Chapter Text
Chapter 1 : Sonar’s Mission
It was Robert’s last shift of the week and somehow, that made the looming nine hours feel even longer. What was supposed to be a light and easy day of work had turned into the kind of slow, grinding torment that made time feel shattered. Every tick of the clock seemed louder, every voice around him sharper, every movement of his body heavier.
He eventually sat his sore gluteus maximus onto the scarlet fabric of his chair, the springs groaning beneath him as he adjusted the squeaking wheels to find a slightly more comfortable position. His shoulders tensed, then eased as he stretched his arms over his head, feeling the tight pull in his back. Robert adjusts his headset and let out a long, exhausted sounding sigh, bracing himself for the day yet to begin.
Ping! Ping! Ping!
Robert:
“Hey guys, it’s going to get a little rough these next couple of hours because of Shroud's goons causing chaos in the streets again. But I still have faith in every one of – “
Punch Up:
“Yeah, ye can go ahead n’ shut the fuck up mate. Pretty sur’ we know what we’re doin’.”
Prism:
“Someone’s still salty his micro sized dick lost his favorite femdom mommy⁰, hahaha.”
Punch Up:
“Hey! Why don’t ye shut your trap? Coupe would slice you up into eh’ gay fruity ass cake, ye’ cupcake wig lookin’—"
Robert:
“Hey, hey, hey! Guys, focus! Please stop fighting and act more professional.” *sigh* “I don’t even know why I even try asking…”
Ping!
Robert:
“Looks like the 7-11 on the corner of 3rd street and Witmer street¹ needs assistance. Okay, uhh- Sonar. Why don’t you go there and check to see what’s up. You seem to get the hang of understanding what businesses want.”
Malevola:
“Seriously? 7-11 needs a superhero? Why don’t we just focus on the more important issue at hand: Shrouds fucking henchmen? Seems like they’re the real danger.”
Robert:
“Cause everyone’s problems matter. Not just Shroud’s evil goons. Flambae can probably handle Sonar’s portion of them in faster time too. Looks like he just did. Nice job Flambae.”
Flambae:
“Thanks, Robert.”
Sonar:
“Yeah, it’s okay Malevola. I’m great with business deals. One time I scammed a dude out of like 3 grams of Marijuana. Uh—before I became a hero… obviously.”
After retrieving Robert’s instructions through his earpiece, Sonar paused for a fraction of a second, letting the direction’s sink in. Then, with deliberate intention, he extended his colossal bat-like wings from beneath his crisp sapphire-hued business suit.
The fabric stretched slightly against the span of his shoulders as the wings expanded outwards, stretching the shadows across the SDN North parking lot like an abyss consuming all surrounding light. A sudden gust of wind roared beneath him, rattling nearby hung-up frames and sending loose papers scattered across the asphalt.
With a powerful push, he launched into the opulent-teal sky, the city lights getting smaller until they looked like Christmas lights beneath him, the roar of traffic fading into distant murmurs. His wings cut through the air with a sharp flap, each beat propelling him faster², until the wind flattened his hair and whipped his coat behind him like a cape.
By the time he arrived at the directed location, gliding with precision like a surgeon, Robert thought with relief, “I am so glad I sent him to retrieve his flying license…”
Sonar reached the 7-11, that seemed to be crammed into the corner of a street drowned in chaotic traffic. Horns blared constantly, engines revving, the smell of exhaust illuminating in the air.
Honk. Honk. Honkkkk.
He tucked his wings smoothly back in and reached for the glass door’s handle. His pale fingers barely contacting the warm metal for a fraction of a second before— SLAM.
The door burst open inches away from his pink snout. A burly man staggered out, with his chest puffing and face wrinkled with stress. The gas station logo stretched across his broad chest with sweat making the fabric darker. His mocha skin glistened in the sun with drops of sweat clinging from his woolly eyebrows.
“Jeeeesus. That scared me”—Sonar thought to himself.
With one hand, he adjusted his large circular glasses, smudging them up over his beady and alert eyes. His thick beard twitched as he sniffed the air. Sonar inhaled the sharp tang of sweat and anxiety. He looked like he couldn’t catch a breath, like he had 5 minutes to live, and every movement screamed, hurry, hurry.
“What’s this guy’s deal?”
Sonar:
“Woah man. You alright? I’m, uh, I’m Sonar from SDN. You called us for our services.”
Peter:
“Yes sir! That was me. I’m Peter, nice to meet you!”
Peter anxiously and swiftly extends his hand in offering a handshake. Sonar quickly confirms the polite gesture with a quick shake. Without hesitation, Peter then begins to scurry past the humanoid bad creature without acknowledgement.
“What a polite man…”
Sonar:
“Wait, wait, wait a second. Where are you going? I don’t even know what I’m here for. Why are you leaving?”
Peter:
“Oh! Right! I completely apologize for that. That’s my fault, heh. Yes, the mission, right, right, right. Well, you see here; my wife just called me after crashing her car in what she described as a fight between a male twink covered in fire? And one of Shroud henchmen. My nine-year-old girl was in the car with her, and I must reach them, leaving my store unattended. Could you please look after my shop for me while I’m gone? You’re my last hope. Please.”
“Is this guy for real? I can’t tell if he’s really dense or just on the spectrum for autism or something.”
Sonar:
“Hm… why didn’t you just call SDN to have a superhero help your wife and daughter?”
Peter:
“Because I want to make sure, they’re okay! I – uh, I got to go! Sorry again for the swift departure!”
Sonar:
“Wait! Can I have unlimited supply of Twinkies³ as a form of payment?”
Before Sonar could form another thought, before it could slip past the rose-tinted curve of his snout, Peter was already moving. His footsteps struck the pavement in sharp, uneven bursts, each one echoing faster, sounding desperate in Sonar’s heightened hearing.
Once the cherry red Ford in the parking lot roared to life, its engine snarled, vibrating through the concrete and into Sonar’s chest. Tires screamed as the truck lurched forward and vanished into the relentless LA traffic, its sound thinning, splintering, until it was swallowed whole by the city’s roar. Sonar remained frozen amid the noise, the vibrations buzzing under his skin.
The thought of Twinkies barely surfaced before being crushed by something colder: the certainty that Peter hadn’t just left swiftly away. He’d fled. Fled as if staying a millisecond longer could cost him something he couldn’t afford to lose. Something Sonar didn’t and couldn’t understand.
“I’m sure the police would’ve reached his wife and kid in time. Why was he still in such a hurry? I swear humans are the oddest creatures. At least I get this whole gas station to myself.”
Sonar:
“I’m still going to eat the Twinks.”
Sonar then steps into the gas station which signifies the bell to rings once. The sound is swallowed by buzzing fluorescent lights and the low hum of refrigerators. The store has a distinctly vintage vibe to it. Scuffed off-white tiles, sun-faded signage, and shelves that look like they haven’t been organized or stocked in decades. The cashier counter sits firmly on the left, bulky and worn, with cigarette racks and lottery signs rising behind it.
Sonar:
“Oh-ho-ho, lottery tickets. Today must be my lucky day”
Sonar begins rubbing his hands together like a greedy catholic priest.
Robert:
“Don’t even think about it, Sonar.”
Sonar:
“Fuck. I forgot you can hear me...”
“He still won’t know if take these pearls”… Sonar thinks to himself as he slides a pack of cigarettes across the counter and into his pocket. On the right side of the store lies narrow aisles that stretch back in tight rows of chips, candy, and pastries, their bright packaging glistening vibrantly against the dull, aging interior. Halfway down that side, at chest height, the Twinkies sit in slightly crooked white-and-gold boxes among honey buns and cupcakes, perfectly placed to be grabbed without thinking.
Sonar leers across the colorful assortment of goods, immediately lunging at the opportunity to engulf his mouth with the delightful yellow pastries once his eyes met their gaze. Completely filling up his cheeks like a squirrel gathering nuts for winter.
Robert:
“Hey Sonar, how are things on your end?”
Sonar:
“Hurmf? I’mf doing fne…”
White Twink cream begins to poor down Sonar’s cheeks…
Flambae:
“Hey Robert, I found a homeless person’s thong laying in the streets. He looked a lot like you. Did he steal it off from you or are you by chance homeless?”
Robert:
“Neither of those things… Flambae, I’m going to need you to help get someone’s pet cat out of a tree please⁴”
Punch Up:
“Ay’, why do yeh never send meh out on those easy missions, Robert?”
Malevola:
“Uh, does he really need to answer that?”
Prism:
“Yeah, it’s because you’re short as fuck.”
Punch Up:
“Hey! That’s uncalled fe'r. I may be short in height cause of that damn sorcerer, but those nine inches definitely landed somewher’ else!”
Malevola:
“Proof?”
Punch Up:
“Have Golem show yeh his, he can grow it to be any size! Trust meh’ I’ve seen it in de’ locker showa’.”
Golem:
“Did someone say my name?”
Robert:
“Okay—guys—can we please focus here? We’re not children.”
Dangling, ding!
Medium-sized footsteps vibrated across the gas station floor, the sound humming through the black and white tiles, crawling up the metal shelves. Sonar’s ears flicked straight up like properly tuned antennas, receiving every sound. Slowly, he lifted himself just enough to peer over the edge of the shelving. Two older teenage boys (maybe around 16) entered the store.
The first had scruffy, messy hair that looked like a bird had tried (and failed), to build a nest on his head. He wore a striped shirt beneath a jacket tinted with cool-toned colors, giving him a messy but confident look. Next to him stood the second teenage boy, noticeably taller but much thinner, with coiled up of brown hair and a small band aid placed under one eye, most likely from a recent scuffle. As they start approaching deeper into the store, they take notice of Sonar.
“Look at these potential looking jerks… I bet their mom took away their PlayStation, so they went to the nearest gas station to have some fun. I bet the kid with the band aid thinks he’s real tough. Eh, I’ll teach these two a lesson if they try anything.”
1st boy:
“Hey, bat freak!”
2nd boy:
“Is he eating Twinkies?”
1st boy:
“Holy shit, you’re right hahaha, he eats like an animal!”
Sonar attempted to intervene in the constant back and forth between the two, but before he could utter a single strand of coherent words, the other boy cuts off his trail of thoughts.
Sonar:
“Hey—"
2nd boy:
“Ew! What the hell?! You’re so ugly lookin’! Who invited you into this side of town?”
“What the fuck?! These kids are little demons! What kind of monster raised these two?”
Robert:
“Hey Sonar, you, okay? I haven’t checked up on you in a while. I tapped into your audio source and I’m getting what seems to be some shit talking on your end.”
Sonar grits his teeth, feeling his fists clenched in anger and his sweat crawl down his back due to the useless air conditioning’s poor quality and heat of the situation.
Sonar:
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
Sonar manages to utter, attempting to hold in his rage.
“Little shits…”
Robert:
“Alright. Just don’t attempt to do anything stupid. At least not without my word.”
1st boy:
“Who is he talking too?”
2nd boy:
“Who knows. Maybe he’s some kind of bat schitzo, hahaha.”
The teens slowly begin to close the distance between Sonar and themselves. Sonar couldn’t physically identify any malice with their intent to get closer but can practically smell their verbal hostility.
Sonar:
“Hey now. I’m only here on strict business matters. I don’t want any trouble… but if you threaten me, you’ll regret it.”
2nd boy:
“BWUAHAHHAHA!!! No way!”
Both boys begin gesturing, wiping away tears as if what Sonar said was an opening one liner for a comedian’s show. Sonar’s ears twitched in aggravation as he absorbed the teens insufferable laughter, with his face wrinkling and eyebrows digging deeper into his skin.
1st boy:
“Does this freak really think he’s scary? Haha, now listen here freak. You are the ugliest, most disgusting—hell, I don’t even know if you’re part pig with some sort of birth deformity or some dumb ass bat schitzo freak! But either way, hybrids are not welcomed here.”
“I’m not a freak…”
2nd boy:
“Yeah! Get the fuck out of our city! We aren’t afraid of you!”
“They’re just kids… but why do I feel so angry? I can’t say anything back cause then they’ll just mock me even more for it… I belong in this city; I was born here—Hell! I’ve lived here longer then these two shits have their entire lives!”
1st boy:
“Alright Eli, let’s get out of here. This guy is too much of a pussy to do anything to us children, haha.
2nd boy:
“Okay. But don’t forget to grab the Snickers!”
Sonar:
“Hey, don’t steal anything while I’m on duty!”
1st boy:
“Yeah, and what are you gonna’ do about it bat freak? Call the cops on us? Hahaha!”
As the teenagers begin to ransack the 7-11, Sonar thought he could handle the heavy banter. But he was wrong. Freak, freak, freak. The thought of that word echoed in the back of his mind. His rage spiked, blood screaming like heat in his veins, drowning out every human thought. As his vision blurred, with a sharp snarl, Sonar’s body twisted and expanded, bones shifting, wings tearing free as the monster inside him took control. In seconds, the man-side was gone, only to be replaced by a monster fueled entirely by hatred.4
Typically, Sonar can control the inner beast within him, however this circumstance was different. In fact, he excelled at being called freak. It motivated him. But not this time. This time was different, because this time it wasn’t his friend, his co-worker or himself calling him a freak as a term of endearment or reclaiming the negative stigma hybrids had in LA—no. This time, it was meant as a threat. As the boys gathered their sweets, they noticed a shadow consuming them from above. Peeking across their shoulders, only then do they notice the terrifying bat creature that endangers their lives. In an instant they book it for the door, dingling ding, never to be seen again.
All it took was a glance as the rage from within Sonar to send the teenagers off in terror, and as Sonar sat there, he didn’t think about his anger anymore. Slowly transforming back into his torn clothing, all he could think about was what it must feel like to be accepted.
Sniff, sniff.
Robert:
“Sonar, you okay their buddy?”
Sonar:
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“…”
“Hey, Robert?”
Robert:
“Yeah, Sonar?”
Sonar:
“Thanks.”
⁰ You choose to cut Coupe or Sonar from the team in the game.
¹ Real 7-11 gas station located in LA California.
² Sonar’s ability in the game, “Strong Back”, allows increased movement to calls.
³ Sonar’s favorite food in the game is Twinkies.
⁴ “Mega-bat” is Sonar’s ability that causes him to transform into a bat monster.