Project ROWDY 30B

The way GDA doors slid open always made Brick think of Mojo’s lair, which was stupid because Mojo would never let his doors open this slow. Monkey had skills. 

He brushed some random dust off his oversized red t-shirt, probably from the flight over, his brothers matching him in everything except the colors. Blue and green flanking red, like they were some kind of walking traffic light.

Cecil was staring at a display when they walked in, his back to all three of them. Brick caught the tail end of it before the old man minimized it with that subtle gesture he probably practiced in the mirror.

Team Trinity Power Readings (May 2021) 

Strength: +144.375% 

Speed: +63.75% 

Durability: +155% 

Energy projection: +116.25%

Brick stared flatly at the white-haired director, well aware Cecil wouldn’t have it up if he didn’t want it to be seen. Wants to look like he can be caught off guard, huh? The man had been running the GDA for twenty years, and Brick doubted he’d gotten surprised by anything since the Clinton administration.

“Well now.” Cecil’s voice carried that worn-thin southern drawl that made everything sound like a threat wrapped in politeness. “Three boys who went from interdimensional loose cannons to… little academic overachievers. Color me impressed.”

“We’ve been… applying ourselves to the curriculum.” The words came out stiffer than Brick intended, but Cecil had this way of making him feel like he was being graded on everything.

“Yeah, I built this sick robot that runs on Mountain Dew!” Butch’s enthusiasm was surprising, considering he usually treated adults like obstacles to punch through. “I mean, it exploded but that’s like a perk!”

“And I’m gonna be in a PLAY!” Boomer’s voice cracked right in the middle, excitement overriding his vocal cords. “With costumes and everything andandand oh man, I get to wear this cape that’s all swooshy and dramatic! It’s gonna be SO cool!”

Cecil allowed himself a brief smile before his expression shifted back to business, and Brick felt the temperature in the room drop a few degrees. “Heartwarming. But let’s talk about what really matters. You boys have gotten considerably better at not dying.”

He activated a large display behind him, and Brick found himself looking at their month-by-month progression through villain encounters. Numbers and charts and tactical assessments, all of it adding up to the fact that they were apparently getting their shit together. 

Finally.

“Primary response team for the continental United States. Looking at a ninety-one percent approval rating.” Cecil’s tone was almost conversational, but Brick caught the undercurrent of calculation. “Hell, you’re more popular than apple pie.”

“People fuckin’ love us!” Butch’s pride was obvious, chest puffed out like he’d just won a prize fight.

“Fame’s a double-edged sword, son. But useful.” Cecil nodded, and Brick noticed how the man’s eyes tracked their reactions.

The boys went attentive as Cecil’s expression grew more serious. “The Guardians left quite the hole when they died and nature abhors a vacuum. Unfortunately, so do the supervillainous.” The displays behind Cecil shifted to show a collection of superhumans, all of them villains, and currently at large. With only a glance, Brick recognized maybe half of them from their files. “The new Guardians are… let’s call them a work in progress.”

More images and short clips flashed across the large screens, each one representing a different flavor of potential apocalypse. “S-class threats who’ve been playing possum are starting to stretch their legs. Testing the waters.”

Brick studied the images, tactical analysis kicking in automatically. Power levels, threat assessments, probable response strategies. “So, what? They’re testing limits?”

“Bright boy.” Cecil’s approval felt like getting a pat on the head from a shark. “And with Omni-Man handling most of the more cosmic-level headaches…”

“Let ’em test whatever they want.” Butch spat, all sharp edges and a mountain of barely contained violence. “We’ll smash their stupid faces in. We’re the big guns now.”

“You’re three pieces on a very large chessboard. Effective pieces, but pieces nonetheless.” Cecil’s correction was gentle, but Brick caught the steel underneath. Always reminding them who was really in charge.

“I dunno, some of these guys look really tough,” Boomer muttered to himself, still loud enough all of them could here.

Cecil studied them with that calculating gaze, the same one that made him understand why so many agents were terrified of the GDA director. “Ten months ago, you couldn’t handle a bank robbery without us worrying you’d level half a city block. Now? You’ve seem to have gotten more of a handle on what you can do.”

“Still unsure if it’s just more constant fights, or training, or if it’s background radiation messing with the Chemical X in our makeup.” Brick kept his voice neutral, but he was already regretting bringing up their origin story. Cecil never failed to get that look whenever the conversation turned to their enhanced biology.

“Chemical X. Now that’s an interesting little compound.” That look right there, a gleam to Cecil’s eyes that no human poker face could hide to eyes that could easily see a fly on the other side of a football field. “My lab coats would love a closer look.”

Brick narrowed his eyes, that familiar protective instinct kicking in. “That sounds invasive, director.”

“Hell no.” Butch was as defensive as ever, fists tight and teeth set. “Nobody’s poking at us with needles.”

“Nothing dramatic. Few tissue samples, some blood work.” Cecil’s casual tone didn’t fool anyone, especially not Brick. The man wouldn’t risk losing their loyalty so he knew the GDA wouldn’t risk anything that would make them leave but he had to draw a line somewhere simply to prove a point. “Standard procedure.”

The boys exchanged glances, and Brick felt that silent communication pass between them.

“Do you think they’d use the big needles or the little ones?” Silent communication Boomer immediately wrecked with whatever dumb thought was running through his head. “Because the little ones are worse somehow…”

Brick weighed their options while Cecil waited with that patient smile that suggested he already knew how this would end. The man had been playing this game longer than they’d been alive, and Brick had been leading conversations with dear ol’ devil daddy long enough to know that most interactions with Cecil were really just another negotiation.

“We’ll consider it.”

Cecil smiled wide and bright, the expression not fake exactly but still off. “Take your time. I’m a patient man.” His drawl stretched the words out but not enough for Brick to miss the underlying edge in the director’s tone. The steel in Cecil’s voice was unmistakable after you caught it the first time. “Now, about your summer plans…”

“Summer schedule?” Butch groaned, hands digging into and pulling at his tall head of spiky black hair. “It’s supposed to be vacation!”

“Crime doesn’t vacation, son. Neither does the Global Defense Agency.” 

Brick straightened, professional mask sliding into place because someone had to take this seriously. “What’s the mission parameter?”

Cecil activated a new display, and the office wall lit up with a global map dotted with red threat indicators. “Your jurisdiction just got a significant upgrade. International response authorization.”

“We get to go to other countries?” Boomer’s eyes went wide, and Brick could practically hear the gears spinning in his brother’s head. Probably already planning what snacks to try.

“When Uncle Sam asks nicely. With all the proper paperwork, naturally.” Cecil’s nod was measured, bureaucratic.

“World tour!” Butch’s enthusiasm was infectious, shoulders bouncing with barely contained energy.

“Business trips. Leave the sightseeing to the tourists.” Cecil’s correction was gentle but firm, and Brick filed away the reminder that they weren’t normal kids going on vacation.

“Wait, they’re all meshed up together.” Butch squinted at the display, head tilted like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “That’s weird?”

Brick’s eyes narrowed, snapping from Butch in surprise to the display in question. Holy… Those narrowed blood-red eyes widened a second later. He’s right?

“Sharp eye. Multiple villain factions making nice with each other.” Cecil’s approval sounded genuine, Brick realized with wide eyes, which was the closest he’d come to sounding happy around Butch alone since… ever. “Bad for business.”

“Strategic response would require additional assets.” Brick kept his voice neutral, but his mind was already running scenarios, as well as dealing with the simple and insane fact that Butch had seen a pattern he missed.

“Funny you should mention that. Been thinking about expanding the roster.” Cecil’s look was significant in the way that meant bad news was coming wrapped in reasonable explanations.

The boys’ synchronized reaction was probably comical from the outside, but Brick felt his stomach drop as understanding hit.

“We don’t need anyone else!” Butch’s defensiveness was as immediate and as violent as everything else his little brother did. “We work fine as we are!”

“Like… adding more people to our team?” Boomer’s uncertainty bled through every word, voice climbing toward panic. “But we’re already perfect the way we are! Right? Right?!”

“Long-term planning. New Guardians of the Globe. Trinity as the foundation.” Cecil’s careful tone suggested this conversation had been rehearsed, probably with focus groups and psychological assessments.

Brick frowned. “Fair enough, but that… something like that would require adjustment.”

“What if they don’t like us?” Boomer bit his bottom lip. “What if we don’t like them? What if they’re mean?” 

Cecil studied their reactions with the kind of attention that made Brick feel like a lab rat. “Relax. That’s tomorrow’s headache. Today, you’re still my three-man wrecking crew.”

Relief flooded through all three of them, visible enough that Brick wondered if Cecil had planned that too.

“Good. I was ready to fight someone.” Butch exhaled, shoulders slumping as tension bled out of them.

“Speaking of changes, new uniforms. Better resilience, cleaner comms, and they don’t exactly look half bad either.” Cecil’s casual tone didn’t fool anyone as the display shifted to show sleek redesigned uniforms. Still their colors, but with way more focus on color, pushing the black that used to be front and center back to accents.

Butch nodded slowly. “Now those look bad-ass.” 

“Cool!” Boomer’s voice hit a new pitch, the sound keen enough to make Brick flinch as his brother instinctively pulled on his powers. “When do we get them?”

“Effective immediately.” Cecil tapped a button on his desk, and a wall panel to the right slid open to show the boys the real deal.

Huh, Brick stared at the costumes, his especially. Way more advanced than the old ones. 

“Ten months back, you boys were dimensional refugees with property damage across three states.” Cecil’s voice carried weight, and they all paused to look back at him.

Cecil’s expression shifted, a rare moment of what might have been pride showing up. “Today? You’re the best thing standing between this world and a whole lot of ugly. That’s what we call h-.”

“Director!” The door slid open behind them, interrupting whatever Cecil was about to say next as Deputy Director Donald Ferguson entered with a tablet, the man’s expression grim in the way that meant someone was about to have a very bad day. “Director Stedman, sir, we have a situation in Tokyo bay. Tier 1 Titan-class Kaiju on direct approach.”

Cecil turned to them, and Brick felt that familiar shift from conversation to deployment. “Well, gentlemen. How fast can you get to Japan?”

Brick ran the numbers, factoring in atmospheric resistance and structural integrity. “Safely… in-atmosphere, without risking any damage at all, approximately thirty-five seconds.”

“Let’s make it thirty.” Butch cracked his knuckles. “Easy twenty-five, why not?”

“Ooh, ooh! A kaiju!” Boomer bounced higher, hands clapping together. “It’s been a while.”

Cecil smirked. “Go.” 

The boys moved fast as ever, literally a flash of color and motion as they stripped at super-speed. A half-second later, they stood there in their brand new costumes; all red, blue and green. 

Clicking his tongue, Brick tied his long hair back into a low ponytail trailing down his back. Done with that, he stared at his brothers with a firm glance, ready to handle another mission. “Let’s roll out.”

Butch snorted his way, grinning wide. “Fuck off, Optimus.” 

Dumbass. Brick rolled his eyes as Boomer giggled behind his hands.

Without another word, they were skyward through the GDA exit port, three streaks of light arcing across the sky toward the Pacific.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Cecil Stedman watched across a dozen different displays as his boys hit the lower atmosphere at speeds that should set the whole thing aflame. GDA satellites optimized to track objects moving at much faster speeds came in handy for exactly this, something Cecil appreciated with the progression of technology over the last two decades.

As the boys arced down to Japan, his smile fully fell away back to his professional directorial frown.

He didn’t have to turn around to know that Donald was still standing in the same position, the man’s footsteps heavy enough that his ears wouldn’t miss it. “Status update on Project ROWDY research?”

His deputy director cleared his throat, robotic throat perfectly replicating the sounds in such a way that no human would think something was different. Even the owner of said throat. “W-well, sir, some of our scientists believe synthesis might be possible with appropriate samples. Hair, stool, and urine… are not exactly appropriate sources.”

Cecil let out a hum. Of couse. “Just make sure that research is kept quiet.”

Donald’s answering hum was all Cecil needed to hear; not that the man didn’t know his job, but it was for the best that he at least pretended he didn’t know exactly how loyal and dutiful Donald was. To death and back.

“Sir,” Donald finally spoke again, “do you really think they’re ready to go out in the world?”

Cecil kept his eyes on the tactical displays as three dots finished crossing the Pacific at hypersonic speed. “They better be, Donald. They better be.”