@a-fading-light

“This time for sure, is that right?” 

It’s amused, surely, that tone in MZ’s vocal ducts. The training room’s gray and white walls were familiar by now, two years and one reset after they’d first met, it had to be. What had changed were themselves, not their environment. The MZ and Rock who had first walked into this underground stadium were nothing like the pair of today.

The initial ksshh implied the blond’s blade igniting, and the hum after was a sound so familiar it could have been written in his circuitry. Red eyes only matching the glow of his saber, a smirk on his face as a stance that his partner-opponent likely knew by memory solidified.

“What made me pick it?” Other than he’d remember the location easily enough in this labyrinth of a facility… “I can tell you go here a lot.“ So even if it contained something weird and esoteric, he’d learn something about his companion if nothing else. 

Provided MZ let him in, given all the doors tended to remain locked around the blond’s domain. Paranoia maybe? What did MZ have to be paranoid of?

Seems he’d picked just fine, as the tall war machine reached past him and undid the lock with a spark of nanites. The door slid open revealing…. 

Rock blinked as the lights came on, first the one directly in front of them, then another, and another, one by one filling the distance and revealing a massive collection of vehicles housed in an even more massive garage. Is he… is he gawking? Yes, but MZ’s voice quickly pulls the slack from his jaw, the Light-bot stepping a little too excitedly inside.

Sports cars, motorcycles, many make and models he’d never even heard of. He’s all but drooling just at the front and center pieces, even when there’s so much more to see.  

“I uh, got t’ hand it t’ ya… didn’t expect ya t’ have somethin’ like this hidin’ around. Your taste is… really, really good.”

“You didn’t expect me to, because...?” His taste? Or just what he did for a pastime? The blond strolled past his... guest, who seemed he wouldn’t stop staring just because he’d only begun to lay eyes on the vamploid’s collection. 

Making his way over to the back table, parts strewn about its surface, the vamploid only watched, observed the way the raven-haired android bounced between vehicles, from sleek cars to motorcycles of all shape and size. A few alien tanks he’d managed to steal from other worlds, a space ship or two, even the model he’d brought the frozen world to its current state in, rebuilt as if new.

A massive collection, sure, models of old as well as those only in production in MZ’s own timeline. Some that weren’t available to the public, but had been property of elite Maverick Hunters... Only his purely from exposure, and yet those two were his favorite by far. He’d modified them, made them his, and in return they provided being about as indestructible as the Maverick himself.

Sleepover? Right. It’s impossible to resist a roll of the eyes at such a comment, not that Rock tries at all to hide it.

“Pretty sure you’re not the type t’ host anythin’ for anyone in the first place.“ He hardly pictured MZ as the hospitable sort, unless doing so gained the blond something. 

Like the way he fixed the General’s injuries between or after sparring sessions. Not truly meant to help Rock, but to ensure their fights– and thus MZ’s entertainment– could continue. A simple formula, really, and with that being the War Machine’s prime concern, there is little to expect from this evening other than awkward silence and half baked chit-chat.

He’s not sure if he’s relieved or not when his sparring partner departs momentarily for a drink.

Even so, the answer stills the DLN’s annoyance some, green optics following the hand gesture. “…come t’ think of it this place is pretty spacious…” perhaps the Maverick had a library or something somewhere– seeing as MZ often had a book in hand whenever the Light-bot arrived. 

“…hm…” there is the slow start of steps, before the raven-haired machine is wandering idly down the long corridor. He stops further in, closer to the training arena they used, before turning around to look for his “host”. “How ‘bout this one?“ Easy to remember location if it was interesting, and if not he’d just start from this end and work his way back towards the front. 

MZ knows each room that the Light-bot roams past; it was his home after all. There wasn’t much that happened here that he didn’t know about, or own himself. A door is chosen easily enough, closer to the middle of the long corridor, twenty steps away from the weapons cache. 

That one, hm...? 

“Not truly. Depends on how you use the things inside.” The Maverick set down his jug, venturing after his charge, settling behind him with an amused hum. “What made you pick this one?” The handle had the most use, the most wear. A room the blond frequented.

Reaching around the shorter, his fingers made contact with the doorknob, violet sparking at the tips. It clicked, the sound echoing down the empty hallway, the metal sliding open into deep darkness. Then one light sprung on, another, another, rows out to display metal of both sleekness and power, well-loved machinery.

Glaring is an activity Rock could freely do for the rest of time. As is, however, his shivering frame was somewhat disrupting his attempted hostility. Enough, at least, to have MZ smirking at him again. Damn blond…

But there is an over sized jacked dropped onto his shoulders, the Light-bot fielding mild surprise for the gesture. It’s almost kind, and from anyone other than the tall war machine, Rock might’ve been inclined to view it as such. For the moment though, he’s stuck on a low simmer, grumbling despite snuggling into the coat for warmth.

“…great. Just what I always wanted, a sleepover with tall dark an’ homicidal.“ His eyes roll as he tugs the coat over his shoulders more, defeated by both the weather and his sparing partner’s observations. “Don’t suppose your plan is for us t’ sit around an’ braid each other’s hair while we gossip,” it’s served with flat sarcasm, naturally.

“So what should we do? Ain’t really in a mood t’ have my ass handed t’ me more.“ A frown. “…ya got any hobbies that don’t involve weapons an’ combat by any chance?“

“If a sleepover is what you wanted, I’m afraid I’m not going to be the kind of host you’re looking for.” 

The sound of the wind howling outside, audible now that they were no longer below ground, is a comfortable ambiance. The vamploid rolled his shoulders in a shrug, red eyes surveying the ‘living room’ that made up the area. A couch, the back that he leaned against with crossed arms, a television, a table, an open kitchen that he obviously didn’t use often. 

Hobbies that didn’t involve weapons? “...Plenty, I suppose.” A free hand motioned to the long hallway they’d emerged from, the rows of doors that they’d walked past daily to get to the training rig. “Just pick a room I suppose, and I’ll tell you if combat matters.” 

“Unpredictable is one way of puttin’ it…” 

More like impossible. 

Equal surprise meets the offered hand, but Rock would not turn it down. It didn’t exactly pay to be amiable with MZ but he… saw no reason to get snappy for the offered help. He’s sore, anyway. The General is quickly dusting himself off, frowning at the Maverick’s statement. “Late ain’t a problem, long as it ain’t too late.” And seeing as he’d only been here a few hours, there was no need to worry about violating the parameters of his more subtle programming.

“Can’t leave? Just watch me,” is retorted with some irritation. A little snow hadn’t stopped him from coming and going yet, now had it? The insinuation is frustrating at best, and here he thought they were finally getting along. MZ had the most annoying habit of underestimating him and…. Rock is already simmering, fuming, boiling over by the time he’s marched to the door.  But when it’s thrown open, he staggers back from the combined wind force and blinding snow and ice biting at his face. Shielding his eyes with his arms, the Light-bot groans lowly before: “Alright alright I get it– would ya shut the fuckin’ thing already?!”

Extreme weather would have been understated even if the damn blond tried to explain. Uuuugh. 

And shut it the Maverick does, an eyebrow raised at the frustration simmering from Rock as if he was a space heater, the door creaking shut with a heavy thud against the frigid wind. Despite the irritation, the Light-bot himself doesn’t look too warm, snow dripping off his jacket and hair alike. MZ doesn’t fight the amused smirk on his own face at that glare. 

MZ dropped his coat over his sparring partner’s shoulders, the holes in its back sealing up with nanites as he shrugged it off his wings. “It would seem you’ll need to stay the night. You can leave tomorrow morning once the wind dies down.” If it died down. There were plenty of days where the blizzard stayed heavy for hours into the afternoon. 

...That left to entertaining his guest, however, and the vamploid... Well, it wasn’t that he wasn’t sure, but that his indifference varied to most activities. Besides that, in a way, he was curious about the activities the smaller would prefer. Certainly not sparring, they’d done plenty of that already, hadn’t they?

It would’ve felt more like one if he’d managed any real impact on the Maverick. Instead the blond is slipping away from his grasp, his flames, again and again, and again. Biding his time for the right time to counter– and he finds it.

Always unexpected– the only thing Rock did expect. The makeshift whip is wrapping around him limb while it’s still forming, and with the same speed yanking him into MZ’s range. A literal punch in the gut, that has the Light-bot wincing, before falling backwards. The General doesn’t bother picking himself back up yet, taking a second to collect himself.

“That… that was hardly fair.” He breathes, but what frustration there is fades easily enough. “…bestin’ your nanites is goin’ t’ take a lot more than a few rounds in the ring.” That would require understanding how MZ thinks, somehow a far more monumental task of defeating him outright physically.

There is a sigh from the floor, before Rock sits himself upright. “Ya mind if we take a small break?” 

“Much as I “love” gettin’ my ass handed t’ me, I think I need a few.” Just to think, run over today’s session, take a minute to shake the feeling of getting run the hell over. 

“They’re the reason I’m as unpredictable as I can be,” said with amusement, but not at all disappointment when Rock once again waves the white flag. What irritation meets him is gone quickly enough, and is more than enough to surprise the blond inwardly at the lack of aggression. 

A hand reaches out to pull the android to his feet, and when it’s taken, does exactly that. “I have no qualms with it.” Ah, but... The vamploid straightened, eyebrows furrowing briefly with the frown that followed. “...I believe I’ve kept you later than our agreed time, anyhow.” 

Around eight, according to the clock that ran on this world’s skewed time system. The Light-bot should have left at six at the latest-- two hours longer than the blond had liked. That, and... “I’ll advise you not to leave. You can’t, in fact.” Only MZ could, but likely even that wouldn’t be taken very happily. 

It’s not like he has MZ on the ropes. Rock would love to think he did, but right now the Maverick is being purely defensive. Avoiding and blocking where he must, but rarely striking back. A decent workout to say the least, and greatly preferred over the now routine ass kicking that made up the other 50% of their sparring sessions. 

The blond rolls again, this time coming back with an improvised weapon in hand. The icicle lobbed Rock’s way is surprising for the nanoseconds it can be before the Light-bot is forced to react. The weapons on his hands shift their energy again, fire venting from each knuckle as he not only pivots to the side to avoid his core being hit, but raises his hands to melt the frozen spear narrowly missing his body. 

“That was almost a compliment,“ he snarks back. Even if Rock didn’t look as thrilled with his progress as MZ did– he wanted to win already goddammit!– they were starting to get somewhere. Enough at least, for him to receive comments almost resembling praise. 

It doesn’t help the disappointment, but it eases it somewhat. It would be better if any of the strikes that followed actually landed, but neither the swirling flames nor his fists ever quite seem to touch MZ. I’ll be lucky to even singe your shirt at this rate you fucking prick.

Weeks, months, since they’d first met, and all he could truly say was that the Light-bot was as entertaining as the Maverick had hoped he’d be. The constant banter, the barking even when MZ had barely responded, amused him to no end, but it also raised questions that sparked his curiosity, made him analyze every response that was thrown his way.

The most recent one, for instance, dripped with irritation, but was not filled with it, the smallest bit of satisfaction returning with the idea that Rock himself was improving-- and the blond would never lie about it, as they were both starting to level on, which made made what he’d said all the more praise-worthy. A grin slipped onto his face. 

“I suppose it was,” was retorted, the murderer dipping away from another burning column of fire, the heat blistering even when it wasn’t on his synthetic skin. His hand scraped over the ice to his right, nanites quickly reshaping it to his whims, liquefying and yet still its traditional temperature stayed the same even as it lashed out at the General’s arm-- a whip.

He’d shown promise, continued to show as such. Satisfaction shines on the Maverick’s eyes as he chafes out of reach again, the flaming punch he’d once delivered to Rock now mirrored back at him with almost the same intensity and grace. 

“Not bad.” And while the Light-bot hadn’t quite landed a hit yet, he was getting faster with each passing day, and his ability to use said weapons supplied to him improved with impressive speed. Spikes and bombs this time, and the blond is rolling to avoid them, but only out of determination to not use...

MZ scoops up one of the icicles that grew in patches on the floor after failed attempts at re-freezing him only minutes prior, and hurls it at his partner like a javelin. “I haven’t even pulled out my weapons yet, and still... you’re doing better than when we first met.”

While it was true MZ had bothered to answer his questions plenty, it was the air about the Maverick that rubbed him the wrong way. Something in how MZ spoke and carried himself that read as holier-than-thou in Rock’s mind. Whether he seemed to already “know everything”, or came off as bored and unbothered most of the time. It was… aggravating to feel like just another piece of entertainment. Just another tool for–

Rock takes a deep unnecessary breath. As if the action of moving his artificial lungs and lightly cooling his internals would actually quell the fire in his belly. It doesn’t, but he’s trying to reform his thoughts, to better explain the problem.

“It’s only right we give each other the same treatment,“ he starts, irritation under each word despite his attempts at diplomacy. “…an’ I don’t know you very well, an’ the same is true for you. We only have prior experiences for comparison,“ and in the General’s case, those experiences made MZ very reminiscent of someone else, from how little he’d gleaned. 

“…truth is, ya remind me a lot of someone I really hate the shit out of. The type of person who is always right an’ always better.“ Always in control. “I don’t really fancy someone with a big ego or someone who is disingenuous.” Pausing, thinking… sighing. “…but if ya say you’re not then I guess ya just have a certain…“ he rolls his hand in the air, trying to come up with the word and failing. “A certain… ness, ‘bout ya that makes me think you’re the type. Prob’ly cause ya don’t emote much.“ Which might not be the war machines fault, now that Rock’s actually thinking about it.

“…’s goin’ t’ take us a bit t’ get used to this I think. So uh, sorry in ad-fuckin-vance I guess.“

“I am nothing like the person you know, and they are certainly nothing like me.” A statement, not quite of annoyance but a matter-of-fact response. What other was he supposed to give? As flattered as he was for the Light-bot to think so highly of him, MZ had to disagree.

His arms crossed, fingertips tapping the leather of his jacket quietly. “...I am not always right. Better... depends on my opponent’s skill level.” 

But if what’s acknowledged is acknowledged, the Maverick supposed he didn’t really care past that point. The jab at his expressions was skipped, ignored only because he knew of how it unsettled some and frustrated others. Most didn’t live to express an opinion until now, though. “...But fair enough.”

Already…. paid for it…? 

There’s several blinks, the Light-bot’s hostility fading to simple bewilderment. That… was an answer he’d take, just not what he’d expected. Then again, what more did he have to offer than what he’d already agreed to give? This God among machines couldn’t want more from him than a half decent fight. There was no need when those nanites could just… build shit on a whim.

There is a sigh, slowly growing to a more indignant huff.

“Fine, fine, yes I want ‘em.“ No use trying to pretend otherwise when he’d been ogling every single weapon presented today. Rock folds his arms, casual but the very real building of a wall between them. Keeping his gaze trained on the tall blond before him, there is an irritated silence before: “I don’t… really give a shit if ya lie out your goddamn ass or not so long as our deal is kept at the end of the day.“

His own fingers tap at the leather sleeves of his jacket. “…Okay. …Not a liar. If bein’ an “honorable” fuckin’ serial killer is your thing or whatever, I’ll respect that. won’t imply otherwise unless I see it for myself. But listen here ya tall bastard,” there it returns, narrowed eyes and flaring green optics. It’s hard not to feel like he’s being brushed off or looked down upon from such a non-pulsed response, from something so similar to–

“You don’t have t’ get me, but understand if I ask you a fuckin’ question like that I’m not doin’ it just t’ waste your goddamn time alright? People ain’t really all that “charitable” where I come from for one–” if it weren’t obvious from his earlier scrutiny. “An’ my freedoms are pretty fuckin’ limited. There’s goin’ t’ be a lot of shit I don’t know– but I also don’t appreciate bein’ talked down t’ like that. Ya want respect? You best damn well give it. So keep it at a fuckin’ minimum an’ we won’t have any problems.”

Not that hating this asshole’s guts would make fighting him any harder. 

Surprise isn’t quite what appears on the vamploid’s face, an emotion he didn’t really encounter, but there is a slow raise of the eyebrows as Rock rants, but is not interrupted. His stance is still as fire was spit in his direction, relaxed if attentive at most, and his expression only furrows at what was being assumed of him.

“...I’ve only given you respect.” He listened when talked to, but... “I answered all of your questions as readily as you asked them, is that not true?” Whether he was believed was relative, but it was going to be annoying if he weren’t taken at face-value. “We don’t need to get along. But so far it is you who hasn’t shown respect.”

“I’m not talking down to you. Don’t put whatever perceptions you’ve gained of me in my mouth without hearing me first. I’ll only do the same to you unless you give me enough educated reactions for me to guess otherwise.” But the Maverick hadn’t gained much yet about his new rival, other than he was hot-headed, and perhaps liked violence more than he’d let on.

The blond crosses his arms, true annoyance reflecting onto his features as he was glared up at. “Am I looking down upon you? Is that what you see? If you had truly been looked down upon, I can swear to you now we would not be having this conversation, and I would have never offered you even a glance at my arsenal other than that which would have crushed you to the pavement back in your world.”

Of course MZ’s primary weapon is something Rock’s got not even the slightest bit of experience with. What kind of stupid fucking idiot would have tried to fight him that way back home? Even only the desperate would pull a knife on him instead of running, and it’s not like being stabbed really slowed a machine down.

….Normally, at least. Plasma would probably be a very very different story. He’d rather not have random bits of his body reduced to molten slag mid battle. No thank you. 

Wait wait wait, back the fuck up. “…you’d… actually make me somethin’ t’ use..?” To increase the odds of him getting closer to a now distant victory? “An’… you’d seriously let me have a set of those beauties?” There’s a few blinks from the shorter android, the metaphorical wheels turning in his head.

It sounds like a damn good deal, if he actually got to keep them. When he opens his mouth, his tone has a fairly aggressive distrust to it. “…what’s the fuckin’ catch?” Nothing was ever just given to him without some price point behind it. 

Should he have expected such a response? Sure, he had, but most would have jumped on a chance like the one he offered, though the answer given to him had just the same amount of merit. The Maverick was a murderer, why would anything in their right mind trust him, especially if they were human?

But Rock wasn’t human, and he’d already gained his new sparring partner’s respect quite a bit, something that was more difficult to receive than it seemed. And while he hadn’t quite put it in his head that the blond would never lie, the response was nonchalant at best, and possibly irritated at worst.

“If there was one, I suppose you’ve already paid for it.” His boot is tapping on the floor, metal clacking lightly against metal. “...But if you don’t want it, that’s fine. There was never any problem for me if you didn’t accept them.” It would just be that it would take even longer for them to find progress, and MZ... didn’t care for the inconvenience of such easy victories.

“You’re already aware that I won’t kill you as you are now, so if you’re willing to accept years of that fact, I don’t really care.” But no, there’s another reason he’s annoyed isn’t there? “...I won’t repeat myself again: I’m not a liar. A murderer, a Maverick as they say, but there’s no need to lie when you’ll eventually receive an answer anyhow.”

Staring… MZ had been staring at him. It’s the kind of gaze that sends a chill down one’s spine. Even if the Maverick had no intention of killing him at the moment, it seemed the blond was incapable of shaking that air about him. Not that Rock’s really complaining. It… just meant he’d picked a good match for this strange deal of theirs.

“You’ve got more?“ It doesn’t sound surprised, just curious at this point. After seeing the massive collection upstairs, it’s hard to be taken off guard by that particular bit of information. Actually he– that. That’s a goddamn sword.

Rock eyes the colored plasma, struggling not to showcase his earlier enthusiasm. It doesn’t quite work, culminating in a quieter “goddamn,” just under his breath.

“…I’ll be honest I uh… I’ve never really been in a sword fight before.“ I’ll probably get my ass handed to me. “…maybe we should tackle that one last. Everythin’ else is uh, a little more manageable.“ If he was to provide his own weapons that blade was going to give him the most trouble.

Yes, more. Rock didn’t seem to thrown by that bit of information, though his starstruck at the saber’s introduction made up for it, at least a little. “These,” the Maverick lists, wrist twisting to spin the blade in a flourish, its plasma humming like the raising of hairs, “are my primary method of fighting. I keep in practice, but fighting with them ends prematurely for most opponents.”

Suddenly the Mallet makes more sense.

“I have yet to find something this cannot cut. For now, it’s a last resort, or a quick finish. You won’t have to worry about this quite yet.” 

But the blond’s amusement shifts to mild curiosity, a tilt of his head, but his attention is instead focused to the Light-bot’s arm. “...I suppose I could... make you something.” What fun would it be if he won constantly? As was already pointed out, the progress would be slow going, and while that was what he wanted, he did not want to be reduced to boredom.

“...The Kaiser Knuckles. Would those do for you?” They were probably the easiest for the General to use. Adapted to Copy Chips and whatnot, and took essentially the knowledge of fist-fighting to be put to maximum potential, though that wasn’t going to be the issue with the android.

Are they… changing elements? Oh man oh man OH MAN. Rock’s struggling not to let his mouth water at those knuckle dusters. The things he could do with a setup like that are– oh shit.

Rock braces for the impact that sends him flying backwards with a dramatic display of blossoming fire. There’s not really a grimace, despite him hitting the ground with decent force. Actually he looks fairly excited, bouncing back to his feet easily.

“Now those are really somethin’–” and a big grin is supplied down to the knife in his grip, ever shimmering and undamaged. “Hot damn! You weren’t kiddin’ ‘bout the durability either.” That’s some metaphorical tail wagging for sure, even as he’s dusting himself off and trotting over.

The General leans in, interest overwriting any concern for being in the Maverick’s space. “Hands on is one fuckin’ way t’ put it, holy shit.” His green optics are scanning over the silver gauntlets, scrutinizing, approving, before looking up at MZ. God. Damn. There’s that weird feeling again. Is this what it feels like to be prey?

“…you uh, really could’ve fuckin’ obliterated me back there. I’m uh. Huh. Might… have t’ do somethin’ about my own arsenal if I’m goin’ t’ give ya the kind of fight ya want.“ Or it would take him an entire damn life time to win. 

The slight lack of concentration is amusing, but as machines, they hardly have to worry about losing focus for a second, certainly they could catch up just fine. Rock had, but he’d also been tossed, just like the Maverick had anticipated. Perhaps the speed at which he got up had been unprecedented, as was the enthusiasm, but it had been anticipated nonetheless when prior reactions to weapons were taken into account.

MZ is most certainly more curious about his new sparring partner than caring about his proximity, more so about how he threw caution to the wind just to get a better look at the Twin Ks. Sure, his optics may have glanced to his weapons briefly as the DLN focused on them, but they trained on the General even after he realized he was being stared at. 

“Sure, I could have, but you were using one of my weapons.” And he hadn’t aimed for anywhere else. Had he, that part would have been broken by now, wouldn’t it? 

A smirk follows, all teeth at the realization dawning on the android’s face. The vamploid pumps his arms, the weapon retracting once more into their gauntlets. “Yes, you might.” It’s left open ended, like MZ didn’t care how long it would take for the man to beat him-- he didn’t. “But I have one final weapon to introduce to you before you consider leaving.”

Rock catches MZ’s grin in the blade’s reflection, and it brings with it a feeling he can’t quite label. Not fear, no. It’s an odd kind of apprehension he’s never felt before. Like he could be devoured at any moment. He’s not sure if he likes it or not. 

…talking, right, MZ is talking. “You uh.. you made it?” Rock’s surprise isn’t masked in the slightest. Part of him thinks he should have expected it, because of course the war machine’s hobby would involve building bigger and better weapons. The tall blond had thus far only shown to have one interest and it was combat– but especially combat with a challenge. 

Rock is something of an enthusiast for both himself.

“…t’ be honest, I’m… really fuckin’ impressed with ya, actually.“ No insults or jabs to give for once. He’s almost rendered speechless. “…wait, you.. ya want t’ run that by me again? It can handle what?” If that’s actually true, he might just have to ask for one of his own. Not that he didn’t love the tactical knife strapped to his boot but it’d be useless against MZ of all people. That offer though… “Hell fuckin’ yes I want t’ test that!“ He flips the blade in his fingers with grace, now pointing it backwards and raising it like a defensive parry knife. “But after this you’ll have t’ tell me all about those–“ an incline of the head towards the Maverick’s knuckles. 

“Don’t think I want t’ skip ‘em just cause they don’t have a fancy paint job.“

Even though the DLN asked, MZ was more than aware he didn’t have to repeat himself-- after all, all machines had perfect hearing, and androids were better than the average machine. While he’s still very proud, and just as much so after a compliment from such a testy onlooker, he does not say anything in response, instead shifting to a pose reminiscent of a martial artist.

The colors visibly change on the knuckles of his weapon, flicking from neutral gray to gold, white, green, and finally rest on red. Crimson eyes watch his blade twist, one that looks like a parry knife in the Light-bot’s hands when compared to his size. They’re not participating in a true fight, not just yet, but the vamploid does not pull his punches, ever.

Said attack comes ignited, a burning blaze glowing from his fist as he cracks a forward step into the pavement, and crashes his weapon into Rock’s raised defense, an onslaught that all but explodes, throwing the man back, but the knife’s glistening blade does not break. The vampire looked more than satisfied as he rose back to full height, his knuckle dusters clicking back to neutral and finally deactivating.

“I wouldn’t forget about my Kaiser Knuckles, not when they’re so much fun to use~”

…nice of him to go back and explain. The concept sounds like the kind of technology that is years away in his own timeline. Longer, likely, with how the Dictator tended to stifle rival tech companies. He nods a little, now only mildly frustrated with that information on hand. Have to figure out how to handle those when fighting him too… goddammit. The mallet is being offered to him, and Rock is all too excited to take it off MZ’s hands. It’s heavy, the weight makes sense given that it’s taller than its owner, but actually… the Enforcer hefts it in both hands, looking thoughtful as he shifts to just one. He could probably use it if he had to. He’d be slower for sure but the impact from a single swing would be incredible. “Much as I hate your boastin’… some things don’t need any fancy gimmicks. She’s one of ‘em, I agree.” And I wouldn’t give her back if I didn’t have to.

His attention shifts to the cube offered out, and briefly to the odd bracers his… partner had put on while he was distracted. “…Core Freezers, huh..?” The war hammer is reluctantly handed back to blond, in exchange for something new. A touch of a button, and a sleek dagger is clicking out. Rock’s eyes practically sparkle at the blue tinted blade, giddiness hard to downplay. He grips it, left index finger carefully sliding down its cool edge, never actually cutting with such light pressure. The frost is warning enough not to be careless, not that he could be, anyway.  “…that is a keen knife if I’ve ever seen one. The craftsmanship is… goddamn, where did ya find this beauty? I’ve never seen anythin’ this well made, an’ it’s obviously integrated with a high quality weapon chip.” 

Easily, Titan Breaker is deactivated as soon as it is back in his possession, the weapon breaking itself apart to fit inside its slim handle, and from there, casually set into his jacket pocket. Even with the size difference, its weight hadn’t changed, though that was hard to notice now that it was out of sight.

It wasn’t a matter of shifting the DLN’s attention, nor to show off, just a routine response to make sure he knew what he was dealing with. That was what all this was for anyhow. 

The sound of his blade activating, the hollow ring the ice made at contact with air, then Rock’s movements, is like music to the vamploid’s ears. He watches, sees his red optics reflecting off the blade with an eerie glow, and grins. All of the weapons he’d brought were considered favorites, ones he used always, while those that sat away upstairs were more to be collected than to have seen real combat. Make no mistake, though, even the decorative ones could cut a skull cleanly through.

“I made it.” The pride is all there, as if he’d hide something he truly was satisfied with. “Not with my nanites, though they surely could create a worthy copy.” MZ tilted his head, almost appearing thoughtful. “There’s a sort of satisfaction that comes with using a weapon of your own making, and making it well.” 

“Hell if I know what point there is,” is retorted with a light huff. Some people were habitual liars. Constantly building up their own egotistical self image, fueled further by each person they’d successfully pulled the wool over. Pride, arrogance, not rational things. Although the fact MZ actually admitted it’d do no good… Before the argument can continue, there is the snap of fingers echoing out. Seamless shifting of walls and tiles, pulling the massive room in to create a tighter space in a matter of seconds. That shouldn’t be possible. “…how in the fuck did…?” The question hangs, obvious realization that what he was dealing with was something far more advanced than he could ever hope to be. A god compared to the machine he was.

How the shit am I supposed to actually beat this guy…?

“…fuckin’ show off…” is uttered, downplaying the astonishment he felt. There’s some annoyance there, too, but seems they’re on the same page. Moving forward with a sort of casualness that almost feels like a rebuff to the DLN’s curiosity. 

“…you named her?” I would’ve done the same. He shifts slightly, eyes tracing the war-hammer up and down. Really. Really pretty. “…unless she’s got some other capabilities beyond bein’ compact t’ carry an’ coded t’ you, I think I get the picture.” I’d really like to use her though. Hopefully his expression didn’t make it too obvious. “Guessin’ that’s a favorite, an’ that most of your other weapons have similar features.” Useful, but potentially aggravating for their future fights. Oh. Joy. 

As much as Rock wishes his verbal jabs would work on him, they hardly had any effect on the vampire’s mood or demeanor. “They’re nanites.” But as easily as it’s said, the blond does pause, only considering explaining himself further at the remembering of what the Light-bot’s dimension looked like. “...Nano machines, the kind that takes existing material and recycles the molecules into new matter.”

The Maverick does supply a decent grin at the comment, red eyes flashing as he holds out his mallet to his sparring partner with all the casualness in the world. “I aim to impress.”

As the android is balancing his weapon, MZ is clicking silver gauntlets onto his wrists, a handful of compact devices in his hands. “She is my favorite. The heaviest I own.” And considering the mild slouch that comes with carrying the hammer, pretty heavy. A human couldn’t even dream of lifting it. “You see, Titan gives me a chance to allow a slower pace.” It was no mystery what he did in his free time.