Work Text:
“Again!”
Anti grumbled under his breath, climbing back to his feet. He’d run this simulation at least a half-dozen times today, at his father’s request, and the result was always the same. He’d crush every binja his father threw at him. They were weak, all of them. Too flimsy. Too easy to crumple, Mass produced to overwhelm by numbers rather than by power.
He wasn’t sure what his father thought he’d get out of this. The idea was sound enough: Dr. Bomb needed data on Bravoman’s powers if he was to defeat him. Who better to run tests with than his own son, who shared powers with said hero?
Except, in Anti’s humble opinion, it was all a waste of time. He was the more skilled of the two, and knew they fought totally differently. Observation showed him that. But hey, his dad paid him for it, and how else was he going to afford his limited-edition figurines?
He strode to the center of the room, breathing heavily, not having caught his breath from the last simulation. Maybe that’s what his dad was testing: endurance. Well, that was just fine. He could endure anything.
A green light clicked on above the door and it slid open, revealing a fresh set of binjas. Eight this time, from the look of things. He took a deep, steadying breath as they got into position, surrounding him. Each held some sort of weapon — mostly stereotypical ninja weaponry like kunai or bo staffs, the kind of weapons you’d expect out of a children’s cartoon about mutated turtle martial artists. But a couple held gun-like weapons. Knowing his dad, there was a pretty good chance they were net launchers.
The intercom crackled above him, then his father’s voice rang out. “Begin!”
Anti sprang to the right as the binja directly to his left charged, swinging its staff in a wide arc. He ducked beneath the blow, shooting out one foot to sweep it off its feet. Then he dropped and rolled to avoid another one, stretching out his other leg to hit it square in the chest. The metal dented beneath the strength of the blow, and the robot crumpled to the ground.
He scrambled back to his feet, diving through the gap his attack had opened to put some space between himself and the other robots. Two of them charged after him, while the other four hung back, the two with the gun-like weapons taking aim.
A dodge to the right avoided the left attacker while he blocked the other with the hard part of his gauntlet-like gloves. He grabbed its arm with his other hand, twisting it around and using it as a shield against the other binja. Then he kicked it away, sending them toppling to the ground together. He finished the fight with a hard stomp to each of their heads, disabling the processing unit.
He looked back up to ascertain the position of the remaining units. The first one he’d knocked over was back on its feet now, rushing at him. He didn’t immediately see the others. They must be taking a wide approach, or else they were taking cover, hiding behind terrain.
Using his strength to leap over the charging robot, he quickly swept his gaze across the room. He spotted one binja taking cover behind some of the terrain, and another approaching from the left. A third was chasing after the one with the staff…
But where was the fourth?
He had approximately three seconds to spot it, its weapon aimed, before the net collided with him mid-air, knocking him off course.
The ground rushed up to meet him, and he skidded to a stop, trying to twist free of the net. But the more he struggled and thrashed, the more he became entangled in the mesh. His legs got stuck together, and he let out a frustrated yell, fingers pulling and twisting to no avail.
After a moment, he had to stop to catch his breath, panting on the ground. And the moment he did, he felt a foot planted on his chest and a staff pressed against his throat.
He twisted his head to get a better look, realizing he was surrounded now by the remaining Binja. Heaving for breath, he tried to struggle free, but the binja put more pressure on his chest. Between that and his tangled limbs, it did no good.
Just to make sure he was down, one of the binjas kicked him in the ribs. He gasped and recoiled at the sharp pain; even with the relative protection of the suit, he would feel that in the morning.
The pressure was still increasing. It was getting harder to breathe. “H-hey, wait!” he wheezed. “This is just training. S-stop it! I can’t—”
It happened so quick, he didn’t have a chance to react. A boot came down on his head, just like he would have done to disable the bots. His visor cracked and shattered under the pressure. White-hot pain made his vision blur. Something was said above him, but his ears were ringing. He groaned and tried to move.
Suddenly the pressure on his chest went away.
Slowly, the ringing faded, and the blotches of white in his vision went away. But something was still wrong. Like something was in his eye, blocking most of his right-side vision.
He was vaguely aware of someone tugging at the net he was wrapped up in. shifting it around. Suddenly, it was pulled away from his head and torso, then they set to work freeing his legs. He turned his head and saw Benjamin, face as unexpressive as always, pulling the last of it away.
The cyborg let out a series of musical notes, ending with a higher note like a query, then offered out his hand. Though dazed, Anti took it and let him drag him to his feet. He would ask what happened, but he knew Benjamin couldn’t answer with anything but music, so he didn’t bother, instead limping with the robot out of the room.
His father was nowhere to be seen outside. Of course he wasn’t. All too happy to put him through the wringer, but disappearing the moment something went wrong, leaving him to limp to the bathroom to clean up. At least Benjamin helped him get that far. It wasn’t like he couldn’t walk, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t dizzy. He left right after, of course. But at least he had the decency to help when it was technically soldier robots under his command that had caused the damage.
There, he finally got a chance to look at himself in the mirror, horrified with what he saw.
Half his visor was shattered, the right side. Ink-like blood ran down his face from a cut over his eye. And he couldn’t be sure with all that blood, but he wouldn’t be surprised if the eye itself was damaged, the way his vision was messed up.
He leaned forward until his forehead rested against the mirror, taking heaving breaths as he tried to quell his panic. This was fine. This was fine, actually. He’d have a badass scar to commemorate the occasion. He could make up a totally cool story about some awesome, heroic accident that caused it and pretend it wasn’t his own fault for losing track of enemies in a fight. He’d never do that. He couldn’t. He had to be perfect. The best hero. He was the best hero. Better than Bravoman. Better than anyone.
He repeated that mantra to himself as he washed the blood away, bandaging up as best he could. It would keep him going.
When he finally made it back to his room, he found no note, no formal apology. Just the promised money, left on his bed, with a few extra bills than normal.
He didn’t know if that made things better, or worse.