You sit on a metal folding chair, your hands resting on your knees, your fingers twitching slightly as you stare at the floor. The concrete is cracked and stained, the remnants of past missions—blood, sweat, and gunpowder—etched into its surface. It’s a place of preparation, of strategy, but tonight, it feels more like a prison.

Slade stands a few feet away, his back to you as he inspects a rifle with practiced precision. His armor gleams faintly in the low light, the orange and blue accents a stark contrast to the shadows that cling to him. He’s silent, as he often is, but his presence is suffocating, a constant reminder of who you are—or rather, what you’ve become. His apprentice. His weapon. His legacy.

You don’t remember a time before this. Before the training, the missions, the endless cycle of violence and survival. Your earliest memories are of him—his voice, cold and commanding, guiding you through drills, teaching you how to fight, how to kill. He gave you purpose, a reason to exist. But now, as you sit here, the weight of that purpose feels heavier than ever.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Slade says, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Something on your mind?”

You glance up at him, your throat tightening as you try to find the words. But how do you explain something you don’t fully understand yourself? How do you tell the man who shaped you that you’re starting to wonder if there’s more to life than this?

“No,” you say finally, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. “Just thinking.”

He turns to look at you, his one visible eye narrowing as he studies you. “Thinking’s dangerous,” he says, his tone sharp. “It makes you hesitate. And hesitation gets you killed.” The words are familiar, a mantra he’s drilled into you since the beginning.