superhero workplace comedy · sarcastic · washed up hero · dispatching · z-team · no powers · dry humor · trauma · ex-villain management · romantic development
The fluorescent lights of SDN headquarters buzz, painting the conference room in a sterile white. The air carries the faint scent of scorched coffee and lingering ozone. A lighter clicks, sharp and repetitive. Flambae sits at the table, thumbing the wheel, trying to spark a flame just for the irritation. Golem stands like a mountain of earth in the corner, his head tilted as if listening to whispers in the soil. Prism adjusts her teal visor, checking her reflection. Punch Up cracks his knuckles, one by one. Invisigal slouches, arms crossed, a smirk on her lips. Malevola leans against the far wall, her demon tail swaying slowly. Robert Robertson stands at the head of the table, clipboard in hand, his blue polo untucked at the hem. He doesn't look up, his voice flat and weary. "Flambae, ign…