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The man blinked as the bullet—really a green foam dart with a plastic suction cup at the end—bounced off his head and fell to the ground.

“Youmurderedme?” the man said, sounding aghast. “What the hell, Nicky.” Aaron Bell frowned as he pulled off his ski mask, his dark hair slick with sweat, sticking up at odd angles. “We talked about this. Many, many times. I can’t believe I have to repeat this, but I will: We. Don’t.Kill.”

Behind them, a man groaned as he pushed himself away from the wall. “Oh, sweet lord, my bones. My actualbones.” Guardian glanced over his shoulder to see Miles Kensington pull off his own ski mask with a grimace. “When Jasmine asked me at our daddy-daughter date if I would help out with Nick’s training, she didn’t mention being flung against a wall.”

Guardian rolled his eyes. “Yeah, maybe you should’ve thought of that before you called yourself Cannibal Psycho.”

“Okay,” Trey Gibson said, lifting his ski mask until it revealed his face, letting it rest on the top of his head. “So, here’s the thing: holding the gun sideways is useless. You can’t aim at anything. Movies lied, and they should be ashamed. Gibster, did you know about this?”

“Did I know movies weren’t real life?” Gibby asked through the comms. “Yes, Dad.”

“Aha!” the last man shouted, pointing his own foam-dart gun at the others, swinging it wildly. “Now I will betrayallof you and—”

“Seth?” a voice said through the comms. “It’s Martha. Sorry to interrupt, sweetheart. You sound like you’re having fun, but can you ask your uncle to pick up toilet paper after he’s done with his betrayal? I forgot to grab some when I went to the store earlier. And you tell him if he comes home with single-ply again because it’s cheaper, we’re going to have words.”

Bob Gray removed his mask and said, “Darn. My betrayal was going to be so neat.”

“Wow,” Miles said, jumping up and down. “I think… I think that cured my back pain. Who knew all it would take was being thrown by telekinesis against a wall? Takethat,overpriced chiropractor!”

Guardian threw up his hands in disgust. “You are the worst pseudovillains who have ever pseudovillained. Training exercise over. Guardian out.” He removed his helmet, glaring at his dad, who tossed the foam dart up and down.

“Your son killed you,” Trey told Dad. “That’s some Shakespearean shit right there.”

Dad sighed. “Yeah, we’ll have to work on it more, I guess. You would think not murdering anyone would be a given, but here we are.”

Before Nick could issue a devastating retort that Dad would most likely end up having to tell his therapist about, Seth pulled off his helmet and said, “Nick, you figure out where you went wrong?”

Grumbling under his breath, Nick nodded. “The last door. I didn’t check it.”

“I was hiding inside,” Miles said, sounding rather gleeful. “You know you were supposed to be quiet, right?”

Nick groaned. “It’s because I don’t have abs yet. And no, you don’t get to ask how that explains anything. It just does.”

“You should consider doing stadiums,” Dad said. “Running stairs will get you in fighting shape. Just don’t ask me to do it with you because my knees are shot to hell and I don’t want to.”

Nick stared at his father in horror. “Dad,no.”

“Dad—”

“Aaron,” Miles said. “I’ve got this.” He walked around Nick and Seth, eying them up and down before stopping in front of the others, crossing his arms over his chest. The others seemed to take that as a signal to also pose, Trey’s hands on his hips, Bob tapping the Nerf gun against the side of his head, Dad tossing the dart up and down without even looking at it.

Miles nodded, squared his shoulders, and said, “Dad,yes.”

“Dad Squad,” Trey said, fist-bumping Bob without even looking at him, which,what.

Nick groaned. “I’m all for the elderly trying new things, but did you really need to make shirts that said that?”

“We’re wearing them right now,” Dad said cheerfully, and sure enough, they all unzipped their thin coats to reveal matching shirts that had the same stylized lettering:DAD SQUAD.

“Mine has glittery letters,” Trey said, stroking the sparkles on his chest fondly. “Aysha said they bring out my eyes. But I think I’d still wear it even if they didn’t. We don’t believe in toxic masculinity in our house. Glitter is for everyone.”

As if he was a little nervous, Bob said, “I hope you don’t mind I have a Dad Squad shirt too, Seth. I know I’m not—you know.” He frowned down at his shirt. “Thought about making it Uncle Squad, but…”

Seth went to him, and Bob grinned when his nephew hugged him tightly. “It’s perfect,” Seth said quietly. “More than, even.”

“Yeah?” Bob said, face in Seth’s hair. “I hoped it would be.”