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The office felt like power incarnate, every detail carefully curated to intimidate.
The polished mahogany desk, the faint scent of cigar smoke clinging to the air, the expensive scotch poured into an amythest crystal tumbler—all designed to put visitors off-balance.
Schlatt leaned back in his chair, a sly grin playing on his lips as he studied Aether.The kid was a picture of resolve, his white-and-gold hero suit gleaming even in the dim light.
But Schlatt could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened. The hero was steady on the outside, sure. But everyone cracked under the right pressure. It was only a matter of finding the right fault line.
“Look, kid,” Schlatt started, his tone just friendly enough to seem genuine, “I’m a reasonable guy. I see talent when it’s right in front of me, and let me tell you—you’re the real deal. People see you and think, ‘Now there’s someone who’ll save the day.’ That’s rare. And it’s worth a hell of a lot.”
He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching as Aether’s eyes flicked to it, then quickly back to him. Good. Just a little reminder of who held the cards.
“But let’s be honest,” Schlatt continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, “You’re holding yourself back. That little ‘no-kill’ rule of yours? It’s quaint. Admirable, even. But in the real world, it’s a liability.”
Schlatt takes a sip of the drink, holding the purple glass in his hands as he adjusts, leaning toward the hero. “You’re out there fighting monsters, criminals, villains who don’t give a damn about rules. You think they’d hesitate to put you six feet under if it meant getting what they wanted?”
Aether’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t respond. Schlatt allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. Silence was golden—it meant Aether was thinking, even if he didn’t want to admit it.
“I’m not saying you’ve got to go full psycho,” Schlatt said, feigning a casual air as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “All I’m saying is, work with me. Be smart about this. We can clean up this city for good, get rid of the scum who keep crawling out of the cracks. No more revolving doors at the prisons, no more ‘rehabilitation programs’ that don’t do jack shit. Real results, Aether. That’s what I’m offering.”
He let the words hang in the air for a moment, then added, almost as an afterthought, “And you wouldn’t exactly be doing it for free. Anything you want, it’s yours. A penthouse. A personal gym. Enough money to make Bruce Wayne jealous. All you’ve got to do is stop tying your hands behind your back.”
Schlatt watched as Aether’s shoulders squared, his posture stiffening with resolve. The kid was predictable.
“I can’t,” Aether said finally, his voice calm but firm. “My duty is to the people, not to you. Killing doesn’t solve problems—it just creates more.”
Schlatt hid his irritation behind a slow, theatrical sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Figures you’d say that,” he muttered, his tone almost disappointed. “Always the noble one, huh? Alright, fine. You do things your way. I respect it. Really, I do.”
He gestured vaguely, as if waving Aether off. The hero stood, and Schlatt watched him move toward the door, every step measured, controlled. For a moment, Schlatt considered letting him leave without another word. But where was the fun in that? He still had one more card to play.
“Of course,” Schlatt said, his voice almost too casual, “it’d be such a shame if I couldn’t supply your brother’s medicine anymore. You know how it is—villain fights destroy infrastructure, resources get tight. And I’ve got to prioritize the people who actually help this city.”
He didn’t look up, pretending to be absorbed in the last sip of his drink. The glass hit the desk with a quiet clink, but the sound was drowned out by the crash of Aether slamming Schlatt into the wall. The impact knocked the breath from Schlatt’s lungs, his drink tipping and shattering on the floor.
For a moment, he panicked. Aether’s strength was no joke—his hand clamped around Schlatt’s throat with terrifying precision, pinning him like a bug.
But then the fear melted into something else, something darker. Triumph. The kid was reacting. Emotion was far easier to manipulate than reason.
“If you ever,” Aether growled, his voice low and dangerous, “try to use my brother’s health to manipulate me—” His grip tightened, cutting off Schlatt’s air, making him choke. “—I will do what the Syndicate has failed to do for the last five years.”
Aether leaned in, his breath hot against Schlatt’s ear. “And kill you myself.”
Ah.
Never mind, then, Schlatt can’t even breath, much less talk and convince Aether otherwise.
Schlatt dangled, helpless, his feet scrabbling for purchase on the floor. For a moment, he wondered if the kid might actually do it.
But then, just as quickly, the pressure vanished. Schlatt crumpled to the ground, coughing and gasping for air.
Aether crouched, grabbing Schlatt by his tie and jerking him forward until their faces were inches apart. “Do I make myself clear, Schlatt?”
Schlatt nodded frantically, his eyes wide with fear. Satisfied, Aether released him, stood, and strode out without a backward glance.
The office was silent for a long moment after the door closed. Then, slowly, Schlatt’s lips curled into a grin.
The form shimmered, melting and twisting until Dream stood in his place. He adjusted his tie, rolling his shoulders to shake off the lingering soreness.
“Well,” he muttered, tapping his earpiece, “that was entertaining.”
“Check Aether’s name off the list,” Dream said, his voice smooth and amused. “We’ll let him live.”
Techno’s voice crackled in his ear, dry and unimpressed. “That’s only the second hero to deny you, after a not-so-subtle threat.”
Dream chuckled, walking back to the desk and propping his feet up. “Maybe I should’ve toned it down.”
“Maybe?” Techno snorted. “You’re lucky Aether didn’t actually kill you.”
“Oh, Tech,” Dream said, twisting a ring on his finger with a lazy grin. “You just don’t understand my genius. If they crumpled under such an easy threat, they wouldn’t be worth keeping around.”
Techno huffed. “You’re just being a possessive little shit over your hero.”
Dream’s grin widened, predatory and gleeful. “You say that as if you weren’t practically purring when your dear Zephyrus denied my—oh, sorry, Schlatt’s—offer.”
“Just do your job,” Techno grumbled.
“Aye aye, Captain,” Dream replied, his voice dripping with mockery as he shifted back into Schlatt’s form.
The game wasn’t over yet—not by a long shot. And oh, what a fun game it was turning out to be.