Jack Cayman wasn't a good man. Not by a long shot.

He wasn't a villain, or at least he wasn't a villain then – these days, a man of similar practices would find himself against pro-heroes shortly. A combination of a mercenary, a loan shark, a bounty hunter – Chaser. There was a whole guild of them, and he was one of the best.

Izuku stared at the skeleton skyscrapers, pale shadows of what they might have been once, the small and filthy bars and pubs, and roads crawling with Killseekers – the locals with an apt name. Mutated, disfigured, in the eternal search for victims. And yet, this was the city that was often named the City of Tomorrow.

"This is the bar where this whole misadventure started." Cayman explained, gesturing at the rundown bar ahead of them. "The BPS guys were looking for the same man that I was." BPS stood for The Bureau of Public Safety – the closest thing the City of Milvalen had to a police, Milvalen being one of the few places left on Earth that was habitable without anything to make it possible.

"Maximillian Caxton, you said his name was." Izuku paused, not sure if he should stress out the next part. Cayman gave him a look and then chuckled mirthlessly.

"The guy responsible for Stela's death, yeah. Some BPS ace he was. Me and his team chased him all the way down to that ruined arena you first saw." They both watched some Killseeker get lobbed out of the bar at high speeds, splattering inelegantly at a wall nearby. The onlookers did nothing but laugh at their fellow's misfortune.

"But I wasn't initially looking for him out of revenge. His daughter wanted to get her dad back." The man tapped his temple as they resumed walking through the mindscape. "Almost got lost in the thrill of the hunt, if you will. Still, we brought that mental wreck of a man back to Milvalen for a fair trail."

"And what happened then?"

"And then they dragged him through a kangaroo court. It was pure spite and saving face, the kind that only self-righteous politician types are capable of." Oh. So the story had no good ending? Through the glimpses of their earlier conversations, Izuku could piece together the rough story: Maximillian was mentally unwell – a result of PTSD, PTSD meds and a hearty helping of heady liquor, on top of his cybernetics's bugging out. He already saw that man: a behemoth that stood taller than the tallest men, made seemingly entirely out of cutting-edge technology, with a withering look of madness and misanthropy that made Shigaraki Tomura's hateful glares seem like mere pouts.

"His students took it pretty well… Jeannie less so." Cayman sighed, a cigar twirling between his fingers again as they walked, idly looking over to a mutant feasting upon the hapless Killseeker. It was the definition of urban jungle, where the strongest won. The world of old, the turbulent land from which both OFA and AFO originated. Before he could ponder on it any further, the world began to break down. The limits of this meditation were up.

"Well, looks like that's that for now." Cayman nodded to himself, pocketing the cigar. "Take care, kid. We can discuss the Quirks and all that the next day."

"We have a situation in Musutafu Central, sir."

"Define "situation", Jorogumo."

"Well, uh, looks like a villain, but he's… pretty passive. He's just walking around, like he's searching for something. Honestly, I can't tell if the guy's a he, even."

"Approach carefully. Might just be a tourist. You know how it is, some people don't luck out on their Quirks." Jorogumo Tsuchi didn't need to be told that twice – his parents left him with a very prominent case of spider head, hairy mandibles and all. "We'll be notifying local heroes just in case. Central out." But how to approach… whatever the fuck this guy was?

For starters, he was huge. He was so huge, he made All Might in his prime look like a freshman. The weird costume he wore – some kind of "rusted cyberpunk robot" aesthetic – did nothing to distract from the main draw: the man looked dead as a doornail. Not dead as in emotionally dry or nothing like that. The guy's head was a decrepit skull so old and withered, it was barely holding together. There wasn't much else of the body visible, but something told the spider-headed policeman it didn't look pretty underneath either.

So far he was only trying to ask others about something – the guy talked despite looking positively unable to do so; how about that? - but most people quite obviously just steered clear of the man or ran for the hills. He wasn't chasing or causing havoc, so there was no need for a dire intervention, but… man, was this thing spooky.

Alright, get it together. He might not have been a pro-hero, but policemen had their pride and accomplishments too. Taking a deep breath, Jorogumo approached the steel behemoth. "Excuse me, sir..."

The behemoth turned around with a pained creak of rusting metal to look at him. Or did he? With no eyes in that old skull, there was no telling. The policeman's earlier courage vanished like a spring snow. They stared at each other for a few moments before the giant tapped his rusted collar. The voice came out; garbled and in desperate need of readjustment, but, on first hearing, it seemed to belong to a middle-aged man; a grizzled veteran.

"You the police?"

"Y-yes! I mean, yes! Sir, you're… uh, you're disturbing the peace." The huge zombie robot thing tilted its head before a slow, steady chuckle – broken by the sample looping a few times and then coming to a screeching halt – came from the collar.

"That-that-that-that right?"

"Well, yes..."

"Then maybe you can help me out, officer." Oh gods, anything to get this freakozoid out of here! "I'm looking for-for-for-for, fucking Christ, wait, hold up. Do you know any cyborg specialists around these parts?" Jorogumo stared at the weird zombie thing man with mandibles wide open in disbelief. "Probably not. Well, whate-e-e-ever. I'm looking for a guy named..." He leaned back, tapping his withered temple in thought.

"Y-yes…?"

"Jack Cayman. About forty, bald, built like a brick-ick-ick-ithouse. Lots of leathers." Ignoring the fact that the name was definitely foreign, that was one hell of a succinct description.

"Uh… and w-who's looking for him?"

"Maximillian Caxton-ton-ton."