It's, uh... been a while, huh?
Yeah. Whoops.
Anyway, it makes zero sense to post a Kamen Rider: Dragon Knight story on AO3 and not cross-post it to where this mini-series got started for me. ^^
Regimen
With one last spin kick, Chris Ramirez handily destroyed the last of the panther mirror monsters that had scared off the local residents.
Detransforming in a shower of magenta rings was the work of a few seconds - and with that done, he managed a glance down at his watch and the active timer there.
Forty seconds.
He grinned - a new record. He was finally using his time and blows wisely, like he'd been taught in the Marines.
Even so, Chris decided it would be best to retreat for the day; his lungs were already stinging and his breathing came swift and ragged. He could play superhero some more tomorrow.
"Met this week's goal," he muttered, switching the watch out of 'timer mode' and checking his steps too before turning off the display. "Next week's goal: maintain the forty-second victory run. The week after: decrease total time from encounter to victory to thirty seconds..."
He wrote this all down in his training journal, hoisted his bag higher, and left the park.
Maya texted him as he was throwing his bag over his motorcycle in the parking garage a mile away: You're in the news again, hero. But all by yourself. Everything okay?
The concern made him smirk. Count on Maya to still be checking up on him even after he'd joined a team and mostly nixed public brawls with fiends in favor of laying low. He sent her back an "all-clear" text as he swung one leg over his bike, revved the engine and kicked off toward home.
The ride back was smooth. Chris didn't feel like he was being watched (for once) and his phone only buzzed twice. The first time was probably Maya's response, and the second buzz might have been a reminder of the same, but its close timing to the last message made him dread the end of his ride.
Easy, soldier. Maybe it's Kit or Len. If Maya can read the paper, so can they.
Then again, they didn't have his phone number yet.
He coasted past sluggish cars and novice bike riders, eventually slipping (mostly) quietly into his apartment's parking lot and shutting his ride off for the night. And his self-control was strong enough that he didn't even slip his phone back out of his pocket until he was locked into his place.
The words on the phone's screen weren't even close to being a friendly inquiry or show of concern.
You've been AWOL for three months. Marines don't abandon their post, son, and the Ramirezes are Marines.
Chris winced at the condemnation - both direct and implied - in those stiff, emotionless words.
But he didn't text his father back.
The next day was more of the same.
Monsters attacked the local snow cone shop, sending kids scattering and screaming. One unlucky boy almost got kidnapped and redirected to Ventara and Xaviax - only Chris' timely arrival had him rescued and sent home to his panicked mother instead. He grinned when he checked his timer for today's encounter: forty seconds again. He had the method down and he had some consistency - just needed reliability.
Chris stopped by his favorite shop on the way home and got bagels; in the meantime he waved off more of Maya's well-meaning but overly worried texts with inane distracting chatter about the news, good places to grab specialty food, or last night's nail-biting football game.
MAYA: While interesting, knowing how the Lynxes did last night doesn't tell me how you've been doing fighting all the you-know-whats alone, Chris.
He replied cheekily: I think you can say "Mirror Monsters" without anyone from the NSA or CIA pulling up and dragging either of us away.
MAYA: OMG do not saaaay that, now they're definitely watching! Those monsters aren't the only ones who can disappear people, remember!?
Chris just leaned against his bike and laughed. He was definitely more of an armed forces fan, but even with all the creepy surveillance and shadow games going on in the "real world, he liked his chances much better against some black suits. At least they were still human.
And humans can be monstrous, but mostly, they do good.
Xaviax and his minions were a whole different kettle of fish.
Though... that opinion did waver a bit when he eventually arrived home, an hour after more detours and another round of buzzing from his phone. He'd put off answering, thinking it was Maya making sure no sneaky government agents had snatched him after her last text. It could have been Len or Kit, since he'd finally passed along his number. It could even have been his old boss from the warehouse, with another excuse about why it "wasn't safe" for Chris to come back to work for him.
It was none of those people.
DAD: Another day you don't show up. You're bringing shame to our family, son.
Another well-aimed, mean-spirited jab at the disability he couldn't shake, and the hero's destiny that eluded him.
On the other hand... some humans who're supposed to be good can be monstrous, too.
Wednesday.
Another day, another round of live practice.
With the middle of the week here, Chris found that his ducks, jabs and punches were now much sharper, more precise and longer-lasting. Like him, his foes now needed more time to recover from the blows he dealt, which leveled the playing field. Once again it took him about forty seconds to deal with mirror monster threats in and around Gramercy Heights and his apartment. Forty seconds each this time, for every group he came across, from the moment he dismounted his bike to the moment the last threat disintegrated before him, not to be seen again.
What was that called again?
Oh yeah... 'Vented'.
Chris didn't even flinch when his phone buzzed this day, figuring that there wasn't much worse his father could say to him, and certainly nothing that would make him change his mind and crawl home. But then something - maybe his courage, maybe a hidden masochist streak - made him pull the phone out anyway to confirm the sender.
And - it wasn't his father. It was Len.
About time you coughed up your number. I know about your training - it's a good start, but not enough. Meet me tomorrow at five a.m. to fix that.
Hmm.
Well, Chris thought, who am I to refuse my commanding officer?