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Wilbur - or to the public’s knowledge, The SandMan - has taken interest in an intern turned official employee and is now assigned to working directly under one of the top heroes, all within a span of months. Such a swift ascension in ranks, especially when the organization is infamously known to favor seniority within its internal labors.
Not even the heroes could work their way up that fast, it took Wilbur four years and countless successful missions to be recognized as a formidable hero, and to be, subsequently, added to the Public Hero rankings.
All of the heroes in the system are ranked within their organizations, but the lesser or novice categories are kept to the companies’, the common ranking amongst them separated by the number of successful tasks. Heroes within the first year of recruitment could only move up a rank every 3 months, the longer and more dedicated a person's work would reflect clearly on their files and wages.
Office employees have less ranks, therefore more obstacles and challenges to rising. Not to mention a Hero’s ranking change merely meant they had more daunting missions, more pay and respect among colleagues, better welfare. A paper pusher could gain access to classified documents the further up they are. Documents that could reveal the heroes’ identities, home addresses, weaknesses, the dealings between vigilantes and heroes, the dirt on officials.
Wilbur shouldn’t be the only one to notice this, it definitely has caught some of his coworkers and the seniors attention. But they haven’t felt the need to investigate more, but Wilbur can’t help it. He doesn’t want a potential leak to happen, especially if it’s one that could be prevented.
He steps in, like he always does, like how he follows his suspicions to their roots, how vigilant. Though people who knew him would call it being paranoid.
– – –
Wilbur sets off to find Tommy, full name Thomas Ingles, as he had been informed, who will be taking charge of caring for his paperworks and revising his reports, contacting and delivering his assignments’ details, a secretary of sorts. His old secretary, Elodie, has set off to pursue her dream of being a filmmaker, with his full support of course: He still can’t help but be a bit upset at the change. Particularly when it’s a person of interest by Wilbur’s own evaluation.
Tommy turns out to be younger than he thought, the dude doesn’t look a day over 18, and he seemed to be aware of it too.
“Good morning Mr.Wilbur Soot, I have been assigned to take care of your bureaucratic procedures from this point onwards by the department, my identity verification here, lovely to meet you sir.”, Wilbur took a long look at Tommy’s Identity card, one of the new ones, shiny with a gold coated chip at the back, born in 2002. Huh, legally allowed to drive, own a house and drink by the law, his incredulity pushed down by ten notches. He took the hand Tommy reached out and shook it, firm handshake. Twenty two still is quite young for the significance of Tommy’s job though.
Almost reading his thoughts Tommy continues, “I know I might be too young for the job, but you should get this don’t you, Mister one of the youngest on the PH rankings? Sure, Vahara took that place in like a month or something but you are pretty cool up there too. You and him made my position seem more plausible to the higher ups honestly, thanks for indirectly causing that.”
He made a bit of small talk with his new secretary and left for his own office, not sure what to make of the kid. Except how Tommy seemed to be an expert at balancing between formal and casual, making sure his point of being professional but not so uptight that it would be awkward.
– – –
Tommy’s reliability comes with no surprise, he had to have the abilities and skills to justify his ranking. Wilbur’s paperwork has all been done at ease, he simply returns from missions, writes his succinct to a fault report, hands in his body cam, and heads straight to take care of other things.
He found more time to train, investigate and relax with no stress of writing some boring paper on “why he broke that window of that store while chasing a criminal” and etc. He still set off time to review the work Tommy’s done, finding faults or errors in them, even when the task was deemed impossible with how throughout the reports are done.
Cues to Wilbur to be found meandering his colleagues' offices, chilling here and there waiting for Tommy to inform him of his new tasks or patrols to take, pissing everyone off with his leisure.
— — —
Sky is one of the highest and the public’s favorite hero’s secretary; whose patrols would keep petty criminals clean off the streets, he strikes fear into his enemies and respect from his peers. Vahara, the incarnation of lord Vishu, turned to save the world and the life on it. Is also the biggest, most efficient slacker Sky has ever met in their life.
He would do his report, in a matter of seconds, the hair’s breadth from the deadline. He would show up to work, the exact time he’s supposed to, making sure to earn every penny and bargain for more in his free time. All fair things to do as the average worker in the modern world. Only he would just take it further than anyone ever thought possible.
Sky has timed it, while everyone else processes documents, they have been studying the Blade. Learning that his schedule strictly allows him to have the most free time possible while finishing all his jobs a nick over the minimum requirements, they observed the man cramping
— — —
Fundy doesn’t dream often, He sleeps and lays there and wakes up in the morning. And resume his work and go on patrols and hang out with friends and go to bed, repeat.
Tonight, slumber doesn’t come as well, or perhaps it waited, lurching at his unconscious mind. And took a lecherous bite.
Fundy doesn’t dream often, but when he does, they are vivid to the point of being eerie…
— — —
A light rustle of fabric poked at his sharpened hybrid senses, he zeroed in on the source of it to find, a boy?
A young, gangly limbed, definitely younger than him, boy.
And the kid’s covered in blood, lying above a puddle of it, that is gradually expanding at a speed apparent to his passing gaze.
Fundy ran, scrambled to the boy, hand reaching for his first aid supplies, as the nicknamed EMT support class hero, he knows his ‘patient’ is in critical condition.
He reached in a hurry only to find nothing at the tips of his hand, he looked down to himself, draped in his pajamas, no equipment in sight.
“Fuck”, he took off his shirt, stuffing it at the leaking hole in the kid’s abdomen, the white tee quickly stained red, his hands are shaking.
“HELP PLEASE ANYONE HELP SOMEONE IS BLEEDING OUT HE'S DYING PLEASE HELPPPPPPPPPP”
Nothing, the endless darkness around them provided no one, not a single person is around. The only light source is coming from directly above them, perfectly illuminating the two, a heaving shaking frazzled mess of a man and a dying boy, complexion pale and blue.
‘He is going to die.’ the notion hit Fundy like a freight train, this kid right here, is going to die.
Fundy works as a support class hero, a first responder of sorts on the field, but there haven’t been any deaths on his watch, he’s good at his job with the results to show for. Plus, the current biggest villains cleaned out the old ones, and they don’t seem to want to cause death rather than mayhem and collateral, materialistic damage.
Fundy hasn't been on the field long enough to witness deaths, and this is his first time since his mother, who passed rather peacefully compared to the state of agony this boy is experiencing.
He held the boy close, a cardinal need to provide this sorrowful fate any consolation, he felt the feeble attempt to thrash and shake the pain away from the boy. He felt it reaching an end, felt himself dropping through and hitting the ground with his arms cradling the boy as he gave up on sitting up, knowing that all is fleeting away in a matter of seconds.
As the blinding light before dusk, the kid reached his hand out to squeeze Fundy’s, eyes fluttered to look at him, they were blue.
And he stopped.
— — —
Fundy took three days off, having woken up to his roommate tackling him in a tight hug, telling him he was screaming and crying in his sleep, not waking up to their calls.
He’s back at work in the counselor’s office currently spacing out at a stain on the wooden coffee table, decidedly not listening to whatever bullshit Margarett is trying to pour into his ears.
“As you displayed symptoms of an unhealthy amount of stress from your overtime on patrol, I, as your counselor, am advising at least 2 weeks of desk duty before you get back on the field.”
“What??” he snapped out of his stupor with the incredulity of the statement.
“It’s been approved by your mentor sonny, you take that break and find a relaxing hobby or something to ease yourself alright?”
— — —
“Ugh”, Fundy groaned as he set his things down on his temporary desk for the next fortnight, paperwork duty, he can’t believe he’s back with this bullcrap again.
Back when he first joined the support ranks, Fundy was the prime candidate for coffee runs and doing his colleagues’ reports as the newbie. Luckily through encounters with the SandMan and striking a mentorship with Thoth, or personally, Eret, he managed to escape the grueling claws of staples and photocopy machines.
Atlas, back to this again, the nightmare of having to process papers and forge reports to his superiors’ will. Laying face down on the haphazardly arraged table, he lets out a long sighhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-
“Hey!”
‘?’
“You there, Fundy, no slacking off first thing in the morning dude.”
A shadow cast over him, holding back the urge to let out yet another groan in annoyance, he raised his head to entertain whatever this nagging by-the-book asshole lecture could be.
.
.
Whom haunted his nightmares and waking hours, the anonymous dead boy, now very much alive, was looking at him, and despite his previous words and Fundy’s own assumption, he wore a look of concern.
“You alright mate?”