it’s supposed to be his day off.

operative word, supposed to be. jake’s still in his street clothes, sure, but his last twenty minutes have been spent trying to fix his paperwork and he’s starting to feel like the sense of authority and power that come with the sigma costume are kind of necessary to get people to actually move their asses when they’re asked. told, even.

he doesn’t get it. it’s not like he’s a different person just because he’s in jeans, the faded ‘NAVY’ tee under flannel, but people are sure as hell determined to treat him that way.

the clerk is downright hostile when she tells him his samples are overdue and that he needs to go and let them bleed him dry immediately, but he lets it slides. he’s already making peace with it - today is going to be a garbage fire of a day.

he keeps quiet as he gets into the elevator down and sees the wheelchair in the corner. this joker, his mind fills in, even as he puts himself in the other back corner, upright and drawn-in to minimise the space he takes up. probably even going to the same floor, that’ll be a hoot-

that was almost definitely-

eyes up to the ceiling to check the overhead light for the tell-tale flicker of a power outage, jake is already slowly easing out of his corner. checks the display. blank.

“well ain’t this just perfect,” he mutters, under his breath. time to throw another tire on the fire. “doc, if you don’t mind movin’ from there," a pause to indicate the little square door in the elevator ceiling, "i can see about taking a look outta the roof hatch. check exactly how tricky the position is.”

yolande admits it: she's a failure of a superhero. though she has good control over her powers and a fair number of successes under her belt, her activity is sparse and no one wants to work with her because of what a downer she is. there are plenty of heroes who work best alone, but she isn't one of them, being best used as a support unit. she can only tackle so many missions alone. she can only succeed so many times alone. lately her blunders have been stacking high, and mistakes aren't welcome in the initiative

so she should have seen this coming. she really should have. but somehow it comes as a shock when she receives a message detailing how a private meeting has been set up between her and a "specialized counselor." she would skip, but even she can't ignore the subtle threat of there being consequences for her if she refuses to cooperate interwoven into the email. a private meeting? a specialized counselor? what did that even entail? she imagines interrogations in a confined space, steely eyes condemning her, declaring her unfit of being registered with the initiative.

it can't be that bad, she tells herself two days later as she slips into a somewhat crowded elevator. of course the initiative couldn't afford mistakes. her failings were minor for now, but who knew? she could mess up majorly later. she'll meet with this counselor (psychologist? psychiatrist?), who'll be patient and understanding, and they'll work out a mission and schedule best suited for her. it will all be okay.

her heart knits tightly in her chest. but she is expendable, unneeded. there are swarms of bright, promising, powerful recruits who can replace her in a blink of an eye. she'll probably be given the boot, in a nice way. it occurs to her that specialized counselors (whatever they are) aren't needed to do this, but she worries. she checks her watch. she should be right on time, but she hopes that some inconvenience will delay or even cancel this meeting. some inconvenience like, oh, say, her death.

her prayer is answered. though yolande doesn't have a fatal heart attack or stroke or whatever, the elevator jars to a halt and the lights flicker off. pale eyes flick upwards in surprise. she almost smiles, but then realizes that there are other people in the elevator who are probably very irked by this turn of events and feels guilty about her happiness. for the first time she looks around and registers those in her surroundings.

it occurs to her that there are important people in here. very important people. she recognizes sigma straightaway as a renowned, a-class hero. surely she is in the presence of greatness. there is a wheelchair pushed in the corner (how had she not noticed that before) where a familiar face sits. he's the head of something, right? psychology or security or... whatever it was, he was the head of it, which means that he holds a lot of acclaim as well. her stomach twists. she's so small, so insignificant and useless, in the presence of these revered figures. now isn't the best time to further develop her inferiority complex, she knows, but damn it, she wants a hole to swallow her up and make her disappear.

yolande's attention turns to the businessman to her left, who is asking what has happened. she draws a blank on who he is, but he looks pretty important. so eminent people take the elevator just like normal people do. somehow she thought that they miraculously teleported to wherever they needed to go because of their status. "uh, the elevator's stuck," she tells him, voice unintentionally flat and monotonous. oh god, does she sound condescending? sarcastic? jesus christ.

she pulls at the sleeves of her jacket nervously, glad that her costume doesn't stand out. it isn't much of a costume, seeing as it's just a black jacket with purple highlights, with its single defining feature being the loose strips of cloth meant to resemble bunny ears on the currently down hood. she thought it was cute when she first wore it, but now it seems silly, like her alias. at least she can wear normal street clothes along with it.

there isn't anything she can do to help, so she stands to the side as sigma (what's his real name?) addresses the man in the wheelchair. her fingers climb upwards into her matted hair, playing with the lavender locks. she does that when she's nervous.

jake is perhaps deserving of his reputation for being a little uptight. he’s certainly visibly tense, now, stuck in an elevator with sheyda and a rookie and ugh, maddison. the distaste that the man has for him is obvious even to someone without jake’s intuition, and it’s returned in full intensity. the guy wouldn’t know decent professional bearing and bedside manner if it tipped him out of the chair and bit him on the ass.

he holds his tongue mostly for the rookie’s sake - he can read her tension, apprehension, desperation to be elsewhere, and jake can’t help the pang of sympathy. her name comes to mind after the briefest moment’s check through his memory arrangements. “you doing okay, hatsu? take a seat if you want. it might be a while.” the soft tone is something he does unconsciously - rookies all tend to fall under ‘easily spooked’ at this point for him.

of course, maddison is still maddison, so jake is almost immediately back to trying to rein in the inevitable condescending comment. being treated like an idiot is his favourite. “aware of that, doc, thanks for your input.” he moves to stand under the hatch and survey it a moment, scanning for the position of the hinges. “not a big deal.”

not many things are, these days. especially not stepping up onto the handrail and striking the side of the hatch opposite the hinge hard enough to dent it, steadying himself with fingers slipped through the gap before his balance can fail him. it’s not too hard to bring the bolt back from the other side, and he throws the hatch back with a dull thud. tries to ignore the fact that one of the execs is watching him bust up initiative equipment.

he’ll straighten it out later.

jake is pulling himself up into the elevator shaft while maddison is talking, and his vague “uh-huh” of acknowledgement is probably muffled by the time it reaches those back in the lift. he’s observing, sitting with his legs dangling - letting the doctor finish what is probably supposed to be a smart comment before he drops back down. “not a snapped cable, there’s smoke up top. looks like the motor gave out. would account for the power surge, too.” he wipes his palms on his jeans. “means that the service controls are out, too. could bust open the doors, but i dunno if anyone but hatsu is gonna get through the gap.”

sheyda

she rests her head against the metal of the wall, pale eyes flicking to and fro like fireflies. the... doctor, if she can address him as such, seems amused by her frigid comment, unintentional though it was. she shifts on her feet. somehow she feels as if she has set false standards for herself that she can't live up to, but she isn't sure why. maybe she's just being paranoid.

the a-ranked hero--damn, what's his real name?--addresses her, and she stiffens in surprise that the mention of her last name, hatsu. this is new. though she's been with the initiative for three years now, she doubts her neighbors in the complex even know her name. she keeps to herself, turns people away, holes herself up only to emerge when she absolutely has to. it isn't as if she's a renowned hero, either. she's a struggling one, damn it. so it comes as a shock that such an important person knows her name, especially since this is their first meeting. maybe he has supernatural memory and knows every hero's name, from the loftiest ss to the newest d. yeah, that makes sense. she's typically a forgettable person, after all.

she feels like glass, fragile and burdensome, from the way he speaks to her. his kindness makes her uncomfortable rather than at ease. "er, i'm alright." she wants to apologize for not being able to help but stops herself, watching sigma heave himself up into the elevator shaft. yolande glances between the businessman and the doctor, almost seeing the disapproval emanate from the former in waves at the mention of property destruction. maybe she really should stay out of this. there's already some amount of tension in here and she doesn't want to push it any further by mistake.

the doctor makes a joke, gestures towards her. again, she feels that something is being expected of her. she cracks an uneasy smile and nods, unsure of what else to do. her sense of humor is, in truth, virtually nonexistent. if it's there, then it makes itself known in morbid and self-deprecating bursts. she isn't exactly the life of the party.

yolande blinks at sigma as he returns to ground level, still startled at the sound of her surname on an unfamiliar tongue. "er, okay, yeah. i could go up there if that has to happen. woohoo." again with the accidental dryness. she's on a roll here. "what do i have to do?" getting help like the businessman suggests seems like a good idea, but she isn't an expert on the workings of a lift. all this talk of motors and cables and r&d is making her head spin. hell, she can barely navigate the calendar function on her phone.

Dr. Maddison

it’s probably best if he ignores maddison. he’s stressed enough these days as-is.

hatsu, however, seems like she wants nothing more to be ignored and yet... she seems so small and brittle and delicate, which is something he can’t let go unnoticed. she’s stressed enough now, though, so he decides to just acknowledge with a single firm nod.

“i think they might take it as an attack, mr rostam,” is all he says on the subject of sheyda’s suggestion. it always feels a little strange, avoiding anything that could possibly be termed casual conversation with the man while there are other people around, especially when he’s not even on duty, but... professionalism is jake’s watchword. avoid anything that can be misconstrued. be on guard, always.

back on semi-solid, suspended ground, he just shoots the back of maddison’s head a look. the patented sigma don’t fuck me around look. it makes him feel better, even as he has to take a step back to avoid being bumped by the chair. “i meant through the car door, doc, since the maintenance hatch up top is smoked out. the lock can be released from outside on the roof and i could pry the doors open, is what i meant. i figure there’s maybe two feet of space in front of the next floor at the bottom. not wide enough to fit me or mr rostam through, but maybe enough. like i said, depends on people who aren’t me.”

the chair rolls back again, and this time he stops it abruptly with a foot against the axle, sharply shoving it forward a few inches. “stop that.”

sheyda