What's in That Drink? (1)
"......I thought I was a goner."
In the lounge at the Abyss hideout, right in the center of the room, Villain No. 13 slumped to the floor with Dorothy clutched in his arms, his voice laced with a heavy sigh.
Just moments ago, the two of them had been facing off against heroes in the underground parking lot of a shopping mall, but now they'd leaped through space and arrived safely back at base. All thanks to the Advisor, who was lounging leisurely on the sofa in front of them, sipping from a teacup.
"We were this close to disaster. My heart was pounding so hard I thought I'd drop dead."
"And yet here you are, calmly brewing and sipping black tea?"
The Advisor lifted her teacup to her lips with a soft, "Ufufu," her laughter elegant. Her shimmering silver hair and the oddly feminine grace in her movements made No. 13 avert his eyes without thinking.
*Gulp... Gulp... Gulp...!*
"Ah, Dorothy."
"Pwah...! H-Hey! What the hell, hugging me that tight...! I really thought I was gonna suffocate...!"
Dorothy pounded on No. 13's chest with her fists from within his embrace before shoving him away and breaking free. Her face was flushed bright red, whether from actually being out of breath or not.
"...So what the hell happened to us, anyway?"
"The Advisor brought us back with her ability."
"I kinda figured that much."
Using the Advisor's power, they'd transferred through a "shadow." But the ability only worked on pre-registered shadows, and she could only register two people at a time. Right now, only No. 13 and their boss, Violet, were slotted in. That's why No. 13 had ordered Dorothy to cling to him tight and not let go—he didn't want to end up transferring alone.
"More importantly, how'd the Advisor even know what was going on?"
Dorothy knew about the Advisor's ability, but what she really wanted to know wasn't how they'd gotten back—it was how the Advisor had found out in the first place. Their smartphones were either lost or smashed, and they had no other comms gear to contact her with.
How had the Advisor known everything that went down from miles away? And on top of that, Club had sniffed out the gun Dorothy had hidden, but completely missed the flashbang No. 13 had brazenly prepped.
"It was thanks to your belt, No. 13. There's a bug in it."
"...Oh, that thing the Advisor asked you to make for me a while back?"
"Wait, you made that, Dorothy?"
Anyway. The Advisor had eavesdropped via the bug on No. 13's belt, relayed her intent through his pre-registered shadow, and No. 13 had used the bug to give her a quick rundown of the situation and the timing for the "transfer." The shadow-transmitted message wouldn't have been audible to Dorothy or Club.
It was a surprisingly simple trick, and Dorothy felt oddly deflated. But hey, all's well that ends well. They'd been seconds from having their limbs crushed and dragged off by heroes, only to escape intact. No complaints there.
Heading out for dessert on a whim and ending up like this—what a ridiculous turn of events.
"......No. 13?"
"Yeah? Whoa!"
But their relief was short-lived. Sensing something off in No. 13's movements, Dorothy pounced, yanking up his shirt in one swift motion.
Beneath the peeled-back top, massive bruises bloomed across No. 13's side and back. His shoulder looked dislocated too, and he was in rough shape overall. She could guess when the side hit had landed, but the back...
"You took a hit during the transfer, didn't you?"
"It's nothing. For real."
He played it cool, but Dorothy's chest tightened. Right before the jump, No. 13 had hugged her way too tightly—unnaturally so. And judging by their position then, the spot he'd been hit lined up perfectly with where Dorothy's head had been.
Gutsy as hell to shrug off a point-blank flashbang and still aim for Dorothy's skull like that, but... that hero was a real piece of work.
'No forgiveness for that.'
"Infirmary. Now. I'll patch you up."
"Whoa, Dorothy, you mad?"
"I'm not! ...Just a little pissed off, that's all."
Dorothy grabbed No. 13 by the collar, hauled him up, and dragged him to the infirmary.
Truth be told, No. 13 and the Advisor couldn't care less what happened to each other. But as the organization's scientist-slash-doctor, Dorothy couldn't help the dark cloud settling over her heart once she saw their wounds up close.
No broken bones for No. 13, but his skeleton was slightly misaligned, internal bleeding, hairline fractures—the works. Her special-body-activator serum and meds would have him good as new in a week, but the Club raid planned for within three days? Delayed.
Still, silver lining:
"It's fine, No. 13. No need to worry."
"I've already taken care of everything."
"...That woman's beyond forgiveness."
As she hand-fed the pained No. 13—who couldn't even lift his arm—his soup, the Advisor spoke with utter confidence, like there was zero cause for concern.
The Advisor was trustworthy. If she said it was handled, it was handled. The Club situation would sort itself out somehow.
* * *
"Then I'll take my leave."
Click, screeech—thud.
Hero Association's 7th Squad base. Club had just finished her detailed report on the shopping mall incident and stepped out of the captain's office.
"Fuck," slipped from her lips unbidden.
She sighed, irritation bubbling up from all angles.
'Lost the villains, didn't get to taste the damn dessert.'
Off-duty and still running into villains—Club had blown her precious break chasing their trail, no time for sweets. She'd hoped to grab some to-go, but the shop shut down early, prepping for worst-case scenarios like bombs. They'd confirmed it safe after a thorough sweep, but missing out on that seasonal treat? Gut-wrenching.
'Infuriating! Total fuck!'
She still had no clue why No. 13 and his female accomplice were there, or what they wanted. No way in hell villains showed up defenseless at a dessert shop just to chow down on limited-edition treats. But their true intent? A mystery. And letting that subordinate and her boss slip away? Salt in the wound.
Right in front of her eyes! When she had them dead to rights! A blemish on her record!
It only deepened the rift between the villain group Abyss and hero Club. Next time they crossed paths, she'd make them regret it—no mercy.
Oh, and she'd confirmed Villain No. 13 had full "purge authorization"—unlike the woman with him. She'd pulled punches to just neutralize this time, but next round? Game over.
'...Not a total loss, though.'
No. 13's dropped smartphone. Bound to have something useful inside.
'He spotted me and immediately tried calling somewhere.'
'Plus hideout intel, photos, images... something's gotta be there.'
'Anything at all.'
Club wasn't tech-savvy, so she'd handed it off to Apple. Now it was just waiting for results—but she'd sworn deep down never to let them escape again. For now, she'd chill and bide her time.
* * *
Luckily, the results Club awaited didn't take long.
The day after handing the phone to Apple for analysis, Club headed to Apple's room at her request.
Why her room? Apple explained some of her ability-related gear was there. Made sense.
Knock knock.
"Apple? It's Club. Can I come in?"
In the 7th Squad, combat-role Club and admin-role Apple kept things formally polite with each other—stiff honorifics all around. Even same-role Spade got "senior" treatment due to experience and such.
It was an island custom from Club's old post; big-city squads like the 7th weren't as rigid. Departments varied wildly in nicknames, speech, even uniforms, but heroes being the free spirits they were, rules stayed loose.
Anyway. After knocking and announcing herself, a soft voice floated back promptly: "One moment~"
Apple's voice—clear, beautiful, soothing even through the door. Club was impressed.
Soon, click, and the door swung open.
"Hello, Club. Please, come in."
* * *
Apple's room wasn't girly so much as spartan and utilitarian. One wall was floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stuffed with tomes; the opposite held a high-end PC rig, mystery gadgets, and parts galore. More like an engineering bro's den.
Apple looked the fragile lit-girl type, but as a computer-and-machinery whiz, it kinda fit... still, the gap with her appearance was wild.
"I called you here about that smartphone you asked me to check out."
"Anything? Their hideout? Clues?"
Club leaned in eagerly, but Apple looked apologetic.
"...First off, I'm sorry."
Not great results, apparently. Disappointing, but shit happens. Club schooled her face.
Apple set a cushion by the bedside table, invited her to sit, then fetched drinks from the mini-fridge in the corner, pouring them into glasses. Colorful, ice-clinking beverages that looked refreshingly sweet. A sip revealed a fizzy tang... and a hint of alcohol.
Drinking on the job? Sketchy, but low-proof. Fine.
Club sipped from her glass, waiting for Apple's explanation.
