Damien's fingers twitched with the urge to fiddle with his arm, ignoring the way the power cores seated inside tugged at him with his natural core silenced. He almost wished he could remove the extra power cores. He'd grown to rely on them, and in this place, he couldn't use them. Not if he wanted to remain undiscovered.

No super had two power cores, not naturally, and no one was meant to have one unnaturally either. Especially not with Vora locked up, and her work trashed.

Rage flushed up his neck at the thought. So much genius, just thrown away because, what, the heroes didn't like it? The heroes didn't approve?

Since when did the heroes get to dictate what the world was ready for and what they weren't?

After the professor divided them into groups, Damien split away from the group in search of water. A throbbing formed at the base of his shoulder, just past where he could reach. Why was that fight necessary? Couldn't they just have assessed them privately, or trained everyone together?

Who benefitted from this?

Damien found a bottle of water, brought it behind him, and pressed his back to the wall, digging his shoulders into the cool material. He let out a sigh, the relief minimal, but still noticeable. It didn't help that the shoulder was on his bad side. Despite all of Vora's hard work, giving him the prosthetic arm and vastly improving his life, there wasn't anything she could do about the fact that his left arm was now inherently weaker than his right, the injury leaving shockwaves long after its healing.

Across the room, Vivianne joined her little group of friends, a boy so tall and narrow a good wind could blow him away, and a short girl with tan skin and inappropriately colorful hair, and far too much confidence. Vivainne would be in the same class as Damien going forward, both of them shitty enough at their little fight that they'd been placed in what the professor had called Class B. Beginner.

Damien snorted. It was ridiculous.

But at least it gave him an opening to speak to Vivainne, get close to her, maybe even gain her trust.

The wet blanket across his core pulled back, the sensory input from it almost immediate. Pieces of technology, their presence pressing against him like pinpricks of starlight, begging for his touch. He wasn't a tech genius, not like so many in the hero world, which meant he wasn't especially useful. He had an ability to sense technology in the same way telepaths could sense minds, and he made as much use of it as he could.

Ignoring them, he pushed off the wall and made his way through the room, dodging the little groups that had already formed. First day, and cliques had already formed. Typical, especially for heroes.

Before he reached the group, Damien changed his face, his posture, his walk. It turned into a saunter, joined by what should be a pleasant enough smile. This was the same facade he'd put on the first time they met, wasn't it?

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"Hey!" he called out, raising his dominant hand, sensing as the mechanics inside worked to match the mental impulse sent out for the motion. "Didn't expect to see you here. How's that for a coincidence?"

Vivainne, a striking figure that looked every bit like her mother, though slimmer and more pale. No longer sickly looking, like she had been the first and only time they'd met.

She turned at his greeting, her eyes going wide. Recognition flashed in their depths, then her face scrunched, eyebrows growing narrow, nose wrinkling in rage. "What are you doing here?"

"What, you think you're the only one to get a program invite after doing Unity ordered community service?" Damien asked, head wagging as he spoke.

Vivainne glanced around sharply, eyes wide as his words fell heavy in the room. "Keep your voice down."

"I was just trying to be nice," Damien said, holding up his hands and stepping away. Something in the motion of his arms caught Vivainne's attention, and her gaze sharpened, eyes narrowing. Her eyes locked on the prosthetic. He saw the moment it clicked in her mind, despite the fact it should have been nearly impossible to notice, with Vora's high tech faux skin.

How can she tell?

"Where did you get that arm?" she demanded, moving toward him. The vitriol in her eyes made him take an unintentional step backwards. God, she was angry.

He could use that.

"What, this old thing?" He held out the arm, mentally flipping a switch and turning off its tone-matching, the skin material changing from olive to a blatantly artificial black. "Yeah, I've had this for a few years now. Ever since I lost the hand."

He managed to chuckle, forcing the noise up and the emotions down as he stared at Vivainne, a group of aspiring heroes gathering around them. None of this was going the way he needed it to, but at least he wasn't the one in the wrong.

"It's Monet Industries." It wasn't a question. Vivainne knew, and she was accusing. God, did she really hate Vora that much that she hated everything she'd ever done? It wasn't like Vivainne had reason to suspect the arm was anything but an arm; thousands of people had Monet Industries implants and prosthetics.

"Good eye."

Vivainne opened her mouth, but before she could speak, a thin arm wrapped around her shoulders, cutting her off.

"I think she just means, cool arm," the boy said, his attention not on Damien. He stared at Vivainne, the look pointed, and she shut her mouth. "The name's Florence. We're going to be in the same training class, aren't we?"

Damien licked his lips, mouth dry, and forced himself to keep smiling. His cheeks ached. "Damien. And I think we are."

Florence held out a hand, and Damien shook it, letting the prosthetic go back to its normal skin color.

"I look forward to training with you," Damien said, nodding to the group of them as he pulled back, pressing the palm of his artificial hand to his stomach. He backed away, spinning on his heel and turning away from Vivainne before anyone could say another word.

Holding back raging emotions with a blank expression, Damien strode from the room, stopping in the hallway outside as the careful facade cracked. The grimace broke free, teeth grinding against each other as he shut his eyes.

The red cursor appeared in the corner of his vision, blinking. Waiting for him to start typing.

He opened his eyes, ignoring it. Vora didn't need to hear about his failure. He'd update her when he made progress with Vivainne. Not until then.

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