Chapter Text
Invisigal tapped her fingers against the arm rests of the armchair as she sat down. Frowning, she tried to glare at Rasputin–it faltered as the old monk just stared right back at her.
Ilsa kept her lugermorph aimed at Invisigal, her gaze stone cold. Kroenen approached with two glasses of wine in his hands. He gave one to Rasputin and another to Invisigal–staring at her for a long time as he did. Invisigal huffed as she took the glass, only to toss it right back at Kroenen. The assassin did not react to the wine hitting his chest, and simply took the glass back from her.
“Now that was rude and childish, Ms. Courtney,” Rasputin chuckled, sipping from his wine.
“You broke into my apartment, I’m allowed to be ‘rude,’” she replied, glaring again. “Where’s my roommate?”
“Safe and sound, nowhere near by. I did not want to add another inconvenience to the list.”
“Could’ve fooled me, baldy.”
Rasputin hummed, sipping his wine again as he leaned forward. “This behavior is precisely what I wished to speak to you about. You have been a…disappointing ally so far, Ms. Courtney.”
“What? Upset I’m not groveling at your feet, begging to suck your dick?” Invisigal snarked, flipping Ilsa off when the German woman scoffed in pure disgust.
“Not at all,” Rasputin answered honestly, his head tilting. “But I am curious about one thing. When were you going to inform us and Mr. Connors about ‘Phenomaman’ and ‘Waterboy’ joining your little Z-Team? Care to enlighten me?”
Invisigal froze for just a moment; but a second too long. “Why does it even matter to you?”
“Do you think I’m stupid? I know that, even in this deeply upset state, Phenomaman is one of the S.D.N’s best heroes. Even this ‘Waterboy’ shows immense potential, he just does not realize it yet. I also know…that you know that, but refused to speak to us about it,” Rasputin coldly said, staring deep into Invisigal’s soul through her eyes.
“I…” she murmured, lips pursing; caught. “I haven’t had a chance yet, alright? They watch me like a hawk over there.”
Rasputin simply stared at her for a long, anxious minute. He then leaned in again, shaking his head as a small grin appeared on his face.
“You are many things, Ms. Courtney. But a good liar is not one of them. Allow me to remind you of who you actually serve.”
Before she could react, he shot forward and placed a palm on her forehead. Invisigal gasped as her eyes rolled back, her head and body going almost limp in his grip.
She found herself in the void of space, the outer cosmos itself. Unable to move, unable to speak, she was forced to gaze upon an utterly gargantuan crystalline structure–seven main pillars attached to a central core. She noticed she was floating through the nebula surrounding the structure, approaching one of the crystal pillars. Just one of them was of such scale that she was struggling to even comprehend it; by itself it had to have been as large as Torrance and Los Angeles put together, if not bigger.
She was nearly pressed up against the pillar now, and only then did she realize she wasn’t looking at a normal crystal, but a prison. She could barely see through the translucent material, staring inside of it.
An eye far larger than the S.D.N office stared back at her.
Invisigal didn’t need to ask to know what she was gazing upon; one of the Ogdru-Jahad. One of the Seven Gods of Chaos. Staring down at her as if she was an ant. A bug in its way, needing to be squashed.
She wanted to scream but no sound came out. She wanted to cry but no tears came out. She felt her mind wanting to fracture at the mere sight of just the damn eye.
But before any permanent damage occurred, she found herself back inside of her apartment as Rasputin pulled his hand away. Invisigal crumpled off of the armchair and onto the floor, pulling out her inhaler to take a puff of it. Rasputin remained on the couch, glancing down at her.
“Now do you understand, child?” he asked. “Do you still wish to be stubborn?”
Invisigal stood up on shaky feet, glaring at Rasputin. She remained quiet, her hand also shaking as she held onto her inhaler. She remained quiet, before trying to hit him with a right hook.
Instead, the butt of Ilsa’s lugermorph hit her in the diaphragm. She wheezed, crumpling to the floor as she dropped her inhaler. She tried to hold her breath to go invisible, but Ilsa then kicked her in the stomach, making her cough. As Ilsa continued to kick at her, Kroenen joined in, stomping his foot against Invisigal’s side and back.
Rasputin leaned back on the couch, not reacting; he simply drank his wine as he watched Ilsa and Kroenen both stomp and kick the shit out of Invisigal on the floor. She couldn’t even fight back, the constant hits to her stomach making her unable to hold her breath and go invisible; she eventually just resorted to covering her face.
Only when Rasputin raised a palm and stood up did Ilsa and Kroenen back off. Invisigal wheezed again, reaching for her inhaler–Rasputin kicked it aside. He then planted his foot on her back, holding her in place.
He leaned down, resting his arm on his knee to amplify the pressure. “This is your last chance, Ms. Courtney. Do not waste it as easily as you did the first.”
He poured the rest of his wine over her head, tossing the glass over his shoulder. When she blinked, he, Ilsa, and Kroenen were gone.
She wasted no time; immediately she crawled over to her inhaler, snatching it up and taking a big puff from it. She then rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling through her wine-slick bangs. She had to admit, Rasputin had jostled her a good bit. Had scared her a good bit as well.
. . . But she would not let that stop her.
She may have been terrified, but she’d still push through–if her time with Robert and the Z-Team had taught her anything, it was that she could make her own choices.
Now was her time.
Robert flipped up his welder mask when he heard someone entering the lab, having just finished working on a piece from the Mecha Man suit’s leg. Sitting up, he saw Bruttenholm entering, assisted by Abe. Royd led them in, grinning as he gestured to the Mecha Man suit.
“Dere it is! Robert’s Mecha Man, Mr. Blue,” Royd said proudly, still grinning. “Just don’t go telling Hellboy, yeah? It’s kapu.”
Abe nodded at Royd, before looking at the suit; awe filling his gaze. “How fascinating. A power suit of sorts. Red would see it as a new toy for sure.”
“Yeah, which is exactly why I do not want him knowing about it for the time being–not while it’s still not functional,” Robert explained, setting his welding tools aside. “Mecha Man’s kind of a big deal here in Torrance; but I don’t use it to fuck around. This right here? It’s a family legacy and how I do my hero work. At least it was before it was damaged.”
Bruttenholm smirked. “I knew I liked you for a reason, Robert–Abe can confirm it.”
Robert raised a brow, only to blink as Abe held onto his arm. The Ichthyo Sapien looked around at the air, humming to himself.
“Pure of heart, just like Myers. Explains quite a lot actually.”
“You can tell all that by just touch, huh?” Robert asked, pulling his arm away once Abe let him go.
“Indeed. The professor informed me he already told you of my unique frontal lobe.”
“Yeah, I just figured that would’ve meant you were a big nerd instead of telepathic; though it might be a lot more helpful that you are.”
“Mr. Blue is still a science nerd, hundred percent,” Royd chimed in as he typed away at an interface, earning a chuckle from Bruttenholm.
Abe walked over to the Mecha Man suit, looking over it a few more times, before placing his palm flat against the arm of the suit. He closed his eyes, his breathing apparatus bubbling as he concentrated on his power.
Robert, meanwhile, stepped back towards Bruttenholm, arms folding over his chest.
“What’s his story?” he asked, whispering. “Did he come from the same portal as Red?”
“Not at all,” Bruttenholm answered. “He was found beneath Washington D.C in a stasis labeled April 15, 1865–the day Abraham Lincoln died. Hence the name Abe.”
Robert nodded, glancing back at Abe. For a long moment, Abe just stood there. He eventually took his palm off of the suit, and walked back over to the others.
“I apologize,” he began. “But it seems the ‘Astral Pulse’ was made separately from the suit. I could not find its creation, only its first implementation into the suit.”
“Dammit,” Robert groaned, rubbing his face.
“However!” Abe spoke up, holding a finger up. “What I also saw was a man who put everything on the line to keep people safe–and is continuing to do so. I look forward to seeing ‘Mecha Man’ return to the streets, Robert.”
Abe shook Robert’s hand–humming when he saw the dispatcher look genuinely surprised by the praise. Royd grinned as he looked up from typing.
“Dat’s mo’ like it! You think we giving up just because the Pulse trowin me off? No can!”
“Very well,” Bruttenholm said. “It is unfortunate that Abe couldn’t help more, but we’ll leave you boys to your work. You can trust Abe to be mature and not go blabbering out your secrets.”
Robert and Royd both waved as Bruttenholm and Abe left the lab. Abe glanced over his shoulder, waiting for when he and Bruttenholm were out of ear shot before he leaned in to whisper to the professor.
“Professor Broom, I saw something else of interest as well,” he said, voice serious.
“Must be concerning if you’re telling me in secret.”
“I would say so,” Abe nodded. “I saw the night the suit was destroyed. Something invisible attached a bomb to the back of the suit. Invisible.”
Abe’s implication was not lost on Bruttenholm. The older man was quiet for a moment, before he looked up at Abe.
“You believe Invisigal is the cause?” he asked.
“There’s more. She already knows as well; she sometimes goes down there to watch them work on the suit. Granted, they allow her to, but…but, sir, something is wrong with her. The fear. The regret. She asks about augmenting Sammael and not too long later, he appears? The suit was destroyed and shortly after, according to her file, she turned herself in to the S.D.N? It is all immensely suspicious.”
Bruttenholm nodded, understanding Abe’s concern. He then sighed, stroking his beard as he contemplated the information. He looked at Abe, his tone serious.
“This is troubling. But not necessarily damning. From what I’ve seen, she is trying, especially the more we keep helping the Z-Team. If she has skeletons in her closet, I imagine she’ll tell us eventually, if not soon. But continue to keep an eye on her just in case–and do NOT tell Tom. You know him.”
“Understood, sir,” Abe replied, nodding. He was satisfied with the professor’s response. He knew he may be reading into a situation without any context, but he’d be damned before he ignored a potential issue in the ranks.
“Thank you, Abe,” Bruttenholm said. He then pawed at his chest for a moment as he continued walking–only stopping when he noticed Abe had paused behind him.
“. . . You’re still very ill,” Abe stated quietly, somberly. “Professor. Red has to know. It will crush him if you just…pass on suddenly.”
“I know. I know,” Bruttenholm replied. “But if we tell him now, he will drop everything and focus on me; there are people in danger, Abe. I am an old man. I’m prepared for my passing. I will not stand in his way when it comes to innocent lives.”
Abe lowered his gaze a bit, but completely understood. “Such a mentality is why you’re so esteemed, sir. Though, I must say…you’re as equally stubborn as Red.”
“Well, you know what they say, Abe; like father like son.”
Abe snorted.
Liz grit her teeth as she tried to concentrate on the fireballs forming in her hands. It was difficult; the urge to just explode right then and there in the S.D.N building’s gym was almost unbearable, but she was determined to control her powers. She could feel her hands shaking, the fireballs occasionally flaring up before retreating slightly as she struggled.
After a bit more struggling–feeling the flames trying to break out of her–she finally extinguished the fireballs and collapsed to her knees. Panting, she glanced over to the side.
Flambae was doing his squat lifts, humming. “Good, good. That was better than last time.”
“Again,” she began, frowning. “You can actually help me instead of just watching.”
“I can’t do it all for you, Lizzie, c’mon now. I’m your mentor, not your ‘fix-my-problems-instantly’ button.”
“Do you have to be doing exercises, muttering about how strong you are during them?”
Flambae paused, setting the barbell up on the rack. “Alright, you might be right. The point is, this time was better than before. You’re making progress.”
Liz stood up, rubbing her arm as she rolled her eyes. “Good to hear.”
“What’s bugging you?” Flambae asked, raising a brow.
“It’s that obvious?” Liz sighed. “It’s…I’m just worried about Red.”
“What do you see in the demon-bitch anyway?” Flambae snorted. “He’s a dumb motherfucker, I don’t see the charm.”
“Don’t talk about him like that. He’s brash, sure, but he helps people. He saves people. He’s got a big heart–Professor Broom gave that to him.”
Flambae grumbled a bit, but didn’t otherwise argue. He walked over and nudged Liz’s shoulder, glancing up and down at her.
“To each their own; he ain’t my fucking type.”
“I’m more surprised he hasn’t accused you of flirting with me.”
“Me? Really?” Flambae laughed. “Lizzie, lemme put it to you this way; when people say I’m in the closet, I deny it only because I skipped the closet and went right for the clubs. You aren’t anywhere near my radar.”
Liz blinked. “. . . Oh.”
Flambae snorted; hidden away from sight, a demon finally realized that maybe Flambae wasn’t a “threat” to him after all.
Myers was struggling with the sight in front of him on the office floor.
Phenomaman was speaking with Manning about working at the S.D.N, and the young agent could tell that Manning was more so disturbed by Phenomaman’s lack of social tact.
“I do not mean offense; I simply do not understand why they would put someone of an age where cancer is a serious risk in charge of the department,” Phenomaman said, tilting his head.
Manning just stared at him. “I could ask the same about why they would hire someone completely incapable of social skills.”
“Who would that be?” Phenomaman genuinely asked, confused. Manning once again just stared at him, shaking his head.
“I’m starting to see why Blazer dumped you.”
Phenomaman promptly drooped, gaze lowering along with his head. Myers winced a bit, already sensing something brewing.
“Oi, that was a bit of a deep cut, lad,” Punch Up called out, waddling by. “Bit unnecessary.”
“The elf speaks up again,” Manning grumbled, throwing a hand up. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“Lunch break, you old croon,” Punch Up replied, grinning slightly. “So be sure to take your blood pressure medicine!”
Punch Up laughed as he walked off, especially when Manning looked shocked at his audacity. Myers, meanwhile, noticed Phenomaman hovering away. He decided to follow the superhero–only to bump into Hellboy as the demon came out of the stairwell that led to the gym.
“Red?” Myers blinked. “What are you doing?”
“I could ask the same about you, kid. Y’spyin’ on P-Man now?” Hellboy hummed, smirking.
“No! No, he just…I dunno, looks sad. Kinda hope I can help.”
“Go get Bob then, boy scout. I’ll talk to Phenoma-whatever in the meantime,” Hellboy said, nudging Myers a bit roughly as he walked by. He continued onward, finding Lime outside of the records room.
“Seen P-Man anywhere, Lime?” Hellboy asked, pulling out a cigar.
“He’s inside the records room. Watching videos of him and Blazer; reminds me of you and Liz, Red.”
Hellboy paused, deciding to put the cigar away. “. . . I’ll let that one slide.”
As Lime snickered, Hellboy entered the records room. Sure enough, he saw Phenomaman huddled by one of the monitors–watching news footage of him and Blonde Blazer saving a school bus of children from Red Ring members. He was hunched slightly, eyes full of sadness as he replayed the footage every time it ended.
Hellboy approached, placing his normal hand into his coat pocket. He watched the footage himself for a moment before speaking.
“Reminiscin’ on ol’ times, eh, P-Man?” he asked, tone light for now.
“Oh, hello, demon-friend,” Phenomaman solemnly said, facing him. “Director Manning’s reminder of Blonde Blazer’s disappointment in me did…not feel good.”
“Yeah, for a guy who cares about optics, Tom sure is kinda full-a crap himself, huh?”
“If he is constipated, he should seek medical assistance.”
Hellboy deadpanned. “It’s a figure of speech, P-Man.”
“Oh. I see.”
Both of them looked over when Robert entered the records room. He looked between them both as he walked over, before he too also looked at the footage on the monitor.
“You doing alright, Phenomaman? Myers told me you and Hellboy were in here.”
“Hello, third Robert Robertson. I was explaining to Hellboy here how Director Manning bringing up Blonde Blazer’s disappointment did not feel well.”
“. . . Yeah, that sounds kinda dick-ish of him. Don’t feel bad, some guys are just dicks.”
“I have yet to meet a human who is shaped like a male’s genital structure.”
“No, Phenomaman–” Robert groaned, rubbing his face. “Figure of speech, bro.”
“I just told him that about a different one,” Hellboy snorted.
Phenomaman glanced back at the footage; longing in his eyes. “. . . She and I never had intercourse, you know. My alien genitals were not compatible with her own.”
“That’s…unfortunate but we really didn’t need to know that, Phenomaman,” Robert said.
Phenomaman then looked at Hellboy. “What about you and Elizabeth Sherman? It is obvious something is going on there. Are your bodies perhaps more compatible–”
“Woah–Hey hey HEY!” Hellboy interrupted. “We ain’t here to talk about my–how are you able to tell Liz and I got a thing going on?”
“I apologize. Perhaps I see myself in you when it comes to her,” Phenomaman explained. “I just…I do not see why Blonde Blazer would leave me.”
“Because she wanted to, Phenomaman,” Robert said. “She’s her own person, she can make her own choices. And sometimes, that hurts. But she’s happier now.”
“I always wanted to make her happy,” Phenomaman argued.
“And I believe you, but don’t you think she’d also be happy if she sees you heal and move on?” Robert rebutted.
Phenomaman was silent for a moment. “You bring up a valid point, Robert. I understand now.”
He stood up and began to leave the records room. He faced Robert and Hellboy, putting on a determined look despite the sadness in his eyes.
“I will strive to do better. For the team and for S.D.N. Thank you both.”
Hellboy snorted as Phenomaman finally left the room. “He’s strange but he’s got spirit, I guess.”
“. . . So,” Robert began. “You and Liz, huh–”
“Don’t.”
Robert chuckled.
A few minutes later, as he and Hellboy walked down the hall, they noticed Beef scratching at the door leading into the janitor’s closet.
“See? Dumb dog,” Hellboy grumbled. Robert rolled his eyes and walked over to the door, opening it up; finding Waterboy sitting alone, eating a piece of melon.
Robert hummed at Hellboy. “Still think Beef’s dumb?”
Hellboy frowned but kept quiet for once. Robert deposited Beef in Waterboy’s arms before flipping a bucket upside down to sit next to Waterboy. Hellboy chose to remain standing by the door as he looked in.
“Somethin’ the matter, squirt? You should be celebratin’, you took down three Sammaels,” Hellboy said
“The Z-Tea–they–the others make fun of me,” Waterboy explained, petting Beef as he frowned. “Even–even now as I-I-I do good they still…still see me as weak.”
“They will for a while, Waterboy,” Robert jutted in. “They saw me as the constant butt of their jokes for ages even after Red showed up. They still make fun of me occasionally.”
“Don’t get started on what me and Matchstick get up to,” Hellboy added, chuckling.
“But they–they–the Z-Team even makes fun of my–my–my stutter!”
“I don’t think it’s a true stutter,” Robert argued.
“Wha–it’s–it’s happening literally now–right now–currently!”
“I think it’s a confidence issue, Waterboy,” Robert elaborated, patting his shoulder. “You second guess yourself so much you’re afraid to say the wrong thing.”
“Yeah, kid, you gotta be confident. Like me,” Hellboy hummed, gesturing to himself.
“Don’t listen to him, that’s arrogance, not confidence.”
“Go to hell, Bob.”
“I’m already there, that’s why I have to work with you.”
Robert smirked as Hellboy let out a surprised but genuine laugh.
Waterboy, meanwhile, let a tiny, tiny smile escape as he continued petting Beef; his mind focusing on Robert’s words and Hellboy’s encouragement.
Invisigal lit a cigarette as she left the S.D.N building for the night. She hadn’t spoken to Bruttenholm or even Robert about the truth, not yet. As much as she wanted to–and planned on it–she had a hunch she was being watched. So she had to play smart. Act like Rasputin’s words made her finally start working for Shroud properly.
In reality, though? She was going to hype Robert and Hellboy up so much that the Red Ring and Rasputin’s gang would get their asses beat. Mecha Man and Hellboy working together had her feeling hope for the first time in a while.
For now, though, she just left for her apartment, smoking her cigarette as she went. She’d keep playing the part.
It was a good thing she did; because on a rooftop, the Augmented Sammael watched her leave, squealing as it then looked up towards the S.D.N office. Its gaze narrowed for a moment, before it soared up into the skies with its mechanical wings.
It too was playing a part.