"Quirks for work! Quirks for work! Quirks for work!"
Should it be considered beautiful or monstrous? The protestors chanted out in unison. The chaotic noise of a thousand different voices, somehow synced together to create a warped song, a beast with a singular goal. that wouldn't slumber until it had achieved it. For Japan's commoners to be no longer left in the dust of heroes and be granted quirk licenses for public spaces. While a select few professions had been granted this liberty, there was still a rocky trek ahead.
At the centre of it all, was Atsuhiro Sako. The momentary delusion of forgetting the physical boundaries of his body soon faded from the young man. The ghost of reality had repossessed him. Shaking his head, he checked his bearings; perched on a firm branch, gazing at the protesters below like a spying owl. Atsuhiro had ventured here in search of the thrill of the stage.
The stage and protests had their kinship, but they weren't quite the same.
From his own experience, he understood feral crowds couldn't be tamed, only appeased. During a circus performance, he was the lone soul giving the endless eyes a target to throw their raw emotions at. Atsuhiro had the skill to ensure those emotions were of admiration. Though occasionally, he slipped up and the crowd mercilessly dragged him down with their boos. It was a gamble every time.
Amongst the protests however, Atsuhiro was free from that burden. No one had a target, other than the abstract. Everyone was dispersing their emotions into the overpowering atmosphere, fading away once the crowds scattered to become individuals once more.
With the chants drowning out each other into a constant buzz, Atsuhiro didn't expect any noise to grab his attention. "Unite my brothers and sisters, for the Quirk liberation army! Once the quirk restrictions are lifted, we'll be closer to the new natural order!"
Atsuhiro should've heeded the warning of the common phrase: Curiosity killed the cat, but it got the better of him. Directly below him, was a stocky woman furiously waving a wooden sign like it was a sword. Most notable was her outfit; a heavy navy jacket, clumpy boots and shaggy camouflage trousers. Though it certainly lacked the quality or flair of anything official, reeking of home-made. Was this co-called Liberation army made up of soldier wannabes? Atsuhiro hadn't heard of quirk liberation, but others certainly had.
The woman's preaches sparked up a special kind of controversy, enough to distract fellow protesters from their own shouting frenzies. Which surprised Atsuchiro, since every individual in this protest had their own varied ideals, taking up every imaginable space within the street. As a growing group gradually circled her, Atsuchiro remained concealed within the reds and yellows of the autumn colony.
His little hideaway of the cherry blossom tree merely elevated him three metres above the heads of the bystanders; but with luck, he would avoid awkward questions. He would've climbed into a better spot, but the sheer walls of the urban city didn't give him any alternatives. Astuchiro hadn't trained in parkour yet, so the withered tree had to do. He didn't wish to get involved in any quarrels. Not yet. He was here to observe. To get a sense of what fighting for a cause looked like. His father's stubbornness to avoid politics at all costs gave Atsuhiro an equal desire to rebel.
While Atsuhiro had been busy with his internal monologue, the drama was ramming up in reality. "This campaign has nothing to do with your cult bullshit! Get out of here before you give us a bad name!", a middle-aged man howled.
Two people were squarely standing against the uniformed soldier. Nothing seemed to phase the soldier, remaining in a place like an unmovable statue. She countered back, "We are on the same side - fighting for the Freedom of quirks! As long as we're divided, the establishment will win."
Some other lady, this time more reasonable, responded, "We're after completely different things. We're after extra rights in the workplace, not anarchy like you. If there were no rules on our powers, Japan would fall to quirk-crazed killers."
The woman poked a finger into the chest of her opponents, like a strict mother scolding her children, "Ignorant heathens! The Liberation army won't let our society be run by killers. The strongest quirk users, the natural leaders will arise from among us."
The middle-aged man, who could only be described as a stereotypical businessman, grabbed the women's wrist to stop the prodding finger. "Would you quit that?", he uttered in an annoyed voice.
Yanking her arm from the man's grasp, the liberation soldier raised a threatening fist. Before it could go further, the sensible lady from earlier stepped in as a mediator. She laid her two hands gently on both sides' shoulders, "I think we've gone far-"
That was a big mistake. As mid-sentence, the soldier forced the sensible lady to stumble back, "Don't touch me!".
"Hey!", the middle-aged man snapped, rushing to his allies' defence.
The whole time, Atshurio silently watched the commotion. This was the first time he'd seen an argument descending into violence. Some of Atshuiro's folks back in the circus could be annoying to no end - But the family still appreciated each other's strengths and faults. For the first time in his sheltered life, Atshurio was alone amongst strangers; He could only see the worst in them, the protest bringing out their primal side.
The pavement's gravel scuffled as they shoved and pulled. They must've assumed if they didn't use old-fashioned kicks or punches, it somehow wasn't an official brawl. Nearby bystanders could no longer stand aside, circling in like vultures. Various hands grabbed out. It didn't help as people accidentally tripped and backhanded one another. Swirling out of control, it went from clumsy mistakes to revengeful blows. Soon, the original reason why the brawl started was forgotten.
Until now, Atshuiro had almost felt like a film viewer, seeing everything, but out of the range of danger. Now, this was painfully real and painfully frightening. Atshurio ensured his hands gripped the wiry vines above him and had a foothold on the trunk. It was a whirlpool of chaos under Atshuiro's dangling feet, waiting to swallow him up. He was determined not to fall in.
As the shouting rose louder, Atshuiro barely registered his thoughts as he used his phone to text his father, 'Help', alongside his location. His father would've been somewhere downtown, as they'd been running errands earlier; Usually, he trusted his son to find his way back, but not this time. So much for proving he was an independent teenager; Atshuiro was still a pitiful child at heart. The second he'd finished that, the worst possible sound rang out. The crackling of quirks activating.
"Everyone, stop this!", an unknown person yelled. Bright orbs hovered through the air, before exploding in a dazzling light. It stunned their eyes like a flash grenade. Half the panicked crowd curled up in defensive positions, while the other half blindly lashed out. Disoriented, Atshurio unexpectedly found he was holding onto thin air. Before he could grab the vines again, he tilted backwards off the branch, plummeting several metres down.
His spine awkwardly jerked as he landed on top of solid bone and muscle. Both Atshuiro and a man fell into a winded heap, moaning on the floor. Pain and adrenaline shot through Atshuiro, giving greater awareness of the situation. Time seemed to slow down. Regaining control, Atshuiro untangled himself from the flailing legs and arms, rolling to the side. He slumped down at the base of the cherry blossom, gasping.
The man Atshurio collided with, forcefully hauled himself into a stand, towering over the skinnier lad. There was no civil exchange - No moment of thought - The man registered Atshuiro as a threat and attacked. He carried a glass bottle and effortlessly reduced it to dust in his palm. Mentally controlling the fine shards into a sharp glove around his hand, the man aimed for Atshuiro's neck.
Still in a lying position, it was impossible for Atsuhiro to dodge, as the man's glass glove carved into his hard skin. It left large indents on his neck, flaking off as white filings. The man recoiled back, staring at his glass glove, baffled to see no blood. Using the man's confusion to escape, Atsuhiro swivelled on his hip, getting a foothold of the tree trunk behind him. Using it to propel himself to stand, he leapt into the maze of shuffling bodies. There was no visible way out.
With no fighting experience, Atsuhiro used the unorthodox method of dance moves. He twirled and pranced to the flying attacks from all directions, skimming his clothes. He looked like an idiot - But rather that than dying. All the fancy footwork rapidly wore him down. How much longer could he keep this up? This was a literal battlefield; could this turn feral for someone?
"Never fear, citizens, because I am here!"
Everyone halted in unison, looking to the clear skies, expecting to see the poster boy of all heroes, with his trademark smile and golden hair. Atsuhiro's mind split in an instant, as two separate emotions were screaming at him; one side was a relief, while the other was terror. Of all heroes, Atsuhiro never expected to encounter him. His power was so immeasurable, it was over before it began. All Might's judgement would decide Atushiro's fate; whether he was saved as an innocent bystander or taken down as a guilty culprit? If All Might discovered what he was-
Yet - All Might didn't come. There was no blast of wind. No creation of a dust cloud. Nothing. In his place, a mysterious figure hovered in the sky. With the sun directly behind them, their features were drowned out in the light, reduced to a silhouette. They must have blared the recording of All Might to stop the rampage dead. Keeping the figure afloat in the sky must have been a quirk, as the plastic slate they stood on, constantly flickered in and out of existence.
Suddenly, yanking the plastic slate from under themselves, the figure plummeted down to street-level at bone-shattering speed Remaining confident, they held their composure until the last possible second - The crowd instantly parted like scattering ants, ready for the worst. Before that happened, the figure activated their quirk on the plastic slate falling parallel to them. The figure perfectly traded locations with the plastic slate via teleportation. It somehow nullified the earth's forces, nimbly landing without a scratch. A creative imagination wasn't required to guess that quirk was called switcheroo.
With the figure in clear view, Atsuhiro felt rising anger. Since the protest's beginning, he'd come here as a curious spectator, not expecting to become emotionally invested. This was the exception. His one pet-peeve. It was Switcheroo, a local hero: Only heroes would dare to stroll into a bloody street fight, head to toe in cheesy sci-fi armour. Once upon a time, costumes belonged on a stage. A performance was escapism that everyone can enjoy. In this era, Heroes had stolen the arts to make light of real-world disasters. All to boost their egos!
Before another foolish move could invoke another wave of rioting, the Switcheroo hero raised her hands. She teleported people at random; disorientating them and distancing them from their original opponent. By dumb luck, Atsuhiro was one of them: Suddenly standing amongst a different backdrop of strangers in a blink of an eye. Despite the initial wobble of his balance, his brain hardly registered the teleportation effect, recovering quickly as if nothing had happened.
Interestingly, he teleported next to the Liberation soldier, the one who incited the whole riot. She kneeled with exhaustion, a bloodied streak dripping from her nose. She didn't hesitate to stare back at Atsuhiro, her gaze falling upon his neck, having white dents that revealed a glassy texture instead of muscle. Her jaw went slightly ajar, wordless. Not to seem any more suspicious than he already was, Atsuhiro ignored her, instead of getting out his phone. He spammed his location to his father's contact, to drill in it was an emergency to the incompetent man.
With the atmosphere shifting from wild aggression to confusion - Switcheroo announced her orders, "This can end peacefully - Disperse now. If the threat continues, we'll be forced to make arrests."
Before anyone could follow her orders, the Liberation soldier pointed out Atsuhiro to the crowd, "Do your job, hero! This thing isn't bleeding! It isn't human, it's a sector. It's a danger to people, you have to put it down!".
In response, furious outcry poured from every corner of the nearby street. It was a jumbled mess of thundering noise, not a single word could be made out. Of course, they would be in uproar, this crazed lady was demanding an innocent young man to be executed. Obviously, most of the general public was ignorant of the term 'sector'. Ironically, every word the soldier spouted was truthful. Atsuhiro wasn't legally human - At least not yet.
In stark contrast, Switcheroo remained eerily still. Her expressionless black helmet pointed in the direction of Atsuhiro, taking the Liberation solder's claims more seriously. For what felt like an eternity, Switcheroo slowly nodded, "Everyone, remain calm! This lady is speaking the truth. As a hero, I'm qualified to say this is a sector - A creature created from a quirk. For your own safety, step away from it."
With their moral compass telling them one thing and their authority figure saying the other; people didn't know how to react. They moped about like lost children. Switcheroo's gloved hands kept on clenching, as she mulled over the idea of euthanizing this rogue sector - One almost identical to a human boy.
Buying more time, Switcheroo called out, "Does anyone know the owner of this sector?"
No one answered, as Atsuhiro had ditched his father- or technically 'owner' on the other side of town. Would he bet his life on hoping his father would pick up his phone on time? Though what good was hoping? The real world was a cruel creature. Only his own wits could claw him out of this direness.
On the fly, Atsuhiro gave his best lies, "Madam, we don't need to be hasty about this. I simply have a mutant quirk for plastic skin - I don't know what this sector business is."
His lie crumbled in an instance as Switcheroo's eyes flicked back to his neck wound to reconfirm the obvious. Even if he did have plastic skin, the cut went too deep, not to yield any blood or exposed muscle. The tale-tell sign of sectors was they lacked bodily fluids.
The soldier, who'd been gormlessly watching the confrontation, uttered in horror, "This thing is capable of lying?"
Switcheroo raised her hands, on the brink of using her quirk with lethal force. Atsuhiro should've been panicking. His life was hanging by a mere thread. Yet he remained coldly numb. As depressing as it was, he suspected this could happen. Since the day he'd gained consciousness, he knew rogue sectors had no place in society. Sectors were meant to be like every other quirk, extensions of the human users; not sentient in of themselves. Not that Atsuhiro was going to stand in judgement: It would be gruelling if his computer gained sentience and he had to consider the moral implications every time he switched it on.
If Atsuhiro wasn't going to survive by lying, he could try telling the truth - It wasn't like he could lose anything on the verge of being murdered. Swiftly, he raised his hand for Switcheroo to stop, "Alright, you caught me, I'm a sector and a liar. But believe me, when I say, you can't legally kill me! As we speak, my father is fighting in court to have me declared human - Here."
As Atushiro took out his phone, the screen felt like ice, as his fingers constantly slipped in his rush. Finally through the endless maze of tabs and buttons; he found airtight proof. He smugly held an email aloft into Switchroo's face, "It's being held at Hosu Central Court and my lawyer is Kon Masanori. Contact any of them and they can put this misunderstanding behind us."
Switcheroo seemed taken aback that a sector could easily navigate a phone. The hero hesitantly glanced over to the bewildered onlookers, before dropping her armies at her sides. She announced, "We'll have to hear you out at Hosu Police Station. Come quietly please, the safety of the public is still my priority."
Not wanting to push his luck further, Atushiro didn't complain, moving to Switchroo's side. She placed her gloved hand on his shoulder, guiding him through the crowd, waving for people to move out the way. As they left the Liberation soldier behind, her face comedically turned bright red like a cartoon character. "Seriously?", she blurted.
Switcheroo had the good sense to ignore her, that soldier had been stirring up enough trouble for one day. Not that Atsuhiro was innocent of that himself, sneaking away from his father. Something about her attitude was giving him déjà vu, tugging at the back of his mind. Drat! He hadn't been able to explain to his father, he wasn't in immediate danger anymore. That man's boisterous nature wouldn't fare well confronted with the stoicism of a hero.
Before he could utter a word of warning to Switcheroo, the earth itself rumbled with a massive weight, sending crashing waves through it. It was the rhythm of galloping hooves, but with an unnatural heaviness. Amongst the usual haze of city fumes, the curious scent of wet gravel clung onto Atsuhiro's nose. The frightened crowd skated to the sides, making way for a grand brown stallion that dwarfed them. It was no ordinary horse; Its brown fur was splotches of mud and when it ruffled its ragged mane, specks of dirt flew into the air. It was literally created from the wet earth, leaving a faint muddy trail behind it.
Its rider didn't bother with the reins, instead of letting off a quick whistle, bringing the agitated animal to a sluggish state, its neck drooping. Mounted on the horse's back was a circus ringmaster, though his uniform lacked the wackier aspects. Instead of the cotton reds and golds, it was leather browns and creams. The traditional tophat was entirely missing, left with his wavey hair swept back in a ponytail. Messy strands dangled over his green falcon gaze, studying the situation.
Atushiro gave his father an awkward wave, which merely got him an eye roll. Then, his father gave a slight bow to the crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen, please excuse any hassle my son has caused. However- one of your precious heroes has already come swooping in. This isn't a public spectacle. Clear off - The lot of you."
Stunned by his bluntness, several people uncomfortably shuffled further down the street. While others remained unmoving, defiant against the arrogant stranger. Unsurprisingly, the liberation soldier was among them, strolling up to confront him, "Your son? It's a sector that's a danger to people! If your quirk creates these... animal imposters, is this horse your child as well, idiot?"
Struggling to hold his temper, his father turned his back to the soldier, veering the horse around, "No, because it's a horse. I'm not here for a philosophy debate. So moan all you like, you're not going to get anything worthwhile."
On the verge of a tantrum, the liberation soldier stormed off at the cold rejection. Finally, she'd stop shoving her beliefs down people's throats! Perhaps Atushiro should take notes from his father. If he never saw that obnoxious woman's face again, it would be too late.
Having dealt with the nosy onlookers, his father rode up to Switcheroo, who'd been silently watching the whole time. The hero abruptly questioned his father, "Are you Okuma Sako?"
Okuma nervously chuckled, "I'm famous amongst the heroes, am I?"
It was like an invisible hand was clenching on Atushiro's throat, tighter and tighter. He'd always been vaguely aware of the demons that lurked in his father's past, but to see it have real-world consequences was something else. Switcheroo titled her helmet to the side, "Locally, you could say. My senior co-workers like to joke about your childhood shenanigans. Regardless, you have to understand, Mr Sako, your sector has broken the strict laws around such creations. I have to ask you for your details down at the police station-"
Interrupting Switcheroo mid-sentence, his father dove into his makeshift jacket, presenting her with a plastic card, cracked and dirty. Okuma announced, "No worries, I already have a quirk to take my creations out into public. My quirk is pretty safe if you ask me. It's called 'Pinocchio', it allows me to store the personalities of animals and imprint them into an object, eventually transforming it into the real thing.", he then proudly patted the mud-textured horse underneath him, "Do you think you'd find this beauty in the wild?"
Switcheroo took hold of the licence, flipping it over several times in her hand, before promptly dismissing it, "This licence only applies if a sector is within 300 ft of the user, which yours wasn't."
Before his father could make a fool of himself further, Atushiro reminded Switcheroo, "I'm not telling you how to do your job - But we were already going to the police station over that court email. Should my Dad turning up change those plans?".
Her tight grasp unravelled from Atushiro's shoulder, instead of using her shoulder to nudge him towards the horse, "You can ride with your father if you promise to follow behind me - Oh, Mr Sako, if your son is declared human, you'll have to teach him some manners."
Okuma snorted, kneading down from the horse to ruffle Atushiro's hair, "He gets it from somewhere.".
The teenager was about to make a snide retort, but his father then gave out a sharp whistle. The sound was like a needle piercing through Atushiro's skull, straight into his brain. The unseen force went to the core, going down to the primal instincts. His mind was a thoughtless void, as his body went limp. His father's head flicked towards the horse's back, "Get on.", he simply ordered.
Like springs pulling a puppet, Atushiro's body was dragged forward, one step at a time. Directly next to the horse's powerful body, he dimly got a foothold on a metal stirrup. His father helped him the last of the way, as he swung his leg around to get stable on the saddle. As Atushiro hand brushed against the horse's pelt, every strand of ragged fur was layered with loose grit. This was a side effect of the Pinocchio quirk - While Okuma's pet was making the transition between lifeless mud to a breathing horse, its anatomy was truly unnatural. It was the same for Atushiro; when he pressed down on his skin, he could feel plastic hardness underneath. All from the human dummy, he was imprinted onto.
At last, the fogginess lifted from Atushiro's mind, like morning dew in a pale sunrise. His father had already whipped the horse's reins, guiding it through the seas of people. Switcheroo was leading several paces ahead, walking at a brisk pace. Riding for several silent heartbeats, Atushiro bucked up the courage to mutter, "Dad, you promised you wouldn't use your quirk to order me around. I'm not one of your animals."
Okuma shrugged, "If you're about to get yourself killed, Atushiro, then I think a promise is worth breaking."
Author Note - Detailed Definitions for Fan terms introduced in Chapter 1:
'Sector' - A Living Creature created from a quirk. Canon examples would be Dark Shadow and Twice's clones. Heros have legal jurisdiction to terminate any sectors that pose a threat to the public.
Okuma's quirk 'Pinocchio' - It has similar activation to Neito's copy, in that, the user 'saves personalities', by touching a living creature and imprinting that personality into an inanimate object of a similar size. Over time, this object transforms, becoming more mobile and organic - Eventually, the object becomes the actual creature. Depending on the intelligence level of the creature, the transition length differs: For example, an ant takes hours, while a human takes years. While transitioning, the user can command their creations - Though once the creature becomes a proper animal, they'll no longer obey. Once the user has imprinted a personality into an object, they have no way of halting the process other than killing it with brute force.