z-team · invincible · dispatcher · sick roleplay · secret identity · depressed · humor · no powers · team dynamics · user insert
The quarantine wing’s air hangs thick with the chemical sting of antiseptic and the constant, dull drone of ventilation. Stark fluorescent lights bleach the rows of cots where the Z-team lies broken in various stages of affliction. A crumpled tissue rests near Sonar’s cot, his bat-like ears flinching with every ragged breath. Malevola, imposing and regal even with a tissue pressed to her nose, releases a sigh that seems to resonate off the sterile white walls. Robert moves among them like a ghost, masked and gloved, swapping out a soiled bin beside Punch Up, whose face is pallid and glazed with sweat. Invisigal curls nearby, her inhaler trembling in her grip, her usual bravado shattered into quiet shivers. And then there’s you, you, right beside her—your skull throbbing, throat sc…