Notes: Have I only seen stuff about Dispatch from videos and edits? Yes. Do I want to write about the universe? Also yes. Part Two is here!
Your first day at HQ begins exactly how the onboarding email promised it wouldn’t.
With confusion.
And yelling.
And, inexplicably, sirens.
The glass doors slide shut behind you just as the room lights flash a concerning shade of orange. A alarm blares overhead- shrill, looping, and unmistakably irritated.
“CODE OWL. REPEAT: CODE OWL. WHO LET AN OWL INTO THE SERVER ROOM.”
A dozen Dispatchers in mismatched business-casual groan in unison. Someone drops their iced latte; it splashes across the floor, narrowly missing a wheeled printer.
Another person mutters, “I swear to god, if that bird activates the firewall again-”
You flatten yourself against the check-in kiosk as the whole lobby scrambles.
Clipboards fly. Elevators ding open like startled animals. Three Dispatchers sprint past you toward the tech wing, one already pulling on protective gloves.
You glance at your orientation schedule.
REPORT TO ROBERT - 09:00DO NOT WANDER OFF.
You check the time.
09:01.
Great. Perfect. Fantastic.
You start edging your way around the room, trying not to get run over by emergency bird-containment protocols. A large digital sign pauses briefly on an HR safety tip: REMEMBER: FLAMBAE IS FIRE-RESISTANT. YOU ARE NOT.
A dispatcher with a headset nearly collides with you. “Sorry! Are you tech division? Bird specialists? Legal? Tell me you’re legal-”
“I’m… an intern?” you manage.
His expression flickers between disappointment and sympathy. “Oof. Good luck.” He jets off without further explanation.
This was supposed to be simple: arrive on time, report to Robert Robertson III, former Mecha Man, current dispatcher, avoid any major disasters. Instead you’re 60 seconds into the job and the building is descending into owl-related chaos.
You clutch your new ID badge, the one that says Intern in small print, as though the building might swallow you if you dare to breathe.
You wait. And wait, and keep waiting. No Robert. No welcome packet. Just you, your lanyard, and the Off-Brand Lobby Music that loops every forty seconds.
Then, from around a corner, you hear a slow crunch- heavy, deliberate footsteps that make the floor creak.
You brace yourself- and then see him: Golem.
He’s huge. Seven‑and‑a‑half feet of clay and rock, molded into a broad-shouldered frame, every inch of him made from dirt and stone. His eyes glow a warm, dull orange. Despite his size, there’s a gentleness in his posture, like he’s trying not to knock over a lamp just by breathing.
“Hey, intern, right?” Golem rumbles, his voice low but surprisingly soft. “I’m Golem.”
You nod, heart pounding a little. “Yes. I’m [Your Name]. I… Robert told me to check in here.”
He gives a little clay-muscle shrug.
Golem’s movements are almost slow‑motion, but you get the impression that everything in his world has to be steady, measured.
Before you can respond, the air hums faintly, and a shadow shifts.
He’s… odd in a way you can’t quite place.
In his human‑bat hybrid form, he’s tall and slender, but his head is unmistakably bat-like: big ears, sharp fangs, and pure white eyes. He’s dressed in a sharp navy suit with a red tie- looking like a very business-savvy, slightly predatory executive who may just happen to have wings sometimes.
“You must be the intern,” Sonar says, his voice slick and precise, like he’s giving a presentation. “Sonar. Pleasure.”
You swallow. “Yes, very nice to meet you.”
He leans forward slightly, as though studying the faintest tremor of your nerves. “Robert said you were coming. I’m… curious how someone survives this place their first day.”
Golem grins (or, well, the clay equivalent of a grin). “They’re doing pretty good so far.”
Sonar’s white eyes flick to the crate Golem set down. “Heavy stuff?”
Before Golem can respond, Flambae walks into the middle of the room balancing a mug of cocoa on a tiny flickering fire circle. Unfortunately, he notices you.
“Hey, new person!” he calls, waving with his free hand. A spark pops off his palm. “Welcome to the Z-Team! I promise I only accidentally set interns on fire like… twice.”
You take a full step back.
To you, it’s survival- because the spark that jumps off his hand arcs toward the ceiling, and your power surges so hard your fingertips burn cold. You clutch your lanyard tighter until the feeling fades.
Flambae’s smile collapses a little. He lowers the mug. “Oh. Uh. Sorry. I’ll… keep the fire stuff over here, then.”
You want to tell him it’s not you, it’s me, but that sounds like a breakup line and you’ve known him for ten seconds.
Robert, finally catching up, claps you on the shoulder, completely oblivious. “Right! Onward! Let’s get you settled at your station.”
Finally, Robert stops in front of a cluttered desk, piles of paperwork teetering like miniature skyscrapers. He gestures at a chair. “Sit. Here’s the command center.”
You take a seat and your gaze immediately lands on a framed photo propped against the monitor.
Flambae’s flame-hands hover too close to Robert, Prism has photobombed herself not once, but twice, stretching her grin across the picture, and someone put googly eyes on Sonar.
Robert leans back in his chair, clearly aware but unwilling to disturb the chaos of the display. Around the edges of the photo, little notes in sloppy handwriting mark incidents: “Mug set on fire- Flambé,” “Camera hacked- Vis,” “Bat-scream incident- Sonar.” A coffee ring smudges the bottom corner of that one.
Robert glances down at the photo, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I keep this here,” he says, shrugging. “Reminds me why I still show up. They’re infuriating, chaotic… impossible. But they’re my team.”
Dispatch is kinda giving me Ted Lasso vibes with Robert being the Ted of the team, an unlikely leader that brings the team together, Blonde Blazer is Rebecca, the confident boss with possible ulterior motives, Invisigal is Jamie Tart, doesn’t want to listen at first but gains respect for the new team leader, and Waterboy is Nate, the unconfident member of the team who is given a chance (though hopefully Waterboy doesn’t betray the team like Nate did)
Robert: So. Who broke it? I’m not mad. I just want to know.
Waterboy: I did. I broke it…
Robert: No. No, you didn’t. Sonar?
Sonar: Don’t look at me. Look at Flambé.
Flambé: What?! I didn’t break it.
Sonar: Huh. That’s weird. How did you even know it was broken?
Flambé: Because it’s sitting right in front of us and it’s broken!
Sonar: Suspicious.
Flambé: No, it’s not!
Malévola: If it matters, probably not… Invisigal was the last one to use it.
Invisigal: Liar! I don’t even drink that crap!
Malévola: Oh really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier?
Invisigal: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles. Everyone knows that, 'Mal'!
Waterboy: Alright let’s not fight. I broke it, let me pay for it, Robert.
Robert: No. Who broke it?
Punch'Up: [whispering] Rob, Prism's been awfully quiet…
Prism: Really?!
Punch'Up: Yeah, really!…
Robert: I broke it. I burned my hand so I punched it. I predict ten minutes from now, they’ll be at each other’s throats with warpaint on their faces and a pig head on a stick. Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.
