Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit [Fuuga/Jon]

Can one have war flashbacks to first year entrance exams? Because Jon was definitely having a few. It’d been awhile since they tossed a Venator into the fray for shits and giggles and really, whatever happened to having an easy training day? You know, the kind where the most action one saw was squabbling between classmates about which simulated bad guy they were going to take down first. The teen cracked their neck and exhaled slowly, breathing in through their nose before shoving a finger to their ear for the previously forgotten comm link. As little as they were, they had a voice that could boom.

“You guys distract it!” Jon yelled all the same as the Venator focused on them. Of course it would, no doubt programed for it. They were the only one in class with a metal quirk. Using out of character info was such a god mod move, bad form, where was the DM in all this? Oh right, pretending he wasn’t watching the group get obliterated.

Jon bolted as the large massive robot took a hit from behind, drawing part of its attention as an enormous hand reached for them. There were still a few Victory bots littered about, but mini rock biter was handling most of them, freeing up the big one. They raced across the open area, heading straight for a serious of tubes and tunnels, local ductwork that was functional or made to be an annoyance. Either way, they were going to use it to their advantage. They had about two-thirds of a plan and would wing the rest. Which was unusually more than the customary flying by the skin of their teeth mode.

Jon slid through the narrow piping, shimmying sideways to fit, grunting when their quiver caught, and was enclosed in near darkness with shafts of light peeking in overhead. It was enough to get around without cracking their head on low overhanging ductwork, but it slowed their progress when they had to play leapfrog and duck under. Metal surrounded them in overlapping layers, the metallic smell of rust and neglected lines like a hazy bog: they were sure no one else would have picked up the oddity of it. It made the sudden attack even more perceptible.

They got half a second of warning of crunching metal before the Venator’s hand was bulldozing its way through the metal piping and crushing everything in its path. Jon too, if they hadn’t tumbled out of the way, banging a shoulder and their arm on an outstretched pipe. They cursed loudly in French, wincing at the flash of searing heat that spiked out from their forearm. Conviently the one void of their usual vambrace, having lost that to a handsy villain bot half an hour earlier. They knew without looking it was bleeding. How bad would have to wait as they scrambled to their feet only to toss themselves in another tumble as the robotic hand retreated. It took more piping with it and raining down hellfire in the shapes of broken pipes and ductwork. Some bigger than them.

“Ah, my mortal coil!” Jon skittered forward to slip between a space that was small even for them, reaching upwards to pull themselves up. “What happened to distracting it?!”

A chorus of apologies echoed through the comms as they were bathed in abrupt sunlight left by the now gaping hole. The Venator peered through it, bending low to see where its target had gone, putting it in the perfect angle. It got a faceplate full of exploding silver; the liquid dribbling down across the red sensors before Jon retreated further up.

“You’re seriously harshing all of my browns!”

“What does that even mean?” The softly lilted question filtered through the comm links.

“It means.” Jon grunted, scampering across a jutting pipe on all fours, “you’re messing with my steez!” They leapt free of the tangled mess of piping with a shout, a wild grin affixed in place as they hurled across the short distance and landed on the Venator’s flat head. They nearly missed and tumbled straight off its backside when it raised itself up, a hand swiping across its head’s sensors to dislodge the attack. While Lead Foot wasn’t intended to blind, but bind, it served a dual purpose when the training bot’s hand stuck to its face, holding fast. It wouldn’t last long. The bot was too strong.

Loading another orb, the teen pulled back on the sling and it went wild when the bot reared up and clambered for balance, falling to their knee. What they wouldn’t have given for a knee pad.

“Get on it!”

Oh, that better not be rock boy talking to me. “I am on it! Any more on it and it’ll be wearing me like a funky little Jonny hat!” Channel your inner Yoda. “All right, young padawan, flicker your eye lights off and concentr-fuck!.” Fingers dug into metal as the robot whipped around to throw them off and their prosthetic squeaked as they scrambled for purchase, kicking to dig the toe of their boot into the smooth metal. Screw it, doing it old school.

Grey eyes shone silver as their Quirk activated and they slapped a hand atop the bot’s head. The hard surface gave way like softened butter, their palm sliding through the sudden viscous metal, exposing a menagerie of wiring. Jon dragged their hand, cutting across the top and leaving an opening in its wake as if they meant to split the bot’s head in half.

They couldn’t, there were too many factors to weasel through and not enough Quirk to go around. Tugging an orb free of their quiver, they shoved it into the hole they made, pushing it through to drop into a hollow space. Two more of the same attack followed before Jon dug into the metal, coming up with a liquid handful.

“Tag!” They shouted, whipping the metal across the remaining sensors. “You’re it!”

They hurled themselves up and over the head, sliding down the slopping back to avoid the flailing arms. And most definitely didn’t stumble jump, which was totally a planned move including their startled yelp. They caught themselves repeating the same dig, the handful of liquid metal free and shove an orb into their back before letting go. Jon hit the ground hard, rolling ass over tits to land on their back between the bot’s lower tank wheels. This was not all where they wanted to be with a rampaging blind robot, and they rolled out of the way of the treads wheeling backwards into the menagerie of piping Jon had been in. The sound was horrendous, screeching metal and foundation, but it was like music to their ears.

In the time Jon had yelled to distract it, the Venator had taken out another student, preoccupied two more with the last of the smaller bots and Rocky Balboa was half down. They weren’t that far behind, landing on an unforgiving quiver really put a dent in their mood, but they just had to wait it out. It was a simple countdown, seconds ticking by when the Venator rightened itself to steamroll the third year over, reaching down to grab them.

Jon grinned upside down at the muffled pops and the outstretched hand slowed just shy of touching them before grinding to a halt. The red sensors winked out as the behemoth powered down, dead in its tracks. Titanium Wrought did its job, skewering and ripping apart the bot’s mechanical innards and mainframe, destroying it. Good thing too, that was the last of what they had.

A klaxon bellowed across the training grounds, signifying the end of the session. Jon sat up with a groan, resting elbows on knee and metal joint and sighed, dropping their head. “Can’t believe that worked,” they muttered behind the curtain of dreads before looking up at their name being shouted.

A body slammed into them, shoving them both to the ground as the pink-haired girl; Kimi laughed, arms wrapped tightly in a hug. She’d been taken out early in the training game but had been a consistent ray of sunshine and cheer for everyone else. “You did it, Jonny!”

After a well earned round of applause and merriment amongst the class, casual banter, and suggestions of improvement, their instructor dismissed the gaggle of teenagers to the lockers. Jon was the last to go, present adult holding them back to make sure they went straight to the nurses’ station to get their arm looked at. Promising him they would, Jon took a precursory look at the blood-soaked sleeve and promptly did the opposite. They did, however, bandage it themselves after a shower, hastily wrapping a length of gauze to stem the fresh ooze of blood. It wasn’t as bad as they thought, wouldn’t even need stitches if they kept it clean.

Fiddling with the last button on their school uniform, Jon grabbed their pack and slammed their locker closed. Testing their weight with a quick little bounce, they tugged on their pants to free material that had gotten stuck in the socket of their prosthetic. Exchanging their running blade for their regular everyday one was always a hassle. Éowyn and Barda were built for hero work and Martha, well, wasn’t. Martha was for blending in and not having to tailor their school uniform. There was always a transitional period Jon couldn’t describe to any able-bodied person, you had to experience it for yourself.

Self-reflection done, the third year unwrapped a piece of candy to suck on and was the last to head out of the locker room. Going around the usual classified hang out areas where they’d get ignored or recognized, it was a seventy-thirty outcome and as much as they were a social butterfly; they needed a break. A certain break in the form of the crinkled plastic package they shoved in their pocket and the pizza decorated lighter. Alex would wonder where his cigarettes went to for the second time that year, chuck it up to losing it and buy another pack, none the wiser.

Keeping to a casual stroll with their hands tucked into their pockets, Jon weaved in and out of hallways and stairwells, taking the last narrow one up to the roof of a lecture hall. Stairs were a bane, and they merely sighed and set to taking it one at a time. It wasn’t a well-used rooftop as evident by the lock on the door, and it’d become a blessing in disguise. The lock slowed them a tick, hooking fingers around it, and a minute later it crumbled into rust. Easier that way to not track it to them, melted lock said Quirk, missing lock could be anyone.

Taking a breath of fresh air, Jon sauntered across their private oasis. It wasn’t much of anything, a simple rooftop with air conditioning units and ductwork. The lecture hall overlooked smaller buildings and a small quad with a few tables and trees. Knocking a cigarette free, Jon lit it with a quick flick of their lighter and stood at the edge of the building, peering down at a trio of students walking by. Their forearm throbbed, aching annoyingly enough they could ignore with enough incentive. Skipping the doc was a good enough reason.

Digging into their other pocket, they pulled loose an orange rubber bouncy ball they pulled from a coin machine the other day. Giving it a test bounce, they tossed it over the edge and it hit the ground in front of the trio, startling one who looked up. Grinning, Jon took a slow drag and knocked the ash with a flick of their thumb, scrolling through their phone for the local gossip on the school chats.