"C'mon, Ryan, put your back into it," Bob called out, his tone half-teasing, half-commanding as he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of the training room.
Ryan was crouched low, sweat dripping from his brow as flames licked around his fists. He hurled another fireball at the reinforced target across the room, it missed by a foot and fizzled out before impact.
"How about you shut the fuck up, aye? I'm trying to concentrate," Ryan snapped, not even glancing back at Bob. His tone was brash, but his frustration was real. His breathing was uneven, his power unstable.
Bob raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. "If that was you concentrating, I'm terrified to see what distracted looks like."
Ryan spun around. "You wanna come over here and do it better?"
"I can do it better. But this isn't about me," Bob said coolly, walking forward. "Today's about you learning to stop fighting like a one-trick pyromaniac. You've got more in you than just charging in with fire fists and a smug attitude."
Ryan scoffed and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "My fists work just fine."
"For close combat, sure. But what happens when your enemy's up on a rooftop? Or across a field? You gonna talk them to death?"
Ryan clenched his jaw.
Bob stepped closer, voice low and even. "Look, kid, I'm not trying to insult you. You've got power, real power. But power without control? That's just noise."
Ryan hesitated, fire flickering around his knuckles. He didn't want to admit Bob was right, but deep down, he knew it. That last mission, when he couldn't land a hit until the enemy was already on them, had haunted him more than he let on.
"Alright," Ryan muttered. "So what do you want me to do?"
Bob's smirk faded into something more serious. "Good. Now focus. I want you to channel the flame into your palm, steady, slow. Don't throw it. Just hold it. Let it breathe."
Ryan obeyed, lowering his stance, his hands glowing orange-red.
"Good," Bob said quietly. "Now shape it, make it smaller. Denser. Like a bullet, not a bomb."
As Ryan concentrated, the flickering mass in his hand grew smaller, tighter, more precise.
"That's it," Bob said, stepping back. "That's the kind of fire that wins wars. Controlled. Quiet. Deadly."
For the first time in the session, Ryan didn't snap back. He just nodded, silent, but listening.
The training session wound down as Ryan finally extinguished the last of the flame swirling around his hands. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, sweat glistening on his forehead. Bob handed him a bottle of water and sank down beside him on the training room floor with a soft grunt.
"Not bad," Bob said, twisting open his own bottle. "Took you long enough."
Ryan snorted, gulping water before flopping back on the mat, arms sprawled out. "You're relentless, man. Like, who hurt you?"
Bob smirked faintly, eyes fixed on the high ceiling of the facility. "You mean aside from all the psychos I've fought over the years?"
"Yeah, I guess that tracks," Ryan muttered, then fell quiet for a long moment.
They sat there in silence, just the quiet hum of the facility's ventilation system and the steady rhythm of their breathing.
Then Ryan said it. Casual, but heavy.
"I know who you are, y'know."
Bob's head tilted slightly, his smirk fading. "What are you talking about?"
Ryan turned his head to face him. "You can play the whole 'grumpy mentor' thing all you want, but I've seen your face before. On TV. In articles. You were everywhere a couple years ago, 'The God of Wrath.' That's what they called you, right? After the massacre at Helix Point?"
Bob didn't move. He didn't blink. He just stared ahead, expression unreadable.
"You were supposed to be dead," Ryan added, quieter this time. "But I remember those eyes. Red as hell. There's no mistaking them."
The silence that followed stretched long and tense.
Bob exhaled slowly through his nose. "You done?"
"I'm just saying," Ryan replied, shrugging. "You're not just some hero turned trainer. You're the guy people used to be terrified of. The weapon they couldn't control. the greatest villain ever."
Bob looked at him then, really looked. His gaze wasn't angry. It was tired.
"I didn't ask for that reputation," he said quietly. "And I sure as hell didn't ask to be remembered."
Ryan held his gaze, a little less smug now. "So? Is it true?"
Bob didn't confirm. He didn't deny. He just stood up slowly, brushing off his pants.
"You ever bring that up in front of the others," he said, voice low but sharp, "and I'll make you wish you hadn't."
Ryan sat up, watching him go. "You're not denying it."
"No," Bob said over his shoulder. "I'm not."
Then he left, the door hissing shut behind him, leaving Ryan sitting alone on the training mat, confused, curious, and maybe just a little bit in awe.
The door slid shut behind him with a soft hiss, but in Bob's ears it might as well have been a gunshot. He walked down the dimly lit hallway, his footsteps echoing faintly on the metallic floor. The cool air of the facility bit at his skin, but he barely noticed it. His mind was spinning.
The God of Wrath.
He hadn't heard that name in years. Not out loud. Not since the last time everything fell apart.
Bob reached the end of the corridor and stopped at a small supply closet. He stepped inside, not for equipment, but just to be alone. The door clicked behind him. Darkness wrapped around him like an old friend. He leaned against the wall, his head dropping back, eyes closed.
They always remember the blood. Never the reasons. Never the context. Just the violence.
He opened his eyes, the faint red glow barely lighting the closet. He stared at his own reflection in the glass of a nearby case, tired eyes, sharp jaw, the same face that had been splashed across headlines and footage reels. A ghost, indeed.
He exhaled through clenched teeth, jaw tightening.
You let your guard down, he thought bitterly. Let the kid get too close.
There was a soft knock on the door. Not urgent. Almost hesitant.
Bob didn't answer right away.
The door cracked open anyway, and there stood Jack.
"I figured you'd be in here," Jack said quietly. "Ryan talk?"
Bob didn't move. "He knows."
Jack sighed and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. "Yeah. I figured this might happen eventually."
"He knew my face. The news, the reports… kid has a freakishly good memory."
Jack nodded, arms crossed. "He's not the only one who might figure it out. It's a risk we both knew we were taking when we brought you back."
Bob turned to him finally, his face hard. "I'm not anyone's hero, Jack. Everyone remembers me as a monster, including you. The only person that saw more in me then just a monster is dead."
"You're not here to be a hero," Jack said. "You're here to help those kids survive. That's it."
Bob scoffed and looked away. "You sure about that? Because when they find out who I am—who I was…"
"They'll deal with it." Jack stepped closer. "Just like I did."
Bob didn't answer. He couldn't.
Jack clapped him once on the shoulder. "Get some sleep. You've got more teaching to do tomorrow."
Then he was gone.
Bob stood there for a moment longer before stepping back out into the hallway. He didn't head toward the dorms, though. Instead, he made his way to the roof.
He needed air. And maybe… he needed to remember who he was now.
Not the The God of Wrath. Not the monster they feared.
Just Bob.
...
The next morning, the training hall buzzed with energy. The clank of metal, the hiss of triggered gadgets, and the occasional grunt of effort filled the massive room. Bob stood in the center, arms crossed, a mock-serious look on his face as he watched the chaos unfold.
"Beth, you're not supposed to launch yourself at the target, just hit it. I get your ability isn't that good in combat, but still."
She crashed into the padded dummy with full force anyway, then sat up grinning. "But it's faster."
Bob smirked. "Faster doesn't mean smarter."
Nearby, Selena was posing dramatically before trying to use her ability on Axel, who had learned by now to stare very intently at a fixed spot on the wall.
"Nice try," Axel muttered, swinging his training baton.
"Still fun," Selena said, winking.
Alex was holding a glowing orb of changing matter between his hands, visibly shaking with concentration. Bob moved behind him, leaning in.
"Breathe, Alex. You're thinking too much. You don't force reality to change. You just… ask it."
Alex nodded, his brow furrowed, and the orb steadied.
"Nice. You really are genius." Bob gave his hair a quick ruffle. "Try turning it into something next."
Ryan, meanwhile, was in the far corner, launching fireballs at a moving target track. He had gotten more accurate overnight. Bob noticed.
He walked over, dodging a stray flame. "You trying to set the facility on fire, or just showing off?"
Ryan turned toward him, wiping sweat from his brow. "You say that like they're different."
Bob laughed. "Fair."
They stood there for a second, just watching the others.
Then Ryan's voice dropped, quiet, serious. "Hey."
Bob glanced over.
"I'm not gonna tell anyone," Ryan said. "About who you were. I figured you should know that."
Bob's body tensed for a second. Then he slowly nodded. "Thanks."
Ryan shrugged, awkwardly. "You're kind of a dick… but you're a good teacher. That's more than I expected."
Bob raised an eyebrow, amused. "Careful, Ryan. That almost sounded like a compliment."
"I'll deny it in court," Ryan said, turning back to the targets.
Bob smiled faintly and walked back to the group, clapping his hands together.
"Alright, everyone! Water break's over. Next drill, combat scenarios. Pairs. I want sweat, I want bruises, and if I hear anyone whining, you're running laps. Even you, Beth."
"Not fair!" she groaned.
"Life's not fair," Bob said with a grin. "But I am. Let's go!"