Nathan - Kid Rocket, as he stood in costume, balaclava raised and mask on - had come to two realizations as he stood across from the costumed criminal before him. The first was just how tired his body was after the events of the past day. 

He’d been allowed no time for rest despite multiple confrontations with members of the Dancer’s Troupe, diffused more bombs than he wanted to in a lifetime, and now stood only feet away from the men who promised death and were more than capable of delivering.

The second was just how much he missed Darkstar. The mere presence of the man had been a beacon of confidence, an assurance that things would work out no matter what. But he was gone. And it seemed in his absence, a city that seemed to hang together at the seams was threatening to come apart and bury him in the process. 

“You take little kitty,” Boa called to the monster of a man beside him. 

His eyes met Nathan’s through the mask, and despite himself, the boy felt his heart plummet.

“I want the kid.”

Catspaw was moving before anyone could react, springing ahead of him, her hands glistening with the emergence of those strange claws of hers. 

“Uh, go, fucking fight…” Boa chided his partner, the helmet bearing colossus swaying with a foreboding intent.

She moved for Boa, and the man's eyes widened just a bit beneath the mask as he raised his arms to shield himself, twirling them in on themselves in serpentine swirls in hopes of deflecting her oncoming attack.

“Go, fight - HUT!” 

It was an unnecessary effort. At the final word, Gridiron exploded forth, chunks of cement springing free underfoot, concrete giving way beneath the sheer force of his footfalls. Nathan wanted to warn her, though the monster of a man moved far quicker than his size ought to have allowed, and he was on her in moments, helmet lowered as he barrelled into her with a force that sent her sprawling back down the alley and onto the street from which they’d come. 

Nathan was forced to make a tight cartwheel to the side with his free arm, the left already working for the sword holstered at his back, just barely avoiding being caught in Gridiron’s attack. 

He could see that Catspaw had caught herself just in time to avoid being caught again in the ceaseless charge, springing over the monster of a man and clinging onto his back as the two disappeared somewhere around the corner, the sounds of their struggle growing distant down the block.

“Hey, Star-Boy, FOCUS,” 

The pain in Nathan’s stomach was both nauseating and searing, a sensation that made his vision blur and gut twist with a gnawing ache. He turned in time to avoid the follow up, as Boa’s gloved fist sprang forth - closing the distance between them in seconds and only narrowly missing Kid Rocket’s jaw as he ducked backward. 

He raised his sword between them, a katana in design, its edge sharpened - but the point blunted to avoid lethality trying his best to appear imposing despite his stomach - still aching with that dull but Borderline crippling pain.

Usually, he’d have corrected the villain on his name, quipped with them in some irritating and distracting fashion just long enough to throw them off before Darkstar methodically devastated them with whatever plan he’d conceived. 

Now? There was no Darkstar with some seemingly perfect plan. It was up to him, and he wasn’t feeling up for his usual humor.

Boa chuckled, gloved arms snapping back into place with an elastic sort of effect, as he gave his wrists an exaggerated twist, cracking the joints.

“So kiddo, how do you want me to do it?” Boa called, pacing side to side with an intentional casualness.

“I can crush your skull, it can be fast or slow, depending on my mood,” 

Kid Rocket sets his jaw, determined to steel himself against the threats though deep down he can feel that, paired with the absence of his mentor and hero, they’re having the intended effect.

“Or maybe I’ll just choke you, wring that little neck until your head goes POP!” He makes an exaggerated noise with his lips, and despite himself, Kid Rocket flinches.

Darkstar had taught him the importance of these moments, the feeling-out process, as he’d called it. That time in which your opponent would attempt to make threats - demoralizing before striking a single blow, and during which they were just as influenced.

He’d used those moments to seem imposing, so often imbuing a strange sense of panic before they’d even thrown their first punch that, in the face if the almost machine-like Darkstar, always worked to their disadvantage.

And yet Nathan felt no sense of courage or imposition, and in the face of Boa, a villain hardly worthy of ranking by the USDCA, he saw only malice. And he was afraid.

“Guess we’ll find out,” Boa muttered, smile fading.

He moved forward, arms raised and slowly sinking back into themselves with an accordion-like motion until his fists were nearly level with the shoulders. 

It took Kid Rocket only a moment to recognize the attack, raising the unsharpened side of his blade with both hands - just in time to catch twin punches launched with the force of a .22. 

Even beneath the steel alloy of his blade, he could feel his forearms ring out in pain at the sheer force of the blow, noting a faint - but visible bend in the shape of his weapon.

Before he could react, one of the arms coiled around the blade, the muscles flexing and expanding as it held it firm, the other pulling back as Boa loaded up the free hand for another strike.

Fuck, was all he could manage to think before the second punch barrelled forward. 

He fell back, releasing his grip on the sword as he let himself sprawl out onto the grime-caked alley beneath him, Boa’s fist just barely grazing the top of his scalp with a force that, had he been milliseconds slower, might have crushed his skull. 

The villain flung the sword off somewhere into the street behind him, well out of Nathan’s reach unless he could find someway past the man.

He has the reach advantage, Nathan thought, doing his best to try and assess the situation as he’d been taught so often by Darkstar.

But I’m faster on foot if I can just get behind him maybe -

There was no time to finish the thought as Kid Rocket was forced to throw up both arms in an attempt to shield himself, crossing one over the other as he braced. Boa had raised his outstretched arm, muscles tensing with an audible sound like stretching plastic - converting the missed strike into something like a hammer fist as he drove the length of it down onto Kid Rocket.

The force was staggering despite his vain attempts at shielding himself, arms ringing out in a searing pain that had persisted since he’d caught the first barrage on his blade. The left in particular burned with an excruciating sort of sensation as he raised it, struggling to his feet.

Fractured, probably. His thoughts felt choppy, and distorted as he sucked in a breath, a sensation that had once been unfamiliar but had grown to accost him far too much over the past 24 hours bubbling up in his chest.

Fear. 

Boa’s arms snapped back into place returning to their normal appearance, as he gives his head a slow shake.

Can’t let him get the next move. Have to respond. Have to be quick, establish my ground, and give him a reason to be reluctant.

Planting both hands on either side of his head he leaped into a kip-up, throwing himself backward and onto his feet in order to generate some distance. He’d fought Boa only once before, a year or two ago with Darkstar in the earliest days of the villain's mercenary career - and he knew the man’s limitations. 

His arms were durable, strong, and capable of reaching up to seven feet due to the experiment that replaced the bones within them with strange cartilage and granted inhuman control over the muscles. Still, he had a limit to his reach, and beyond that, he was human, capable of being harmed if one could penetrate his extended area of control.

Kid Rocket slid two of the throwing knives from the hoster affixed to the front of his costume, white and red where corresponding so as to blend in almost entirely. 

He hurled the first, sliding backward a few feet more before throwing the second, the dulled blades whistling through the air with blinding speed.

The air cracks with the sound of Boa’s arms flashing out with whip-like speed and effect, meeting both projectile's feet before they could reach him, tossing them across the intersecting alley.

Nathan grabbed a third, this one from the side of his belt, raising it at the ready. He could feel his heart pounding, a nauseating sort of feeling gnawing at the back of his throat at the rise of something unfamiliar in his gut. Helplessness, faint at first, but growing by the second. 

Come ON, Nathan, he chided himself mentally, desperate for anything that might kickstart his mind to inspire some solution, some winning method. 

He’s a C-list shitbag, emergency-yellow tier. Darkstar would’ve crushed him ten minutes ago.

But you’re not Darkstar, are you?

“Can I be honest kid?” Boa’s arms slid back into place as he spoke, a smirk across his lips that made Nathan’s blood boil and stomach turn respectively. 

“I’m - I’m a little disappointed,” 

Nathan needed to move. 

The current situation was not working in his favor, the distance, and the enclosed spacing of the alley both empowered Boa and limited Nathan. He was the veritable acrobat, as talented as any to don the mask had ever been when it came to traversing the city be it on foot, via grappling blade, or on bike, he needed to find a way to use it.

“I mean, I’m glad the prick is dead, don’t get me wrong. That tap-dancing moron’s done us all a favor but, at least he was a challenge. This is - I mean it’s just pathetic.”

No room on either side, Nathan thought, considering his options. Up it is.

He pointed his blade at the ledge of a building behind Boa, aiming it for the brick and plaster cornice at its side, and clicked down sending the point of the blade springing forth connected to the rest of its handle by a long, stretching cable as it fixed firmly in the brick with a ‘ch-ck’. 

“A challenge,” Kid Rocket repeated, trying his best to steady the words through his heavy breathing, equal parts from the exhaustion and pain that radiated through him and the anger Boa’s taunts stirred.

“It’s funny, he never saw you as a challenge. Just a joke.”

The man’s smile faded, teeth bared in a silent glare as he pulled back for another strike. Nathan pressed the button on his blade's handle once more with a leap, the force of the mechanisms pulling towards the side of the building with staggering speed as he raised his legs, bending his knees to meet the incoming bricks.

The pressure around his neck is instant, muscles screaming under a sudden tension as he’s forced to release the handle of the grappling blade, allowing it to snap forward into in the wall as he was torn back to earth. 

He met the ground with a slam that sucked what little air he’d retained out of his chest, the tightening coil of an arm around his neck preventing any further intake as his lungs began to scream for a breath he couldn’t gather. 

“How’s this for a fucking joke?” Boa snarled, the arm around Kid Rocket’s neck coiling tighter - tighter until the boy was almost certain he could feel his jaw on the verge of shattering, hands clawing uselessly at it. 

He reared back his free arm until his fist had all but been subsumed into the shoulder, and fired another punch. He tried to block it, throwing up his arms which only slowed the blow. His head rang, the vice grip around his neck preventing any motion with which to stave the momentum. Nathan’s vision began to blur, a combination of the force of the blow, and lack of oxygen taking effect, panic slipping away slowly as a strange sort of acceptance began to flood the chasm in its place.

I’m going to die…same day. The realization made him feel cold inside, but he knew that may have been the lack of oxygen.

Not saving the city. But fighting Boa, in a fucking alleyway. He was - wrong to believe in me.

The very thought made his mouth taste bitter amongst the coppery blood that Boa’s last strike had set to running.

“Arrogant little prick.” 

He could feel himself moving, or being moved rather, the tips of his boots just barely scraping along the alley as Boa pulled him near. He could feel the grip around his neck tighten, something he’d have doubted possible - as Boa’s other arm was included, his hand working towards the back of Nathan’s head - nearing the mask.

“Let’s get this fucking mask of, eh? I wanna watch the light go out of Kid Rocket’s eyes when I kill ya.” he sneered, speaking the name almost like an insult.

Can’t be like this. The thought came through a mind thick with fog, It can’t be like this.

In the far reaches of his mind, a half-formed thought emerged of desperation and instinct. His hands moved for his belt, settling around the handle of a grappling-blade.