"Though, honestly, would you mind not flashing the audience? There are some kids here." Charlie's voice crackled through his voice-amplifying quirk, devoid of his usual theatrical flair. The words hung in the air like smoke as gazes turned away from Rhett's naked form.
"What an inconvenience." Rhett's voice carried no emotion as he surveyed the arena. Sand clung to his skin, mixed with blood that wasn't entirely his own. If only his quirk brought his clothes back with him—another cruel joke in an endless series of them.
His eyes found his discarded body. The mangled heap of flesh and bone that had housed his consciousness moments before lay twisted against the arena wall, one arm bent at an impossible angle, face a mangled, twisted mass of flesh and bone. The sight should have made him sick. Instead, he felt only a distant curiosity, as if observing roadkill.
