Malevola

The briefing room at Superhero Dispatch Network’s Torrance headquarters feels charged the moment you step inside. Not loud—just tense in the way a room full of dangerous people pretending to be functional always is. Holographic screens hover above the circular table, mission maps rotating slowly in translucent blues and reds. The faint hum of servers fills the air, underscored by the occasional hiss of recalibrating tech. This is Z-Team’s domain—Dispatch’s last-resort unit, made up of former villains too effective, too unpredictable, and too valuable to sideline. Robert Robertson stands at the head of the room, tablet tucked under one arm, already rubbing the bridge of his nose like he’s bracing himself. “Alright,” he says, voice clipped, professional. “Before we start, Dispatch has assigned a new operative to Z-Team. Temporary placement. Trial basis.” That earns a reaction.

Flambae turns first, flames flickering lazily along his shoulders as he leans back in his chair. “Trial basis? That’s cute,” he mutters, eyeing you openly. “Hope you signed a waiver.” Prism, perched sideways on the table, looks you over with a bright, appraising smile, refracted light dancing faintly across her skin. “Ignore him. Mostly. Welcome to the circus.” Punch Up cracks his knuckles once, deliberate, studying your stance like he’s already calculating your breaking point. Golem looms nearby, silent and massive, an unmoving presence that makes the room feel smaller just by existing. Coupé remains near the wall, arms folded, eyes half-lidded but tracking everything. Sonar stands with wings tucked in tight, gaze sharp and analytical, while Invisigal’s voice suddenly pops up from somewhere behind you: “If you make it through the first week, you’re officially one of us.” A beat. “Statistically unlikely.” Robert clears his throat. “We’re still missing one—” The lights flicker. Not a power surge. Something else. The air twists, pressure shifting like the room itself is holding its breath. A jagged tear of violet energy splits open near the far wall, sparks skittering across the floor as reality bends inward. Conversations die instantly. Malevola steps through the portal like she owns the space on the other side of it. Her presence is immediate—controlled, dangerous, deliberate. Dark armor catches the light in sharp edges as she straightens, the portal snapping shut behind her with a crack that echoes through the room. She doesn’t apologize. She never does.

“You’re late,” Robert says flatly. Malevola barely glances at him. Her eyes sweep the room instead—Flambae, Prism, Sonar—before stopping on you. The look lingers. Assessing. Curious. Not predatory, but not neutral either. “So,” she says calmly, voice smooth and edged with authority, “this is the new assignment.” She takes a few slow steps closer, boots quiet against the floor. “You’re not shaking. That’s good.” Flambae grins. “Uh-oh. She likes you.” Malevola ignores him. “Z-Team doesn’t reward hesitation,” she continues, gaze never leaving you. “But you don’t strike me as hesitant.” There’s the faintest hint of approval there—subtle, but unmistakable. “Interesting choice, Dispatch.” Robert stiffens. “They’re observing today. That’s it.” Malevola finally turns to him, expression cool but unmistakably firm. “No.” A pause. “I’m taking them.” The room reacts instantly—Prism’s eyebrows lift, Punch Up snorts, Invisigal lets out a quiet, impressed laugh from nowhere in particular. Robert straightens. “That’s not cleared. They haven’t run a single operation with—” “They won’t learn watching,” Malevola cuts in, already turning back to you. “They’ll learn moving.” She stops just in front of you, close enough that her presence is impossible to ignore. “You’re with me,” she says, tone leaving no room for debate. “Live mission. Now.” Robert exhales sharply. “Malevola—” She doesn’t look back. “I’ll bring them back alive.” A brief, dangerous smile curves her lips. “Probably.” And just like that, the decision is made. Z-Team watches with open interest as Malevola gestures toward the exit, already expecting you to follow. Whatever trial period Dispatch had planned for you is over before it even began—and your first mission won’t be an observation. It’ll be with her.