Time is like threads. It takes any shape, fluid like water, dynamic and mosaic. Sometimes the strings unravel and recoil, they intertwine and mix, or pull away and become lost. Other times, the threads are solid and fixed. They do not move. They are ropes and shackles, chaining creatures to their fortunes. Snakelike, time slithers. It can be completely unseen, plotting a million endings, up in the air, before diving to the earth's surface. It explodes, shaking the ground with tremors. The soil, disturbed, returns to its docile slumber. Time doesn't seem to follow a set road. It's erratic, it shifts gears, it stops and it starts. Moments can take weeks, weeks can take seconds. Time doesn't seem to follow a timeline. It does as it pleases. Unknown beings continue to sow their lives away, watering and planting their seeds, kissing them either good bye or hello. Bakugou feels as if he is sitting at the edge of the world, watching the landscape span to elsewhere, painted in a sea of green and blue. He sees the beginning of something, a new era. The cogs are turning, shifting and clanking. He can hear the mechanical clicks of typing - time is deciding what will occur, what will become anew.

Once upon a time, the black mambas of The Typhoon were flourishing. There were so many of them. He thought it to be ridiculous but as days went by, their numbers began to thin. It all felt like deja vu when Captain Pincher made the announcement for sages. He hadn't been there when the tryouts had been announced last time but it felt as if he had been there too, about to see a repeat of the black mambas. They will rise form the flames, phoenixes with downy, new feathers. He feels almost nostalgic seeing all these tryouts about, but one thing that puts his emotions to rest was seeing the pitiful attempts of Technopaw. He could see the way smoke surrounded her body, flying with the wind like a cape. Energetic. He feels almost tired just seeing her, the currents that fired in her neurons. His nose twitches, keeping his distance because he didn't want to be harassed by the catsune, not wishing to be the unwilling victim. He was, however, harbouring a few scraps and scratches along his side. If she so much as locked eyes on the scarlet on his cream fur, she would see her chance. Bakugou, however, was unaware he even had cuts on him in the first place. He was used to it.