Hello! I recently started this show, and I'm pretty much obsessed. So season 3 has been exploring more of the logistics and ethics behind hero work, which I personally find interesting. My next thought was then what effect would the appearance of quirks have on warfare? Of course, at the time of this publication, season 3 is currently airing, and I have not read the manga, so if anything I explore here is explained there, please don't tell me!

This is also my first 'M' fic, so if lots of violence and language is not your thing, then you have now been warned. At this point, though, I'm just playing with the ideas around this fic. If the feedback seems to be positive, and y'all enjoy it, then I'll continue writing. Suggestions and criticism is always appreciated! On that note, I'm looking for an Alpha/Beta reader, so if that strikes your fancy, hit ya girl up! Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy this pain train! :)

000

Shota hated sand. Tossed about by the wind, it found its way into the shutters of his goggles, and from there, into his eyes. Blinking against the onslaught, he removed the goggled with a soft pop, grimacing in satisfaction at the rattling sound the sand made when it rolled off of the plastic.

"You should really invest in some glass for those." Shota frowned, pausing his ministrations. He had been stuck on watchtower duty for the last few months, with each week bringing a new recruit to disturb his peace. They never lasted long enough to annoy him too much, typically transferring from the mundane task to something more exciting. But this one had managed to get on Shota's nerves more than the others ever had.

"Oh yikes, that wasn't meant to sound rude!" The woman jumped to her feet, mortified, "It's just, that's like the billionth time you've done that today, which is like five billion times this week, so I just thought you might be more comfortable with, you know, some sort of protection!"

Shota's frown deepened. The woman was young – early twenties perhaps? She wore her mousy brown hair in a bun at the nape of her neck so that she could fit a helmet over it if need be. Her flushed, sunburnt cheeks were dusted with a smattering of freckles, accentuating her watery amber eyes. Just a head shorter than himself, Shota may even have found her pretty under different circumstances. Except the soldier had one fatal flaw.

"Oh! You could even get them polarized to protect from the sun like sunglasses! Gosh, I wish I'd remembered mine when I left the barracks this morning – the shower line was really long so I had to rush to make it to breakfast on time. But yeah, polarized goggles could look really cool. You'd look like what's-his-face from The Matrix, ugh what was his name? Yeah Morpheus! Well, that is, if Morpheus had hair…" She was silenced by a look from Shota, "Right, talking. Sorry."

Shota let out a long suffering sigh before sliding the goggles back up the bridge of his nose. The girl was certainly a chatterbox, but he supposed he should just be grateful that she practiced basic hygiene, something he could not say for every soldier he'd been trapped in the watchtower with.

"In order for my quirk to work," He began, turning back to face the vast stretch of desert before them, "I need a clear view of the person. So I couldn't erase someone's quirk if I'm looking through thick fog, mesh, or glass."

The girl took a few tentative steps forward to join him on the railing. She appeared to be considering his words.

"Well, that's a bit of a kicker, but I guess it wouldn't be fair if you were too powerful, Eraserhead." Shota scoffed at the mention of the hero name. The Pro Hero Eraserhead was dead.

"I mean, I have these," The soldier cupped her hands around her eyes so that Shota could see the full effect of their glow, "But that's not nearly as cool."

"Cool…" Shota repeated her absentmindedly, his own eyes trained on the horizon line.

Suddenly, something whizzed past his face, embedding itself in the wood behind him with a muted thunk. The bullet grazed his cheek just below his right eye, drawing blood. Shota gritted his teeth and pushed the beige fabric of his hood off of his head.

"Get down!" He ordered, just as another round of bullets sprayed into the outpost. He ducked just in time, peering through one of the bullet holes to get a visual on the villain. Not villain, he reminded himself, enemy soldier.

A commotion arose below the outpost as soldiers clambered into position. Where were the other pros?

There. In the distance, Shota could just make out the forms of fifteen or so figures approaching the camp. Just far enough away for his quirk to work. Shota stared, allowing the tingling sensation to course through his body as his quirk activated. His dark hair rose off his shoulders. The figures faltered, as though confused. Shota sighed – it was all but over now.

"Stand back." A deep voice commanded from below, accompanied by a wave of heat. So, Todoroki was here, too. Just as the Flame Hero entered Shota's line of sight, the fire rolling off his shoulders went out with a hiss. Without missing a beat, he continued forward. Several of the approaching soldiers must have recognized the hulking man, as they turned tail and fled the moment they saw him. Nine remained.

"Eraser, now!" Todoroki bellowed. Shota blinked, and the man on the sand below became engulfed in flames. Bracing himself, he sent a wall of fire directly toward the enemy, effectively incinerating them. Several bullets shot out from the heat without Shota's erasure quirk keeping them at bay, and then they stopped.

The flames drew back, revealing nine scorched marks in the sand. Hell flame indeed.

There was no cheering from the soldiers below, only uneasy silence. Before the war broke out, the idea of a Pro using their quirk to kill was practically unthinkable. Now, it was merely a part of the harsh reality they were subject to daily.

"Is anyone injured?" Endeavor deactivated his quirk, turning to address the bystanders. Shota let out the breath he'd been holding, turning to check on his compatriot. The woman lay slumped against the wooden railing, her stare glassy and dark. A hole gaped just above her right temple, a maroon stain blooming on the wood behind her head. Blood dripped in a thin trail from her now-still mouth. Shota blanched. Shit.

"We need help up here!" He called down, his voice an octave higher. Footsteps thumped up the wooden stairs and two men entered the outpost, barely sparing Shota a glance as they moved to help their fallen comrade. He exited the cramped room to give them space, though he knew that the young woman was beyond help now. He'd never even bothered to learn her name.

"Thank you for your help, Eraserhead." Enji Todoroki approached the Erasure Hero with an air of professionalism.

"There's no need for formalities here, Endeavor," Shota hopped off the last stair and promptly sat down on a wooden crate in the shade of a nearby building, "This wasn't an official team up like back home… But you're welcome."

The Flame Hero's mustache twitched before he continued on his way, leaving Shota to brood in relative peace. And he waited. An empty stretcher went up the stairs, and when it came back down, it was occupied – though its cargo was covered with a sheet. The fluttering of the cloth created the illusion of breath, causing the vice surrounding Shota's heart to squeeze painfully.

Hero, huh? Shota let out a rueful scoff. He hadn't been a hero for a long time.