It's been a really shitty past few weeks already. Man. I'm not going to even bother mentioning the dreaded 'C' word cause I've seen people have serious panic attacks because someone sneezed in their vicinity. Poor girl had to assure them it was just allergies before they calmed down.
20 fucking 20.
What a fucking year people. Definitely one for the history books.
Let's try our best not to be a statistic - so stay the fuck home, jack off, play some Animal Crossing, and read some fanfics.
There'll be a timeskip next chapter, and Book 2 of my original series, The Nightmares of Alamir is finally, finally going to be released this month. Janus and The Prince will be out in the final week of April. Whoop!
If you haven't already read Book 1, head on down to my profile for the link to The Nightmares of Alamir Book 1: Janus and Oblivion.
Even if the whole world burns, I'll still be here pumping out depraved content. Asmodeus knows we need more wish-fulfilling escapist fiction in these times more than ever.
Stay safe. Stay at home.
Red lights and yellow caution tape. Mutterings of a crowd, standing behind the cautionary lines, phones in the air and flashing with white lights. Already, he could see the sight of a black media van approaching from the distance, as he watched his fellow police officers order the crowd to disperse.
"This is an ongoing investigation, kindly please leave the premises and continue with your day –"
A young schoolboy sat at the side, shaken.
"Morning, True Man." his partner let out a yawn. His right hand slipped into his pocket, a silver lighter emerging from within. Two clicks and a flame emerged, singing one end of a white stick.
"Turn that off Tanuma."
"I'm not going to contaminate the crime scene."
Tanuma let out a puff of smoke into the air. Tsukauchi Naomasa waved his gloved hands, dispersing the stench of nicotine.
"Turn it off."
"I need to take off the edge. Besides –"
Naomasa swiped the cigarette from his partner's hands, stubbing it underfoot. He ignored the idle glare the older man shot him, shooting a minor one of his own. Tanuma sighed, raising his hands in surrender.
"Fine. Fine." The older man snapped on his white rubber gloves. Officer Tamakawa approached them, the cat-headed female saluting immediately. "Detectives."
"What are we dealing with?" Tamuna fired off. "A murder in an alleyway hardly seems like something to call us over."
Officer Tamakawa tried to hide her grimace. "We believe it to be quirk related."
Tamuna rose his brows. Naomasa furrowed his. The older detective gestured, and Officer Tamakawa led them down the alley. There was, as Tamakawa expected, everything that made alleyways unpalatable to the senses. Refuge bins, the occasional discarded beer can and bottle. Snuffed cigarette butts. One or two haphazardly disposed condom.
At the end of the alley, they came to the sight of the corpse. The body. Naomasa almost stopped at the sight that lay before him. He'd seen dead bodies, several of them across his time as a Detective. Several distorted, broken bodies. Some bodies mangled, bashed and grotesque. Whenever quirks became a factor in a murder, there was almost always a guarantee that the sight which awaited them was not going to be pleasant.
"I don't get it." Tamuna was the first to break the silence. "I thought this was a murder?"
"It… is."
"Then why is the guy standing?"
Naomasa had the exact same question. The murder 'victim' if it were possible to classify him as such, remained standing in a pose that was reminiscent to a vampire sleeping in a coffin. His eyes were closed. His face was pale, and Naomasa's eyes could detect puncture wounds in his neck. His clothing consisted of a large oversized hood, pants, and a plain pair of jeans. The hood spotted several puncture marks and bloodied spots – knife wounds.
There was no denying the fact that the man in front of them, was, in fact, dead.
"How." Naomasa corrected. "How, is he standing?"
"We… don't know." Officer Tamakawa said, grimacing further. "Some school children found him while attempting to use the alley as a shortcut. They made reports of a strange man doing something suspicious. It wasn't until we got here that we… well… met him."
Tamuna rubbed the back of his head and let out a groan. "Tsukauchi – what are your thoughts?"
Naomasa glanced at the body, from head to toe. "Has anyone tried touching him?"
Officer Tamakawa shook her head. "We weren't sure we should."
Naomasa examined the standing man. The posture was straight. Rigid. No, perfect. The man's back was at a perfect angle, ninety-degrees. His face, despite being closed, possessed an unreal, serene quality to it. Yet, despite that, it was clear that he was deprived significantly of blood in the hours before his death.
With a single hand, a white-gloved finger, Naomasa tapped the forehead of the standing man. The effect was immediate. The man collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, unto the ground. Naomasa released the breath he was unaware he was holding.
"Do we have a positive ID?"
Officer Tamakawa emerged a small jotter from her pocket. "Otoko Yakubutsu, 24 years old. Quirk: Quick Buzz. A quirk that stimulates the effects of narcotics, opioids and hallucinogens, and can be transmitted via physical touch. He has a few priors for public indecency and sexual harassment."
Tsukauchi's eyes immediately went to the man's fingers. His nails. Dried specks of blood were visible beyond the shrunken fingers and elongated digits.
"Prepare the body for autopsy. We need an approximate time of death, cause of death, and tests for bloodwork and foreign DNA."
"Yes sir."
Tamuna walked up beside him, staring down at the body. "Tsukauchi… nothing was holding the body upright."
"So it seems."
"…so the killer killed him, and then made body upright…?" Tamuna's lips squeezed tight. The older man's right hand went up, scratching the back of his neck. "And the body remained standing… for several hours, with nothing holding it up… until something touched it?"
Naomasa said nothing.
"Why would they do that?"
Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi set his eyes on the environment.
"That's what we're here to find out."
|A Precise Note|
The warmth was unsettling.
She knew cold and freezing. Biting and gnawing. Fingers numbing. Teeth clattering. Warmth was a false memory. She opened her eyes to abash herself of it. A rotating ceiling fan she did not remember greeted her. An unfamiliar roof. A strange blanket, with a peculiar scent. Emblazoned upon the blue and yellow warmth-giver was an image of a muscled man with blond hair. Even she knew who it was.
She sat, staring at the unfamiliar object. A whiff in the air, and she realized, she too, smelled unfamiliar. There was the scent of soap. Strong, scentless soap. Antiseptic blended within. A running shower echoed quietly.
She tossed aside the warmth giver. Rose to her feet, naturally. She stared once more, at odd, unfamiliar clothes. More of the yellow and blue, more of the blond-haired man. The shirt she wore had the blond-haired man smiling with dazzling teeth on it. The boxers she wore had the blond-haired man, raising his finger in a thumbs up.
The room was an altar to the man of blue and yellow.
She searched her memory of the previous night. They were fuzzy. Unfocused. The harder she tried to remember, the more her head spun.
The sound of the showers stopped. Her gaze darted around the room. Sharp. Pointy. A clock on the wall. She leapt for it. The object crashed on the ground, glass shattering into large and small pieces. The largest one, she wielded steady in her right hand.
The doors swung open. Green hair and a toned body. Water dripping down, a towel tied fastidiously on the waist. The memories came rushing.
The boy glanced at her, then at the wall, where the clock should have been. He turned his attention to the ground, where the broken glass fragments lay. His expression morphed, his shoulders sagging as he stared at the broken clock.
"That was an All Might Collector's original…"
"Izuku-kun~"
She remembered. His scent alone reminded her. A most unusual scent.
I want to taste him~!
She gripped the jagged glass harder. She brought it to her front, unable to stop the grin from spreading out on her face. Fire rushed through her body, her blood. Desire, poured from her brain to her pumping heart, to the tip of her fingers. Electricity, lightning, rushed through her body. It fired from nerve to nerve, neuron to neuron, synapse to synapse.
I want to cut him~!
"I-Zu-Ku~" she tested the name.
The boy scratched the back of his head, muttering soft words underneath his breath, before he gestured for his neck. "Try it if you can."
Her eyes darted between his exposed neck, and the boy's eyes. The boy tapped his right ear with his left index finger. "I can hear your heartbeat."
She could hear it as well. The rhythm, increasing, faster, beating at a tempo she was certain she'd never heard before. Never reached before. Her eyes landed on Izuku's form a second time. She drank in his form, fully, this time. His body, lacking in scars was something she didn't truly like. His muscles, however toned, did not interest her. His physical form, however impressive, did not move her. There was only one thing that did.
I want to cut him~!
"I want to cut you up, Izuku-kun." She rose the makeshift weapon. "I'm going to cut you up. And cut, and cut and cut and cut and cut –"
She rushed him, squealing underneath her breath with glee. She rose the makeshift blade, laughing as she swung it down.
She was on the ground. She didn't know how she got to the ground. Or how he pinned her to it, and knocked the weapon out of her hand. She didn't understand, how she found herself underneath him, his sharp eyes locking down on her. She shivered from the intensity in his gaze.
Cut – cut – cut –
"I'm sorry about this."
Something pricked her in the back of her neck.
She suddenly felt very, very, sleepy.
XXXXX
The broken fragments of glass landed in his bin with uncomfortable clinking sounds. He kept aside the broom, turned around, and regarded the unconscious young girl with a small-and-green black needle, nearly invisible, at the nape of her neck.
He wound his arm twice, stretching his hand out before inhaling and exhaling. Three steps, and he reached for his bag, withdrawing from within it the books: Advanced Anatomy and Acupuncture of Acute Pains. The two books he kept aside, digging further within the bag for a smaller satchel.
The contents of the smaller satchel, he removed and arranged unto the floor. Corked translucent vials of red liquid arranged themselves at a vertical axis. Faded paper labels with TRG-42 attached to each vial.
"Alright Izuku, you can do it."
The images began to appear before him. Snippets of his own personal hallucination, arranging and storing data from the memories and information he had acquired.
Trigger. Quirk Enhancing drug. Amplifies quirk factor by an estimated two to six times, thereby amplifying quirk ability. Variations and strains indicate weakness or strongness of the drug. Side-effects of Trigger use include heightened aggression, irritability, and increased propensity for violence.
He closed his eyes. "What am I to do?"
Isolate the quirk-boosting effects of trigger from the aggression-inducing effects. Create a version of Trigger that works without the disagreeable side-effects.
He rubbed the side of his head. "Problems."
Modern methods have attempted and failed to distill a pure sample of Trigger. Speculations include that Trigger is made uniquely via the use of a quirk, and cannot be replicated through artificial or mechanical means.
Trigger is a drug designed specifically for humans with quirks, and thus, all form of experimentation will require human test subjects.
His gaze flickered over to the unconscious girl with his needle in the back of her neck. A murderer. She murdered someone. His mind argued. But… it was out of her control. If her quirk was the one that caused her to become like this –
He idly slapped his cheeks. Focus, Midoriya! Focus! It's exactly this type of thing you want to stop! This type of thing you want to prevent from happening!
People becoming criminals because their Quirks led them down the path of villainy. People murdering others because their quirks compelled them to do so. The cycle would continue until it ended. Until he put an end to it. He wanted to help her – and he would, he would help her.
But first… she would have to help him.
She's a person! You can't experiment on people!
She's a murderer! She killed someone in cold blood! This is the least you can do!
But it's not her fault! Her quirk –
We know! That's why, we need to do this, because we're doing it for her as well –
Are we?
Are we really doing this… for other people?
Midoriya pressed his lips tightly together. He took a deep, long, quiet breath, inhaling until he felt his lungs too full with oxygen. At the end of the day, he'd covered up a murder. He'd moved the body from the original location at Hirohito Street to another location entirely. He even made a show of making the body stand in order to throw off suspicion. With any luck, the police would be too preoccupied thinking that the body standing was meant to be some sort of message or symbol than they would be realizing that it was merely a needless distraction.
His right hand came up, and he flicked himself in the middle of his forehead.
Reduce Cortisol levels.
Increase Serotonin levels.
Cortisol was the hormone responsible for his stress. His anxiety over the decision. Serotonin was the happiness hormone. The one he needed to make his decision.
Relax.
Midoriya Izuku took a long, silent breath.
What am I so worried about?
He laughed, his laughter echoing quietly in the room with cheer. Why was I agonizing over this? Midoriya hummed a jaunty tune. He hopped to his feet, stretching his arms and legs and taking an excellent breath of fresh air. He reached into his cupboard, checking his wristwatch for the time.
5:43 AM.
He moved over to the unconscious girl, picking her up and tossing her unto the bed. His eyes glanced over her unconscious form, a smile appearing over his face. She's pretty. When she was asleep, she was very pretty. Not as pretty as Saiko. He glanced over her body, fully etching her form to memory.
He did not know what the girl's quirk was. He knew it had something to do with blood, but not much else. Testing Trigger on her would first require him to know exactly what her quirk did.
Midoriya summoned his personal hallucinations. A white board visible to him and only him appeared at the side, words appearing upon it with an equally imaginary black marker: Define purpose. Construct hypothesis. Test the hypothesis and collect data. Analyze data. Draw conclusions.
The first question he had was how Trigger boosted the innate Quirk Factors of different individuals. The quirk factor was, a gene. If Trigger boosted the expression of the quirk gene itself beyond the regular capacity to which the individual could attain, did it not mean that the drug was capable of altering the genetic code of a person?
More than that, the human genetic code was far more complicated ever since the rise of quirks, as some individuals had completely different DNA structures from others, so much so that the classification of what it meant to have human DNA was in shambles. So how then, did this one drug, account for all the possible variations and then simply activate or bolster the quirk gene of different individuals when each individual's quirk gene varies so wildly from one another?
Midoriya Izuku felt the steam pouring out of his ears when his head snapped up. His eyes widened, slowly, and his breath hitched.
"Did… she know?"
She knew. She had to have known. Saiko knew from the beginning. This was anything but an easy task. Simply understanding how Trigger did what it did would require extensive knowledge in quirk genomics, epigenetics, epidemiology, neuroscience and pharmacogenomics.
A lot of big sounding words and advanced concepts that a Middle Schooler like him would be hard pressed to master quickly.
"Months… years?"
For a normal person, decades of study would be required. Years of sweat, toil and hardship needed to master the concepts. Years needed to access the academic knowledge and gather the understanding needed to begin to know where to even start looking for a solution.
She'd essentially tasked a first-year chemistry student with reverse-engineering methamphetamine using a crude sample and simultaneously remove the addictive element from it. Asking a high school biology student to perform a decompressive craniectomy after his first class.
Midoriya could feel his heart pounding faster and faster in his chest. His gaze landed upon the drugs, and then upon the sleeping murderer. The thumping of blood in his heart began to beat faster, and faster, and a sound unlike anything he'd heard followed from his lips.
Am I… laughing?
He clamped his hands over his mouth to stop the strange, unusual laugh. The effort was futile. Useless. His laughter continued, spurred on by adrenaline pumping into his system.
She's doesn't believe I can do it.
Saiko was testing him. Telling him, in the most indirect way she could: this is out of the realm of your ability.
His hands balled into a fist, and Izuku's entire body shuddered with a strange sensation he'd never felt before. A sensation he could not remember when last he'd felt before. He gnashed his teeth together to stop the sound that almost escaped his lips, to stop the fast beating in his chest and overwhelming flood of…
Dopamine? Adrenaline?
Izuku shuddered as he understood.
Excitement.
For the first time since getting his Precision quirk, he was being challenged. He had a challenge present before him. The dopamine that flooded his system was enough to leave him biting down on his hand to stop himself from laughing. Enough to squeeze his eyes shut to fully bathe in the wave upon wave of ineffable bliss.
Izuku Midoriya sat on the floor, crossing his legs as he closed his eyes. His imagination worked. The girl was before him, Saiko, her monocle shattering as she regarded him with admiration and respect. With envy and disbelief. The imaginary Saiko bowed, conceding her head to him her loss. She would concede, to him, ultimately, that she underestimated him. Renege on her words, and offer her hand fully in partnership, and he –
You won't need her anymore.
The thought broke him from his imaginary world. His eyes sparked open, as he stared, oddly, into the air.
"…what?"
There was no one in the room but him and the unconscious girl. The thought had come from him. The thought had been his. He furrowed his brow, squeezing his eyes tight as he searched for the source of that thought. The origin of that stray, unusual thought.
You can make double her entire net worth in half a year. Triple, if you pushed yourself.
He shook his head. That couldn't be right –
"Of course it's right."
Another Midoriya sat across from him. A psychosomatic hallucination, born from within him. To him, the hallucination both felt, spelt, and looked real. The second Midoriya had a blank, expressionless face.
"Saiko is smart, yes, but by her own admission, she does not understand people. She has her own goals to accomplish, but that weakness is going to end up stifling her. She does not understand illogical actions. She does not understand, that a lack of good faith can have longer repercussions down the line."
Midoriya tilted his head. "Um… who are –"
"I'm just an audiovisual representation of your thoughts without the bullshit. The side of you that's inspired by Kacchan's frank bluntness, but never manages to embrace it."
"Oh." Midoriya said. "That's nice."
"Are you a perfect human?"
Izuku frowned. "What?"
"We both know you heard me. But since redundancy is in session, I'll ask again, are you, Midoriya Izuku, a perfect person? A paragon of human virtues and righteousness?"
"I… strive to be?"
His doppelganger nodded. "So it stands to reason, if you are not yet perfect, you are also capable of falling into the pitfalls of non-perfect beings. It stands to reason, that you are equally capable of greed, pettiness, selfishness, and anger?"
He couldn't deny the logic.
"So…" he scratched his head. "After I complete Saiko's task, I'll refuse her help… out of pettiness?"
"You want her to realize that she missed a huge opportunity. You want her to realize that her lack of faith in you was mistake. You want her to learn that lesson, and strive to do anything to correct her error. Anything."
"I'm not – I'm not a petty person. Why would I ever want any of that?"
"Because you want her to want you."
His copy's eyes shone.
"The same way you want her."
Midoriya said nothing.
"You don't believe me?" The doppelganger rose his hands, images of Kacchan appearing on screens beside him. "You get satisfaction out of beating Kacchan. Only a year back, you could never dream of it. But now? Now he can't even touch you even if he tries his hardest. You've never focused on it, but at the back of your mind, it's always there, that brief flash of satisfaction, of knowing how much you've changed from being Deku. Knowing how much better than him you are now."
"That's not tr –"
"You've never let him win." His clone said. "Don't lie. You know you can let him win and make it appear as if he won on his own merit. Precision allows us that. If we truly wanted to, we could fake it so convincingly that Kacchan would never have known that we let him win on purpose. You considered it, once, but disregarded it – because the truth is, Midoriya Izuku, has spent his entire life chasing after and attempting to be like a boy who never wants to lose."
The clone's hair morphed until it was blonde.
"Did you think that once you finally caught up to him, you would ever let him regain his place?"
"…I don't like to lose."
"You've phrased it wrong." He corrected. "You, Midoriya, like to win."
He sighed, groaning as he rubbed his hands down his face.
"Talking to myself like this can't be healthy…"
His doppelganger's hair returned back to its regular green luster.
"Should have thought about that before using Precision to enhance your brain." His doppelganger pointed slowly to his skull. "You have a lot of hang-ups in here you need to deal with. For starters, you've been doing suffering from an overwhelming lack of self-conceptualization."
"Is that bad?"
"You don't understand yourself, fully. You don't know what you want, or why you want it."
He sat up straight. "I want to make the world a better place."
"Why?"
"Because it's the right thing to –"
"Bzzzt." His clone called. "Wrong answer. Try again."
He frowned. "Because I don't like seeing people suffer because of their qui –"
"Bzzzt. Wrong again. One more attempt." His copy rose a finger. "Here's a hint. You've spent your entire life being told by everyone in the world that you weren't needed. That you were useless. Your own mother felt so bad about your lack of a quirk that every time she looked at you, she fought down the urge to start weeping. Your entire life was spent in stubborn pursuit of a dream you were never sure you could attain, and your only friend was a bully who often told you to go kill yourself. So, what is the most likely reason, this previously sad, lonely, bullied, socially-stunted boy would decide to make the world a better place?"
"I…" Izuku tested his words.
Memories of his past began to play all around him. The videos, of Kacchan kicking him and putting him down when he was littler. He cringed at them, turning aside to more videos, of his mother's sad smile, of the teacher's ignoring his hands waved in class, of a class of students, laughing as he declared his dream to the world.
I wanna be a hero!
He gritted his teeth, as the videos grew further louder and louder – the memories of his past failures, coming to him. Of him drinking scalding tea to test if he had a fire-breathing quirk. Of straining his right arm as he stood still for several hours, just to see if he could make objects float to him. Of the many, many, many failures that came –
And then the memory of the day he activated his quirk. The knife in his hand. The determination it took. The anger. The frustration. The roar he let out.
He remembered the lack of will he had to go through with it. Remembered, as he slipped on his way to return the object to the kitchen. Remembered those brief few seconds, where the knife soared in the air, and descended, edge first, directly at the middle of his forehead.
Then he remembered, two fingers, moving on pure instinct, catching it a millimeter from impact.
"…I hate it."
His clone was silent.
"You hate…?"
"…Quirks."
If there were no Quirks from the get-go he would have had a different childhood. There would be no villains, no heroes. He would not have idolized All Might so much, so much that the thought of never being able to be like his idol would not have driven him to despair. Wouldn't have driven his mother to such sadness. Wouldn't have driven a wedge between him and Kacchan. Wouldn't have caused him to go to such great lengths, all just to prove himself worthy of admiration, love and affection.
His gaze turned to the girl on the bed. If there were no quirks, perhaps she would have had a different life as well? Would she be happy, living with her family, instead of here, unconscious on a stranger's bed? Would she ever have murdered someone in cold blood and licked her lips as their blood dripped down her chin?
Someone like Matsuda would be able to live a life where he didn't have to worry about one day sexually harassing someone, all because of his quirk.
Someone like Suzume wouldn't have to feel the discomfort of other people's emotions just by being next to them.
"I really… wish… quirks didn't exist. Then maybe… maybe…"
…everyone could be much happier.
His hallucination smiled. It was odd, seeing the smile coming from a mirror image of himself. Odder still, seeing himself in full three-dimensions, and seeing himself stand, wiping off equally hallucinatory dust.
"I'll ask again, Izuku… what do you want?"
What did he want?
"I want to end the era of Quirks."
His hallucination chuckled. "There we go." The mirage faded. "Let's get to work, Izuku."
XXXXXX
The morning did not go as she pleased. Her coffee had been several degrees colder than she requested it. One of the maids had slipped from the staircase and needed medical attention. Her chauffeur possessed unresolved feelings for the maid, and had been too distracted to drive her efficiently.
She arrived late. Professor Harikawa used to opportunity to land a verbal slight. Her classmates reveled, quietly in the man's remarks. Their layers of self-doubt and jealousy manifested more unpleasantly in their inaudible gratification.
Fifteen years old and completing a Doctorate was enough to shatter the fragile egos of a lot of so-called high-minded individuals. She was female, as well, another strike against her record. A lot of Professors tied their intelligence to their ego. Tied their accomplishments to their self-worth. And she appeared, existed before them, a mockery of their decades of study and dedication. A reminder that their intellect was narrow, hyper-focused, and thin.
"Do you understand why you are here, Intelli-san?" Professor Miyazaki's hands were steepled. Her essay lay underneath. "Do you know, why I've called you to my office?"
Professor Miyazaki was one of her favorites. Perhaps only because he did not view things the way the rest of them did. His ego was tied to something else. Her eyes landed on his desk, the picture of the man in a Hawaiian shirt and straw-hat, his arms around a younger woman in a sundress, and a smaller, younger girl in-between them.
Young enough to be his daughter, and the child, younger still to be his grandchild. She knew it was not the case. The matching rings on his finger and hers explained the relationship.
"I assume it has something to do with my essay."
"It has everything to do with your essay." Raising the papers, he patted it with the back of his palm. "What is the meaning of this Intelli-san?"
Her lips, quirked. Her eyes, stared, idly at the papers. Red ink dotted them. Circles upon circles. "You'll have to be more specific, Professor."
Professor Miyazaki placed the papers back on the table. "The assignment was to debate the ethicality of Quirk Marriages and highlight the potential long-term consequences on society."
"I know what the assignment was, Professor."
"Then why," Professor Miyazaki's voice rose. "Why have you submitted a thesis arguing in favor of Quirk Eugenics?"
She felt her lips thin at the professor's tone. "I would kindly you refrain from increasing your voice around me Professor Miyazaki."
Professor Miyazaki didn't take heed to her warning. "Explain yourself Intelli-san."
Explain yourself. How dreadfully tired she was of those commands. Those instructions.
Explain this.
I don't understand this.
Can you tell me how this works?
How did you figure this out?
Her entire life was an agonizing task of rendering explanation upon explanation. She grew weary of it. Exhausted with it. Always tasked with explaining the simple. With breaking down concepts at which she understood at a glance, chewing it, swallowing and regurgitating it as digestible material for others like a bird feeding young, helpless hatchlings.
"'Eugenics are a set of beliefs and practices that aim to improve the genetic quality of a human population, typically be excluding people and groups judged to be inferior, and promoting those judged to be superior.'" She quoted.
"I know what Eugenics are, Intelli-san."
Her lips twitched. "Then," she began. "You should understand that Quirk Marriages are in line with that belief. Two individuals marry with the intention of producing offspring born with a mix of their favorable traits, or in this case, Quirk. This increases the genetic quality of that offspring, who can then, engage in another Quirk Marriage, and further amplify their genetic quality further –"
The Professor waved his hand dismissively. "And?"
"And if you'd read my essay with a more objective mind rather than utterly dismissing it because of a single buzzword, Professor," she said, "You would have seen where I advocated for the promotion of positive eugenic policies. A society of individuals with highly complementary quirks being 'incentivized' to reproduce. Individuals with unique genetic compositions and immunities being bred with others of equally advantageous genes –"
"Bred?" Professor Miyazaki exclaimed. "Bred, Intelli? For god's sakes –"
Getting worked up over semantics. She clicked her tongue.
"What are Quirk Marriages if not selective breeding?" She presented. "For countless generations, humans have used artificial selection to develop new organisms with desirable characteristics for our benefit. We've bred chickens to produce larger eggs, cows to produce more milk, plants to be softer, more digestible with greater yields, and even dogs – we've bred dogs for no reason except to remove or preserve physical characteristics or mental behaviors that work to our benefit."
She huffed, calming herself. "It's both pointless and hypocritical to suddenly cry foul when I propose to do the same thing to ourselves what we have done to countless other species for thousands of years."
Professor Miyazaki rubbed the sides of his head. "We aren't animals, Intelli-san."
Wrong.
"Professor, we are the smartest animals." She corrected. "Set aside anthropocentric ego and consider the benefits, Professor. There are individuals whose genetic physiology has been so heavily modified by their quirks that certain human illnesses no longer affect them. Individuals immune to fevers and colds, immune to poisons, toxins or venoms, immune to fatal diseases and viruses. If we bred these individuals so all of mankind and humanity could share in those advantages –"
"And the rest of us, Intelli-san?" Professor Miyazaki interrupted. "The quirkless, those whose quirks make them more susceptible to injuries or disease, and those whose quirks would bring about more disadvantages than benefits. What happens to them?"
His gaze, ever so quickly, flickered to the picture on the desk.
"They are free to live their lives." She said, adjusting her monocle. "I'm simply saying they should not be allowed to reproduce."
Professor Miyazaki shook his head. "So, you would implement policies of forced sterilization?"
"Yes." She concurred. "Unfavorable traits should not be allowed to advance. A quirk that makes one more susceptible to disease, or makes one frail and sickly with no quantifiable advantages? Why should we let such quirks continue to exist?"
"The human right to reproduction." Professor Miyazaki said.
She laughed, against her better nature. The Professor's stunned look caused her to laugh a bit more, before she restrained herself. "Forgive me, Professor, but you and I are more than aware that human rights are more or less guidelines than an absolute law. Here in Japan, the government establishes laws or ignores actions that counteract multiple human rights on a daily basis."
She rose one finger. "Right to fair trial and presumption of innocence: constantly counteracted by the Professional Hero Association. Several individual villains suspected of belonging to the Followers of One have been sent to Tartarus without a trial, because the government tries its hardest to suppress anything about them."
She rose another finger. "Right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion: constantly disregarded by the government. Churches of One have been closed down, attacked, and members arrested simply for believing that there is a messianic figure who has the power to give and take away quirks."
She rose a third finger. "Right to freedom of opinion and expression: constantly ignored. Destro was persecuted for his ideals of a society where the government does not police our quirks. It is nearly impossible to get a permit to use your Quirk for personal commercial profit or for larger entertainment purposes. Street performers have been arrested simply for using their Quirks in controlled manners in public spaces."
She rose the fourth finger. "Right to work in just and favorable conditions: dismissed because several employers hire based on quirks. The wage gap that shows that individuals with more versatile or specialized quirks earn six times more on average than individuals with weaker quirks, and ten times more than quirkless individuals."
The final finger. "Right to freedom from discrimination: dismissed, in various ways. The Quirk Purism movement has been on the rise, advocating that those born with animalistic features and traits are less human than those who do not have any visible animalistic physical characteristics."
She closed her fist. "Let us also not forget the discrimination against quirkless individuals. Mito versus Arashi – th case of a quirkless woman who lost her job to a man because he had a quirk that let him do the same work three times as fast. As you know, she lost the case, and was later counter-sued for everything she had."
Saiko took a deep breath, idly brushing away strands of her hair. "Professor, if you cannot see that the system we currently live in is already an unorganized mess barely hanging on by a thin thread, then there is nothing else I have to say."
Standing from the seat and smoothening her skirt, she swung her handbag over her right shoulder, giving the Professor a faint nod.
"I do, truly, enjoy our discussions Professor Miyazaki." She said. "Unfortunately, you're too deeply entrenched in your love of humanity that you are blinded by your belief in it. We are not living in a just world, professor. This world has always been unjust, and I am suggesting, that rather than attempt the impossible to make it just, we simply optimize the unjustness."
"Optimize… the unjustness." Professor Miyazaki repeated.
She curtsied, as a lady should.
"Good day, Professor."
She glanced, one last time at the picture on the Professor's table.
Perhaps it's not a love of humanity… but a love of select humans.
Intelli Saiko left the office, letting out a breath. Professor Miyazaki was a man who meant well, as far as being an Ethics Professor went, but, unfortunately, the man was biased in his own little ways. She understood of course, in some ways, she could understand. In others, she could not.
She admired him for it.
She was exasperated with him for it.
There was, of course a young boy she had encountered recently, whom she had assumed possessed the same unyielding moral code. A part of her wondered if Midoriya would be interested in meeting her professor. Despite the gap in education level, she possessed a strong conviction that they would find something in common to talk about.
Her phone, twice, beeped in her bag. She reached for it, her lips thinning as she saw the words: UNKNOWN CALLER.
"Yes?"
"How is the most annoying young heiress in the world doing?"
The voice was feminine. Young. She placed the tone, phrasing, and word choice. "…Broker."
"My you're quick on the uptake. That's a little scary Intelli-sama. Not even my own girlfriend could recognize me so quickly."
She rubbed her nose. "I've been expecting your call."
"Have you now, Intelli-sama? Then I suppose you are aware that you and I have a score to settle."
Her lip twitched. "Do we?"
"Those fools at the Meta Liberation Army wouldn't be able to deduce my location even if they had the bloody Oracle of Delphi in their possession. Well, maybe Curious could do it – I've always hated the nosy types like her. But as they don't have any person with Sir Nighteye powers, the only other way they'd know is if they went to their resident human quantum-computer."
Her lips twitched further. "Fascinating theory. Is this the so-called genius intuition of the Underworld's Greatest Broker?"
"Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. Regardless, ojou-sama, you've managed to actually piss me off. That's a mighty impressive thing to do, I admit."
She adjusted her monocle. "And I take it you want financial compensation?"
"This isn't about the money. It's about reputation. I mean, now you've got me running around in a girl's body to avoid Re-Destro's goons. It worked well enough until so many annoying fuckers started walking up to me with bullshit pick-up lines. Do you know how stressful it is to be a young beautiful woman?"
"I can only imagine what that must feel like."
"It's annoyingly stressful. The lesbian sex isn't all that either. Though the multiple orgasms are definitely worth it. Ah, I know, ojou-sama, how about we meet at a certain Love Hotel. Just two girls having fun together?"
"You do realize I'm underage?"
"You do realize I'm a criminal?"
"I'll be cutting this call if you don't tell me what you really want, Broker."
"Tsk. Tsk. Testy. Is it that time of the month already?"
"Was that the most original insult you could think of? Considering you are, as you claim, also in a girl's body?"
"Point. Alright ojou-sama. I'll come clean. You're a smart lass. There's no way you would have helped Re-Destro track me down without knowing it was going to come back and bite you in the ass. So that meant you did it to get my attention. I get that the Intelli Corporation and the Detnerat Company have a partnership, but you're not a villain. So, why does little miss smarty pants need my attention so desperately?"
She pressed her lips together. "Because, you know he's real. You have information on him."
"Information on who? God? Sorry, princess –"
"The One."
Broker went silent.
"You're joking." Came the voice. "You – ojou-sama, you have no fucking idea what you're dealing with."
"I know –"
"YOU DON'T FUCKING KNOW!" came the voice. She had to remove the phone from her ear in response to the volume.
"Listen, and listen good Ojou-sama. No matter how smart you think you are, all that is fucking pointless when you meet him. He's been in this game since before you were born, since before I was born. If you expect me to give you information on the fucking King of the Underworld – you're batshit crazy."
"His name."
"Did you just fucking hear me?"
"His name." She repeated. "And then, I'll owe you two favors. One, for setting Re-Destro on you, and the other, for getting me his name."
The Broker was silent for several seconds. "Two favors, huh? Two favors from the heiress of the Intelli fortune. You think that's worth more than my life?"
"I believe it might be worth the consideration. Things are going to change in the oncoming months, and I believe yourself to be of the gambling sort. Money may not interest you, but information, secrets, and perhaps, quirks may."
"Quirks?" There was silence. "Ah. So… that's what this is about. I thought the government scrapped that operation –"
She said nothing. It was a risk, giving him so much information. A weighted gamble. The seconds, ticked, idly by. Each one almost more agonizing than the last. She needed his name. Years of search and study and she'd never come close to finding the slightest hints of it. All her intellect poured into the task, chasing and wispy trails and dead-end after dead-end. Rumors and myth had their limits, but a name, a name would be all she needed to find him.
Broker laughed on the phone. "Alright, ojou-sama. You drive a hard bargain. But I'll tell you now that I don't know his name. No one is old enough to remember his real name."
Her lips furrowed. "That can't be –"
"I didn't finish." Came Broker's voice. "What I do know, is what he goes by. What he's called in his inner circle. It's a name that very little have heard and still remain alive."
She felt her heart beat rise, faster and faster. "Yes?"
"All. For. One."
Chills ran down her spine. She felt as if something in her brain had clicked. Unlocked. Like a hazy fog which was present and downcast on it abruptly cleared. She clenched her teeth, almost stumbling as she held the side of her head, an overwhelming dizziness hitting her.
W-what?
All. For. One.
The second time she thought of the name, a sharp pain struck her head, She staggered as if she'd been struck from behind by a heavy object. Her throat went dry immediately. Her lungs refused to draw in air.
"Hey… hey? You still alive ojou-sama?"
She barely made out the words, the voice. She clenched the phone hard, forcing herself to rasp in a shaky breath.
"What… what was that?"
"Hahahaha!" the Broker laughed. An annoying, grating, obnoxious laughed. "You're among a select group of people who know that name and still live. Congratulations ojou-sama."
"What. Was. That?" she repeated, harshly, forcing her voice to rise.
"You know what it was. You just can't accept it. Some people's quirks let them spit fireballs or amplify their intelligence. Others let them instantly kill people a thousand miles away when they utter three words and have a specific idea in mind."
Her chest turned to ice. "That's… that's preposterous."
"For you and for me, maybe. But for someone who has been collecting and combing quirks for more than seven generations?" Broker chuckled. "That's just Tuesday."
Her heart tightened as though it were about to burst.
"Considering you're still alive, it means you don't think of him as an enemy. That's good for me. I don't know what possessed you to go this far, but you're already balls-deep in this. Too late to turn back now."
Suffocating. The air was suffocating.
"Two favors, ojou-sama. I'll be calling to collect them. Try not to die before I do."
The call ended with a click.
XXXX
Elsewhere…
He loathed it.
The handling of such minor tasks and matters which should be handled by individuals in his organization of a lower caliber. His skin itched as he scratched his neck, his gloved hands raking against the breakout of hives in irritation.
"I hate this place."
"Why is that, onii-chan?"
He took a breath through his mask. The sight of the men in blue were an annoyance. The healthy kowtowing to the diseased. The worst of them, the fools had given up both authority and autonomy to allow the diseased to their job for them. Their competence and ability to do their jobs plummeting out of a misguided sense of efficacy and modernization.
The very building itself stood as a mockery. Their jobs were not to apprehend criminals and uphold the law, it was now to collect already apprehended criminals and uphold the interests of the government.
"Ne, ne, onii-chan! Onii-chan! Stop ignoring me!"
The girl walking beside him pouted, her cheeks puffing up fully. He would deny that amusement entered his eyes. The dress she wore was of her own taste. A miniaturized yukata and elegant geta sandals. Despite the legacy skipping a generation with her ingrate of her mother and incompetent of her father, she inherited the grace and predilections of a lady that came from the bloodline of a true Yakuza member.
"We have work to do."
She pouted again, crossing her arms. "You're gonna buy me ice-cream for ignoring me onii-chan."
"Chocolate or vanilla?"
"Chocolate!" She chirped.
He acquiesced, nodding his head. "I'll buy you an entire ice cream shop. Will that be enough?"
"Will I get to boss them around like jiji and make them feed me ice-cream?"
"If that's what you want."
"Yay!" she pumped her fist into the air. "You're the best niichan!"
"Work first," he said. "Then pleasure."
He walked with his hands in his pockets, approaching from the front door. Several of the men in blue spotted him immediately, their hands latching unto their belts in reflex. He snorted, paying them no heed as he continued his casual approach.
"H-halt! You – you there – you look suspicious."
It was the mask. He knew it. Yet, he would not disregard it. He would not let himself breathe in the same air as filth. He would not let their infection spread even further. He withdrew his hands from his pockets, raising them into the air.
"I'm no one suspicious." He said, casually. "I wanted to ask if you've seen my Eight-Legged friend. He likes to pretend to be a spider, but his heart is dark and inky, so we often say he's an octopus."
Both men flinched. Chisaki almost snorted. Perhaps, it was his fault. Irinaka had told him time and again that he should make more appearances in order for people to know what he looked like. He'd disregarded it. His flesh was but a tool. His appearance, irrelevant. He could, and had, molded and changed it however he desired. Of what purpose was there for them to commit to memory a visage which was temporary?
The policemen bowed their head immediately. "Oyabun… we – we weren't expecting you." Their eyes glanced to the girl beside him. "Nor where we expecting the priestess herself –"
The girl swirled with pride. He refused his eyes twitching with annoyance. Her insistence on traditional clothing and often times Miko-styled outfits had caused this. One besotted fool had addressed her as such once, and she refused to be addressed by anything else following that.
"One of the Outer Bullets was killed." He said. "I'm here for the body."
The policeman on the right grimaced. "We heard about an unusual murder case."
The one on the left nodded. "I thought it was just a simple drug dealer. We didn't know he was –" the man cleared his throat. "Right this way, oyabun."
An entrance through the parking-lot was used to draw less attention. The men walked at an unsteady gait occasionally glancing back at him, but never making eye contact. He spied several cameras within the vicinity, slowly picking up and tracing their movements. He scratched his neck further, irritation slowly bubbling within him.
"…niichan."
She dragged the hem of his jacket. Her gaze was serious.
"I figured."
The two men were not subtle at all in their attempts. Nor were the others, hiding behind pillars, beside cars, with their bullet-proof vests and slow, unsteady breathing. His irritation grew further, because he was certain he had not made it clear to anyone that he was going to arrive at this police station today, at this aforementioned time, with this aforementioned purpose.
That meant, he was dealing with a B-Rank, QETA 3 or higher enemy. A Precog or Sherlock were the two top-most possibilities. For a moment, he considered the Demon, Nezumi was behind it but quickly disregarded the thought. The Demon was in his castle, and getting him to aid law-enforcement was a task he did not do often.
Nezumi was perhaps the greatest Sherlock in the country. Sir Nighteye may be the best Precog. Both of them were smart enough to know that he could never be detained by ordinary police officers, or the few low-tier diseased his senses could pick-up in the area.
So then, a third party. A new player, perhaps, allying with the police?
The police officers broke into a sprint, running for cover, just as a dark blur rushed onto the scene.
"Uwah!" the girl beside him cheered. "Bunny! Look! Look! Nii-chan, it's a bunny!"
"Whoo! Made it just in time!" the bunny spoke. Dark skinned, ferocious grin, with rabbit-ears sticking out of the top of her head.
He revaluated his assessment of the situation. Most likely a Sherlock. That was how they knew he was coming. It was a hunch. A guess. They anticipated someone, but not him. For had they anticipated him, they would have known better than to send a melee combatant. Said melee combatant would have known better than to arrive at the last moment.
He'd seen enough.
He removed the glove from his left hand, gesturing it to the girl. "Eri. Your hand."
"Right niichan!"
The rabbit girl growled. "Hey, what do you think you're –"
In the younger days of training his quirk, he'd needed to fully disassemble and reassemble the individual atoms of a person into himself and in order for him to use their quirk. Decades of practice and experience brought him to the point where it was only necessary to make physical contact, and ensure that their individual atoms truly touched, making it so that, they were, in a sense, one individual.
The King was said to be able to take away and give quirks at a single touch.
Chisaki Kai didn't need to take or give.
He just needed to use.
"Revise."
And use he did.
The heroes, vanished. The policemen vanished. Day returned to night. The hands on his watch spun backwards, spinning until it came to sudden, final stop.
A van screeched harshly to a stop, mere millimeters away from impact. The driver from within stared at him with wide eyes.
"Wha – what the hell?"
"Where did they come from?"
His eyes latched on to the van. With his power, he deactivated the atomic bonds making himself and Eri one organism, lightly holding the girl as she lost her balance.
"Mhhmm… Onichan… I'm… sleepy."
As expected. She was still young. Still growing. Making use of her power took a lot of energy from her. The power to remove the diseased from this world was a precious gift, and thus, to him, Eri was more precious than gold. More valuable than diamond. Nothing in the world compared to how precious the girl was. He softened the ground for her, setting her against it quietly.
"Ice cream… you… promise… nichan."
He'd have her reward waiting for her once he was done. His attention, he turned, back onto the policemen in the van. One of them approached, baton in hand. "Sir, I don't know how you and your child got in here, but –"
A single grasp was all it took. The man was too slow to resist. His hand covered the man's head, and Chisaki closed his eyes as he focused. Brain matter was still matter. And he could manipulate matter as he wished. Finesse was needed for this task, as it had cost Chisaki a thousand lives… perhaps ten thousand lives, to master this art.
"Overhaul."
To overhaul the brain of a human being, was to disassemble and then reassemble it instantaneously, but with significant differences. Creating new connections where none had existed previously, implanting neurons that would fire upon the utterance of certain codes, and refining it until it was but another pill in his hand to use against the diseased.
He let go of the man, and the man slumped down, blinking. "Ah… Overhaul-sama, what can I do for you?"
"A dead body ushered in today. Bring it to me."
"As you command, Overhaul-sama."
"There should be vials of Trigger accompanying him as evidence. Bring those as well."
The new peon rushed to perform his duty, leaving Chisaki to his thoughts. Otoko Yakubutsu had been one of his Outer Bullets. He was not lacking in skill by any means and his role as a mere drug-dealer was simply a cover, intended to perform the true task of distributing and field-testing a special batch of Trigger.
TRG-42 was an experimental batch with fourteen times the potency of regular Trigger, and six times the likelihood for addiction. The drug was intended to cause irreversible changes in one's mental state. Otoko was the perfect facilitator due to his quirk.
Chisaki cared little for the batch, in one way or another. It was a side-distraction, meant to be an experiment, to test the likelihood of the Quirk Burnout Theory. Having it waste away in a police evidence locker would not bother him too much.
He did, however, desire to know who had killed the distributor. Otoko was a lecherous individual, prone to his own vices, but he was by no means incapable in combat. His quirk when properly utilized, could make him an extremely deadly opponent to face.
Had his death been a consequence of bad luck, or had it been predetermined? Was there someone out there, making their first move against him?
Whatever the case was, Chisaki Kai would find out. He would find who was responsible and he would eliminate them.
For he was the cure to the disease that ails all –
And the world, was so very, very sick.
