Dial Tone

by Auresalia

(Inspired by HuntyDraws' "Hotline Tokyo" art piece) Something's happened to Izuku. He doesn't know what. All he knows is that everyone around him acts strange, and people both known and unknown are stalking him. At the same time, a vigilante has begun massacring criminal hideouts, and it all seems to center around him.

8. Thy Mind Subsumed

"Give me a straight answer, damn it!" The interrogator shouted, slamming his hands harshly on the silvery metallic table in front of him.

Bakugou said nothing, hands folded loosely across his chest as he kept his head hanging towards the floor. His hair had fallen over the top half of his face obscuring everything but the thin, pale line that was his mouth.

"Listen, this is still technically just an interview." A second man quietly affirmed as he sat in a chair in the far corner of the room. "We're just trying to figure out who killed your partner. We're on your side. But we need any bit of information that we can in order to piece things together."

The lack of response prompted the first suited man to lean in, his head just above the disgraced hero's.

"We can keep you here for a long time, if we wanted to. I'm sure you know that. But the longer you try to avoid the question, the more suspicious we get of you." He huffed, moving his head down to place his mouth right next to the blonde's ear. "Making enemies of the Bureau is no joke, Bakugou. I would seriously consider what it means to have the full attention of even just one of our divisions."

"Your presence at the crime scene is... unfortunate." The other man sighed, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, smoothly transitioning the motion into a quick brush of his hair. "I can't imagine how you must feel. But the fact remains that you don't have an explanation for why you were there in the first place, at such an odd hour. You certainly must see that basing your logic off seeing a notification for a bombing on your phone is quite a leap of faith. Please, is there anything at all that you can think of that would prompt your thought process to move in that direction? Anything would help-"

The cool and collected man's words were cut off as the door to the interrogation room burst open, nearly flying off its hinges as it slammed into the stone wall behind it. In the frame was Tsuragamae, eyes wide with righteous anger as he stared down the two investigators in the room.

"What do you think you're doing?" He boomed, his voice practically echoing throughout the entire station.

The two men stood to attention, stiffly bowing as if they were mechanically forced to.

"Chief Tsuragamae." The first man clenched his hands behind his back, puffing out his chest as he spoke to the dog-faced man. "We were simply trying to gather information from an unwilling witness-"

A low growl rumbled from the police chief's throat, his eyes narrowing further as he cut the other man off. "You should know better than to pull one on me, Agent Minato. I've been in this game far longer than either of you. We have eyewitness testimony regarding the perpetrators who raided the hospital. Your efforts here are wasted."

"We appreciate the feedback, but it still stands that there are some inconsistencies in his testimony that need to be resolved-"

"Then take care of it when he's in a state to answer your questions, woof." He glared. "Rushing this incident will not get you anywhere, Yuma."

"...I understand." Agent Yuma nodded slightly, clasping his hands calmly in front of him. "We'll keep our hands off this case for now... seeing as it's not officially in PSB jurisdiction yet."

Chief Tsuragamae didn't respond, opting to simply back out of the frame, gesturing for the two Public Security Bureau officials to make their leave. They quickly sauntered out, leaving the pro hero and the policeman alone with each other. The older man walked up to the small metal table, rapping his knuckles on the metal surface.

"Get up." He commanded, a slight sense of urgency in his voice. "It's time to get you home."

The blonde quietly complied, pulling himself to his feet like a puppet on strings. He stumbled after his dog-faced superior, barely registering his surroundings as he was led outside. He was eventually led to a rather modest looking black sedan, something that didn't quite fit the expectations for a high ranking government official.

A drop of water splashed against Tsuragamae's snout, causing him to jump slightly as he touched the area with his fingertips. He looked up, studying the overcast grey skies for a moment.

"Looks like it's going to start raining soon." He muttered, unlocking the doors and seating himself in the vehicle. Bakugou followed suit soon after.

The two of them sat in silence for a good portion of the ride, the only noise being the dull hum of the engine and the rapidly increasing pelts of raindrops smacking against the windshield.

Eventually, the police chief spoke up. "I apologize for the experience you must have had. That being said... you should probably expect a visit from them in the future. There's no doubt they're going to request to take over the case, and I won't have the leverage to stop them. I'm sure they already know that. The Bureau is independent from the police, so I won't be able to do much to protect you."

Bakugou's lips pulled themselves taut against his teeth, contorting into an unstable wave. He pressed his palms into his jeans, not once raising his head to look at the man who was currently helping him.

"The investigators were not able to locate Tsukauchi's phone, by the way." The dog-faced man sighed. "If you... happen to run across it, I trust you to do what you feel is right."

"...You shouldn't be helping me." The pro hero muttered, just barely audible over the incessant drops of rain smacking the vehicle. Within moments it had gone from a light sprinkle to a cascading sheet of water.

"I absolutely should." The police chief insisted, his voice growing harsher as his grip on the steering wheel intensified. "If they had gotten their way, then the people responsible for Tsukauchi's death would never be caught. You realize they were attempting to pin the crime on you, right?"

There wasn't a verbal response, but watching his passenger tense up told him all that he needed to know.

"You can't just convict someone who confesses to any crime. It's only legally permissible when the person admitting to the crime reveals something the police didn't already know, something only the killer would. Even so, it's been abused quite often as a way to make an expedient conviction." He looked over to the pro hero, looking for any sign of a reaction. "You understand what I mean, right? They saw you as a convenient solution to their case. They were hoping you would say something that they could use to hang you later. Even if there are inconsistencies, it doesn't matter; you're not involved with the crime itself in any form. The only reason they were going after you that hard was because they wanted to make it matter."

Bakugou's head sunk lower, his hands quietly shuffling into a loose clumped pair of fists in his lap.

"Listen, I can only pull off of my own experiences, but even so... I can't imagine what's running through your head." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Woof. Tsukauchi, he... made it a point to keep you safe. For his sake, please... keep a low profile for now."

The police chief quietly slowed to a stop on the side of the road, directly in front of the dingy building in which Bakugou stayed. He threw the gear into park, turning to face the blonde as he produced a small envelope with two braids, black and silver, twirling around its edges and across its body.

"It's been decided that there won't be a wake or funeral service for him." He said, his voice slightly cracking as he stared at the man sitting next to him. He lightly pushed the small parcel forward, slipping it under the passenger's clenched fists. "That being said... I would appreciate it if you were present for the cremation. You don't have to worry about the gift money, I've already set some aside for you. The address is on a slip on the back."

The disgraced man still refused to speak, shakily slipping the envelope into his pants pocket and pulling his shirt over the bit that stuck out, to shield it from the rain. He pulled lightly on the door handle, the sound of the tumultuous downpour intensifying as droplets of rain began to slowly pelt their way into the opening. He slowly stepped out, keeping his leg straight as if to keep the parcel from getting creased.

Tsukauchi leaned over, grabbing the door handle as he looked back at the still downcast blonde.

"And Katsuki..." He yelled, doing his best to project his voice over the roaring rain. "...Please stay safe."

With that, he slammed the door shut, pulling around and driving out of sight.

Bakugou remained there, standing frozen on the middle of the sidewalk as the rain began to soak into him. By the time he could will himself to move, his clothes had begun to stick to his skin, the sopping wet material sapping the heat from his body as his limbs began to go numb. He stiltedly fell into the alleyway, climbing up the rusty staircase that led to his apartment.

His door was still ajar, the result of his frantic dash to the hospital. Pushing it opened revealed nothing out of place. The single room was still as musty and oppressive as before, a thin layer of grime coating every surface inside.

The disgraced man barely registered the sound of shuffling in the back corner of the apartment. The Biker was still there from last night, sitting quietly with his knees pressed up against his chest, arms folded around in a lazy hug. He slowly unraveled himself, smoothly pushing himself to his feet as he quietly moved towards the center of the room. The helmeted man's body was tense, one leg moved slightly back as he brought his arms up ever so slightly.

The blonde didn't take notice of this, leaning forward as he quickly shuffled towards the guest in his house. He pulled his fist back, practically stumbling forward as he launched his arm towards the man in front of him.

The Biker barely needed to dodge to avoid the swing; it was clear that the combined stress and exhaustion of his acquaintance was taking its toll on him. It was like watching someone trying to move their body through aspic, unable to move with any amount of precision or accuracy. He simply stepped to the side, pushing the moving fist away from him with his open palm.

Bakugou didn't stop with the single punch, however. He lurched to the side, his soaked hair covering his eyes as he threw another slowed haymaker, only to meet with the same result. He grunted, wheezing as he brought his torso down low, arms outstretched to catch the mysterious figure in a tackle.

He could practically hear the sympathetic sigh escape from underneath the brim of his target's helmet. In one smooth motion, he watched as The Biker quickly knocked the disgraced hero's arms upwards, using the extra space to side-step the tackle. As a finishing touch, he swung his arms directly at the blonde's back, the impact pushing him along to slide across the floor, face-down. He came to a stop just a few feet away from his futon, neatly folded and wedged into the corner of the apartment. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered the fact that he had left the bedding in a crumpled mess elsewhere before he had left the night before.

The weak beating and the collective forces of the past eighteen hours had all crashed down on him as he laid there. He could practically feel the timer in his head ticking towards a complete shutdown of his cerebrum. Just before he lost consciousness, he was able to register the words uttered by his partner, with the barest tinge of sorrow in his voice.

"I wish you hadn't done that." He sighed, the stare of his obscured eyes boring a hole through Bakugou's head. "...But it's fine. I understand."

The last two words felt like something had been released in his chest, like a padlock holding one of many chains around his heart had clicked open, letting the weight slide off and provide the tiniest senses of relief.

And with that, he passed out face down on the cold laminate floor.

---

The Eight Precepts of Death were rarely called to an all-hands meeting. This was yet another one of Overhaul's major reforms he brought when he dragged the festering corpse of the Yakuza out of their grave. The new institution he brought in was well managed, with the constant supply of quirk suppressants and cures bringing them all an ocean of money from every aspect of heroism and villainy imaginable. Both sides kept it in their interest to keep the word from leaking out into the public, and so the Kai patriarch was able to keep them all dancing to his tune without so much as sparking outrage from the lay masses.

This, of course, was not their only venture. Don't put all your eggs in one basket, as they say. Much of their traditional practices had been brought back as well, especially the lucrative ventures of "protective services" taxed upon the small businesses of Tokyo, as well as the trade of carefully procured firearms- something Overhaul was even more adamant of expanding into as of late.

All of these quests to regain the lost legacy of the Yakuza were wildly successful. Not only that, they were practically automated, thanks to the police being largely unable to do anything with their attention forced mainly onto the affairs of heroism.

Which is precisely why each of the lieutenants felt a lump form in their throat when they received a text from the head himself, demanding their presence at his estate. It took them all less than an hour to gather, striding past the droves of roaming armed guards that patrolled the grounds and into the obscenely ornate doors that showed just how old and storied this place was. When they all arrived at the pre-ordained meeting room, they were greeted with the sight of Chisaki Kai quietly staring them down, gloved hands perched over his beaked mask.

Shin Nemoto was, naturally, the first to arrive; he bowed to his superior, taking the seat just at his boss' right. Hekiji Tengai arrived not long after, eyes closed as he greeted the Yakuza boss. Overhaul pointed to the seat at his left, and it was there the man seated himself. Rikiya Katsukame and Soramitsu Tabe arrived at about the same time, both of them taking the closest seats available. Tabe kept himself perched on the chair he chose, fingers instinctively clutching at his mouth as he quietly stared with his bulging eyes.

Overhaul sighed, his breath giving away only the slightest bit of shakiness.

"In the course of just a few weeks, we've lost more than half of our leadership." He spat the words out of his mouth. "This room shouldn't feel as empty as it does."

Shin leaned forward, his black beak tilting as he addressed his superior.

"As it is, our losses are grave. If it's any consolation, the people who were... removed... largely have no bearing on the important parts of our operations. None of the lieutenants were managing our large projects. Mimic's help in coordinating operations between us made things easier, but with how things are they were ceremonial at best. And regarding Kurono-"

Their leader turned his eyes towards his subordinate, his gaze making it very clear that the black-clad Yakuza should choose his next words carefully.

"...Regarding Kurono, I'm sure his loss is very gravely felt upon you, and I'm sure his work as your assistant was vital to your success." He paused, placing a hand upon his chest. "...If you would allow me, I would be honored to take his responsibilities upon myself."

Overhaul's gaze didn't waver as he continued to stare down the man who made the offer. Eventually, he leaned back, folding his hands across his chest.

"I'll consider it," came his answer. "For now, I would like an update on your performance this month."

"Gladly!" Shin chimed out, clasping his hands in his lap as he began his status report. "I'm pleased to report to you that our recruitment process hasn't been impeded by... current events. My contacts in the JSDF have continued to refer fresh blood to our forces at the same rate as before. Firearm procurement hasn't been an issue, either; if anything they've been more than welcoming of our requests to increase trade."

"And your little 'side project' in the Diet?"

"I'm glad you asked. Some of the people we've gathered who specialized in cyber counterintelligence during their term were able to dig up some valuable info on some notable figures in the ruling party. After coming to an understanding with them, there's nothing stopping the military budget from being lowered even further. We can expect this to bring us more recruits once these changes take effect."

"That is good to hear." Overhaul said, his fingers quietly clenching ever so slightly as his jaw shifted from under his mask. "I hope for your sake that your endeavor brings the results you were looking for. Rikiya, has there been any shift in the color gangs?"

"Well, they're talking about Jackrabbit, alright." He sighed, clicking his fingertips against the arm of his chair. He paused, looking around to see that the mere mention of the killer's name brought a cold stare from every other member. He threw his hands up in exasperation. "What, I'm not allowed to say his name now?"

"We don't even know if they even are a 'he.'" Hekiji sighed, rubbing his temples with his hands.

"Nuh-uh, don't start on me now with that!" Rikiya slammed his fist on his armrest. "That ain't the mark of no woman. He's gotta be a man."

"Of course you would say that." The former monk shook his head. "Assuming everything inevitably leads to mistakes."

"Just. Continue." Overhaul calmly commanded, killing the conversation instantly.

"...Anyways, some of the honchos in the color gangs were acting up with all the... you know." He sighed, clearly annoyed at the tone of the room. "I went and dealt with them personally. Most of them got the message, and the others... I think the term you guys use is 'structural reorganization.' Same story with the shop owners who were getting a bit uppity about our protection fees. Everything's still running as it should."

"That's all I needed to hear." He pinched the brow of his nose. "Tengai, how has the training of your quirk progressed?"

Hekiji nodded, taking in a deep breath as he began.

"Three years sitting on a cold rock will eventually make it warm, as they say. Shin's cohorts have been more than useful in helping me gauge the effectiveness of my barriers. They've not been able to break it with any physical strike, and as of late the bullets of their procured pistols have been unable to pierce them any longer. It's progressed even further than when I used Trigger."

The yakuza boss nodded, saying nothing. After an uncomfortable pause in silence, the former monk spoke up again.

"Overhaul, you've been... more than gracious, lending me this opportunity to train, since Rappa... since I won't need to watch over him any longer. But I feel I could be doing more for you. Is it possible for me to at least take on some of the tasks that Mimic-"?

"I don't think so." Shin cut in, his hands clutching tightly at his knees. "You're the youngest out of all of us, and your quirk hasn't progressed to the point that you're even worthy of being Overhaul's personal guard, which is why he even tasked you with it in the first place. Why are you even asking for more than you can handle to begin with?"

Hekiji felt the influence of Shin Nemoto's quirk compelling him to speak his truth. In the split second he had, he devised the best words to use at the moment without telling a lie.

"I do think I am capable of handling more. And I am doing this because I feel I am not doing enough."

"Well, why-"

Overhaul held his hand up, his annoyed gaze moving back and forth between the two people squabbling at his sides.

"I don't have the time to deal with this. Just continue at your assigned tasks. If I decide to change things, I will tell you."

"Thank you, sir." Hekiji bowed his head, his eyes still closed. "That being said, I do have... questions regarding the safety of this event."

Everyone shifted quietly at the vocalization of something they all tried to keep in the back of their minds.

"I am fully aware." Overhaul calmly replied, leaning forward towards the man who aired his concerns. "Unfortunately, I have to admit that our safety here is not guaranteed. But it is even less so outside of this estate. Especially since it appears that we may be dealing with more than one Jackrabbit."

"I'm going to eat them all!" Tabe blurted out, quickly covering his mouth with his hands as if to push the words back in.

"I'm sure you will." The Yakuza boss clenched his hands together. "I've worked to bring us back our glory for over a decade... I won't let it be torn down like this."

"Actually, I did want to ask as well..." The former monk butted in again. "Has there been any proposal as to recovering Shinsou Hitoshi? I'm concerned that he may exacerbate things if we leave him out there."

Rikiya laughed. "Oh, that little whelp? I bet his stomach still has a dent shaped like my fist in it! But I get what you mean. I kept draining his vitality to keep him weak, but he refused to die. Not even starving him fazed him. Man's got a fire burnin' inside."

"There's no need." Shin bit back, folding one leg over the other as he gestured with his hands. "I'm sure you aren't doubting the work that Rikiya, as well as the late Deidoro and Kurono did on him. And besides, I asked him myself. He told the truth as clear as day- there isn't a single thread of him that wants to retaliate."

"Are you so sure about that?" Hekiji rebutted. "Something like that isn't set in stone."

"The truth is the truth. It's immutable." The black-clad man quickly bit back. "Do not underestimate my abilities."

"It's concerning that Jackrabbit took custody of him," Overhaul ruled, "but he is not the one that is threatening us right now. I've got our dogs out hunting for Jackrabbit, though their results are lacking to say the least. If they can't resolve things soon, I will have to consider culling more members of their pack."

"What do you expect them to even do, though?" Rikiya shrugged, tugging at the bird cowl that clung tightly to his neck. "They're not even really good at anything except smashing things they don't like."

"I expect them to work as if their survival depends on it." The Yakuza boss commented, lightly brushing off the purple fur that covered his coat's collar. "As it currently stands, it does."

A hearty chuckle pressed its way out of the burly man's beak. "I see, you're using it as an excuse to get rid of them. Not that I blame you."

He got up, stretching his limbs as he turned to face his superior.

"Welp, I did enjoy this nice chat, but I've got work to do. Is there anything else that we need to cover?"

Overhaul waved his hand, shaking his head. "No, that is all. You are dismissed."

Rikiya spun on his feet, waving goodbye over his shoulder as he gestured for Tabe to join him. The largely silent compatriot hopped to his feet, moving to his side as the burly man grabbed his shoulder and pulled him in slightly. Hekiji stood up, bowing slightly as he left to go train his quirk with the guards. Before long, it was just Overhaul and Shin Nemoto left.

The boss sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to quell the myriad of thoughts running through his head.

"Overhaul..." Shin trailed off, leaning in. "I'm sure you're probably overworked at this point. If there is anything I can do, I will be more than happy to assist you."

His insistence was cut off as Overhaul shot forward, gloved hands wrapping around his subordinate's neck in a strong grip. A choked gasp was wrenched from his lungs, the force of the sudden attack causing his head to slam against the back of the chair.

"Remember when you used your quirk on me before?" He hissed out, fingers clenching tighter. "It was the first time we met. You had given up on the world, until you met the one person you felt was truly honest. That's what you told me."

Shin remained seated, quietly staring back at his boss from behind his mask.

"But I don't know how I can trust any of you. Whether it's out of malice or sheer incompetence, I've realized that my grasp on power is far more tenuous than I could have hoped. And none of you have been able to remedy this." He pressed his thumbs deeper into the skin just above the man's collarbone, further shortening his air supply. "I've fought this long for control, and I can't tell whether I'm going to lose it because of you."

Overhaul's intense gaze broke into an expression of shock as Shin made his response. He didn't even attempt to speak, let alone struggle- he simply lifted his hands up, pressing them against the ones strangling his throat. Being extremely careful to not touch anything aside from the gloves, he pressed inwards, encouraging the man to follow through with the act.

The moment he realized what was happening the Yakuza boss released his grip, pulling his hands away from Shin's neck and his hands.

The other man lurched forward, coughing hoarsely as he rubbed his neck with his hands.

"I have told you before... There is nothing you can do that I would not accept." He stated bluntly, his determined voice cracking from the strain. "If you ever believe that my death would bring about a gain for you, then I will permit it wholeheartedly."

Overhaul looked down at his hands, slowly clenching and unclenching them as he glanced back at his subordinate.

"I see. Then we shall see what else you can do to help me." He noted, his gaze hardening as he watched the black-clad man slowly recover. "But you had better not regret your offer. Should you fail me, I will not be forgiving in the slightest. I will not tolerate even a single mishap. Is that a risk you're willing to take on?"

The response from Shin, albeit wheezy, was almost immediate.

"...Gladly."

---

Bakugou felt his eyelids stir against his will. He instinctively tried to scrunch them back shut, but the dry slips of skin rolled over his eyes felt as if he was rubbing sandpaper against them, only serving to rouse him even more. He felt a small whisper of air seep out from between his lips as he groaned, bringing his hands out from underneath the comforter to rub off the small bits of grime and trail of dried drool that clung to his face.

He felt a small surge in his chest as he realized something was off. When he fell unconscious, he certainly wasn't on his futon, much less tucked in.

His eyes snapped open as he shot up to a sitting position, looking around the apartment. The room was thankfully dark, preventing any sort of pain from adjusting to a strong light. He was laid down on the center of the apartment, a good few feet from where he originally fell. He turned his head to look at the door- it was slightly open, bringing in a desperately needed night breeze, along with a slow din of the city wafting over the air. The Biker was sitting next to the entrance, a manilla folder that was bulging at its seams protectively held in its arms.

The helmeted man tilted his head up, looking back at the disoriented blonde.

"I see you're awake," he noted. "Are you feeling a little better now?"

The question seemed to snap him back to reality. Bakugou looked down at his lap, his fingers bunching up the heavy blanket in his grasp.

"Of course I'm fucking not." He muttered, his tone quickly turning sour. "Not with you here."

"Well, you're speaking now. That's certainly an improvement."

The disgraced pro hero didn't have any visible reaction to the statement. The two of them sat as they were for what seemed like an aching amount of time, neither of them quite sure how to continue the conversation.

"...You could have saved him, you know." Bakugou muttered, his voice cracking just the slightest. "People were worried about him. The fucking police chief asked me to... to help him. If only... He-"

The Biker remained silent at his words, watching as the blonde turned his head back towards him. His gaze was hardened, eyes glowing red like snuffed embers.

"Why... Why did you choose me?! He was-"

"I didn't choose you." The reply came, cutting the confused blonde's words down before they even left his throat.

"...What?"

"...There was no saving Detective Tsukauchi." The Biker admitted, arms tightening around the parcel pressed against his chest. "It was only ever you. If there was a choice between saving you and letting you die with him, I would always make the same choice."

Bakugou's gaze faltered, his hair once again falling over his dulled eyes.

"When did you know?"

The helmeted man shifted slightly, his head tilting slightly away from the person he was speaking with.

"...I learned a little bit before we first spoke. Once I realized you were... who I needed help from. I also learned that he was slated to die." He paused, almost afraid of the next few words that came out of his mouth. "Do you hate me?"

"I-" The pro hero cut himself off, swallowing thickly as he tried to regroup his words. "I should, but... I don't think I can..."

"I see. I am truly sorry for what has happened." He got up, walking towards his partner. "The pain you must be going through... I can't even begin to imagine it-"

His apology was cut off as Bakugou shot to his feet, landing a haymaker right on The Biker's head with a solid thump. The mysterious man was caught off-guard by the sudden attack, his feet swept out from under him by the sheer force of the blow. He stumbled backwards, landing on his back as the wind rushed out of his lungs.

"Don't misunderstand me." The blonde intoned, baring his gritted teeth at the man beneath him. "I said I didn't hate you. That doesn't mean I ain't fucking pissed at you."

The Biker laid there, coughing and sputtering as he struggled to push himself upright. His helmet had been knocked askew, the visor pointing away from where the center of his face should have been. Once he was able to regain control of his breathing, he grabbed the protective gear and readjusted it. A small chuckle escaped from his lips as he rubbed at his lower back.

"Well... If I must accept that as punishment for deceiving you, then I fully accept." He gestured for the other man to take a seat. "I do have something I need you to see, however."

Bakugou went to sit down, only to shoot back up as he worriedly ran his hands over his pockets.

"Are you looking for the funeral gift?" The Biker asked, gesturing towards the kitchen counter. "I found it while moving you. The envelope was soaked and was tearing itself apart, so I bought a new one for you to use. You can grab it whenever you're ready. I wrote down the location of the crematory, too."

"...Oh." He muttered, doing his best to hide the wave of relief that washed over him. His eyes resettled on the entrance to his studio apartment, still slightly ajar. "Why's the door open?"

"Oh, yeah." The helmeted man shrugged. "I left it open because I figured you needed the fresh air. Plus you've got a black mold infestation. I'm surprised you haven't gotten sick from it, to be honest."

The blonde looked back, glancing at the grey-black dirt-looking patches that were splattered along the ceiling in one corner of the apartment.

"...Huh. Thought that was just dirt."

The Biker paused for a moment, almost incredulous of the levels of squalor that his partner was apparently living in.

"...Right. Well, I think you'll want to see this." The man once again gestured for his partner to sit, bringing forth the packet he had been clutching onto since the beginning of the conversation. "This came in the mail for you while you were out, express delivery too. I signed for it."

Bakugou almost had an instinctive reaction, body tensing up as he stared at the orange colored packaging. With his reputation and the public reception he had garnered over the past few months, he could only begin to imagine what it could be- none of the possibilities were good.

Ultimately, all of his preconceptions were shattered as The Biker informed him of its origins.

"...The return address is labelled as 'Shounan Kamakura General Hospital.' It was the place Detective Tsukauchi was admitted, correct?"

The shock itself forced the blonde to sit down, eyes wide as he felt his heart race. He grabbed the parcel, flipping it over to confirm the information he was just given. He quickly undid the tie keeping the lid shut, dumping the contents out onto the floor. Some papers quietly slid out, one sealed in an envelope, along with a few more neatly folded slips. An extra shake brought out the most surprising objects- Tsukauchi's gun, badge, and wallet- tumbling out onto the floor, landing with a soft thud. The uncharacteristically proud and cheery-eyed photo of the deceased detective stared back at the two of them, sending a cold shiver down their spines.

"This is... all his stuff." Bakugou muttered.

"I... I'm surprised this was all sent to you. Was it the Yakuza?"

The blonde scrunched his eyes shut, letting out a shaky sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"...No, I get it now. The nurses said they found him in the mailroom, all delirious." The disgrace hero paused, sighing. "Probably saw the writing on the wall. Stupid fuck snuck out so he could send me this before he got killed, then pretended to be out of it so no one would suspect he did anything."

"That's... rather amazing foresight on his part."

"...Yeah, it is." Bakugou painfully admitted.

The Biker grabbed the envelope, flipping it over to reveal its front. In a hastily scribbled mess, it read: To Makoto. He showed the message to his compatriot, tilting his head as he spoke.

"Does this person ring a bell to you?"

"...No." The blonde shook his head, biting his tongue behind his cheek. "None that I can think of related to him, anyway."

"I see. Maybe you're supposed to give it to them when you find out who they are." The helmeted man concluded, setting it aside. "It probably isn't a good idea to read something not meant for us."

"...Whatever." Came the cold reply. Bakugou picked up one of the two remaining paper slips, flipping it open to reveal what was written inside.

"Bakugou," it read. " I'm sending this to you in case the worst comes to pass. If I am still alive when I come out of the hospital, you will give this back to me immediately. I'll do far more than revoke your role in our investigation if you refuse."

"Tch." The blonde clicked his tongue in indignance. "Jackass."

"What?"

"Don't worry about it." The disgraced hero quickly crumpled the note in his hand, shoving it into his back pocket. "It's useless."

"...If you insist." The Biker replied, grabbing up the last slip of paper. He unfurled it to gaze at its contents, a confused huff escaping his lips as he tried to make sense of what was written. "'0303,' huh? It reads like a code. Do you know what it goes to?"

Bakugou quietly rummaged through his pockets, still finding nothing inside them. He looked back at the man sitting in front of him.

"What did you do with the phone?"

"The one you had on you? It's over there." He pointed towards the wall where Bakugou's phone charger had been. "It was almost dead when I found it, so I swapped it out with the one on the charger. You... left that one when you went."

Bakugou pushed himself to his feet, going over to the otherwise barren wall of his small abode. Tsukauchi's phone at first glance seemed like a very old clamshell device, but once you opened it up the truth was revealed- it was very much a modern smartphone, just designed with a style that had really never quite faded away in Japan. The colorful screen greeted him, asking for a passcode input. Putting in the four digits on the keypad caused the device to create a cheerful chirping noise, notifying the user that they were successful in unlocking the phone. Rather than going to the home screen, it opened up to a voice memo app. There was only one entry in the recording log- last night, not too long before his unfortunate demise.

He heard the muffled groans of the floor as The Biker walked up to him, crouching next to him as they both stared at the contents of the device. Bakugou held his finger over the play button, hesitating for just a moment before pushing down. The recording began, the speakers on the phone kicking to life as the sound of coarse rustling of fabric against the microphone scratched against their ears.

"I'm hoping you were smart enough to grab my phone." The achingly terse voice of Tsukauchi began, followed by a little more rustling. A small chuckle rang out, before the detective followed up his last statement. " They gave me some sedatives, but... my heart's just moving too fast right now. "

"Is that-"

The Biker's question was cut off as Bakugou shot him a harsh glare. They both turned their heads back to the phone as the voice spoke once more.

" Listen, I'm sure by now I'm real close to the chopping block. They already tried to take me out... Even if it weren't for the bombing and the video online, they wouldn't overlook the death of one of their lieutenants. It's surreal, you know? I thought I would be more scared than this, but... maybe it's just the dilaudid clouding everything up. "

There was another long pause, the only noise coming from the phone being a kind of weak, heavy breathing. Bakugou felt his heart jump as his dead boss spoke again.

" I don't know if you saw the video yet, by the way. But... it's definitely not Jackrabbit who made it. I don't know how I know, but- He's got something different about him. I watched him get his throat slashed, and he walked from it like it was nothing. This person wasn't like that. There are copycats running around now... I'd like to say that I hope whoever did it was the only one, but the bombing shows people are starting to lash out. This is really bad... It's growing big, and... I don't think I'll be here to help stop it. There's someone I want you to meet. I put her info under the name 'LB' in my contacts, call her when you can. "

Tsukauchi sighed, followed by the sound of more rustling. " I... Bakugou... I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could say to you, but... "

Bakugou felt his lips clench and tremble as the detective's voice began to crack. The sound of the older man showing any form of emotion, much less the tone of unbridled sorrow that crept into his words threatened to tear the disgraced hero's soul apart. He nearly pressed the pause button out of pure instinct, but quickly caught himself. He felt himself begin to bite his tongue, forcing himself to listen to the rest of the recording

" There's no words that would make things easier for you. I know how your time at Yuuei was... the events that happened in your class haunt you just as much as they did me. I... I watched my life fall apart around me after All Might died. I burned everything to the ground, and I spent every waking moment afterwards regretting it. It may sound a bit selfish of me, but... I was hoping I could save you from that path when I brought you on. I wondered... if I could do that for you, maybe I would finally have something that I could be proud of? But... I don't think I'll get the chance. Bakugou, please... don't keep yourself isolated from everyone around you. I know you think it's better that way but... please believe me, you won't make anyone happy... including yourself. "

Just as he uttered that sentence, the sound of a door sliding open spat itself out of the phone speakers. Almost immediately, Tsukauchi's voice morphed back to its typical hardened tone.

" Do you always barge into someone's room when they're recording their last will and testament? " Came the detective's sarcastic voice.

"It seems that you were aware of our coming." A voice unfamiliar to Bakugou hissed. The blonde felt his aching chest turn ice cold, threatening to freeze solid.

"I'm pretty skilled at reading the writing on the wall." He replied, not showing even the tiniest ounce of fear. " So it's you and Shin Nemoto, right? I take it you wanted to kill me yourself? "

" Considering the last attempt led to Setsuno's death, I wanted to see things done right. " The click of the Overhaul's shoes grew louder, with his voice amplified similarly when he spoke again. " Shin will ask you some questions. After that, I'll grant you a swift execution. "

" Did you pursue any leads about our business operations while investigating on our premises? " Came a third voice, with a tone that wouldn't have been out of place in a job interview.

" No, I didn't. I was assigned to Jackrabbit's case, and that's all I went after. "

"How many other policemen were assigned to the case?"

"It was just me."

"Were there any heroes working with you?"

"No, I wasn't working with any heroes."

"Very well. Thank you for your cooperation."

"...I have a request to make." Tsukauchi said to the intruders in his room, catching them in an apparent surprise by Overhaul's tone.

" Do you, now? Well, I suppose you would, in your position. Out with it. "

"Just leave my phone behind for someone to find. That's all."

" ...We'll put it somewhere it can be easily noticed. You may stop recording. "

The final click from the speakers signaled the end of the recording. The two people in the room were left staring at the screen, neither of them willing to speak.

The Biker was half-expecting Bakugou to fly into a fit of rage, perhaps even throw the phone to the other end of the room as he pounded at the walls and floor until his knuckles were a bloody pulp. Instead, the young adult simply plugged the phone back in, getting up to walk over to the kitchen. He leaned on the counter, pressing his hands into the edge of the laminate.

"...Why did he say that he wasn't working with any heroes?" The Biker asked, watching as the weight of the question practically forced the blonde's head to hang lower.

"It's probably because I'm effectively expelled already." He muttered. "Indefinite administrative leave? Give me a break. They ain't ever gonna let a child-killer back into any hero office."

"That's not-"

"That's exactly what happened." Bakugou bit back, words hissing from his mouth like venom. "They're not gonna officially give me the boot, it'll cause too much fanfare for them. That's probably what Tsukauchi was thinking too- why he was able to tell them that."

The two of them stayed where they were, the silence hanging in the air between them like a dense sludge, choking their throats shut.

"...Even so..." The Biker trailed off, swallowing thickly. "That doesn't change the importance you play now. I'm... I'm sorry about the detective, I really am. I wish there was some way he could be saved."

"Just can it." Came the sour response from his partner. "I don't need your condolences."

"...I understand."

After a moment, Bakugou pushed himself off the counter, walking back to the wall where the phone was plugged in. He picked it up, tapping on the keypad as he pulled himself back into a standing position.

"What are you doing?" The helmeted man asked, looking up from his crouched position as he cocked his head to the side.

"I'm gonna call the person Tsukauchi said to."

"Do you think they'll be able to help?"

The blonde pressed down on the call button so hard that he felt the plastic distend under the force, nearly snapping into bits. He brought the device up to his ear, spinning around to walk away from his partner.

"...They fucking better."

---

Izuku's hand hovered over the handle to the back door of Takamagahara. He was already inside; he could practically feel the prickly presence of his new coworker inside. He shook his head, face flushing as his eyes shut, flashed of secondhand embarrassment running through his head as he envisioned the many ways that he would screw up their next encounter.

It was already bad enough with the revelation that they were next door neighbors. The instinct to curl up into a ball rushed through his limbs as he remembered the waves of fear washing over him the day before- he clearly remembered being followed by the purple haired young adult as he made his way home, wondering if this person was some kind of stalker. He was practically ready to scream at the top of his lungs as he felt the man follow him up the stairs to his apartment... only for his look of abject fear morph into confusion as he jammed his key into the door next to his.

He couldn't forget the look he was given. Izuku had no faculties to hide his emotions running wild, fully in fight-or-flight mode. Shinsou simply glanced at him in passing, but it was clear enough to see that his unexpected partner seemingly expected this kind of reaction. Realization had sunk cleanly into his stomach, settling in smoother than a blazing hot knife.

The barista blinked repeatedly, shaking his head as he tried to push the thoughts from his head. Their last meeting could have gone better- way better. But it wasn't the end... at least he hoped it wasn't. The idea of having to work with someone like that didn't bode well with him.

He looked up, gazing back at the night sky. The myriad of buildings and their lights blotted out the delicate sparkles of the stars above, but its opacity brought a small bit of relief to Izuku's spirit. There was barely anyone who was at the shop during the graveyard shift- usually only one or two people per hour. That provided ample opportunity to do what he could to mend the shifting bridge between him and someone he hoped would be a friendly cohort.

The green haired adult breathed in deeply, pushing the door open as he stepped inside. He marched to the locker rooms, clenching his eyes shut but refusing to hesitate as he barged in. Waiting for him was Shinsou, mostly dressed to code. His dress shirt was unbuttoned, hanging loosely over his white undershirt. His bowtie was loosely held in his clutch as he blankly stared back at the more tenured barista.

Izuku paused for but a moment as their gazes met. The feeling from their last meeting was the same as before- Shinsou looked as stone faced as ever, but there seemed to be the ever-so-slightest hint of a latent fear that hung between them; from what, Izuku still could not comprehend.

"So... we're neighbors, huh?" Came the sheepish opening, as the barista looked away. He scratched the back of his head, doing his best to keep from cringing at his own voice. "I wasn't expecting that!"

"I could tell." Came the cool reply, the purple haired man's face refusing to convey any sort of visible reaction.

A wrack of nervous laughter squeezed its way out of Izuku's ribs, his head sinking lower. "It's- yeah... Well, I just remembered that place being empty for the longest of times. Landlord could never get anyone to rent it out."

"...I just moved in a few days ago." Shinsou looked down, slowly buttoning his shirt up. "I was told it was a decent place."

"Yeah, the neighborhood's pretty nice. It's got good access to the rest of Tokyo." The green haired adult mentioned offhandedly as he opened his own locker. "I know you said you haven't worked as a barista before... what made you want to work here?"

The former vigilante's hands froze as he paused. He took a deep breath, pausing as he uttered his response.

"...Just seemed like a good job, was all."

"Yeah, it pays pretty well. More than enough to cover rent and living expenses. I can't complain." Izuku quickly threw on his slacks and dress shirt, switching out his shoes for the more elegant ones that he wore for the job. "...What's your quirk."

The barista couldn't help but wince at the audible sigh of the question. "Are we playing twenty questions?"

"N-No!" Izuku spun around, waving his hands close to his chest as he tried to put on his most reassuring smile. "I just wanted... to learn a little more about the person I'm working with. You d-don't need to answer if you don't want to!"

Shinsou cast him yet another disinterested stare, lips slightly pursing as he got to work on tying his bowtie.

"I can brainwash people." Came the completely calm and measured reply. "It used to be that they had to respond to something I said. Now they just need to speak, and I can force them to do something."

The purple haired man watched as Izuku's gaze sunk to the floor, loosely clenched fist hovering over his lips as he began to mutter to himself. A numbing sensation settled over his chest, almost instinctively to numb him from the reaction he expected to get. It had been a long time since he felt genuinely hurt by the same remarks he would always get- it stops hurting when the same response numbers in the thousands.

"...That's amazing, Shinsou," came the clear conclusion from the barista. "If it's that powerful, then you could become an amazing hero."

The complete sincerity from which Izuku voiced his thoughts knocked Shinsou upside his head, threatening to knock him off his seat. By the time he turned around, Izuku had already refocused himself on getting dressed, back turned away from him. The purple haired man quickly regained his composure, hands racing to finish tying his bowtie.

"Did you ever try going into heroism?" Came the next question, bringing the intense emotional uproar to a screeching halt. Everything died down into a hum as the next wave of pained memories washed over him. Luckily, the familiar numbing sensation crept up around him, protecting him just in time.

"...Yeah. Went to Yuuei." He replied, planting his hands firmly in his lap. "Things didn't work out."

"Oh," Izuku trailed off. "That's a shame. I'm sure they could definitely use someone like you. But I'm sure there were good reasons for it."

"Mmhmm." Shinsou stood up, turning around just in time to see his senior pulling out a clip-on tie and snapping it to his collar. "So what am I doing for today?"

"Oh! Nothing much. We just need to stay ready for when people walk through the door. There's also gonna be a shipment coming in at around 3AM, but it shouldn't be an issue. Actually, I could probably teach you how to brew some of the stuff we do. Since we won't have a lot of people around, it'll be a good use of our time."

"...Sounds good." The former vigilante resigned himself. He checked himself for any errant bits of dirt or stains, and upon passing final inspection, he followed his senior out to the front of house.

The two of them pushed through the swinging doors, a surprised look falling on Izuku's face as the familiar countenance of his vampiric friend.

"Oh- Yuuki, I'm so sorry!" He bowed, mouth anxiously contorting as he rushed to the counter. "Were you waiting long?"

The customer was caught off guard by the intense reaction, smiling nervously as he waved the concern away. "N-not at all! I actually just got here. How's it been?"

The sound of Yuuki's voice hit Shinsou like a sack of bricks. Something was very, very off... but he couldn't quite place it. His lighter and near melodic voice sent shivers down his spine, pulling at his muscles to tell him to run. He stepped back from the doorway, keeping himself to the shadows as he watched the new arrival with cautious intent. Aside from a few minor differences- hair and eye color, the tips of his canines peeking out over his bottom lips- he looked to be the spitting image of Izuku, right down to the freckles on his face. It was rather uncanny, setting him off even further.

"Well... nothing much has happened. I should have said it sooner, but... thanks for hanging out with me during All Might Day." He paused, fingers resting on the tip of the countertop. "It... helped me out a bit, actually. Sticking with the regular? Vanilla mocha with two pumps sugar, right?"

"Sorry." The vampiric adult sheepishly replied, scratching the back of his head. "You told me before about all the different blends and all, but I'm still a sweet tooth at heart."

"N-Nothing's wrong with that!" Izuku blurted out, immediately reeling back from the forcefulness of his reply. "...Ah- I meant, you know, it's hard to change what you like..."

The barista began working his magic, turning the dust-like ground bits of coffee beans into a thick, luxurious syrupy liquid with a vibrantly orange crema on top.

At the same time, Shinsou furrowed his brow, leaning further back into the shadows as he analyzed the person in front of him. He knew him. He didn't know from where, but he knew this 'Yuuki' person. It was right on the tip of his mind, right on the cusp of being brought to the forefront...

"Oh! By the way, I've got a new coworker!" Izuku proudly announced, easily doubling the pace of the former vigilante's heartbeat. "His name's Shinsou."

"...Shinsou?" The vampiric visitor leaned over, following Izuku's gesture towards the doors in the back.

The moment their eyes met, the realization of exactly who the other person had stared them down. A torrent of horror crashed upon the both of them, threatening to bring them both to their knees as they both took a step back.

"Is something wrong?" Izuku asked, looking at his friend in confusion. He held out the cup of coffee, gesturing for the young adult to take it.

"A-ah yeah, actually! I forgot to- I've got an important meeting I need to go to! Sorry!" He bowed quickly, turning tail to rush out of the coffee shop.

"H-Hey, wait-" The barista called out, coffee still in hand. He leaned over the counter, peering out the window as he saw Yuuki disappear down the alleyway. He quickly spun around, facing his coworker who had only just barely regained his composure.

"I'm really sorry to do this, but... can you go after him?" Izuku bowed deeply, holding the steaming paper cup in front of him. "I really want to, but- I don't want to leave you to fend for yourself if another customer comes in."

"...Do I have to-"

"Please." Izuku reiterated, his legs straining to maintain his posture. "I'm begging you!"

Shinsou tentatively took the cup, treating it more like a container of poison than a ready-made drink. He slipped out of the front door, quickly descending down the alley and deeper into the dense block of buildings.

It didn't take him long to give up the search. He practically already quit right as soon as he was out of sight of the shop. He turned a corner, pressing his back against the rough brick surface as he took a moment to breathe. The last thing he wanted was to meet Yuuki, and from the looks of it, the feeling was mutual. He waited a moment, mentally forcing his heartbeat to soothe itself back to an acceptable level. He looked down at the cup he was carrying, hastily tossing it aside as he pressed a hand against his chest.

"That... bastard..." He growled, feeling his fingers clutch at his dress shirt, wrinkling the thin white fabric. "Of course... I'm never going to get a break like this."

With a grunt of frustration, he kicked the cup further, watching it sail down the side-alley and crash against a dumpster. The lid popped off, sending the milky-brown liquid across the pavement.

Shinsou took a deep breath, smoothing out his clothes as he calmly walked back to the store.

He could barely tolerate Izuku's pensive gaze as he stood in the entranceway, holding the door open as if waiting to be invited in.

"...Were you able to get it to him?"

The purple haired man looked to the side, placing a hand on the back of his neck.

"...Yeah."

"Is that so?"

The two employees jumped in surprise at the stern, feminine voice that practically announced itself from behind Shinsou's back. He spun around to see an iron-gazed woman, dressed in an immaculate, tailored business dress. Despite her only being just a few inches taller than either of them, her presence demanded superiority, making the former vigilante feel much smaller in return.

"M-Miss Minaka!" Izuku quickly bowed, pulling back up to greet her with a smile. "I'm so sorry! I didn't notice that you had arrived."

She pushed her thin-framed glasses up the bridge of her nose, an intense glare focused squarely on Shinsou.

"Yes," she replied tersely. "It seems I caught you both by surprise. I came here to greet the new employee in person."

The more tenured barista gave a confused look, tilting his head to the side. "...You mean you didn't hire him?"

"...Actually, I wasn't the one who authorized him to work here." Her gaze sharpened, telling Shinsou that he should already know exactly what she meant. "Regardless, I see no issue with it. Would you mind sitting down for an impromptu interview?"

The purple haired man quietly nodded, gulping thickly as he moved out of her way. She strode to the nearest seat, gesturing for Shinsou to take the booth opposite of her. He quickly sat himself, watching as she turned and waved Izuku away.

"Would you mind giving us some privacy? I don't think the day shift would mind if you prepared some extra roast batches for them."

"Y-yes Ma'am!" Izuku quickly responded, turning to shuffle into the back of house.

The apparent owner of the restaurant quickly turned her gaze back to the person she came for.

"I know who you are, but I don't believe you've yet to know me. I am Ameno Minaka. I trust you'll remember my name?"

Shinsou found himself unable to respond verbally, the very words robbed from his throat. He resorted to quietly nodding, not daring to take his eyes off the woman in front of him. There was something... almost primal about his fear, as if he was broaching on some kind of natural truth of reality that his body could comprehend long before his mind could begin to rationalize it.

"Good. I hope you won't make me repeat it in the future. It's my understanding that a... 'secondary employee' was the one who brought you on?" She paused, fingers tapping in a latent rage as she stared back at her underling. "...Well? You have a tongue, do you not?"

"Y-yes." He eked out, practically choking on the single syllable he was able to utter.

"I see. I'm sure you can understand how this would... irritate someone in my position. I like to run a tight ship. Those who cannot perform to expectations do not last long here- that, I make sure of." She leaned in, watching as Shinsou leaned back further into the cushion in response.

The reaction sent a small smile creeping up along the edges of her face.

"It seems you have a good head on your shoulders, even if you're not aware of it yet. I would say that people may be envious of your capabilities, but I think it's pretty clear that someone has already claimed that for themselves." She sighed, returning to her earlier, straight edged posture. She turned her head to the side, looking out the window next to her. As if on cue, a dove fluttered down from the sky, planting itself firmly on the sill next to her.

"I think you've shown yourself willing to learn and able to adapt to a changing work environment. Those are good qualities for an employee here. I'm willing to make an exception for the... unusual way that your hiring took place. But I am here to simply relay to you the proper expectation of someone working here, when they're in your position."

The former vigilante clenched his fists under the table, eyes nervously glancing at the window next to him. The sound of wings fluttering down signaled the arrival of yet another dove, perching itself right next to the first. Then, a third... a fourth. The purple haired adult felt his stomach gnaw at itself, threatening to consume his entire being as he watched every empty space on every windowsill outside the coffee shop. Some had even taken to settling themselves on the door rail, their beaks intermittently tapping against the glass outside.

And yet not a single one made any coos or calls.

"I'm sure by now, you've recognized the nature of some of those who come to this place." She intoned, her glare practically rending him in two. "I do not involve myself in the activities of those who visit... not unless they threaten the sanctity of the peace I allow here. What you do outside of these boundaries is of your own discretion, but while you are in my domain you will not threaten that sanctity, am I clear on that?"

Shinsou nodded enthusiastically. He didn't even will himself to agree, as if his physical body was making the decision before his brain could even process his options.

"...That is good to hear. I'm glad we could come to a mutual understanding." She nodded, turning her gaze away from her newly approved employee back towards the double doors behind the counter.

"Izuku!" She called out. Within a few moments the green haired adult burst through the swinging doors, looking expectantly at his boss. She immediately followed up with him. "Good work tonight. You and Shinsou can take the rest of the night off, I'll take care of responsibilities here."

"...Are you sure?" He asked, confused. "I know you're busy, you don't-"

"It's not a matter of goodwill." She immediately corrected him; her intense voice unwavering in its determinism. "I'm simply doing so because it appears that the two of you have other pre-arranged engagements."

"What do you-" Izuku began, only to be cut off by the shrill ringing of a cell phone. He looked around, brow furrowing in disbelief as he quickly located the source of the ringing. He pressed his hand against his pants pocket, reaching in to produce a cheap, clamshell cell phone.

"I... This isn't mine..."

"Answer it." Ameno commanded, her gaze narrowing.

"O-Okay..." The barista quietly responded, flipping it open and placing it to his ear.

Shinsou watched as Izuku's eyes widened like saucers. He drew in a deep breath, and in that same instant, the doves surrounding the store all took off into the sky, their raucous fluttering of wings spilling into the room like a deafening wave, their shadows blotting out the neon-infused ambient light from the nearby stores. The purple haired man lurched forward and clutched at his chest, as if trying to shove his heart back into its cavity.

When he looked back up at his senior, it was clear that the bright-eyed young adult had been replaced with his much more threatening and despondent other.

Jackrabbit quietly shut the lid of the phone, slipping it back into his pocket. He looked back at the two inhabitants of the room, fingers twitching as he blankly looked for a response.

"I won't tolerate executive decisions like this again." Ameno reprimanded, speaking to him as if he was little more than a colleague at work. "But there are certainly worse decisions you could have made. You're certainly more competent than your boss, though considering who that is, it's a rather low bar to clear. The two of you may go."

The assassin wasted no time striding out from behind the counter, walking over to the counter where the two of them were. He quickly hooked his arm under Shinsou's, pulling him up to his feet as he practically dragged him out the door.

The former vigilante watched, dumbfounded, as Ameno simply stared back at him. She pushed her glasses up once again as she relayed her parting message to him:

"I expect you here at work for your shift tomorrow. Have a pleasant night."

---

The conversation that Bakugou had with Tsukauchi's old contact was rather short- well, to be accurate, all the disgraced hero was able to utter was his name before the person on the other end hung up. The sharp chime of the phone in his hands alerted him to a new message from the one he called- it listed an address in a residential area in Shimouma. Going by the trains would have taken almost an hour and a half, so The Biker imposed himself to pay for a much shorter cab ride.

The ride was deathly quiet. Neither of the passengers were comfortable to speak with another pair of ears present, nor was the driver compelled to fill that silence. A small red twinkle caught the blonde's eyes, and he looked out to his right to see the Tokyo tower gazing at them from its point in the sky. He looked back at The Biker, who wordlessly stared back at him, the blinking red lights of the Japanese landmark reflected in his visor.

Eventually, the taxi cab slowed to a halt, resting itself on the side of an otherwise empty road. Just as the driver turned around, The Biker produced a black credit card, gesturing for the man to process the payment. The tinny peals of the machine informed them that their fare was paid without a hitch, and the man tilted his hat in appreciation as he wished them a good night. As the two got out, Bakugou began to take in his surroundings with a much greater focus. They were surrounded by a wide array of different houses, all well-sized for a small family. Most of them had their own outer walls, their family names proudly emblazoned on small placards just outside of the security gates.

However, what Bakugou noticed next was what wasn't there- namely, the house they were supposed to be at.

"I simply gave him an address about a block away." The Biker informed him, seemingly reading his mind. "Just in case."

The blonde huffed, clicking his tongue in annoyance. "Lead the way, then."

It was just a moment's walk to their final destination, a fairly well-kept looking abode planted firmly between two similar looking squarish houses. The two approached the front gate, peering at the small panel next to the locked entrance. Bakugou took a deep breath, reaching for the call button...

Just before his fingers could press it, he jumped at the sound of a shrill buzz that pierced the air, emanating from the metal door next to him. He grabbed the handle, pushing down on it as it swung open. Just beyond the small front yard was the front door, slightly ajar as the house's inhabitant held it open to greet them.

She was rather short, but her age was clearly written on her face. She held a cigarette loosely in her lips, her drapes of deep crimson hair draping over the sides of her head. Her eyes were quite wide, but an apparent lack of sleep created a sunken look accentuated by the line of deep bags that clawed at her face. She took a deep huff of the small cylinder in her mouth, letting the smoke out and wisp away lazily in the cool night air.

"I wasn't sure if you were the type to come around at this time of night, even with your late call." She sighed, dropping her shoulders as she gestured for the two of them to come in. "Manami Aiba."

Just as Bakugou walked in, she held her hand out, stopping the hero's partner in his tracks.

"I know who he is, but I don't believe I know who you are."

"...You can call me The Biker."

Manami sighed, lowering her arm as she let him in.

"Better than nothing, I guess."

She closed the door behind them, leading them down a mostly clean hallway. There were a few doors on either side, with the passage ending in a sharp turn and a staircase leading up and out of sight. The homeowner was quick to direct her guests to the living area to her left. The open frame in the hallway encased led to a wide open room. There were two navy blue couches situated at an angle to each other- behind them lay a full dining area with an open kitchen beyond that.

After some more incessant prodding from Manami, they seated themselves on the plush furniture, each of them taking a corner. The Biker laid his hand on the sitting cushion, tilting his head down as he noticed the thin layer of dust that coated the soft material. He looked back up as Manami took a seat in the center of the other couch, pulling an empty ashtray from the table towards her. She took the cigarette out of her mouth, tapping it lightly against the glass dish and watched as the ashes quietly fell into its basin. She left the pungent thing inside a small divot made for holding it, leaning back into her seat as she folded her arms.

"Before we get to anything, I want to make one thing clear with you both." She narrowed her eyes, tapping her fingers against her forearm. "Neither of you are Tsukauchi. So don't expect to be treated as if we have some sort of rapport with each other. As far as I'm concerned, you're nobodies."

The Biker could see Bakugou's shoulders tense up as the words were uttered, though his face remained stone still. Not waiting for the hero's response, he spoke up.

"I don't think either of us would be asking that much of you." He calmly replied, leaning forward to rest his arms on his lap. "Though... I think this is probably not the time to speak of these matters. Let's move onto-"

"No." She held up her hand, interrupting the helmeted man. "I brought that up for a reason. I don't do what I do for free."

"Name your rate." The Biker stated simply.

"It's not that simple." Manami huffed, throwing a tuft of her straggly hair behind her ear.

She cast a glance over to Bakugou, looking the disgraced hero over for the first time. His head was bent down, eyes firmly planted on the floor. His fists were clenched tightly, pressing so deeply into his legs that she could swear that she heard his femurs creak. He was deathly still, and even under this scrutiny he was still choosing not to utter a word.

The woman looked up at the ceiling, sighing as she leaned over to grab her cigarette. She took a deep drag, craning her neck back as she blew the thick smoke upwards.

"...I'll tell you what. I won't lie, seeing the big man gone is... well, it's probably just not hit me yet. I had a lot riding on him, you know?" She paused, running her tongue over her teeth under her lips as she sighed. "I probably don't look like it, but I used to be a small time villain. They called me 'La Brava.' More of a sidekick, really."

Bakugou remained silent, prompting The Biker to take the lead once more.

"You were the one who successfully broke into Yuuei. I remember that hitting the news. You were with Gentle, right?"

"The one and only." She took another puff of her cigarette, laying it back down on the ashtray. "He got arrested shortly after. Tsukauchi had me help him with some odd work here and there, in return for visitation rights. Since then I've been on the straight and narrow, doing consultant work and penetration testing. I've... been able to do well for myself."

"I can tell." The helmeted man calmly mused. "It's rare for people to afford this kind of place without both parents working full time. Sometimes the kids have to stay with them for them to afford a place to stay."

"Yeah..." She trailed off, looking away. "Anyway, Tsukauchi... was pretty good, despite his tough guy act. I don't normally do this, but... I'll make an exception just this one night. If you've got anything you want me to do for you, I'll help you both out. But if you want my help again, I'll be charging my normal rate."

"That's fine, I can cover it." The Biker slid across the couch, his voice low and smooth as he turned to speak with his partner.

"Bakugou? Is there anything you'd like her to do?"

The blonde remained unmoving at first, his jaw moving almost mechanically as he quietly growled out his response.

"Yeah... I need info on someone."

"This 'someone' have a name?" She asked, pushing herself onto her feet as she grabbed her cigarette from the ashtray.

"...Izuku Midoriya."

"...That's a pretty unique name. Never heard of them. I'll see what I can dig up." She walked towards the doorway, stopping to look behind her shoulder.

"You coming or not?"

The two quietly got up, following the short woman down the hallway, and up the stairs. The wooden flooring lightly creaked under their weight, intensifying as they made their way to the second floor of the house. The passage they were in was much narrower than the previous one, with just a few more doors along the way. Manami slid open a door to their right, beckoning them to follow.

The bedroom that greeted them was far more cluttered than the barren living area that they were previously in. The first thing that they noticed was the high pitched whine of server fans screaming softly from the racks that lined the walls. Trash was littered all over the floor, most of it placed in black garbage bags- double wrapped to prevent most of the smell from getting out. At the end of the room lay a single terminal, an ancient looking keyboard and mouse sprawled on the floor in front of it. Right next to the equipment was a haphazardly bundled blanket and pillow, crumpled to make some sort of makeshift cushion for the equipment that lay before it.

Manami practically bounded between the piles of refuse, as if she had done this thousands of times in a sort of depressing dance. Both men opted to simply walk over the detritus, feeling it crinkle noisily beneath their feet.

The hacker began typing away rapidly at her keyboard, the logo of the Tokyo Police Department flashing briefly on-screen. A few more clacks of the keys brought up another image- that of a green haired teenager, eyes bright and smiling wide for the camera.

"This the person?" The woman pointed at the screen.

"...Yeah. That's him."

"I'll see what I can pull up on him, then." She hummed quietly, tapping rapidly on the devices in front of her. "He looks quite chipper."

"...No." Bakugou replied, the words leaving his mouth before he could think about them. "That's not... what he looks like when he's happy. He's pretending."

Manami paused, turning back as she raised an eyebrow. "That's... What makes you think that?"

The disgraced hero opened his mouth once more, but he couldn't find the words to explain his reaction. It was like the gears in his brain had frozen solid, unwilling to grind another tooth until his thoughts moved onto something else.

The hacker shrugged, turning her attention back to the screen.

"...Well, there's certainly more here than I would expect to see from a normal citizen, but I don't know what's relevant and what isn't." She clicked her tongue, taking another puff of her cigarette before placing into an overflowing ashtray next to her. "I'll print all out for you just in case."

With another keystroke, the printer next to the monitor whirred to life, rapidly spitting out paper as he pored over the digital copies of all the documents she found.

"Young man in his twenties... quirkless. Looks like he tried to apply to Yuuei, but... yeah, he dropped out before even going to the entrance exam. I don't see any record of any high school he went to- oh."

"What is it?" The Biker asked, leaning closer towards the screen.

"...His mom died of a stroke."

Bakugou's eyes widened, a pang of horror rushing across his chest as he felt his hands grow cold. He felt even more confused at the reaction, causing the feelings to intensify. The image of a stout, semi-portly woman with a wide smile brushed his mind, the faint smell of fresh, spicy katsu don playing like a nonexistent echo in his nostrils.

Manami continued, unaware of her guest's reaction.

"Looks like the cause of death was attributed to overwork. There was a small investigation..." She scrolled through, reading the case notes. "...She was working 60 hour work weeks, hadn't had a day off in months, and was severely dehydrated at the time of death. It sounds pretty much like a common case of Karoushi. She... she died right in front of her son. I can't imagine what that does to someone."

The Biker spoke up, resting his knuckles against his visor. "Was there any kind of uproar over this? I remember being told this was something that was a big issue back in the day."

"I remember when I was a kid seeing stuff on the news like this, but... I don't think it's ever not been an issue. I think people just don't talk about it unless there's a hero who's a spokesperson for it."

There was a long pause as they all soaked in the information. Eventually, the hacker closed out the report as she continued listing off the cliff notes to the young man's life.

"Looks like he was awarded compensation from the hospital... 25 years' worth of her salary, paid in installments. Looks like he was attending therapy for some time, but... I can't find anything on it. Protected info, not even the police can get their hands on it without a warrant."

The printer chimed, signaling that its job was done. Manami stood up, scooping up the stack of papers from the tray. She pulled a binder clip from a nearby drawer, snapping the papers together as she slipped it into a folder from the haphazard pile next to the machine. She walked over to Bakugou, holding it out for him.

"Go ahead and take a moment to browse it. Maybe you'll catch onto something I didn't."

The blonde quickly snapped the pile of papers from the woman's grip, his body tense as he forced himself to hold back the tremors that threatened to wrack himself to his very core. He flipped open the cover, gazing at the faux-smile of the young adult with a mixture of both frustration and despair. He flipped through the preliminary info, his eyes screeching to a halt as he recognized one of the bundles of kanji that lined the page.

Aldera Junior High .

Bakugou furrowed his brow further, angry with his own lack of understanding. That name... it was his school. He made sure everyone in that rotten place knew his name before he left. So... how could he not remember this boy?

He felt his heart sink into his stomach further as his eyes were drawn to the lines above that name on the papers. The elementary school was the same name... even the pre-school was the same one he shared.

He felt his hands grow numb, his sweat slowly bubbling to the surface to emit its sickly sweet scent. There was no way he shouldn't know this person. This... quirkless boy who followed him for all of his growing years. Why couldn't he-

An image flashed across his mind. He had fallen down in a stream, the water rushing over his hands and between his legs. Just in front of him was... was Izuku, as a small child, a worried look on his face as he held his hand out.

And in that instant, the scene morphed once again. The water heated up, searing him and quickly evaporating as a fire burned up around him. Izuku's face distended and morphed, the heat practically melting it away to reveal another form, another small child-

Bakugou felt a rush of air bolt into his chest as he suddenly gasped, the sudden inhalation threatening to pop both of his lungs. The papers fell from his grasp, tumbling to the ground with a solid thunk as the binder clip kept everything together.

Manami looked taken aback by the reaction. She watched as the blonde took a step back, his hands clawing at his chest as he stared wildly at the hacker in front of him.

"B-Bathroom!" He choked out, his teeth gritted so hard that the other two could practically see his gums turn white.

"D-downstairs, first door on the left!" The woman sputtered back.

The disgraced pro hero bolted out of the room, the heavy thuds of his feet relaying his desperate journey to his destination.

Manami looked back at The Biker, then back at the door, unsure of what to do.

"I don't think we should go after him right now." The helmeted man quietly assured her, his fingers listing softly at his sides. "He's..."

"Yeah, I get it." She quietly resigned herself, sitting back in front of the computer.

The man readjusted his puffer vest, turning to face the hacker as he sat cross-legged next to her.

"Do you know anything about... the incident with him?"

"How much do you know?" She asked, turning to stare at her reflection in his visor.

"Just newspaper clippings. It was pretty clear that they didn't tell the full story."

"...Figures." She sighed, perching her cigarette between her lips as she looked back at the computer. It was only a few keystrokes away- apparently one of her bookmarked links. "Chiaki Watanabe. Age 8. Female. Quirk: Mood-Color Changing Hair."

The Biker stared at the picture on the screen, looking at the visage of a positively delighted child with bubblegum pink hair.

"...What happened to her?"

Another keystroke press resounded across the room, prompting the printer to roar to life once more.

"Some time last year, a villain with an arsonist streak set fire to an abandoned building. Bakugou was the only one in the area at the time and was sent to apprehend the man. Turns out they weren't alone. A little girl had been there as well, from what the police could tell it was due to her fascination with an Urbex site she found online a few days ago."

"I take it she didn't..."

Manami shook her head, a small sigh escaping her nostrils as smoke puffed out.

"There was a wide-scale investigation of the incident. The detectives on the scene concluded that Bakugou was unable to avoid a confrontation with the villain as he attempted to escort the girl out of the building. The ensuing fight ended up causing the floor above them to collapse. She... Chiaki was crushed by the rubble. The autopsy said a chunk of concrete crushed her skull, killing her immediately. It happened right next to Bakugou... they found traces of her blood and tissue on his face and clothes."

"And the villain?"

"Gone. They haven't caused anything further either. I think... whoever it was, they probably didn't intend for anyone else to be there. Certainly didn't help the press coverage, either."

"Yeah... It made primetime coverage, but... all they ever said was that he let a kid die on his watch and couldn't even catch the villain."

"Well... No one talks about it anymore, at least. Not with how fast new stories break through. Most people probably wouldn't recognize him unless he made a point to remind them."

"...Manami, why did you choose to help us?"

The hacker shot him a questioning look before getting up to grab the new stack of papers. She quickly bound them together, dropping it in The Biker's lap as she sat back down.

"I don't know what you mean." She shrugged. "Can't I just help someone because I want to?"

"...I don't think you're doing this out of respect for Tsukauchi. Actually..." He trailed off, shifting his posture as he leaned forward. "...I think you're lying about how 'it just hasn't hit you yet.' I don't think you care about him at all."

Manami paused for a moment, lips pursing as she took in a deep drag of her cigarette. She chuckled, forming her mouth into a tiny 'o' shape as she blew the full brunt of the tobacco smoke into The Biker's visor.

"Nothing gets by you, does it?" She chuckled, smudging the butt of her cigarette into the pile of ashes on her tray. "I'm going to have to keep my eye on you."

"...So what is the real reason, then?"

"It's actually quite simple." She shrugged. "The bags under his eyes are just as big as mine."

---

"Hey." The Caretaker spat out, a clear tone of exasperation in his voice. "Open your eyes. I know you're awake."

He lightly tugged at the medical mask obscuring his face, readjusting it so it rested snugly against the bridge of his nose. He sighed, pulling up the business card he held loosely between his fingers.

'Furyu Kazuhiro ,' it read. 'General Manager, Tachibana Asset Holdings.'

Lowering the card, he crouched down and set himself upon examining the... peculiar handiwork before him. Laying in front of him was a rather well built Yakuza, dressed in a fine three-piece suit. The man's legs were strapped against the legs of a table bolted to the ground, held tightly with cable ties that dug into his skin. A chair had been placed just under his thighs; its placement precisely done so that his torso was hanging freely in the air. His body sloped downwards to the floor, where his neck was craned at an awkward angle against the non-slip tiling. His hands were zip-tied behind his back, resting flatly against the floor. In the position he was in, it would take a considerable amount of effort just to lift his chest up- made all the more impossible by the beating he took. His skin was covered with bruises, and a particularly nasty blunt strike on the side of his head created a small trickle of blood that spattered the floor.

The Caretaker sighed, standing back up fully.

"I said, open your fucking eyes!"

He launched a kick aimed squarely at the Yakuza's suspended back, hitting him squarely between the shoulder blades. The impact immediately knocked the air out of Furyu's lungs, causing him to convulse and sputter as his eyelids snapped open.

"Good, we're getting somewhere." The masked man crouched back down, resting his elbows against his knees as he leaned in towards the Yakuza's face. "I see Overhaul must have demanded that meetings take place in more... inconspicuous locations. Guess he didn't want people constantly raiding his conference rooms, right?"

"W-who-" Furyu coughed out, wheezing as he struggled to draw air in his position. "W-who a-are-"

"Ah, ah, ah." The Caretaker cut him off, clamping his gloved hand over the man's mouth. "I'm the one asking the questions here. You remember where you are, right?"

The Yakuza looked around, trying to take in as many details as he could from his position. The metal shelving, surrounded by a plethora of pots, pans, and woks... That's right, he was...

"Looks like you remember." The other man observed, his grip remaining solid. "Maybe next time you're organizing a meeting at a restaurant, don't have all your attendees park in an empty lot where everyone can see."

The Caretaker pushed the man's head to the side, forcing him to twist his neck painfully. It was just at that moment that the Yakuza registered the absolutely horrid stench in the air, and from his new perspective he was able to see where it was coming from.

Five other bodies lay piled against the wall to his right. They were all drenched in blood, two of which had abdominal gashes so wide that their entrails had spilled out into their laps. Images flashed through his mind- the tense meeting taking place in the kitchen, the back door smashing open- a green whirlwind of blades rushing through, slicing through each of them as effortlessly as soft butter. He remembered the gaze of rather disinterested eyes settling onto him... he brought up his arms to defend himself, but they were quickly torn away. He expected his head to be sliced clean off his body, but instead he felt the butt of a knife hilt crash against his temple.

A pair of footsteps slowly approached, the heavy thuds against the tile synchronizing with the off-beats of his heart. He felt cold sweat form on his brow as his head was roughly twisted back towards the ceiling, revealing the source of his fear-

Jackrabbit was still here . He felt his body convulse again as the infamous assassin entered his sight. A scream tore through his throat, piercing through the Caretaker's fingers as the red-speckled man calmly stared back at his target.

The costumed vigilante carried a large metal pot with him, its contents so hot that wisps of steam bubbled from out of its basin. A single white towel laid over his shoulder, its fabric spotless despite the streaks of blood and bits of viscera that clung to him.

"I know quite a bit about your role in the Eight Precepts of Death, Furyu." The Caretaker began, releasing his grip from his hostage. "You're one of the privileged few who manage the logistics and storage of the Quirk Suppressant caches around Tokyo. Tell us what you know."

"I-I..." Furyu stammered, gritting his teeth as he kept his eyes on Jackrabbit. "W-we can work out a d-deal, r-right?"

The man with the medical mask paused for a moment, before looking at his partner. He spun his finger in a circle, pointing back down at the man they were interrogating. Wordlessly, the assassin lowered the vat of liquid, placing it on the ground next to the Yakuza's head with a solid thunk.

Furyu felt the killer grab his hair, yanking it up roughly as his head was lifted off the ground.

"W-Wait! -"

His cry was smothered as Jackrabbit pulled the towel off his shoulder, quickly wrapping it around the man's skull. He scrunched the corners together, tying them together so tightly that the material crushed his face, just barely allowing him any space to breathe.

The assassin dropped the man's head, watching it bounce heavily against the floor. He grabbed the pot, holding it over the Yakuza's head as he tilted it slightly, causing its contents to spill over in a steady stream onto the towel. The near-boiling water crashed against the man's face, seeping into the fabric. Almost immediately, Furyu began thrashing wildly, his arms slamming against the floor as he tried to throw his body to the side. Jackrabbit placed his feet up against either side of his head, creating a brace that kept him from moving away from the blistering liquid.

Despite the violent physical reaction, Furyu found himself unable to scream at all. He couldn't breathe, the heat spreading over his face like a raging blaze as all of his thoughts blanked out. He was drowning, without any ability to save himself.

Then, just as quickly as it began, it ended. Somewhere in his mind, he knew that it was only a few seconds that he was subjected to that kind of torture, but... it felt far, far longer than that. He felt a finger get jammed between the towel and his face, yanking it up just enough to free his mouth.

The Yakuza gasped for air, his pained lungs greedily sucking in the vital oxygen as the relatively cool air made his cheeks feel as if they were being pierced by thousands of needles.

"This isn't a negotiation." The Caretaker stated calmly. "Tell us what we want, or we will continue."

"F-Fine! Fine! I- It's on my phone! Every... Everything you want is on my ph-phone!"

"The password."

"I-It's just 'Password...' c-capital 'P!' Please..."

"Of course it is."

The man in the medical mask clicked his tongue in annoyance, using the information given to him. Within a few seconds he was able to gain access to the device and open the notes application to verify what was inside.

"Wow... not just their current locations, you've even got their transport schedule here." He reported, half impressed and half relieved. "Let me just put this in airplane mode so no one can track it... alright. Thanks for your cooperation."

The Caretaker quickly pocketed the phone, looking back at his partner. He patted the assassin on his shoulder, before turning to walk towards the shattered remains of the back door.

"Do what you want with him, I'll be heading back now."

"W-Wait!" Furyu called out, desperation edging through his voice. "I-I did what you asked!"

"You did. But we were never going to let scum like you live in the first place." He replied nonchalantly, not even stopping as he made his exit.

"P-Please, I-"

The Yakuza wasn't able to finish his groveling as Jackrabbit hooked his fingers under the towel, yanking the man's head back up into the air. He dragged the pot directly under him, then proceeded to slam the man's head into the scalding water. Furyu thrashed wildly as he struggled against the iron grip, but to no avail. He had no leverage to move his body, resisting the urge to scream as his skin began to blister, turning a deep red before bubbling and turning a pale white. He held out as long as he could, but eventually his instincts took over, forcing his exposed mouth open as the steaming liquid was forced down his throat. He could feel the suction of his lungs dragging the water up his throat, burning himself inside and out.

The pain only intensified, and the convulsions of his body increased as he used every bit of his adrenaline to somehow free himself. He could feel the skin of his elbows scraping off with each flailing bash against the floor, he could even feel the trickle of blood soak his socks as he tried to yank them free of their bindings, only to have them break through his flesh and begin tearing through his veins and muscle tissue. He didn't care if he had to rip his feet clean off his body- anything, he would do anything to stop the cracking and scorching of his innards.

It wasn't long before the animalistic jerking of his body began to simmer away, reduced to little more than a weak, sporadic twitching. He only lasted a few more moments before even that subsided, the last bits of life forced out of him. The assassin slowly dragged his gloved hands out of the water, watching as the red wisps of blood were leached out of the white material. Seeing that there was nothing more to be done, he quietly got back up, stepping over the bits of gore and debris as he left through the same exit that the Caretaker had used. His hooded compatriot was long gone by now, undoubtedly off to begin organizing future raids on the Yakuza.

Jackrabbit felt his fingers twitch slightly as he ran them over the pommels of the sheathed tantos secured under his belt. He could feel his innate strength augmenting itself yet again, no doubt thanks to the machinations of the one who gave him his mission and let him loose upon the country. With the efforts of those working with him, the death knell of the Eight Precepts of Death was growing ever louder. The sentiment amongst the public was quite palpable, though it appeared that no one was willing to say so quite yet.

The assassin stepped out onto the sidewalk, quietly making his way towards his next destination.

The small group of Yakuza who had met their unfortunate end in the back of a conveyor belt sushi restaurant had chosen Mizuho as the place for their secretive conference. It made sense, to a degree- the district itself was on the outskirts of Tokyo, away from the bustling metropolis and far from the places that would be considered prime targets for attacks. The suburban district itself was littered with parking lots and spacious fields of grass, but the convenient train locations meant their needs in the city proper were not far away. Because of this, there was essentially no nightlife in this town; ideally, this would mean a lack of prying eyes and ears after dark. Their plan probably would have worked too, were they not being tracked from the very beginning.

Despite the muted and silent undertones of the area, there was at least one place that stuck out as a sore colorful thumb against the dim, blocky buildings lit only by the sparse street lights: a love hotel masquerading as a "resort tower" in the area. It jutted just over the surrounding buildings, its neon red and yellow sides beckoning those to enter and marvel at its wonders within.

It was only a few minutes' walk through mostly barren streets for Jackrabbit to make it to that place, the warm, sunny colors contrasting with the bright blues of the fountain that spouted blades of water in its entrance. The bloody killer strode through the entrance, making his way past rows of faux palm trees and roman columns towards the front desk.

The attendant working the front desk quietly slipped a keycard onto the countertop, bowing deeply as he passed by. He stopped to pick it up, and as she returned to a standing position, he took a glimpse at her eyes, glazed over from the influence of his power.

He simply took his leave, striding over to the elevator to find the room he was looking for. He eventually arrived at room 203, slipping the keycard in and turning the doorknob.

The interior of the room was covered in mirrors and glazed tile, giving the place an almost ethereal aesthetic as one could see little spots of themselves wherever they looked. The lights had been set to a deep, dark purple, the color so intense that it smothered all other hues, save for the pitch black shadows that just barely managed to survive the soft lighting from all the reflective surfaces.

Seemingly blending into the shade was Shinsou, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed, his eyes hazy as he blankly stared back at the bloody assassin in front of him. The costumed vigilante stepped forward, his eyes just barely making out the bag full of Landsen pills that were loosely held in his hands.

"I take it you were successful." The purple-haired man stated plainly, his voice noticeably weakened from the drugs he had taken.

"...Yes." The bloodied assassin replied. He leaned forward, grabbing Shinsou by the wrist and pulling him off the bed. "It is time for us to leave."

"Is this how it's going to be?" He cocked his head, clumsily stuffing the back into his pants pocket. "You're going to lock me away in a hotel room while you start murdering people?"

"I told you that I will keep you safe. You accepted that offer." Jackrabbit stated plainly, tugging Shinsou along as he left the room. "If I am to protect you, I need you to be somewhere that I can reach you."

"You're covered in blood." The former vigilante absentmindedly stated, his emotional responses clearly muted.

"I will take care of that when we return. We should leave."

"...Okay."

The assassin didn't bother to return the room key he had taken- the staff would take care of that during their cleaning rounds. They wasted no time exiting the premises, and within just a few moments they had made it to the Higashi-Fussa Metro Station. They were fortunate enough to arrive just as their train did, the people offboarding more than happy to subconsciously get out of the way of the duo.

They had found themselves to be the only two passengers on this particular car, a gracious luxury that allowed them to take a seat as they waited for their next stop. They both sat next to each other in silence, the only noise that permeated the metal enclosure being the muffled rumbling of the track beneath them and the hiss of the breaks as they arrived at similarly empty train stops. The silence weighed heavily between them, the stench of blood and bile leeching into the air Jackrabbit's suit only intensifying the sensation. It had been almost an hour since Shinsou had said anything.

"You are quiet." The bloody killer noted as he turned to gaze at the person he was holding onto. "That is unusual for you."

"You can barely answer anything I ask you." He turned his head away, trying to avoid the disinterested stare of the person talking to him. "...Fine. Your Caretaker wouldn't answer this one: Who is commanding you to murder the Yakuza?"

The two sat there wordlessly for a few moments. Shinsou sighed, shaking his head.

"Of course you wouldn't-"

"The people." Jackrabbit stated simply, unintentionally cutting his unwilling partner off.

"...What?" He turned back around, looking directly into the eyes of the person keeping a tight hold on him.

"What I do is the will of the people. Nothing more."

"That's..." The purple-haired man felt a gnawing void begin to form in his stomach. He could feel the mind-numbing drugs he took earlier begin to counteract the emotional response, but... he could still feel it valiantly demanding his attention. "That makes no sense. What do you mean, 'people?'"

"The people of Japan." The killer replied, his grips slowly tightening on Shinsou's wrist. "This is what they wish for. I am here to grant them their desire."

"That can't be. Why the Yakuza?"

Jackrabbit turned his gaze to the seats in front of him, retaining his stoic composure.

"They harbor no love for them, not like the old days. They aren't just looking for the destruction of the Yakuza. That is just the first step."

"Then what is their goal?"

"...I don't know. It's not important. What matters is their will- I am to fulfill it for them."

"You can't expect me to believe this." Shinsou rebuffed, disgust forming on his face. "The idea that everyone in the country is wishing for a raging psychopath to murder droves of people?"

"They are." He replied, matter-of-factly. "You were, as well."

The battle inside Shinsou's stomach ended abruptly as a wave of chills washed over his body. He could feel the color draining from his face as the words bounced around the inside of his skull.

"W-what?"

"When you were held captive by them." He stated, looking back to stare at the former vigilante straight in the eyes. "Did you not wish that they would just die?"

"That was- That's different." He batted back, gritting his teeth as the Landsen failed to quell his heart rate. "Just because I had those thoughts when they were... I-"

Flashes of memories ran through his head- the delirium, the starvation... The recollection of being forced to vomit bile while strapped into a chair was nearly enough to make him throw up right there on the spot. He took a deep breath, steeling himself as he tried to complete his response.

"That... doesn't mean that murder is acceptable."

"The only things that are acceptable are what everyone agrees to be acceptable." Jackrabbit blankly replied. "And right now, this is what they find acceptable. They want more."

Shinsou opened his mouth to retort but found himself unable to reply. His mind briefly wandered back to the Jackrabbit fansite he had come across. There was clearly a community that was developing and condoning this course of action... and it was only a few nights ago that others had taken up the mantle to do copycat attacks on the Yakuza.

The former vigilante grunted in frustration, his nerves getting the better of him.

"I can't..." He gritted his teeth, his thoughts too jumbled to make sense of anything. "Just... I don't want to talk about this with you anymore."

Jackrabbit stared vacantly at him for a moment, before turning back to face forward in his seat.

"...Very well."

---

Bakugou sat quietly in the crematorium, his leg bouncing up and down ever so slightly as he kept his eyes closed. He had sequestered himself away, inside the smoking area hidden behind a number of wood and frosted glass panels that kept it out of sight. The vents just above his head hummed softly, quietly whisking away the plumes of smoke that rose lazily in the air.

The pro hero felt his fingers twitch, disturbing the half-burned stick of tobacco in his hands. He brought it back up to his lips to take in a forcefully steady drag, holding it for just a moment before letting it rush out of his lungs and into the space in front of him.

The sound of the wooden bench next to him creaking ever so slightly caught his attention. His eyes slowly wandered over to the source of the sound, settling on the familiar visage of his helmeted partner.

"Are those actually helping you?" The Biker asked, hands resting neatly on his knees.

"I wouldn't be smoking them if they weren't." The blonde coldly bit back, taking another drag out of spite. He looked back down, his brows furrowing as he stared at the fairly high quality attire he was wearing.

"Something wrong with the suit?"

Bakugou grunted. There was technically nothing wrong with the outfit- it fit him fairly well, matching his measurements for the most part and being more than accommodating no matter what position he was in. The blazer accentuated the bulk of his shoulders well, and the dress shirt and slacks were soft enough to the point that they felt supple against his skin.

But truthfully... he couldn't stand it. He could feel his skin crawling under the fabric, and despite the ample space of the collar it still felt as if it was choking him out. It felt wholly wrong to wear, and he couldn't stand the fact that that mysterious bastard who imposed himself onto the pro hero got it for him.

"I don't see the point of it." He gritted his teeth, clicking his tongue as he smashed the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray. "You didn't have to buy me a suit."

"I just thought it would be the best way to respect the dead. Plus, you might use it in the future." The helmeted man calmly reasoned.

"Whatever." Bakugou sighed, folding his arms over his chest.

"Are you nervous?"

"What do you think?" He threw back, chin tilting up in defiance. "Do I fucking look nervous to you?"

"You do, actually." The Biker replied, not moving from his spot on the bench.

The blonde huffed, unable to find a response as he looked back down at his hands.

The pro hero's partner got up, his muffled steps quietly nearing. They stopped just in front of the disgraced man's hunched over form.

"This is something that needs to happen, so I'm sure everything is going to go okay, at least." He tried to console the man, though it seemed to have little effect on him. "I apologize, but for obvious reasons I won't be able to join you during the Kotsuage."

"Just go." Bakugou resigned himself, head listing even lower.

"...Alright then." The Biker nodded, turning on his heels towards the exit. "I'll be at the bench across the street. We'll meet back up once everything here is done."

The blonde remained motionless, waiting for the echoing footsteps to fade into the distance, ending once and for all with the sound of the automatic doors sliding open and shut. He let out a deep breath he was holding, feeling a shiver creep up his spine as he tried to regain his composure.

The Biker was right, as usual. He was shaking profusely, the tremors resonating down to the very core of his being.

He didn't want to go. He really didn't want to go. His stomach churned wildly, a thin line of sweat building up on the back of his neck as he considered what was waiting for him deeper inside this place of the dead. He could already see it: the mass of mourning family members, all bereaving the passage of Tsukauchi... no matter how well he tried to blend in, he would certainly be caught. He could already see the waves of fingers pointed at him, their grief-laden cries striking his ears as they burrowed into his skull, branding him as the one who led to his benefactor's death-

"There you are, woof."

Bakugou snapped himself out of his delusion, heart racing as he tried to feign aloofness at the familiar deep voice of the police chief. He took a deep breath, looking up at the man in the entranceway, his posture as straight as a ruler.

"They just brought out the ashes. Come along."

The blonde clenched his fists, pushing himself to his feet as he followed his former superior. He wanted to say something, but... he had the impression that the police chief was putting on the same airs that he was trying to. He stared at the man's back, trying to dig deeper into the man's mind but unable to find anything behind the cold stature.

Eventually, they arrived at a set of lacquered wooden doors, slid open just enough to provide a sliver's view inside. Tsuragamae paused a moment, turning to face the disgraced hero.

"I've been called to a meeting by my own superior regarding... how we should be moving forward." He huffed, his cheeks ballooning as he looked back down at the despondent blonde in front of him. "I do I wish I could stay here, especially since I... somewhat forced you to come, woof."

Bakugou's eyes flicked over to the opening in the door. From what he could see, the room was completely empty, rows of chairs and matting left unfilled. There was a metal slab in the center of the room, no doubt where... where he was. There was a single figure next to the table, but there wasn't enough of a view to determine much else.

The pro hero jumped as he felt a heavy hand come to rest on his shoulder.

"He was my friend, despite everything. What I requested of you a few days ago... I know I asked it far too late. I'm sorry for burdening you with that, I know it must weigh on you heavily." The police chief leaned down, his mouth right next to Bakugou's ear. In a barely audible voice, he whispered into his ear. "I don't know what you plan to do next, whether it is to go after the Yakuza or Jackrabbit. Should you choose either one, I will do what I can to offer my support to you."

By the time the blonde was able to register the words rattling in his head, the dog-faced man was already gone. He swallowed thickly, pressing his hand against his chest, feeling the envelopes that rested in an interior pocket. He slowly reached forward, fingers slowly inching around the thick wooden slats that separated the hallway from the interior chamber. He took a deep breath, pulling it back to allow himself passage into the main room.

The yellow-tinted walls of the ash collection room did their best to give off a warm and sunny tone, harshly conflicting with the turbulence raging inside Bakugou's chest and abdomen. He stood at the entrance, eyes wide and mouth open as he stared at the sole occupant of the room.

What was once a barely defined blur was now in full view. Beside the metal table was a fairly tall woman, her long black hair flowing down past her shoulders and resting against her back. Her deep blue-green eyes gazed back at the man in the entrance, emanating a soft but earnest air about them. She smiled softly, the single beauty mark on the underside of her left cheek rising ever so slightly from the expression. In traditional fashion, she was dressed in a black kimono, the fabric folded with the left side on top.

"To be honest," she began, her hand resting lightly against the side of the table, "I wasn't quite sure how to feel when Tsuragamae told me that you would be coming."

Bakugou felt his throat freeze up, his feet stuck in place right at the door frame, like a vampire waiting for an invitation to enter. He wasn't given the opportunity to work up his courage, as the woman instead walked right up to him, holding her hand out as she tilted her head slightly forward.

"I'm Makoto Tsukauchi. Naomasa was my brother."

The pro hero felt a pit form in his stomach as he raised his hand to meet hers. They quietly shook, before she let go and stood back up fully.

"Come on in. It'll only be the two of us."

"...There's no other family?" Bakugou managed to eke out as he forced his legs to move into the chamber.

"We... well, I'm sure you saw it for yourself. He... wasn't able to keep friends these past few years. And we really don't have a lot of family either."

"...What about you?"

Makoto paused, a small bittersweet smile perking up the corners of her lips.

"He tried his hardest, I'll give him that. But there was never a chance that he was going to get rid of me that easily. I always made sure to find a chance to speak with him, whether he liked it or not." She turned around, gesturing at her new guest. "He talked about you a lot, you know."

The hero felt his legs grind to a halt as the words struck his chest like an icicle. "What?"

"Are you honestly surprised by that?" The woman calmly strode to the other side of the table, resting her hands against a lacquered wooden box that had been left there by the crematorium staff. She reached inside, producing a small ceramic urn and a rectangular tray that contained a few pairs of oversized, thick wooden and bamboo chopsticks. She held out the tray, beckoning towards her guest. "Go on, let's begin."

Bakugou tentatively grabbed one of each chopstick, his numb fingers clumsily trying to properly hold them together. By the time he managed to get everything properly aligned, he noticed that the urn had been placed in front of him, its lid open, beckoning for it to be filled.

It was then that the disgraced hero finally took a look at the remains in front of him. Only the bottom half of the table had any kind of ash or bone fragments on them, a chilling reminder of the state of the corpse that he had found it in when he made it to the hospital. He felt himself swallow thickly, tremors shooting up his body like small jolts of electricity.

"...I was told by the coroner that he likely didn't feel anything." Makoto quietly noted, using her pair of chopsticks to pick up one of the small, ashen grey chips at the end of the table. "It... still must be hard to have seen in person. You have my condolences."

The blonde bit the inside of his cheek, the act of sympathy causing the pit in his stomach to grow ever so slightly. Why... Why was she the one consoling him? He could feel his mind slipping deeper into his sorrow, his skin feeling like it was being poked by thousands of small needles all at once.

The detective's sister extended her arm, holding out the bone fragment in her chopsticks. It took all of Bakugou's willpower to raise his own pair of utensils, delicately grabbing the burnt piece and dropping it into the urn in front of him. He looked back up, and he had to force himself not to recoil from the woman's comforting smile.

"...You're handling his death pretty well." He muttered, his fingers tightening against the lacquered wooden and bamboo sticks in his hands.

Makoto paused, breathing deeply for a moment before picking up another bone piece to pass along.

"Well... I kept telling him something like this was going to happen." She sighed, the fingers on her free hand lightly twitching as she slowly passed the hero more cremated remains. "After All Might's death, he... he just wasn't the same. After he was cleared for leave, he just locked himself away in his bedroom. We were sharing an apartment at the time."

"...When did he finally come out?"

"It was just before All Might's funeral. I remember thinking that maybe he just needed time to recover before he was back to his old self. I couldn't have been more wrong- instead, he just walked right up to Mirai and punched him right in the face."

"That's All Might's ex-sidekick, right? The one who could see the future?"

"I'm surprised you know." Makoto nodded. "He goes by 'Sir Nighteye' now. They split up because he saw All Might's death. I think Naomasa was angry that he didn't try hard enough to prevent it. Mirai was kind enough to not press charges, so he kept his job. After that, he just... stopped caring. He was always dedicated as a detective, but... it basically became his whole life after that. Every time I talked to him, it was always about his cases, he never talked about anything else to me."

Bakugou remained quiet, the words piling on his shoulders like heavy weights. His mind wandered back to the Detective Tsukauchi he had met after the attack at the USJ. He remembered the man's bright eyes and reserved and comforting smile as he spoke with the students recovering from the event. It was nothing like the staunch and combative man who had forcefully taken the blonde under his wing just a few weeks ago. His mind pondered on the contrast... he wondered if there was something he could have done to bring back the man everyone so desperately wanted back into their lives.

The two stood in silence as the rest of the bones were passed between the two of them and placed into the urn. The pro hero glanced down at the inside of the small ceramic chamber- even though the jar was already rather small, the bones didn't even fill it halfway.

Makoto reached down beneath the table, producing a small pan and a brush. She reached into the box to pull out a pair of smaller urns, and with the pan she collected the remaining ashes and divided them equally among the two other containers. Once it was done, she sealed the both of them.

"One of them is going to stay inside our Butsudan. This other one is going to Tsuragamae." She explained, handing Bakugou the lid for the bigger one in front of him. "We've got a family grave, too, so that's where that one is going."

Bakugou quietly took the ceramic lid, screwing the urn shut. He handed the whole thing back to Makoto, who placed it back in the wooden box. She placed the tray of chopsticks to the side, placing the lid back on the wooden container and covering it with a white cloth.

The pro hero reached into his blazer, pulling out the pair of envelopes that had been given to him. He wordlessly held them out to the detective's sister, who graciously took them into her hands.

"You didn't need to give me a Goreizen. I do appreciate it, though-" Her words froze in her throat as she came across the second envelope. Her fingers lightly traced across her name scribbled on the front, the handwriting unmistakably familiar. "...Where did you get this?"

"...He sent it to me through the mail." He replied, unable to look up at the person in front of him. "...Right before..."

There was only a moment's hesitation before she placed the braided envelope on the table, her attention much more focused on the letter from her deceased brother. She tore the sealed flap open, pulling the tri-folded letter out as her eyes scanned over its contents.

Bakugou kept his eyes trained on the ground, too afraid to raise his eyes and see what expression Makoto could have been making. After a few moments, he heard the sound of paper rustling, the letter quickly being shoved back into its container.

"Please excuse me for a moment." The woman calmly requested, moving towards the door with the letter still firmly clutched in her hands.

Bakugou gritted his teeth, his fingers clenched into tights fists as he stared at the ash-coated table in front of him. He could feel his chest tighten with every breath, his body slowly rejecting itself as his stomach continued to rage against him.

Before he realized it, he felt his body carry itself out of the ash collection room, down the hallway to where the restrooms were. His throat was as dry as a desert; it felt as if there were cracks running up his throat, stinging him every time he breathed. At least the water fountain here would-

His eyes widened as a muffled sobbing sound wafted through the walls and into his ears. It didn't take him long to realize the source of it- someone in the women's bathroom was crying their heart out, and he knew exactly who it was.

A gasp escaped his lips as he gritted his teeth. His hand instinctively rose to his chest, fingers clenching shut and roughly scrunching the fabric together as he felt a wave of nausea rush to his head.

As if watching a movie, his mind replayed the past thirty minutes back to him. He watched intently, picking up all the details that he refused to acknowledge the first time around. She was shaking, trembling as she grabbed the bone pieces to hand off to Bakugou. That smile and reassurance she kept giving him, he could clearly see the pain in her eyes as she spoke to him. She was suffering probably more than he was, and... and yet she was the one who comforted him.

There was never a point in his life that Bakugou wanted to use his quirk than this very moment. And all he wanted to do was clutch his head and explode it with everything he had.

His parched throat was the last thing on his mind. He wanted to run, to meet back up with The Biker and go back home, but... he couldn't. Instead he walked back to the ash collection room, slumping into one of the chairs lined against the wall, head hung beneath his shoulders.

He wasn't sure how long it was until Makoto rejoined him in the room. He looked up, seeing her ever-so-slightly bloodshot eyes. She smiled down on him; the letter still held tightly in her hands.

"I, ah..." She trailed off, her voice just barely cracking. "Thanks for giving me that letter. It really means a lot to me. He... he had a request for me in there."

"...What?"

Makoto slid her hand into her sleeve, reaching down to the well of fabric that essentially acted like a large pocket. After a short moment, she pulled her hand back out, producing a small keychain.

"He said he wasn't happy with your living conditions. Well, those weren't his exact words, but..." She paused, a pained chuckle forcing its way out of her throat. She grabbed one of the keys on the ring she held, pulling it off and placing it gently on his lap. "He asked me to give this to you. It's to his apartment. He said he paid the rent up to the end of next year. If you give me your phone, I can type the address in for you."

Bakugou felt his eyes widen as the words rattled about in his skull. The fatigue from the day was already catching up to him, the harsh emotional responses mottled by the stress-induced numbness that began to overtake his brain. Without really thinking about it, he pulled his phone out, watching as the woman took it and typed in the location of what was apparently going to be his new home.

"You know..." She trailed off, taking a moment to find the words she needed. "Naomasa really did see something in you, though he would never tell me what it was. Whatever it was, I hope... I hope you're able to find it, too. I'm going to go ahead and take these urns. Thank you for coming here today. It was good having someone to speak with."

"I-" Bakugou blurted out, practically shooting up to his feet. The key remained clenched in his fist, feeling more like a shot-put in his hands than a small sliver of metal. He kept his gaze at his shoes, his hair slumping over his eyes as he struggled to form words. "I... I'm- I just... the..."

"It's okay. Not everyone is the type to apologize. You don't need to force yourself to do it." Makoto shook her head, walking back to the table to grab the wooden box. "...Naomasa was the same way, you know."

The words struck the disgraced hero to his very core, gripping his heart like an iron vice. He wanted to say something- anything to her, to reciprocate the good will she had shown him. But nothing he could think of would come out of his mouth. The grieving woman had seen right through him, and yet again found a way to extend her sympathies back to him. Shame wracked his body, his legs threatening to give out from under him as he couldn't do so much as say something nice.

"...Okay." He forced out, his voice just barely audible. "...The apartment key-"

"You're welcome." Makoto smiled, her fingers tightening against the edges of the wooden box. Her muscles were tense, as if she was bracing herself against a door that was on the verge of being thrown open. "I can take care of the rest here. I hope you have a good rest of the day."

He took a deep breath in, nodding slightly as he turned to sulk away, resisting the primal urge to scramble down the hallway and out the door. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to slowly move one foot in front of the other, marching back out onto the street to the resting place where The Biker said he would be staying.

Their reunion was completely silent; The Biker simply rose from his seat, following Bakugou as he hailed a cab to take them far away from that wretched place.

When the pro hero finally got back to his apartment, he practically collapsed into a heap atop his futon. He just barely registered the presence of his companion sitting in a cross-legged position next to his door. The thought of telling him about Tsukauchi's apartment offer crossed his mind, but he couldn't properly focus on that. All he wanted to do was sleep, just... shut his brain off and forget about the world for as long as he could.

Maybe, he thought... maybe he would open his eyes up and this would all just be a very bad dream.

He knew that wouldn't be the case, but... it was a nice thought to have, at least.

---

"Yes!" Yokumitsu cried out, his feet giddily pounding against the floor like an excited child. "Checkmate!"

Izuku blankly stared back at the other person in the dilapidated, ethereal apartment, the static of the TV reflecting off of the mysterious individual's mirror-like helmet. His mouth remained closed, as he was not commanded to speak.

The strange being sighed in relief, leaning back on his elbows. The two of them sat cross-legged in front of a shogi table, pieces scattered about from the game they had just wrapped up.

"I've... never been able to play this game, you know." Yokumitsu trailed off wistfully. "By the time it came around, I was already exiled by my family. I was always able to see others play it, but... pretending to be two players all by yourself isn't exactly fun."

The strange being waved his hand, and in that instant the entire table blinked out of existence. He leaned forwards, resting his hands neatly in his lap as he stared at the green-haired marionette that accompanied him when the Avatar was out performing his holy creed.

"I used to be angry about that, you know. Sometimes I still am, but..." He waved his hands again, a kotatsu materializing over their laps, the embedded blanket draping over their legs as a semi-pleasant warmth began to radiate from its underside. "...being lonely gives you time to think. There I was, in the middle of an endless void... it really gives you a lot of time to look inward. I began realizing things about myself that I had never once thought of before. If I were to put it in terms you could understand, it was like when you realize that you are breathing. It's something you've always done, but there's that spark of self-awareness one needs before they can take control of it. You know what that was for me?"

Yokumitsu rested his elbows on the table, his mask capturing a fish-eyed reflection of Izuku. The young adult remained motionless, head slightly listing on his shoulder as the diatribe of the owner of this apartment dully bouncing off of his skull.

"...It's dreams." He answered himself, waving his hand once more. A flimsy piece of paper fell onto the table, a rather elaborate drawing of a koi fish depicted on top of it. "I never realized it until then. When they sleep, I am the one who gives them their dreams. I began experimenting with it, just to see what I could do. I could change things ever so slightly, but eventually I could even give people completely new visions that brought them to new heights. And then... I tried exerting that force on the void around me."

The mirror-masked man placed his hand on the paper, completely covering the drawing with the palm of his hand. It took only a moment for a plume of ink to erupt under his palm, billowing out and arcing subtly into a more cohesive, fierce form. When he lifted his fingers from the paper, it revealed its full form- a giant dragon, fearsome and powerful beyond its ages, its design so striking that it seemed the paper was just barely able to contain the ink that had soaked within it.

"That's how this apartment was made. It's not exactly making dreams reality, but... it's probably the best way I can describe it in this realm."

The being looked quite pleased with himself, humming cheerfully as he grabbed the paper from the tabletop. Producing a pin from thin air, he stuck the inky depiction onto the wall, taking a step back to admire its craftsmanship.

"...W-Where... am I?"

A cold chill ran down Yokumitsu's spine as the confused and dazed voice bounced around the walls of the apartment. He spun around, seeing Izuku's rapidly clearing gaze focusing squarely on him.

The apartment's owner wasted no time in acting. He quickly willed away the kotatsu, making a beeline straight for the young adult still on the ground in front of him. He stopped just in front of him, hands snapping to either side of the barista's face. He leaned in close, the reflection of his mirror-helmet blotting out all other images but Izuku's own face.

"Sleep." He commanded, his voice low and shaky. " Close your eyes and dream."

Izuku's body jolted, like a current of electricity had rushed from head to toe. Within seconds, his vision clouded once more, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his body grew limp. Yokumitsu ran his fingers down the young adult's eyelids, teasing them closed as he scooped the man's body into his arms. Keeping his movements as smooth as possible so as to not disturb his burden, he slowly shuffled over to the dingy bed, depositing the slack form of the barista onto the squeaky mattress.

The moment the body was out of his hands, the being spun around, angrily pacing the perimeter of his domain.

"Damnit!" He grunted to himself, kicking an errant stack of books on the floor. He seethed through his teeth, clenching his fists and stomping his feet in a child-like anger. "I want to have someone to play with. That's all I want!"

He sighed, placing his hand flatly against his helmet in exasperation. With no other option, he blinked a small cellular phone into existence, tapping rapidly on its keypad. After a moment, he brought it to his ear.

"Neo-Mokai? Yeah... yeah... he woke up again. Okay."

Within seconds, there was a pounding at the door, which opened up at the snap of Yokumitsu's fingers. Beyond its boundary stood the familiar squid-masked man, idly pulling at the rim of his white surgical gloves.

The mirror-masked man could only watch from the corner of his apartment as his guest immediately went to work on their unconscious roommate. He had seen this process enough times to no longer be disgusted by the flailing of the flailing of tentacles and the disgustingly vivid slurping sounds.

However, what would originally be an hours long operation was cut short in mere minutes as Neo-Mokai began emitting a surprised gurgling noise from the back of his throat. The reaction was only confirmed as he tore himself away from the unconscious subject, reeling back in abject shock.

"This is... remarkable!" He cried out, hands rising to the side of his head as his fingers began digging into his soft and pliable temples. "To think I couldn't have been more wrong!"

"You... you've never said that before. Never." Yokumitsu replied, a hint of apprehension building up in his tone.

"The barrier between their minds is fracturing further... When I saw bits of the Avatar begin to fill these fractures, I believed that it was trying to reinforce the structure." He spun around, his body quivering in a rather disturbing display of excitement. "I was completely, utterly mistaken! The Avatar isn't filling in these gaps, it's using them to invade the mind of Izuku!"

"You- you can't be serious..." The mirror-masked man muttered, clutching his chest in fear.

"Oh, but I am! It's no different than the roots of trees slowly breaking their way into water pipes- the moment there is a crack, there is something there ready to bust it open."

"...Can you fix it?"

"This is beyond anyone's abilities now."

"They're going to coalesce again, then?" The apartment's creator nervously asked, desperately looking for some seed of hope.

Neo-Mokai clutched the metal tubing of the bed frame, small tremors of giddiness running up and down their body.

"See, that's the thing- they would have done so already. The Avatar has already broken through!"

"What is it doing, then?!"

"It's absorbing Izuku. It's taking pieces of his mind, bit by bit, and reappropriating it for itself. Normally, whatever was originally in there would be overwritten, but it seems like instead the data is being copied and... compressed, in a way. Our boy is likely going to start losing pieces of his memory. They're not lost, but... it's going to be really hard for him to remember."

Yokumitsu felt indignant at that last part of the report. Izuku's memories were one of the best things that he had access to. The idea of losing that... it certainly left him feeling threatened. This wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all.

"Are you sure you can't do anything about this?"

Neo-Mokai shook his head.

"The Avatar has learned to fight back. No matter what I put up now, it's learned to break down the thing keeping it back. Perhaps that's because it was born here- there is nothing that would make one in tune with their mind better than the raw essence of dreams."

"So you're saying it's my fault?!"

"Does that really matter?" The squid-masked man chided, walking forward to place a tightly squeezed grip on the mirror-masked man's shoulder. "You're missing the bigger picture here! Don't you see what is happening?"

"I-I don't-"

"Izuku is waking up because he is now being broken apart by a being from this realm. In tandem with this, the Avatar is absorbing these extra resources. What could it be grabbing literal mind-space for?"

"...To store its own memories?" Yokumitsu shrugged, not sure what the point was.

"Not just that- to learn! The Avatar is beginning to understand concepts that it was not meant to. And all the while, our boy is slowly waking up to the bits of the world around him that Machihan commanded him not to notice."

The mirror-masked man remained silent, a mixture of fear and anger welling up in his chest as he tried to process this new information. As if sensing this reservation, the squid-masked man slammed his hand down on his partner's other shoulder, jolting slightly as if trying to shake him awake.

"Don't you get it? They're both becoming self-aware!"

"What does that even mean?!"

Neo-Mokai turned back, a gentle and pseudo-caring sigh escaping his mouth as he stared back at the peacefully sleeping human.

"Things will be accelerating very quickly. Whatever this results in... It will be glorious to witness."

---

Bakugou was frozen stiff, key tightly pinched between his thumb and index finger as his arm was held out halfway. The lock's receptacle was right in front of him, its white-frosted metal standing out brilliantly from the oaken material, but he found himself unable to shift from his current position. His mind rushed through with millions of thoughts, all saying nothing while demanding his attention at the same time. It assaulted his mind like radio static, blocking out all conscious thought as he struggled to retain his composure.

"It's alright." The Biker quietly intoned calmly behind him. "He wanted you to have this."

The words did little to assuage the building pressure in his head, but it provided enough support to stem the tide of oncoming voices. With the single moment of clarity given to him, he took a deep breath, roughly shoving the key into the mechanism. With a twist of his wrist the bolt slid back, and he pressed on the handle, throwing the door open.

Beyond the frame lay a darkened hallway, the light from the hallway just bright enough to light up the tile flooring of the genkan right before them. The pro hero felt a hand place itself on his shoulder, lightly squeezing him as it softly pushed him forward.

The moment his legs stiffly moved into the room, the lights from the apartment immediately shot on, brightening the place and allowing them to see what lay beyond the entrance.

A thin hallway stretched out beyond the genkan, with two doors on the left and one on the right. The passageway then opened up into a larger area, containing a fairly decently sized kitchen on one side and an L-shaped couch on the other side. A kotatsu laid a few feet from it, a laptop resting on its surface. Opposite the hallway was a balcony, just wide enough for the two of them to fit between the door and the ledge. Above it lay a small wire, a few odd socks and shirts clipped to it to dry.

"This definitely isn't a cheap place." The Biker noted, walking out into the main room. "Though with his position and tenure in the police force, he could probably afford a lot more than this."

Bakugou felt a weight press in on his shoulders, his back slightly hunching in response. He opened the first door on his left, flicking up the light switch next to him to dispel the darkness.

A rather large bed greeted him, its comforter crumpled haphazardly atop the mattress. The closet doors were half open, an array of dress shirts, shoes, ties, trench coats, and pea coats staring back at him.

The light scent of coffee hit his nostrils, triggering a wave of nausea and an ache in his chest. His mind flashed between scenes of the older man in the office, holding a paper cup full of the caffeine-laced liquid, sipping its contents... oftentimes while yelling at him.

His eyes slowly raised from the floor, and he found himself looking at the mirror embedded within the closet door. The disgraced pro hero didn't feel any better after he woke up from his despair induced slumber, and he certainly didn't look better either. His eyes were sunken in horribly, the red irises dulled significantly past the brilliant fire present in his childhood photos. His hair looked as greasy as it felt, the added weight of the grime pulling the spikes down just enough to notice. His pallid skin mocked him, screaming at him that everyone could see just how sick he was, inside and out-

He quickly backpedaled out of the room, unable to witness himself any longer. He quickly checked the rest of the doors, revealing a washing machine and a full bathroom respectively, doing little to distract him from the panic slowly seeping into his mind. His hands were rapidly clenching and unclenching, trying to find some way to expend the energy rapidly building up into his system.

He stepped out into the main room, seeing The Biker sitting on the couch with the laptop in his lap. The man looked up, visor tilting to reflect the blonde's wretched reflection back at him.

"Tsukauchi apparently has left himself logged into the Tokyo PD database. It looks like we'll be able to do some digging on our own, though we probably won't have the sheer amount of data that Aiba can give us-" He paused, looking at the rapidly deteriorating condition of his partner. "...Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He muttered back, teeth gritted as he looked away.

"Are you sure?" He paused, setting the laptop aside. "...If you need to talk-"

"I said I'm fine, god damnit!" He yelled back, shoulders jumping up with the volume of his voice.

"...Okay." The helmeted man quietly replied, putting the laptop back on his lap as he patted his hand against the cushion next to him. "Let's talk about something else. Take a look at this."

Bakugou quietly walked over, slamming himself down on the seat. The Biker turned the laptop's screen towards him, revealing the front page of the Jackrabbit Fansite. On the side of the screen was a small notepad window, containing a long list of usernames, each linked with personal notes and any significant messages attributed to them from the live chat box.

"Looks like this is what he was spending his nights on." The blonde mused, his voice flat as he tried to focus on his late mentor's work.

"He seemed like the type who didn't know when to stop working." His partner noted. "I don't see anything he has here for entertainment, either. I guess this was his idea of 'fun.'"

"Mm." Bakugou hummed, leaning back from the computer. "Anything else on there?"

The Biker quickly tapped on the keyboard, revealing the desktop in a single stroke. All of the windows quickly fluttered downwards, revealing the image behind all the icons- a photo of the detective and his sister, smiling widely into the camera as the shot was taken.

Almost instinctively, the disgraced hero's hand shot forward, slamming the lid down with prejudice as he turned his head away. The helmeted man next to him barely reacted, sliding the computer out of his lap and onto the cushion next to him.

They both sat in tense silence, neither of them quite looking at each other as they thought of the best thing to say.

The Biker quietly leaned forward, moving slowly as if trying not to spook a small creature. He took a deep breath, carefully keeping his tone low and smooth as he deliberately chose his words.

"...Why don't you take a bath?" He asked, turning his head to look at the side of his partner's. "I'm sure it's been a while since you've been able to use one in private."

"I don't have anything to change into, dumbass." He muttered, fingers clasping together as he rested his face against the sides of his hands.

"There's a 7-11 across the street, I can get something in your size. Take your time." He insisted.

"...Fine, whatever." He grunted, pushing himself shakily to his feet.

"Can you leave his phone out here while you're in there?" The helmeted man added as his partner walked away. "I would like to check to see if there's anything else he left us."

Bakugou froze for a moment, reaching into his pocket and tossing the device in question on the table next to him. He didn't say anything further, sauntering into the bathroom and locking the door behind him.

He didn't know how much time had passed, nor did he really care. He didn't bother with the bath either, opting to leave the showerhead in its place as he curled up under it, the near-scalding water pelting against his body as the steam rushed into his nose. He glanced at the half-empty bottle of shampoo lying next to him, but he couldn't even will his arms to reach out to grab it. At the very least, the torrent of water helped to assuage the uneven pace of his heart, though he couldn't say he felt cleaner from it.

Eventually, even the temperature of the water felt numb to him. He weakly reached up, fumbling with the handle to turn it off, watching as the water slowly moved across the bathroom floor and down the drain next to the toilet. He quietly grabbed a towel, wiping the rapidly chilling liquid off of his body and out of his hair as best as he could. When he opened the door, he was greeted with a neatly folded pair of exercising shorts and a black tank top. He quickly changed into it, the fresh material feeling light against his skin. When he stepped out into the main room again, he saw The Biker sitting there, looking at him expectantly.

"There you are. You're looking a lot better. I found some more info in Tsukauchi's notes." He reported, gesturing to the phone in his hands. "He's rather particular with his trash sorting... I didn't expect that. But he did leave us info on how to get into the mailbox and his login info, so we should be good as long as the police don't terminate his account."

"...Who are you?" Bakugou quietly asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"...I already told you." The helmeted man slowly replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm The Biker. One of the 'Failures' that couldn't quite become what Jackrabbit has. I am working to stop him, just as you are-"

"Don't- Just don't." The blonde gritted his teeth, his fists clenching as he felt frustration welling back up in his chest. "You keep telling me all this- this fucking garbage about how I have to save the world, but I don't know the first thing about you. I don't... understand..."

"...It's complicated." The Biker sighed, resting his hands in his lap.

"Then make it easier to get, dammit." He grunted back, the obstinance of his partner agitating him further. "You've been staying with me ever since he-"

The disgraced hero cut himself off, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his breath from hitching.

"...Ever since he died... no... before then. And you knew about it."

"...If I had told you, you would have tried to save him. Had you been in that hospital even a few minutes earlier, you would have died." The Biker resigned himself, hanging his head.

"Why does it have to be me?!" Bakugou cried out, hand instinctively clutching at his chest. "Why am I the one who needs to fucking save everyone?!"

"It has to be you. I... I don't have a way to explain it. That's just how it is." The helmeted man quietly replied, looking back at the blonde. "It's not about qualifications or abilities- it's about you."

"And what about you, huh?" The disgraced hero sneered, baring his lips aggressively. "You can keep telling me the same story over and over, but you've done jack shit to explain yourself. I don't care if you're a psychic or some 'Failure' or whatever, I don't know a damned thing about who you are!"

The Biker paused, clasping their hands together as they hung their head.

"I really don't want to do this, but..." He paused, sighing quietly as he leaned in on himself a little more. "...would it help if I showed you what's under my helmet?"

"It'd be a fucking start." Bakugou replied, his tone starting to simmer down at the suggestion.

"...Okay. But... please remain calm." He acquiesced, slowly raising his hands up to the sides of his helmet.

Bakugou watched as The Biker pushed his fingers under the chin piece, prying the teal equipment loose from his skull. There was a light hissing sound, as if the thing had been on him for so long that it had sealed itself against his face. Using his other hand to push up against the backside, he lifted the headgear off, his medium length, two-toned hair slowly unsticking itself from the inside of the helmet as it fell back down over his head.

Bakugou felt a wave of shock pass over him as he almost immediately recognized the countenance of the person seated before him. His eyes widened, mouth dropping only slightly as the young adult gazed back at him with their heterochromatic eyes.

"I believe when we were in Yuuei, you called me 'Half-and-Half.'" Shouto Todoroki bluntly stated.

"...You..." The blonde breathlessly uttered, unable to properly form any sentences.

Todoroki patted the seat next to him, gesturing for his partner to sit down.

"I think there's a lot we need to talk about."

Bakugou felt his body carrying itself against his will, placing itself down on the soft cushion. The recently unmasked man immediately shifted over, putting some space between them as he placed himself in the seat facing perpendicular to the blonde's.

"...You're really... you're really him, aren't you?" His mind flashed back to their first encounter in that alleyway- the hot flash followed by the cold torrent of water washing over him... the pieces were starting to fit together.

"Not exactly." He muttered. "I'm... the Failure that used to be what he was. I've got his memories and emotions... but... I'm not him."

"I don't..."

"I..." He trailed off, a troubled discomfort falling over his face as he tried to explain. "I'm basically him, I've got all the pieces to who he was, but... I'm also not. It's hard to describe. It's like... watching a movie that's so engrossing you feel as if you're in it, but also knowing that you're still just watching a movie. I'm sorry, let's talk about something else."

Bakugou pursed his lips, clearly not satisfied with the answer. With a disgruntled huff, he moved on. "Then what about your dad? We were told you got pulled out of school because of all the shit happening."

"That's true." He sighed, folding his hands over his chest as he leaned back in his seat. "That year... wasn't kind to anyone."

"No. It wasn't." The pro hero replied tersely, hands weakly balling into fists.

"The USJ raid, the Stain incident... I think the deaths at the summer camp were the last straw for my father." He paused, resting his mouth against his hands. "...Everyone was shocked when you came back in one piece."

"What, thought I was gonna switch sides?" He spat out cynically, turning his head away to look out the window.

"No, we- They were shocked to see that you had survived at all. The villains kept taking things from us, and... the bodies... they were relieved when you came back. I... I was, too."

The blonde didn't directly reply. He kept his eyes focused on the world outside, watching as the lights of the skyline twinkled in and out as people went about their night.

Todoroki continued. "He... Enji took me out of classes after that. We had already lost Iida to Stain, and even the person who had beaten me was nearly lost. He didn't want his prized pet lost before its debut."

"How'd that end up with you being all...?" He glanced back, gesturing in an attempt to convey something he couldn't find the words for.

"He learned of the Vanguard... I don't know how. At some point he managed to ingratiate himself with them, probably lured in by the promise of something far greater than his son being the number one hero." He paused, his voice quieting as he continued. "...He offered me up to them. I remember eating dinner with him, just the two of us. I don't remember much after that... looking back he likely drugged me then. When I woke up, I was on an operating table."

"...What did they do?"

"I don't remember. It's likely for the best." He turned to the side, sliding off his puffer jacket. He reached over his shoulder, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling up to expose his back. "I don't think I want to remember what it was like."

Bakugou felt his stomach churn as a disturbingly well organized set of scars were slowly exposed. They ran down the center of Todoroki's back, lined perpendicularly with more sets of scars. There was an odd bumpy look to the young adult's back, as if something had been taken from under the skin and not properly replaced.

It was only a brief moment before the two-toned man released his grip on his shirt, letting the fabric slide over and cover the mangled surface of his skin. He quickly put his puffer vest back on, pulling it taut as he leaned back, as if he was trying to wrap his back in it.

"When I came to... I wasn't 'him' anymore. That's when I was able to see things, and I knew more about what the Vanguard were trying to do... and eventually I found you."

The blonde sat quietly, soaking in the new information. His lips twisted and jolted uncomfortably, trying to process everything given to him.

"And what happened to Endeavor?"

"He's not dead, if that's what you're asking." He replied, his thumbs lightly circling his cheeks. "He's on the run- the Vanguard don't like having loose ends sticking around. But every once in a while, he'll be there, watching from the shadows. His bank accounts are still open at least... he hasn't stopped me from withdrawing anything, though with how much he has stowed away the interest probably covers everything I could ever buy."

"I see." Bakugou clicked his tongue, lightly tapping his kneecaps with his fingertips. "...So... what do we do now?"

"That's up to you." Todoroki replied, glancing back up at his partner. "We've got some tools and leads in our possession. Where should we start?"

The disgraced hero paused, eyes slowly moving back and forth as he processed his options. It wasn't long before he settled on an answer.

"Well... we should keep going after Jackrabbit."

A small flash of surprise flew across the heterochromatic man's eyes as he looked back towards the person sitting across from him.

"Well we certainly can, if you'd like."

"What, something else on your mind?"

"No, it's just..." He trailed off, breaking eye contact with the blonde. "I'm surprised you didn't want to go after the Yakuza. They were the ones who... you know. Jackrabbit even saved him the first time."

Bakugou clenched his fists, looking back out the window.

"I don't gotta explain myself."

"No." Todoroki sighed, pushing himself to his feet. "No, you don't. If that's what you want, then we'll do that. But you look worn out, I'm sure a rest would do you good."

The blonde didn't respond, continuing to look back out at the buildings across from the high-rise they were currently in.

"You can have the bed." The hero's partner suggested, gesturing to the room. "I don't mind sleeping on the couch-"

"No." Bakugou cut him off, his teeth gritting as he furrowed his brow. "You... you can take the bed. I'm fine out here. I'll... I'll sleep when I'm ready."

"...Okay." Todoroki nodded, his face remaining stoic as he glanced back to the room. "If you need anything, feel free to get me."

The disgraced hero didn't turn back, listening to the sounds of soft footsteps padding to the bedroom. The moment the door clicked shut, he let out a huge sigh he had been holding in. He felt his body slowly slump over, his hands instinctively covering his face as he tried to parse everything that had been told to him.

He would be lying if he said he had gotten some of the answers he was looking for, but many of those answers led to more questions. He could feel himself practically drowning, lost in a hidden world far past his depth.

The thought of him being the key to it all sent another wave of revulsion through his stomach, every cell of his being rejecting the thought outright.

His head turned to the side, fingers splitting just enough to let him peek through and see what lay next to him. He could just see the vague form of The Biker's- Shouto Todoroki's- helmet. Its teal form was truly striking, even in the warm and soft light that radiated from the lightbulbs above him. He reached out with one hand, reaching underneath its brim to tilt it up and see its underside.

Emblazoned within was a dark blue insignia embroidered onto the makeshift puffer vest, three star-shaped leaves next to each other, sprouting out of a splay of 5 thin, blade-like leaves progressively pointing downwards. It was the same one as on his purple puffer vest.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could see the colors swimming around his thoughts. It was practically the same shade of some of the jackets he saw in that coffee shop, though beyond that there wasn't any actual comparison to be made. He pinched the bridge of his nose, shoving the errant thought aside. Todoroki was right, he needed to rest.

After a little digging around, he managed to find the remote for the lights, watching as they smoothly faded out with a single press of the button. He fell down on the couch, face pressed firmly between the seat and back cushions as he willed himself to sleep. The breeze from the apartment carried softly over his exposed skin and aerated clothes, the sensation just strong enough to keep him from completely drifting off into unconsciousness.

He wasn't sure how long that state continued- he dared not look at a clock to confirm it. Eventually, his ears perked up at the sound of the bedroom door opening. He felt his heart jump, but out of a mixture of paranoia and curiosity he kept his body still as a rock. The soft padding of footsteps moved ever closer to him, the hair on the back of his neck raising as it stopped just behind his back.

Before he could even react, he felt something soft and heavy drape over him, settling onto his body and almost immediately providing a gentle warmth that covered him from neck to toe. There was a brief pause before the footsteps quietly made their way back to the bedroom, the door softly closing once more.

Bakugou opened his eyes, looking down to see what it was. It wasn't the comforter from the bed- it looked to be a futon blanket; likely hidden away in a drawer he didn't bother to check. Regardless of where it came from, it was certainly doing its job, the radiating soft heat lulling him back into a state of slumber. He huffed, scrunching a corner of the fabric into a bunch and shoving under his head as a makeshift pillow. It wasn't long before he was finally able to fully depart from reality.

It was the first night in a long time that he had been able to sleep soundly. Somewhere deep inside of his mind, a small part of him quietly prayed that it wasn't his last.