r e i n t e g r a t e .

a grin, white-toothed and predatory, splits his mouth and otto hums. “you’re so thoughtful.” he glances her way and then scans the rooftop. no need to worry about the clones, they can’t see him and they’ve all frozen - much like their puppeteer who doesn’t know how to respond. how to get himself out of the mess he’s made for himself.

otto clicks his tongue, pads forward a few steps and then clicks his tongue again. along the roof’s edge, his monster moves slowly - an ominous clicking emanating from it’s depths. the scuff of a shoe makes otto pause his movements, glancing back towards to suzu to see she’s still where she was. not her, not himself. the little wannabe. otto curls his fingers, a froth of shadows enveloping his tattooed fist before he slings a whip towards the rooftop entry way. it earns him a yelp and that’s all the monster needs to pounce.

but otto is a beat faster. kiran tries snatching otto's arm as he stumbles, but his hand only grabs air as he lands on his knees.

and then the light vanishes.

the panel clatters nearby, wires sparking in fits. only the flashlight burns bright, and it's only by years of teaching light manipulators that he keeps from sweeping it across the room. the element of surprise is long gone, and the beam cannot overtake all of the surrounding darkness.

kiran slowly stands, eyes darting around the room. above him, claws click---click. he takes a step back, trying to estimate the monster's location.

he barely registers the hands on his back until he's tipping forward. twisting in the air, he lands on his shoulder, the mechanical whirs of the weaves softening the blow.

"god---" he swallows the rest of the curse, forcing himself to swipe over his watch and finally immerse himself in the dark.

he quickly gets on his feet. "and why did you think it wasn't in me?" a belated question in hope of an answer. otto may not take the bait; but kiran only needs a second.

years of teaching, years of overseeing; the room is as familiar to him as his own apartment. despite the changes and renovations, each dip from trainings past, each rough scuff mark littering the floor, aides in his path.

so he darts toward the nearest wall, trying to keep steps light. but all he needs is a second; a heartbeat; a breath.

in the observation room, when monitoring heroes, trainers will sometimes manipulate each training area. minor shifts chosen by which heroes are training. fires here, water showers there, loss of gravity from time to time. but that control is placed in each room too --- randomized, of course --- to use at the trainer's discretion.

and kiran ensured it was active before finding otto.

which would be easier if one eye wasn’t still smarting from kiran’s elbow catching him. he touches his fingers lightly to that cheekbone, finds it sticky with blood and scowls.

at least it’s first break, not first blood.

“you’re not exactly known for dickery, kiran.”

overhead, the monster growls and otto catches the scuff of feet against the floor - mind racing to figure out where the trainer is heading and for what before he darts after the older man. he’s a second too late, hears the button depress as kiran punches it, but he doesn’t yield. otto throws his weight into kiran to ram him into the wall, trying to drive the wind out of him before a klaxon blares and emergency lights begin to flash intermittently

as quickly as he drove himself into kiran, otto retreats - more focused on putting distance between himself and the speaker so it isn’t squawking directly above his head. “dickhead.” muttered out with a shake of his head, twirling a staff of shadows in one hand as he paces - eyes moving back to kiran and the lights, tracking both until he’s figured out the rhythm and the next time it goes dark, otto moves - darting across the floor with the klaxon muffling any noise he makes. it’ll muffle kiran too, but it’s a small price to pay.

but this isn't a regular training session or practice battle. there's a connection being sought. he's most likely doing it int he worst way, and he's certain otto will think less of him once this is over, but he doesn't know what else to do.

he had to do something.

he darts away from the shadow monster, barely catching sight of movement. forcing a direction change at the last second, a clawed hand barely misses him. he's being directed like a puppet on strings, the control of battle continually tipping in otto's favor. there is only so much a non-super can do against shadows that can kill.

but they have never been the main target.

in the next breath, otto cuts the distance, eyes pooling black. a gasp of shock is quickly swallowed, a deep breath forcing an even heartbeat. fear will always course through kiran's veins in combats like this. but he wouldn't be alive if he hadn't learn how to suppress the panic it causes.

"sure sounds like you want it to be first blood." kiran smiles back, light and easy. his right hand swipes over his watch. "but it's first break."

it’s only instinct brought upon by years of being beaten up by those more well trained than otto that keeps kiran’s elbow from shattering his nose. he twists his head at the last second, jerking away from the grip on the back of his head so the elbow glances off his cheekbone. it’ll bruise and swell, but it’s better than a broken nose gushing with blood. at the same time as otto twists away, he takes a sweep at kiran’s legs with his own and stumbles back to put distance between them.

the room plunges into total darkness then - the shadow monster ripping the panel from the wall - and otto rubs at his stinging eyes. “that’s a dick move, kiran!” he snaps, kicking off his shoes so they clatter, one at a time, around the blackened room. he closes his eyes, clicks his tongue, cants his head to one side to listen. “i didn’t think you had it in you.”

“just great!” lunara chirps, though her grip on otto’s hand says otherwise. she whips her head towards him, eyes widening at the blood trickling down his neck. “are you okay? oh my god, you’re bleeding—” the screams of civilians cut her short as one of the tables gets blasted to pieces, sending them fleeing from the vicinity.

oops, not there! sings out solis’ partner gleefully. eeny, meeny, miny, moe…

“this is nothing.” a flippant gesture to the cut. he doesn’t have any double vision; the ringing in his ear is persistently annoying but he can deal with that. a gash on the side of his head is nothing new for him. been a good long time since he’s had one and it’ll probably scar over.another plume of fire erupts somewhere behind them; he can see solis’ reflection in the restaurant window and the whites of his eyes begin to bleed to black as his shadow monster materializes further down the street. “just- try not to get burned? she likes fire whips so the closer you are- the safer you’ll be.”

there’s a certain irony to nero’s copycat being bestowed with replication abilities. 

it’s also fucking annoying.

getting rid of the clones is easy—but like the heads of a hydra, when one clone is struck down, two take its place. suzu sends illusory projectiles and creatures out indiscriminately, her focus divided between controlling them and keeping an eye on her surroundings, otto’s shadow monster doing its own fair amount of damage. how does that go again? the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

or wrong, depending on how you looked at it.

how many pictures has he studied of these shadow forms? watched grainy vids and tried deconstructing how to approach these fights? preparation goes a long way in his job, and kiran has the data, notes, and ideas to prove it.

but it can never be the same as witnessing powers in real time. as engaging with them while trying not to die.

an arm flies up right as the shadow reaches him. he grunts as his weaves absorb the impact, and then pushes himself backward, adding distance between him and the creature. he's at the disadvantage; the room is much darker now than when they first walked in, and kiran's expecting another form to attack from any direction as otto chooses.

he remembers being seven years old and feeling as if he were fighting for his life - and he may very well have been, considering the community raising him - against people more than twice his age, twice his size. training with kiran and the other nsa runts most often feels like a walk in the park for him, making it hard to even so much as garner his attention much less keep it.

still, he makes a lazy show of stretching - joints popping as he does - though he knows in a real fight he wouldn’t have this opportunity. kiran ought to not have enabled him. ought to have bull rushed him the moment he could. in otto’s opinion, it’s a disservice but then the nsa doesn’t typically care about his opinions when it comes to how they handle their training. they’re in the business of making supers marketable, not necessarily in being dangerous.

“oh, you’re done! that was quick.” as if she had not expected otto’s piercing to take more than a few seconds. it'd taken little convincing on his end for lunara to join him in this decision ( helix for her, tongue for him, which is three steps further than she’s willing to commit to ), reasoning being, well, why not? “i was thinking of getting a tattoo next,” she starts, turning back to the designs displayed on the holographic screen. she’d wanted the olympic rings, once. now, she’s glad she never got them—it’d only be a bitter reminder. “don’t you dare suggest a snowflake or something.”

"no, you don't get a say with anything else." neither of them are fools to believe that the nsa will ever allow him off their leash. "but here, in this room, i'm giving you a say. whether you train with me, fuck around in the dark, or walk out that door, it's your choice. i can write any off as training --- this time." probably. most likely. from the start, this has been an 'ask forgiveness later' type of idea.

otto cracks his spine, and kiran slowly exhales. "first break." a smile flashes over his face. "or i call an end to it because i'm old and need my sleep."

the smile fades as soon as it appeared. kiran runs a hand over his arms, listening for the soft click of his weaves reacting to his touch. he's survived beatings from trainings before, some only because of the weaves. if they shatter ---

well. better not dwell on that.

he’d side with the nsa in a heartbeat. otto can’t begrudge him for that; it’s the smart decision after all.

the thing about darkened rooms is that people stop noticing when they get darker and darker. he’s kept kiran distracted long enough to adjust it a bit more, like a frog in pot of water brought slowly to a boil.

“where’s the fun in that?” otto cants his head to one side, blue eyes narrowing behind his glasses before one of his shadow creatures bursts from the darkest corner of the room and rushes kiran. not solidified enough to actually harm kiran, but just enough to keep him busy. enough to remind him otto doesn’t care how much kiran pretends to care about him. “you’ll have to get through him first though. i need to stretch. don't wanna pull a hammy.”

"Kronos? Fuck no," they reply with a scrunched nose. "Gate crashing all the way. I did it last year, too, when they had those fancy little blue shrimp things on trays. It's just funny." Granted, he could be Kronos. (Oh well.) "What about you?"

his own torment of them notwithstanding.

“lucky invitee,” otto hums, taking both shots from the bottle girl. he keeps one for himself, presses the other into the hand of his temporary companion. “or unlucky, if they ever figure out their little serum.” store bought super-heroism versus the born and bred kind won’t go over well in the long run. otto’s can’t wait to watch it all go horribly, terribly wrong. “we’ll see if i get rendered obsolete. in the meantime, drink up. i want to hear about these blue shrimp things.”