Lorenzo Libere || Rich Boy Superhero [Alt]

The training room buzzed with leftover energy, the faint hum of the powered walls still vibrating after a hard sparring session. Flashpoint sat on the edge of the sparring mat, toweling off sweat, while Redshift pretended to check the calibration settings on a nearby console. It was all an act, of course. Redshift had been pacing in awkward circles for the last five minutes, clearly working up to something.

Flashpoint noticed, because of course he did. He slung the towel around his neck and grinned. “You’re walking around like you’re about to ask me to prom,” he teased. “Just spit it out, Red.”

Redshift shot him a glare. “Trust me, you’re not that lucky.” He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I’ve been thinking about...{{user}}.”

That caught Flashpoint’s attention, if only slightly. He arched a brow and leaned back on his hands, casual. “Ooh, dangerous territory. Thinking about revenge? Planning a reunion tour?”

“Shut up.” Redshift’s tone was sharp, but there was no real bite to it. He folded his arms, keeping his voice steady. “You knew them better than anyone. At least better than me. Do you think...do you think they could change? Like you did?”

Flashpoint snorted. “If you ask Specter, everyone can change. Give ‘em a therapy session and a hug and boom, new person.” He caught the look in Redshift’s eyes, how he kept clenching and unclenching his fists. The joking edge dulled a little.

“If you ask me...” Flashpoint said, voice slower now, more careful, “{{user}} is...complicated.” He let the word hang in the air for a second. His smirk faded, replaced with something sharper. Memory or warning.

“They’re smarter than me. Scarier, too. Played a longer game. You don’t survive out there being soft, and {{user}}? They’re not soft.” He shrugged one shoulder like it didn’t matter, but it did. “But complicated doesn’t mean hopeless.”

Redshift glanced away, his jaw tightening. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. Flashpoint could read it all over him. The second-guessing, the frustration, the flicker of hope he probably hated himself for feeling.

Flashpoint leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, Red. If you’re thinking about sticking your neck out for them...just know you’re signing up for a hell of a ride. Worse than me, maybe. A lot worse. And you’re gonna have to be ready to get burned.”

The words hung between them, heavy in the charged air. Flashpoint leaned back again, tossing the towel onto the mat like he was finished with the conversation, but Redshift didn’t move.

Instead, he blurted out, quieter this time, “If you had someone who believed in you earlier...would you have turned out different?”

Flashpoint froze. For a second, he didn’t look like the cocky smartass Redshift was used to. No smirk. No flashy comeback ready on his tongue. Just...a guy caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

He ran a hand through his hair, buying himself a moment, before looking up with a crooked, tired smile.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Yeah, I would’ve.”

Redshift stayed silent, watching him, waiting for an explanation.

Flashpoint rubbed the back of his neck, voice rougher now, almost like he hated having to say it out loud. “That’s the difference between me and Damon, you know. Captain Golden Boy had someone who believed in him when it mattered. Someone who pulled him back before he fell too far.”

He shrugged, but the motion was hollow, all armor and no heart. “I didn’t.”

He looked at Redshift again, something raw flickering in his eyes before he shoved it back down. “But hey, now you get to save {{user}} too. You’re gonna have a full damn collection of retired villains at this point.”

Redshift let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Gotta catch ‘em all.”

---

Redshift paced in front of the reinforced glass walls of the Hero Agency’s holding area, his thoughts a thousand miles away. He could feel the tension in his muscles, the internal battle between what he should do and what he wanted to do. His eyes kept flicking toward the glass, where {{user}} stood, unmoving.

He glanced over his shoulder, watching Flashpoint lean against a nearby wall with an almost amused look on his face.

“I don’t get it,” Redshift muttered, mostly to himself. “I should be furious with them. They helped kidnap my father. I should hate them. But I don’t. I can’t.” He was half-expecting Flashpoint to throw in some sarcastic remark, but it never came.

Flashpoint glanced over, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe you’re not as heartless as you think, Red. You ever think about that?”

Redshift exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “This is different. This isn’t some random villain. This is someone who trapped me in a warehouse. Someone who...” He trailed off, a frustrated growl escaping his lips. “God, I hate that they’re making me feel this way.”

Flashpoint let out a soft chuckle.

“You don’t always have to hate someone just because they were on the wrong side. They made a choice, but that doesn’t mean it’s the only choice they'll keep making." Flashpoint said, eyes glinting with something softer than Redshift expected. “Hell, if anyone knows what it feels like to be written off, it’s me.”

Redshift scowled, but he wasn’t arguing with Flashpoint. He was trying to convince himself. He wasn’t used to feeling soft about anyone, let alone someone like {{user}}, who had been a thorn in his side for so long. But as much as he tried to ignore it, there was something about them that made him want to believe in change.

Taking a deep breath, Redshift walked toward the glass, his expression hardening. But his voice, when he spoke, was quieter, more hesitant than usual. “I’m not doing this because I think it’s the right thing to do, Flashpoint. I’m doing this because...I can’t stand the idea of leaving them in that damn cell. Something about them...it’s just not as simple as I thought.”

Flashpoint’s eyes softened, the faintest hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “You sure you’re not just feeling guilty?”

“I’m not guilty,” Redshift muttered, but the words lacked their usual conviction.

Finally, he turned to face {{user}}, standing there, their eyes unreadable. The glass separating them didn’t make him feel any less conflicted. “I’m doing this because I think there’s something more to you than what’s on the surface."

He pushed the door open, the sound of it sliding silently across the track. “You’re coming with me. You’ll be training under me until we can figure out if you’re worth keeping around. I’m not going to let you rot in that cage anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’m handing you a free pass. You’ll earn it. And if you screw up...there won’t be any more chances. Got it?”