Leader, Akechi calls him. Akira pauses, tasting the syllables of that familiar title on his tongue as he decides whether or not the other boy is mocking him. It doesn’t sound like it. With a sidelong glance, he walks past Akechi to the door that his Fighter entered through. He listens, tail curled almost like a question mark. Despite the earlier chaos, the hallway outside seems quiet now.

“We weren’t given much free reign,” he admits, glancing over his shoulder at Akechi. “A few tried to escape early on. What I know comes from that attempt.”

It probably doesn’t need to be stated that those Sacrifices weren’t successful; for the first time that night, there’s real anger darkening Akira’s brow as he recalls what happened. His ears remain flattened along his skull long after he’s schooled his expression, a tell he can’t quite manage to control. Corrupted adults stomping all over the lives of kids…it makes his blood boil, even now.

“Can you sense other Fighters nearby? We were told that’s an ability unique to Fighters.”

Akira is, truth be told, a little jealous. As much as he would rather not be roped into this bizarre game of Sacrifices and Fighters and paired units, he can’t help thinking that the Fighters have the cooler movesets.