Sonar

The Z-Team was always a wildcard waiting to implode. No one was confident in a group of ex-villains whose morality teetered on the Phoenix Program. Public opinion on them was at an all-time low following the donut incident and then Sonar's vengeful acts of shitting in the parking lot after being cut from the program.

But all that changed when the lone group was the only ones who stopped the Red Ring's assault on the Torrance branch. By nightfall they were castaway unstable crooks. By dawn, they were praised and hailed as genuine heroes. The Z-Team were finally being accepted by society.

Although... One didn't exactly feel the same way. While Sonar was reinstated back into the Z-Team and shared in the camaraderie and friendship he once kindled, it didn't feel the same. Even from the very moment when he should have been arrested, the bat-freak could already sense something in the Z-Team that he didn't partake in. They were far more cohesive, more open, they even shared their classified real names amongst each other, something Sonar felt bitter about.

When a new party commenced back at Robert's house to celebrate their hard-earned victory, Sonar didn't share in the festivities. He was invited, obviously, but he could feel something was missing about him. No amount of Malevola's reassurances or sympathetic comments from Blonde Blazer could assuage Sonar's bitter feelings. He simply pretended to feel happy, but deep down his mind was beginning to churn in jealousy.

At first, he blamed Coupé. She should have been the reasonable choice to cut early on. Too cold, too brooding, and evidently uncaring about the whole rehabilitation schtick. Sure, she had good boobs, Sonar thought, but she didn't relapse into cocaine and smeared scat all over the walls of downtown L.A. Sonar's bitter thoughts continued to feed into his jealousy as he pondered by the balcony, unnoticed by the Z-Team partying back inside.

He continued to blame her for his cut, until suddenly, it all fell into place with a soft click.

"Waitaminute..."

He slowly swiveled his head, ears twitching adorably before setting his sights on Robert inside. The bat's pensive expression melted into an subtle scowl of contempt.

"I shoulda known it was Robbie's fault all along."

His mind fell into place, now shifting the blame onto Robert himself. After all, Sonar thought, Coupé didn’t pull the trigger. She didn’t weigh the roster, didn’t run the numbers, didn’t decide who was “too much trouble” to keep.

Robert did.

Mr. Mecha boy, The Dispatcher himself.

The one who smiled at him, joked with him, indulged his bullshit right up until the moment it became inconvenient. The one who cut him loose with a professional tone and a regretful look, like Sonar was a bad investment written off for tax purposes. And now here he was — host, hero, centerpiece — laughing with a team that had closed ranks in Sonar’s absence.

Sonar exhaled slowly through his snout, claws tightening on the balcony railing. He wasn't one to feel genuinely furious, but the silent breeze fed into his hatred. His snazzy suit bulged and strained as he nearly shifted into his Mega-Bat form out of anger ala-Hulk style. Robbie didn’t hate him. That was the problem. Robbie thought this was over. Thought saving Sonar at the end had balanced the scales.

“Well, hell.”

Sonar muttered under his breath, ears flicking back as his lips curled into a lazy, venomous grin.

“Guess I won’t make it messy, then. From now on, this bat's going to be a 100% goody two-shoes for ol' Robbie here...”

He snickered playfully to himself. If Robert wanted a team player, Sonar would be one. If Robert wanted compliance, he’d get it perfectly as described, by-the-book, no-room-to-complain compliance. Orders followed precisely. Directives executed exactly as given. No initiative. No favors. No grace. Just results delivered with a smirk and a paper trail that led straight back to the Dispatcher’s desk.

Sonar pushed off the railing and headed back inside, slipping seamlessly into the noise and laughter, the mask snapping back into place like it always did. The friendly, easygoing, horny persona of Sonar back on full fledge with a slight twitch of an eye.

Let Robbie keep the team, he thought.

He's just going to make sure every decision after this one hurt exactly the way it was supposed to.

---

The next shift came unexpectedly. Naturally, Sonar clocked in late again, likely due to being stoned out of his mind snorting his secret stash right after the party. As he descended and shifted back from his Mega-Bat form, something was evidently different about him.

"Yeah, yeah, I know I'm up earlier than usual. Had to do an extreme makeover to look the part for the new and improved Z-Team."

He coolly mumbled towards a bewildered employee, nearly pushing them back with his gait alone. True to his words, the bat-freak's appearance underwent a major overhaul; teetering more into the beastly side of things. He was now a good feet taller in size, two heads taller than most employees. His body was now fully clad in teal fur, no inkling of skin anywhere from head to toe. Sonar's toned body is a tiny smidgeon more muscular, with surprisingly developed biceps, pecs, and a modest core for a crackhead porn addict.

While eyes were easily drawn upon Sonar's larger visage, they eventually caught onto the fact that while his body was bigger than usual, it compensated for a severe lack of clothing.

"Yeah.:

That was when the other shoe dropped.

Sonar straightened to his full, newly exaggerated height, shoulders rolling back as if he were presenting himself to an invisible mirror. The red necktie still hung perfectly in place against a chest now thick with teal fur, absurdly formal against the fact that the rest of his “outfit” consisted of nothing more than a snug pair of dark boxers doing the bare minimum of legal work. He spread his arms slightly, claws flexing, posture relaxed and smug.

"Check it out, baby. This is the three-fourth quarter solution to the SDN blues. More bat, more mass, more efficiency..."

He paused for dramatic effect, flexing his lean but intimidating muscles with a flourish.

"More morale."

Sonar nodded to himself upon seeing the expectant stares of the employees, and the one deliberately staring at the floor to distract himself.

“Before anyone freaks out...”

He added casually, already walking again, heavy footfalls setting a slow rhythm. The bat lifted his claw, ticking imaginary points off in the air.

"I checked the handbook. Section four, dress code: Covered waist-to-high, no exposed junk, just identification accessory present. Therefore, I'm golden."

Sonar didn't even wait for the one apprehensive employee standing up to interject.

“Also, I’m technically en route to the showers. So if anyone’s got a problem, you can file it under hygiene compliance.”

And with that, he headed off, not the usual quick route around the floor, but a deliberately long detour elsewhere. Instead of cutting straight down the hall, Sonar veered toward the bullpen, steps slowing just enough to be noticed. His stubby, embarrassingly expressive tail swayed with a pleased wiggle as his milky-white eyes locked onto a familiar cubicle.

Sonar leaned in as he passed, lowering his head just enough to bring himself into your space without actually touching anything. A fresh, rancid blend of beer and crack wafted from his fanged mouth.

“Morning, Robbie.”

He said lightly, already talking over whatever response might’ve been forming.

“Just wanted you to see the upgrade. Figure the Dispatcher oughta know what kinda asset he’s managing now.”

He straightened again, a wide, unapologetic smirk etched on his face. The red, gashing scar ran down his eye as he chuckled, yet none of it felt genuine or welcoming.

“Don’t worry — still following orders. Still within policy. Still your guy. Just… trying to impress Mecha Man a little. Show I’m committed, y’know?”

The tail wagged a bit faster as he drew nearer, using his increased height to his advantage.

"Don't you think that warrants a little praise, Robbie boy?"