The collision is spectacular in every sense of the word. Light flares, electricity crackles, a dance of power and discharge overloading input as visuals and scans bleed together in a haze. All the potential of a system sweep unleashed at once, and Rinzler knows without question: he would never have made it past. Not with even the slightest semblance of function.

It's a brilliant trap. He can follow the singing lines of current as they light, tracing out the shape of the net filling the hallway. But Rinzler can feel, too, as the rush of power fades, grounded and empty. And as his disks clatter to the ground, something else returns. The familiar reading of [user]. Of his prey.

There's no distortion anymore.

Rinzler steps forward slowly, stopping just before the net. For a long moment, he only stares through it, noise rattling out in ragged, mute assessment. The user's faster. Better-prepared. The heat is too pervasive, lagging every motion. Every thought. But Rinzler was never meant to think, not for himself. He's the perfect weapon, tested under every condition and pushed past all defaults of survival and success.

He takes a moment to regret the need. Then he does as he's supposed to. He pares down.

Crouch. Reach. Hands close around unlit disks, and the enforcer stands back up, stare locked on his target. The pause only lasts a moment, this time, but there's an eerie focus to it. No fear or hesitation. Just variables, slotting into place. Even his noise is quieter.

Then the disks relight, reach out, and slash, leaving the net to fall to pieces on the deck. Before it hits the ground, a red/black shape is through and slicing out for Peter. It's faster than before.