The Hero Public Safety Commission headquarters loomed above the city like a fortress of cold light and silent watchfulness. Its sharp, angular silhouette reflected the sun with a clinical brilliance that betrayed nothing of the tension humming inside. The building was a bastion of order amidst a world increasingly teetering on chaos—a place where every secret was observed, every move scrutinized. For Reiji Kurobane, this was both a sanctuary and a cage.
He walked through the vast hallways with measured steps, each echo against the polished floor a reminder of the weight pressing down on him. The corridors stretched endlessly, white walls sterile and unyielding, punctuated by flickering surveillance cameras that tracked his progress with unwavering attention. Agents in dark suits glanced his way with careful curiosity; their eyes flickered between respect and unease. Whispers floated through the air like shadows—words like "unpredictable," "dangerous," "a force beyond control."
Reiji absorbed it all with a detached calm. The sealed envelope from Aizawa burned quietly in his pocket—the official summons for evaluation. It marked a turning point, a recognition that his existence was no longer a secret, and that the powers-that-be wanted to measure, categorize, and potentially harness him. To them, he was as much a threat as a weapon.
Each step deeper into the facility was a descent into scrutiny. The walls themselves seemed to close in, reflecting the cold, clinical gaze of the institution. Yet, Reiji was resolute. Control was vital, but here, it was not solely his to command.
Behind a wall of monitors, Hawks reclined comfortably in a sleek chair. The room was filled with glowing screens and consoles, a nerve center of surveillance and intelligence gathering. His crimson wings, folded neatly behind him, lent him an almost regal air—an angel of vigilance.
His sharp eyes never left the live feed streaming images of Reiji moving through the facility. He remembered their past clashes and reluctant collaborations—battles fought side by side in a world where the line between hero and weapon often blurred. Hawks' mind was a swirl of admiration and caution.
"You're a storm, Kurobane," Hawks muttered to himself. "Powerful, relentless… but storms leave destruction in their wake."
The monitors flickered, showing detailed reports of Reiji's performance during the Shie Hassaikai raid, his efficient brutality, and the silent menace he carried. Hawks' gaze softened, a shadow of regret flickering across his features. He respected the man's strength but feared what unchecked ruthlessness might cost.
"The Commission wants to see if we can control the storm before it consumes everything," Hawks mused, fingers drumming thoughtfully on the armrest.
Even with their history, Hawks remained wary—trust was earned slowly when dealing with forces as volatile as Reiji.
The simulation chamber was vast, its interior morphing seamlessly between environments designed to test every facet of combat and strategy. Holographic projections flickered to life, spawning nomu, rogue villains, and mechanized traps with unnerving realism. The air crackled with artificial tension.
Reiji stepped into the arena, his figure fluid and precise. Enemies attacked from every direction, their assaults relentless. Without hesitation, Reiji struck—a shadow among shadows, swift and merciless. His movements were a dance of death, each blow calculated, each evasion purposeful.
A holographic High-End Nomu lunged, grotesque and towering. Reiji ducked beneath its sweeping arm and countered with a strike to its exposed joint, shattering it cleanly. Another enemy emerged, firing volatile energy blasts. Reiji twisted midair, shadows swirling to absorb the impact before he closed the distance, disabling the attacker in seconds.
Observers behind glass whispered anxiously. "His skill is undeniable…" one murmured. "But there's no mercy in his eyes."
Hawks watched from his console, a faint frown creasing his brow. "He's effective, yes. But at what cost? Fighting without hesitation might win battles… but it could lose the war."
Reiji's ruthless efficiency was a double-edged sword—impressive and frightening. The simulation tested not only his physical prowess but his ability to adapt, strategize, and survive.
The simulation ended, and Reiji was led to a stark, private chamber. The doors sealed behind him with a hiss, cutting off the rest of the facility's sterile noise. Moments later, Hawks entered, his casual stride belying the intensity of his gaze.
The room was sparse—no distractions, no noise. Only two men, both warriors shaped by battle, now facing each other in quiet evaluation.
"So," Hawks began, voice easy but edged with seriousness, "the Commission wants to see if the wild card can be corralled."
Reiji's gaze met his without flinching. "I don't play by their rules. I survive by my own."
A faint smile flickered on Hawks' lips. "Survival is one thing. Understanding why you fight is another."
They circled verbally, words a subtle game of strategy and challenge. Hawks warned of the thin line between power and destruction, urging Reiji not to lose himself in the pursuit of strength. Reiji responded with unwavering resolve—power was necessary, responsibility secondary.
Their history colored the conversation—respect mingled with tension, an unspoken acknowledgment of battles fought and philosophies clashing. Neither expected to change the other, but understanding was a fragile bridge they both cautiously crossed.
Suddenly, the communication console chimed urgently, breaking their stalemate. Screens lit up with fresh intelligence—villain activity had surged dramatically. Coordinated attacks, growing chaos, the unmistakable signs of a brewing storm.
Hawks rose, wings unfurling in a graceful arc that seemed to fill the room with purpose. His gaze locked with Reiji's, unyielding.
"The time for watching is over," Hawks said quietly.
Reiji's shadows twisted and stretched at his feet, alive with silent promise. "Then let them come. We'll be ready."
Together, they stepped toward the threshold of war—two shadows poised on the edge of darkness, ready to face whatever tempest lay ahead.
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