think it works perfectly fine!”
“Alright.” The scientist types on his keyboard, pulling something up. “To answer your question, we haven’t found anything new.” Cub frowns, clicking off of the screen with Scar’s vitals. He switches to a tab full of articles, “I’ve been trying to find what I can, camera feeds, criminal records, you name it. I’ve got nothing.”
Scar squints at the screen in front of him, eyes skimming over the articles and titles. They’ve been dealing with this for months now, and he hates that they aren’t making any progress with it. It’s frustrating to be stuck in what feels like a box, turning the same pieces of information over and over again. There’s no moving forward, no taking the next step to advance or find something new.
He leans in a bit closer, as if decreasing the distance between himself and the computer screen will force a clue to magically appear. It isn’t exactly helpful in most cases, but Scar does it anyway.
“We can’t keep waiting for these attacks to happen,” Scar huffs, “innocent people are getting hurt.”
“I know.” Cub types on his keyboard again, and they open one of the articles. It looks recent, covering a hybrid attack from a few weeks ago. “The issue is the weapons keep self-destructing before you can get your hands on them. You can’t bring anything in for me to analyze.”
Moving back, Scar hums in thought. “If only I could sneak onto the crime scene and see if there’s any scraps left behind…”
Cub laughs, “Good luck.”
“Hey! I’m great at sneaking around! And Detective Moon adores me!” Scar exclaims in defense.
“She likes Hotguy, maybe. But Scar Goodtimes?” Cub challenges, and Scar sees his point.
It doesn’t mean he still won’t try though. He’s nothing if not persistent. Plus, it isn’t just Hotguy who’s got some charm. Scar does too. He’s certain it won’t be too hard to get some kind of evidence from the detective. He can do some easy snooping around, maybe ask a few questions and bayum! A win for Scar.
“Huh. That’s interesting,” Cub mumbles, pulling Scar from his planning. “Most of these articles seem to be written by the same person. A Grian Dreamslayer?”
“Wow, what an awesome last name,” Scar whistles. “Powerful. Strong.” He’d be a great person to talk to! They could pool their knowledge together and figure something out. But would it be better to ask him as Hotguy or as Scar?
“He might be a good lead, too.” Cub scrolls further down the page. “Looks like he’s a reporter for Imp & Skizz. He— well would you look at that?”
“What? What is it?”
Cub looks at Scar, “He’s the same guy who wrote a lot of those criticals of Hotguy.”
Scar grimaces. Well. That answers that question then, huh?
He remembers those articles vividly. He found them rather entertaining at first, reading about himself from some guy who hardly knew him. Grian placed a lot of blame on the hybrids both on him and H.E.P back then. He had some rather… harsh things to say about Hotguy when Scar first started. A lot of which he later took to heart and sought to be better about. But no one is perfect, despite how Scar tries to appear to the public. That reporter never fell for it. And the articles got under his skin, started to bother him and shoot his confidence. They left a sour taste in Scar’s mouth.
“Maybe we save him as a last resort…” Scar trails off, sweating nervously. “After all, I’m sure he’s quite busy! I’d hate to bother him!”
“You’ll have to if your ‘charming the detective’ strategy doesn’t work out,” Cub retorts, tone giving away his total lack of faith in the idea. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Scar shudders at the thought, “I don’t want to know.”
Cub reaches to pat his arm, fake sympathy coating the action. “If you want Mr. Techie to be found, you might have to.” He hums, “It’s not like you’ll have to work with the guy forever.”
He hates that Cub has a point (as he usually does). He can just get whatever information from this Grian guy and then never see him again! Easy!
(Not.)
