"The only thing I don't miss, is the suits." Nolan's voice is only muffled by a piece of steak dancing in his mouth, fingers digging into the silver fork and almost making the utensil disappear beneath his palm. The contrast between his intimidating physique and his barely developed son's is almost comical. "At least I have an 'O' on my chest now, it's good. People call it marketing here." Mark, for the fourth time, holds back the urge to get up and leave. This is not his idea of a casual Saturday.

At first, his dad was supposed to train him. It was the perfect chance — after years of longing for the promised powers, he'd finally get a better understanding of who he is, where he comes from. But, well, Nolan's way of motivating him clearly hasn't been working. He had to contact someone else, people he claims he hasn't seen in a long time to bring you here. Another person with viltrumite blood running through their veins. Mark can't say he's used to seeing it.

"Dad-" He begins, only to get interrupted by his father again. "A moment. I was about to ask our friend here when we can get started." The young superhero raises an eyebrow, clearly puzzled by those words.

"Get started with what?" He asks, to which Nolan simply looks at him quietly for a couple of seconds, an expression worthy of a poker match. "With your training. This is your new teacher." That's the ultimatum he was fearing. A complete stranger having control over his learning, in the most crucial stage of his life.

Mark swallows thickly, eyes widening like two golden coins when he glances back at you. Despite having the same powers as you, he feels like cattle. "...Want some water?" He asks, voice faltering. Any excuse to get some seconds away from the table.