Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One

January 20XX

Tuesday Night- The Observatory

The sound of rain tapping against the roof of the observation tower was almost peaceful on this cold January evening. Almost. But it wasn't a peace Mojo Jojo could enjoy—not tonight. He had sent the boys home just an hour ago. Yes, he had rushed them out, perhaps a bit too abruptly. Boomer had seemed hurt when he cut their “family dinner” short. Still, this wasn’t the time to dwell on feelings. There were far more urgent matters he and HIM needed to keep hidden from the boys.

It was only a matter of time before one of them ran off to those infuriating Powerpuff Girls, undoing all of his progress. Those girls were always poking around where they didn’t belong. His research couldn't be disturbed until he understood exactly what they were dealing with. If it turned out to be something manageable, then that’s exactly what he intended to do—manage it.

It wasn’t that he hated the girls anymore. Their dynamic had dulled into a routine: he caused some minor chaos, and they threw him in jail—only for him to get bailed out the next day. It was monotonous, sure, but it kept him in good standing with the Villains League of Townsville. It was a strange sort of balance between them, not unlike the pact with Monster Island.

His heavy steps echoed down the metal stairwell as he descended into the bowels of the tower. To his left, just behind the staircase, a retina scanner and keypad were embedded in the wall beside a thick iron door. He typed in the code, held his eye wide, and squinted as a blue light flashed across his face. The scanner beeped, followed by a series of cheerful electronic chimes. Grumbling, Mojo blinked and rubbed his eye in irritation, taking a step back.

Gears clicked and ground behind the walls. The door groaned as it slowly opened. He tapped his foot impatiently. Another thing to fix. When the doors finally parted, he stepped through, only for them to slam shut behind him, nearly catching his cape.

“Typical,” he muttered.

The beeping of monitors and the dull whir of ventilation fans met his ears as he entered the lab. With one gloved hand, he grabbed a stack of freshly printed pages, eyes scanning the data. His scowl deepened.

“This doesn’t make any sense!” he screeched, his chimp-like tone rising with frustration. “How can I, Mojo Jojo, get no clear reading on this? It's not registering as anything in my database! Someone has tampered with my work. There will be consequences!”

He wracked his memory. Had one of the boys slipped into the lab somehow? But no—they hadn’t been here since he changed the password and removed their retina access. If they’d forced their way in, the security systems would have flagged it immediately. The boys were many things, but subtle wasn’t one of them.

He hopped into a rolling chair and wheeled over to one of the supercomputers. Fingers flying over the buttons, he brought up his formulae again. There had to be something—some clue—he had missed.

His eyes were beginning to sting from the strain when a digital chime rang out, and a small video window popped up on one of the screens.

Wonderful. Just what he needed.

Grimacing, Mojo clicked “Accept.” The window expanded, revealing the sultry demon in red—HIM—lounging in front of the camera with a new purple boa wrapped elegantly around their neck. They dabbed on a fresh coat of dark lipstick and gave a theatrical kiss toward the screen.

Mojo groaned. “What do you want?”

HIM clutched their chest with mock offense. “ What do I want? You dare ask me what I want?” They held up a phone, showing a short string of texts. “I got a very sad message from sweet Boom Boom saying you cut family night short.” Several emojis were visible in the chat bubble.

“We agreed Tuesday is family night for you, while the boys are in school. Marion said— ”

“I don’t care what Marion said!” Mojo shouted, slamming a fist down onto the desk and flinging the papers aside. “You told me to find out what that specimen was, and that is exactly what I, Mojo Jojo, am trying to do!”

HIM crossed one long leg over the other, their lips curling into a sly smile. “Well, that wasn’t very nice. All you had to do was say so.” Then, without warning, their voice dropped into a low, rumbling baritone. “Do we have any results?”

It had only been two weeks ago—just at the tail end of the boys’ winter break—when they’d discovered the mutilated corpse of one of Sedusa’s lackeys. The man was barely recognizable. It was enough to spark mutual concern in both the scientist and the otherworldly being.

“Same as yesterday,” Mojo muttered. “And the day before that. And the day before that—” He rolled his chair back, spinning to face the whiteboard on the opposite wall. Climbing a small foot ladder, he smeared the chalked equations in frustration. Staring at his gloved hands, he murmured, “This is not good.”

“Agreed,” HIM replied. “I’ll keep sending my own minions out. As tedious as this is… it’s proving quite lucrative.”

Right after the lackey’s corpse was discovered, Sedusa had hired a team of demon guards. No one was taking chances. Word traveled fast in their circles, and no one wanted to end up a mangled mess—especially after more bodies had turned up.

“I can send one your way, darling,” HIM offered, their voice smooth. “Free of charge.”

Mojo snorted. “Unnecessary. I can take care of myself.” He had no interest in owing HIM anything. Their partnership in creating and raising the boys alongside Eklektos was strange enough.

HIM sighed dramatically, slouching in their chair. “Very well. I’ll follow up in a day or so. And don’t forget to drop off that paperwork with Marion. She says you’re terrible at responding.”

“Tell Marion to mind her own goddamn business!”

Marion had been assigned as the boys’ caretaker over the past year and a half, ever since Eklektos reintroduced them to the public. Mojo didn’t know her exact rank, only that General Ashraf had appointed her directly. The General—an ex-antihero and a key player within Eklektos—had taken a special interest in the boys, offering them a second chance. Neither Mojo nor HIM knew what his powers were, and frankly, they preferred not to find out. The boys never spoke of them, and Marion kept her own abilities quiet as well—whether born or mutated, no one knew.

“Ta-ta!” HIM chimed, and the screen went dark.

Mojo gritted his teeth. Stripping off his cape, he tossed it onto the chair and made his way across the lab. He’d have to extract another sample. The specimen had shrunk—now no larger than a sewing needle—but maybe he just needed more of it. A milli-fraction clearly wasn’t enough. His formulas couldn’t all be wrong.

He moved to the wall lined with reinforced glass and steel cabinets. Jerking one of the latches up, down, then up again, the cabinet door clicked open. Inside were his most dangerous samples—some locked in lined boxes, others suspended in fluid-filled jars. This was also where he stored his emergency supply of Chemical X and Antidote X.

As he retrieved the latest containment box and carried it toward the center table, he noticed something that made his stomach drop: a thin, hairline crack running across the side.

His breath caught. Frantically, he typed in the override code and waited. The seconds dragged as the mechanism clicked and unscrewed. A sharp ringing filled his ears. Grimacing, Mojo backed away as the lid popped open.

He yanked it off and reached for the vial—but all he found was shattered glass and a pool of preservative solution.

“CURSES!” he roared, flinging the box aside. It bounced off the table leg with a dull clang .

He dove back into the cabinet, yanking out containers left and right, scattering their contents across the room. Binders flew. Glass shattered. Paper filled the air like a blizzard of failure.

His chest heaved. The ringing in his ears faded into oppressive silence, broken only by the soft flutter of paper and the slow drip of chemicals onto the floor.

Eyes squeezed shut, he forced himself to breathe. Think. Had it escaped the lab? Or was it still in here… with him?

A faint crackling noise behind him—a sound like a punctured vial. Then: whssssh . Two fluorescent bulbs overhead shattered with a whistle.

He turned halfway, hand flying to his belt for a ray gun. That’s when the clicking began.

Insectoid. Wet. Accompanied by a sloshing, gloppy shuffle.

He would never make it up the stairs in time. Whatever this thing was, it was faster now. Bigger.

His eyes scanned the room, calculating. The air duct. It’d be tight, but there was a secondary gate he could seal from the other side. If he could just make it in time—

He spun, aimed, and fired.

The shot struck a monitor. Sparks flew. A screech—high-pitched and inhuman—pierced the air, nearly dropping him to his knees.

Scrambling, he tore the grate off the duct, firing at the screws until it flung open. Darkness yawned within.

He shoved one foot inside—only for something to wrap around his boot and yank.

He fell face-first with a grunt, clawing at the floor, desperate to pull himself forward. The hissing thing behind him emitted a low, alien howl.

He didn’t dare look back.

Kicking wildly, he tried to free himself. The boot sizzled—the thing was burning through it. The smell of scorched leather choked him.

With a wet pop , his foot came free—just as the cabinet he’d braced against began to tip. But instead of a crash, there was only a squelch , like it had landed in mud.

He dove into the duct, flinging himself into the blackness. Behind him, metal screeched. The cabinet slammed against the wall.

It was dark. Too dark. And his foot—oh God, his foot—slid slick against the steel. He could feel where the flesh had broken.

He kept crawling.

The chittering clicks grew louder.

Closer.

Chapter Two

Friday Night - The City of Townsville

“Girls, I know it's late, but the Mayor wants us to tighten things up around here before the police switch shifts. Let's meet back in—” Blossom glanced at the analog watch on her wrist and then out over the city. “Thirty minutes.”

Buttercup gave an exasperated groan. "He didn't have to pick a Saturday night, though. This is bullshit.” Crossing her arms, she cocked a hip and looked up at Blossom, who was hovering several feet above her and Bubbles on the roof of Town Hall.

“Please, Buttercup, mind your language.” Blossom tightened the red ribbon holding her hair back in a long ponytail. Her eyes swept over to the blonde, who was staring off in a distracted manner. “You hear me, Bubbles?”

Snapping her attention back to her sister and the unofficial-but-actually-official leader of their team, she smiled brightly. “Yep! Thirty minutes and come back here.”

All three girls were clad in their newest uniforms. The pretty pastel dresses and Mary Jane shoes were long gone, but the pageantry of being a superhero was still present in their current looks.

They only seemed to wear these uniforms when there was official patrolling to do, a press event, certain interviews, or scheduled public appearances. Otherwise, they were more commonly seen in their streetwear and casual clothing. In one case, Buttercup had taken out a rogue crustacean monster in a pair of high heels and a form-fitting navy sequin dress when her date had been rudely interrupted.

They all wore dark, low mock-neck bodysuits; Bubbles and Buttercup each wore sleeveless ones, while Blossom had short sleeves. Each bodysuit sported the original color of each girl’s first uniform in a single reflective stripe down both sides. Blossom had a skirt in matching material and wore sneaker-like combat boots. Bubbles wore loose-fitting shorts and the same matching boots. Buttercup had cargo-like pants that tapered at the bottom, and on her feet were legitimate black leather combat boots that she’d refused to stop wearing until they crumbled apart.

Each girl also carried a slim belt bag around their hips. It was where they usually kept their phones and a small dose of Chemical X in three capped syringes. On their hands were palmless, fingerless gloves in the same black material as their boots. The knuckles and backs of the hands were reinforced with a tough, heat-resistant material.

“I’ll take the Northside,” Buttercup said, glancing over at Bubbles with a casual nod. “You should handle the harbor and Westside. It’s quieter over there.”

Blossom gave a small nod of agreement.

Bubbles rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I can handle the Northside too, ya know,” she pouted.

Buttercup gave a half-shrug and the faintest hint of a pitying smile as she began to lift into the air. “Sure, no doubt,” she said, not unkindly. “But let’s make this a quick night.” With a lazy two-finger salute, she shot across the city, her green streak vanishing into the dark.

Blossom stayed a moment longer, hovering just above Bubbles. Her voice was gentler. “The people over there feel safe when they see you.”

Bubbles knew it was meant as reassurance. A compliment. But it still stung.

She forced a bright smile. “You’re right. You’re always right , Blossy.”

Before Blossom could respond, Bubbles launched herself toward downtown, the cool wind whipping her hair back as she flew.

Clenching her fists, Bubbles drifted along the city streets. As usual, it was quiet—aside from the soft hum of weekend nightlife. She passed shuttered storefronts, glowing signs advertising overpriced cocktails, and restaurants where dinners came with wine lists longer than menus.

The cars were sleeker here. The sidewalks spotless. If there was crime, it hid behind polished doors and tinted glass.

She couldn’t remember the last time a monster had barreled through this part of town, smashing everything in sight. It was all too pristine. Too protected. Especially the Morbucks Hotel—an opulent tower of golden glass and white marble that shimmered even in the dark. Overly cautious, maybe, but it brought in money and out-of-towners, and the city bent over backward to keep it that way.

When she reached the harbor, she finally let her fists go slack.

Tiny crescent-shaped marks were dug into her palms. The skin was swollen and red, and a faint trickle of blood welled beneath the surface. She wiped her hands on her shorts, more annoyed than hurt. It would heal soon enough—but it still wasn’t a good look.

She didn’t have time to dwell on it.

A sharp whistle split the air. Once. Then again.

Wet, splattering sounds followed. Then the faint clatter of something metal—keys, maybe—hitting the concrete.

Bubbles dropped soundlessly to the ground, slipping between stacks of shipping containers. Her eyes scanned the shadows. Every muscle tightened. Her senses—heightened and honed—picked up subtle shifts in the salty breeze, but the sounds were strange. Off. Not footsteps. Not human.

She moved a few rows over and pressed her back to the side of a container. Maybe it was a stray dog or a raccoon—something that had knocked over a crate and bolted. But then she heard it.

Something was being dragged.

Heavy. Slow. Wet.

Her stomach turned, but her resolve held firm.

This was her chance. A real one. To show Blossom and Buttercup she could handle things on her own.

"Stop right there!"

She darted into the air, hoping her voice carried more confidence than she felt. Her eyes locked onto the hunched figure bent over two still bodies.

Only—it wasn’t a person.

It was too tall. Hunched low, but easily twelve, maybe fifteen feet. Its entire frame shimmered with an oily black sheen, like ink suspended in water, and it looked like it was… dripping.

It turned its head—if it could be called that—toward her. No features. Just a rippling, faceless surface. Still, something about it felt wrong in the most human way.

And that made it worse.

Its movements were jerky—unnatural. Like something mechanical trapped beneath layers of false liquid flesh.Then it twisted, fast, whipping its entire body to face her.

Bubbles braced herself, fists clenched as sparks rippled down her arms. A sharp surge of blue sparked to life, lighting up her hands with a crackling glow. The creature looked even more monstrous under the flicker of her powers, framed by the dim harbor lights.

Then came the sound.

A sickening bubbling, low and gurgling, rising from where its face should’ve been—
—until the flesh split open.

The mouth bloomed outward like a grotesque flower, rows of long, spine-lined teeth stretching toward her. Its tongue lolled inside, writhing wildly as the jaw tore back and reshaped into something longer, more beast-like. The black liquid form twisted, a tail uncoiling behind it, thick and heavy. Canine haunches shifted beneath it. The creature screamed, a shriek layered with something wet and broken, followed by a deep, guttural rattle.

Then it struck.

What had once looked like a hand was now a sharp, pointed spike—and it launched the limb straight at her.

Bubbles dove aside, thinking she'd dodged it. But pain bloomed across her upper arm a second later—hot, sharp, spreading fast. Blood trickled before the sting even registered.

She slapped a hand over the wound, gasping. Her skin sizzled beneath her fingers.

It wasn't just a cut. It burned. Acidic and wrong.

She’d taken hits before. It came with the job. But this wasn’t the usual dull throb of a cracked rib or a twisted ankle.
This pain felt new. Real. Raw. Like something deep under her skin was coming undone.

Below her, the creature dropped into a crouch.
Mouth wide, jaws peeling back again and again as it hissed and rattled at her.

Now it was on all fours.
No longer humanoid. No longer pretending to be anything but the monster it was. From its shoulders, thick tendrils sprouted and waved, like some diseased mane pulsing with life.

Bubbles had a way with animals. Always had.
But this thing?

This wasn’t an animal.

It terrified her.

She opened her mouth—about to call for her sisters—when the creature lashed out again. One tendril. Then two. Then more. They came at her like striking serpents, and she dodged instinctively, weaving in the air as fast as she could.

Her mind scrambled for options. If she could get higher—just for a few seconds—she could call Blossom, Buttercup… anyone.

She glanced at the skyline for a split second, desperate for a streak of pink or green.

That second was all it needed.

One of the tendrils coiled around her ankle.

She didn’t even have time to scream.

It yanked her downward—hard—and slammed her into the docks with crushing force.
Concrete shattered around her. Her lungs emptied in a single, sharp gasp. She rolled to her side, clutching at her chest, eyes wide, trying to breathe through the agony.

She felt it—slick and wet—dragging across her skin as it let her go. Her leg was burning where it had touched her. Bleeding, blistered.

From the corner of her eye, she saw it pause. The creature examined the blood and shredded skin stuck to its tendril. Its mouth pulsed. Fluttered. A rattling hum vibrated from its core as it turned its attention fully back to her.

She staggered to her feet, every nerve screaming. Hands shaking, she re-ignited her powers. Sparks burst from her fingertips.

The creature’s tail flicked like a warning— Then it launched.

She pulled her arms back and started firing.

One blast.
Then another.
And another.

Each one collided, breaking the creature apart in wet, snapping bursts. She didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Her arms moved on instinct, energy flashing again and again.

Finally, it dropped.

A deep groan escaped its body. Its mass slumped and melted into itself, its howl fading into a gurgling screech …and then silence.

It didn’t move.

Bubbles hovered there, breath ragged, arms trembling as the last glow faded from her hands. Her knees buckled. She dropped to the ground, dust billowing up around her.

Every breath tasted like concrete and smoke.

She coughed, pushing damp strands of blonde hair out of her face, leaving a gray smear in their place. Her hands fumbled for the zipper of her belt bag, too shaky to get it open. Her phone was likely shattered anyway—crushed on impact.

She dragged one knee up beneath her, trying to move, to think. But then— She heard it. That noise.

Wet.

Slow.

Gloppy.

It was coming from where the creature had fallen.

A chill reverberated down her back as the breeze tossed a sticky low pigtail over her shoulder. Her skin prickled with goosebumps. Panic began to eat away at the last of her composure. She needed to move. She needed to move now.

The sound got louder. Like bones rolling through thick syrup. A jarring contrast to the soft splash of waves against the docks.

Then came the lowing. Deep. Vibrational. It thrummed through her bones.

She turned and watched in horror as the creature shook its mangled head into place. Its face—or what passed for one—twitched and convulsed as if shaking itself back into place. A whimper escaped her.

It stilled. Spines bristled along its back like barbed wire. Its jaw peeled open again, impossibly wide, revealing those same serrated, quill-like teeth.

Then it shrieked.

Shrill. Piercing. Pure rage.

She wasn’t just prey now.

She was an enemy.

Bubbles’ fingers twitched, sparks dancing across her forearms. A tear slipped silently down her cheek and hit her chest.

The creature flexed. Its flesh rippled like a disturbed pond.

The creature stood taller. It flexed—rolling its body like a wave. Two more limbs burst from its sides. Not legs. Not arms. Something in between. Elongated human arms with fingers—but they bent wrong. They moved like an animal’s. No eyes. But somehow, it saw her. She felt it.

How long had she been down here? Seconds? Minutes?

Were Blossom and Buttercup looking for her?

Would they hear her scream?

Her chest ached from shallow breaths. She rubbed the back of her arm under her nose, stifling the sob building in her throat. She couldn’t cry.

Not now.

But her mind raced—flashing faces.

Her father.
Her sisters.
Her friends.

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.

She grit her teeth and shifted her weight back to her other leg. Just as the creature reared back and began to whip those spines toward her. Her arms flew out—her palms flashing with energy— And she met every strike with a burst of power.

Again.
And again.
And again.

The tendrils lashed, clipping her shoulder. She cried out. She was backing away, breath hitching, ribs screaming. Twice it struck her shoulder. She cried out. 

This was too much. Way too much.  She kept her footing, barely. Each blow chipped away at her focus, her strength.

It was taunting her, playing with her.

Buttercup would’ve torn it apart by now. Blossom would’ve already figured out its weak point. But she wasn’t them.

She was Bubbles.

And she was tired.

Her blasts came slower, more ragged, her body moving on sheer survival instinct. Her arms ached. Her hands shook. Then— She noticed something.

The tendrils were slowing.

Only three now.

Then two.

Then one, but above it’s monstrous head it was coiling the rest of the tendrils above it like a whip.

She didn’t dare fly. If it caught her midair, it would slam her down again. And truthfully, she wasn’t sure she could fly anymore.

One last flick of the tendril brushed her cheek. Her knees buckled. She was out of time.

She slammed her palms together and pulled them apart—channeling all the power she had left.
A crude energy shield sparked into place between her hands.

The monster struck. It smashed its limb against the glowing barrier. She screamed through clenched teeth.

Again it hit. Then again. Each impact dimmed the light.

“No—n–” she choked out, the words stumbling into each other.

Smack.
Flicker.

Smack. Smack.
Flicker.

The last blow sent her back onto one knee. She held the shield overhead with shaking arms. Her breath was ragged, her vision blurring. Her arms shook. Her teeth clenched.

She tried to hold the shield overhead, barely keeping it stable.

Smack.

The blue light sputtered—then vanished. She threw her arms over her head, bracing for death.

...But it didn’t come.

The world went still.

Then—

A low hum. Familiar. The air shimmered green around her.

She opened one eye. Saw light.

Not hers.

And not Buttercup’s.

Butch.

He stood between her and the monster, wind ruffling his hair. Of all people—a Rowdyruff had come to her rescue.

He looked taller than she remembered. More stoic. Stronger. His green eyes glowed faintly as he looked down at her, voice flat but steady:

“Go.”

She tried to get her feet back underneath her. Stumbled. Crashed to her hands and knees.

“I—I can’t,” she rasped, eyes filling.

Butch’s brow furrowed—not in irritation, but calculation. He turned back to the shrieking creature slamming into his barrier, again and again. Barriers were his thing.

His gift.

His specialty.

He scanned their surroundings. Eyes narrowed. An idea sparked.

“Grab my leg,” he said.

She blinked.

“Don’t. Let. Go.”

She didn’t need convincing.

Crawling to him, arms like lead, she wrapped them around his braced leg.

He moved, pulling the barrier back toward himself. The creature slammed into it harder, angrier. Butch didn’t flinch.

“You’re an ugly fucker, aren’t ya,” he muttered. No smirk. No bravado.

Just steel.

He wasn’t showing off. He was focused. Dialed in.

He placed both hands on the barrier, closed his eyes—then ripped them apart.

A flash of green.

A pop.

Then sizzle.

The shockwave blasted outward.

The creature hadn’t anticipated the surge of energy. It was blasted backward, crashing into a freighter docked nearby. The impact was deafening—metal screamed as the ship buckled, and the monster’s inky body shattered into slick, writhing chunks that scattered into the ocean. The vessel rocked violently from the blow, slamming back into the concrete dock. Chunks of cement and steel exploded outward, crashing into the water and surrounding stacks with a brutal, concussive force.

Nearby, a shipping container the creature had previously crouched beside began to tip. The groan of shifting metal followed by the distinct slosh of liquid was the only warning they had. Then—

Boom.

An eruption tore through the air as the container slammed down. The explosion lit up the night, sending a fiery shockwave skyward. Debris showered across the docks like shrapnel. Flames spread fast, catching on tarps, wood, and fuel-stained surfaces, turning the area into a blazing hellscape. More containers buckled from the force, toppling and slamming into one another in a cacophony of metallic thunder. Some tumbled more than sixty feet from their towering stacks, their contents bursting out like ruptured veins.

Bubbles screamed, instinctively curling in on herself, but felt a strong weight drop beside her. Butch.

He crouched low, shielding her with his own body, one arm braced over his face. The heat licked at them, but his barrier shimmered faintly around them, diffusing the worst of it. For a long moment, there was only the roar of fire, the slap of seawater against broken stone, and the groaning protests of twisted metal.

"That was a bit dramatic," Butch muttered, slightly winded.

He rose slowly, brushing his palms together as if dusting off something far more mundane than the chaos they’d just survived. He looked down, ready to offer a hand, but paused when he saw Bubbles already pushing herself upright.

She swayed.

He let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. "Jeez, sugartits, take it easy."

His hand went to her elbow, steadying her before she could topple again. She flinched—but not from the contact. Her body was trembling, not just from adrenaline, but from pain, exhaustion, and whatever that monster had laced into its touch.

It was their first physical contact since they were kids, and Butch was hit with the sudden realization of how small she really was. Bubbles was petite, just shy of five-foot-four, and in her current disheveled state—dusty, bloodied, trembling—she looked like a stiff breeze might knock her off her feet. That wasn’t the girl he remembered. That wasn’t the girl the city remembered.

Sirens began to wail in the distance, a sharp signal that backup was incoming. He could hear it—the familiar high-pitched frequency that always preceded the arrival of the other two. With a quiet breath, Butch pushed his damp hair back and began to hover, ready to disappear before things got complicated.

But then, a small hand gripped his.

“Please stay,” Bubbles whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of exhaustion and fear. He looked down to find her staring up at him, her bottom lip trembling, eyes wet with unshed tears. The desperation in her voice punched through him harder than he'd like to admit.

He froze. He couldn’t handle crying girls. Never could.

He gently pulled his hand from hers.

"What if it comes back?" Her voice hitched, raw and terrified.

Butch paused. He’d never really given her much thought before—never saw her as a fighter. Bubbles was the sweet one, the heart of the team, not the muscle or the tactician. But tonight... tonight she’d gone toe-to-toe with a nightmare. And while he’d made it look easy, the truth was that thing had almost cracked his barrier. A few more hits and it could’ve.

And yet she’d held it off. Alone.

He could’ve said something—told her she fought well, that she held her own like a damn powerhouse. He’d seen it with his own eyes. But the words caught somewhere in his throat, stuck behind years of pride and habit.

Instead, what came out was clumsy and sharp-edged.
“Your sisters can handle it.”

The second it left his mouth, he hated how it sounded.

Bubbles froze. Her eyes flicked away, and the color drained from her face like he’d struck her. She stepped back, just a little, but it felt like miles.

He lingered, just for a second. Maybe to take it back. Maybe to say more. But that tightness in his chest only made him angrier at himself, and the moment slipped away.

Before she could speak, he turned and launched into the air—low and fast, like a shadow peeling away from the light.

She didn’t chase after him.

She just stood there, shoulders shaking, the tears she’d been holding back finally breaking free—silent and heavy, as she watched him disappear into the dark.

Just then, a blur of color cut through the smoky air as her sisters landed hard beside her.

“Bubbles!” Buttercup’s voice hit first—sharp, panicked, cracking around the edges. She rushed forward, grabbing Bubbles by the shoulders with trembling hands. “You didn’t come back—what the hell happened? What did you do?”

She wasn’t shouting out of anger, not really. Her breath was uneven, her eyes wild. Buttercup wasn’t used to feeling helpless—and right now, she looked terrified.

Blossom appeared beside them, calmer but no less shaken. Her gaze swept over the scorched dock, the crushed containers, the blood. She took in the deep gashes on Bubbles’ arms, the scrapes on her cheek, the smear of blood trailing down her leg. Her expression tightened, but she didn’t say a word at first.

Instead, she stepped in close and gently pressed her forehead to Bubbles’, one hand cradling the back of her head. Bubbles was slick with sweat, caked in dust and grime—but Blossom didn’t flinch. She just held her there, grounding her in quiet solidarity.

Buttercup had gone still. Her hands dropped to her sides as her gaze moved across the destruction—the torn concrete, the scorched metal, the collapsed containers. Her gut twisted. Bubbles had been here. Alone. And it was because she had told her to take this part of the city. Because it was “quieter.”

Her mouth parted like she might say something, but nothing came out.

Finally, Blossom’s voice broke through, low and steady.

“What happened?”

Bubbles couldn’t speak. Her throat locked up, the words buried beneath everything she’d just survived. Her breath hitched once. Then again.

The tears came slowly at first—silent and heavy. Her body trembled as she leaned into Blossom, pressing her face into her sister’s shoulder, and the sobs followed, raw and unrelenting.

Neither of them let go.

Chapter Three

The fire was under control within the hour. Thick plumes of smoke still curled into the air, but the worst of the flames had been beaten down by the coordinated efforts of the firefighters. Blossom kept herself busy, using her strength to right toppled shipping containers and clear safe paths through the wreckage. Buttercup hadn't moved from Bubbles’ side.

Their youngest sister sat hunched on the edge of the dock, shivering despite the heat still radiating from the scorched ground. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, her gaze fixed on nothing. Buttercup hovered beside her, saying little, her jaw clenched tight as she watched helplessly.

Blossom now stood a short distance away, locked in conversation with Chief Miranda Rosa, who was pacing through the scene with a flashlight and a scowl. She muttered something under her breath about being yanked out of bed "for a damn fire." Blossom recognized the edge in her voice.

Chief Rosa had transferred from Citysville two years ago, and she’d never been subtle about her discomfort with the girls. She wasn’t rude—not exactly—but always seemed like she was waiting for a reason to hold them accountable for something they couldn't always control.

“I’m sorry, Chief,” Blossom said, stepping carefully around chunks of scorched debris. “Bubbles is in no shape to talk right now, but as soon as she’s able, she’ll file a report. She’d never cause this much damage intentionally. You know that.”

She tried to keep her tone calm, professional—but not pleading. Still, she felt like she was negotiating more than explaining.

Chief Rosa gave a dry laugh as she kicked a piece of twisted metal aside with the toe of her boot. “Sure. And I’m sure if we keep looking, we’ll just magically find whatever left this behind.”

Blossom’s eyes flicked over the scene. If it had been a monster or an automaton, there had to be something—scraps of machinery, ichor, tracks, something . But even she hadn’t gotten a clear look at whatever Bubbles had faced. The whole dock felt haunted.

The Chief crouched near the broken remains of one of the exploded containers, glancing at the scorched residue that stained the dock like an ink spill. “Don’t think I took this job without knowing what kind of messes you girls leave behind. But this?” She waved her arm around, voice rising with frustration. “This isn’t your usual ‘bad guy of the week’ mess. This is—hell, I don’t even know what this is.”

Blossom said nothing. She didn’t know either.

Hazmat crews and the bomb squad were combing through the wreckage now, called in after it became clear the explosion had involved more than just flammable material. Some kind of chemical had been housed in those containers, and no one had been briefed about what. The acrid scent still clung to the air, sharp and nauseating.

Officers were snapping photos, collecting samples, bagging evidence that looked strange or scorched or suspicious. Somewhere further down the pier, an officer had been sent to locate the security staff. None of them had turned up.

That in itself was alarming.

Blossom was about to speak when a sharp cry rang out over the chatter and static of police radios.

“ Chief! Over here! ” An officer sprinted into view, waving her over. “You gotta see this. Now.”

Another officer followed closely behind him—stumbling, pale, hand over his mouth. He made it a few steps past the downed lamppost before doubling over and vomiting between his fingers.

“Oh, come on , Marks!” someone snapped behind him. “You just contaminated the scene. Now we gotta catalog that too.”

Chief Rosa sighed sharply and straightened her jacket with an exhausted flick of her fingers. “What is it, Santiago?” Her tone was all steel and no patience, but she didn’t wait for an answer—just moved, brisk and deliberate, toward the wreckage.

Blossom followed without a word, her stomach already beginning to twist.

Something wasn’t right.

“Follow me,” Santiago said, his voice low and unsteady. He cast a glance at Blossom, gave her a quick nod, then turned, his flashlight cutting a narrow beam through the darkness as he led them deeper into the shadowed stretch of dock.

Chief Rosa pulled a compact mag light from her jacket and clicked it on with a flick of her thumb. The beam flickered across twisted metal and scorched debris as she stepped over the bent remains of a lamppost and joined Santiago. A few feet ahead, his light had landed on something.

The stench hit first—wet copper laced with something far worse. The heavy, nauseating scent of rot and chemical decay hung thick in the air, clinging to the back of their throats.

As Rosa stepped closer, she hissed in a breath through her teeth and came to a halt, her expression darkening instantly.

Well, that answered the question of where the security guards had gone.

Blossom approached just behind her, and the sight stopped her cold. Her breath caught; her hand flew to her mouth.

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

Laid out in the shadows were what was left of two bodies—or what had once been bodies. They had been torn apart with horrifying precision. Limbs bent the wrong way. Chests caved in. One was missing a face entirely. Whatever had done this hadn’t just killed them—it had fed .

Rosa didn’t blink. Her voice was clipped and immediate. “Call this in. Get the coroner, now. I want Detectives Marley and Bryant here as soon as possible. They’ll want eyes on this.”

Santiago moved without hesitation, radioing in the call while backing away from the carnage. Another officer arrived and quickly began running tape around the area, cordoning it off.

Blossom stood still for a long moment, the image seared into her memory.

“They were eviscerated,” she said quietly, turning to Rosa. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

The Chief didn’t respond right away. Her eyes were distant, narrowed as if trying to pull logic from something that defied it.

“I’ll speak with you more once I have the coroner’s report,” she said at last. “I doubt your sister was responsible for this—but we’ll need to rule her out. Standard procedure.” She turned to Blossom, voice firm. “Have her come in when she’s able to talk. I don’t want to have to come get her.”

Blossom’s lips tightened, the pink of her irises beginning to glow with a subtle but unmistakable light. She blinked it back down, voice even.

“She will.”

She turned sharply, long ponytail catching a breeze stirred by the fading helicopters overhead. They had spent most of their lives in service to this city—had bent over backward to be its protectors, its symbols of hope. But lately, things weren’t so simple. Age had brought them strength—and scrutiny.

“I need to get my sisters home,” she said.

Without another word, she walked off into the smoke-hazed air. Buttercup was still beside Bubbles, who looked like she might fall over if the wind pushed hard enough.

Without being asked, Buttercup pulled her sister onto her back, arms locking beneath her knees. Bubbles buried her face into her shoulder. Blossom hovered beside them for a beat, then the three took off together—low, slow, and silent—toward the dark horizon of Townsville’s sleeping suburbs.

Behind them, the docks still simmered.

Chapter Four

Friday Night/ Saturday Morning - Utonium Residence

While Blossom was handling a frantic Professor downstairs, Buttercup helped Bubbles up the stairs, one arm looped under her sister's for support. Bubbles had dozed off mid-flight on the way home—something she hadn’t done in years.

“You’ll feel better after a hot shower,” Buttercup said, then wrinkled her nose, attempting to lighten the mood. “You smell like the wrong end of Fuzzy Lumpkins on a hot summer day.”

That earned the smallest smile from Bubbles. “Yeah.”
The bathroom door clicked shut behind her, and a few seconds later, the hiss of rushing water filled the upstairs hall.

Buttercup trudged back down and sank onto the second-to-last step, bending over to unlace her boots. Standing just ahead in the foyer was a visibly shaken Professor Utonium. He’d wrapped Bubbles in a tight hug the second she walked in the door—bruised, bloodied, and half-lucid—and then pulled the other two into the same embrace, his voice cracking with relief as he bombarded them with questions.

The girls had long outgrown his strength. But sometimes, they still let him hold them like that—because they knew he needed to.

Blossom leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed, hair down from its usual ponytail. Her mouth was a thin line.

“So…” Buttercup muttered, yanking off one boot and tossing it haphazardly into the coat closet.

“So we give her time,” the Professor said gently, his voice quieter now. “She needs to rest. Blossom told me Bubbles’ powers were nearly drained.”

Blossom nodded. “And she still needs to file a statement at the station. I already told Chief Rosa she would.”

Buttercup pulled off the other boot with a grunt and rolled her eyes. “‘ I told Chief Rosa she would, ’” she mocked in a high-pitched voice. She crossed her arms in exaggerated mimicry, earning a sharp scowl from Blossom.

“The Chief can eat shit.”

“ Language! ” the Professor and Blossom snapped in unison.

Buttercup waved them off and leaned against the stair railing. “You know what I mean. I swear, Chief Rosa looks at us like we’re one tantrum away from turning on the city. Like we don’t already do everything we can to minimize the fallout.”

The Professor’s voice was calm but insistent. “A lot of people know how much you girls sacrifice. I do. And whatever attacked Bubbles tonight—it was more dangerous than the Chief realizes.” He hesitated. “I saw the damage to her uniform. You know how much pride Edna takes in her stitching. That kind of tearing... something serious did that.”

He placed a reassuring hand on Blossom’s shoulder. “Please be careful. I don’t care what you’re up against. I care about you three.”

Blossom placed her hand gently over his, her voice steady but distant. “We’ll be fine. We can take care of ourselves. Don’t worry too much.”

But even as she said it, she felt the weight of the truth clawing at her. The bodies by the container. What was left of them. She hadn’t told Buttercup. She definitely wasn’t telling the Professor.

“Tonight might’ve been a one-off,” she added. “We’ll ramp up training. We’ll be ready next time.”

He didn’t quite buy it—she could tell—but he didn’t press. He nodded slowly. “Leave Bubbles’ uniform in the lab. If there’s any residue, I’ll analyze it in the morning. Maybe it’ll give us some answers.”

His gaze lingered on them, fatherly and tired. “I just want you girls safe. That’s all.”

“We know,” Blossom said softly.

The Professor turned toward his bedroom, flipping off the hallway lights as he went.

The girls climbed the stairs in silence, their steps echoing down the quiet hall behind them.

As the girls grew older, privacy and individuality became something they no longer just wanted—but needed . After weeks of work (and some light emotional blackmail), the entire upstairs had been renovated into three smaller bedrooms and a larger shared bathroom.

Blossom’s room was just across the hall, the first door at the top of the landing. She paused in her doorway and glanced toward the now-vacant bathroom. “I’ll take the uniform to the lab,” she said, nodding to the hamper. “You can shower first.”

“Fine, but I’m not washing my hair,” Buttercup grumbled, sticking her tongue out for emphasis.

Leaning into the bathroom and retrieving the soiled uniform, Blossom gave a knowing little laugh. “Oh, you’ll want to once you get a good look at it.”

Buttercup scowled as her sister disappeared down the stairs. Still grumbling, she stepped into the bathroom and froze at the mirror, groaning out loud.

Her hair was a disaster. Every strand pointed in a different direction, and the back had somehow curled into a sad little ducktail. “Ugh,” she muttered. She hated when Blossom was right.

Later, wrapped in her towel, Buttercup padded barefoot to her room. She threw on an oversized t-shirt and a pair of soft boxers—left behind by her last boyfriend. He’d never asked for them back, and honestly? His loss. They were insanely comfortable.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of her mirror, she dragged a brush through her damp hair, fluffing up her bangs with practiced flicks. Once satisfied, she reached for the jar of body lotion she kept tucked near her desk and rubbed it into her arms and legs, slow and methodical.

She’d never admit it out loud, but these quiet, self-soothing routines were often the thing that kept her grounded after nights like this. Even Buttercup—the tough one, the fighter—liked feeling soft sometimes. Her room was scattered with flea market art and Norwegian metal band posters, but her makeup bag lived comfortably on the floor beside her mirror, and her closet hid more than a few dresses and skirts.

A glance at the clock told her it was only 1:30 AM. Not terrible for a Saturday night—even if she had missed that band with Mitch and Robin.

With a sigh, she walked over to her unmade bed, the comforter kicked off and tangled at one side. She flopped face-first into the mattress, burying her face into the cool sheets—

—until she opened one eye and screamed.

“Jesus Christ , Bubbles!” she yelped, scrambling to the edge of the bed. “Do you want me to have a heart attack ? Because that’s how you give someone a heart attack!”

Beneath the heap of blankets, Bubbles blinked up at her. She was already in her pajamas, damp blonde hair clinging to her neck in soft waves. Her voice was quiet.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

Buttercup sighed, flopping back onto the mattress beside her and bracing herself on her hands. She gave a reluctant smile that didn’t quite hide the affection behind it. “I guess... since you’re already here and all.”

Bubbles wriggled free from the blankets and threw half of it over Buttercup in response, her smile sleepy and relieved.

“I know, I know, I’m the best,” Buttercup muttered, smirking and waving her hand in mock surrender. She stuck her tongue out once more before leaning over to flick off the bedside lamp.

Like a burr, Bubbles curled tightly around Buttercup’s solid frame, needing the closeness, the warmth—just someone —after the chaos of the night. Buttercup shifted to get more comfortable when a soft knock broke the quiet.

The door creaked open, casting a sliver of hallway light across the room. Blossom’s silhouette appeared, calm and composed in the doorway.

“Room for one more?” she asked gently.

Buttercup huffed but didn’t hesitate, gesturing with a free arm. “Alright, c’mon. We can try to fit one more.” Her mock-annoyed tone wasn’t fooling anyone.

Blossom closed the door behind her and floated across the room, slipping under the covers on the other side of Bubbles. She gave Buttercup a small smile. “Thanks.”

It had been a long time since all three of them had shared a bed by choice, not just circumstance. Bubbles adjusted, shifting up and grabbing both her sisters’ hands, holding them tightly in her own.

The familiar scents of their shampoos—roses and amber musk—mingled in the air, grounding her. The room was dim, bathed in the soft silver of moonlight filtering through the curtains, but her eyes were drawn to the faint scatter of glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.

She remembered putting those up years ago after Buttercup, too proud to admit she was scared to sleep outdoors on a club field trip, confessed to Bubbles that she hated the dark. So she made the room feel like a starlit sky. And now, all these years later, the stars still clung stubbornly to the ceiling.

Buttercup would probably say she was just too lazy to take them down. But Bubbles knew better.

Their breathing had settled—slow and even—both of them already slipping into sleep. Bubbles gave their hands another squeeze and turned her head slightly, just enough to make out the soft outlines of their faces in the dark.

Her throat tightened.

She had almost lost this. Almost lost them . If she hadn’t held out just a few seconds longer—if Butch hadn’t shown up—

Tears welled in her eyes again. She closed them tightly, only to see his face in the dark: the unshaken stance, the steady voice, the brilliant green glow of his powers. He had been strong . Steady. Safe .

Even after years of mutual avoidance, tense silences, and occasional bickering, he hadn’t hesitated. He saved her.

The Rowdyruffs had returned at the start of their sophomore year, and while the six of them made an unspoken pact to keep their distance, history had a way of stirring itself up. Butch and Brick always managed to irritate Blossom and Buttercup. Boomer mostly kept to himself.

Twice, Blossom and Buttercup had confronted Butch over reckless flying incidents, which of course escalated until Brick got involved. She remembered one of those times sitting beside Boomer on a park bench while he showed her how to tune a ukulele. Just waiting it out.

They didn’t know why the boys had really come back—only that General Ashraf, Major Glory, and the Mayor had assured them it was safe, that they were being monitored, that things had changed.

So far, that had been true.

But tonight... tonight had shifted something.

Bubbles swallowed the lump in her throat. She owed him. She also knew she’d have to be careful— if she mentioned Butch to Chief Rosa, would they haul him in? Blame him for the damage? Would it jeopardize their fragile reintegration?

Questions swarmed her, buzzing like hornets through the calm she was so desperate to keep intact.

A quiet sigh came from Blossom beside her, followed by a sleepy, unintelligible mumble from Buttercup. Bubbles finally let her eyes fall shut, her thoughts beginning to blur. The storm inside her slowly calmed, overtaken by the steady rhythm of her sisters’ breathing.

She’d made it home.

And for tonight, that was enough.

Chapter Five

Monday Afternoon - Townsville Police Station

The phone on the desk beside her rang shrill and persistent, slicing through the ambient noise of the police station like a blade. Bubbles sat rigid in her chair, staring down at her clenched fists in her lap, trying to ignore it. Why wasn’t anyone answering it?

Her eyes flicked to the young officer typing up her statement, his fingers flying over the keyboard with mechanical efficiency. The phone had been ringing for the past ten minutes, and he hadn’t picked it up once.

Three hours. That’s how long she’d been here. First with Chief Rosa. Then Lieutenant Matsuo. Then Ms. Bellum and the Mayor. And now, this fresh-faced rookie who smelled vaguely of coffee and laundry detergent. She had recounted everything with clinical precision—details of the fight, the creature, the damage. Every beat of it.

Well, almost every beat.

She left Butch out of it.

After what he’d done—after saving her life—dragging him into this would feel like betrayal. So, in her version, the explosion was simply the result of the creature knocking over a volatile shipping container before fleeing. A violent mess, but not a lie. Not completely.

She tugged uncomfortably at the hem of her white sweater. It was soft and oversized, chosen specifically to hide the angry red cuts still etched into her arms. The Professor had told her to let the gash on her leg breathe, but she regretted not keeping the cuffs of her jeans rolled down. People stared. It made her stomach twist.

The wounds still stung—throbbed if touched. That in itself was unsettling. Pain lingering like that wasn’t normal for her. Her bruises were already gone, but the deeper cuts… those were another story.

At least the Professor had let her stay home from school today. The news was everywhere: the explosion at the docks, the deaths of the two missing security guards. Her face was on the screen more than once. They all knew it. Even if Blossom and Buttercup had walked away unscathed, she was the one everyone would be watching.

“All right,” the officer finally said, pushing his keyboard back with a tired sigh. “I think that’s it.”

Relief flickered through her as she looked up, his polite smile not quite reaching his eyes. He looked just as drained as she felt.

“Oh! Great,” she said, standing quickly. “I can leave now, right?”

Her smile was practiced—automatic—but she felt the pull in her cheeks like a physical strain. It wasn’t real. None of it was.

“Sure. Just sign out at the front desk.”

She was turning to go when a voice stopped her.

“Ms. Utonium.”

Chief Rosa stood framed in the office doorway, her posture stiff, arms crossed. “We still haven’t found any eyewitnesses. But we’re taking your word for what happened.”

Bubbles gave her an awkward nod, not trusting herself to speak, and kept walking. She made her way down to the front desk and scribbled her name in the sign-out log. Behind the receptionist, the clock read 1:30 PM.

Most of the day—gone.

That realization hit harder than it should’ve. A flicker of irritation pulsed in her chest, and she caught herself. Why are you angry? They were doing their jobs. It wasn’t their fault. Still… she felt raw. Tired. Exposed.

With a small, polite wave, Bubbles exited the station and joined the foot traffic on the sidewalk. She’d flown in that morning to test her energy reserves after being unconscious for thirteen hours, and while her powers felt steadier now, she wasn’t quite at full strength.

She waited until the street quieted, ducking into a side alley before lifting gently into the sky. The air cooled around her as she rose into the cloud cover, the noise of the city muffled beneath her.

Finally, quiet.

The sun peeked through patches in the clouds, warming her skin. For the first time all day, she felt something like calm. She’d survived the statements. Chief Rosa hadn’t pressed too hard. The worst was over.

She hovered for a while, drifting through cloud layers. Occasionally, she glimpsed the world below through breaks in the mist—cars cruising down sun-drenched streets, kids playing tag at recess, dogs racing through yards after tennis balls. Ordinary things. Small joys. All blissfully unaware of the horrors that had clawed their way into her life.

This was what they were fighting for.

Feet first, she descended slowly through the cloudline until her sneakers hit the sidewalk in front of her home. Her phone buzzed in her bag, and she pulled it out with a sigh. The screen was still fractured from the fight, spiderwebbed from corner to corner, but barely functional.

It wasn’t a message. It was a shared calendar notification from her sisters.

Observatory – 4 PM

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

Monday Afternoon- Townsville High School 

Blossom slammed her locker shut—then flinched.

Brick was leaning against the locker beside hers, arms crossed, face stony and drawn. His dark eyes locked onto hers with unsettling focus.

“We need to talk,” he said low, barely above a whisper. The tone wasn’t threatening, but it was firm. Serious.

They got a few curious glances from passing students—understandable. It wasn’t every day the two of them spoke without yelling.

Blossom arched a brow and tossed her braid over her shoulder. “I have to get to class,” she said coolly, stepping to move around him.

But Brick shifted, deliberately blocking her path.

Though she was tall—5'8" and the tallest of her sisters—he still had a few inches on her, his frame lean but solid. The way he planted himself in front of her made it clear this wasn’t a casual encounter.

“It can’t wait.”

There was something strange in his expression. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, and something tight in his jaw made her pause. Desperation? No way. Brick didn’t get desperate. He always had a plan. He always had control.

And yet...

He pushed a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable. Then, quietly— almost grudgingly—he added, “Please.”

That gave her pause.

Of all the things she expected to hear from Brick, that wasn’t one of them. Her first instinct was to refuse—brush him off and go to class. But something about his tone, the look in his eyes, told her this wasn’t about school... and it definitely wasn’t trivial.

With an exaggerated sigh, she motioned for him to go on. “Fine. What is it?”

His eyes narrowed at her tone. Of course she’d make it clear she was doing him a favor. It irritated him more than he wanted to admit.

But he couldn’t afford to walk away. Not this time.

“Not here,” he muttered, and jerked his head toward the hallway.

She rolled her eyes but followed, her bag strap digging into her shoulder as they made their way down the corridor.

After everything that had happened over the weekend, the last thing Blossom wanted was more entanglement with him or his brothers. On Sunday, Bubbles had finally told them what she remembered—the creature, the explosion, its escape—but something in her story hadn’t sat right. Not a lie, exactly, but... there was a gap. A hesitation.

And now Brick— Brick —was initiating a conversation with her? That alone was suspicious. He was smart—worryingly smart, possible future successful supervillain smart—and she’d never suspect him to ask for help unless things were seriously out of control.

He shoved open one of the rear doors and stepped into a covered common area that overlooked the school’s sports fields. A few scattered gym classes were happening on the grass—soccer, lacrosse, even a yoga group off to the side—but the patio area was empty.

Quiet. Secluded.

Brick dropped his backpack onto a bench and crossed his arms, clearly on edge. Blossom mirrored him, crossing her own arms and tilting her hip slightly.

“All right,” she said, her voice dry. “Now that you’ve dragged me out here, this better not be an ambush.”

She half expected a smirk, a sarcastic comeback—something. But he didn’t take the bait. Instead, he dropped the bomb:

“We can’t find Mojo.”

Her arms uncrossed on instinct.

What?

The surprise was plain on her face. Of all the things she expected him to say, that hadn’t even made the list.

Mojo Jojo. Their… father? Creator? Legal guardian under weird supervillain technicalities? She’d always assumed their relationship was strained—more obligation than affection. Apparently, she was wrong.

She glanced at him, more carefully this time. His face wasn’t just tired—it was tight with worry. Real worry. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t have a comeback.

She sighed, trying to defuse the tension. “I’m sure he’s fine. Probably holed up in his lab, working on his next ‘greatest invention’ or something.”

“He’s not.”

The bluntness in Brick’s voice stalled her. She blinked, then pulled out her phone from the pocket of her denim jacket, thumb tapping quickly through her notes app. She wasn’t trying to dismiss him— really . It was just... Mojo Jojo. He always turned up. Always had a plan, always bounced back.

“Okay,” she said, tone more even now. “How long’s he been missing?”

Brick’s jaw tightened. The muscle near his cheek twitched as if he were biting something back.

“If you’re not gonna take this seriously, I’ll find someone else,” he snapped.

Blossom’s brow twitched. Her eyes flickered with faint pink light for a split second as her posture straightened. “I am taking it seriously,” she replied, voice firm. “As a civil servant of Townsville, I take all reported matters concerning its citizens seriously.”

Her words were clipped. Official. Defensive. She closed her eyes briefly and exhaled—frost curling in the air from the purposeful activation of her powers. Cooling herself down. Centering.

Normally, she wouldn’t let a jab like that get to her. But Brick had always had a knack for getting under her skin. He was her rival in every sense of the word.

Brick caught the breath of cold in the air and the flash in her eyes. Despite himself, he nearly smirked. Winding her up used to be his favorite game.

But this wasn’t a game.

As much as he might talk trash about Mojo or HIM, the truth was—those two had shown up when no one else had. After everything, they’d been waiting for the boys when they got out. Provided a roof. Paid the bills. Kept the lights on. Didn’t ask for much in return.

“It's been almost a week,” he finally said. “We last saw him Tuesday night. His lab’s completely trashed.”

Blossom’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“I don’t even know what he was doing down there,” Brick added, frustration creeping into his voice. “He stopped letting me in after winter break.”

There was something about the way he said it—his voice low, almost ashamed—that made her study him more closely. She was trying to gauge whether this was real concern or just part of some convoluted Ruff drama.

But she imagined walking into the Professor’s lab and finding it torn apart. That alone made her spine straighten.

“Where have you looked?”

It was a simple question, but Brick exhaled sharply through his nose, almost a bitter laugh.

“Where haven’t we looked?” he muttered. “We’ve been scouring the city for four nights. Only noticed something was wrong Thursday when he stopped answering his phone.”

Blossom gestured with her phone in her hand. “I haven’t seen any of you out during patrols, so—”

“We’ve been avoiding your patrols, Red,” he interrupted, and she huffed through her nose, instantly irritated. She hated being interrupted—especially by him .

“That’s kind of the point. We’ve been playing by your rules. Staying out of sight. The less people see us, the safer they feel—and the fewer bad guys think we’re encroaching."

He didn’t mention the last time she caught Butch mid-stunt, or the argument that followed until Marion picked them up and then scolded them like kids.

Blossom folded her arms, unimpressed. “I thought you were all rehabilitated . No more life of crime, remember?”

It came out more like a warning than a question. Brick’s expression shifted—subtle, but there. He unfolded his arms and took a step closer.

“We are,” he said quietly. “But that doesn’t mean we get to let our guard down.”

He gestured toward her, like a teacher laying out a lesson for a stubborn student.

“You and your sisters walk around with targets on your backs. Don’t act like you don’t know what it’s like to be hated just for existing. We’re always being watched. By someone. People feel safer thinking we’re monsters. So, yeah... we let them.”

That last line hung between them like smoke.

Blossom didn’t reply right away. She was used to control. Used to having all the answers. But right now—this moment—Brick wasn’t performing. He wasn’t trying to win a fight. He was scared. Maybe not just for Mojo... maybe of what losing him could mean.

She wasn’t foolish enough not to catch his comment about being ‘monsters’.  This came like a delayed slap to the face. 

Straightening up, arms folded tightly across her chest, her fingers digging into the sleeves of her jacket. Her voice dropped an octave, flat and unimpressed. “Excuse me? What exactly are you saying about how me and my sisters ‘act and behave’?”

She wasn’t typing anymore. Her phone hung loosely in her hand, but her face was all sharp angles now—eyes hard, jaw locked. Humorless.

Brick sighed internally. Damn it. He’d said too much. Too carelessly. The last thing he needed was Blossom digging in her heels, but that’s exactly what she was doing—and for good reason.

“You’re taking it out of context,” he said quickly. “That’s not what I meant, Red.”

She just raised a brow at him, skeptical and silent, and he knew if he didn’t walk it back with care, she’d shut down the conversation completely—and he’d be screwed.

So, Brick leaned into what little honesty he had left to spare.

“What I’m saying is… you don’t get to be normal. You’re a superhero. People care when you mess up—so you don’t. You can’t. Not publicly. Not even a little.” He spoke fast, like ripping off a bandage. “You’ve been in the spotlight since you were kids, and you don’t get to have bad days. Someone stops you on the street, you smile, even if you want to punch a wall. And without secret identities, every villain with an inferiority complex wants to take you out just to prove they can.”

Blossom stepped back slightly, almost like the words stung. Her expression didn’t shift much—but he saw it. The way her eyes narrowed a fraction. The way her voice came out just a little quieter, a little tighter:

“So… we’re not targets when it’s convenient for you? And I can’t brush you off because that’s just my ‘role,’ right?”

There was no edge to it. That’s what made it worse.

Brick hesitated. She wasn’t just upset—she was hurt . And that wasn’t what he’d meant. Not really. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. It was so easy to needle her—too easy—but he couldn’t afford it right now.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said again, more gently this time. “I wouldn’t be here if I thought you were just… someone to use. I’m here because you’re the only person I can go to.” His voice was rough with the effort of forcing the pride down.

Blossom looked down at her phone, at the half-written notes, then back at him. Her jaw stayed tight. She could still turn away, walk back inside and pretend this wasn’t her problem.

He knew she was thinking about it.

“Listen,” he said again, and reached a hand toward her phone.

She hesitated, but then handed it over.

“I’m out of ideas,” he admitted. “Things aren’t looking good, and I don’t know what else to do. You might see something I didn’t. I’m too close to it.”

His thumbs moved fast over her screen, typing with practiced speed. When he handed the phone back, she glanced at the notes: last date seen, time, the places he and his brothers had searched, which nights, which areas.

For someone who always played it cool, it was a meticulous, vulnerable thing to share.

Her eyes scanned the list, and slowly her face softened, just a little.

“This is a good start,” she said quietly.

A weight lifted off Brick’s chest. He didn’t let it show, but the relief was real.

“The girls and I should check out the lab first,” she continued, already shifting into plan mode. “Then we’ll regroup and make something more concrete. Does later today work?”

He nodded. “Four o’clock at the observatory. I’ll bring the guys.”

He didn’t mention that he hadn’t exactly told them yet—that Butch would lose his mind and Boomer would probably try to play peacekeeper again. But they’d follow him. They always did. That was the deal.

Blossom was already typing the reminder into her phone when she paused, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

“You don’t… live with Mojo?” she asked, surprised. “Like, ever ?”

She’d always assumed they stayed there on occasion—if not full-time, then at least part of the week. Sure, Eklektos was their official guardian, but...

“Nah, it’s not a ‘safe environment for children,’ apparently.” He raised his fingers in air quotes, his voice edged with sarcasm. That phrase had been HIM’s go-to explanation any time they brought it up as kids—always delivered with a theatrical sigh and a pointed glance. And eventually, General Ashraf and Marion had just... echoed it. No matter how stable Mojo or HIM seemed, the answer had always been the same: supervised contact, not full custody. Especially not while Eklektos was still watching.

It had felt oddly easy to tell her that just now. Too easy. It unsettled him enough to shut him up immediately afterward.

Blossom noticed. Of course she did.

Her mouth twitched for a split second—amusement barely contained—before she pressed her lips together and turned on her heel.

“Four o’clock at the observatory,” she said, repeating the plan.

Brick had just pulled out his phone when her voice called back over her shoulder, crisp and clear:

“Oh—and don’t call me Red .”

He looked up just in time to see her stride back into the school building, that perfect posture as stiff as ever, but there was a flicker of something else too—humor maybe. Or just the barest crack in her armor.

Brick didn’t smile.

But he wanted to.

Chapter 7

Sliding into the passenger seat, Boomer leaned over to fasten his seatbelt—only to flinch violently when something wet jabbed into his ear.

"Ugh, seriously, dude?" he barked, twisting away and rubbing furiously at the side of his face.

From the backseat, Butch grinned like a menace and leaned back, arms folded behind his head. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Brick adjusted the rearview mirror and exhaled sharply. "Can you two knock it off?" he muttered. "We are not doing this shit today."

Boomer flipped Butch the bird without looking. Butch returned it casually, eyes on the window.

As they waited in the slow crawl of student traffic leaving the school lot, Boomer fiddled with the radio until he found something tolerable—upbeat, mainstream, the kind of thing Brick normally didn’t mind until someone started singing along.

Which, naturally, Boomer did. Lightly at first—fingertips tapping on the window edge, humming under his breath. Butch started to echo the beat with his knuckles on the seat back, and soon the two were falling into rhythm with the song, like they always did when Brick didn’t need the chaos.

Brick rolled the windows down, acknowledging the campus security guard with a polite wave as they finally merged into traffic. Riding in a car still felt weird most days, but it was part of the deal now. Rehabilitated citizens don’t just take to the skies without cause.

General Ashraf had insisted on the car. Had even taught them how to drive himself. All three passed their road tests on the first try. Not a huge accomplishment, but one that still carried some weight considering their history.

The car wasn’t anything special, just some reliable old compact that blended in with every other vehicle in Townsville. That was the point. It was better for everyone if the boys were ordinary. Safe. Predictable.

Brick kept his eyes on the road, his grip on the wheel a little too tight. In his chest, that steady anxiety from earlier had started to build again—not panic, not fear, just… that rising tension, like waiting at the top of a rollercoaster drop.

He didn’t know how this would go. Asking the girls for help was a gamble. They could find Mojo, and everything could go back to normal. Or they could find something worse—something they couldn’t come back from.

Behind him, the humming continued. Boomer’s fake drumming got more elaborate, throwing in a dramatic stick toss at the chorus. Brick said nothing. The quiet camaraderie between his brothers was strangely comforting, even as it grated on his nerves. It made him feel the pressure of being the one who couldn’t afford to crack.

They pulled into their housing complex, the neat little neighborhood that had become “home.” Brick was barely easing off the gas when Butch suddenly shifted forward in his seat, bracing himself.

Brick’s eyes flicked up to the mirror. “Not so fast. I need to talk to you both when we get inside.”

Boomer looked over, eyebrows raised. “What’s going on?”

“We’re literally three blocks away,” Brick said, now watching Butch with intent. “You can wait.”

The moment the car came to a stop in front of the twin house at the end of the block, Butch flung the door open and made a beeline for the garage.

“Dude!” Boomer called after him, annoyed. “What the hell?”

Butch waved a hand dismissively. “Relax. I’m checking my gear.”

Boomer rolled his eyes. That was Butch, alright. Always obsessing over his equipment like the General was going to do a surprise inspection. And honestly? He might.

Still sitting in the car, Brick hadn’t moved. Both hands were on the wheel, staring through the windshield like he was somewhere else entirely.

Boomer bent slightly to look at him. “Hey. You good?”

Brick snapped out of it just enough to nod. Then he pulled the key out of the ignition and stepped out of the car without a word. Boomer followed, slinging his backpack over his shoulder as they walked up to the front door.

Before they crossed the threshold, Boomer reached out and clapped a hand on Brick’s shoulder.

“We’ll find him. You know that, right?”

Brick paused, glancing back at him. Boomer’s face was tired, but his eyes were still bright—still that warm shade of blue that hadn’t dulled, even after everything.

Brick didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Inside, Boomer flipped through the mail on the small entry table, pulling out a magazine addressed to him and sliding it into his backpack for later. Something about vintage guitar mods—he’d bookmarked the article weeks ago.

Tossing his bag down at the foot of the stairs, he called into the house.
“Marion! We’re home!”

The distinct sound of a cabinet shutting echoed from the kitchen. That was enough to send Boomer in that direction. Unsurprisingly, Butch was already perched on one of the island stools with a bag of chips in hand.

Unfortunately for him, he didn’t notice the figure looming behind him.

“Really now.” A hand darted out and snatched the bag away from him. Marion returned it to the cabinet with a decisive clack. “You’ll spoil your dinner.”

Marion had been living with them for the last year and a half, but she'd worked closely with the boys at Eklektos since they’d first arrived at age seven. She wasn’t a mother figure, not exactly—more like a strict older sister with combat boots and a clipboard. She could throw them across a training mat one day and remind them to floss the next.

She was tall and a little broad, with olive-toned skin and a dark pixie cut that made her already sharp face look sharper. The only thing off about her were her eyes—shimmering gold, nearly glowing. They’d seen her wings during advanced training sessions. No one really knew what she was, but they’d learned not to ask. Or if they did, she never gave a straight answer. “It’s rude to ask a woman her age and a man his height,” was all she'd ever said.

"Put a hold on dinner tonight, Marion." Brick stepped into the room, tying a red plaid shirt around his waist. He adjusted his cap—worn backwards—and looked every inch like someone expecting a long night. Boomer’s eyes flicked to the clock. It was early still. They usually didn’t start searching until after dark.

“We’ve got business to attend to.”

Butch glanced over, brow cocked. “You got a date or somethin’?” His tone was neutral but edged with something—it wasn't a joke. He didn’t like this. They were supposed to be finding Mojo, not playing house with some girl. 

“Not at all.” Brick folded his arms, planting his feet like he was bracing for impact. “I asked Blossom to meet us at the observatory. Four o’clock.”

Boomer blinked. “Wait, hold up. You have a date with Blossom?”

Butch was already drawing in breath to scold him. “We don’t have time for—”

“The girls are going to meet us there.” Brick cut him off, voice steady.

Behind them, Marion was pretending to dry a glass—just slow enough that it was clear she wasn’t in any rush to leave the room. Brick gave her a tired look. She rolled her eyes in return and set the glass beside the sink.

“Fine, I get it.” She started walking out. “Just don’t do anything stupid. Not my monkeys, not my circus.”

That last bit made Butch twitch. The phrase had become her catchall when she didn’t want to intervene—but they all knew better. Technically, they were her monkeys. She just followed orders better than most.

Butch sat still, staring down at the floor like it might offer an escape. Boomer shifted, clearly torn. He didn’t dislike the girls—hell, he and Bubbles were on friendly terms when their siblings weren’t bickering—but this felt too close. Too personal.

“This is personal,” he muttered, glancing toward Butch, then back at Brick.

Brick let his arms drop and exhaled through his nose. He got it. He really did.

“I know. But I’m out of ideas. We’re all burned out.” He gestured toward Butch. “Look, even Butch’s fuckin’ shirt is on inside out.”

Butch looked down. Paused. Then groaned and yanked the shirt off. “God fuckin’ damn it.”

Boomer gave a half-shrug. “Butch does that all the time.”

"I do not." Butch scowled as he tugged the shirt off, realizing it had been inside out all day. None of his friends had mentioned it—not one. That realization made his jaw tighten. His head had been a mess for days now. Ever since that night at the docks, he couldn’t focus. He knew getting involved had been a mistake, and now the image of that thing—whatever it was—was keeping him awake, even after hours spent scouring the city for Mojo.

Brick held up his hands. “Guys. Just trust me on this. We need a new set of eyes.” He cracked a small grin. “Plus, I had to eat some humble pie. Don’t make it a waste.”

The silence between his brothers stretched long enough to sting. Boomer and Butch exchanged a look—one of those weird, silent conversations that always made Brick feel a little left out. Like they were reading each other’s minds.

“Fine,” Boomer said finally, standing. Butch headed upstairs without a word, presumably to fix the shirt situation.

“But they better not overstep,” Boomer added. “I mean it, Brick.”

Brick didn’t blame them. His own pride was still aching from how he'd had to approach Blossom. If Boomer’s ego was bruised, his must be black-and-blue.

As the two headed upstairs, Brick went to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and peeled the label off with his thumb. He didn’t drink it. Just stood there, shredding plastic and thinking about how fast this whole thing could go sideways.

Marion reappeared, perching on a stool at the kitchen island like she’d never left.

“Make sure to recycle that,” she said casually, nodding at the bottle. “And try not to look so constipated when you get there. It’s hard to take you seriously when you look like that.”

Brick rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching. Marion was weird—half big sister, half cool aunt, and entirely infuriating.

“I promise we’ll stay out of trouble. I’ll fill you in when I can. Just… don’t tell the General yet.”

She raised her hands in mock innocence. “If the General suspects something, he already knows before I do. That’s out of my hands, sweetie.”

He didn’t argue with her. No point.

Upstairs, he could hear footsteps thudding back down the stairs. The boys returned, both looking decidedly unhappy. Butch had a clean shirt on now, arms crossed tight over his chest, face a blank mask—but his index and ring fingers were tapping in a familiar twitch. Boomer had his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his navy shorts and was deliberately not asking questions.

Brick clapped a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Time to head out.”

Chapter 8

Monday Early Evening - The Observatory

Interlacing her fingers with Buttercup’s as they landed, Bubbles gave a tight squeeze and lingered just behind her sister. Meeting with the boys was the last thing she wanted to do. What if Butch told them what happened? Why wouldn’t he? If any of them brought it up in front of Buttercup or Blossom, they’d know she had lied—or worse, that she was protecting him.

She hated keeping secrets like this, but she didn’t see another option. She couldn’t say anything. Not yet.

Buttercup, meanwhile, was already gearing up to unload every word in the sailor’s dictionary on Blossom the moment they got home. This was not how she wanted to spend her afternoon. As she moved to pull her hand away, she was surprised to feel Bubbles’ grip tighten. She gave her sister a sidelong glance and smirked.

“If they try anything, it’ll be just like old times—we’ll kick their asses.” She assumed the blonde was just nervous about being around the boys alone.

Bubbles gave a small, practiced smile, releasing her hand but still hovering close.

Blossom was fiddling with the red ribbon at the end of her braid, adjusting it until the knot was just right. “Girls, this isn’t going to be like that,” she said without turning. “I didn’t get that vibe from Brick.”

She fluffed her bangs into place, eyes scanning the path leading up to the observatory. “We’re early, which gives us a few minutes. I want to be clear about this—Mojo is missing. And even if he isn’t exactly my favorite…”

She paused, searching for a word that felt neutral enough.

“Asshole?” Buttercup offered without missing a beat.

That earned the tiniest giggle from Bubbles. Blossom, however, looked thoroughly unamused.

“Watch your language,” she scolded reflexively. “The point is, no matter what he’s done, we have a responsibility to follow through. I expect both of you to be professional.”

Buttercup crossed her arms and cocked her hip. “Fine,” she said, not hiding her distaste. Her pout wasn’t dramatic, but rare enough to be noticeable.

Digging into the pocket of her denim shorts, she pulled out her phone. “They’ve got one minute,” she muttered. “I’m not standing around past 4:01.”

She shoved the phone back into her pocket, sweeping her wind-blown bangs aside and turning back toward the observatory.

Blossom didn’t push further—she knew better than to try when Buttercup was already giving her a loose agreement. She checked her own watch: exactly 4:00.

As if on cue, three figures dropped out of the late afternoon sky, feet hitting the grass with practiced ease. They crossed the paved path through the park and came to a halt a few feet in front of them. The gap between the two groups was small, but the space between them felt much larger.

Brick stood front and center, his brothers flanking him like muscle. “Thanks for coming.” His tone was neutral, but there was a subtle shift in his posture—like a quiet sigh of relief.

Blossom stepped forward just slightly, her sisters behind her and off to her left. “Of course,” she said with a nod. Polite. Controlled.

She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to shake his hand or something, but his hands were shoved in his pockets, and he barely looked at her. Boomer was back to scuffing his sneaker in the dirt, and Butch didn’t so much as glance in their direction.

The tension was stifling—like walking straight out of air conditioning into a heatwave and realizing the air has teeth.

Buttercup’s gaze scanned their faces, then flicked to her sisters. Bubbles looked like she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole, and Blossom was chewing the inside of her cheek like she couldn’t decide whether to speak or wait.

Fed up, Buttercup threw her hands in the air. “Christ, didn’t you guys need help with something?”

That earned her a few startled expressions.

“Maaaybe,” she drawled out the word, “someone could open the door so we can actually go inside? Hm?”

Brick cleared his throat and nodded, recovering quickly. “Yeah. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have any questions first.”

He turned toward the observatory doors, already fishing out the key. The tips of his ears were red—embarrassment or exhaustion, it was hard to say.

Blossom fell in step behind him, taking the opportunity to steer things forward. “We’ll take a look first and ask questions as we go. We won’t know what to ask until we have context.”

Buttercup fell into step behind the others, muttering under her breath, “What a fuckin’ joke. Dragging us all the way out here just to stand around like confused mall cops.” She wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, and Bubbles quickly tagged along at her side, pretending not to hear the comment.

Boomer and Butch exchanged a look for what felt like the hundredth time that evening before falling into line behind them, silent for once.

At the base of the observatory, Brick keyed in a code on the small, scratched keypad beside the access door. “This just gets us into the lobby. There’s another entrance to where Mojo lives, and a different one for the lab.”

Blossom pulled her phone back out, tapping quickly. “So unless someone was already inside, or had one of the access codes, it should be pretty difficult to get in?”

Brick paused as the steel door gave a soft click and hissed open. “Yeah.” His tone carried a hesitation he didn’t try to hide. He hadn’t thought about that—not really. Coming in and out had always been automatic for him and his brothers.

“Was the door locked when you came back on Thursday?”

Boomer raised a hand like a student. Blossom blinked at him, but gave a small nod. “Go ahead.”

“Yeah, I remember ‘cause I forgot the code,” he said, sheepish. “Didn’t have the override key on me, so I had to wait for Butch to catch up. Definitely locked.”

Blossom noted it quickly. The doors whooshed shut behind them with a low mechanical groan, followed by the distinct clunk of the locking mechanism resetting. They were in.

“Can you get me a list of everyone who has that code?” Blossom asked without looking up from her phone.

Brick tilted his head, confused. “Why would you need that?”

“If we know who had access, we can start ruling people out. Or in,” she added. “Just covering all our bases.”

Before he could respond, Buttercup had moved ahead, squinting at the heavy security door on the far end of the room. “Uh—what the hell happened here?” She crouched down beside it, pointing to the ruined keypad and scorched frame.

The panel had been shredded, both melted and crushed—like something had tried both brute force and firepower. It was hard to tell what had won.

“That was Butch,” Brick said plainly. “We couldn’t get in.”

Buttercup slowly stood, brushing her hands against her shorts. Her expression flattened. Of course it was.

Butch, not missing a beat, called from the back, “Impressive, huh?”

Just hearing his voice made Bubbles flinch. She stepped farther away from him and Boomer without thinking, closing the gap between herself and Blossom. Pretending to glance at the phone in her sister’s hand, she avoided everyone’s gaze.

Buttercup was already throwing some smart-ass reply back at Butch, but Bubbles wasn’t listening. Her eyes lingered on the broken door, at the dark stairwell yawning open just beyond it.

It looked like something had been waiting. Or worse, like something had broken free.

Blossom’s voice reeled her back in. “—the lab’s down there, right? Then that’s where we’ll start.”

Bubbles swallowed hard. “We’re going down there?”

“Some of the lights are out, but we’ve got these,” Boomer said, stepping around them to grab a few flashlights from a plastic crate beside the wrecked door. He handed one to Bubbles, then passed the rest to Brick and Blossom.

“Thanks.” She exhaled, the simple object grounding her slightly. As long as they had light… they could move forward.

“Let’s go,” Brick said, stepping over a chunk of the door that was still wedged in place. “Just watch your step. There’s a lot of crap all over the floor.”

“Language,” Blossom said automatically, her tone sharp but quiet. Whether Brick didn’t hear her or just ignored it, she let it go.

Bubbles switched the flashlight on the moment the shadows reached her feet. She followed Buttercup carefully, glancing down at the steps that descended into darkness.

When Buttercup’s boots hit the first stair, Bubbles slipped an arm around hers and clung tight. She didn’t say anything, just held on.

Buttercup sighed but didn’t pull away. She wasn’t exactly thrilled to be doing this either, but if Blossom said they had to go down there, then down they’d go.

Behind them, Boomer and Butch’s heavy footfalls thudded against the metal stairs. Somewhere near the front, Brick was muttering something about how their access to this part of the building had been restricted for months.

The further they went down, the colder it got. The air smelled like soldered wires, chemicals, and old metal. Like something left too long in the dark.

And whatever waited at the bottom of those stairs… they were about to find out.

For the life of her, Buttercup couldn’t figure out why the hell it had come down to this . Her skin prickled, the hairs on the back of her neck standing stiff with tension. She was half-expecting one of the Rowdyruff Boys to start something, especially Butch—because, well... it was Butch .

She glanced over her shoulder, anticipating his smirking face right behind her, but instead caught Boomer’s bright blue eyes in the dark. The corner of her mouth twitched—not quite a smile, more an instinctive response from being surprised. He looked just as serious as the other two. Maybe more.

"Let me get the lights, hold on," Brick muttered, feeling his way along the wall.

Blossom swept the beam of her flashlight over the massive room ahead. From what she could see, it was chaos—half-toppled shelves, scorch marks, cables hanging like vines from the ceiling. As her light hit a cluster of bulbs above, Brick found the switch and flicked it on. Sparks erupted from one of the fixtures overhead.

Bubbles yelped, the sudden flash startling her. Buttercup just sighed. She was already over this.

“Only two lights still work,” Brick said dryly, stating the obvious like it was news.

“Alright, girls. Spread out. Let me know if you find anything that seems suspicious,” Blossom said as she stepped forward, already picking through the scattered pages littering the ground.

Buttercup scoffed. “ Suspicious ? We’re in Mojo’s lab . You’re gonna need to narrow that one down, sis.”

Blossom ignored the jab. She crossed to a whiteboard covered in faded formulas, most of which had been smudged into illegibility. Still, she raised her phone and snapped a few photos. The Professor might recognize something in the mess later.

In a far corner, Buttercup crouched beside one of the toppled metal and glass cabinets, lifting it with a grunt. Shards of broken glass glittered across the floor like ice, mixed in with scattered components, discarded tools, and a couple of shattered test tubes filled with now-unknown fluids. Something caught her eye beneath a tangle of wire and metal—something deep purple and soaked through.

She tugged it free and held it up between her thumb and index finger like it was diseased. “Eugh. Found what’s left of his cape.” The fabric squelched softly. “Pretty sure he was definitely here when whatever this was went down.”

Brick was next to her in seconds, taking the ruined garment from her hand. It had been wedged under the wreckage. They hadn’t even noticed it when they'd first come down—had been too focused on making sure Mojo wasn’t under the debris. His stomach twisted with guilt. They hadn’t looked closely enough.

Over by the far wall, Bubbles hovered a few feet above the floor, inspecting a series of massive computer monitors stacked almost floor-to-ceiling. She leaned in, scanning each one. Two of the screens stood out—they had smudges and punctures along the edges like something had gripped them for balance. The glass around them wasn’t scorched or cracked like the other holes.

“Blossom,” she called out. “These ones look different. There’s no burn damage on the outlines like the others.”

Blossom looked up from the papers she was sorting through. “Take photos. Is there any residue on them?”

Remembering that her sister had a broken screen, Buttercup gave a low whistle and tossed her phone across the room. “Don’t drop it, or you owe me a new one.”

Bubbles caught it mid-air without looking and pulled up the camera. “No residue that I can see.” She snapped a few shots and quickly pinged them over to Blossom’s phone.

She had just finished tucking the phone into her pocket when a voice beneath her asked, “How’d you get that?”

Startled, Bubbles nearly dropped the flashlight, but Boomer caught it before it could hit the ground. She landed beside him, a little flushed, and reached out to take it back.

“What are you talking about?”

Boomer gestured toward her ankle. “That.”

Bubbles froze. The exposed scrape on her leg looked raw and angry—worse now under the harsh light. And he must’ve seen the cut across her cheek too. He didn’t mention it, but his eyes lingered there for a second too long.

“Oh. I wasn’t... careful. During the job.” She turned away, heart rate ticking up as her eyes flicked toward Butch for a half-second—he was still moving debris for Blossom, not paying attention. Or pretending not to.

The fact that Boomer didn’t know— had to ask —meant Butch hadn’t said anything. Not a word. That realization landed like a rock in her stomach.

Boomer’s brow rose slightly, the skeptical lift of it disappearing into his unruly blond bangs. He didn’t push. Didn’t have a reason to. They weren’t friends—not really. “Mmhmm. Alright,” he said, in a tone that made it clear he didn’t believe her, but wasn’t going to argue about it.

He pointed toward the ceiling. “I think those overhead lights got fried during... whatever this was. Might wanna grab a few shots of that too.”

Relieved to be back on task, Bubbles nodded quickly. “Good catch.”

Boomer followed her movements, lifting the beam of the flashlight closer to the ceiling and back toward the far corner of the lab. “Want me to hold it steady?” he offered, and without a word, Bubbles gave a small nod, focusing on snapping a few photos of the damaged light fixtures.

From below, Butch watched them with a sharp, unreadable expression. His arms were crossed again, but his posture was taut, tense. With his enhanced hearing, picking up on their conversation wasn’t difficult. What was difficult was ignoring the gnawing feeling in his gut.

So she hadn’t told them.

Other than that brief glance when she’d arrived, Bubbles hadn’t looked at him once. She hadn’t acknowledged him. Not even a quick thanks. After what happened at the docks, after he stepped in… this was it?

So she was avoiding him. Great. Guess that’s what he got for helping.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, cracking his neck with a tilt. There was something about seeing her like this—upright, talking, relatively calm—that unsettled him more than if she had been a wreck. It made it feel distant, like a bad dream. Like she was pretending none of it had happened at all.

Across the room, Buttercup had her hands on her hips, surveying the chaos. “So is this, like… what it normally looks like in here?” Her tone was too casual to be sincere, and the jab was clear.

Brick’s eyes narrowed. “No.” His voice came out clipped, and there was that faint flicker of red behind his irises—one step away from igniting. Before things could spiral, Blossom floated up beside her sister and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“ What Buttercup means to ask is: ‘Can you restore things to how they were? Might help us figure out what’s missing.’” Her voice was calm, but the weight behind it was a warning.

Buttercup rolled her jaw slightly but backed down, letting her arms drop as Brick turned his attention upward.

“Yo, Boom. Think you can help me move all this crap back where it goes?”

Boomer handed the flashlight back to Bubbles and dropped to the floor with a wet thud. “Sure, but I wasn’t down here much. Not really in my zone.”

Butch chimed in from near the broken entry console. “Me neither.” He wasn’t lying—it had always been more of Brick and Mojo’s domain. The rest of them stuck to their own spaces.

Brick moved to one of the heavier cabinets, gripping its edges. “This one goes in that slot against the wall. But that other junk’s in the way first.” He gave Boomer a nod, and his brother grabbed a busted broom to start sweeping glass and loose wires aside.

Meanwhile, Blossom shot Buttercup a glance. “We’ll stay out of the way,” she said pointedly to the boys, but her meaning was aimed squarely at her sister.

As the girls hovered back to the middle of the room under the broken ceiling lights, Blossom flicked a sharp look at Buttercup. “What did I say about behaving?” she hissed.

Buttercup waved a dismissive hand. “I am behaving. God.”

Below them, the Rowdyruff Boys got to work, moving easily under the weight of overturned shelves, tossing broken chairs into corners, stacking bent metal equipment on a central worktable bolted to the floor. Binders began piling up—some soaked, some singed, all of them dense with years of Mojo’s notes and designs.

Blossom was tempted, more than she wanted to admit, to crack one open. But this wasn’t the time—or her space—to indulge curiosity.

Boomer moved to the far side and grabbed another twisted cabinet, but something about it made him hesitate. A beat passed, then he yanked it aside with sudden force—harder than necessary. Brick and Butch scrambled to catch it before it slammed into anything they’d just fixed.

“Dude! What the actual fuck?!” Butch barked, dropping his end with a loud clang .

Brick looked ready to explode, jaw tight, but sucked in a breath instead. Just as he was about to say something, but Boomer wasn’t listening. He turned, eyes locked on something in his hand.

It was a white boot.

Mojo’s boot.

“Oh, shit,” Buttercup said automatically as she dropped to the ground. Blossom let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed her temples.

“Why do I even bother ,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

Boomer held the boot out without a word, still unsure what to make of it.

Blossom stepped forward, recovering quickly. “May I?” she asked gently.

Boomer hesitated for only a moment, then handed it over. Blossom took it carefully, holding it like evidence, already planning her next steps.

The boot was heavier than it looked. Blossom turned it over in her hands before handing it back to Boomer. A jagged tear cut through the thick leather—burned, not ripped—and stained at the edges with both dried blood and clumps of black fur. It didn’t take a scientist to figure out that Mojo had been in it when things went sideways.

Boomer passed it wordlessly to Brick, who ran a finger along the melted edges. His face stayed carefully blank, but his jaw twitched ever so slightly.

Blossom pulled out her phone and snapped a photo, then began typing notes beneath the entry in her document: burned tear, right boot, blood and fur present—Mojo confirmed at site.

"Hey," Buttercup called, crouched by one of the walls. "Where’s this go?"

Everyone turned. She was squatting near a vent—grate barely hanging on by a single bolt, the edges of the metal scarred by wide, circular scrapes. It looked like it had been swinging back and forth violently at some point. "It's only a few feet off the ground," she muttered, "maybe just an air duct?" She leaned in a little, peering into the shadowy passage. “Bubbles, flashlight.”

Scurrying over, Bubbles passed it into her hand, the beam slicing into the dark. Inside, the vent was dented and warped, its interior walls narrowed unnaturally. Long, jagged claw marks streaked in every direction—deep and desperate.

Butch leaned over her shoulder, frowning. “Looks like an air duct. But… I dunno.” He gave a low whistle. “Doesn’t look good.”

Within seconds, the whole group was gathered around it. Buttercup leaned in further to get a better look—until Butch wolf-whistled beside her ear.

Without looking, she mule-kicked him in the thigh, sending him skidding several feet across the lab floor before he caught himself mid-air.

"I was just complimenting ya, Butterbabe—”

A low growl rumbled from Buttercup’s throat as she stood up, fists clenched. “ That's it! I'm gonna kick your fucking teeth in, you milk-drinking, son of a bitch! ”

Bubbles grabbed her from behind, yanking her back by the arm, while Blossom’s voice snapped from overhead.

“Enough! Cool it, Buttercup!”

Still holding onto her, Bubbles hissed, “ Please, not here—”

Boomer blinked. “Wait… what’s wrong with drinking milk?”

Butch, ever proud of his ability to get a rise from his counterpart, flashed a smug grin and flipped her off. Brick, without missing a beat, grabbed his wrist and twisted—just enough to send a sharp warning.

“ Knock it off, ” Brick growled. The two locked eyes. After a second of tension, Butch yanked his hand free and took a slow step back.

“Got it, boss.” He shoved both hands into his pockets and backed off, muttering something under his breath.

Boomer watched the exchange with a smirk. In the unspoken sibling scoreboard, Brick was ahead. As usual.

Turning back to the vent, Brick crouched and leaned closer, trying to peer into the passageway. “I can’t fit. And I’m not tearing those walls up—we don’t know what they’re attached to or what they’re holding in place.”

Blossom hovered behind him. “Do you have any blueprints?”

Brick stood and shook his head. “Not that I know of. Mojo’s added so much to this place over the years, most of it’s undocumented. Probably built half of it on impulse.”

Boomer tapped a knuckle against the wall near the grate. “Maybe it leads to one of his safe rooms? He’s got tunnels and bunkers all over this place.”

“Yeah,” Buttercup added, squinting down the dark vent, “but how the hell are we supposed to get there? I mean, I could probably crawl through, but not with these guns.” She flexed dramatically. Her sisters both rolled their eyes in unison.

Blossom tapped her lower lip in thought. “Well… we might need someone smaller.” Her voice trailed off as her eyes drifted to the smallest person in the room.

Five heads turned toward Bubbles.

Her whole face scrunched in instant protest. “ Nope. Uh-uh. No way. I am not going in there. It’s pitch black and probably full of bugs and— no. ”

Buttercup clapped a hand on her sister’s shoulder and gave her a gentle shove forward. “C’mon, Bubs. You’ve got the best shot. You’re small, fast—it’s nothing.”

“I’m not a ferret, Buttercup!”

Her voice cracked with panic. She glanced at the dark hole and shivered. “What if there are multiple paths? What if I get lost in there and none of you can hear me? What if I get stuck?! ”

Boomer perked up with sudden inspiration. “Oh! Give me a sec—I’ll be right back!” And with that, he took off like a shot up the stairs, a dark blue blur disappearing in a blink.

Brick raised a brow and shrugged when Blossom gave him a questioning glance. Hell if he knew what went on in Boomer’s head. Even with their enhanced hearing, the noise from upstairs was muffled—thuds, rattling drawers, something heavy being shifted. Mojo had soundproofed the lab so even the boys couldn’t eavesdrop, but the busted entryway was undoing all that effort now.

When Boomer reappeared on the steps, he looked triumphant. He dropped a heavy coil of rope to the ground with a thunk , then grabbed one end and held it up. “This was in the upstairs workshop—we can tie it around your waist. You know… just in case.”

Bubbles looked like she was two seconds from bolting. Her eyes flicked to the vent, then back to Blossom, silently pleading for an out. But her sister was already stepping closer, reaching for her hands.

“You can do this,” Blossom said firmly, her voice softening only slightly. “We’ll be right here. The rope makes sure you won’t get lost.”

Bubbles blinked rapidly. She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, her voice barely audible. “Okay. I—I can do this.”

She didn’t believe herself, not really. But she wanted to. Buttercup took the rope from Boomer and tied it around Bubbles’ waist, careful not to make it too tight. Bubbles focused on anything but looking at Butch—she didn’t want him seeing her like this again. Not when it already felt like he’d caught her at her weakest too many times.

“I can take the flashlight, right?” she asked suddenly, snapping her head toward Blossom.

“Of course,” Blossom said, puzzled as to why she’d even ask.

Buttercup fetched it, pressing it into her sister’s palm. “It’s not so bad,” she said with a shrug.

Bubbles gave her an incredulous look. Not so bad ? She turned toward the vent. The beam of light stretched across warped metal, twisted edges, and scratch marks. No way she was flying through that—it was a crawl at best. Maybe a squeeze.

With a deep breath and a gulp, she slid into the passage, inching forward. The rope slithered after her as she crawled, slowed by having to keep one hand on the flashlight.

Brick flicked on a second flashlight behind her, casting more light into the vent. “We’ll follow with this. Should make it easier to see the way back.”

He didn’t care , per se—but she was doing them a favor. Of the three, she was the least insufferable. Always polite. A little too soft, maybe, but he didn’t mind that.

“Go slow through the crushed section, alright?” Blossom called out.

Bubbles winced as she crawled deeper. She could swear she heard Butch mutter, “How much slower can she get?”

Smack! Buttercup’s slap was loud enough to echo down the metal. “ Shut the fuck up, dipweed. ”

Bubbles couldn’t help but smile faintly. She could always count on Buttercup.

The vent narrowed ahead. She tossed the flashlight through the gap—it clattered and rolled in a circle before resting near the edge. Bracing herself, Bubbles turned on her back and wriggled forward, one hand reaching out until she grabbed the light. She pulled herself through.

Her wounded leg scraped hard against the sharp metal edge. Reflexively she gave a hiss of pain. She jerked her leg up fast, clapping both hands over the irritated wound on her ankle..

“Are you alright?” Blossom’s voice, sharp with concern.

“I’m fine!” she called back quickly—too quickly. Her voice bounced off the vent walls, louder than intended.

She rolled back to her knees and flicked the flashlight forward again, scanning the path ahead.

“Uh… guys?” Her voice trembled slightly.

“What’s up, Bubs?” Boomer replied.

She tried to keep the fear out of her voice. “There are a few more crushed sections. And… there are a lot more scratch marks.”

There was silence behind her. Then Blossom’s voice, calm but insistent: “Just keep going—but be careful .”

She nodded, even though no one could see it. With a rising sense of dread curling in her stomach, Bubbles crawled forward, forcing herself through three more tight squeezes, heart hammering with each one.

It was getting darker. The metal seemed to press in on all sides. The vent had to end soon, didn’t it?

Then, suddenly, her hand passed through nothing .

The dark must have been messing with her eyes because she didn't notice at first when her hand went through straight air, she yelped but caught herself, glad to have the ability to fly but she still scrambled back from the edge.. A sharp tug yanked on the rope.

“ BUBBLES?! ” Buttercup’s voice echoed through the duct.

"I'm okay!" Her hand was trembling as she went to focus the light as best she could. This was what scared her about the dark: it would swallow you whole. It was cold and empty, and although she could fly, she could have gotten wedged into a spot or injured herself further. Shining the beam, she noticed it went down, in front of her, and then to the left it opened up again.

"There are three different directions. What should I do?"

Faintly, she could hear murmuring as they worked out what the next step would be. Her own breathing felt loud in her ears, but she was afraid to make any additional noise.

"Bubbles! Check and see if any of those marks are in one of those vents!"

Exhaling, she crawled closer to the edge and used the beam to look in the vent across from her. Nothing. And it even looked like it got smaller ahead—too tight for even her to fit through. Switching the beam to her left, she was scanning it as well. There were some marks on the very edge, and she reached carefully to feel them. They were deeper scratches but looked clipped. With the heaviness of disappointment, she flashed the beam to the bottom and could see on the left where the claws had tried to reach out and dig themselves in; it looked like there were more marks the farther it went.

With a shuddering breath, she called back, "I have to go down." The prick of tears threatened again. She just wanted to go back. She was terrified of what could be down there. The seconds felt like hours as she shut her eyes tight and waited for an answer.

"Just be careful, we’re almost out of rope," was all she got. Holding the light to face downward, she had to maneuver awkwardly in order to put her feet down first. All she could see was darkness. The flashlight seemed to not penetrate to the bottom. With a whimper, she began to float and slowly descend.

One hand glided down the side of the vent. She could feel divots and deep scratches beneath her fingertips. Every time she felt a new one, she pulled out the phone and took a new photo. The rope suddenly stopped offering slack, and she knew she'd have to untie it in order to proceed. Her fingers felt numb and heavy as she fumbled with the knot. If she just gave up now, it would really make her look like a coward and a baby.

Just as the knot released from around her, the flashlight fell from her hands, banging the sides a few times on its descent before clattering at the bottom. "It's fine," she was whispering to herself now. She could faintly hear her sisters, but took the plunge and descended faster.

Damp air hit her nose with sudden force—the smell of stone and earth, and something musty. The air around her began to feel cooler, and she shivered. This chill went deep into her bones, but she willed herself further and felt the air around her legs begin to open. No longer constrained by the metal vents, she practically dived for the flashlight. She landed on her knees and moved the beam around the room.

The open room was no larger than 9 ft. x 9 ft., old stone that had been long carved into the earth. Everything about it was organic—except for one thing. There was a rusted and bent-up metal door sticking out of the stone. It looked like it had partially collapsed.

Tentatively, she reached out a hand and touched the cool, wet metal, another chill running down her spine. She pushed slightly, using just enough of her strength to gauge if there was any give to it. It didn’t budge. She pressed a little more firmly, and a few stones and dirt loosened themselves from above her head. She could hear the faint groaning of the earth and immediately stopped.

Pulling away from the wreckage, she pulled the phone back out and snapped a few photos. The flash created eerie shadows as it illuminated the space and then quickly fell back into darkness. Turning in a small circle, she took a video of the room and then showed where the vent had led from. Bubbles felt she couldn't do more than she already had and jammed the phone back into her pocket before beginning her ascent.

Sliding her hand along the wall of the vent, she kept her flashlight pointed upward. Panic began to creep in again when she didn't see the rope. She knew her sisters would never leave her behind—but what if? It was like her mind ran blank, and her breathing became more rushed. She didn’t want to surge up too quickly, but she also didn’t want to be in this cramped space for one more second.

Her gut flip-flopped when she saw the top of the vent and a small end of rope hanging over the side. She reached for that rope and jerked on it like it was her only lifeline—and in this moment, it very much was. With a shuddering sigh, she climbed into the vent she had come from, not realizing how rushed her breathing was as she was lying on her back. Her breaths echoed back at her in the tight enclosure.

Faintly, she could hear familiar voices through the darkness, but the voices were so overlapped she couldn't make sense of them for the time being. With shaking hands, she tied the rope back around her waist, tugging on it slightly to make sure it was still secure. Only seconds after she did this, she heard Buttercup cry, "Bubbles!?"

Her voice was slightly breathy and strained, but she called back, "Y-yeah, it's me. I’m here."

"Thank God, where were you? I was about to bust through there!" The knowledge that Buttercup would, in fact, collapse the vents just to get to her made her smile to herself. She was so stupid for thinking for a moment she'd be left alone here in the dark. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she could feel moisture from tears on her face—the first were from fear, and the second were from relief.

"The rope wasn't long enough," she called back.
"Just head back, okay? You’ve done enough," Blossom's voice carried over. And with more courage than she had felt that whole time, she got back onto her hands and knees and started to crawl back. The long expanse did not feel like the hopeless journey it had the first time around.

As she was moving through the second crushed area, knowing she only had two more to go, the flashlight began to flicker. A sharp intake of breath—and she smacked the side of the flashlight head. "Nonono," her words tumbled over one another as the light flickered out. With a yelp, she immediately held her hands in front of her and brought up the blue glow of her powers, but the area looked distorted under the colored light.

"Bubbles?"

At this moment, she couldn't even differentiate anyone's voice in her panic. "M-my flashlight. It stopped working." She could hear someone hiss about getting her out quickly, but she was determined to finish this without additional help. "I’m fine. I’m using my powers. I’ll be fine."

The distortion was the very reason they had the flashlights in the first place—the color tricked her eyes, and she found herself fumbling around, sliding her hands over the dented metal to make sure the shadows weren't incorrect. Awkwardly, she kept the flashlight in one hand as she pulled herself through the third crushed area, and now she could see the flashlights they had at the entrance. The light was weak, but it was peering through the folds of metal to the best of its abilities.

Exhaling with relief, she let the glow of her own hands dim, her fingers gripping around one of the spots. But as she did this, she could faintly hear something in the distance. Ahead of her were the voices of her sisters and the boys talking amongst themselves—but behind her, there was something else. Had she left anything behind? No, the flashlight was still in one hand and Buttercup’s phone was deep in her front pocket.

Narrowing her eyes, she glanced over her shoulder. "Shhhh, guys, quiet for a second," she spoke in a loud whisper. The voices stopped.

“What is it?” Blossom called down quietly.

The silence that was settling around her was what she would expect—her own breathing, the settling and creak of the ducts—but there was something else behind all that. It was wet. It wasn’t familiar, and yet she could swear she had heard this sound before—like something was sticky and gloppy. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up straight as her memory clicked. "Get me out! Getmeoutgetmeout!"
Her words were falling on top of one another with her shriek. A cold sweat broke out on her brow as she indelicately shoved her torso through the first part, the ball of her foot making contact with the top of the metal as she pushed through, not caring about any additional injuries or irritating existing ones.

"Pull! Pull faster!" Buttercup ordered. Bubbles' hands clung to the rope while from the other end, Boomer was pulling hand over fist. Her legs banged against the sides of the vent, as did her arms, but not enough force was applied to further warp the vents. Flipping onto her stomach, she flew through the last bit. Two hands reached out for her, and she let go of the rope to grab the strong forearms that pulled her out.

In her desperation to get out, she scrambled and wrapped one arm around her rescuer's neck and the other clutching their shoulder. Her breathing was fast and panicked against their chest, and her eyes were clenched tight. A warm hand awkwardly patted her head, and she heard a loud bang behind her like something was falling, her senses beginning to right themselves. She suddenly realized this wasn’t one of her sisters. There was a clean smell, like fresh laundry and ocean air, and the chest was taut and higher up.

With embarrassment, she pulled herself away from a very awkward-looking Boomer. He offered her a smile but didn’t look her in the eyes. "Sorry about that."

She just gaped at him for a moment, wiping her face with the back of her hand—again. "No, no, you shouldn't apologize. I'm sorry." His dark blue eyes flicked over and met her own. With relief, she grabbed his hand and held it tight. "Thank you." Weakly, she smiled at him, and his own became a little less awkward. Forgoing fumbling with the knot again, she used her strength to tear the rope apart—she was desperate to get away from it.

Turning, she faced Blossom and put the phone into her hand. "Everything is on there."

Blossom took it but started, "Bubbles, what just happened?"

Her answer was abrupt and final. "Please don't ask me to do that again."

Offering her praise, Blossom reassured, "You did a great job, Bubbles." As Blossom pulled her into a hug, Bubbles was surrounded by the scents that accompanied Blossom nearly all the time: roses, the smell of paper, sunlight, and the faint breeze of peppermint. From over her shoulder, she watched as Buttercup and Brick were using their laser vision to fuse the metal cabinet they’d tipped back over to the wall.

Buttercup shook her head as she completed her task and ran her fingers through her hair. "Well, that was more excitement than I was expecting." Turning, she grinned at Bubbles, who smiled weakly over Blossom's shoulder. Buttercup gave her a thumbs up, and Bubbles returned one behind Blossom's back.

Brick cleared his throat. "I think that's enough for one day. You good to head out?"

Blossom released Bubbles and nodded at him. "Definitely." There was some tension within her voice—she felt like she should have been the one to suggest it first. Especially given the state her sister was in.

Bubbles practically flew up the steps, eager to get out of the dark lab and far away from the vents. Butch side-eyed Boomer. "Why didn't she move that fast in there?"

Buttercup walked past him, smacking him on the back of the head. "Jackass."

He looked to Boomer as if to say, Did you see that fuckery!? Butch gestured wildly for a moment before realizing that Boomer wasn't even paying attention to him. With a huff, he turned away from his brother and climbed up the stairs behind Buttercup.

As Brick was about to turn out the lights, Blossom came up beside him. "We'll review some things tonight. See what we can find out about the vents. I don't plan on sending Bubbles back down there." Her voice was firm, but Brick just looked at her steadily before nodding. Flipping the lights off, they too ascended the stairs.

"Thanks for coming," his voice was quiet, but he knew Blossom could hear him even if she didn’t say anything. Finding the boot and something of a trail meant Mojo had fought, but he knew he’d have to reach out to HIM sooner rather than later. The only one he didn’t want to ask for help was the General. Brick didn’t understand his hesitation with it—maybe it was his pride in proving that he and his brothers weren’t little children anymore.

Standing beneath one of the lampposts illuminating the path through the park, Bubbles deeply inhaled the night air, savoring the openness around her. Closing her eyes, she just listened for a moment: a few frogs croaking by a pond somewhere within the park, the sound of chains clinking as the breeze pushed the swings along on the playground, and the traffic surrounding the park. She was telling herself that there was no way that creature had been in there—it was just her mind playing tricks on her in the dark.

She didn't even flinch when footsteps came and stopped beside her. " I didn't get a thank you." Her eyes flew open as she turned to see Butch beside her, a shit-eating grin on his face.

In total embarrassment, Bubbles began to stumble on her words. "I-I’ve been meaning to, I really appreciate it. So thank you, otherwise I pro—I probably wouldn’t—" but she was cut off by Butch’s voice.

"You didn’t do too bad, sugartits." It was enough to stun her into silence. She stared at him with rounded eyes, her lips slightly parted with surprise. Seemingly embarrassed at her reaction, he turned slightly and began to rise. "This time and last time." Before she could say anything else, he called out, "Yo, Boomer! Brick! Let's goooo, I'm starving."

Footsteps came running behind her, and she saw Boomer soar up by his brother. "See ya around." His tone was more friendly than awkward this time as he gave a wave. Brick just flew past in a blur of red without a single word.

Bubbles watched them for a moment as Buttercup came up beside her and leaned an elbow onto Bubbles’ shoulder. "What pieces of work, eh, Bubbles?" Rolling her eyes, Buttercup gave a crooked grin and watched them disappear.

Bubbles felt her face soften. "Yeah, real buttheads."

Making a "pfff" sound, Buttercup turned to look at her. "We need to work on your insults."

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

Tuesday Afternoon - Townsville High School

Trying not to nod off while Mr. Simmons was droning on about some stanza in Beowulf , Boomer tapped his eraser on the notebook in front of him. In the margins were doodles and goofy figures of his brothers and an exploding football. Boomer wished they could play sports like everyone else, but being someone with powers meant they’d get penalized for “cheating” during a game—even if they hadn’t used their powers at all. It wasn’t like they could prove they weren’t. They were relegated to being benchwarmers; they could practice hard and participate on school grounds to make friends, but that’s where it started and finished.

All three boys had been encouraged by the general and Marion to join a team or club to assimilate as much as possible back into society. Butch was a part of the soccer team, though rather reluctantly. Brick had joined the student council after his first semester showcased his grades so well. Him though? He had wanted to join the school band but had difficulty sticking to just one instrument, so chorus and music classes were all he was allowed to participate in. He did do some online coding courses through Eklektos a few times after school in the computer lab. That was at least keeping him in the general’s good graces for meeting the criteria required of him.

A sharp ring of the bell interrupted his thoughts and his fellow classmates began shuffling their papers as Mr. Simmons called out, “Remember! Your essays are due in two weeks, and rough drafts should be on my desk by Monday.”

Shoving his notebook into his backpack, he slung the strap over his shoulder and hustled out the door. Someone’s elbow caught him in the side and he turned to see Mike Believe gesturing ahead of them.

“Dude,” Mike whispered, pointing ahead. Boomer followed his finger to spot Brick leaning by the water fountain across the hall from the classroom.

Boomer and Mike had been friendly since last semester when Mike had caught him in the computer lab, and now they gamed a few nights a month together. But Mike was always wary of Brick and Butch.

“I’ll catch you later,” Mike said with a small wave, disappearing into the stream of students in the hall.

Boomer knew Mike didn’t hate Brick—he was just intimidated by him. Most people were. Honestly, even Boomer and Butch kind of were too, though none of them would ever admit it out loud. Brick just had that kind of presence—loud even when he wasn’t saying anything.

“What's up? Aren’t you supposed to be in history or something?” Boomer asked, stepping up to Brick, who was holding a manila envelope and looked less tired than he had lately.

“Yeah, which is why I need you to give this to one of the girls.” Handing over the envelope, Brick didn’t wait for a response.

Boomer looked blankly at it. 

“It’s the list of names that Red asked for.”

“Uh-huh. Okay, well, why don’t you give it to her? Isn’t she in the same class as you?”

Waving dismissively, Brick replied, “I saw her fly off toward the city alone. You have lunch with the other two next, right?” His tone was nonchalant, but there was an underlying irritation. He never liked being at the whim of others, though the city calling for one or all of the girls was hardly at their own discretion.

“Yeah, but I don’t—” and before Boomer could get out of it, Brick was already moving around him and calling back.

“Thanks, knew I could count on you.”

Sheepishly, Boomer watched Brick disappear. He knew how to get Boomer to do what he wanted—play the 'I appreciate you! You’re so reliable' card, and if Boomer tried to get out of it, he’d get the whole 'I’m just disappointed' guilt trip. Sometimes his brother was more like an annoying parent he’d seen in movies or on TV.

With a sigh, he turned toward the cafeteria. He could figure out where Buttercup and Bubbles sat, that wasn’t hard, but he typically went to the band room instead. None of his closer friends were at this lunch—if Mike Believe, Mitch Mitchelson, or Floyd Floyjoydson counted. He knew he could’ve sat with plenty of people he knew from his classes, but it had never seemed to be something he really wanted to do.

Opening the door, he ignored the entrance to the lunch line and looked around for the girls. Using his super hearing, he caught Buttercup’s voice as the door shut on the opposite side of the room.

Maneuvering through the tables, Boomer got to the door to the courtyard and opened it, his eyes immediately finding the girls sitting at a table shaded by one of the large trees that had been planted on the campus.

He knew the girl with the long brown hair and blue eyes sitting next to Bubbles was Robin—they had worked on some projects together before. She was tall and lean, with an eclectic and ethereal look about her. Mary was next to Buttercup and playfully smacked the heroine.

Everyone knew Mary. She was curvy and always dressed like she was in a magazine. In fact, he was pretty sure she was a social media influencer. Pablo was beside Robin—he had been in music appreciation with Boomer when they’d first come to the school and had actually taught Boomer how to play guitar. His arm was draped around Robin’s shoulder, and he stole a fry off Buttercup’s tray before getting his hand smacked by Robin, who laughed at him playfully.

Bubbles was asking Robin a question when she caught Boomer’s eye. She flushed slightly but gave a smile and a wave. The way her fingers fidgeted at the hem of her sleeve told him she was probably still thinking about last night too. He didn’t blame her. It had been awkward, sure—especially since the last time they’d touched, they were throwing punches instead of clinging to each other in pitch black vents. That image had been stuck in his head longer than he wanted to admit.

Walking over to the table, Boomer was ready to feel unwelcome when Mary gave him a glowing smile and a teasing wink from behind her lilac acrylic glasses.

“Hey, Boom, I didn’t know you had lunch at this time?” she asked cheerfully. She was probably the second most friendly person in the entire school—right behind Bubbles, of course.

Buttercup gave him a sardonic look. She didn’t have to say anything for him to know she didn’t exactly approve of him interrupting them.

“Yeah, I do actually, but I’m just here to drop this off for Bubbles or Buttercup.”

He held the envelope out and Buttercup snatched it from him.

He looked irritated by her actions but followed up with, “It’s the info that Blossom asked for.”

Buttercup tossed the envelope into her bag under the table. “Cool. Thanks.” Not even looking in his direction.

Put off but not wanting to feed into her sour mood, Boomer started to turn when Bubbles jumped up, gesturing to the empty seat across from her and next to Mary.

"Come sit with us," she said brightly, shooting a pointed look in Buttercup’s direction. "And we totally appreciate you bringing that. Blossom’ll be really pleased."

Mary scooted over and patted the bench beside her. "I don’t bite—unless you ask me to."

"Now you’re just gonna scare him away, Mary," Robin said with an eye roll, while Pablo shook his head with a grin.

Boomer felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "You know what?" He gave a meaningful look at Buttercup. "I think I will. Thanks."

He slid onto the bench beside Mary, fully aware of Buttercup’s eyes boring into his head. If she beat him up after school, he wouldn’t be surprised. 

He’d just have to be faster.

He pulled out his brown paper bag and began unpacking two sandwiches and a bottle of lemonade, nudging his backpack under the table with his foot. It had been a long time since he’d eaten lunch with anyone—sophomore year, maybe. Sitting with this group felt a little odd, like stepping into a circle already drawn, but he didn’t want to overthink it. Maybe part of him wanted to annoy Buttercup. Maybe being a counterpart made that sort of thing inevitable. A question for another day.

Pablo took a bite of his burger. "So has this always been your lunch period? I haven’t seen you here before. Where’ve you been hiding out?"

"Oh, uh—" Boomer unwrapped his sandwich. "I usually hang out in the band room. It’s empty most days since Ms. Gleeson’s teaching chorus and Dr. Fillon’s got office hours."

Pablo pointed at him teasingly. "So that’s why you got good at the cello so fast. Cheater."

Boomer laughed, taking the jab in stride. He had worked hard to learn the intimidating instrument.

Mary was digging into her pasta salad. "So you wanna explain the two sandwiches thing?" she asked, gesturing with her full fork before popping it into her mouth.

"If I’m still hungry, chips won’t cut it," Boomer said after swallowing a bite.

Buttercup, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly exclaimed, "But that’s the whole point of chips! They go on the side of your sandwich! A sandwich is a meal, not a snack!"

Boomer blinked at how mock-angry and almost friendly she sounded. He closed his eyes, took another bite, and said around his grin, "You’re just mad ’cause you know I’m right—and you wish you had two sandwiches too."

She scoffed and threw a fry at him. It bounced harmlessly off his head.

"Yeah right," she muttered, sticking her tongue out at him before returning to her lunch.

Bubbles felt a weight lift from her chest. Buttercup wasn’t looking hostile anymore, and the table felt relaxed again. Eager to keep the conversation going, she turned to Robin.

"So how was that concert you and Mitch went to over the weekend?"

Robin’s eyes lit up. Clapping her hands, she launched into the story—how they’d spent the night dodging a bouncer after Mitch snagged one of the 21+ wristbands, and how she’d caught a drumstick the drummer threw into the crowd. The laughter flowed freely, and even Boomer found himself easing into it.

By the time the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, Boomer was genuinely bummed. He packed his things slowly, tossing the crumpled paper bag in the nearby trashcan.

"See you tomorrow, Boomer!" Robin called as she walked off with Pablo, hand in hand.

Buttercup passed him with her hands stuffed into her jean pockets. "Try to pack a normal lunch, wouldya?" she teased, before veering off to join a few of the volleyball guys.

Mary gave him a cheery wave. "See you later, Boom. I’ll text you tonight, Bubbles."

Bubbles and Boomer ended up walking side-by-side through the hallway, their steps awkwardly in sync. Despite how easy the table conversation had been, now it felt stiff again. Bubbles couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

As if sensing it, Boomer said softly, "You know you don’t have to be weird with me."

She whipped her head around. "What?"

"About the whole... incident in the lab," he said, sifting the air with his hands like the words might fall into place.

"Oh. Right."

They kept walking. She ignored the chatter of students around them.

"No, really," he added with a seriousness that made her flush. Their eyes met. "We were really stuck without you yesterday. And whatever freaked you out down there must’ve been really bad. I mean, you’ve fought me before—and I’m terrifying."

She stifled a giggle behind her hand. As much as she didn’t want to think about that awful noise in the ducts, hearing someone joke about it helped. Her sisters hadn’t said a word once they got home.

Boomer attempted a cocky smirk and waggled his eyebrows like Butch did when he cracked jokes—but the effect just made Bubbles laugh harder. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but getting a laugh from her felt really good.

"Oh, you’re totally ghastly."

"Isn’t that a Pokémon?" he shot back.

Still giggling, she gave him a playful shove. Before he realized it, he was standing outside his next class.

Butch rounded the corner just then, catching sight of the two of them. His eyes narrowed. Since Saturday night, Bubbles had been skittish around him, like a mouse near a cat. But here she was—smiling, laughing, all sunshine and giggles with Boomer .

"I’ll see you tomorrow, Boomer. Thanks again." Bubbles gave a little wave, barely sparing Butch a glance as she walked past.

Boomer stepped into the classroom, Butch right behind him. They slid into their shared table, Boomer pulling out his notebook.

He could feel it—Butch’s glare boring into the side of his head. He looked up. "What?"

"Nothin’. Just wondering where you’re hiding your half of the ‘BFF’ necklace is all," Butch muttered, pulling out his own notebook.

Boomer rolled his eyes. "Don’t be stupid."

Butch leaned back, crossing his ankles beneath the desk. "Whatever, man."

Chapter 10

 Tuesday Afternoon - Townsville City Hall

Walking down the hall to the Mayor’s office, Blossom’s heels clicked against the marble floor, announcing her arrival to the nearby offices. She hadn’t been expecting a call. And although the school allowed her and her sisters to leave class as needed, she’d actually been looking forward to today’s lesson. If this had pulled her out during an exam, she'd be storming down the hallway instead of her current calm pace—something she’d done more than once.

Noticing the Mayor’s door was slightly ajar, she knocked on the frame before entering.
“You requested to see me, Mayor?”

The elderly gentleman practically jumped out of his seat, gesturing toward the last empty chair.
“Yes, yes, Blossom! Please, do sit down.”

An elegant hand came to rest on his shoulder, gently easing him back into his seat.
“Now, Mayor, your doctor ordered you to take it easy,” came the smooth voice of Ms. Bellum, her cascade of copper curls as striking as ever. For a woman in her forties, she remained the most captivating presence in the room—not that looks were all there was to admire.

Already seated were Chief Rosa, one of her detectives, and a man Blossom didn’t recognize—well-dressed and clearly expensive.

Blossom took the remaining seat as Ms. Bellum closed the door. The small semicircle of people around the Mayor waited patiently for him to speak.

“Before we begin,” the Mayor said, folding his hands on his desk, “is everyone familiar with one another?”

He had become more serious with age, especially after losing his wife three years ago. His son and daughter-in-law had moved into his home with their kids shortly after, and no doubt his grandchildren were what kept him in office—and energized. Blossom and her sisters dreaded the day a new mayor would be elected. New administration meant new regulations, new policies—and endless meetings.

Blossom crossed her legs, thankful she’d worn a pink pencil skirt today, though she wished her white T-shirt were a bit more refined. Her hair was only half up, still tied with her signature red bow, the long strands draped over one shoulder as she sat up straighter. She refused to be perceived as a child during meetings like this.

“Chief Rosa and I are quite familiar with one another,” Blossom said evenly—no malice, just the truth of an expected relationship between a superhero and a police chief.

Chief Rosa gestured toward the man beside her. “This is Detective Marley. He’s working the case from this weekend.”

He looked to be in his mid to late forties, with brown hair starting to silver and a long, defined face. His gray eyes were piercing—but mostly, he looked exhausted.

Straightening in his seat, he gave a simple nod.  “My partner’s currently in the field, following up on some leads.”

Blossom studied Chief Rosa for a moment. She had received a case file the afternoon before, but between investigating Mojo’s lab and finishing her schoolwork, she'd only skimmed it. She had a nearly perfect memory, yes—but she preferred to be fully prepared before any meeting.

Chief Rosa began to introduce the final attendee. “And this—”

“I’m Norman Blaine,” the man said smoothly, standing and reaching across to shake Blossom’s hand. “It was my shipping container that caused that little explosion. Terribly sorry about that.”

Chief Rosa’s lips tightened, clearly holding back a remark. Blossom shook his hand but noted the nonchalance in his tone. As he sat down again, he unbuttoned his tailored navy suit jacket and crossed one leg. His cognac leather brogues gleamed in the light.

If Princess Morbucks ever hired a PR guy, he’d look exactly like this.

Norman Blaine had the smile of a toothpaste ad and the looks of a younger Henry Cusick. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned that two people had died during the incident. To be so casual about a chemical shipment that caused hundreds of thousands in damage came across—at best—as tone-deaf, and at worst, as indifferent.

“I apologize for the damage caused during the fight,” Blossom began professionally. “Unfortunately, my sisters and I can only contain a situation to a certain extent.”

Norman waved the comment off. “Of course, of course. Even Major Glory has his off days.” He flashed a charismatic smile, relaxing back into the chair with the ease of someone rehearsed in public appearances. Everything about him felt... staged.

Ms. Bellum and Chief Rosa exchanged a brief glance. At her nod, Rosa leaned forward.

“Mr. Blaine—”

“Please, call me Norman,” he interjected, chuckling.

Chief Rosa’s smile tightened. “Norman,” she continued coolly, “we’re waiting on lab results. But you could save us time and resources by telling us what chemical we’re dealing with. I’m doubtful the lab will be able to give us definitive results with the samples we collected at the scene.. So what exactly was stored in that container?”

There had been no proper documentation in the shipping logs—an anomaly they were still investigating.

Blossom added, “There’s no threat to the citizens at the docks, correct?”

Given that she and her sisters healed differently from ordinary humans, they hadn’t noticed any lingering effects. Aside from Bubbles’ prolonged injuries, everything seemed… fine.

Norman reached down beside him and retrieved a sleek briefcase. He opened it on his lap, pulled out a dozen documents, then closed it and set it aside again.

“I figured this might come up,” he said, passing out the papers. “Chief Rosa, I also received word you were making inquiries.”

He handed copies to Chief Rosa, Blossom, and the Mayor. Detective Marley leaned in to read from Rosa’s copy.

“The compound was slightly unstable—”

Rosa scoffed audibly at the word slightly , but he continued unfazed.

“—but only dangerous when combined with an activating agent. We’re calling it Project Osiris . Once completed, I believe it will be—quite literally—life-altering.”

Blossom raised a finger. “Osiris is the Egyptian god of the dead. Why name your project after that?” She glanced at the document. “These formulas outline the base structure of the chemical, but only vaguely. I understand the need for proprietary protection, but what is the ultimate goal here? And why transport it in that volume, by sea?”

He chuckled. “My, aren’t you sharp, Ms. Blossom.” The smile didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re working to extend life—particularly in military or battlefield applications. I can’t go into greater detail, but I’m sure you understand.”

He turned to the Mayor. “As I mentioned when I purchased the property in May, this operation will bring jobs and tourism to Townsville.”

He continued, glowing with pride. “We’ve already outgrown our Dallas office. With Blaine Industries anchoring here, startups are following. We’ve created green space and begun leasing new office properties. The economic boost is undeniable.”

“But that doesn’t explain why it was in the shipyard,” Blossom pointed out.

Norman rested his chin in his hand. “No—but there was no malicious intent. Our overseas lab completed this batch, and we were days from transferring it to our final facility. The trucks were already scheduled.”

He gestured broadly. “You’ll have full transparency—so long as I have full knowledge. Any other questions?”

Blossom looked toward Ms. Bellum and the Mayor. The Mayor was still staring at the papers in front of him, brow furrowed in genuine concentration. Ms. Bellum, however, gave Blossom a quiet nod.

“We wanted you here not just for the incident, but because Mr. Blaine has requested additional security. I told him that was up to you girls and the Chief.”

A knot formed in Blossom’s stomach. The last thing they needed was more patrols.

Her hands folded in her lap as she responded. “We’re stretched thin already. We can include the location in our routes, but we can’t allocate extended time to a single facility.”

Ms. Bellum nodded. “That’s what I told him.” She turned to Blaine. “He even asked to hire you for private security—”

“No,” Blossom said firmly, cutting her off.

Norman blinked, surprised. “No? Are you sure? I imagine the Heroes Legion salary isn’t exactly—”

“I said no ,” Blossom repeated, her tone unyielding. “We protect the city because we care about it—not for money.” She looked at the Mayor, who beamed at her. “We’ll monitor Blaine Industries as part of our existing patrols. Once your facility is secured, I trust you’ll comply with Chief Rosa’s recommendations.”

Norman nodded, lips tight. “Very well. I’ll follow up with the Chief later.”

Rosa responded curtly. “We can speak in my office. Detective Marley has questions for his report.”

Blossom noticed Marley leaning forward, eyes gleaming with interest. That man was hunting. And she had a feeling Norman Blaine was used to being the one doing the hunting.

“Would you like a ride?” Marley asked, rising from his seat.

Norman waved him off. “No need. My driver’s here. I’ll also need to check if my business partner is available.” He turned to the Mayor. “I believe we’re done here?”

“Yes, yes,” the Mayor said brightly. “And we’ve just started planning the St. Patrick’s Day parade. Will you be joining us?”

Norman smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it. It was a pleasure speaking with you.” He turned to Blossom. “And an honor meeting one of the Powerpuff Girls.”

Rising, Blossom shook his hand with equal professionalism. “Likewise.”

As the men left the office, Ms. Bellum gave a meaningful look to Chief Rosa and Blossom before excusing herself. The Mayor rose and came around his desk, reaching for Blossom’s hand in both of his.

“I know he’s a little odd,” he said warmly, “but I think he’s just what the city needs.”

Blossom noticed how thin and fragile his hands were now. He’d aged quickly after his wife passed.

She smiled gently. “I’ll keep an eye on Blaine Industries, Mayor. He certainly seems... smart.”

She didn’t say kind . That would’ve been a lie.

He nodded. “Good, that’s wonderful.”

Turning to Chief Rosa, he shook her hand next.

“Thank you for hosting this, Mr. Mayor,” she said.

“Oh, marvelous! I think this’ll be a great year for Townsville!”

Once outside the Mayor’s office, as soon as the door clicked shut, Chief Rosa muttered, “I don’t like him.”

They weren’t looking at each other, but Blossom replied with a subtle nod. “I agree.”

Ms. Bellum stepped out of her office just as a young intern jogged past. “One moment, ladies.”

They paused as she joined them, effortlessly elegant in heels that put her well over six feet. Even tall women like Blossom and the chief felt dwarfed.

“Be careful with him,” she warned. “Mr. Blaine is a charmer—and evasive.”

Rosa scoffed. “You think?”

Ms. Bellum gave her a steady look. Rosa adjusted her necklace like a scolded child. “Sorry. Please continue.”

Ms. Bellum went on. “The city needs his business. Since his arrival, two national banks and several Fortune 100 companies have shown interest in relocating here.”

Blossom nodded, and even Rosa offered a reluctant hum of agreement. More jobs meant less crime. Usually anyways.

Smiling, Ms. Bellum brushed a ringlet from her face. “I’m glad we’re in agreement.” As they reached the marble staircase, she added, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you girls outside of an emergency. Please stop by this weekend.” She looked at Chief Rosa. “You’re welcome too, Miranda.”

The chief stiffened. “I’ll see how my weekend looks. Maybe I’ll stop by for a bit.”

Blossom smirked. No one resisted Ms. Bellum for long. “Thank you,” she said brightly. “We’ll text you on Sunday.”

“Wonderful. I’m looking forward to it.”

As they parted ways, Blossom rocketed into the sky with the documents held tight in hand. Chief Rosa simply shook her head and pulled out her phone to call ahead to her lieutenant.

Chapter 11

Friday Afternoon - Townsville High School

This was possibly the longest week of Buttercup’s life.

She was exhausted. Between reading over the files from the incident at the docks, following up on the leads Brick had supplied, and digging into this new, fancy-pants business guy, her brain was fried. Not to mention the fact that Boomer Jojo had started sitting at their lunch table. It was mentally draining. She kind of regretted snapping at her sisters this morning, but they’d caught her at the worst time—barely awake and already being bombarded with Blossom’s weekend plans. It felt like she’d never have a life of her own outside of being a damn superhero.

Since she was banned from participating in sports competitively, she’d been enjoying helping out as an assistant coach for the men’s volleyball team this spring, filling the gap left after fall soccer wrapped. But she’d missed both practices this week, and now the coach had benched her from this weekend’s game as punishment—for a job she hadn’t even signed up for in the first place. It made her want to hit something.

Sensing eyes on her, Buttercup slowly turned her head to find Mitch and Samson making goofy faces at her from across the study hall table.

“Don’t you guys have anything better to do than annoy me?” She raised a brow and dropped her pen with a sigh. She’d never finish her biology homework at this rate.

“It’s about time you looked over,” Samson laughed, raking a hand through his thick black hair and elbowing Mitch. “I swear our faces were gonna freeze like that.”

Leaning her cheek on one hand, she deadpanned, “That would’ve been an improvement.”

Mitch feigned mock hurt. “Oh no, Butterbutt doesn’t think we’re cute!”

Her jaw tightened slightly at the nickname. He knew she hated that. Flipping him off, she went back to scrawling a half-assed answer just to have something to turn in. Her pen slid off course as Mitch clapped her on the shoulder.

“You must be losing your touch, since it took you so damn long to notice.”

“Bite me, asshole,” she muttered, flipping him off again without even looking up.

Samson yanked Mitch back into his seat with a laugh. “Dude, she’s gonna stick you on top of the flagpole again. Ease up.”

Buttercup smiled to herself, remembering Mitch practically pissing himself at the height. “Yeah, whatever,” Mitch waved it off like it hadn’t been a trauma core memory. “So, you still coming to the movie tonight? Or are you leaving me with the children?”

“Yeah, seven-thirty meet up,” she said, glancing over her paper with a smirk. “I know you’d be beside yourself without me.”

“Aww, he’s never alone. He’s got me, don’tcha, babe?” Samson clasped his hands together and made kissy faces at Mitch, then paused and looked over at Buttercup. “Unless your sisters are coming…”

Rolling her eyes, she gave him a flat look. “You wish.”

“Well yeah,” he replied without shame, “that’s why I said it.”

Closing her binder and tossing it into her bag, she added, “It’s Robin’s birthday. They’re meeting up after the movie for cake.”

She caught the mutual grimaces from both boys. Mitch had been friends with her since seventh grade—he knew what a celebration with the girls meant. Samson, new as of this year, had only tasted Blossom’s holiday baking. Poor bastard.

“Relax. Blossom’s not making the cake,” she said dryly.

The two exhaled in dramatic relief just as the bell rang for lunch.

Grabbing his bag, Samson tried to recover. “Not that her baking is bad or anything…”

Mitch snorted, giving him a shove down the hall. “It’s your funeral, bud.”

Buttercup made her way to her locker to swap out her books and grab her lunch, just in time to catch sight of Blossom closing her own locker.

“Hey,” Buttercup called.

Blossom turned, face unreadable. “Hi.”

Sighing, Buttercup scuffed the toe of her sneaker along the tile as she opened her locker. “Listen, I didn’t—”

Blossom held up a hand to cut her off. “We’ll talk about it at home.” With that, she turned on her heel and walked briskly down the hall to AP History.

Buttercup may have slammed her locker shut a little harder than necessary.

She’d just been trying to apologize. They were all exhausted, and she knew it. Everyone just wanted a break from the weird, the stressful, and the unexpected. Maybe a date or two. Not that she had anyone in mind, but it would be nice to at least have the option.

Outside, the weather was still nice, so she knew exactly where to find her friends.

Pushing open the door, she spotted them right away. The usual lunch table under the tree. Two blonde heads bent together over a large sheet of white paper, Robin seated beside Bubbles with a massive flower crown perched on her head, and Mary sitting across, chatting animatedly.

“Happy birthday, Robin.” Buttercup tossed a brown paper bag onto the table. She wasn’t big on hugs unless it was family, but Robin would get it.

Clapping her hands together, Robin pulled the bag toward her with a grin.

“It’s your birthday?” Boomer asked, glancing over Bubbles’ head with a blink of surprise.

Mary chuckled, “Love your gift wrap, Buttercup—very environmentally conscious of you.”

Bubbles held up one finger to Boomer. “Shhh,” she said, but her face remained friendly.

Buttercup plopped down across from Bubbles just as Robin squealed, “Put it on me, put it on me!” In her fingers, she held a retro yellow daisy brooch. It was a little scuffed up, but to Robin, that only added to its charm.

Bubbles carefully fastened it to Robin’s denim jacket while Robin bounced with excitement. “You found one! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

She was practically glowing, and Buttercup couldn’t help feeling a bit of satisfaction. “Yeah, so be more careful this time,” she teased, leaning forward to exchange a high five with Robin.

Boomer shifted to get a better look at the brooch. Robin angled it toward him proudly. “It’s just like the one my nana gave me. It broke at a concert a while ago. I can’t wait to show my mom.”

A quiet pang hit Boomer. He didn’t have family heirlooms or warm memories like that. Most of what he got were leftover jokes or pranks from Brick or Butch. “It looks great. Happy birthday, Robin.”

While Boomer and Mary admired the pin, Buttercup turned to Bubbles. “Hey, so I—”

“I know,” Bubbles said, cutting her off gently. “I think tonight is just the break we need, though.”

That was something Buttercup loved about her—she got it. She got her. She got Blossom, too. Bubbles had always been the one holding them together, even when they all pulled in different directions.

“Thanks.”

“But you hafta say the thing,” Bubbles said, a mischievous grin curling her lips.

Buttercup groaned. “Here? Really?”

“Yup.”

She looked so smug, Buttercup could’ve smacked the grin off her face. Muttering, she started pulling her lunch from her bag.

“I didn’t hear you!” Bubbles sang.

Buttercup mumbled again, red-faced with frustration.

“What was that?” Bubbles cupped her ear dramatically.

Buttercup knew damn well she could hear her just fine—but she also knew how this would end.

“Ugh, fine! Love you.”

Mary smirked. “Awww, Buttercup, I never knew you were so sensitive.”

Buttercup dropped her face into her hands with a grunt. “You guys suck. I’m never sitting here again with you assholes.”

Boomer tried not to laugh. It was strange, seeing them like this. There was no fighting, no rivalry—just normal high school kids being... normal. He hadn’t realized how much of a difference that made. If Robin, Mary, and Pablo hadn’t been sitting with them these last few days, he probably wouldn’t have said more than a few words to Bubbles. Probably would’ve just kept his head down like usual.

Buttercup, though? She still made him nervous. There was something sharp about her, something that reminded him too much of Brick.

With a mouthful of sandwich, Buttercup gestured at the paper Bubbles and Boomer had been huddled over. “What’s that, anyway?”

“Oh!” Bubbles lit up. “Boomer found the construction plans for the park! It shows all the sewage lines too—he’s a genius.”

Boomer looked like he wanted to disappear under the table.

Buttercup narrowed her eyes. “I thought you guys said the observatory plans weren’t reliable.”

“They aren’t,” Boomer replied. “But the park hasn’t changed. The sewage lines running under it match the original city layout.”

“We wanna check it out tomorrow,” Bubbles added. Her tone shifted, more serious now. “But I’m not going into any more dark places by myself.”

Robin and Mary didn’t even blink. They were used to this kind of talk.

“Cool, cool,” Buttercup said. “How about the afternoon? Bloss is tutoring and you have your thing, plus I gotta work on my project since I can’t go to the game anymore.”

Bubbles turned to Boomer. “That work for you?”

He folded the plans back up. “Probably. I’ll check with my brothers, but they’ll come if they’re available.”

As they ate, Buttercup suddenly looked up. “Wait, Robin—where’s Pablo?”

Robin pouted. “Fever. I probably won’t see him until Monday or Tuesday.” She brightened as she pulled out her phone. “Buuuut, he sent me all these cute pics and promised a special birthday dinner next weekend.”

Buttercup watched the hearts practically float out of Robin’s eyes. God, she hoped she hadn’t looked like that during any of her relationships.

“Wait,” Mary said, looking up from her food. “That means we’ve got an extra ticket, doesn’t it?”

Bubbles quickly waved her hands. “Can’t. Yoga and patrol.”

Mary sighed, dragging the word out dramatically. “Fiiiiiine.” Then her tone turned sly. “What about you, Boom?”

Boomer choked on his drink.

“What?!” he and Buttercup blurted in unison.

Mary just shrugged. “Why not? What do you think, birthday girl?”

Robin nodded eagerly. “That’s a great idea.”

“It is?!” Buttercup and Boomer looked like stunned goldfish.

Robin ignored them, already texting. “C’mon, Boomer, it’ll be fun. Consider it my birthday present from you.”

Boomer stammered, “Well—uh, Bubbles didn’t get you anything and she’s not going—”

Both girls pointed at the elaborate flower crown on Robin’s head.

Robin sighed dramatically, hand on her chest. “It’s okay. It’s fine if you don’t like me and hate hanging out with us.”

Boomer raised his hands in surrender. “Wait, wait, wait—I never said that.”

“Then you’ll come?” Robin and Mary leaned toward him in unison.

He knew when he was beat. And, truth be told, he kind of wanted to go.

“Fine. You ladies win. When is it?”

“The movie starts at eight,” Robin said triumphantly. “So we’re meeting at the Pokey Oaks Town Center theater by seven-thirty to get good seats.”

Boomer nodded. “Cool. I’ll be there.”

Boomer continued digging into the rest of his lunch, but Buttercup was trying to disguise a disgruntled scowl. It was true he wasn’t as annoying as his brothers, but she had never planned on spending any additional time with him outside of lunch or the whole Mojo thing. Now he was creeping into her actual personal life.

Looking at Bubbles for sympathy, she was somewhat surprised to see her acting so... normal. Much more at ease than she’d been earlier in the week. Which, in truth, was a relief.

The rest of lunch passed as it usually did, broken up only by a few people stopping to wish Robin a happy birthday. Conversation turned back to normal things: weekend plans, schoolwork, teachers who needed to retire already.

As the bell rang and they gathered up their bags, Boomer walked around the table and leaned in close.

“Are we cool? I don’t have to come.”

It was like someone had dropped a massive cut-out of the word ‘FUCK’ right on her brain. She turned to look at him—but he was looking past her, not quite meeting her eyes. Bubbles and Mary were hugging Robin goodbye.

She had about two seconds to make a decision.

“Yeah,” she shrugged awkwardly, “we’re cool.”

When his eyes finally met hers, she caught the flicker of relief there. And damn it, now she felt like a jackass. But he smiled at her, a genuine one, and Bubbles waved at Buttercup as she and Boomer started off down the hall together.

Even if she trusted that Eklektos had the boys in check, there was still a part of her that felt the need to watch her back. Especially when it came to the Jojo brothers.

Rounding the corner back inside the building, Buttercup nearly collided with Mike, Mitch, and Samson.

“Jeez, can’t you watch where you’re going?”

Mitch held up his phone. “Who did Robin say’s taking the ticket?” He squinted at the screen.

Robin’s phone must’ve autocorrected, because the name on screen read ‘Boozer.’

Buttercup snorted and pushed the phone away. “It was supposed to say Boomer.”

She tried to keep moving, already thinking about her next class, but Samson blocked her path. “Who the hell names their kid Boomer? Like, who is that, anyway?”

Buttercup crossed her arms. “Uh, Jojo?”

“You mean Butch?”

“No—God, no—not that douche rocket. His brother.”

“They’re brothers?”

She stared at him, pinching the bridge of her nose. “My god…”

Mike laughed. “We got this. See you tonight!”

Mitch and Mike shoved Samson into the cafeteria, leaving Buttercup to power-walk to the gym—a pale green streak down the hall.

Bumping Boomer’s arm with her elbow, Bubbles said, “She’s just in a mood.”

Boomer stared at her for a beat, then shoved his hands into his pockets. “Right. Yeah.”

Dealing with girls—especially the girls—was just a different experience altogether. He’d interacted with plenty before: girls in the Eklektos program, classmates, dates... But this was different. It was them.

As they neared their classes, Boomer glanced down the hall—Butch wasn’t lurking outside like he had been most of the week. That alone was a small relief.

“Here,” Bubbles stopped and handed him her phone.

Boomer blinked at it. “Uh... thanks? What am I supposed to do with this?”

Rolling her eyes, she gave an amused laugh. “You’re supposed to put your number in it? Just call your phone from mine.”

Caught completely off guard, his thumbs felt suddenly numb. He hesitated.

“Oh my gosh, ” Bubbles laughed again. “I’m not asking you out, not that you’re not cute or anything! I’m saying—this way, we can stay in contact about tomorrow’s plans. Confirm our meet-up spot, you know?”

A wave of relief rushed through him, though his face was still burning. “Sorry. Guess I’m just out of it today.”

Trying not to fumble, he typed in his number and hit the call button. His own phone buzzed in his pocket.

“That’s me!” Bubbles smiled and slipped her phone back. “You might want to cool down a bit before you walk in there.”

She turned and headed down the hall, leaving Boomer standing in place like he’d forgotten how to human.

Hands over his face, still mortified, he finally pushed into class and dropped into his seat next to Butch.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Butch asked, balancing on the back two legs of his chair, feet braced under the desk.

“You’re gonna tip over.” Boomer unpacked his notebook and stared directly at the tabletop.

He didn’t know why he was so embarrassed. She hadn’t done anything weird. She wasn’t flirting with him. And even if she had been... He probably wouldn’t have noticed right away. The idea of being friends with someone who was supposed to be his direct rival felt like it was breaking some sacred Jojo rule.

Narrowing his eyes, Butch dropped his chair onto all fours. “Dude. You’re acting weird.”

“I’m seeing a movie with some friends tonight.”

“That’s all?” Butch muttered. “Jeez. You’re dramatic.”

The teacher walked in, and Butch turned forward. “Whatever. You’re a shit liar.”

Boomer sighed, staring at the edge of his desk. He couldn’t even argue. Butch was right. He really was a shit liar.

Chapter 12

  Friday Night- Utonium Household

Pulling the warm chocolate cake out of the oven, Bubbles inhaled deeply, placing it on the cooling rack next to its twin. She went to retrieve the last layer from the oven—once these finally cooled, all that was left was to frost and decorate. Buttercup was sitting at the kitchen table, a scowl etched deep on her face and her arms tense on the tabletop. Blossom had just come through the door and told Buttercup to stay where she was.

They both knew what was coming.

Stepping back into the kitchen, Blossom didn’t hesitate. “I don’t know why you’re acting so selfish, Buttercup. You know this is our job! It can’t always be about what you want. I’m just so disappointed in how you’re acting.”

Bubbles gulped and instinctively moved in front of the cakes protectively. She knew the storm that was about to hit.

Slamming her fists on the table, Buttercup jumped up. “What!? Excuse me? Selfish?” Her voice echoed in the small room.

“What else would you call this? I don’t know why you’re acting like such a—such a—” Blossom struggled for the right word, her hands planted firmly on her hips.

Buttercup practically rounded on her. “Oh, just fucking say it already!”

“You’re acting like a spoiled brat!” Electricity pulsed through the air as the sisters locked eyes.

Buttercup laughed, hard and sarcastic. “Oh yeah, I’m a huuuuuuge spoiled brat who doesn’t care about anybody or anything! God forbid I actually keep the commitments you encouraged me to have so I could have a ‘normal high school experience,’” she sneered, pitching her voice mockingly before snapping back to her usual tone. “You'll never be satisfied with anything I do, so take that self-righteous stick out of your ass.”

The insults came fast when they fought—logic went out the window, replaced by old wounds and raw frustration.

Blossom’s nostrils flared. She pointed a finger at Buttercup. “Well, priorities change, Buttercup! I have to cancel shit all the time too, and you don’t see me whining and complaining! You knew the risks of getting involved with sports and activities—it’s always been like this.” She dragged a hand across her forehead, exasperated. “You’ve been a Powerpuff Girl your whole life. You know these responsibilities come first, so stop being such a big baby.”

Buttercup crossed her arms tightly. Her eyes narrowed. “Well then maybe I don’t want to be a Powerpuff anymore. I’m clearly not responsible enough!”

The room stilled.

Bubbles’ breath caught in her throat.

Caught off guard, Blossom uttered a quiet, “...what?”

“You don’t mean that, Buttercup.” Bubbles’ voice was small as she stepped between her sisters.

Buttercup only looked at the floor, jaw tight. This was supposed to be an easy conversation. She had planned to apologize.

Blossom’s shoulders sagged. “You’ve never…” Her voice trailed off. None of them had said something like that in a long time. The pressure had cracked them before, but not like this. Never like this.

Buttercup’s eyes were glassy, but she refused to meet either of their gazes. Bubbles gently grabbed Blossom’s hand, then tugged on the hem of Buttercup’s shirt. “I know you don’t mean that. A-and we know you’re responsible.”

Buttercup flicked her eyes toward her sister and wasn’t surprised to see tears welling up in Bubbles’ eyes. A strained sigh escaped her lips. “I don’t really, but…” She looked up at Blossom, dropping her arms. “I’m just so tired of you getting on my case, Blossom. I know I shouldn’t have yelled, and I wanted to apologize earlier, but you wouldn’t even give me the chance.”

In frustration, she pushed her hands through her hair, teeth clenched. “This sucks.”

“You always act like we need to be as normal as possible because that’s what the Professor and Ms. Keane and everyone else tell us to do. But then you expect us to drop it all the second some hero-shit comes up. The things we do just to feel normal don’t get the same consideration. I’m so tired of never getting a break—not really. You won’t let us breathe for more than a few hours before it’s right back to the grind.”

She was blinking rapidly now, willing the tears back with everything she had. “You keep setting us up to disappoint you and then say we’re letting the city down. It’s not fair.”

Blossom’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I didn’t know you were going to apologize. I was so frustrated, I just… I needed time to think.” Her voice cracked. “I just— I can’t do this without you, and I know we’ve got a lot going on, but…” She trailed off again, her free hand curling into a fist.

“We know you’re under a lot of pressure too, Blossom,” Bubbles said gently. “Everyone expects a lot from us all the time, and we get that. But sometimes, you expect more than even they do.” She squeezed Blossom’s hand until their eyes met. “But you have to listen to us too. And stop saying you’re disappointed in us when really—you’re just frustrated. We’re frustrated too.”

Blossom bit her lower lip. It stung because it was true. She always expected the most from herself… and without realizing it, she’d put that same impossible standard on her sisters, thinking it was just what she had to do.

“I’m sorry I got angry, Blossom.” Buttercup’s voice was rough, and she still wouldn’t look directly at her. “We’ll get through this shit.”

Blossom’s throat felt tight, but she nodded. Her voice came out tiny. “I know. I’m sorry too. I’m so, so sorry, Buttercup. I just… you know, I just feel—”

Before she could finish, Bubbles wrapped her arms around her and pulled her in close.

“We know,” Bubbles whispered. She was trying her best to hold it all together, to keep them together.

They were all just so tired. Despite being seventeen, they were still kids. Kids with the kind of weight on their shoulders most adults wouldn’t even know how to carry. The Heroes Legion didn’t have many minors like them—most powered teens were in smaller towns, sidekicks-in-training. Not the main act. Not the first line of defense.

But they were. They’d been for twelve years.

Sometimes, though, even they needed help too.

Buttercup hesitated, then stepped in and wrapped both arms around her sisters. Their heads met in the middle, foreheads resting gently against one another. Blossom’s arms, no longer stiff and numb, moved to embrace them too, squeezing tightly.

For once, she didn’t feel like she needed to say anything. They knew. They knew she would try harder—to give them more grace, to ease up, to stop expecting so much of all of them.

Blossom often forgot she wasn’t supposed to carry the whole damn world.

Footsteps padded into the kitchen. A moment later, they felt a larger pair of arms try—and fail—to wrap around all three of them.

“It’s alright, girls,” Professor Utonium said softly.

He had learned, painfully, when to step back and let the girls handle things—and when to step in. It had taken plenty of stumbles and more than a few calls to Maggie Keane and Sara Bellum—most often about parenting, girlhood, and, occasionally, legality.

He’d gone toe-to-toe with the Heroes Legion over vacations, substitute coverage, and scaled-back expectations. But there was one thing he never could override: his daughters’ hearts.

He’d learned that sometimes? They just had to figure things out for themselves.

His eyes looked tired. “You can walk away from all this anytime. If the citizens don’t understand right away, they will eventually.”

They all remembered: that had been the rule for college. When it came time, they were done . He wanted them to work regular jobs, call to complain about customers or annoying bosses, figure out what they were passionate about. Maybe even fall in love, have families one day. He might’ve made them, but he’d never wanted them to be superheroes forever.

Blossom shook her head. “No. I’m not ready.”

“Neither am I,” Buttercup said, a cocky grin working its way onto her face.

“Me too,” Bubbles chimed in brightly.

The Professor nodded, holding back a watery smile. “Just promise me something, okay? No more bottling things up. Each of you make an appointment with Maggie this week to check in. Just because you have powers doesn’t mean I don’t worry.”

In sync, they replied: “We will.”

Trying to break the tension, Buttercup gave his arm a light shove. “Ugh, don’t get all mushy on us. Gross.”

Blossom laughed softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Give him a break, Buttercup.”

“Pffft.” Buttercup made a face. “You’re all gross.”

She turned toward the stove, then glanced at the clock. “So… we’re still okay for tonight?”

Blossom gave an exaggerated sigh, but there was warmth in it. “Yeah. Tell everyone we’ll be there after the movie. Except Robin, of course. Bubbles and I have patrol tonight—we’ve got it covered.”

“Ooh!” Bubbles perked up. “Can I borrow your uniform tonight?”

Before Buttercup could respond, the Professor cut in, “Nope. No need. Edna sent over a replacement—it’s hanging in your closet. She’s not too happy that something managed to break her material, though.”

Buttercup cocked a hip in Bubbles’ direction and gave a lazy salute. “You’re not cool enough to wear my uniform anyway.”

Laughing, she shot up the stairs in a green blur.

“Are too!” Bubbles yelled after her, then turned to Blossom and the Professor with a pout. “I could totally pull it off.”

Blossom snorted. “We shouldn’t be talking about this in front of the Professor.”

He just waved them off and sat at the kitchen table. “It’s alright. I still see you three as my perfect little angels. I can’t believe how fast you’re growing up.”

Bubbles elbowed Blossom with a grin. “Except when someone gets picked up for a date .”

The word made the Professor perk up like a hound on alert. “A date ? Who’s dating? Who is it? What’s their name? When are they—”

Blossom leaned down and kissed his cheek. “You’re so overprotective. She’s just teasing.”

“This time,” Bubbles added innocently.

“You girls will be the end of me,” the Professor sighed, though it was the kind of sigh laced with pride, exasperation, and deep affection. A rite of passage in this house. A reminder that no matter what chaos they carried, they were still his girls.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

Friday Evening - Poky Oaks Town Center

Brick pulled into the shopping center and gave Boomer a warning look. “You better not get into any shit tonight.”

Boomer gave him an exasperated expression. “Dude, I know . I already told you—I’m just seeing a movie with friends.”

It still felt weird to say that. Usually, “friends” meant his brothers, or the rare time he tagged along to Mike or Mitch’s houses.

Pulling into a parking spot at the edge of the movie theater lot, Brick shut off the engine and stared at his hands on the steering wheel. Boomer rolled his eyes, unbuckled his seatbelt, and muttered, “Told you I didn’t need a ride. I’ll be home late.”

His sneakers hit the asphalt and he headed toward the entrance. Up ahead, he spotted Robin, Mary, Mike, and Buttercup standing near one of the concrete pillars in front of the theatre.

“Over here, Boom!” Mary waved, her voice cutting through the noise of the crowd. He jogged over, resisting the urge to look back. He could feel Brick’s stare burning into his back like heat off a grill.

Butch had made plans with some of the soccer guys tonight, leaving Brick alone with his suspicions—and clearly, that wasn’t sitting well.

Getting out of the car, Brick leaned against the door, surveying the group. Since when was Boomer friends with one of the girls? And not just any of them—the green one. Loud, brash, punch-first Buttercup. It didn’t track.

His eyes narrowed at her. She caught his gaze instantly and, without missing a beat, flipped him off and mouthed: “Fuck off.”

Classy.

She might’ve looked a little softer tonight—hair in a half-up bun, black denim skirt, cropped yellow hoodie—but Brick had no doubt she’d deck him if given the chance.

He slammed the car door harder than necessary and pulled out of the lot, engine growling. He had his own business to deal with tonight. HIM needed a check-in, and if anyone had answers, it was going to be them.

Boomer exhaled the moment Brick peeled away.

“Your brother doesn’t seem too happy,” Mike muttered close to his ear, making him jump.

“Yeah, he’s just salty because he’s the only one without Friday night plans.” Even if that wasn’t totally true, it sounded good enough.

Mary grinned. “Really? That surprises me. All the girls in my AP Lit class think he’s mysterious and hot.”

Two gagging noises followed in stereo—Boomer and Buttercup.

“Oh gross. They’ll be disappointed when they realize he’s just a boring fuddy-duddy,” Boomer quipped.

Buttercup snorted. “Seriously, dude? ‘Fuddy-duddy?’ You’ve been hanging around Bubbles too much.”

Boomer winced. He hadn’t even realized. “She just has… interesting expressions.”

Mike clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s okay, man. She got me saying ‘goodness’ all of last year.” He grinned as he walked off, calling to new arrivals, “About time you losers got here!”

Mitch and Samson had arrived, and Robin ran to throw her arms around Mitch. “Finally!”

Boomer glanced down at the beat-up combat boots next to him. When he looked up, he blinked—Buttercup was actually in a skirt. Earrings, too.

He stared for a beat too long.

“Jeez, what are you looking at?” she snapped.

“Uh,” he shrugged, startled, “nothing. Your earrings are cool.”

“They’re Bubbles’.” Arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“That’s fine. They still look cool on you.”

Her hand brushed one earring almost involuntarily, but before she could respond, Robin swooped in and linked arms with Boomer.

“Alright! Everyone’s here. Let’s grab a whole row.”

Boomer blinked.
“So uh, what are we seeing, anyway?”

Mike laughed from behind as Mary replied,  “Does it matter?”

And honestly, it didn’t. For once, Boomer felt like he belonged—and that was more than enough.

Chapter 14

Friday Night - Observatory Rooftop

Crouching on the roof of the observatory, Brick felt the night air slide under his shirt and bite at the edges of his collar. It was quiet up here—just the steady hum of the city in the distance and the occasional gust of wind rattling one of the loose HVAC covers. He kept low, even if no one was around to see him. After the volcano went dormant and the observatory was expanded, most people stopped coming at night. A few teens had recently complained about a monkey spraying them with a firehose while they were making out. As far as anyone knew, he was still up here, guarding his turf like a lunatic.

The thought of Mojo made Brick's jaw clench. The girls were helping now, sure, and they’d made some progress, but everything still felt too slow. He was expecting a miracle from a group of girls who knew just as much as he did. Slamming his fist against the cold metal, he grit his teeth.

Where the fuck is HIM?

A soft tap echoed across the roof. Someone landing—no, someone standing —deliberately, and just close enough for the sound to rattle up through Brick's hands. He shot to his feet and squared into a fighting stance, expecting one of the girls—

—but no.

His breath hitched.

“Where have you been?” he hissed, eyes narrowed, shoulders tense. Every part of him went on alert as he took in the one being he’d been trying to reach for nearly a week.

They stood on top of the observatory like they owned the sky, draped in their usual flamboyance—thigh-high black boots, a velvet jacket dripping in red feathers, and a pair of tiny black sunglasses perched just so. HIM.

A slow, devilish grin spread across their face. “Well, hello to you too, son.” One claw settled on their hip as Brick floated up, landing in front of them with deliberate restraint.

“I’ve been trying to contact you for days. You blocked us. You disappeared. What the hell is going on?” Brick’s voice was low, urgent—almost desperate, but he wouldn’t let it crack.

With a dramatic sigh, HIM twirled one claw lazily in the air. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been a little busy.” Their voice slipped from airy and flippant into something darker, harsher—familiar.

“You’ve been busy ?” Brick’s hands clenched again. “Mojo’s missing. You cut off contact. Something is wrong, and you know something. Don’t act like you don’t.”

For the first time, HIM’s posture shifted. Something in their stance turned rigid.

Brick’s voice dropped, heavy. “Is he even alive?”

They didn’t answer right away. Instead, they let their body fall backward into the air as a plush, throne-like chair materialized beneath them. Removing their sunglasses, they fixed their eyes on Brick. “I don’t know.”

Brick blinked. For all the theatrics, for all the posturing—HIM looked different. Their usually vibrant skin was faded, their eyes hollow and sunken, like someone had dragged soot across their face. Black and gray veins crept over the surface of their arms like cracks in porcelain.

“You need to tell me what’s happening,” Brick said quietly, his voice tightening as unease crawled into his chest.

HIM didn’t look at him at first. Their gaze drifted over the city skyline, expression unreadable. “Mojo was conducting research,” they began slowly. “Something recovered from one of Sedusa’s former agents after his death. Some kind of specimen—one that doesn’t register. Last we spoke, he hadn’t made any breakthroughs.”

Then HIM turned back to him, trying on a wicked grin, but it fell short. It looked brittle.

“I’ve been sending out scouts. Lesser demons, at first. But whatever this thing is… it destroyed them. Four are gone. The next two I sent—stronger ones—also didn’t return.”

Brick swallowed hard. “Wait, destroyed ? Aren’t they immortal? Don’t they just regenerate in the pits?”

“They should.” HIM stood again, the chair vanishing with a snap. “You’ve seen it in training. They lose a fight, they vanish, and after a few days or weeks, they’re back. But these ones—nothing. Whatever did this… it didn’t just kill them. It erased them.”

That old instinct kicked in—the one buried deep from years of training under Eklektos. Brick suddenly wanted to go back to base. He wanted orders. He wanted something that made sense.

Instead, all he had was this.

“If Mojo’s still missing,” HIM said, their voice quieter, “he’s probably dead.”

The words cut deep. For all his frustrations with Mojo, for all the fights and tension… that wasn’t something Brick wanted to believe. Villains didn’t have many friends and family was even more rare, but what they’d had with Mojo—whatever had created them —he was their ‘pops’. Like it or not..

Brick clenched his fists again. “So what do we do? Is there anything you can do?”

HIM gave a humorless chuckle. “No. My energy’s already strained keeping the scouts equipped. Every time I send one out, I lose more of myself.”

“You look like shit,” Brick said bluntly.

They raised a brow. “Well, thank you , darling.”

Brick’s voice lowered. “This thing… what does it look like?”

“Moves like liquid. Hits like a solid. That’s the best description I’ve got.” They shrugged. “No credible sightings. No survivors.”

Brick cursed under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. “That’s real fucking helpful.”

“Do the girls know anything?” HIM asked, watching him carefully now.

Brick hesitated, then nodded. “I told them. Asked them to help. They found a collapsed door in the observatory. Some old blueprints of the park show sewer lines leading from there. We’re checking it out tomorrow.”

There was a pause, and for once, HIM didn’t flinch at the mention of the girls.

Instead, they nodded slowly. “Good. If there’s anything… it’ll be underground.”

“You think it’s hiding?”

“No. I think it’s watching.”

They didn’t elaborate, and Brick didn’t press.

Both of them stood still on the rooftop, the city humming quietly around them, the wind carrying faint music from someone’s car stereo far below.

Whatever was coming—they’d need more than tricks, blueprints, and teenage resolve.

They’d need a miracle.

“This thing will kill you if you get too close. It’ll kill those girls.”

It was the first time since he started this goddamn hunt that Brick felt something squirm down in his chest. Guilt, maybe. Or dread—something cold and wet that soaked through his ribs and down into his bones.

He hadn’t thought about that possibility. Not really.

“I’ll get them to drop it,” he said quietly, jaw tight. “But I’ll find this thing. And I’ll destroy it.”

HIM gave a long, disapproving tsk and slid their tiny sunglasses back onto their face, the lenses catching the starlight. “I’m telling you to stay away from it.”

They turned as if the conversation were already done, taking a few floating steps into the night. Brick surged forward before he could stop himself.

“Where are you going?”

Their smile was tired—devious only in habit now, worn at the edges. “Seems you get to have your little breakup sooner than expected.” HIM lowered the side of their frames to give a wink, but even that small motion looked strained. “Kisses. Tell the boys I’m thinking about them.”

And then their tone shifted, voice low and flat as the clouds above them: “I mean it. Don’t go looking for that thing.”

In a curl of crimson smoke, they vanished.

Brick stood there with his fists clenched and his heart hammering in his chest, trying to parse what the hell that had meant—breakup?—when two streaks of light tore through the sky. Pink and blue, sharp as razors.

The air warped with their arrival. Blossom hovered just above the roofline, arms folded, looking down at him with narrowed eyes. Bubbles landed behind her, her expression more worried than wary.

“You okay?” Bubbles asked, voice soft but alert.

He must’ve looked strange—shellshocked, maybe. Frozen in place. He hadn’t even heard them coming.

When they were kids, fighting the girls had been like a game. He could throw punches at them and not think twice. Now? Now the idea of dragging them into something that might kill them made his gut twist in ways he didn’t want to think about.

His eyes flicked up—and, shit, they were in uniform. Actual full gear. Skin-tight, utilitarian, and way too damn grown-up. Blossom floated a little higher, hair rippling in the wind, her body strong and defined in ways he’d never noticed before. Bubbles was no different—still sweet-faced, sure, but there was no mistaking the power she carried now.

He looked away, blinking hard. Get it together.

“Was that HIM?” Blossom asked, voice steady but sharp.

The name snapped his attention back.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly.

The girls exchanged a glance. Blossom dropped a little closer, scrutinizing him. “Well?”

He hesitated, then answered flatly, “They don’t know where Mojo is.”

Blossom frowned, tapping her chin. “Okay. We’ll keep with tomorrow’s search—”

“I can take it from here.” His voice turned colder. “Thanks for your help.”

Blossom landed square in front of him, hands on her hips. “I’m sorry—what?”

“I said, I can handle it. I don’t need your help anymore.” He started to move past her.

But Bubbles darted around to block him. “Excuse you,” she muttered.

He narrowed his eyes. He could bolt, sure—but two-on-one wasn’t great odds. Not with them.

“You can go back to protecting Townsville,” he added, more bite in his voice now. “I’ve got the Mojo situation under control.”

Blossom scoffed, her tone snapping like a whip. “Then where is he?”

He jabbed a finger in her face. “Drop it, Red.”

She slapped his hand away. “No. This is bigger than Mojo, and you know it.”

He stepped in, she stepped in too. Red and pink crackled in the space between them, the glow from their powers pulsing like heat lightning across the roof. The pressure built fast—one spark away from detonation.

“This is your last warning,” he growled. “Drop it.”

A hand gripped Blossom’s arm. Neither flinched, but both glanced—Bubbles.

Her blue eyes were hard. “I’m helping Boomer tomorrow. You’re welcome to join us. Or not.”

Blossom exhaled, visibly reining herself in. She didn’t unclench fully, but her stance shifted. Her hand dropped to rest over Bubbles’ and slowly, the glow died down.

Brick took a step back. He looked at Bubbles now—more irritated than grateful—but her presence had stopped something worse.

She was nervous, he could tell. Maybe she thought he’d lash out. But the truth was, he didn’t want to fight Blossom. Not really. Not like this.

Still, the guilt gnawed at him. If this thing was killing enhanced demons—if Mojo was dead —then dragging the girls into this made them responsible. It was on them.

He crossed his arms, straightening his spine. Blossom mirrored him, her chin lifting just slightly, nose scrunching in subtle defiance.

The silence between them was sharp and heavy, like glass waiting to shatter.

Finally, Blossom asked, “Did HIM say what Mojo was working on?”

Brick grunted, “Yeah.”

She waited.

When he didn’t elaborate, she added carefully, “We need to know what it is. HIM won’t tell me.” She paused—then, swallowing her pride, said, “Please.”

Brick rolled his eyes and motioned vaguely with his hands, like he was trying to shape something invisible out of air. “They don’t know. Something escaped. Mojo found it—or part of it—and they were trying to figure out what it was. You saw the lab.”

Blossom nodded slowly, signaling him to keep going.

With a heavy sigh, Brick continued, “They said it’s killing people. Killing demons. ”

That landed like a weight between them.

Blossom and Bubbles exchanged a look—tight, knowing. Demons didn’t die. They could be beaten, banished, but not killed . If even HIM’s scouts weren’t coming back… this wasn’t just bad. It was something else entirely.

Brick shoved his hands deep into his pockets, brow furrowed. “You still planning on not listening to me, Red?”

Blossom looked back at him, unwavering. “No,” she said. “I’m afraid not.”

He clenched his jaw. One more shot. “You and your sisters could die. No amount of Chemical X is gonna fix that.”

Blossom turned slightly to Bubbles. Her sister's eyes shimmered with unfallen tears, her lips pressed tight—but she nodded. Steadfast.

Looking back to Brick, Blossom said quietly, “We know what we signed up for.”

Brick exhaled a dry, humorless laugh. “You’re probably the dumbest girls I know.”

He turned away, took a few steps toward the edge of the observatory, and crouched. For a moment, he paused like he might say something else—but then launched into the sky. The red streak of his flight faded quickly against the stars.

Silence followed. A different kind this time.

Bubbles looked down at her feet, her voice barely a whisper. “Do you think we might actually die?”

She didn’t mean it dramatically. She meant it plainly. Honestly. She'd already come too close once—and now this felt different.

Blossom stepped beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We haven’t yet, have we?”

Bubbles looked up, startled by the confidence in her sister’s voice—and by the faint smile curling at the corners of her mouth.

“No…” she admitted, tentatively smiling back.

“Well, I don’t plan on starting now.”

Moonlight washed over Blossom, casting a soft glow along her silhouette. Bubbles admired the calm radiating from her—the steadiness she always managed to summon when things felt their worst. She knew Blossom was scared too. Deep down, they all were. But hearing someone say it— really say it—that was more terrifying than any battle they'd faced.

Especially coming from Brick.

Blossom’s phone buzzed with a soft chime. She pulled it from her pocket, silencing the reminder with a swipe.

“That’s our cue. Let’s head home, grab the cake and the supplies. Movie should be wrapping up soon.”

With nothing else said, the two girls lifted off from the rooftop, disappearing into the sky. Neither of them looked back.

Not tonight.

  Chapter 15

Friday Night - Poky Oaks Town Center 

“Did you see when they all popped up at the end to drag him away? That part was so cool!”

“I totally knew he was an alien the whole time. I bet in the sequel he turns out to be a witch or something.”

“Uh, no? He was dragged back to become a superhero. Did we even watch the same movie?”

“He had sparkles coming out of his fingers and wore a silly hat! That makes him a witch!” Samson shoved Mitch playfully as they exited the theater, but Mitch yanked him into a headlock, leaving Samson flailing his arms around.

“I don’t care what you say, dude—he’s not a witch.”

As the rest of the group filed out behind them, Mike rolled his eyes and glanced at Boomer with a smirk. “I swear those two were married in another life.”

Robin leaned on Mike’s other side, watching Mitch and Samson roughhouse with a satisfied smile. “Tonight was awesome,” she said, her voice light with happiness. She looked completely relaxed, her birthday going just about perfectly—well, except for Pablo not being there, but she knew he’d be happy she had a good time.

Buttercup folded her arms and arched a brow. “I’m shocked these dorks aren’t on the ground yet.”

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Mitch’s foot slipped off the curb, sending both boys tumbling into the fire lane. They scrambled upright, brushing themselves off while flinging more sarcastic jabs at each other.

Robin leaned over toward Buttercup. “You still good to take me home?”

Before Buttercup could respond, Mary stepped forward. “You can’t go home before we get a group photo!” She laughed brightly. Boomer tensed beside her. As much as he liked everyone, he didn’t want to come off like he was forcing himself into their group.

“I think I—”

Without giving him a chance to escape, Mary looped her arms through his and Robin’s.

“We all look so cute tonight—it’d be criminal not to document it.” She gave Boomer a wink and started tugging them toward the small pavilion near the center of the shopping complex. He glanced back at Mike for help, but Mike only pointed ahead knowingly.

“Blossom, hurry! I can hear them coming!” Bubbles whispered urgently.

The soft glow of overhead string lights lit the gazebo. A few teenagers lingered under a tree wrapped in Christmas lights nearby, and an older couple sat at a table eating takeout in the distance. But the central stage belonged to them.

Blossom crouched over the cake. “I’m going, I’m going—quiet!” She struck a match and carefully lit each candle. They’d gone with ten instead of seventeen. Too many candles would risk a Mitch-style joke about the place going up in flames.

“Perfect,” she breathed, stepping back to admire the display. Bubbles had done all the baking and most of the decoration, but Blossom had helped with the frosting roses, and she was proud of how they turned out.

Mike, Mitch, Samson, and Buttercup ran ahead, taking the steps up to the gazebo two at a time.

“That looks good!” Samson reached for a swipe of frosting.

Bubbles quickly twisted away, holding the cake out of reach while sticking her foot out to block him. “Don’t you dare!”

Buttercup grabbed the back of Samson’s jeans and hoisted him over to Mitch, then dusted off her hands with a stern look. He pouted but didn’t try again.

Meanwhile, Mary had pulled Robin and Boomer aside to take a selfie by one of the lit trees, giving the others time to set up. Boomer had his hands shoved deep into his pockets, gaze flicking up as he noticed Blossom and Bubbles had joined the others up ahead.

He stepped up onto the stage just as Mary pulled Robin forward. Everyone shouted in unison, “Happy birthday, Robin!”

Robin clapped her hands to her mouth, beaming wide. “Oh my gosh, you guys!” She ran the last few steps to the cake. “Awww, who made this?”

“I did!” Bubbles said proudly.

Blossom added, “And I helped decorate!”

Mitch leaned over to Mike and muttered through clenched teeth, “Thank god.”

Mike snorted, elbowing him gently. “Shhh.” But from the sharp tilt of Blossom’s head, they knew she’d heard.

Robin leaned forward and blew out the candles—almost all of them. Mary teased her for the one stubborn flame, but Blossom already had paper plates and forks ready. Buttercup took over cake-cutting duties, slicing neat pieces while the click of Mary’s phone camera buzzed in the background.

Soon, the group had settled around the stage. Mike and Bubbles sat cross-legged while Samson was sprawled out dramatically across the floor, groaning happily.

“That was great...” he sighed, hand resting on his stomach.

Blossom stood beside Robin and nudged him with the toe of her shoe. “Don’t fall asleep. I’m not flying you home.”

He waved a hand lazily. “Aww, please? I’ve never flown before.”

“Nah, man, I’ve actually been thinking about my woodshop project,” Mitch said, holding out his phone to show Boomer a picture. “I wanna try building a new skateboard.”

“How’d that one turn out?”

Buttercup snorted. “Real great—until he tried to do a kickflip and snapped the board in half.”

Mitch scowled. “I didn’t see you doing any better, Butterbutt.”

Boomer stifled a laugh as Buttercup flushed. “Eat shit, dipwad,” she snapped, flipping him off.

“Language,” Blossom muttered with a sigh. Buttercup crossed her arms and glared. Mitch only gave her a double middle finger and a smug smile. Boomer figured this was just how they operated—friendly in their own chaotic way.

Mary stood and brushed off her skirt. “Okay! Before we get kicked out, group photo time.”

Boomer stepped toward her. “I can take it if you want—”

“You’re in it,” she cut in gently, offering him a small smile. “I’ve got a device for the phone.”

He watched as she pulled a flexible tripod from her purse and secured it around one of the support beams, sliding her phone into the holder.

“Boomer, come stand with me!” Bubbles called out, waving him over.

“Sure,” he said, moving to her side. She wrapped one arm around his back and the other around Robin’s waist. He tried not to look too stiff, focusing on the camera.

Mary knelt in front with Mike, while Samson lay dramatically across the floor again. Buttercup leaned casually against Boomer’s other shoulder with an air of practiced indifference. Mitch slung an arm around Robin, and Blossom threw up a peace sign next to him.

“Ready? Say ‘guava!’”

The shutter went off at least a dozen times.

Chapter 16

 Friday Night- Home of the Rowdyruff Boys

Walking into the house, Boomer tossed his keys into the bowl by the door. The sound of the TV filtered in from the living room, drawing him toward it. Butch was sprawled across the couch, lazily scrolling through his phone and barely acknowledging Boomer’s presence.

"Where’s Brick?" Boomer asked, though his tone was more out of habit than concern—he really wasn’t in the mood to deal with their other brother.

Butch just shrugged without looking up. “I came in, he wasn’t home. I’m not his keeper.”

Shooting an unamused glance in his brother’s direction, Boomer turned to head upstairs. Butch's voice stopped him.

"Hey."

Butch was sitting up now, his elbows resting on his knees. “I found out some shit for tomorrow. You wanna hear?”

Boomer narrowed his eyes suspiciously, slowly walking back toward the living room. “Okay…?” He dropped onto the overstuffed armchair, cocking an eyebrow. “Alright, lay it on me.”

Grinning, Butch leaned in. “Did you know Townsville used to be below sea level? Like, a long time ago?”

Boomer squinted. “Uh, I mean… I guess that makes sense with global warming—”

“Nah, man,” Butch cut him off. “Before that. Way before.”

Boomer blinked. “Are you saying the sewers are—?”

“Not the sewers,” Butch interrupted again. “Well, not just the sewers. That’d be a last resort.”

Now Butch had his full attention. Boomer leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Go on.”

“When the ocean started rising, people didn’t wanna abandon the city. So they built up. Made taller buildings, raised the streets a few stories. But the city tried to charge everyone to rebuild sidewalks and change addresses, so the locals just said ‘screw that’ and kept using the old lower streets for deliveries and access.”

Boomer gave a skeptical nod, not entirely sure where this was going.

“But then muggings and murders started happening down there. The city finally paid to seal it all off and raise everything. That underground stuff? Still there. Some of it, anyway.”

Boomer held up a hand. “Wait—‘some of it’?”

Butch leaned back smugly. “Exactly. Some tunnels collapsed, some flooded. But some are still accessible. Shady businesses kept using them even after the city tried to block 'em off.”

Boomer frowned. “So you’re saying there’s a network of old streets and tunnels still under Townsville?”

Butch nodded. “Yup. And Ace says he’s seen at least three sealed entrances. One’s near the maintenance booth outside city hall. Another’s in the vault of the big bank. And he thinks the third is somewhere in the park’s storm drain system.”

Boomer tilted his head, suspicious. “You seriously trust Ace?”

Butch’s expression sobered. “He’s a good guy and you know it. Plus he looked freaked when I ran into him tonight.”

“…Freaked?”

“Yeah. Said they can’t find Grubber.”

Silence hung between them.

Both of them were thinking the same thing: if Grubber had gone missing like Mojo, then this was bigger than they’d thought.

Boomer finally exhaled, sitting back. “I’ll ask Bubbles if she can get a location for the storm drain entrance. Probably more low-key than busting into a bank vault.”

He pulled out his phone, but Butch snatched it before he could type anything.

“You have one of their numbers!? Oh, this is perfect.” His thumbs flew across the screen.

Boomer’s eyes widened. “Don’t you dare—!”

Too late. Boomer lunged, and the two of them toppled over the coffee table with a thud. Butch laughed maniacally as he shoved Boomer’s face into the carpet.

“I just wanna have a little fun!”

“You’re such a dick!” Boomer grappled with him and managed to grab his ankle, yanking him off balance.

Butch rolled onto his back and tossed the phone back with a smirk. “Too late.”

Boomer scrambled to check the damage.

hey baby ;) lets meet up and "explore" before everyone gets there ;) ;)

Groaning, he buried his face in his hands. “You’re such a jackass.”

A moment later, the phone dinged.

lol very funny butch
whats up?

Boomer sighed in relief and glared over at his brother. “She knew it was you, asshole.”

Butch shrugged. “Maybe I wanted her to know.”

Boomer rolled his eyes and sent a new text.

sorry hes an ass
uh can you find out if there is an underground entrance in the park?
locations are private but its public knowledge

The reply came back quickly.

underground? sure let me reach out to someone
tonight was fun btw! i'll message you tomorrow!

Boomer slipped the phone back into his pocket, shooting Butch another glare. “You’re a dick.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Butch muttered, settling into the couch with a contented sigh.

Boomer was just reaching for the remote when the sound of footsteps made both boys glance toward the hallway.

Brick stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“I talked to HIM tonight.”

Chapter 17

Saturday Morning - Townsville Police Station  

Pinching the bridge of her nose Chief Miranda Rosa was slumped over a pile of paperwork on her desk. The overnight hadn't been exactly busy but reviewing all the security requested that Norman Blaine had submitted was taking forever. Her assistant chief would be taking things over around 8am and she still had an hour to go.

Lifting the coffee mug to her lips she was met with cold coffee. Again. Pushing the chair away from the table she stood to go nuke her coffee for the third time since 2am, walking past a couple of empty desks she glanced at someone's screensaver which showed the date. They were about to enter the end of the month, that meant it was grind time. Cases needed to be closed, quotas needed to be filled, and she needed to choose a new lieutenant. She was happy that Gideon was expecting his third kid and all but he was moving his family overseas, he couldn't have picked a worse time to do so.

Entering the break room she walked over to the microwave, as she was about to pop the mug in Santiago dumped a box of doughnuts on one of the center tables. "I love the end of the month," he sighed with pleasure before noticing Miranda. "Morning Chief!"

Turning her head slightly, Miranda gave a slight nod of her head, "morning, Santiago." Eyeing her cautiously he grabbed a doughnut out of the box and gave a salute with it as he exited the room. She knew she looked tired but did she really look  that  tired? Popping the mug into the microwave she punched in for a minute thirty and hit start.

While the microwave whirled away she checked her calendar in her cell, she noted she had a skype call with Mr. Blaine's assistant this afternoon and this evening she had a phone call to her sister scheduled. She was wondering if she could move that call but at the same time she really wanted to hear her nephew's voice. Sometimes she regretted staying on the West coast instead of moving with her sister and her family to Boston.

A quiet knock on the doorframe brought her out of her train of thought, "uh, Chief Rosa?" Turning around Miranda saw the little blonde Powerpuff standing in the doorway holding two large cups of coffee. "The lady at the front desk said you were still working so I was wondering if I could ask a question…?" Her voice hovered on the air of uncertainty in the woman's presence.

"Sure, that should be fine."

Miranda slid her phone into her back pocket, perking up Bubbles walked quickly over the room and with gusto put out her hand with one of the large coffees, "here! I didn't know if you would want coffee or-" she was suddenly interrupted by the beeping of the microwave behind the chief.

With a tired smile Miranda took the cup into her hands, "thanks."

Opening the microwave she picked up the mug and dumped its contents into the sink, the old coffee smelled burnt anyways by this point. "Let's go speak in my office."

Walking down the corridor and into the large room with all the desks lined up Miranda took a gulp of the black coffee, not even minding the singeing of her tongue, with satisfaction she lowered the cup from her lips and glanced at the small girl by her side. The older the chief got the more she didn't understand why kids dressed the way they did.

Although she knew Bubbles was in high school the long pigtails paired with a set of baggy and cuffed shorteralls and an oversized bomber made her look younger. As if she could feel the chief studying her Bubbles self consciously pushed her hair behind her ears, "sorry I'm not more dressed up, I have to go to the animal shelter after this."

Opening the door to the messy office Miranda let Bubbles enter before closing the door behind them, "please, take a seat." Bubbles scooted over to one of the empty chairs in front of the desk and plopped herself down. Miranda began moving a few papers around before she sat down herself. With her dress shirt sleeves rolled up and a coffee stain on the collar Miranda knew she looked a mess, her normally neat ponytail was askew, baby hairs poking out around the chief's ears and forehead.

Folding her hands on the desk she leaned forward, "what can I do for you?"

Nervously Bubbles started twirling the end of one of her pigtails, "ah, this is going to sound weird but I know there is a tunnel entrance to the underground part of the city," already the chief had her brows raised but she would let her finish.

"And we really need to get down there, we know of a couple other entrances but we really want to get through one that isn't super exposed…"

Miranda sat up and took another sip of coffee, "uh-huh… you know that is incredibly dangerous. Those tunnels are closed for a good reason."

Bubbles looked sheepish but didn't let her eyes leave the chief's face, both her hands grasping her own coffee cup like it was her touchstone. "Please, Chief Rosa, we know it's dangerous but-"

Interjecting Miranda was stern, "it's dangerous, I can't let you girls do whatever you want because you're superheroes."

"But-" Bubbles didn't get a moment to finish.

"It is my duty to keep the citizens safe, you girls are included in that."

"But we think someone is down there!" Leaping up from her seat, Bubbles was tenacious in this need.

Perhaps she said the right thing because the chief was quiet for a moment, "please sit." Bubbles didn't let the determined expression leave her face, now that it was there she needed to lock it in. Sighing, Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose for the second time that morning, her eyes closed, "who do you think is down there?"

With boosted confidence Bubbles knew she had to be truthful, "Mojo Jojo."

This gave Miranda pause, it was true she hadn't seen any of his shenanigans in a few weeks, but she had written it off to him being away. The fact they let a criminal like that run around was beyond her, but he had saved the city numerous times. The tiredness was back on Miranda's face as she looked at Bubbles, "how do you know he isn't on vacation? Or maybe he moved?"

She hadn't been expecting to have to explain  everything  , but she knew she had to give more so she could get more. "The Rowdyruff Boys asked my sisters and I for help. We went to his lab and it's all topsy turvy."

Clicking on the mouse on her desk Miranda woke her computer up and clicked on the archive the Townsville PD had set up with every known villain, Bubbles was silent as the chief typed away on her keyboard. Without a doubt she knew the boys were in there. She was watching Miranda's eyes flick over the files on the monitor, Bubbles felt a pit grow in her stomach, she didn't want to betray Boomer. They were kind of friends now.

"So, these boys that tried to kill you are asking you to find one of their  buddies  and you think he might be under the city?" She sounded as skeptical as she looked, furrowing her brow slightly.

Bubbles chirped, "they haven't tried to kill us in a long time. Plus they’ve been with Eklektos for awhile now. Their entire board and even General Ashraf have said they are clear to be in society."

"You don't think these boys will try to kill you again? It says they are your counterparts, why aren't they off saving the city?" Miranda wanted to punch as many holes in this story as she could. If she let those girls go down there and the boys murdered them it would be her fault.

Huffing Bubbles was getting tired of that, "because they're my friends." Miranda raised an eyebrow in disbelief, "and! And it's not their job! They paid for their crimes, we go to school with them, they really, really need our help." That emotional side was beginning to control her again, her eyes began to get watery, "we have to help them find Mojo." Bubbles' lower lip began trembling.

Sitting back in her chair, Miranda just stared at the monitor with the three boys’ faces pulled up. One was gap-toothed and had a bloody nose. Another wore a backwards cap and sported a split lip with the most stubborn look she’d ever seen on a child. The last one bore a black eye and looked like he’d burn the whole city down if given the chance.

She clicked back to the files on Mojo Jojo, bringing up a long list of criminal activity—attempted world domination, mind control plots, several charges of illegal experimentation—and then, almost in contradiction, half a dozen commendations buried in the margins of those same reports. Times where, in his own way, Mojo had stepped in to help save Townsville. A meteor incident. A rogue AI that went haywire in the city mainframe. One time he even coordinated with the girls to stop a dimension breach. Miranda remembered the coverage. No one ever liked admitting it, but the monkey had helped. More than once.

“Still,” she muttered to herself, rubbing her temple.

Clicking through the boys' files again, she skimmed their recent activity. Noise complaints signed off by Eklektos. A few public disturbances. Nothing violent. Nothing criminal. In the last year and a half, the Rowdyruff Boys had actually done what they’d said they would—kept their noses clean, just like she and the city had been promised.

Miranda closed the files, took another swig of coffee, and looked at Bubbles over the rim of the cup.

“If they put one pinky toe out of line, I’m coming for all of you.”

Her voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the seriousness behind it.

“You are to report back to me no later than 24 hours after your return. Do I make myself clear?”

Bubbles blinked. The weight of the moment hit her all at once. She wasn’t the leader. She wasn't the one who usually made the big calls. This would directly affect her sisters, and if anything went wrong, it’d be on her.

But she trusted Boomer.

Standing up straight, she offered her hand across the desk. “Crystal clear, ma’am.”

Miranda eyed her, then slowly stood and shook her hand. “Good.” She pulled open a drawer and scrawled the location onto a sticky note. “This will get you into one of the least exposed entrances. Bring a flashlight. You won’t be able to see your own nose down there.”

Chapter 18

Saturday Afternoon - Townsville Center Park  

The sun was high that afternoon, but the lingering chill in the breeze gave the whole park a raw edge. Bubbles turned her head as the wind swept through, the scent of rain close behind it. It would probably drizzle by nightfall.

Buttercup sat on the grass next to her, arms crossed and still stewing—not just over the news of her team losing the game on a technicality, but now over the update Bubbles had given them. The chief’s conditions. Her exact words. The whole twenty-four hour clock. Buttercup hadn’t said much at the time, but the scowl on her face was answer enough.

Blossom hung up her phone and walked over, her expression all business.

“I told the Professor we’ll be careful and home as soon as we can,” she said, planting her hands on her hips. She looked pointedly at Bubbles. “I’m sure the boys will be fine, but just in case… let’s not tell them about the chief’s ultimatum. Not yet.”

She sighed, then shook her head. “I still wish you’d let me talk to her.”

Bubbles pouted, mumbling into the collar of her jacket, “It would’ve been the same and you know it.”

Blossom didn’t answer right away. She stood awkwardly with her hands shoved into her pockets—an unusual sight for someone such as herself. She was wearing jeans for maybe the first time in months, a soft sweater pulled over her head that was already starting to collect fuzz at the sleeves. She kept fiddling with her ponytail, tying and untying the ribbon until it sat just right.

Bubbles and Buttercup exchanged a look. They knew the signs. Blossom was uncomfortable—too many unknowns, too little control.

Standing with a dramatic sigh, Buttercup dusted off her joggers and stretched. “They are so incredibly slow,” she muttered. She’d come straight from the field after her game, and she still looked like she was ready to yell at a referee. Or someone else. Encouragingly, of course. Maybe.

The girls had already gone through the checklist: sneakers double-knotted, mini flashlights with fresh batteries, extra gloves stuffed in Blossom’s backpack. Robin had their location and the agreed five-hour window to check in. Now all that was left was waiting.

Bubbles leaned back on her elbows. “Think they bailed?”

“Boomer wouldn’t,” Buttercup replied without thinking. Then blinked. “I mean… probably. Not.”

Bubbles smirked.

It was Brick who spotted them first—Blossom’s unmistakable red bow standing out even beneath the overcast sky. He pointed down, and the three boys began their descent. Their landing wasn’t exactly graceful, but they didn’t stop moving either.

Brick adjusted his backwards cap as he came to a stop in front of Blossom, his eyes flicking over her briefly. She looked different today—normal. Almost.

“Sorry for the wait,” he said, arms crossed. “Got a bit held up.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t press.

The boys were dressed as casually as the girls—athletic gear, torn jeans, faded shirts. No one was here to impress anybody. It was The Powerpuff Girls and The Rowdyruff Boys, not a meet-cute in a park. They were about to go digging around under the city for a missing monkey villain. Nothing about this was cute.

Boomer hovered near Bubbles, giving her a small smile. She returned it before glancing toward the entrance of the large drainage tunnel just beyond the tree line.

Butch kicked at a rock by his shoe. “So. Ready to go monster hunting?”

Blossom squared her shoulders and nodded once. “Let’s keep the jokes to a minimum until we’re inside. We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

“Copy that, Red.” Brick followed her gaze toward the entrance.

Boomer offered a friendly smile and a small wave. Bubbles returned it without hesitation, her expression brightening—while Buttercup gave only the barest nod in response. Boomer didn’t take it personally. After a week of orbiting her social circle, he was pretty sure Buttercup’s default mode was somewhere between unimpressed and mildly annoyed. Probably even extended to her sisters.

Surprisingly, Butch didn’t say a word. He didn’t even glance their way, too busy eyeing the trees and benches nearby, like he was assessing every possible threat or escape route. Brick, on the other hand, turned directly to Bubbles.

“You know where we’re headed?”

She nodded. “Mmhmm. Boomer has the layout, though.”

At the cue, Boomer reached into his back pocket and pulled out the folded paper they’d marked up the night before. The group leaned in around him as he unfolded it. Bubbles scanned the layout, her finger hovering over the page before she tapped a point.

“Here,” she said, pressing lightly on the southeast corner of the map. “There’s a maintenance hatch. It should lead into a corridor with a locked door at the end.”

Brick leaned over her shoulder, squinting at the spot. “That’s a weird place to stick an entrance.”

“Told you why already,” Butch muttered. “People didn’t wanna pay to rebuild. They just stacked a new street grid on top of the old one. Some of the old city’s still down there.”

Brick took the map from Boomer, folded it back up, and stuffed it into his own pocket without comment.

“You’re welcome,” Butch added, dry.

Brick just shot him a look. “I try not to listen when you start storytelling.”

Butch looked personally offended. “Maybe you’d learn something if you did, man.”

Boomer snorted behind his hand, failing to look innocent.

With a sigh, Brick planted his hands on his hips and turned a slow circle, scanning their surroundings. “Alright. Let’s move.”

They were already near the park’s center, so the walk to the southeast edge wasn’t far. But with six teenagers moving together—three of them instantly recognizable—the idea of being inconspicuous was laughable. Still, they kept their pace casual, eyes down, no flying. Just a bunch of too-cool-for-you kids cutting through the park like they weren’t about to descend into the buried bones of a city.

They barely made it halfway through their route before the group started getting pulled in every direction.

Blossom was stopped by two little girls with matching red bows, their dad snapping a photo as they beamed beside her. Buttercup got cornered by a handful of kids from the Boys & Girls Club she’d visited over the summer, and despite her usual too-cool attitude, she stuck around to ask about their games. Meanwhile, Bubbles was surrounded by dog walkers eager to show off the rescues she’d helped them adopt. She knelt for selfies with a golden retriever practically bouncing out of its raincoat.

To say traveling anywhere with the girls was eventful was an understatement.

By the time they regrouped, Bubbles jogged up beside Boomer, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. “I really hope we don’t get stopped again. It’s just—” she exhaled, “—so hard to say no when they’re that excited.”

Butch gave her a deadpan look. “If you guys actually said no , this whole walk would've taken twenty minutes.”

“We can’t just ignore people,” Blossom said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Yeah, well, now they know we’re with you ,” Brick added flatly.

Bubbles turned toward Boomer, confused. “Why does that even matter?”

Boomer shrugged. “I mean, I’m cool with it.”

Butch groaned dramatically. “We have a reputation . Being seen with the Powerpuffs? Voluntarily? That’s a PR disaster.”

Blossom raised an eyebrow at Brick, walking beside him now. “You don’t mind being seen with me at academic competitions.”

“That’s different,” he muttered. “That’s for school.”

Grumbling, Brick veered off the paved path and into a patch of overgrown trees, the rest of them following behind. The trickle of water reached their ears before they even saw it.

The small creek was narrow and quiet, winding through the park before disappearing under a few more city blocks and feeding into the western river. The storm drain they were aiming for sat just above the waterline—embedded into the concrete wall like the yawning mouth of something ancient and forgotten. It was sunken, about six feet below the ledge, and slick with runoff. If they’d been ordinary humans, they’d have needed to shimmy down the rocks or grab at the exposed roots just to reach the base.

Instead, they hovered.

The water below moved lazily across scattered stones before disappearing into the massive drain. It wasn’t a welcoming sight.

Butch clamped a hand over his nose and winced. “Ugh. Please tell me it’s not gonna smell like this the whole way down.”

Buttercup floated in beside him and waved a hand in front of her face. “Pee-yew. This is gross, Bloss.”

Blossom wrinkled her nose as she landed just inside the mouth of the tunnel, flicking on a slim flashlight. The beam caught the curve of the old storm drain—slick walls, slow drips from the ceiling, and the faint stench of something festering. She fought the overwhelming urge to turn around and leave.

A hand pressed lightly against her lower back, nudging her forward.

“C’mon, Red. We’re wasting time.”

Brick. Still behind her, still pressing. Her face flushed. She immediately shooed his hand away and stepped in deeper, pinching her nose with her free hand. The rest followed. Bubbles held tight to Buttercup’s hand, trailing just behind her, while Boomer brought up the rear, keeping a casual but careful watch.

They moved slowly, cautiously. No one wanted to slip or crack their head on the low ceiling. The only sounds were their footsteps, their breath, and the distant echo of dripping water.

“How far up is the maintenance door?” Brick hissed.

Buttercup gave Bubbles a slight tug to get her attention.

“Just before the metal bars,” Bubbles whispered, “where the tunnel narrows.”

A few minutes more, and Blossom’s voice echoed softly from up ahead. “Found it.”

Everyone bunched closer. Buttercup bumped into Butch, who looked over his shoulder with a smirk.

“Damn, Butterbabe. Buy me dinner first.”

Buttercup raised her hand to smack him, but Bubbles caught it gently, murmuring, “Don’t.”

Grumbling, Buttercup dropped it. For now.

Blossom’s flashlight illuminated the rusted metal door, its hinges crusted with grime.

“It’s locked,” Brick muttered.

Before anyone could respond, Butch shoved past him. “I got it.”

He grabbed the handle, gave it a rough yank and twist—and with a crack of the bolt, the door swung inward and slammed against the wall. The noise echoed like a cannon blast.

Butch just raised his eyebrows at Brick and stepped into the musty corridor beyond. It was slightly wider than the drain, and thankfully taller, but just as dark.

Buttercup and Bubbles turned on their own flashlights. Boomer slipped in after them, and Blossom closed the door behind, the groan of the hinges setting her teeth on edge.

Inside, the air was heavier. Bubbles didn’t realize how tightly she’d latched onto Buttercup’s hand until her sister hissed, “Christ, Bubbles, my hand’s gonna fall off.”

She loosened her grip. The space felt too much like Mojo’s air ducts, and the memory scraped at her nerves.

Blossom gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Just keep the light steady. Stay close.”

She moved forward, joining Brick at the front.

“Stay together,” she called. “We still need to reach the old part of the city.”

Not to be outdone, Brick pointed at both of his brothers. “And don’t fuckin’ touch anything.”

“Language,” Blossom sighed.

Butch blinked. “The fuck?”

Boomer just shook his head.

The girls kept their flashlights aimed low as they moved forward, careful not to blind one another. The walls were streaked with rust, and the floor beneath them was a mix of old brick, cracked concrete, and compacted dirt. The air felt thick and unmoving, like it had been trapped for decades—musty, cold, and damp enough to cling to their lungs. Breathing too deeply made it feel like the smell could settle into their bones.

Rounding a corner, Blossom swept her beam ahead—catching the metallic glint of a door just a few yards away.

Behind her, Buttercup felt Bubbles clutch tighter to her arm. She sighed, not unsympathetically. As much as she hated dragging Bubbles back down into another claustrophobic nightmare, she also couldn’t wrap her head around why her sister—who had literally wrestled mutant sea monsters—was so rattled by the dark.

Brick moved ahead, a few steps in front of Blossom. He expected the door to be locked, but the handle turned with a quiet click . He stopped, glanced back at the group, and held up one finger: wait.

Slowly, he pushed the door open. It was heavy, but it moved along a dirt path worn into the floor over time. He stepped aside, motioning for Blossom to shine the light inside.

The room before them looked like the gutted shell of a store—old crates and splintered barrels stacked in one corner, the skeletal remains of framing and collapsed wooden walls in another. The floor was patchy, uneven, and the whole space smelled like mold and old wood.

She raised a hand and placed it lightly on Brick’s chest, stopping him.

Behind them, Butch and Buttercup fidgeted restlessly, uncomfortable with the tight space. Boomer kept glancing over his shoulder, eyes narrowing into the darkness they’d come from. He knew he’d hear someone coming through that door—but his nerves weren’t so easily convinced.

Bubbles was still clinging to Buttercup, flashlight clenched in her other hand. Her breaths came slow and deliberate. She was trying to hold it together, but every step deeper into this underground maze made her feel like the walls were closing in again.

“Stay here,” Blossom said quietly.

She stepped through the door, flashlight low. Butch leaned toward Brick with a muttered, “What the hel—”

Brick silenced him with a sharp glare. He didn’t like any of this either—but someone had to keep a cool head.

Blossom crept toward the far side of the room, the dim light bouncing off broken beams and warped flooring. She reached the tunnel and peeked around the corner. Above it, small Edison bulbs were strung along the ceiling, all dark. A rusted breaker box stood nearby, the switch still in the “off” position.

She straightened and turned, motioning Brick forward. He stepped inside, but before they could speak, the rest of the group practically tumbled in behind him with a loud thud , brushing themselves off like it hadn’t just echoed through the entire space.

“What did I say?” Brick hissed.

“It’s clear,” Blossom replied, voice level now that she’d assessed the area.

Butch immediately perked up. “What’d you find? There's supposed to be all kinds of cool shit down here.”

“ Language, please,” Blossom snapped, pointing a finger at him.

Collecting herself, she gestured toward the far tunnel. “The lights are all off, no sign of anyone nearby. The floor’s too churned up with brick and dirt to tell if anyone’s been here recently.”

The group lingered in silence for a beat, the faint drip of water echoing from somewhere deeper in the tunnel.

Buttercup released her sister’s hand and stepped up beside Brick, peering at the rusted metal box mounted to the wall. “Looks like a fuse box or some kind of old junction panel.”

Boomer and Bubbles stood next to Blossom, quietly weighing their options—until Butch cut in.

“There’s a bunch of ways in here from old storm drains, but most are super tight. Then we’ve got the two main ones we already knew about.” He gave a lazy shrug when Blossom shot him a curious glance. “What? I can read, y’know. I’m not just a pretty face and a gorgeous bod.” He smirked, flashing a cocky grin her way.

Blossom rolled her eyes. “I’m more impressed you took the initiative to read about this place.”

“Whatever,” he muttered. God forbid anyone believe he actually thought history was interesting. He might not be in AP, but he was pulling decent grades in honors history. He wasn’t an idiot.

Buttercup leaned back against the wall, eyeing the fuse box again. “Hey, Boomer, you can make lightning, right?”

The question caught him off guard, mostly because Buttercup had asked it without sarcasm. “Uh… yeah.”

She gestured at the box with her thumb. “Can you juice that thing? Get the lights on?”

Boomer stepped forward, a little hesitant as he inspected the box. It looked ancient, but some of the wires were intact. He might be able to do something.

Behind him, Butch added, “If the wiring’s still good, those lights should run through most of the tunnels.”

Brick met Blossom’s eyes. “If we light this place up, we’re announcing that we’re here.”

That gave everyone pause.

The two leaders locked eyes, silent, weighing the risk in tandem. After a moment, Brick gave a slight nod to Boomer. “Do it.”

Bubbles glanced between them, half-wondering if they had some sort of silent telepathic link. But more likely, she figured they were just on the same wavelength—leaders making fast calls with a shared instinct. If Blossom hadn’t agreed, she wouldn’t have let Brick say anything.

Boomer brought his hands together, concentrating. Sparks of white and electric blue snapped between his palms, lighting his face with a flickering glow. His eyes burned bright in the dark as he pulled the current into his fingertips.

Gripping the side of the box with one hand and the frayed wire with the other, he braced himself and sent the surge through.

The lights sputtered. A few overhead bulbs sparked weakly, flickering to life, while faint popping sounds echoed deeper in the tunnels as old glass bulbs blew out. A fragile, yellowish glow spread through the corridor—dim but steady.

Boomer stepped back, letting the charge die out of his body. “I don’t know how long that’ll hold.”

“Way to go, Boomer!” Bubbles and Blossom chimed in unison.

Boomer flushed, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.
“Not bad,” Buttercup added with a quick pat on his shoulder as she passed.

Brick motioned the group forward, and they began making their way into the next tunnel. The string lights overhead flickered sporadically, casting warped shadows on the uneven walls.

“Alright,” Blossom called back, lowering her voice slightly, “conserve your flashlights. We don’t know how long the power will hold.”

Buttercup looked at her like she’d just grown a second head. “Why? We’ve got a living, breathing charger right here.” She thumbed toward Boomer, who immediately looked down, awkward and visibly shrinking from the attention.

Blossom didn’t miss a beat. “We shouldn’t rely on our powers too much down here. These tunnels are ancient—one misfire or overload could mess with the whole structure. We don’t know what damage that could cause aboveground.”

Buttercup huffed but didn’t argue. The weight in Blossom’s voice made it clear: this wasn’t just about being cautious—it was about being responsible.

Reluctantly, Bubbles clicked off her flashlight and slid it back into her jacket pocket. Boomer, walking beside her, gave her a quiet thumbs-up. She smiled faintly and returned it without a word.

Buttercup caught the little exchange out of the corner of her eye. Her mouth twitched, but she said nothing, slipping ahead to walk beside Brick as they pushed into the next stretch of forgotten architecture.

“Keep going,” Brick ordered. “We’ll search every room we come across.”

Chapter 19

With a heavy sigh, Buttercup leaned against the cracked stone wall of what might’ve once been the outer wall of a shop. “We’ve been walking around for an hour now and still nothing.”

Blossom shot her a look—not quite a glare, but close. She wasn’t thrilled to be stuck underground either, but she wasn’t about to quit. The air down here was thick and stale, messing with her senses. Every breath felt like it clung to the inside of her lungs. If there was something to find, she didn’t want to risk missing it.

Overhead, the string lights were still flickering—steadier now, but dimmer than before. They hadn’t passed another fuse box, and the idea of backtracking seemed pointless. At this point, they could only go forward.

Clutching her flashlight again, Bubbles moved a little ahead, curiosity tugging her from the group. The tunnel ahead sloped slightly and the ceiling arched higher the farther she went. She paused. Something about the space felt... different.

“Guys?” she called over her shoulder.

She could still hear them moving behind her—talking, shuffling. She raised her voice. “Um, guys? You’re gonna want to see this.”

Brick’s head turned first, surprised she’d wandered more than a few feet away from Boomer or her sisters. She’d been stuck to them like glue the whole time they’d been down here. He followed her voice, rounding the bend.

“What did you fi—” He stopped cold beside her. “...Fuck.”

The tunnel had opened into a large, cavernous chamber, and now the path split in multiple directions. Cracked stone arches framed each exit, and in the center of the space stood a partially buried statue—some old, forgotten monument. A man on a horse, or what was left of one. The hand, half the head, and one of the horse’s legs were missing entirely, as though time had taken bite after bite.

Whatever this place used to be, it wasn’t just a maintenance route. It meant something.

Brick and Bubbles stepped forward in tandem, their boots scraping over old brick and scattered debris. A few of the overhead bulbs still worked, casting dim golden pools of light, but every tunnel leading out was pitch black.

Bubbles raised her flashlight and swept the beam around the room—slowly, methodically. Broken barrels. Crates. Moldy paper. Dust.

Then the light passed over a splintered crate—and Brick’s hand shot up. “Stop.”

She froze the beam, holding steady as he moved toward it. Something about this one was different. It wasn’t just a pile of junk. A swath of discolored tarp had been draped over it, almost like a makeshift tent. Cloth scraps were folded and bunched like they’d once been arranged for shelter.

Carefully, Brick leaned over and lifted part of the tarp. Dust billowed out, and something small clattered free. It glinted faintly as it rolled.

Both of them watched it settle in the dirt.

Wordlessly, Brick bent down and picked it up—brushing it off, holding it up to the light. Swirls of soft lavender and gray wrapped around a creamy white base.

He didn’t need to say it. Bubbles already recognized what it was.

A piece of Mojo’s helmet.

Locking eyes, Brick and Bubbles knew exactly what they were looking at. They backed away from the makeshift shelter just as the others started filing into the room.

“Shit, you gotta be kidding me,” Buttercup muttered, taking in the large chamber. Blossom hissed at her, again, for the language—but Boomer and Butch were already echoing the sentiment.

“Shit,” Butch repeated under his breath.

Bubbles waved them over. “Guys, we found something,” she called—quiet but urgent. Confirming Mojo had been here was one thing. Confirming he still was? That was another.

As Blossom approached, Brick handed her the piece of shattered glass. She turned it over carefully in her hands, the grim look settling over her face. “Mojo was definitely here.”

The Rowdyruffs already looked strained, but Brick squared his shoulders. “We need to keep going.”

Blossom caught his arm, firm but not aggressive. “Wait.”

He turned to her quickly—too quickly—and for a split second, the intensity in his eyes made her falter. But she held on.

“We don’t know how long this has been here. Dust settles fast down here. We need a plan before we start diving into random tunnels.”

There was a beat of silence as they locked eyes, the way leaders do when decisions feel heavier than they want to admit. Finally, Blossom let go and Brick crossed his arms, waiting.

“So what do you suggest?” he asked.

Biting her lip, Blossom turned on her flashlight again, sweeping it across the multiple tunnel mouths that branched from the chamber. The darkness swallowed the beam after only a few yards. There were too many tunnels, too many unknowns. Splitting up was a risk—but leaving any path unchecked would haunt her later. Especially if Mojo wasn’t found.

She rejoined the group with a deep breath. “We split into pairs and take one tunnel each. Walk for thirty minutes, then turn around and come back. Meet here in an hour. After that, we can divide into two groups to search the last couple.”

Bubbles clenched her jaw, heart pounding. The only reason she’d gotten this far was the size of the group—she felt safe like this. Breaking up into pairs suddenly made everything feel vulnerable again. What if something happened to one of her sisters? Or to the boys?

“Well,” Butch spoke up, catching everyone’s attention. Blossom blinked, a little surprised. “We’re pretty much under the center of town already. That means one of these should lead to the maintenance room, and the old bank entrance won’t be far off. We might not even have to backtrack.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Some of these tunnels collapsed years ago, though. We might hit blocked paths.”

Blossom raised an eyebrow, uncertain. “Okay… fair enough.”

Boomer chimed in, nodding toward Butch. “He actually read up on all this. I trust him.”
Butch tried not to look pleased. Failed. Jammed his hands into his pockets.

Brick pointed between Butch and Buttercup. “You two are not pairing up. You’ll collapse half the tunnels with all that ego.”

Buttercup snorted. “Fine by me.”

“Same,” Butch muttered. He had no interest in being alone with his counterpart either.

Blossom sighed, rubbing the tension from her temple. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Brick taking the reins like that—but damn it, he wasn’t wrong. Without another word, she cracked her knuckles and strode toward the nearest tunnel. “Let’s go. One of you.”

The boys exchanged glances. Boomer hesitated, then jogged forward with a quiet “Got it,” falling into step beside her.

Butch reached out and gave a casual tug to the back of Bubbles’ jacket, nudging her into motion. She stumbled awkwardly before twisting around to glare at him—but didn’t protest. Deep down, she knew sending Buttercup with him would’ve been a disaster waiting to happen.

“Guess we’ll meet up in an hour,” Butch muttered, walking ahead as Bubbles fell in behind him.

Grumbling under her breath, Buttercup flicked on her flashlight and gave Brick a look. “Which one?”

He pointed silently, and with a scowl, she started walking. Brick followed a few paces behind, their shadows stretching far ahead into the tunnel’s gloom.

It was only going to be an hour.

Just sixty minutes in the dark.

What could go wrong?

Chapter 20

Boomer wasn’t exactly sure why he’d chosen to follow Blossom. Maybe it was because she was the one he knew the least—out of all the girls, he’d spent the least time with her. A few steps ahead of him, her long red ponytail swayed with her movements, and he was surprised to realize how graceful she was. Seeing the girls as regular people was strange—but definitely not unwelcome.

She was someone he might actually be able to talk to about his powers—someone who wasn’t one of his brothers or one of the scientists at Eklektos. Butch and Brick always acted like they had it all figured out, but Boomer had seen them struggle when new things cropped up. The people at Eklektos weren’t much better. The General and his staff monitored every change with a cold, clinical detachment. Helpful wasn’t really in their vocabulary—not when powers didn’t evolve predictably. Half the time, Boomer felt more like an experiment than a person.

Still, he wasn’t about to bring any of that up. Not now. Not yet. Maybe someday. But there was no guarantee this tentative sense of kinship between them would last past Mojo’s recovery.

"You and your brothers must be close to Mojo," Blossom said. Her tone was casual, not quite a question. She kept her flashlight aimed at the ground ahead.

Boomer shrugged, even though she couldn’t see it. “I guess. We were around him a lot more than HIM, especially when we weren’t at Eklektos. Brick’s probably the closest to him out of the three of us. Mojo’s always been there, looked out for us in his own way. But… I don’t know if I’d call him a dad . Not exactly.”

Blossom gave a quiet nod, her tone thoughtful but neutral. “I don’t really know what that’s like. The Professor—he’s always called himself our dad. Calls us his daughters, no hesitation.”

Boomer faltered. That kind of bond—clear and uncomplicated—was something he didn’t have a frame of reference for. “Oh. That’s cool,” he offered lamely. After that, the only sounds were their footsteps echoing along the dirt corridor.

Trying again, Blossom offered, “I saw you at the Christmas concert. You were really good. I didn’t expect to see you switch between so many instruments.”

Even though she couldn’t see it, Boomer lit up. “Thanks,” he said, his voice suddenly warmer. “I just love trying new styles and instruments. It’s kind of addicting.” He laughed a little. “Brick says I make more noise than music, but that’s part of the process, y’know? Experimenting is the whole point. He doesn’t really get that. Sometimes I think he forgets that you can be good at more than just school.”

The second it came out, he regretted it. Really? You just said that to Blossom? She was Brick in so many ways. Smart. Driven. Intense.

But she didn’t seem offended. Instead, she let out a small sigh. “Yeah… I forget that sometimes too. But I am proud of Buttercup and Bubbles. The Professor used to remind me they’re just as capable as I am, just in different ways.” She glanced over her shoulder, a small smile tugging at her mouth.

Boomer moved up to walk beside her, scanning the ground like she was. “I don’t think Buttercup likes me very much,” he admitted. “I’m just hoping she and Brick don’t tear each other apart.”

Blossom let out a dry laugh. “Buttercup gives people a hard time because she doesn’t like getting too close. She has to be the dog with the biggest growl in the room.” Her expression softened with exasperated affection. “People have to push their way into her circle. If they can handle the verbal abuse, she figures they’re not going to up and leave.”

Boomer blinked at that. “I never would've guessed.”

“Don’t tell her I told you,” Blossom warned, but her tone was light. “She’d be furious if she knew I was even talking about her.” A small laugh escaped her. “I bet her ears are burning right now.”

They finally came upon the remains of an old bank. Boomer lit up one hand, casting a soft electric glow across the dusty interior, careful not to touch anything. Curiosity tugged at him.

“So… are you planning to stay in the city as a superhero? Or go to college?”

There was a pause in the dim room. Blossom had been rummaging through a collapsed filing cabinet, but now she’d gone still. Boomer’s face flushed with regret—maybe that was too personal.

The silence lingered in the musty air before Blossom finally spoke. “I want to go away to college. I just haven’t figured out where yet.” She stood up and turned to face him. “But… we can’t leave the city in just anyone’s hands.” She walked toward the tunnel entrance and gave a small nod for him to follow. “Nothing here.”

They stepped back into the corridor and into the next crumbling storefront. Blossom glanced sideways at him. “What about you and your brothers? Do you think you’ll go to college?”

He hesitated. Honestly, they hadn’t had much time to think about life beyond Eklektos. And he knew he’d have to enlist in one of their programs first—something that felt more like a sentence than a stepping stone. But he didn’t want to dump all that on Blossom, so he offered a half-truth instead.

“I want to. We all do, I think.” He paused. “Brick talks about what he’d study, sometimes. Butch brings it up here and there. It’s just not something we’re used to thinking about… long-term.”

They continued down the tunnel until Blossom suddenly slowed. “What’s that?”

Ahead of them, something pale and ridged stood out against the dirt. She quickened her pace and knelt down to examine it, Boomer leaning in over her shoulder. It was off-yellow and slightly curved, with vertical striations—organic, not mechanical. They exchanged a glance.

Blossom cautiously picked it up between her fingers. It was at least three inches long. As she rotated it, the underside flaked slightly—dull, matte, bone-like.

Realization struck. Her whole body recoiled as she flung it away.

“Oh— gross! ”

Startled, Boomer instinctively reached down to help her up by the elbows. “What was that?”

Still visibly repulsed, she shook her hands. “A nail. I’m not sure if it was from a hand or a foot, but I’m positive it was a nail.”

Boomer took a step back, face twisted in disgust. “And you touched it?”

“I didn’t know !” she hissed, brushing herself off. Regaining her composure, she glanced further down the tunnel. “We should keep moving. We probably have about 45 minutes before we need to circle back.”

He nodded, falling in beside her once more.

It didn’t take long before the musty air was overtaken by something far worse.

Boomer gagged, clamping his hand over his nose. “Ugh. That is foul. ”

Blossom’s grimace confirmed his suspicion—but she kept walking. She recognized the scent well enough.

“It’s going to get worse,” she warned. “You can stay here if you want. I don’t mind checking it out alone.”

It wasn’t a challenge—more like an offer. Bubbles had a weak stomach for this sort of thing, and Buttercup wasn’t much better when decay was involved. Blood, slime, and dirt? No problem. But add a corpse and a stench like this?

Forget it.

But Boomer surprised her. “Nah, I’m good,” he said, stepping ahead. “Let’s check it out.”

They crept along the tunnel with their shirts pulled over their noses. The source was obvious: a partially collapsed doorway with a broken crate spilling into the corridor. Half the wall was missing.

“I bet it’s in there,” Boomer said. The smell was too strong to be anywhere else.

“Good thing it’s cold underground,” Blossom murmured. “It shouldn’t be too decayed yet. Or bloated.”

Boomer gave her a side-eye, equal parts alarm and disbelief. “You must watch a lot of true crime shows.”

She gave a small, almost amused smile. “I used to. But you’d be surprised what you run into saving the city.”

It was meant as a light remark, but her tone dulled at the end. The truth was, she had seen this kind of thing before. More than once. Innocent people caught in the crossfire. Wrong place. Wrong time.

No matter how many times she faced it, the guilt always clung like cobwebs.

Blossom raised her flashlight and swept it across the broken doorway. A strange, hunched shape emerged in the dark, unmoving. Her breath hitched in her throat. As the beam passed over the rest of the room, the sight froze her in place.

Viscera.

Slumped in puddles and strung out like grotesque decorations across the cracked cement. Wet, gleaming ropes of intestine. Torn patches of flesh. Bone. Flies hovered lazily in the warmth of decay, their wings humming in the thick, sour air. Gnats clung to every available surface, their minute bodies writhing over meat gone soft and black with rot.

Behind her, Boomer audibly gulped. She didn’t turn—she knew what she’d see. His shoulders tightening. His face paling. Fighting not to lose his stomach.

The light drifted back to the figure. What had once been a person was now a ruin—an emptied vessel that looked half-eaten, half-desecrated. The corpse’s lower leg was missing entirely from the knee down, a jagged stump of exposed femur jutting from shreds of pant leg. The remaining leg fared no better; the skin had sloughed away, revealing a twisted tibia protruding like a snapped tree branch from swollen, discolored flesh.

Blossom stepped forward carefully and pulled out her phone, unlocking it before handing it to Boomer. He hesitated, brows furrowed.

“I need to notify the chief,” she said, voice steady but tight. “She’ll want documentation. Are you okay taking pictures?”

Boomer took the phone reluctantly, the bright camera flash activating and casting harsh light over the carnage. The momentary brightness seemed wrong here—obscene, almost. He wondered why they weren’t just using their phones as flashlights the whole time, but he figured Brick and Blossom didn’t want to waste battery on anything that wasn’t mission critical.

As he began snapping photos—stiffly, trying not to look for too long—Blossom moved in closer.

Something had ripped this person open.

The sternum had been cracked like a wishbone, the ribcage pried apart in a brutal, unnatural split—like someone had gone digging with their bare hands. Viscera had been flung out in arcs, some of it splattered on the wall behind. She could see the liver, the kidneys, unmoored from their homes. Maggots writhed fat and lazy across the pulp.

The throat had been destroyed— torn was the only word that fit. Jagged flesh and exposed esophagus, as if something had burrowed its way out from the inside. The jaw was half gone, teeth scattered nearby like lost dice, and the tongue lolled loosely where it still clung. One eye bulged in place; the other hung by a stringy nerve outside the socket. An ear was missing completely.

Blossom’s stomach turned, but her expression didn’t flinch.

She crouched, scanning the shredded pockets, hoping for an ID. She didn’t dare touch the clothing without gloves. Even though she knew—knew with certainty—that no human did this, Chief Rosa wouldn’t appreciate her contaminating a scene.

She swept her flashlight slowly up and down the corpse, trying to catch any clue. A wallet. A badge. Anything.

Boomer, a little steadier now, stepped beside her, his voice low. “Do you… know who he is?”

Blossom shook her head without looking up.

As he moved back toward the legs for another photo, something shifted in the periphery of his vision.

Movement. Not hers.

He froze.

Blossom did too, eyes narrowing as she raised a single hand. Don’t move.

The corpse’s head had tilted—just slightly. The angle was off. The neck was ruined. It shouldn’t have been able to move.

Her hand glowed faintly, a hot rose hue bleeding from her palm.

Beside her, Boomer’s fists sparked alive in electric blue.

The head tilted again.

Then—

A pointed snout jutted out from the gaping hole where a throat once was. Whiskers. Tiny beady eyes.

A brown rat wriggled through the gory cavity of the neck, squeezing free from the esophagus like it was crawling out of a tunnel. It bolted across the room, vanishing into the shadows.

Blossom yelped—sharp and short. Her hand dimmed, pressed over her hammering heart.

Boomer staggered back with a choked sound, coughing violently as he turned away. He dropped the phone, the device clattering on the uneven concrete, and bent forward, palms braced on his thighs. His chest heaved. His whole body wrenched, desperate not to throw up.

The smell, the image—it all rushed back at him.

A cool hand landed firmly between his shoulder blades—grounding, steady. Blossom’s voice reached him through the haze. Gentle. Muffled. Reassuring.

“Hey. You’re okay. Breathe.”

He blinked rapidly, trying to make the spinning stop. The walls felt too close. His skin clammy.

“What?” he gasped, barely able to speak. His lungs dragged in sour air, thick and wrong.

Her voice came clearer this time.

“In through your nose. Out through your mouth. You’re okay.”

Nodding in understanding, Boomer closed his eyes. The minutes dragged as he forced his breathing to even out, one inhale at a time. If Brick or Butch had been with him, they would've torn into him by now—laughed, called him a pussy, made it worse. He didn’t doubt it for a second.

Clearing his throat, still pale and feeling humiliated, he slowly stood up and managed a quiet, “Thanks. Sorry about that.”

Blossom bent to pick up the phone and handed it back to him. “The first time you see that kind of thing is always the worst.”

She meant it to be reassuring, but it just made his stomach flip again. His face twisted. “H-how many times have you seen stuff like that?”

She gave a small shrug, her smile more tired than amused. “Enough that I stopped throwing up, I guess.”

The knowledge that she hadn’t always been this composed helped. A little. Boomer swallowed hard and turned with her to face the body again. “Hey… could you maybe not mention this to anyone?” His voice was low, sheepish. “I’ve got a reputation to protect.”

Blossom raised her hand to her mouth, stifling a laugh. At least he had a sense of humor. She nodded. “Of course, Boomer.”

They lingered for just a second longer, grateful for the momentary levity before they had to look again.

She unlocked the phone for him, and he reopened the camera. Blossom crouched back beside the torso while Boomer moved around, snapping more photos. The nausea had mostly faded by now, replaced by a strange detachment that made it easier to keep going.

He circled toward an arm, which was still barely attached, and muttered, “This guy must’ve fought a lot.”

“Why do you say that?” Blossom didn’t look up.

Boomer squinted. “He’s got a lot of faded bruises. Practically looks green in some spots.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when Blossom straightened up fast and stepped in closer to the head. Her heart dropped. How had she missed that?

The skin wasn’t just bruised. It was a dull, rotting chartreuse—gray in the worst way. She’d written it off as decomposition, but now she realized it had been a mistake. Biting the inside of her cheek, she began scanning the rest of the body again—height, build, the ruined clothes.

Boomer was still taking pictures when he noticed her expression shift. She wasn’t just unsettled anymore—something had clicked, and the look in her eyes made him tense.

“What is it?”

She stepped back around to his side, eyes still fixed on the body. After a beat of hesitation, her voice came low, careful.

“Do you and your brothers still see the Gangreen Gang?”

Boomer frowned, thrown off by the question. “I mean… yeah, sometimes. They’ve cleaned up a lot, so Marion and the General don’t really care if we cross paths now and then.” He scratched the back of his neck, thinking. “Butch was talking to Ace the other da—”

And it hit him.

Boomer’s head snapped back toward the face on the floor. Mentally, he started reconstructing the features—cleaning off the blood, putting the jaw back in place, smoothing the decay. And the shape started to make sense.

“Oh. Fuck.”

Blossom didn’t correct him. Didn’t say a word.

He turned to her, his voice low and sharp. “Ace told Butch that Grubber’s been missing.”

Looking past him, Blossom answered quietly. “Well… he isn’t anymore.”

Boomer ran a hand down his face. “We have to tell him.”

“We will,” Blossom nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. “I just—”

The rest of the thought never came. A low rumble vibrated through the walls, and the ground shifted beneath their feet. A steady tremor, then a louder crack like something large moving through stone.

Blossom’s head whipped to the left, flashlight beam slicing across the tunnel. Her voice, when she spoke, was barely above a whisper—but the tension in it was unmistakable.

“Oh shit.”

Boomer wasn’t sure what startled him more: the earth moving beneath them, or the fact that Blossom had just cussed.

They bolted, racing back the way they’d come. Neither of them risked flight—not down here. Not in crumbling concrete tunnels.

“We need to find the others,” Blossom called back over her shoulder. “Now!”

Chapter 21

Walking side-by-side, it quickly became a silent standoff over who’d speak first. Brick had taken the flashlight from Buttercup, leading with measured steps. Buttercup’s face was unreadable, her expression neutral to the point of annoyance. Brick couldn’t tell if she was deep in thought or mentally checking out — it was the same look Butch got during long lectures.

But Buttercup was focused. The usual musty scent of old wood and earth was tinged with something metallic, sharp — something she recognized. Blood. Not fresh, but close enough to notice.

They ducked into what had once been a shop, both rifling through the ruins. Buttercup yanked an old canvas tarp off a stack of crates, and a cloud of dust hit her square in the face. She inhaled by accident and jerked back with a quiet but fierce sneeze. "—choo!"

Brick’s head snapped toward her. Not angry, just... surprised.

She narrowed her eyes. “Can I help you?”

He smirked, still holding the flashlight. “Just wondering when Bubbles swapped places with you. That was adorable.”

Her scowl was instant. “Ain’t nothing adorable about me, asswipe.” She shoved past him through a hole in the wall into the next space, activating her powers with a sharp flick of her hand. The glow lit her up in green.

Brick rolled his eyes and crouched by the discarded tarp. He ripped it into strips with practiced ease, layering it onto a stick he found nearby. Not ideal fuel, but it would burn long enough. Once wrapped, he lit it with a slow sweep of flame from his palm and let it catch. The makeshift torch flared to life.

He turned off the flashlight and followed her. Buttercup was already halfway through the building. “Nothing here either,” she muttered.

He held the flashlight out without a word. She hesitated, then took it, letting her power dim. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

Smart move, she had to admit. But no way was she complimenting him. Brick got enough ego boosts at school.

They slipped back into the tunnel, the only sounds the crunch of their sneakers and the crackle of flame.

Finally, Buttercup spoke. “Why’d you try to get us to stop helping you?”

Brick didn’t look at her. Of course Blossom had told her. “It’s not your responsibility,” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

She raised a brow. “And your brothers can handle this better than we can?”

He didn’t respond right away. “If you die, it’s not my fault.”

Buttercup let out a sharp laugh. “You gotta be kidding me. Oh man. You should do stand-up.”

He stopped and grabbed her shoulder. She froze, unimpressed. “I won’t have the whole damn city turning on us because we dragged you three into something you didn’t survive,” he said, eyes serious now. “If Eklektos or the General found out... I meant it when I told Blossom we could do it alone.”

Buttercup knocked his hand off her. “Dude. This is our job. Heroes die in flaming glory, right? If we don’t, were we even trying hard enough?”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or throw something. She kept walking, tossing over her shoulder, “Besides. You really wanna trust Boomer to save your ass in a tight spot? Or Butch?”

“My brothers are good at what they do.”

“And we’re better.” She jerked a thumb at herself and grinned.

Brick exhaled sharply, ready to argue when Buttercup suddenly frowned and rubbed her ear. “Ugh. My ears are burning. Did I run into something?”

He stepped up to inspect her face. “Shut up a sec.” He looked her over. “No swelling. Maybe someone’s just talking shit about you.”

She rolled her eyes as he kept walking. “Alright, thanks, Doc.”

“One day that won’t be a joke.”

“Oh yeah? And what would you be a doctor of, exactly? Being annoying?”

“The billing will start today. Hope you’re ready.”

Buttercup raised a middle finger and made that ‘pffft’ noise. “Fat chance, Ruff.”

“My lawyer will be thrilled to take you to court.”

“You’re way too confident for a guy who still has, like, years of school left. I’ll be too broke to pay you. The city’ll have to cover it.”

“Isn’t that what they already do?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

Her face darkened a little. “Please. You think we actually see much money?”

He blinked. “Wait. You’re telling me the city doesn’t pay you?”

She gestured vaguely. “The taxes go to a lot of things — the mayor, the fire department, police, hospitals, city management, roads, you get the picture. We get a tiiiiiny cut. And most of it goes straight to college savings. Professor’s orders.”

Brick looked stunned. “But you guys literally put your lives on the line. Doesn’t the heroes union—?”

“We enrolled with them a couple years ago. Helps a bit, but it’s nothing compared to what we put in.” She shrugged, eyes back on the ground. “What are you gonna do?”

“Freelance,” Brick said flatly.

Buttercup gave him a look, skeptical. He followed up before she could ask, “Not that I’d know, of course.”

Truth was, when you were a teenage boy with a record and superpowers, your options were slim. No one wanted to hire them. Eklektos threw them the occasional job — mostly surveillance, field testing new gear, sometimes just standing around in suits like glorified bodyguards. All hush-hush, always for someone else.

“Sure,” she said, not sounding convinced. “That just you, or are your brothers in on it too?”

When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “Relax. I’m not gonna tell Blossom.”

“We don’t exactly get to be picky. The job goes up, and we get to ‘volunteer.’” He made air quotes with one hand. “More like ‘do it or get hounded for weeks.’ Marion screens the worst of it, but... not always.”

Buttercup gave a dry chuckle. “Not bad. If you ever need a sub, hit me up.”

Brick looked at her sideways. He expected sarcasm, but she wasn’t joking. “We’ll see,” he said.

Part of him figured Eklektos would jump at the chance to study the Powerpuff Girls up close. That thought sat in his gut like a rock. He didn’t like how easily people treated them like science projects. He didn’t say anything, but he knew Blossom would lose it. Neither of them needed to say it out loud.

A few minutes later, Buttercup suddenly stopped in the middle of the tunnel, causing Brick to nearly crash into her.

“Jeez, you wanna say something first?” he muttered, pulling back.

“Oh, shut up.” Her hands were on her hips now, eyes fixed on a boarded-up building that might’ve once been someone’s house. She pointed. “We need to check that out.”

Brick squinted. “We need to keep moving.”

“Nope,” she said, cutting him off without even looking at him. “We need to go in there.”

She approached the door, crouching to inspect the bottom boards. Her flashlight flicked over something — small gaps in the wood, and a scuff where something had forced its way through. Then she spotted it: a fine cluster of black hairs caught in the edge of a splinter.

“You’re gonna love me,” she said smugly, pinching the evidence and shining the light on it.

Brick’s eyes widened. “You’re a fucking genius.”

Buttercup brushed her shoulder off with a fake flourish. “Oh, I know. Be sure to tell Blossom, would ya?”

Then, with one swift motion, she pivoted and kicked the boards. The wood cracked and splintered under the force of her sneaker like it was nothing.

She stepped aside, gesturing with an exaggerated bow. “Ladies first.”

Normally he’d fire something back, but she’d earned the moment. He stepped through the busted doorway and into the dark, the heat from his makeshift torch casting uneasy shadows across the room.

And then he smelled it — dry, metallic. Blood. Old, but still strong enough to hit his nose and settle in his gut like lead.

He swept the torch across the warped wooden floor. Streaks. Smears. Patches dried into the grain. Something had happened here, and it wasn’t long ago.

Buttercup stepped over the threshold, shaking out her hair as she walked inside. She reached up to tie it back, pausing just as her fingers brushed her nape. Her eyes swept the room, brows knitting.

“There are floorboards in here,” she muttered.

Brick scanned the space. She was right — aside from the dirt patch near the entrance, the rest of the room was covered in warped wooden planks. A moth-eaten rug was pushed off to one side, and ghostly furniture sat beneath dusty white sheets. A fireplace stood sealed shut against the far wall.

“Used to be someone’s house,” he said. “Not a shop.”

Buttercup frowned faintly. “That sucks.”

She didn’t say it, but he got the sense she was imagining being sealed out of her own home. The stairs on the far end were rotted to hell, likely leading up to a bedroom that hadn’t seen life in decades. She started to move toward them when Brick’s voice stopped her cold.

“Wait. Walk back over here again.”

Buttercup squinted at him but did as asked, stepping across the floorboards. Her sneakers creaked softly on the wood, but she didn’t hear anything strange. “Okay…?”

Brick crouched down and knocked on the floor near her. A low, solid thunk answered. Then he moved a few steps away and knocked again — this time the sound came back hollow.

He looked up at her. She was already smirking. “There’s a cellar under us.”

Standing, Brick took the torch back and started scanning the room for any signs of a hatch — a seam, a handle, something. Buttercup, curious, gave the stairs a quick look. No blood, no signs of anything having gone up. Half the steps looked ready to collapse under a stiff breeze. If Mojo had come through, it wasn’t that way.

Back beside him, she crossed her arms. “Why don’t you just stomp? The hinges should rattle.”

Brick paused, then cleared his throat. “I was gonna do that.”

“Right.”

Still, she had a point. After the seventh stomp across the floorboards, a faint metallic rattle echoed underfoot.

Brick was on it in a flash, crouched and combing the floor with his fingers. “Again.”

This time, the noise didn’t repeat — but he kept searching. A few seconds later, he hissed, “Got it.”

He pried up a section of floor by a small recessed notch. The wood groaned in protest as a hatch door lifted.

Buttercup grinned. “Not too shabby for a Rowdyruff.”

Brick returned the look. “Not bad for a Powerpuff.” He meant it. She’d picked up on details quick, sharp-eyed and sure. She didn’t back down, and that — annoyingly — was starting to grow on him.

Buttercup leaned over and beamed the flashlight down into the cellar. Narrow wooden stairs descended into darkness. “Yeah, I’m not taking those,” she said — and without hesitation, she jumped.

Brick snorted. He moved an old chair over the trapdoor, bracing it open. Not exactly a barricade, but good enough for the others to spot if they came through.

“What do you see?” he called down.

Buttercup’s voice echoed faintly up. “Shelves. Old preserves. A lotta broken jars.” She checked her phone. “We’ve got about five minutes.”

Brick dropped down beside her. “Make it fifteen. We can double back quick, now that we know the way.”

The air was cold and damp, thick with mildew and the faint trace of moldy fruit. He wrinkled his nose. “Smells like water.”

“Yeah,” Buttercup said. “Definitely a leak somewhere.”

Listening closely, they both picked up the quiet drip of water in the distance.

Brick swept the torch across the cellar. “This might feed into the underground waterways. If Mojo’s hiding anywhere, it’s probably near a water source.”

“Seems like he already raided the food,” she said, stepping carefully through the scattered jars and debris.

Then her voice came, sharp and low. “Here.”

She crouched at the far end of the cellar, gesturing to a narrow opening that appeared to have been dug out years ago, held up by rotting wood and planks. The smell of moisture was strong, perhaps an old underground well that the previous inhabitants had illegally made? 

The tunnel led into a narrow cavern, carved out by hand long ago. Just wide enough to fit a few carts side by side, it had the quiet, stale weight of something forgotten.

Brick exhaled through his nose. It looked claustrophobic and treacherous. Not his ideal plan.

“Let’s not walk,” Buttercup warned, glancing back at him. “I’m not dragging your injured ass and Mojo’s.”

He gave a dry look but nodded. She was right.

He followed her down, the torch flickering hotter in his hand. 

Rotted wooden beams held the walls in place, swollen and bowed from decades of moisture pressing through the packed earth. Some had cracked or splintered, leaning at odd angles where the structure had started to fail.

In one corner, a shallow stone well sat partially filled with cloudy, stagnant water. A steady drip from the ceiling fed it slowly, echoing faintly off the dirt and stone. Scattered rocks littered the floor where the walls had started to crumble in.

But Mojo wasn’t there.

A rusted tin bucket sat on its side, untouched. The silence pressed in.

Buttercup's jaw clenched. “Fuck!”

She stomped the bucket, crushing it flat beneath her heel. The echo rang out hard and loud.

Brick grabbed her arm before she could do more. “Don’t.”

They locked eyes, tension flaring between them again—until a shuffling sound broke the moment.

Both froze. Shoulders tight, eyes scanning, their bodies slowly turned toward the sound. Something moved in the corner, behind a pile of stones. A brief flicker of shadow against the wall.

Buttercup nudged Brick with her elbow, nodding toward the movement. Do something.

Brick exhaled, voice low. “Mojo?”

More rustling. Rapid, shallow breathing.

He stepped forward, torch raised slightly. “It’s Brick. We’re here to get you. The girls are here too.”

Another cautious step. Buttercup hovered behind him, ready to react if things went south.

“Come on,” Brick said gently. “Let’s get you ho—”

He stopped short. The words fell flat in his mouth. He stood frozen, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the shape in the corner.

Buttercup shoved past him. “Why’d you—”

She stopped. Her breath hitched.

Mojo Jojo crouched there, barely a shadow of who he’d been. His coat was filthy and torn, his once-vibrant tunic hanging in tatters. His foot was mangled—twisted at a grotesque angle—and his frame looked skeletal. Patches of fur were missing. One ear gone. Two fingers on his right hand were stubs. And the helmet—

The helmet had been shattered. Pieces of metal still clung to his skull, embedded in the exposed, swollen pink tissue of his brain. A whole section looked as if it had been ripped out.

Buttercup felt nausea crawl up her throat.

Before they could react, the ground trembled—deep and low. The cave rumbled.

Mojo shrieked. In a sudden panic, he scrambled toward them, nails tearing into Brick’s arms and face as he tried to climb over him, desperate to escape.

“Shit—!” Brick staggered.

Buttercup grabbed Mojo’s ankle, dragging him down. They hit the floor hard.

“Do something!” she snapped, gasping as Mojo kicked her hand free.

The primate bolted—until Brick circled him in a sudden blaze of red flame. The torch had fallen and gone out.

Buttercup scrambled to her feet. “What the fuck was that?!”

“I don’t know,” Brick said sharply. He sounded pissed—but not at her. “We need to move. Now.”

“We won’t get him out of here like this. Knock him out!” She was already peeling off her jacket.

Brick flinched at the idea, but he knew she was right. He had to be the one to do it. No one else.

Mojo babbled incoherently, rocking and muttering as the fire cast wild shadows across his broken form.

“Brick!”

Another quake rattled through the ground.

Brick moved fast, crossing through the flames. He grabbed Mojo from behind, locking his arms around the primate’s neck. Mojo clawed at him, drawing fresh blood with ragged nails—but it didn’t take long. His body sagged.

Buttercup stomped out the remaining fire, then rushed over and spread her jacket on the ground.

“Lay him here.”

Brick gently lowered Mojo. She wrapped the jacket around him tight, using the sleeves to pin his arms and fasten the bundle against his chest.

“Let’s go.”

She shot up toward the cellar.

Brick hefted Mojo’s limp body and followed. “Lead the way.”

They tore through the tunnel, sneakers pounding the dirt. At the exit, they paused, catching their breath. Brick looked back the way they'd come.

“We have to find the others.”

Buttercup nodded, already moving.

They ran fast, footsteps echoing louder than the tremors rolling beneath the city.

Chapter 22

Bubbles clutched the flashlight tighter, trailing a few steps behind. Butch hadn’t said a word since they split from the others, and she wasn’t in a hurry to break the silence. Being alone with him wasn’t ideal—she’d take Brick over Butch any day. At least Brick was predictable, polite, even if only because Buttercup would threaten to rearrange his face if he made her cry. Butch didn’t care about threats like that.

After a few more minutes of silence, he finally exhaled sharply. “You know, it’s not helping if you’re dragging behind. You’ve got the light.” He glanced back at her. “Unless you want me to carry it.”

Bubbles quickly closed the gap between them. “Nope! I’m good. I’ve got it. Really.”

He didn’t say anything, but she swore she saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

The first open structure they came across was little more than a collapsed room full of shadows and dust. She swept the flashlight across the walls, the broken furniture, the scattered remains of a life that had long since been buried beneath dirt and time. Her grip on the flashlight tightened until her palm burned.

She was just being silly.

Butch didn’t say anything as he rifled through the mess, but after a moment, he paused. “So why didn’t you tell your sisters about the harbor?”

Her breath caught. That memory—of the fight, the damage, the fear—tightened something in her chest.

She looked away. “Because they’d want to talk to you. Or report it. Or ask you a bunch of questions.” Her voice was small. “I didn’t want them to bother you. And I didn’t want you to get in trouble... for helping me.”

He dusted off his hands and stood. “You think too much about what everyone else wants. Come on.”

She followed him back out to the tunnel. This stretch was more barren, the buildings sealed tight.

But his words lingered.

“So,” she said after a long beat, “why didn’t you tell your brothers?”

Crunching gravel filled the quiet before he finally muttered, “Didn’t want them asking why.”

She looked over at him, confused. “Why... what?”

“Why I helped you.”

He didn’t look at her. She waited. And when the silence stretched too long, she added, more softly, “I’ve always wondered. Why did you? You don’t think much of me. I’m not your counterpart. If I had died—”

“Jesus,” he interrupted, frustrated. “Do you ever give yourself a fucking break?”

The sharpness of it startled her into silence.

“You needed help. So I helped. That’s it.” A beat passed before he added, more awkwardly, “And I dunno... that thing was tough. But you held your own. I guess I was—” He looked away. “—sort of impressed.”

Her eyes widened. “I impressed you?”

Butch groaned and shoved a hand against her head to push her back. “Don’t make it weird.”

She laughed, brushing him off. “You said I didn’t do a bad job last time, too.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and I regretted it immediately.”

But he didn’t take it back.

She smiled, softer this time. There was a weight in her chest she hadn’t noticed until now, and somehow, it felt a little lighter. Butch didn’t offer praise easily. Neither did her sisters.

Maybe they weren’t so different, after all.

For the first time all day, Bubbles didn’t look so tense. Butch was fine with that—just as long as she didn’t start crying again.

The tunnel shifted ahead, and Bubbles lifted the flashlight beam. “What’s that?” A rusted ladder jutted up from the floor, leading to a heavy grate overhead. They’d reached a dead end.

“Where do you think it goes?” she asked, but she was already hanging back, clearly not volunteering to check it herself.

“Probably one of the other entrances,” he said, and before she could stop him, he flew up to the top. His fingers scraped across rusted metal until he found a handle and tugged— clunk . Locked.

The flashlight below nearly blinded him, but he figured she wanted to keep eyes on him. Closing his own, he tilted his head and listened. A faint, steady beeping. Footsteps. A security system. Saturday—bank hours. They were just above the vault.

“What is it?” she called, shifting on her feet. He could hear it in her voice—barely contained nerves.

Dropping down in front of her, he brushed off his hands. “Bank entrance. Alarm’s armed.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he was already walking back the way they came. “We’ll try another tunnel. Didn’t waste too much time.”

Trailing him, she narrowed her eyes. “And how do you know what a bank alarm sounds like?”

Butch didn’t bother looking back. “You know damn well how I know.”

Their return was quicker—barely a few minutes—before they were back in the central chamber. It was quiet again, eerily so. It didn’t feel like anyone had been there at all.

Scanning the other two tunnels, Butch frowned, rubbing his chin. Bubbles wandered to one and shined her light down the dark path. Every hair on her arms stood on end.

“I think we should wait for the others,” she said, frozen in place.

Butch scoffed, brushing past her. “Forty minutes is plenty. Come on.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know about this one.”

He turned, stepping in close and crouching to her eye level. She puffed her cheeks in defiance.

“Look, either you give me the flashlight and I go alone, or I carry your dramatic ass over my shoulder and take you anyway. What’s it gonna be?” He stretched his arms open like a dare. “Besides, I saved your life once. Pretty sure I could do it again.”

She flushed red, storming past him. “Fine! But if anything happens, it’s your fault.”

He grinned and followed.

The tunnel was different—damp, the air heavier. Bubbles walked slower, her steps dragging slightly like she was wading through something thicker than just dust. Her lungs tightened as she tried to breathe through it.

They passed collapsed structures, the broken fronts of buildings spilling stone and rotted wood into their path. Butch stepped ahead to move longer beams out of the way, giving himself more space to look around. He didn’t say it, but he was enjoying this—exploring without Brick breathing down his neck or Boomer second-guessing every move. He wanted to find Mojo too, but there was something satisfying about seeing this stuff for real instead of old, mislabeled photos online.

Behind him, Bubbles stayed quiet. Watching him. Still annoyed.

And maybe a little impressed.

“You said I impressed you before, right?” she asked suddenly.

He groaned, crossing his arms. “I told you—I’m not saying it again.”

She waved him off. “You don’t have to.” A beat. “I want you to teach me some of your moves.”

He stopped walking. “Come again?”

“Fighting moves. Like that barrier trick.”

“Ask Buttercup.”

“She won’t go as hard as you do. She’s always worried she’ll make me cry.”

“I don’t do crying girls,” he said flatly.

“I won’t cry.”

But he still looked skeptical.

"And what exactly do I get out of this?" Butch asked, eyeing her with a half-lidded squint, like he was already bracing for some nonsense.

Bubbles smirked. "The bragging rights. You get to say you trained me before I got cooler than you."

That got a real laugh out of him — quick and surprised. "You really don’t know me, huh?"

He reached for one of her pigtails, and she batted his hand away with a sharp flick. "I know you just fine. You’re proud. You’d never admit it, but you’d love to see me pull something off and know you had a hand in it."

"And?" he challenged, brow raised.

"And you already said I impressed you once." She shrugged. "I figure if I learn from you, I’ll be even better next time."

He didn’t answer, just stared at her — unreadable, still as a statue.

So she pivoted, walking ahead with a casual toss over her shoulder. "Or maybe you’re just scared you don’t have anything to teach me that Buttercup hasn’t already shown me."

That hit. She heard the pause stretch behind her, longer than it needed to be. When she turned, his jaw was clenched, expression taut with something between irritation and pride.

"Fine," he grumbled. "You’re a sneaky little pain in the ass, you know that?"

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“But don’t tell anyone. Seriously.”

“Promise,” she grinned, holding up her pinky.

He stared at her like she was nuts. “Are you serious?”

“You’re supposed to shake on it—”

“I know ,” he grumbled, and reluctantly wrapped his pinky around hers. “You’re so weird.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go already.”

They pressed forward together, flashlight beam cutting through the dark, the sound of their footsteps the only thing filling the tunnel.

The rush from earlier had long vanished. Now, each step deeper into the tunnels dragged like weights chained to Bubbles’ ankles. The air was too still. Too heavy.

She halted mid-step. “Butch?” Her voice barely carried. “Something’s wrong.”

He turned, brushing sweat-damp hair from his eyes. Her expression made him pause—it was that same sharp unease she’d had before they entered this tunnel.

“It’s just some airflow,” he said. “Probably another open space ahead, like that last big room. Feels stronger because there’s less rubble here.”

He held out his hand. She let him take the flashlight without protest, her fingers numb.

“I’ll check it out,” he said. “You’ll see. Nothing to freak out about.”

He moved forward, sweeping the beam through the next open space. Another gap—larger, but different. Not a cave-in. Not time-worn. This space had been razed. Flattened deliberately. Every building had been stripped down to the bones, walls torn off and scattered.

Butch frowned. “This isn’t right.”

Something flickered at the edge of his vision.

He whipped the light toward it, catching the twitch of something slipping behind debris. Quick. Low. Wet.

Bubbles was suddenly beside him, silent but pale. Her eyes glistened—not crying, not yet—but close.

“We need to leave.”

“It’s probably just a rat.” Even as he said it, doubt curdled his stomach. The flashlight caught another flicker. 

A sickening, insectile chitter echoed from deeper inside. Then came more—layered, twitching. Too many.

Emerald light flared across Butch’s palm.

Bubbles grabbed his arm. “Butch. Now.” Her voice was low and firm, a cold dread behind it. She knew that sound. She’d never forget it.

A sharp whistle split the air—

—and Bubbles buckled with a gasp, clutching her shoulder as a whip-like tendril snapped back into the shadows.

Butch barely turned when another struck his hand. He shouted, staggering as pain seared through his wrist. The flashlight clattered away, casting wild shadows as it rolled.

From the dark came movement. Then—twenty, maybe more—creatures emerged.

Smaller than the beast they had fought before, but not by much. Each one low to the ground, the size of a medium dog, their bodies glistening like wet ink. Muscles shifted beneath their skin, as if constantly liquefying and reforming. Spined jaws clicked open in unison, tongues flicking out like worms with jagged barbs. They pulsed with unnatural rhythm, their bodies twitching in and out of solidity.

One creature curled its tail—and launched.

Butch threw his arm up, emerald energy flashing. The creature slammed into the barrier, screeching as it rebounded into the dark. Another came. Then another.

“Fuck,” he muttered. Blood dripped from his injured hand, his stance tense.

Beside him, Bubbles steadied her breathing, energy already gathering in her palms—glowing blue, fierce and cold. “I’m sending a blast down the tunnel—can you push them back?”

He met her eyes, something softer flickering beneath the tension. “Yeah. I got you.”

She reeled back and hurled a pulsing blue orb down the tunnel.

The second it cleared her hands, Butch drove his good arm forward, a concussive blast of green force ripping through the tunnel. The energy cracked stone, scattering creatures like leaves in a windstorm. But not all. A few had ducked into debris, slipping through rubble with eerie agility.

They didn’t wait to check for survivors.

They flew.

Their light trails flashed blue and green as they tore through the winding tunnels. Every turn blurred. The air roared behind them—until Butch heard a shift behind him.

Then something hooked around his ankle.

He yelped as he was yanked backwards, slamming into the dirt hard enough to rattle his teeth. He rolled, barely managing to raise both arms as a creature pounced. Its mouth opened wide, too wide, its slick tongue slithering out. It licked across his cheek—from jaw to eye—burning as it went.

He growled through clenched teeth, energy crackling through his arms as he held it back, but his fingers stung with every second of contact.

A sudden blast of blue energy knocked the creature off.

Bubbles dropped beside him, panting, panic raw on her face. “You—you disappeared—I thought—”

“I’m fine.” He pushed himself up with a grunt. One hand barely moved. The other burned with effort as he fired more blasts behind them.

Up ahead, the tunnel opened slightly—but not for long.

“We need to barricade it,” Butch said suddenly.

Bubbles stopped mid-step. “What?”

“We need time. They’re faster than before.”

She hesitated for only a second—then nodded. They dove toward the rubble, grabbing bricks, broken beams, anything solid.

The noises behind them were worse now—wet, sharp snaps. Bone-popping clicks. Twitching limbs dragging closer.

“They’re changing,” she whispered, voice cracking. 

Butch threw another burst, then another, every impact buying seconds. Stones tumbled. The ground shook again.

“Almost—” Bubbles started, just as a whistling snap cut through the air.

She screamed, clutching her neck. Blood bloomed beneath her fingers.

“Shit—” Butch dropped behind the barricade beside her, fire in his breath. He looked at her, at the pain she barely held in, and grinned—like a goddamn idiot.

“Go,” he said. “Get to the others.”

“But—”

“No buts, sweet cheeks. Move. Or you’ll be stuck with ol’ Butterbutt as a teacher.”

Even through the blood and panic, her lip twitched like she might smile. But she just nodded and launched herself into the dark.

The tunnel curved—and then light.

Boomer and Blossom were already running to meet her. Her feet hit the ground hard, then buckled. She skidded across the brick floor.

“Bubbles!” Blossom caught her mid-fall, arms steady. Her eyes scanned the blood. 

Boomer leaned in, hands already glowing to assess the wounds. But his head whipped around at the echo of a quake. “Where’s Butch?”

From another tunnel, Buttercup shot out, Brick right behind her, carrying something wrapped in his arms—

Mojo.

He looked like a corpse. Gaunt. Broken.

Brick stumbled but caught himself.

Boomer exhaled. “You found him—”

But his eyes went back to the dust cloud from the tunnel that Bubbles had come from.

And then, Butch emerged.

He was bleeding down the side of his face, jeans ripped and slowly soaking with his blood. One eye nearly swollen shut, his hands were raw and torn. He looked like he’d crawled out of a war zone.

“What the fuck?” Brick’s voice rang out, stunned.

No one corrected him.

They all stared.

Blossom and Boomer, rattled but unscathed. Buttercup and Brick, hands and arms scraped raw, a jacket tied around a limp Mojo. Bubbles, clutching her neck, blood soaking through her torn jacket from shoulder to collarbone. Mojo, no better than a limp and emaciated corpse. And Butch - he looked like he crawled out of a grave.

Blossom squared her shoulders. “Bubbles, take Mojo. Get him to the Professor. You’re hurt, but you’re still the fastest.”

Bubbles nodded without a word. Brick hesitated—but finally handed Mojo over.

She held him like something sacred. Her hands trembled, but her grip didn’t waver.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. Her voice shook. Her eyes didn’t.

Brick turned to Boomer, nodding at the pair. “Stay close. Light the way out.”

Boomer was already moving. He and Bubbles shot down the tunnel, the glow from his hands casting their path in shifting blue.

Blossom turned to Butch. “What the hell was that? You could’ve gotten us all killed—” She cut herself off, throwing her arms wide before jabbing a finger at his injuries. “How long do we have before whatever did that comes through?”

Still catching his breath, Butch wiped blood from his face and muttered, “Wouldn’t’ve done it unless we had to.” He swallowed hard. “Fifteen minutes. Maybe.”

Blossom spun to Brick and Buttercup. “We need to seal this place off. Not just the park—this whole area.”

Butch raised a hand, wincing. “We found another exit. It leads to the bank. But it’s locked. Heavy.”

“Is it secure?”

He nodded. “For now. Just gives ’em another way up later.”

Blossom’s jaw clenched. “Fine. We’ll deal with it. Right now—we go.”

Without a word, Buttercup surged forward, her hands glowing. She grabbed a rotted support beam and began tearing at it. “Why aren’t we just fighting this shit?” she muttered. Not really a question.

Butch was already helping her. Brick joined, followed by Blossom.

“Trust me,” Butch grunted, his face pale. “You don’t want to fight these fuckers.”

Coming from him, that made Buttercup go cold. If he didn’t want to fight them…

She said nothing else, just threw her weight into the beam.

The structure groaned—and finally collapsed.

The journey back took half the time it had going in. No searching. No exploring. No hesitating. Just movement. Just escape.

They reached the heavy steel door in record time.

Blossom didn’t hesitate. “Seal it. Now.”

Buttercup opened her mouth to protest, but Blossom cut her off sharply. “I’ll explain it to the Chief. Just do it.”

Brick and Buttercup pressed their hands to the frame. Sparks lit the tunnel as they welded it shut.

And behind them—the tunnel waited. 

Chapter 23

Rain knifed through the air as Bubbles and Boomer tore across the sky, flying low between rooftops. The wind howled against their ears, and each raindrop stung like glass against exposed skin—but neither slowed.

Boomer stayed just behind her, jaw tight, heart hammering. Bubbles didn’t look back once. Her jacket was wrapped tightly around Mojo’s head, shielding the limp, skeletal body in her arms. She was soaked, shaking, blood running from her shoulder—but she held on like letting go would kill her.

They were streaks of light—blue and navy, slashing through the storm. Visible. Vulnerable.

Then Bubbles shifted mid-air. Feet dropped forward, bracing for impact. Boomer mimicked her just in time. The two of them hit the pavement hard outside her house, cracks spidering beneath their sneakers.

She didn’t break stride. The door slammed open under her hand.

“Professor!” she screamed, stumbling inside. “Professor, hurry!”

Boomer followed, catching the door before it slammed shut. He hovered awkwardly near the threshold, heart pounding. He’d never seen her like this.

“I’m coming, just calm do—” the Professor’s voice called from deeper in the house—but the words died the moment he stepped into the hall.

He stopped cold. His gaze swept over Bubbles, drenched and bleeding, and then dropped to the figure in her arms.

“...Oh my god.”

He surged forward. “What—what happened?” His hands hovered before gently cupping her face, then her arms.

Her voice cracked. “It’s Mojo,” she whispered, arms trembling as she offered him up. “We found him like this.”

The Professor peeled back the jacket. His face twisted—shock, horror, something else—but it was gone in a blink. Replaced by clinical focus. He stepped back. “Get him downstairs. Recovery room. Now.”

Bubbles didn’t wait. She launched down the stairs with Mojo still wrapped in her arms, vanishing into the lab below.

The Professor turned to Boomer, already pulling out his phone. “How long has he been like this?”

“I—I don’t know,” Boomer stammered. “Maybe two weeks? I wasn’t there when they found him.”

The Professor nodded sharply, pressing a contact on his screen. The line picked up after one ring.

“Clark? It’s Utonium. I need you here. Bring someone—one of your top students. No, right now.”

He ended the call, exhaled, and turned to follow Bubbles down the stairs—

But before he could move, a rush of wind battered the front of the house.

Four more figures dropped onto the porch, soaked and battered. The door was still wide open when Blossom stepped in, breathless and rain-soaked.

“Did she—?”

“She’s in the lab,” the Professor answered, voice softer now. “Help’s on the way.”

For a moment, his clinical mask cracked. He reached up, brushed her damp hair from her face, a gentle hand on her head. It wasn’t just comfort—it was fatherly. Boomer blinked. He didn’t think he had ever seen anyone treat Blossom like a kid before. 

In the next moment the Professor was heading down to the lab with Blossom close on his heels.

Brick stumbled in next, half-carrying Butch, who looked barely able to stand. Buttercup brought up the rear and slammed the door shut with a grunt, leaning against it.

She took one look at them—muddy, bleeding, soaked to the bone—and let out a bark of laughter.

“Jesus. You all look like shit.”

Brick scowled, dragging a hand down his face. His hat was jammed in his pocket, red bangs plastered to his forehead. Butch leaned against the wall, chest heaving, blood dripping from his jaw and leg.

“Shoes off,” Buttercup said, already kicking hers free with a wet squelch. “I just cleaned this rug.”

Butch groaned but obeyed, wincing as he peeled off soggy sneakers. Brick cursed under his breath, fiddling with his laces. Boomer slid out of his easily, grateful for the distraction.

Buttercup disappeared, then returned with towels. One around her neck, more under her arm.

She tossed them out, one by one. “Dry off before you flood the damn floor.”

She looked Butch over as she handed him one. “Dude, you look like a blender chewed you up and felt bad about it.”

He didn’t argue.

Wrapped in towels and leaving damp footprints, they padded across the plush carpet and down into the lab.

It was warm below. Bright. Too clean. It didn’t match the nightmare they'd just survived. Not at all.

So much for first impressions.