Ryan Mitchell was a failure.

A drain on society.

An addict.

He'd made his peace with it somehow.

His dad was a valued member of the police department. His mom was a respected staff member of a local hospital. He had had a great childhood and while he knew from an early age that his Quirk was useless for heroics, he still hoped that he could have a respectable career like his parents.

This morning he woke up in a dirty sleeping bag on the side of the freeway in one of the many homeless tent cities around Seattle. He was itching for a hit after not taking anything yesterday, but he put that thought on hold. He quickly checked himself and his pockets to see if anyone stole his shit while he was sleeping. He was a light sleeper, but that was no guarantee when quirks were considered. Thankfully, his money and his needles were still there and his boots were still in the bottom of the sleeping bag.

He awkwardly rolled himself out the bag onto the concrete and struggled into his boots. He was already wearing his clothes. He'd been wearing them for a week or so. They were probably starting to smell by now but his nose had grown blind to that kind of thing. Still, he should probably get some coins and hit a laundromat or spend a night at a shelter. He didn't really care about getting clean, but his mother's lectures about disease and hygiene were still ingrained even years later. The dirty brown bangs that hung in his face didn't exactly jive with those lectures, but he put that to the side.

Ryan stuffed his sleeping bag into a backpack and headed into the city. He paused for a drink at a public water fountain. A Pro hero glanced at him - calculating how likely he was to cause a disturbance probably - but she looked away as he shuffled off. In another city she might've tried to help him, maybe given him directions to a local shelter, but she'd probably seen a dozen guys like him just this morning already. Familiarity didn't just breed contempt, it also bred apathy.

His stomach rumbled with nothing but water inside it.

Had he eaten yesterday?

Hard to remember. Either way he felt the itch for heroin more strongly than any hunger. He'd feed his veins first then worry about his stomach later.

It wasn't hard to find a dealer. You just looked for a shady alley with a guy hanging around for no reason. Ryan's latest dealer tended to hang out in the same place, which made it even easier. Tall, lean, snake-like: his name was Terry and he had a quirk that let him stretch his limbs. It made him hell in a fight since he could punch you from across the street. Today was different because there was another guy with him: thickset, bald, and plain. Ryan didn't know him, but the itch was getting unbearable so he moved in anyways.

The new dude tensed up as he approached, which was only sensible when you didn't know if the guy headed your way was a hero, a cop, or even an addict with a dangerous quirk. Terry knew him and just smiled. He didn't know Ryan's quirk, but he'd dealt with him enough and seen him pushed around enough not to be afraid of him.

"Heya Ryan, whatcha buyin?"

Heroin had gotten countless names and euphemisms over the centuries it had been used. Ryan's dad probably could have named a lot of them because he had always been a real nut about policing history. All Ryan knew was a few of the most recent ones, but that was enough for his purposes.

"A bit of hope. Enough to last me a couple days if you've got it."

Terry grinned. "Last I remember you needed a good piece of hope to keep going. A couple days worth might be expensive."

The itch got worse and Ryan felt himself shake. "I'm good for it."

The new guy narrowed his eyes. "How-"

"Don't ask." Terry cut him off, his eyes alight with greed. "All that matters is that he has it. Less trouble if you don't ask questions." For once, Ryan agreed with him. Explaining the roll of dirty twenties on him would've been awkward.

"So how much?"

Terry stroked his chin, openly wondering how much he could gouge Ryan for. "$100 for six hits and don't you fucking bitch about the cost because my shit is clean. It ain't cut with anything that'll kill you." Ryan had to admit that Terry was probably telling the truth. He was smart enough to realize that it was better to milk the cow until it was dry instead of killing it outright for a quick buck.

Ryan made a show of searching himself for the money, careful to pull out each crumpled twenty one at a time. His hand shook as he handed over the money, but that made a good excuse for the way he bumped into Terry's hand. The moment their hands touched, Ryan Marked him.

Like most people Terry didn't notice the Mark. He made a show out of counting the money, making Ryan wait before he finally handed over the six little packets. Ryan pulled out a fresh syringe and supplies then went to work.

The new guy looked uncomfortable. "Ah, fuck. I hate it when they can't even wait to dope up. Those fucking needles give me the creeps."

"That's the price of doing business," Terry replied with a laugh. At the same time he gave Ryan a small kick. "Hey, at least go around the corner. I want a shred of plausible deniability if the cops or heroes come around.

The itch was worse than ever, but Ryan nodded and retreated further into the alley. Not long after he rounded the corner he shot up and sighed in satisfaction. Not euphoria, not joy, just satisfaction. The itch retreated and for a moment he just swam in the sensation of being whole instead of feeling like he was missing a piece of himself. It didn't feel good anymore, it hadn't felt good in a long time, but at least for a while he didn't feel like absolute shit.

While he leaned against the old brick of the building he listened to the pair of dealers nearby.

"So what's that guy's quirk?" New guy asked.

"Dunno," Terry replied. "It ain't something most junkies advertise unless they think they can either pay with it or threaten you with it. That poor son'ova bitch just buys and shoots up. For all I know he's quirkless."

"Still weirds me out," New guy said. "I'm used to pimping. You know all the girls' quirks and the johns' quirks don't matter."

Terry snorted. "You're gonna have to get used to something new, then. At least you got away when the heroes busted your hoes. When you're dealing just keep your head on a swivel and remember that by the time they get to us most of these fuckers are too far gone to use their quirks or got saddled with useless ones anyway."

A moment passed where the dealers fell silent and Ryan could hear someone or something flying past far overhead.

"Captain Celebrity? I thought that fucker already left for Japan. Whatever, he didn't see us and that's what matters."

Terry shrugged. "Don't matter to me. I could take any of those pussy 'heros' even that All Might chump that everyone got so hot over. Anyway, you're lucky that we've got an opening. Tyrone OD'ed just a week ago after getting into his own stash, so his territory in up for grabs."

"Thanks. I don't get how he could, though. I mean, you see what this shit does to people. How the fuck can you think it's a good idea to try some?"

"I dunno, it makes sense to me. You see hundreds of people throw their lives away for a hit and you have to start wondering what could feel so good that people are willing to die for it."

Ryan gave a weary little chuckle and staggered to his feet. The itch was gone for now and his hunger was back in full force. He recapped the needle and wandered off. After a while, he found a fast food place and went through the drive thru. He didn't have a car, but it was easier to do that than to deal with the stares he would've gotten if he'd have tried to go inside. The minimum wage employees didn't care enough to argue. One girl with horns even looked grateful that he was on the other side of a window.

Whatever.

He got his cheap burgers and started wolfing them down on a nearby bench. His mom would've had a conniption seeing what he had been eating the past few months, but Ryan didn't care. It wasn't like clogged arteries were going to be what killed him.

He found a bench nearby, leaned back, and just soaked up the sun, both his itch and hunger satisfied for the moment. A minute or two later he felt his Mark spring to life. Terry was still where Ryan had left him. So, he had some time to kill. Ryan wandered the neighborhood, bought another burger, went looking for needles in the parks and alleys, found a few, and traded the dirty needles for clean ones at a local exchange.

Enough time had passed so Ryan felt for his Mark again. It couldn't tell him distance in exact measurements, but Ryan knew the layout of the city and how to translate the feelings his quirk gave him into positional data.

Terry was at home.

Ryan moved towards his new destination and began to focus on the Mark, gently easing his quirk into action. His quirk, like most people, was a variation of his parents' quirks. His father could touch someone, Mark them, and be able to track them for days or even weeks afterwards. His mother could put people in a deep sleep with just a touch.

Unfortunately fusing quirks doesn't always create something stronger. Ryan could both knock-out and track people after touching them, but both effects took at least an hour to manifest and faded away after less than a day.

There was a very small window where Ryan's quirk was actually useful and even then it was possible that the target noticed the Mark since it left a small, but distinctive pattern on their skin. If they realized what was going on and surrounded themselves with friends before they passed out, he didn't have a chance.

Not that the people he targeted tended to have many friends.

Ryan stopped outside an old house, the same one he had tailed Terry to the other day. Terry hadn't moved in twenty minutes. It was a safe bet to assume he was asleep. Ryan took an old bandana out of his pocket and tied it across his face. Then, he pushed his hair back and pulled up the hood on his hoodie. Disguised enough, he headed in.

The door was locked, but the frame was old and weak so Ryan kicked it in. Terry counted on his rep to protect him more than locks. There was a scream as Ryan burst into the room and he immediately focused on a girl with a cat-like mutation quirk. She was half naked and even with the fur in the way he could see needle tracks on her arms.

She opened her mouth to scream again, but Ryan's hand darted into his hoodie pocket and brought out one of the little packets of heroin that Terry had sold him earlier that day. The cat girl shut her mouth as he jingled it. Ryan threw her the packet, and she clutched at it desperately. He could see that she was fighting the itch right now.

"Leave," he said, deepening his voice as best he could. The cat-girl seemed to hesitate so he fished out another packet and a clean needle then tossed them just outside the door. She dove after them, and Ryan shut the door behind him. He would have to get a new hoodie and bandana from a thrift shop just in case she remembered enough to finger him.

Still, that was for later. Ryan explored the house and found Terry sprawled out on a large mattress. Using his own ball of twine, Ryan tied Terry securely to a chair. It had been a long time since he was a Boy Scout, but he remembered how to tie the knots well enough.

That done, Ryan touched Terry again, taking back his Mark. He fished out the other three packets of heroin and another needle while waiting for Terry to awaken. It took a few minutes, but inevitably he started to come around, blinking sleepily. When he did, Ryan was sitting right across from him with a needle full of heroin resting on his skin, ready to plunge into the vein beneath.

He should've just used the needle while Terry was asleep, but some part of him made him wait until Terry could know what was happening.

He eased the needle into the vein and the unfamiliar sting brought Terry to full awakening. His expression contorted as he moved quickly from confusion to anger. "Wha...? Who the fuck are you? What the FUCK do you think you're doing?"

Ryan didn't flinch. He'd heard the same thing, or similar things too many times before. "I'm just setting things right."

"You little FUCKER!" Terry swore, his arms and legs started to extend, fighting the ties binding them. The twine held for a second, but it was no match for the man's Quirk no matter how well Ryan had tied it. Terry tore free and slammed Ryan's jaw with his fist, sending him tumbling. But it was too late; Ryan had already pushed the plunger home. Terry's eyes widened as the drug finally hit his system and he fell back on the bed, his heavy breathing slowing down.

Ryan removed the twine still on Terry and otherwise started erasing his tracks. A full forensics team would find a boatload of things he couldn't clean up, but Ryan wasn't worried about that. Terry would be just another dead user who OD'ed in a city full of them.

"The fuck are you? Some kinda nutcase hero?"

Ryan was surprised that Terry could still speak, but the question made him pause. He knew he wasn't a hero, but he didn't really think of himself as a villain either. "I'm just a junkie," he said at last. "Fuckers like you ruined my life. Seems fair that I do the same, doesn't it?"

Terry didn't seem to hear him, but Ryan didn't really care. He searched the house for cash and heroin and found a good amount of both. He only took about half of each. Better if it didn't look like a robbery when somebody else showed up. He checked back in on Terry after that was done and sure enough he'd stopped breathing. His lips were already turning blue so Ryan headed out.

Now that Terry was dead he needed a new dealer. That bald guy seemed good enough. Three or four weeks to buy from him and watch him seemed about right. Then he would start the whole process all over again.

Ryan Mitchell was a failure.

A drain on society.

An addict.

He'd made his peace with it somehow.