The Marvels

Ep. 24 | Catharsis in the Name of Damage Control

"Stop whistling!"

Unlike Phase, Echo didn't bother with a please. Flamethrower rolled her eyes but obliged, shutting her mouth. They walked across Celestro's parking garage, passing rows and rows of the same stereotypical dark vans that seemed to belong to every secretive, questionable company in existence. Their car for this mission—just a sedan, nothing flashy—was waiting parked at the edge of the lot. Flamethrower went up to the wall-mounted key cabinet, unlocked it with her fingerprint, and scanned the hooks for their key, eyes narrowing.

"It's not here," she said, turning around.

Echo was holding up the key with a grin. "Did you really think I'd let you drive?"

Flamethrower slammed the cabinet closed. The fact that he'd been down here earlier to beat her to the key didn't bother her as much as the idea that he must've enjoyed watching her waste time looking for it.

"Let's go," she snapped.

"Wait."

They both turned around sharply. Flamethrower was sure that Juggernaut wasn't standing there a moment ago, but here he was now, wearing normal clothes, which was a bigger shock than him being here at all. Seeing any of the Marvels in something other than their supersuit was rare, him especially. He was staring at his watch with his head tilted, the same way Emika stared at her tablet when she rattled off their agendas.

This couldn't be good.

"Echo," he said without looking up, "you can leave. I'll be taking this assignment with Flamethrower."

Well...shit.

Echo raised an eyebrow at her, but she shrugged, just as clueless as he was.

Noticing that neither of them had moved, Juggernaut added, "You can still come if you want to—"

"Please," Echo interrupted with a scathing laugh. "As if I'd deal with those freaks if I don't have to."

He threw the key to Juggernaut instead of to her. Flamethrower wasn't surprised, but that made two insults within a matter of minutes, and she glared at Echo and gave him the one-fingered salute. He gave one back, laughing wickedly, and left.

Flamethrower sighed, frowning at Juggernaut from across the roof of the car. "Why doesn't anyone ever let me drive?" she complained.

"Why, so you can get road rage and flare up?" he said. "They're sick of replacing burned steering wheels."

Flamethrower just shrugged, rested her chin on the hood, and folded her arms in front of her face, waiting. Juggernaut wandered toward the car, still focused on his pager; he was probably rearranging things to accommodate for the fact that he was here. But why was he here, when he'd assigned the mission to them in the first place?

Flamethrower shuffled her feet. "Are you sure you want to come?" she asked lightly. "They'll freak out the moment they see you."

"Which is why I'll be staying in the car."