Two chapters in one day. I know, I'm a generous patriarch.
Jesting aside, I know stories involving OCs aren't universally loved, but I felt like expanding on the lore that Kohei Horikoshi left us, specifically on how some quirks are more akin to curses than blessings.
Back to middle school drama next chapter.
Break wobbled on his unsteady legs, throwing open the bathroom door just in time to save himself the indignity of puking all over his clothes. The hotel AC may have been blasting air directly into his face with the sound of a thousand hooves, but he could still hear the sirens just outside his window.
I did it. I actually did it. Break would be laughing if vomit wasn't dripping from his mouth.
It was difficult to stand up, so Break did it slowly, holding tightly to the rim of the sink as he rinsed his mouth of the vile taste. After splashing some water against the pale of his skin, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
Auburn, like his mother.
A frame like a fiend.
Piercing blue eyes.
No presence—a complete lack of character.
Don't be too much. Be nobody. Break was always good at pretending to be what he was supposed to be.
It was hard to imagine himself in the past—an idealistic youth, chasing his dreams like young children chased their friends. The cold bags underneath his eyes spoke volumes; an entire history left untold, if not for the shaking that was threatening his very core. The vertigo had not yet left his body, and he was on the border of being sent into another round of retching.
Was undergoing his mission really that wise?
Break didn't even have to ask himself that question. He knew it wasn't.
Break—real name Christopher Fletcher—wanted to rip off his clothes and take a hot shower, but the sirens were still at the forefront of his attention. His luck wasn't something infallible, and pushing it would end in his downfall. Instead, he began to chug a bottle of mouthwash, taking great care not to swallow it, and rinsed out the last of that vile aftertaste from his mouth. The burning sensation, as it were, calmed him down. But only slightly.
He had just committed the greatest crime ever known to hero-kind. No, maybe to the world.
And not a single person had realized he did it.
Although his eyes were normally an azure-like color, they were faded now. Almost as bleak as the bathroom tiles he stood upon. A temporary drawback due to heavy-utilization of his quirk.
Interim Takeover.
The weather was frightful, raining down an epic of biblical proportions. It was an all-out assault on the babeldom of grays and monotone of the city.
Sometimes, I wish I could tell people the truth.
I'd tell them my real name, and my past.
But right now, I had to live with their beliefs.
"Break, the Mind Manipulation Hero"? Don't make me laugh.
If I were good enough to be called a "hero", I would've retired years ago.
Break parted his hair. It was short and neat, not the flamboyant and messy variants that most heroes utilized. The short and neat was less iconic, more normal. Perfect for blending into a crowd.
Heaven bless America, the land where everyone stands out more than you do.
From the hotel window, Break could see the police officers conversing underneath the canvas of shade that a single restaurant provided. They were talking to a cavalcade of heroes, but only two had any merit.
Sir Avalanche and Great Moth.
Sir Avalanche—real name Stanley McLelland—looked about the same as he did five years ago. Perhaps he's made of the same material as his armor—a cold sheen of ice, just as his emotions. Break could imagine his voice now: ragged, without softness.
Meanwhile, Great Moth, also known as Keagan Corbeld, feigned disinterest as he examined the cityscape. However, Break knew his quirk intimately. Right now, he was keeping a close eye on the surrounding area, searching for a person that matched his description.
Break wasn't supposed to know their identities, of course, but it's hard to hide things from someone who can take over minds.
Sir Avalanche was currently going through marital strife. He had abused his wife on several occasions, with his end goal to genetically design a "superior hero", whose mixture of quirks would pose a threat to villains across the globe. Break had several detailed memories—coffee mugs flying, cinder bricks held up high with a snarl and then, a smug grin. Her fear was apparent, but in the memory, Break felt just as Sir Avalanche did. Not an inch of remorse.
It was for the betterment of civilization, after all.
Great Moth, in contrast, was unmarried and a heavy introvert. He was also a feminist. Break had no doubt that, had he found out about Sir Avalanche's escapades, they would not be working together right now. Indeed, he had a sense of mortality, but he was also invested heavily into his own self-entitlement and justifications. He was spending much of his influence on pushing the country into a socialist doctrine, run by an absolute dictator who possessed a unique quirk. The end goal, naturally, was to see the country turned into a safe haven for heroes, in which they had unlimited power of law.
Their fans, of course, had no idea of the work being done behind the scenes. Break wasn't supposed to know this, of course.
But it's hard to hide things from someone who can take over minds.
Break grinned, his plan falling into place as he threw on his coat—a brown trench button-up made from a fleece-like fabric.
He had just committed the greatest crime in history, to the detriment of heroes everywhere.
And after seeing what they were like behind closed doors, he felt not an inch of remorse.