DANGER'S POV
Danger sat alone in the dim training room, his back against the cold wall.
The lights flickered faintly above him.
His knuckles were bruised, blood dried along his fingers - proof of hours spent punching solid concrete instead of people. Pain was easier to understand than disappointment.
Failure.
The word followed him everywhere.
No matter how fast he moved.
No matter how hard he fought.
No matter how many enemies fell at his feet.
It was never enough.
His mind drifted back - to a time before code names, before guns, before blood.
---
FLASHBACK
A younger Vince stood in the grand hall, shoulders squared despite his trembling hands.
"I did everything right," he said, voice hopeful. "I followed your orders."
Lady Anna didn't even look at him.
"You were slow," she replied coldly. "Storm wouldn't have hesitated."
Vince swallowed hard. "I can do better."
She finally turned - her gaze sharp, disappointed.
"You always say that."
The words struck deeper than any slap.
He stood there long after she walked away, holding back tears he had learned never to show.
---
PRESENT
Danger exhaled sharply, rubbing his face.
"I tried," he muttered to the empty room. "I always tried."
Another memory surfaced.
---
FLASHBACK
He was bleeding.
A mission gone wrong. A bullet graze across his side.
He staggered into the estate, pain visible.
"Mother-"
Lady Anna's eyes flicked to him briefly.
"You survived," she said flatly. "Don't make it sound like an achievement."
Vince stood there, stunned.
He had wanted comfort.
He had wanted praise.
He had wanted to hear you did well just once.
---
PRESENT
Danger's chest tightened.
Storm had been given respect. Trust. Pride.
Danger had been given expectations he could never meet.
He slammed his fist against the wall - then froze when he heard soft footsteps behind him.
Curly stood at the doorway, eyes wide.
"I-I was told to clean in here," she whispered.
Danger straightened immediately, forcing his expression neutral.
"You shouldn't be here," he said quietly.
"I'll leave," she replied quickly.
"No," he said, surprising even himself. "It's fine."
She stepped in cautiously, picking up the discarded gloves from the floor.
"You don't have to be scared," he added.
She hesitated. "I am."
He nodded slowly. "That makes sense."
They stood in silence for a moment.
Then Curly spoke, barely above a whisper. "You're not... what they say you are."
He laughed softly. "And what do they say?"
"That you're dangerous," she replied.
He looked at his bruised hands.
"They're not wrong," he said. "But they're not right either."
Curly glanced at him. "You look like someone who tries very hard."
The words hit him harder than any memory.
Danger swallowed.
"Trying doesn't mean anything here," he said. "Only results."
Curly shook her head gently. "It should."
For a moment, he forgot where he was.
Forgot who he was supposed to be.
"Go," he said finally, his voice quieter. "Before someone sees you."
She nodded and left.
Danger remained there long after, staring at the spot where she had stood.
For the first time in a long while, the word failure didn't echo as loudly.