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There's an asteroid headed towards LA.
Well, there's lots of asteroids currently heading towards lots of other major cities all over the world, but Flambae's only concerned about the one headed directly for them. He doesn't know why; no one does. All they know is what the news tells them: some alien overlord is trying to wipe out humanity and the big leaguers are dealing with it. And by big leaguers, they don't mean the likes of Blonde Blazer or the Brave Brigade or even Phenomaman.
They're talking about actual real actual heroes like The Amazing Amazon. The Man of Steel. The Dark Knight. Living legends who earned that capitalized 'The' before their monikers because they're the type of supers who can deal with world-ending threats and interplanetary wars. The ones powerful enough to take over the world if they so choose. Forces of good, bastions of peace. Comic book shit, like the ones he used to read as a kid.
(He used to run around with a stick and a rope, pretending he has a sword and lasso, but that was before the bombs and the war and the fire—)
Anyway. The asteroid.
It's actually pretty insane that he's living through an extinction-level threat right now, knowing that this event will be discussed, dissected and debated in history classes a few decades from now. Heh, he might even get mentioned in some random fucking textbook in the distant future, right next to Big Chungus, under list of active heroes present during.
Will they even count him as present? It's not like he's gonna do anything to stop it. That's Phenomaman's job. He assumes other heroes with similar skill sets are being deployed to do the same everywhere around the world.
For everyone else who can't stop a fucking meteor? Damage control.
Get the civvies to the bunkers. Keep the bunkers safe. Keep everyone calm.
Prism is in one of those many bunkers doing that last one, helping to pacify the agitated crowds despite the large rock of death looming over LA. Sweetalker had asked for her specifically, having worked with her during Shroud's attack. He takes comfort in the fact that if Phenomaman does fail, she'd at least be guaranteed to already be underground.
Unlike him and the rest of the unlucky fuckers stuck topside, waiting and watching. They need to be ready to deal with the inevitable problems that crop up during such events: lowlifes taking advantage of the chaos (Sonar and Punch Up are busy dealing with looters), stragglers who can't make it to the safe zones on their own (Invisigal and Waterboy are supporting Malevola, who's been opening portals for the entire past hour now, hitting different schools and nursing homes and hospitals), or even stubborn fucks who refuse to listen to common sense and evacuate (Coupé forgot to mute her comms and is currently threatening to forcibly take a man's wife and kids to the nearest shelter herself if he doesn't stop believing in his idiotic little government conspiracy theory long enough to do it himself).
"Coop, just drag them to the fucking bunker. Now. And mute your mic. Golem. Car pileup on the main road leading to Bunker 5. Clear it, then help direct traffic."
Flambae eyes Robert, his voice echoing a second later through the earpiece. He's tense, hunched over his computer, fingers flying over his keyboard and eyes darting all over the screen. He hasn't moved much else in the past hour.
«On it,» Golem rumbles, and through the windows he sees the mudman head out.
Flambae's skin itches, his flames chomping at the bit for something to do. But he's already been given his task: he's the sole hero assigned to protect the office and its remaining employees. They can't afford another Shroud taking advantage of the chaos to attack. Already, he's busted a handful of remnants of the Red Ring trying to do just that. But this fucking guard dog duty—it's not enough.
"Alright. I'll let the fire department know you're—fuck!"
«… Did I do something or…?»
"No. You're fine, Golem. Just—some fucker is trying to hack into our systems. Gonna talk to Blazer about upgrading our shitty security systems after this. Fucking…" he opens up some program to fight back against this hacker or whatever, but he doesn't mute the comms and start muttering underneath his breath like he normally would. Instead, he keeps talking, asking for updates. "Invisigal, how's the evacuation going?"
«Oh, it's going, alright. Not as fast as we'd like, especially since Mal—move it, people! The portal's not going to hold for long!—fuck what was I…? Mal. I was going to say Mal. She's spent, Rob. She needs—»
«Don't listen to her.» Malevola's voice comes through, double-layered and taut with exhaustion. «I can still—»
"No. Once you're done, come back to base."
«Fuck off! I'm not leaving without finishing this job!»
"And you aren't," Robert says, voice as monotone and calm as ever, but Flambae sees the tension in his jaw and shoulders. The sharpness in his eyes. "That hospital is the last place we need to clear. Once you're done there, you're coming back here, and resting so that if Phenomaman falls and the meteor hits, you'll have enough juice to portal out everyone in the office to safety. Understood?"
If, he says. As if they didn't all see Phenomaman's split-second of doubt when Blonde Blazer gave him the order.
«I—»
"Mal. Am I understood?"
«… got it, bossman.»
Flambae wants to click his tongue and sneer at the frustration in her voice because at least she's been actively contributing. At least she wasn't ordered to stand around and wait for something to do—
«B-but we won't let it reach that point, r-right?!» Waterboy says, all forced optimism. «Phenomaman will—he's gonna stop that com—meteor… right?»
«I shall do my best, Boy of Water,» Phenomaman answers, the rigid determination in his voice clear over his special earpiece. Crisp, high-fidelity. Probably because normal ones can't do shit in space or whatever; that's where he is right now, along with all the other unfortunate fucks assigned to meteor destruction duty. «Robert, how long before the asteroid swarm arrives?»
"Ten minutes."
Flambae glances at the TV screen in the corner of the office, featuring their very own doomsday countdown clock. Ten minutes and eighteen seconds before they reach the point of no return and have to book it. Though it looks like Robert's rounding down.
"Flambae."
He snaps to attention at the sound of Blonde Blazer's voice. Right. Robert's not his direct officer-in-charge right now; she is, the woman who's been pacing the bullpen for the past twenty minutes, coordinating the dispatchers and security and the bunker people and whoever the fuck else so that everything runs as smoothly as possible.
"Security systems detect movement down at the basement parking."
Without waiting for another word, he flies off.
No thugs or other unsavory characters in the basement.
Only a preteen girl who managed to sneak in using her mom's spare keycard. He takes in her appearance. Dark hair, brown eyes and a faint accent. "I'm not going without ma," she blusters, all clenched fists and poorly-hidden fear.
(She reminds him of another girl who used to run after him, a red blanket tied around her neck like a cape, yelling at him to slow down or I'm telling maman—)
Flambae takes her up to the bullpen, and looks away when the girl finds her mother and runs off to her, and gives Blonde Blazer a one-line report.
She nods at him, before making a note on her tablet. She calls out, "Galen, find out which bunker Kiki Salamanca is assigned to. Give them a notice that she's here at SDN with her mother, and will be evacuating with us if needed."
There it is again. If.
If needed. If the asteroid enters the atmosphere. If SDN's golden boy fails. If the meteor hits.
He wonders: can Phenomaman feel the weight of all these fucking 'if's riding on his shoulders? Because Flambae can, just by proximity, and it is not a weight he can imagine bearing alone.
At the seven-minute mark, Coupé reports that she has escorted three stubborn families to the East Torrance bunkers but that the civvies are getting antsy. Robert tells her to stay put and assigns the ex-assassin to crowd-sitting duty. Desperate times.
Six minutes left. Sonar and Punch Up come back with the looters in tow. They put them away with the thugs Flambae stopped earlier, and Blonde Blazer tells Galen to update the count of people that will be evacuating with them if needed.
At minute five, Phenomaman announces that he sees the incoming swarm. He describes the motion of it as choreographed, the individual gold asteroids themselves wrapped in a strange purple light. Robert tells him to keep an eye out for their specific rock of death.
Four minutes. Invisigal and Waterboy show up with Malevola supported between them, the half-demoness's face lined with fatigue. Still, she assures Blazer that she still has enough power to portal everyone out of here. If needed.
At three minutes, Blazer stops in her tracks, hand shooting up to her earpiece.
Flambae, who has been doing nothing but watch the seconds tick away, notices it first.
Something is wrong.
He watches as she pales from whatever she hears from whoever is on the side, her hand shaking with an almost imperceptible tremor. Then she tells Galen to take over for her as she moves to the opposite end of the office where there's less people. Her mouth opens and closes as if she's being cut off by whoever she's talking to, her eyes and fingers flying urgently across the tablet as if searching for a miracle.
Something is very wrong.
Blazer's expression flits between disbelief and outrage and despair. Dread settles low and cold in his gut as she yells, loud enough for the whole floor to hear, "We don't have anyone else!"
«Robert.» Phenomaman speaks, voice tight. «There is a second asteroid.»
The world stills.
He thinks of his sister. His niece.
(He thinks of the pink of a little baby bonnet standing out against the orange of his prison jumpsuit—)
Somewhere in West Torrance is a bunker thirty meters below the earth. All reinforced concrete, carbon steel and fiber-reinforced polymer. Self-sustaining, with redundant systems in place for power, water, and air filtration, and stocked with enough food, water, and medical supplies to last three months if filled to capacity.
This was all on the powerpoint presentation Brainbook gave two hours ago, projected to every available screen in every SDN branch. It also included information on the asteroid aiming for LA, including composition and size and trajectory and energy readings and other shit Flambae's not smart enough to understand. So he glanced over to the ones who are, and saw Robert's grim resolve and Royd's quiet devastation. Just from that, he knew: there is no guarantee that the bunkers can survive a direct hit.
"—ambae? Flambae!"
He jolts back into chaos. He hears Robert telling Golem to turn around and head to the bunkers. Galen is directing Sonar and Punch Up to round up the detainees and get them ready for evacuation. Invisigal is pushing Malevola to sit back down on the bench, saying it isn't time yet. Blazer is leaving the room, Chase following after her. He doesn't know when the rank-and-file were informed, but they all move with an anxiety that wasn't there before. Above it all, a scared girl's voice, asking her mother what's happening.
It all coalesces into a frantic energy that has heat skittering across his skin. He'd have already burst into flames, if not for the damp hand on his shoulder and the wide worried eyes of Waterboy in front of him anchoring him to the present.
"A-are you okay?! You're—you weren't breathing—"
«Guys, a little help?» Sonar says, grunting as if in the middle of restraining someone. «The prisoners are not cooperating.»
"Don't call them prisoners. According to HR, they're detainees," Robert's joke falls flat. His stares at them from his desk, and Flambae bristles at the lingering scrutiny, but thankfully he moves his gaze over to Waterboy. "Go help Punch Up and Sonar."
"B-but—"
"M'fine," Flambae bats away his hand, masks the roughness of his voice. "Go."
"I… okay."
As Waterboy rushes off, Robert's gaze moves back to him. Assessing. Quiet. Worried?
But when a voice calls out his name, it is not Robert's.
"Flambae." He turns around to Galen. "Conference room. Blazer needs you."
He hears Chase and Blonde Blazer arguing even while he's still a good distance away from the door.
"—fucking give it to me! I'm fast enough to slow it down. It'll give Phenomaman enough time to deal with the first and—"
"No. Chase. Being Star Blazer doesn't make you fireproof! You'll die—"
"That's better than having the entire fucking city exploded into fucking smithereens!"
"It's not going to. Robert and I—we had a half-baked contingency, in case Phenomaman couldn't... I don't know if it'll work, but it's—"
Flambae opens the door, and tries not to flinch when Chase turns his glare on him. He turns to Blonde—no, he turns to Mandy. "You called for me?"
"Flambae," she approaches him, gaze apologetic. "I know I'm asking for a lot and so suddenly, but you're our only hope right now, and our only chance at making it through this."
"What the fuck are you…"
The rest of his words die in his mouth as she takes his right hand and places her amulet in it. He inhales sharply because that strange sense for fire he's always had opens up without his say-so and the gem is searingly bright against his palm, glowing and pulsing and pulling him in—
A hand rests on top of his, hiding it from view, and he gasps out the breath he didn't realize he was holding, and jerks up to look at Mandy.
"I need you," she squeezes his hand, and the amulet with it, "to stop the second meteor. Can you do that?"
(And for a moment, he is back in a prison visitation room surrounded by dull concrete as Blonde Blazer looks at him and offers him a contract and a purpose. Clean fuel.)
This is it, he thinks. The culmination of her faith in him. The moment where he proves her either right or wrong. Because this is more than cats in trees and art robberies and malfunctioning planes. This is the fate of a fucking city—millions of lives, placed on his shoulders.
(The baby in his sister's arms is small and fragile, and seems smaller still when she's handed over to him—)
Fucking Phenomaman. Flambae jinxed himself by sympathizing with the idiot.
He takes a deep breath, before looking her in the eye.
"Tell me what to do."
"—and, this is important, motherfucker. Are you listening?"
He tears his gaze away from the gem and meets Chase's narrowed gaze, managing a jerky nod.
"Good. You fucking better be, because I'm the only motherfucker here who knows what if feels like to wield the amulet without being chosen by it. This fucking thing—it won't immediately transform you. It will try to feed on you first. Swallow you whole unless it decides you're fucking worthy or some shit."
"Of course I'm worthy," Flambae snaps to drown out the fearful doubt that blooms in the back of his mind. "Look at me. I'm super fucking amazing."
"You? Please," Chase crosses his arms. "All you are is the human equivalent of a fucking blowtorch—"
"Chase," Mandy chides.
Chase cuts himself off with a huff, glowering at him one last time before continuing with his warning. "Well, as I was fucking saying, this thing is going to try to take over. Don't let it. Remember: you are in charge, not that fucking stone, alright? Oh, and it's going to hurt like a bitch at first. Don't say I didn't warn you."
With that, he steps back, giving Flambae space. Fucking finally.
He lifts the amulet, looping the golden chain around his neck and—
The first thing he feels is heat. Flambae naturally runs hot, and runs even hotter when using his powers. But this heat? It's different. It ripples and wraps around him like cling film, smothering him to the point of discomfort.
The second thing he feels shortly after is the searing fucking pain. Red flame spread as the amulet's scarlet fire starts gorging on his cells, tongues spitting and hissing and eating through his skin like kindling. Distantly, he realizes this will be the closest he'll ever get to getting cooked alive as he's burnt from within and without—
(«Be careful.» Robert says, not knowing Flambae could hear him this whole time. «We don't know what's going on in the refinery... or what's happening to Flambae.»
What's happening is this: him, gagged and chained and surrounded by tanks of crude oil. Needles pierced into his neck and arms and legs by those Red Ring shitheads, filthy fucking fuel injected directly into his veins. The sludge of it slowly makes its way to his heart, melting away his hard-earned control and inching him closer to combustion—)
He controls the fire and the flame and he refuses to burn to death like a little bitch.
He wrestles the white-hot blaze into behaving, before absorbing it. Molding it. His furnace heart stutter-steps as he feeds that red fire into it, then it blazes, pumping in double time so that white-hot flames wash away the impurities of his physical form, building it anew. And fuck, does it build it anew; his intimate familiarity and awareness of his own body leting him recognize the massive boost in strength and vitality that seeps into muscle fiber and bone.
The blinding heat then fades to a thrum, his heartbeat slowing to a normal pace, but it remains steady. Strong. When his feet touch the floor and he looks over at Chase and Mandy—both of them staring at him with bated breath—there's a slight difference in perspective, like he's taller. Which is crazy, considering he was already super fucking tall.
"Oh thank god," Mandy sighs, shoulders sagging. "you didn't die."
Her words cut through the afterglow, and he recoils. "Ex-fucking-scuse me? Did you just say die?!"
Chase gives him an irritated look. "Why you so surprised? Which part of 'try to feed on you' and 'swallow you whole' did you not get? Though to be honest, the self-immolation is a first."
"That didn't happen to you?"
"Nah. Just felt like my body was forced to keep running at full speed until my lungs and legs were ripped to shreds, and then I had to keep on running past that. Must be a power-specific interaction."
The door opens before he could reply.
Robert steps in, and Flambae relishes in the way his brown eyes go wide and shiny with awe.
"Take a picture, Bob Bob."
Robert, of course, shutters away that awe and replaces it with practiced irritation, which quickly fades into seriousness as he says, "One minute forty on the clock. Think you can make it, matchstick head?"
Flambae straightens.
Right. Death rock. Phenomaman. Time limit.
The newly-white fire hums underneath his skin. He directs the energy to his legs, relishing in the way it coils and gathers, ready to be unleashed. If he wants to, he could probably burst through the fucking ceiling.
He shudders at the thought, before meeting Robert's eyes.
"Of fucking course I can, bitch."
There is a fundamental difference between flying with the amulet and without it.
Without it, he has to maintain a steady stream of fire to hold himself aloft. He has to concentrate on the variance of pressure, keep an eye on the push and the pull of his body against gravity. A constant struggle.
With it, gravity is but a suggestion, and he's now free to pour each and every lick of flame into speed. Like adding nitro to a sports car.
As the world fades into a blur and despite the urgency and the imminent danger, he laughs. If this is what Track Star felt like every time he ran, then Flambae understands why Chase turned out to be so goddamn bitter. To have felt this rush, this stream of pure adrenaline, only for it to be taken away? To be forced to a halt by the double-edged blade that is his powers and left with only the memory of this momentum? Fucking sucks.
He slows when he reaches a certain altitude, instincts warning him from going any further. The air here is thinner, and both his lungs and the fire needs oxygen to burn. He is still human, amulet or no. He looks down—and gulps, before shaking off the impending existential crisis. He has a fucking job to do.
He taps his comms. "Hey, Bob Bob. I'm here."
«Fl—an't—s—nal—Phe—»
He frowns, before cursing when the static turns into a high-pitched whine so painful he has to completely turn off his earpiece. He curses, realizing this is exactly why Phenomaman needed a special one. Robert better figure something out or—
Phenomaman shows up before he finishes that thought.
"Flambae!" he greets, before pausing. "You look… different. Is that Blazer's—" his head jerks up and he stare into the middle distance, a finger on his earpiece. "Ah. Yes, Robert. I shall ask questions later and focus on the mission." He drops his hand, eyes focused once more. "Tell me, is this the highest altitude you can reach or can you go higher?"
"I can go as far as there's oxygen available." Flambae says as he looks up at the stars, but then his eyes catch on something else.
The asteroid swarm. Golden giants pulsing with a purple aurora, spreading across space in a synchronized dance. Phenomaman points out which ones are meant for them.
Honestly, they look… small. Aren't asteroids supposed to be hundreds of meters in diameter? One's only around thirty-five, and the other smaller still. Wouldn't something that small just break into pieces upon entry? There must be more to it then. More than the rock. He stares at that strange purple aura wrapping around it, and between one blink and the next, he opens his flame sense.
Flambae knows the dynamics of fire infinitely better than he knows space rocks and astronomy, and so he immediately knows that the rock itself isn't the problem: it's the unnaturally strong heat and energy stored inside it. A barely contained bomb, one that would gives a deceptively small asteroid enough force to cause three times as much damage as it normally would.
Unbidden, Brainbook's little video report starts playing back in his mind. The consequences of failure: the initial impact would leave a crater in the earth, before it explodes into a fireball so large it covers most of Los Angeles. If that doesn't destroy the bunkers, the devastating shockwave, wind blast and earthquake that follows might finish the job. Then maybe a tsunami afterwards, because why not? Buy one unnatural disaster, get four free.
"Fuck."
"Indeed."
He glances at Phenomaman's dour expression, and briefly wonders if his kind can sense fire the same way Flambae can; he wants to ask, but he'll have time to interrogate that later, if—after they save the city. "What's the plan?"
"The second one is smaller than the other, and I shall have no issue throwing it back into space before it could reach the city. It will, however, take me some time. I will need you to use your newfound powers to slow the bigger one down. You will not be able to completely stop it, but if you hold on, I will return to assist you as soon as possible."
Flambae lets out a strangled laugh. "You want me to deal with the bigger one. The one even you didn't want to deal with."
"Yes. This is the plan Robert and Blazer has come up with. And yes, I admit I was… uncertain of my ability to deal with the initial asteroid." Then Phenomaman pauses, looking at the sky, before looking back at Flambae. "However, with you by my side, I am more than positive that we can stop both."
There's a burst of warmth in his chest and cheeks at the unabashed display of sincerity, which he covers up with a huff. "Whatever, big guy. Let's just fucking do this. And when we get back to earth, you and every fucker down there can buy me a drink. What do you say?"
Phenomaman smiles. "It would be my pleasure."
Flambae smiles back, all teeth. "Fucking phenomenal. Now where's the timer at?"
"Twelve seconds. Brace yourself. I will fly you to where you may push back against the meteor's entry into the atmosphere."
And then there's large hands around his waist and his face is tucked against a broad chest, and a short burst of speed as Phenomaman repositions him without much warning.
"Motherfu—"
"We are here."
They stop just as quickly as they started, and when Flambae looks up, the rock of death is already too fucking close.
"I shall return once I've dealt with the other meteor. Good luck. Five seconds."
"Son of a bitch!" Flambae yells as he quickly dives down in a straight line, counting down in his head. When he reaches two, he rotates one-eighty degrees and shoots back up. He builds up insane momentum, and within seconds he's face to face with a purple gold rock of death.
He spreads his arms to meet it and—
"Holy fucking shit fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—"
He takes back everything he ever thought about this being a small meteor because right now, it feels like the sky is pressing down against him. He is an ant facing a burning mountain of gold, his body screaming and straining as it tries and slowly fails to endure the pressure and the heat.
He grits his teeth. Breathe, hold, push. Core braced, arms at an angle. Keep pushing past failure. Just like in the gym, except it's a singular rep and the weight is millions of people and the city they live in and failure isn't a fucking option—
(The weight is Merhvash and Fatima and Alice and Robert and the entire fucking team—)
He screams, forcing a second wind. He reaches for the energy inside the meteor and yanks, tensing when it fights back against his grasp. He feeds it to the amulet, not letting up even when it feels like his heart is about to burst in his chest.
He doesn't know how long it's been since he started pushing, just knows that it's somewhere between an eternity and a few seconds. He can't even tell if he's succeeding. Everything in front of him is burning purple gold, and he can't afford to look back over his shoulder. All he has is the strain and the fight and the full-body burn—
Then a shift, a give. The weight stops.
"I am here."
Finally.
He grins, twisting his head to look at golden boy beside him. His pulse is still thumping like a jackrabbit. When he talks, his voice is thin and reedy. "You're late, bitch. Not a very good spotter, are you?"
Phenomaman's brows pinch together. "A spotter? Is that not," he breaks off with a grunt as he repositions his arms, "someone who watches for enemies?"
Flambae lets out a breathy laugh when Phenomaman heaves, earning them more ground in their impossible fight against gravity. Talk about fucking Atlas.
Not one to be outdone, he blinks away the black spots in his vision and pushes alongside him, ignoring the ache in his lungs and the bruise his heart is stamping into his sternum with how hard it's going. At some point, the purple energy fades and leaves nothing but gold, and the weight gets easier to bear.
They fly higher and higher, until gravity gives up its hold and they're rocketing forward faster until—
The asteroid pushes away.
He watches as the golden rock floats off and away, getting smaller with the growing distance, and it is viciously satisfying. Top ten views of all time.
He turns to Phenomaman to laugh with him about it. His lungs spasm instead. Everything goes blurry.
His heart finally slows as the fire inside sputters. Then it chokes with nothing feeding the flame.
This high up, in the boundary between sky and space, without the sound of his rushing pulse…
It is blessedly quiet.
He wakes in flashes.
The whistling of wind as he falls.
His hair whipping against his face, having long fallen out if its usual ponytail.
An ache in his lungs.
Warmth behind his knees and around his back and along his side.
A sudden deceleration.
A deep rich voice, familiar and edged with relief.
"—yes, he is breathing again. His heart rate is also returning to normal."
A distant fire. It feels soft, tranquil. Candlelight and hearths.
He slits his eyes open and sees a setting sun over the ocean, coloring the water with reds, oranges, and golds. He sighs, eyes falling shut once more.
"I think he is conscious."
He hums in affirmation, feeling their descent slow to a stop.
"F'cking bitch," he murmurs, shivering as a gust of wind blows over them. He snuggles into a blessedly warm and muscled shoulder, before opening one eye to glare up at Phenomaman. "How th'fuck are you hotter than me?"
"My temperatures remain as they were before. It is you who has grown colder. It seems you have expended too much of your inner fire. I can see it is still weak and in the midst of recovery, so please, do not push yourself any further."
Well, that's another point for the big guy being able to sense fire the way Flambae does.
"You can see heartflames as well?"
Flambae scrunches his nose. He didn't mean to say anything out loud. Also— "Heartflame? That's so fucking corny, what the fuck," he grumbles without answering, his indignation waking him up somewhat. Another breeze, another shiver. He smacks Phenomaman on the pec. "Get going before I fucking freeze to death up here."
"Ah—apologies. I shall hasten our arrival now that I know you can take it. Hold on."
"Wait—"
It's déjà vu, the way Phenomaman suddenly speeds the fuck up and flies them off. Flambae lets out a string of muffled curses, arms wrapping around his neck tight enough to choke a normal person. Phenomaman, of course, is a fucking alien and far from normal.
When they finally land, Flambae lets go to smack him in the chest, glaring up at the motherfucker, hissing, "Warn me next time, bitch."
His irritation grows when he gets a frown in return, Phenomafucker's brows furrowed in a way that makes him look like a confused puppy. "But I did. And I am certain you flew similar speeds earlier."
Flambae growls, smacking him again. "It's different because when I'm flying, I'm in control—"
"So you wanna be in control, huh? Wanna top the big strong alien and put him in his place?"
His head jerks to see Invisigal leering, the rest of the Z-Team jeering and smirking at his predicament, including those who should be at the bunkers. The rest of the crowd is made up of Mandy, Robert and Chase, standing back and watching at a respectable distance.
"Fuckers," he scowls, pushing and shimmying until Phenomaman gets the idea and puts him down on his feet. He almost loses his balance, and the way everyone tenses and readies to catch him would be funny if he weren't so mortified about it. As usual, he blusters through the embarrassment, standing up straight and throwing his hair over one shoulder; he catches a flash of golden yellow in his periphery as he does. "This how you treat the savior of the fucking city?"
Malevola rolls her eyes. "Well, come on, savior. Let me see the damage." She steps forward, and places a hand on his shoulder, then pauses. "Oh wow. You're taller than Phenomaman. You're as tall as me in heels."
"Fucking wild," Sonar says, before turning to Mandy. "Hey, any chance we can get Punch Up to wear the magical girl necklace next?"
Invisigal laughs. "Brave words for someone whose balls are within arm's reach."
"Ha! Like that's a—whoa, now. Let's all calm down!" Sonar says, hands up in surrender when Punch Up jokingly puts up his fists.
Flambae chuckles at the scene, but then he has to tune out the rest of the banter as he feels that strange slithering sensation that always happens when Malevola searches for injuries. It starts at his chest, then to his head, and ends with a cursory loop of his extremities. When she pulls back, she takes with her the ache in his lungs. Without it, he can know feel the other smaller pains that once stood in its shadow, like the strain of exertion that comes from overworking one's body in the gym.
"Oof." She rubs a hand against her sternum, taking deep, steady breaths. "You choked up there, babes?"
He shrugs. "Fire needs oxygen. Not a lot of that in space. Who would've thought, eh?" He turns to Prism, grinning. "Sup, bitch? How'd civvie-watching duty go?"
"Five star review from Sweetalker. Not that it was ever in doubt. How was the meteor?"
"Pfft. Easy. Like, sooo fucking easy I could've done it in my sleep."
She laughs, pulling him down into a hug. "You are something else, Bae. Now, come here," Then she pulls back, taking out her phone and angling it towards him like a mirror. "Need to capture your debut because have you seen yourself, baby? Rocking that blond, that's for sure!"
For the first time since his transformation, he sees what he looks like through the camera app. Platinum blond hair with dark roots, falling in waves over his back. His suit is mostly the same save for the coloration—the flame patterns now filled in with clean white, the edges softened by a blue outline—and the sunny yellow fabric that now occupies the neckline of his suit, covering his usually bare chest and wrapping all the way to the top like a turtleneck; Blazer's colors. On his sternum, the bright red gem of the amulet gleams.
"Shit," he laughs, running his hand through his hair and throwing the camera a seductive smirk as Prism's shutter clicks away, taking selfies of the two of them. "I look sexy as fuck."
"You always do, boo." She steps back to take a picture of just him, and he poses on habit, cocking one hip to the side. "Yass. Attitude."
"You know it, bitch," he turns around so she could get some shots with his ass, before flipping his hair, glancing at the strands. "Hmm. Should I make this a permanent change and dye my hair?"
Someone scoffs. "And look like a bumfuck surfer boy? Fuck no."
Flambae and Prism stop their impromptu photo session and turn around to see Chase scowling at them, arms crossed, Robert and Mandy just behind him.
"What you should do is stop fucking around and return the fucking amulet to its rightful owner."
"Chase," Mandy warns, before turning to Flambae, lips pulled up into a proud smile. "Good job out there, agent."
He acknowledges her praise with a nod as he regards her with new eyes. This is the woman who offered him a second chance at life. The woman who was chosen by an artifact of immense power. The part of him that used to wonder why now feels the way the amulet seems to be drawn to her, that intense energy humming in her presence. It's like the gem can see the way she looks at him wearing the amulet without a single ounce of resentment or ill will, like she'd be completely fine never wearing it again if it means more people get saved, and wants the reunite with her all the more for it.
Selflessness. Faith and hope and a desire to see the world better itself, wrapped up in a dorky corporate package.
"You want it back?"
"Might be best for you to hold on to it for now," she says, glancing past the roof and at what seems to be a small army of press vehicles on their way to SDN. "At least until the media circus is done for today."
"Oh shit. Here," Prism takes off her visor and offers it to him. "The less people associate him with Flambae, the better. Right, Miss Blazer?"
"Again, Prism, you don't have to call me that while I'm like this. But yes, that is correct. If possible, we want to distance Flambae from… whatever name they come up with for you. We got lucky with Chase because, well," she gestures at his whole deal, earning a resigned huff from the old man, "but you're more…"
"Remarkable?" Flambae offers with a haughty smirk.
"Infamous," Robert drawls, turning his smirk into a frown. "Sure, your modesty is all protected now—"
"Fuck off, bitch."
"—but your voice is pretty much a dead giveaway."
Flambae rolls his eyes. "What, you saying there can't be two people walking around with the same accent? Racist much?" He puts on Prism's visor, but only because he recognizes that his own set of shades would clash with his current color scheme. "I mean, I don't blame you for thinking that, Bob Bob. I'm one-of-a-kind sexy, voice included. But don't worry. I'll make sure to play up the strong and silent type in front of the paparazzi."
A deep voice cuts off whatever snarky reply Robert's got in store.
"Flambae." They all turn to Phenomaman, who only looks straight at him. "If I may. I've seen many people celebrate success via love-making, and I wish to do the same."
Flambae blinks once. Twice. He looks at Prism, who looks back just as baffled, before turning back to Phenomaman. Both of them completely miss the dawning horror on Mandy's face and the growing amusement on Robert's.
"Uhh, congrats? Do whatever the fuck you want?"
Phenomaman beams. "Then I wish to make love to you right now."
His declaration is followed by a silence so loud it could only mean one thing: everyone fucking heard him. Slowly, one by one, each Z-Teamer—including Waterboy—turns to them with varying amounts of malicious glee.
Flambae gets exactly three seconds to process, before the floodgates open.
"Phenomaboy's got a type—"
"—never realized you were an exhibitionist, big man—"
"—carried him bridal style—"
"Do it! Do it! Do—"
"He's pulling his cock out!"
"Should use p-p-protection—"
"—get that alien dick, bitch!"
"Yo, does he even have a dick?"
Meanwhile, Phenomaman decides to pull him into a fucking bear hug for some reason, squeezing incredibly tight and refusing to let go even as Flambae yells and curses and gives everyone the finger.
Three days later, and the world is still talking about the asteroid swarm that could've ended humankind.
The internet is abuzz with clips of heroes using different methods to stop meteors from hitting their target city. Competing for most viral: drone footage of a sorceress atop the Eiffel Tower creating a gigantic spell circle in the sky that repels the meteor, and an amateur shot of a large team of superswordsmen in Luanda cutting the meteor into smaller and smaller pieces until it looks like it's raining gold. As it turns out, Flambae and Phenomaman's method of pushing the rock back into space isn't exciting enough to earn a lot of views, but hey, at least it worked.
Internet fame aside, there are also talks of a possible documentary, one that covers how the incident was handled by the United States specifically. The DTLA branch has already received a call from a famous director's assistant, asking to meet the two heroes who saved Los Angeles. Phenomaman and—
"Dawn Blazer?" Flambae huffs and throws his phone down on the break room table. "Who thought up that shit? Do I team up with Waterboy and fight Mister Greaser?"
"Better than White Blazer," Prism says, "which I saw a couple articles trying to run."
Flambae shudders. "Thank fucking god. Imagine getting racially profiled your whole life just to end up with a name like White Blazer. Eugh."
"You guys seen this one yet? From Torrance Today?" Invisigal asks. Flambae gestures for her to go on, missing the grin on her face as she clears her throat and reads the article on her phone out loud. "It appears that the stoic Dawn Blazer, who did not speak at all and quietly stood on the side, is very close with the hero known as Phenomaman, as we've received a," snrk, "we received a photo of the two celebrating their success with a p-passionate embrace—"
She breaks off into a laughing fit alongside Prism, unable to continue past that particular line and uncaring of the way Flambae shoots out of his seat and grabs her phone to furiously search for said photo.
Lo and behold, there it is. A shot of Phenomaman squeezing the shit out of him, taken in an angle that hides Flambae's face. He's about to blow the phone up, but then he falters, eyes catching on a name in the next paragraph.
Despite Dawn Blazer's very recent arrival to the hero scene, he has already managed to find a place in the hearts of Torrance's citizenry, especially among children. "Like a star!" says Merhvash, one of the young children staying at the West Torrance bunker during the incident and one of the many who watched the live drone footage of him and Phenomaman pushing back a meteor into space. This sentiment is echoed by…
"Wow. What a familiar name."
He looks up and sees Robert reading over his shoulder. Of course he knows about his niece—Flambae talks about her all the time—but the only ones who know her actual name are him, Mandy and the Z-Team. And Galen, given his superhearing, but the man knows how to mind his own business.
Robert straightens back up before taking a nonchalant sip of his coffee. "To think this journalist would quote that specific girl out of everyone there. What a crazy coincidence."
Prism and Invisigal have stopped laughing, and are now grinning at him like idiots, the former's phone out and undoubtedly recording. Flambae looks away from them and back down at the article, definitely not fighting back a smile of his own.
He scrolls down to find the author.
Fatima S., Freelance Writer.
Of fucking course. Prism was probably the one who sent her the picture of him and Phenomaman. Probably also told her about the whole "making love" bullshit. Just another thing for his older sister to tease him with.
He scrolls back up, and reads it from the top.
A brief paragraph summarizing his and Phenomaman's successful attempt to stop the meteor. Speculation on his identity and his connection to the other known Blazers (Blonde and Star). Speculation about his non-existent relationship with Phenomaman. The fucking hug picture. More quotes from civvies, asking for their thoughts. Another picture, this one taken by one of the photographers that surrounded him during the media frenzy that occurred after Mandy ushered everyone off the rooftop.
He stares at that last one for a good long while.
Back straight, arms crossed. Head turned as he stares at something off to the side. Tall and broad and proud as he stands a few feet behind Phenomaman, who isn't completely cropped out of frame. Costume a different color palette and not exposing as much bare skin as he'd like. The setting sun glinting against the borrowed visor, effectively hiding his distinct amber eyes and thick brows. The loose blond hair framing his face. The scarlet gem glimmering on his chest.
He looks like he stepped out of a comic book.
He looks like a fucking hero.
The sentiment settles strangely somewhere in his chest, near his heart. Good or bad, he can't tell. He'll have to dissect that later, put it on the list of things to ponder which so far includes: the fact that the Dawn Blazer articles are the first ones written about him that do not mention his past villainy, and the fact that SDN wants to include his likeness in the Blazer merchandise line.
The first he doesn't know how to deal with, but the second…
He glances at the time—twenty minutes left before shift starts—then tosses the phone back to Invisigal. He turns to Robert.
"Blazer in her office?" he asks, lips quirking into a grin. "My niece's birthday is in a few weeks and I need to talk to her about merch."