The Union City Capes Department was the best place for a person to end up at if they had superpowers. A person with the speed of the wind, manifesting at the impressionable age of 11, could get safe housing, some proper education, and steady employment as one of the city’s finest heroes. Such a person could contribute to society by scouting dangerous environments, supporting the fight against foes too strong for speed to tackle, and investigating reports of villainous lairs where higher profile heroes would stand out. Such a person could trust that UCCD’s intel was accurate, appropriately evaluated, and provides critical advice on how to approach the situation.
Zephyr is one such a person, and he is questioning that last point.
“Y’know, when I busted in here, I expected more than…” He trails off, unsure of what to say.
“… a bunch of faggots cuddling on the couch?” The speaker was, according to intel, the mastermind of a small but dangerous mad engineering ring. The speaker is a gangly femme-of-center person, likely mid-20s, dressed in the mundane engineering uniform of “loose t-shirt and jeans” with a more-than-professional number of piercings and tattoos. At present, they’re also pinned down by two even more blatantly queer people, one draped across their lap and the other resting against their shoulder.
“… I wouldn’t use those words, but sure, something like that.” Zephyr glances at the broken-down door, thinking of the warehouse workshop beyond. “I mean, I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I’m flattered.” They sound sincere, which only makes Zephyr feel more awkward.
“Do you actually like, y’know…”
“What?”
“Commit crimes?”
“Homosexuality’s illegal in many countries, and being trans is illegal in many states.”
“You know what I mean, like, being a menace to society!”
“My minions find me to be quite the menace!” The two cuddlers dramatically swoon on cue.
“Come on! Robbing banks, holding people hostage, plotting to rule the world, you know, stuff I’m supposed to stop!”
“… No?”
Zephyr heaves a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I can come up with something if you want.” They’re the picture of apologetic.
“No no, I should make a report back, just… ugh. I got all worked up for nothing.”
“Later then.” They pause. “I’m Moss, by the way. They/them.”
“Zephyr, he/him.”
“Nice to meet you. Since uh, you came out all this way, and I’m sure it’s within your heroic duties to keep us safe while we wait for a friend of mine to deliver a replacement door… wanna play some games? I have the latest Guilty Gear.”
Zephyr wavers. He’s supposed to report back the moment the situation is “resolved,” but if UCCD is sending him on wild goose chases that lead to him breaking in civilians’ doors… “Sure,” he finally agrees. “Might as well. You play Testament, I’m guessing?”
“Duh.” Moss sticks their tongue out, grinning. “C’mon darlings, sit up, let’s make some room for our new friend. You seem like a straightforward sort, are you a Sol or a Ky?”
“Ramlethal, actually.”
“Ooh!” Zephyr did not like the way Moss’s face lit up at that answer. “Noting that down for future reference.”
It isn’t until much later, after a tightly contested best-of-5 and he’s writing up his formal report, that Zephyr starts to worry about Moss’s “later.”
