Work Text:
The club had formed by accident.
It all started when Flambae found Sonar staring at his own reflection in the work bathroom, fingers ghosting over the jagged scar that ran from the top of his forehead, over his eye, and down his cheek. It was a miracle he could still see out of the eye, a point Flambae made explicitly clear in that bathroom, holding up his own hand; the last two digits missing, scar tissue uneven and prominent.
Sonar joked about how Mechaman fucked them up, and they were now part of the same club. That would have been the end of it, had they not continued bitching about Mechaman as they made their way back to the bullpen, feeling a bit better about themselves.
They met again on a Wednesday, commandeering a conference room for the first unofficial, “Mechaman Fucked Me Up” club meeting. They talked shit about Mechaman, getting various grievances off their chests, and some quality conversation, even if they were just insulting Mechaman.
And that’s how they continued, slowly easing up on the Mechaman hate to just talk, and vent, about daily life, and work struggles. Of course, never straying too far from their main point of the club. Mechaman fucking sucks.
It was two months after their first official meeting when they walked into the conference room to start the club meeting when the sound of crying greeted their ears. Invisigal was in the corner of the room, holding her shoulder, not even noticing the two other Z-team members enter the room.
After some concern, and a brief chat, the third member of the “Mechaman Fucked Me Up” club was added.
And so they continued their meetings, now with Visi to add her own insight (and annoyance) towards Mechaman. After all, she took a bullet for him, for what? Shroud was still alive, and now she could barely raise her arm without some degree of latent pain.
With three members, they delegated club roles. Sonar was the treasurer (they had no money, but in case they did he would be in charge of it), Visi was the secretary (most meeting notes taken, if any, were absolute gibberish and little doodles on the paper), and of course, Flambae was President (he just liked the idea of being in charge, he never did anything presidential aside from sit at the head of the table).
It was a good vibe they had going, talking shit about Mechaman, complaining about work, and occasionally talking about deeper topics in a sort of group therapy situation they would never admit to actually participating in.
The next member to join, was on a technicality.
Invisigal may have confided in Golem about the club, and he brought up a good point in that Robert had thrown a chair at him. Robert was Mechaman afterall, and he could use the group, even for just a session, to get the event off of his chest. Visi seemed to be doing better going to this club, and Golem could add his own perspective to the club.
So they took a vote. Just to make things official. Two votes for letting Golem join, Flambae being the mediator of the voting (finally doing something as President of the club). And now their number increased to four.
Golem joined the next session, which got quickly derailed having another excuse to dunk on Mechaman, and he never got to finish his initial talk about having a chair thrown at him. So he came back the next week. And then the next. On the third meeting, he was voted to be the Vice President, and unofficial snack provider.
The fifth member caused a stir within the club.
It was pure coincidence that Prism ended up in the conference room. She had been looking for Flambae, trying to get his opinion on a new song she was working on, and stumbled into the club mid-roast on Mechaman. Not one to miss good drama, she sat at the table and joined the conversation, the club taking a quick vote to let her stay.
2-1. Sonar wasn’t too thrilled, arguing that Prism didn’t even have Mechaman issues like the rest of them. But he was quickly swayed as Prism volunteered to be their PR person, and offered some new makeup and hair styles to accentuate Sonar’s scar to pull all the ladies he could dream of (not that he needed help or anything, he argued, but the offer was taken regardless).
Prism turned out to be a fantastic listener, and while she loved the drama and gossip, she offered more than her fair share of advice, and a shoulder to lean on for the tough conversations (that they did not have, ever, because this wasn’t anything more than a Mechaman hate club. So they said.)
They stayed like that for a while. Just the five of them, rarely talking about Mechaman, but enjoying each other’s company, and talking about life.
Then Sonar brought Malevola.
The unofficial club treasurer, officially brought forth a motion to let Malevola join. It was seconded by Prism, and passed with a 4-0 vote. They never got around the shit talking that day, instead brainstorming what role in the club Malevola could have. After some deliberation, and more unofficial official club business, Malevola was voted to be the event coordinator. She was more than happy to take the role, and set up their first event that day, which was the next meeting.
And so they continued on.
Some days were better than others. With more bodies present, they had to focus on only one or two members at a time to talk. It put a little strain on the group, so they organized a rotating list of who gets to speak which week. But now they were getting overwhelmed with organizing, keeping track of written records, and still being able to vent to each other. So they did the only thing that felt right.
They invited Coupé and Punch Up to the group as the record keeper and mediator respectively.
The two worked together nicely, and the club was easily able to fall back into their rhythm of complaining, advising, consoling, and reassuring. It was nice, having everyone here, and it was doing wonders for the team oracle during missions. Whether they liked it or not (or even admitted to it in the first place) they grew closer not just as a team, but as friends. And so the unofficial “Mechaman Fucked Me Up” club was complete.
Or so they thought.
One day, many months after the initial meeting, as the club was on their way to the conference room (that was officially booked now thanks to Malevola), they found Robert sitting on the ground, back against the wall and head between his knees, Beef whining in doggy concern by his feet. The group approached, trying to figure out what was wrong with their dispatcher. Flambae, being club President, was the one to speak to Robert, who, with a weary voice, expressed the aches and pains that were plaguing his very being. ‘The price of being Mechaman’ as he put it. Everyone looked at each other, having no need to take an official vote.
The last member to join the club was Robert.
The plans for that meeting were put on hold as the club listened to Robert about how three generations of Mechaman had fucked him up as well. His stories gripped everyone. Not a soul dared interrupt as Robert talked about Mechaman. It was obvious as he was venting which Mechaman he was talking about. It was mostly Mechaman Astral, some of Prime, and of course, the main cause of his physical pain, Mechaman Blue. They only steered the conversation way when his grievances started to become about himself, more than Mechaman. After all, this was Robert, not Mechaman, and he deserved to talk just as much as everyone else in the club.
It took several sessions of Robert talking before they got back into their rotation. But he really needed it.
A few months later, after all the talk about how Mechman has fucked them up in someway, Visi is the first to bring up how, despite all they have gone through, they are better people now in spite of that. And after a brief glance at Robert’s face, they assure him that he is loved by all of them, since he’s the man in the mech, not Mechaman. (Flambae does have to chime in that Robert is still a little bitch, however. Endearingly said of course, and voted on, 8-0 in favor of Bob-bob being a bitch.)