9:30p.m, 23rd March
The golden linings of the building's intricate arches atop its roof glinted in the night as the floodlights below shone upon them. The Holden Apartment complex, an opulent structure separated into three distinct blocks, was no home for the average working person. Sharply-dressed guards trained to kill with their Quirks patrolled the premises around the clock and even those without Quirks were armed. Any attempt to break into the luxury apartment complex located in the beating heart of Yokohama's web of the social elite was not only foolish but suicidal as well.
Yet, in the crisp winds of the spring night, in front of C Block of the Holden Apartment complex, one man briskly walked up to the marble staircase that lead up to the entrance. Donning a two-piece business suit, there was not much to the man that separated him from the white-collared men that frequented the place but the immediate unease on the faces of the two guards that manned the entrance spoke volumes.
As he entered the light, the unnatural features of the man's solid plastic mask became clear. An eerie yet comical face that consisted of only two blank circles and a wide grin. Green hair could be seen waving about in the night breeze but the guards, one lunging at him with a baseball bat and the other, his hand changing into a solid rock shard, flung several razor-sharp pieces his way, had no way of noticing this. The rumours of men wearing masks overrode their sense of rationale.
The baseball-bat guard was fast. Faster than the average human. He must have a speed-enhancing quirk or a strength-enhancing quirk that focused on his legs as he closed the distance between the door and the foot of the staircase in less than two seconds. Alas, however fast he may be, no one escaped Newton's brutal law of inertia as a solid punch to the gut stopped him dead in his tracks. With no time to register the urge to hurl his insides out, he then suddenly found himself being spun round at a dizzying pace. The last thing he saw was a hail of sharp rock shards zooming into his eye.
"You bastard!" cried the other guard in shock as he watched his friend slump to the ground like a limp pincushion. But the masked man shared no emotion as his next victim, snatching the baseball ball from the corpse and flinging it to the guard's legs.
He concentrated most of his solidification towards his legs the moment he spotted the incoming bat. He smirked, reluctantly praising the madman for his ingenuity for attempting to bring him down but he realised too late the knee that flew towards his jaw. Staggering back, he tried regaining his bearings, but the masked man shoved him to the ground. Noticing the bat in the killer's hands, he spat out his blood and broken teeth and laughed defiantly, "You fool! You think you can beat me to submission? With that flimsy wooden stick? With my Quirk, [Full Crystal], not even bullets can pierce my skin!" His head then became jagged with spikes protruding from his face.
"And yet, your tongue remains soft," uttered the masked man, raising the bat up as though it were a stake.
"H-hey now…I-I told you! It's pointless, so give up now—"
An audible crack and muffled wailing entered the masked man's ears, the thick end of the bat jammed firmly into the guard's mouth, bits of whatever teeth remained now on the blood-stained marble or lodged into the back of his throat. His arms and legs flailed around but the weight of the man could not be moved. Blood bubbled up the corners of his baseball bat-filled lips as he began to drown in his own viscera. If left for a while longer, death would have surely come for him. But the masked man wasted no time in sending him off to the Sanzu River by lifting his head off the ground and, using the bat as a lever, twisted it with a violent wet resounding snap. Then, stepping on the guard's mushy neck, he yanked out the bat, creating a splash of blood, teeth and vomit across the pristine white marble floor.
Blood still dripped from the bat when he zipped into the lobby. Much like the marble floor outside, the interior of the lobby was clean and white. Two wooden double doors were on either side of the lobby, presumably ballrooms or event halls. Behind the concierge, he saw two elevators. Behind the concierge's counter, stood the quivering concierge with his hands up in surrender.
"P-please!" he begged, "I only work here, sir! I swear! I don't know anything about what happens behind closed doors so, please!"
The masked man stood motionless for a while, bat in hand. Then, he threw the bat at the concierge's head, knocking him out cold. Approaching the counter to retrieve the bat, he noticed a panic button underneath it along with a sub-machine gun. The button's tell-tale red glow was not present, eliciting a curse from the masked man. Looks like tonight's job was going to be a rushed one. Silver lining: the sub-machine gun was loaded.
Wasting no further time, he ran towards the double doors on his right and kicked them down. Barely noticing the glimpses of human presence from the corners of his eyes, he whipped out the gun and unloaded fresh hot lead with indiscriminate prejudice. Streams of bullets immediately came after him as he zipped along the edges of the dimly-lit bar, sounds of shattered shot glasses and spilled blood mixed together in cacophony. Balls of fire and bolts of electricity occasionally joined in the chaos but the masked man, with his simplistic smile, soldiered on undeterred. When you knew the statistical likelihood of a person having a skin-hardening Quirk by heart, it only meant that the old adage held true: no one can outsmart a bullet. And just like that, the noise ended almost as sudden as how it began.
His black leather shoes became sticky with the ichor of the men that lay dead on the bar's floor as he scoured the place for something useful. Then, he found it: an untouched table and chair. Sitting down, his shoulders relaxed as he fished out a small notepad from his suit pocket along with a pen. Flicking through pages of notes, he came upon a blank page and furiously scribbled down his findings.
The effectiveness of certain emitter quirks in close-quarters; potential weak points that aren't covered by skin-hardening quirks; possible strategies against fire-arms, he jotted them down into his notepad. Any and all information about Quirk usage, even if it meant potentially giving these criminals a better shot at killing him, was to be shared to the public. With one final stroke and a click, he put his notes away and picked up two sub-machine guns off the floor. Although missing a few rounds, the weight of the guns told him that they had enough and marched out of the bar and headed for the next set of double doors.
However, the doors would not budge even after a few hard kicks, so he made a beeline for the elevators. He did hear what he assumed was the muffled cries of a woman in there, though. Hopefully, the poor soul stayed strong or put out of their misery quick. As much as he wanted to burst in and save them, he reminded himself that he was not here to play hero. He could never be a hero. Not like this. The weak swinging tune playing in the elevator did little to help him relax as he positioned himself tightly into the corner closest to the button panel, preparing himself for the moment it reached the third floor.
Ding!
As soon as the elevator doors slid open, a hail of bullets sprayed into the elevator, riddling it with holes. Mixed in with the loud rapid tapping of assault rifle fire, he could hear the clumsy blasts of shotguns as well. Rather odd decision considering their perceived distance from the elevator, but criminal minions were not always the brightest of the bunch. Predictably, the bulletstorm ground to a halt, reduced to a melodic harmony of 'click, click's like crickets on a summer night. And when there's crickets, there was bug spray and he took this chance to burst out of the corner he hid in and let his dual SMGs sing.
The men that stationed themselves in front of the elevator, too caught up with reloading their weapons, were mowed down by the onslaught. Some seemed to wave and wobble with every bullet taken like a macabre dance. It certainly helped that the hallway was narrow and served to bottleneck each new wave of henchmen whenever they dashed out of the many rooms on either side. They just kept coming and coming until the hallway was met with silence.
The only sounds that bounced of its walls were the moans of the men that survived and the tell-tale clicks from his guns. The place was almost clear. Tossing away his spent weapons, he calmly walked along the hallway, looking for room 302. Then, he glanced at his wristwatch.
9:40p.m.
Not bad. The authorities usually respond to panic button calls within 20-30 minutes. He had some time to kill. So, he took it upon himself to euthanise every survivor down to the last man regardless of how close they were to death, one neck at a time. It never filled him with any satisfaction when he did so because it did not feel right. In some weird way, he felt that they were human too and did not need to suffer for long, despite his line of work. The plain design of his mask never failed to unnerve them, though, so there was bound to be a straggler or two that tried to crawl away in terror, much to his annoyance.
'What was so terrifying about a smiley face?' he thought as he finally found room 302. He stopped to listen for any commotion. Seemed that only one person was present. Then again, there might be others lying in wait to ambush him. That might be giving the criminals too much credit for creativity though there was always a chance. And he was not one to play dice. Pulling out his silenced pistol from his suit, he kicked the door down only to find a fat man in a suede jacket and mink scarf jump out of fright with handfuls of cash in his hands.
"W-wait! Don't kill me! I've got friends in high places that can help you get rich-!"
Right between the eyes. Mouth-breather did not finish his sentence before dropping to the floor with a new eyehole. The masked man tucked away his pistol and retrieved a gym bag, ignoring the mountain of cash on the table. He glanced at his wristwatch.
9:45p.m.
It was time to go. He briskly walked back towards the elevator and punched in the button to the ground floor. The smooth swinging tune of the music in the elevator would have been a calm end to a hectic night, the metal wall-turned-swiss cheese being the only reminder of tonight's events. However, as he stepped out into the lobby, he noticed that the locked double doors from earlier were now wide open. And standing before him with blood-stained brass knuckles was a heavy-set man with the features of a pig.
"So, you're the one that's been disturbing my nice vacation," he bellowed. "Was nearly done strangling that piece of fine ass too. Guess you'll have to make do, mincemeat!"
With that, he gave chase. The masked man flung the gym bag at him only for it to be swatted away with ease. Keeping his eyes on him, he pulled out his silenced pistol and he fired away, punching holes in his torso and head. To his surprise, the pig-man did not let up.
"That hurt!" he roared as he swung wildly at the masked man. "But it will take more than that puny pea-shooter to kill me! I might not have fancy-schmancy powers like the rest of Hiko's crew, but I was born with thick skin, fool!"
The masked man narrowly dodged another punch that swung his way and saw it break off a chunk of the concierge's counter. He gulped down a mouthful of spit. Behind his mask, his eyes were wide. There was simply no way a man that rotund could move that fast.
Slinking into the bar, he quickly picked up an assault rifle off the floor and held down the trigger only to be met with the dreaded clicks. Throwing it away, he then lost his footing when he stumbled onto what he felt like a bottle. The pig-man, barrelling towards him with ominous stomps, pummelled his fists to the ground, attempting to crush his skull. He tried rolling away but the pressure from the punches was quickly becoming too much. Hearing the wet squelches after a punch struck a dead henchman, taking a hit was not an answer.
As he rolled closer towards the bar counter, he felt his head thud against a smooth object. He cursed under his breath. Must the same damn bottle that tripped him up. However, when he snatched it in anger, he found out that it was actually a Molotov cocktail! Why on Earth would someone bring such a thing in a place like this?! Then again, these were the same henchmen that thought storming down a narrow hallway against a gunman was a good idea.
"I'll smash your face in!" he heard the pig-man roar as he just rolled away in time. This time, however, he now had a plan. Instead of just rolling, he also tried to rummage the dead men around him for a lighter. 'While not everyone brought a Molotov, there has got to be one smoker!' he thought.
Thankfully, it did not take long for him to find one and he wasted no time lighting up the cocktail and hurling it at the monstrous beast of a man. The moment the glass shattered, and the flames engulfed the pig-man's body, he was reduced to wailing and screaming as he desperately tried to put out the raging fire.
The masked man smirked behind his mask. No matter how thick skin one's skin was, none can ever be fully fire-resistant. He made a note to jot that down in his notepad once he got out. Staggering out of the bar, he went to retrieve the gym bag he threw earlier. As he picked it up, however, he noticed that he could now hear the woman's cries more clearly. He glanced at his watch.
9:50p.m.
The authorities were going to be here any minute. Surely, they would be better suited to deal with this than he did. He might expect to see the news report on a found victim of a kidnapping ring or something. He had no place to interfere.
"Are you going to leave me here to suffer?"
He stopped dead in his tracks. 'That voice…I've heard it before…', he thought.
"At least, finish the job before you go…"
The voice sounded frail and broken but he remembered years ago that the voice used to be one that commanded near authority of class 1-A back in high school. "No, it can't be…" he whispered.
His curiosity getting the better of him, he went inside the dark and dank room where the voice came from. A lone light illuminated an operating table and highlighted a sickening array of torture devices on a wall including a whip, a collection of scalpels and a nail puller. A video camera stood by the operating table. The scene before him alone was enough to shock him but what held his utmost attention was the person atop the table.
Without a shred of cloth to cover her dignity and battered black and blue with bruises and cuts all over her body, only her signature hairstyle clued him in to the identity of the poor soul.
Yaoyorozu Momo. Vice-President of class 1-A and missing Pro-Hero, Creati.
12:00a.m, 24th March
"Geez, you'd think with how much of an ass the No.1 Hero is being, you'd think that there'd be less gang violence…" muttered Officer Sansa, his cat-ears twitching in disgust. With the head of a cat and the body of a man, that meant that the thick copper smell of blood struck him hard, causing his nose to wrinkle every so often.
"Quite the contrary, Sansa," said Detective Tsukauchi. "If anything, he's exactly the reason why the criminal underground is growing bold. Sure, the people fear criminals and villains but what's the use if they also fear the people that are entrusted to protect them?"
"True, true…" nodded Sansa. "But more importantly, though, is that the freshness in the smell of the blood indicates something unusual, Detective."
"Again?" the weary detective asked incredulously.
"Afraid so. Just by looking at the viscosity of the blood and the lack of any dried-up blood stains, we can tell that we just barely missed catching the culprit in the act. Again."
Tsukauchi clicked his tongue. Ever since he picked up the mantle of investigating the escalating gang violence two years ago, he had always been able to deduce which gang had done it and why. However, every so often, whether it be in the span of a month, a week or even a day, there will always be one case that involved the complete annihilation of a gang hideout. These cases never failed to elude him as the details only get muddier upon closer inspection. Sure, the level of violence involved did seem like your average gang war gone wrong but why were there no traces of another party? No bodies of a member of a rival gang? Might be the work of a hitman but no hitmen were crazy enough to take on gangs of such notoriety. Tonight's case only proved his point.
The Holden Apartments were armed to the teeth with guards yet, judging by the amount of blood spilled and bullet casings strewn about, it looked like the kind of violence the police should have been alerted of a long time ago. Speaking of blood, every time they conducted post-mortem tests or whenever Sansa was free to help, the results were always the same: Everyone died within 30 minutes or less. Didn't matter if there were powerful Quirk users among their ranks. They wound up dead.
"Detective!" called out an officer. "You need to come here quick!"
"What is it?" he replied, snapped out of his dwellings.
"You won't believe this, Detective but we found a survivor!"
A/N: Hey there, KobeNiku here! As promised with the results of the polls, I will continue this story for a bit more. Not sure how much longer. Maybe make it a three or four-parter but definitely not a long multi-chapter story. Well, hopefully it meets your expectations considering that some of you voted for more, please enjoy!
And don't forget to leave some feedback if you loved it/hated it!
