Chapter Text
“Hey Phil!”
Phil waves to his coworkers and slings his shoulder bag down onto his desk. “Hey Niki, hey Q. How was the weekend?”
Quackity shrugs, eyes on his computer. “Fine.”
“Pretty good,” Niki answers. “Sorry about Quackity. He’s been in a mood since he showed up.”
Phil smiles at her. “Not your fault, mate. C’mon, Q, cheer up.”
Quackity rolls his eyes. “You get woken up in the middle of the night by a powered causing trouble and tell me how cheerful you are the next day.”
Niki gives Phil a see what I mean look, then frowns at Quackity. “Really? I didn’t hear anything about that.”
“Yeah man, some guy manifested pyrokinesis in a McDonald’s and gave the police a runaround for a few hours. Here, let me…” Q taps at his computer, then turns the monitor so Niki and Phil can see a news article pulled up. Phil scans the first few sentences, and it seems to agree with what Quackity’s been saying.
“Poor guy was 43, apparently,” Niki comments, shaking her head sympathetically. “It’s hard to have your whole world upended like that. Especially so late.”
“Isn’t that a bit old to manifest a power?” Phil asks.
“Phil,” Niki says, voice mock-disappointed.
Phil laughs. “I know. We work at the Department of Power Control. I should know. But don’t powers come by twenty?”
Niki shrugs. “Usually. They can manifest at any age, though.”
“Tell me about it,” Q scoffs bitterly. Phil winces in sympathy. Quackity used to have two fiances, but it fell apart after one of them manifested some kind of time power. Phil heard the story driving Q home after a particularly exhausting office holiday party.
“That’s still… late,” Phil replies. He’s not even forty yet, and can’t imagine the kind of upheaval that manifesting a power would cause. It’d be worse because of his job, he thinks. Bit awkward to suddenly show up to work with a suppressor implant.
Niki smiles wryly. “You’d be surprised what you don’t find when you’re not looking.”
“Let’s refocus on my problem: the noise from the fucking chase,” Quackity interjects. He swivels his computer back to facing him as Niki rolls her eyes and leans back in her chair.
“Oh, yeah, because everything’s about you,” Niki mocks.
“Well, yeah. Anyway, the asshole tried to dodge the enforcement unit for, like, hours. Why do people even do that?”
“It’s hard,” Niki says quietly. “Manifesting is scary enough, and getting the cops called on you only makes it worse.”
“They’re not gonna kill a powered if they don’t resist, though,” Phil adds. He’s not sure how much of an opinion he has on the topic, but he doesn’t want to get left behind. “Just make sure nothing bad happens until they can get the implant.”
“I mean… the implant isn't fun either. Most people describe it as feeling like something’s missing, all the time.”
“What do you care?” Quackity asks. “Getting soft, Agent Nihachu?”
Niki sighs, but she’s grinning. “I haven’t been an agent in years, Q. It’s just Ms. Nihachu to you.”
Quackity shrugs. “Once in enforcement, always in enforcement.”
Niki glances away, and Phil cuts in to fill the silence. “Hey, give us desk guys some credit.”
Q raises an eyebrow. “I’m a desk guy too? I’m not giving the field people all the glory.”
Phil glances at the clock and snaps his fingers. “Alright, we’re already running late. What’s new today, team?”
Niki flicks through an app on her phone briefly. “Ugh, I’ve got meetings all afternoon. And the deadline on that briefing got moved up to today.”
“Goddammit,” Phil groans. “Can’t they leave us alone for five minutes?”
“You’re telling me, dude,” Quackity agrees.
“Maybe more enforcement people should retire and become desk people,” Niki laughs. “It’d make everyone’s lives easier.”
“But then we’d have fewer enforcement people,” Q points out, already focused back on his computer. Phil starts to boot up his own computer, and he can already imagine all the alerts waiting for him from the powered incident last night.
“We’ve got plenty of enforcement,” Niki tells them. “And they need us as much as we need them. It’s two sides of a coin.”
Quackity fakes a yawn. “Is this gonna be on the test? I’m a full grown man, I don’t need life advice about the workings of the government agency I work for.”
“I think I already know too much about how this place runs,” Phil jokes. “If I knew more, I’d just have to write more briefings.”
Phil leaves his office tired, but not unsatisfied. Thank whatever gods may be, nothing too big got dumped on his team, and they actually managed to get caught up. It won’t last the week, but he can still celebrate a small victory. He keeps his head up as he walks down the street to the parking garage, looking from building to building.
He has a great view when the first-story windows blow out of a government building next to his office.
People cry out and stumble back around him, but Phil feels rooted to the spot. Holy shit. He fumbles his phone from his pocket, trying to get the camera open.
Flames billow from the window frames, casting heat across Phil’s face as he stares into the chaos. He sees a few silhouettes running down an alley, away from the street, and on instinct he takes steps after them, taking photos when the heat is too much for him to get closer.
He can taste smoke from the windows, he realizes distantly, staring into the fire and letting it burn spots in his vision. That’s probably a bad sign.
“Phil!”
Phil startles and turns toward the voice to see Quackity on the steps of their office looking at him. He takes a step away from the fire, then another, as Q waves him over.
“What were you doing?” Quackity asks once Phil’s closer.
“Saw some people running away from the fire,” Phil answers breathlessly. “Not like scared, but like they set it, I dunno. I took pictures, but I don’t know if they came out.” He opens his phone to look at the photos and scrolls through them. Most are terrible, the firelight rendering the figures shadows at most, but… “Holy shit.”
Quackity leans over to look. “Holy shit.”
One of the pictures is clear: a young man with a bright white streak in his hair running down the alley, looking back at the camera.
Two days later, Phil can’t stop thinking about the photo. By all logical thought, he should send it to the police, who would send it to Department of Power Control enforcement units, who would find and arrest the man in the picture. The more Phil looks at it, the more sure he is that the man is a pyrokinetic. He hasn’t sent the picture in, though. In fact, he hasn’t shown it to anyone other than Quackity right after the fire.
“Phil? You good?” Niki says, leaning over her desk toward Phil and Quackity.
Phil blinks. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, just lost in thought, sorry.”
“Still stuck on the fire?” Quackity asks. “Is it the—”
“I’m fine,” Phil cuts him off. Quackity keeps trying to bring up the photo, but Phil doesn’t want to face any more pressure to turn it in. It feels… wrong somehow. “What were you saying, Niki?”
“I was just wondering if you guys have any news about the fire the other day,” Niki answers, looking concerned. “I haven’t been keeping up.”
Quackity shrugs, easily dropping the subject of the photo. “They’re saying it was an attempt to destroy some records. Probably by a powered. They’re gone now, so we’re fine.”
“Do you think they’re gonna catch whoever did it?” Phil muses, trying to seem natural.
“Probably?” Quackity guesses. “Why do you care?”
Phil shrugs quickly. “Just curious, I guess.”
After work, Phil takes a walk to clear his head. He chooses to stay away from his office and the site of the fire, instead going to a greener area of the city. The air is nicer here, he thinks, even though objectively it’s probably not.
He’s painfully aware of his phone in his pocket, and the single photo he’s kept from the fire that’s on it. He’s practically memorized the details of it, from the flames licking off one alley wall to the singed coat on the man in the picture.
He should turn it in. It’d be as simple as texting the photo, location, and date to the enforcement number. It’s his legal and moral responsibility.
He knows, deep down, he’s not going to.
Phil scrubs one hand through his hair, then pauses as he looks back up at the street.
He squints down the sidewalk at a man ahead of him. He could swear it’s the guy from the photo, but it can’t be. Surely someone who recently set a government building on fire wouldn’t appear openly in public wearing the same trench coat.
The man turns his head, looking up at a tree growing along the street, and Phil can clearly see the white streak in his fringe.
Shit.
Phil’s following him down the street before he thinks it through.
Is it unethical to follow someone you know to be a criminal? Phil has to stop himself from laughing at the absurdity of the question and situation, then really thinks about it for a second. It doesn’t… seem unethical? He can ask if it’s the same guy from the photo, and decide what to do from there.
Although, come to think of it, he should probably start a confrontation like that in public. He doesn’t want to be alone with someone capable of setting fire to a government building.
He puts on speed and catches up with the man as they turn down a street away from the green area of the city.
“Hey,” he calls, trying to sound confident.
The man stops. “Hey?”
“Hey,” Phil says again. Why did I do this?
“...Do I know you?”
“No. Uh, no.”
“Okay?”
Phil gets his phone out of his pocket and pulls up the photo. “Is this you?” he asks, showing it to the man.
There’s a long beat of quiet. “Shit.”
“So… yes?”
The man grabs Phil’s arm and starts pulling him down the street, walking fast and cursing under his breath.
For a moment, Phil’s too shocked to do anything but stumble along. When he recovers, he tries to keep up, tucking his phone away. “What’re you doing?”
The man doesn’t answer, just keeps walking. Phil can feel his hand shaking where he’s gripping Phil’s arm, and wonders if he’s as nervous as Phil is.
“Um— I’m Phil?” Phil tries. “What’s your name?”
This seems to throw the man a bit, judging by how he briefly stumbles. “I’m… Soot,” he answers after a second. He keeps his fast pace, turning the corner. “Shut up.”
“Am I being kidnapped?” Phil asks. I shouldn’t have walked up to him. I shouldn’t have gone out today. God, I shouldn’t have taken that picture.
Soot looks at him for a split second. “I think so?” he says, sounding just as uncertain as Phil.
“Okay.” It’s all Phil can think of to say.
They keep walking for a few more minutes, Soot tugging Phil down block after block as they get farther from the city center.
Eventually, they reach what looks like a small apartment building and climb the front steps. Soot tightens his grip on Phil’s arm and repeatedly presses the call button for one of the units. He mutters to himself as he does, too quietly for Phil to understand.
After just a second, an irritated voice comes through the box with, “Fucking what?”
“Let me in,” Soot demands. “Right now. Open the fucking door.”
With a loud buzz and click, the door unlocks. Soot pulls Phil in, down a narrow hallway, and up a couple flights of stairs.
“Where are we?” Phil asks, trying to get out of Soot’s grip. Soot just holds tighter, although Phil can still feel his shaking.
When they reach the door that’s apparently Soot’s, Soot uses his free hand to bang on it and calls out, “Open the fucking door, will you?”
The door is opened by a young man, about Soot’s age by his looks. The first thing Phil notices about him in particular is his hair: reaching almost to his hips, three-quarters of it an almost-blond light brown and the ends deep pink, as if he had been dying it but stopped. He looks from Phil to Soot and back, and all Phil can think is that he’s intimidatingly tall.
“What did you do?”