Chapter One

Kick Me Like a Stray

The hero scrambles down the alleyway, his fingers scrabbling uselessly against the concrete as I advance towards him. His breathing is ragged and panicked. Blood is pouring from his arm where a dagger punctured his costume, and small lacerations crisscross his face. Finally, his arm gives out and he collapses, his nose smashing painfully against the pavement. He struggles to flip over, his face drawn and ragged. "Please!" he screams, scooting backwards as quickly as possible, "You don't have to do this!"

You don't have to do this.

You didn't have to do that.

You didn't have to. . .

". . .hit so hard," I mewled, doubled over, clutching at my stomach in pain. "It hurts, Daddy."

My father looms above me, his shadow great and terrible, like a monstrous dragon. I can't look up. It hurts to try.

"'You didn't have to hit so hard'", he says, his voice dripping with disgust, "do you hear yourself, boy?"

A foot lands in my side, sending me sprawling. I squeal in pain. "Daddy!"

"Shut up," my father says. "How do you expect to become a hero, if you act like this when you're hurt?"

A rough hand grabs my neck, forces me into an upright position. My fathers face is inches from mine, a look of disappointment written on it. "Villains will not," he growls, spattering my face with saliva, "care if you're huwt or tiwed or sad or hungwy."

I tremble, my hands clutched into fists. "Sorry, Daddy."

He tosses me gently onto the practice mat. "Sorry isn't good enough."

I step closer to the hero. He tries to kick me, but I easily sidestep it. "You're wrong," I say softly, my voice carrying through the quiet alleyway. "I do have to do this."

A blade of ice forms in my hand, while more ice comes from my foot, freezing him in place. "Because you are part of the system."

I raise my blade; tears form in his eyes.

"The system. The institution of pro heroes."

He's muttering to himself. Praying.

"The blight on our society. The cancer that has infected us for generations. You are a part of a virus."

I bring my blade closer, next to his exposed throat. If I were a dishonest man, I would say that the terror in his eyes wasn't fascinating. Wasn't utterly intoxicating.

"You and those like you are a sickness. And I am the cure."

Tragedy struck yesterday, when the body of pro hero Manual was discovered in an alleyway off the Tatooin shopping district. Although investigators have no confirmation, they believe this is the work of the infamous Hero Killer, Permafrost. We'll keep you updated as the story breaks.

The radio crumbles into dust, disintegrating under his touch.

"You've gotten sloppy."

I shrug, adjusting my mask. "Not sloppy. Sloppy is a mistake."

He chuckles dryly, his raspy voice turning the sound nightmarish. "Right, I forgot. You're on a mission."

I sit at the bar stool next to him, and Kurogiri hands me a glass. Water. Alcohol and sugar impact your combat ability. "Don't mock me, Tomura-chan."

He chuckles again. "I'm the only one who can."

It's true. Only Shigaraki Tomura would ever dare speak to me so freely, so bravely, and so sarcastically. Everyone else is either too afraid or too dead to try. Which is the way I prefer things. It allows me to focus on who I am. What I do. My mission.

Because I am Todoroki Shouto. And I kill heroes.

A short chapter, way shorter than my usual, but eh. Story takes precedence over word count. Chapter 2'll prolly be longer.

Anyway, if you have any opinions about this chapter, please review! I hope you enjoyed it!