Kabukicho was always awash with lights, illuminating the streets with a splattering of different colors the further one walked through the red-light district. The main streets were bustling, filled with tourists and regulars perusing the different storefronts and clubs as hosts and hostesses did what they could to bring potential patrons into the different clubs and bars that lined the area.
Much of the district was overflowing with pedestrians, but even in this sleepless city there were some places that looked almost abandoned. Down a winding, empty alley, just past a set of dumpsters and fire escape ladders, sat a pachinko parlor. It was practically a hole in the wall, carved out of the brick and covered with a hastily constructed sliding garage door. Inside were just four or so rows of machines, their screens flickering intermittently as they sat completely unused. Above the entrance was a bright purple neon sign, emblazoned with the word "PACHINKO" that cast an eerie aura over everything in its sight.
Directly to the side of the parlor's entrance lay a cheap plastic chair, atop which sat a burly looking man. He sighed in boredom, scrolling through his phone lazily as the warm city breeze kept him just slightly warmer than what he would have been comfortable with. He tapped his foot incessantly against the ground, his agitation growing as he shook his head.
His ears twitched as something akin to wood clattering against the concrete echoed near him. He quickly threw his phone to the side, jumping to his feet as he looked for the source of the noise. The sound shifted, dimming to a small scraping rasp.
It wasn't long until he could see where it was coming from- a costumed figure considerably smaller than him, slowly coming out of the darkness and into his view. They had a lithe physique, completely covered in some sort of green and black costume that clashed horribly with the neon haze flooding the alley. They wore a jacket that seemed reminiscent of an American varsity coat, the egg white sleeves ending right where a pair of thick white leather gloves began. Their bright red shoes were the only part that resisted the glow of the alley, its color almost searing into the other man's pupils.
They were wearing some sort of rabbit mask, the same dull green of the suit the person wore- it had an unsettling smile carved into the rim of the headgear, but the bigger man couldn't tell what kind of emotion it was trying to convey. The eyes peeking out from the black holes cut above it seemed almost disinterested, staring straight into him with a strange kind of apathy.
The man quickly identified what the noise was; this person- who he assumed was a male based on the body shape, was loosely dragging a wooden baseball bat behind him, the pommel resting between his fingers as the other end bounced against the ground.
The man guarding the parlor felt his heart jump in excitement as he sauntered forward. A grin unfurled on his face, intensifying when he began cracking his knuckles.
"It's about time someone decided to raid this dump." He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He raised his voice, calling to the approaching figure. "I don't know what some scrawny punk in his PJs like you is doing here, but I ain't lettin' you go before I have my fun with you."
The armed vigilante didn't react in the slightest, stumbling forward with glassy disinterested eyes staring just behind the guard.
The burly man scowled, reaching forward to shove the much smaller person in the chest. They immediately halted, head lulling slightly to one side. They stood there, still as death in front of the other.
Eventually, the guard spoke up.
"What, you gonna do something?" He paused, waiting for some response. He leaned down slightly, holding his clenched fist in front of the costumed man. They were covered in tattoos. The pinky finger was missing, a small nub extending from the palm of his hand.
"You know what this means, right?"
The dull green figure didn't react in the slightest.
"You- oh, fuck this." He grunted, rearing his fist back, only to send it launching directly into the vigilante's jaw. There was a solid snap of a jaw bone as the young man's body crumpled, flying back into a pile of trash bags reflecting the purple light. The guard looked at his fist, stained with blood and bits of shattered plastic. He grimaced as he wiped the detritus off with the leg of his pants. "Damn brat can't even show proper respect."
The sound of thick plastic crinkling caught his attention, his eyes snapping back to the pile of garbage his quirk enhanced muscles launched the poor kid into. He almost seemed to drag himself upright, like a puppet on strings. His head sank forward, copious streams of blood dripping out from under his visor and onto the ground. His bat remained loosely gripped in his palm as he pulled himself back onto the concrete.
His head snapped back up, eyes losing their glaze as the man's aloof stare centered on the burly suited guard in front of him.
"I was gonna let you drag yourself to the hospital, but if you insist-" He sauntered forward, launching another hook towards the injured vigilante.
The same move he used to land a hit ended with his fingers exploding in pain as they met the hard lacquered wood of a bat mid-swing. He screamed, arm retreating as he clutched it to his chest. He felt something wet seep into his undershirt, looking down just long enough to see his digits bent horribly out of shape.
Before he could react, a second swing met its mark- the bat colliding into his temple with a sickening crack. The force of the blow was unnaturally strong, sending him crashing to the ground, the impact knocking the wind out of him. His vision went blurry, only refocusing as he felt a weight crash into his chest. He blinked the pain induced tears away, only to see the vigilante pushing his knees into the guard's chest, arms raised with the bat behind his head.
He raised his arms up, but he wasn't fast enough. His sight was filled with the red-stained bat, a sharp pain erupting in the center of his forehead as the assailant repeatedly struck him with the bat with reckless abandon.
His heart raced, a wild fear paralyzing him as he was subjected to the relentless onslaught. It lasted for what seemed like an eternity, with him completely unable to do a single thing.
"Please, please stop." He quietly begged, sobbing as the strikes continued, their repeated impacts only growing duller and duller as the trauma caused his senses to weaken. "I beg you... please... mercy ..."
Eventually, his sight completely blacked out- his only indication that he was still alive being the jolting his body made as his brain rattled around his skull. But even that began to dull.
He knew he wasn't going to come out of this alive. In the end he could only mentally beg that his thick skull would crack open and end the torture.
Eventually the impacts stopped, and in the final phases of his conscious life he could only hear one final sound:
The person who had attacked him fell to their knees beside his dying body, heaving and emptying the contents of their stomach on the concrete. Eventually, they got back up, dragging the wooden bat behind them, the clattering sound growing dimmer as it moved away from him and into the pachinko parlor he was stationed to protect.
Bakugou tugged at the collar of his costume, teeth quietly grinding as he scowled. He could never get used to this kind of material - it itched like hell and dug into his neck, but it was the only kind of fabric the municipal office would give him. He shook his head, looking down to read the instructions he was given. He wasn't quite familiar with Kabukicho, but the mass of police officers crowding around a seemingly abandoned alley told him he was at his destination. He didn't bother to introduce himself, pushing past the uniformed men and ducking under the yellow and black tape cordoning the section off from the public. He ignored their mildly annoyed protests as he proceeded down the corridor.
This place looked completely different during the daytime; without the neon and the darkness to cover up the grime, the place looked downtrodden, with weeks old garbage lining the slightly damp walls. The fire escapes had a tinge of rust to them and the whole place smelled absolutely terrible.
The pro hero stopped outside of the building he was summoned to- a rundown pachinko parlor, so far out of the way and with almost nothing to bring foot traffic. From the onset it seemed stupid to put something like this out here, but he already had more than a few ideas as to how this place came to be.
He looked to the right of the door, a bright white chalk outline staring back at him. The person who used to lay there was flush to the ground, but the mist-like spattering of dried blood that coated the concrete and nearby wall told him enough about the situation. His eyes snapped to the garage door entrance to the parlor, a figure in a trench coat emerging from the shadows to greet him.
"It's been a while, Bakugou." The detected nodded, a notepad and pen firmly in his grasp. "I hope you remember me, we met on more than one occasion during your years at Yuuei."
"Officer Tsukauchi." The hero curtly acknowledged, pursing his lips as he looked away.
"Detective, actually." He corrected, "But we rarely knew each other so I can't blame you for not knowing that."
"Just skip the pleasantries." He batted back, tips of his fingers twitching. "Why am I here?"
"To put it bluntly, I will be needing the assistance of a hero in the very near future." He looked down at his notepad, scribbling a few more notes onto the small sheets of paper. "I needed a particular type of hero, and you fit the bill quite perfectly. I notified the Office of Municipal Heroes and they were able to pause your conduct review and lift your administrative leave- provided I don't decide to rescind it. You understand what that means, right?"
"Yeah, it means I get to be your little lap dog-"
"It means..." Tsukauchi cut him off, scowling as he scribbled a few more notes down. "It means that I'm giving you a second chance. And if you do your job, I'll make sure you get to keep your career as a hero."
The two stared silently at the other for a moment, before Bakugou broke the quiet din of the city.
"Why are you doing this, then?"
"I have my own reasons. But I think you'll see soon why I settled on you as my choice." He turned around, waving to the hero to follow him.
The hero sauntered after the police officer, brow furrowing as he grumbled silently. The colorful glow of the LEDs on the machines and the CRT displays casted a colorful glow on everything, creating lurid spirals that coated his own skin. Tsukauchi led him further back, opening a door to reveal a staircase that led to the second story of the building.
The moment his eyes were able to peer over the top step, Bakugou froze in place as his expression fell into one of shock. The halls looked like they came straight from a horror film, with streaks and pools of blood forming along the walls and stiff carpet. White tape was used to mark where the bodies were found, and along many of the outlines there were bits and small chunks of organic matter that the hero wasn't able to identify. The place was absolutely covered in tape- in just this one hall, there were at least 6 different outlines.
"What... the..." He choked out, as if his breath was knocked out of him.
"That's what I thought when I got here." Tsukauchi echoed, his eyes hardening as they slowly scanned the scene. "Two of our techs had to vomit while they were transporting the bodies- neither of them were new. I've never seen anything like it."
A door opened on the other end of the hall, with two techs slowly carrying a body bag at opposite ends. They slowly moved towards the stairs, and the detective and hero pressed themselves against the wall to let them pass down the narrow passage.
"That reminds me," Tsukauchi reached into his pocket, fishing out a pair of large shoe covers. "Put these on before you get up the stairs. I don't want your treads leaving dirt all over my crime scene."
Bakugou took them from the detective, stretching the fabric over his shoes until they were completely covered by the thin plastic. He climbed the rest of the steps into the hallway, face contorting into a snarl as the putrid smell shot through his nostrils. The older man produced a small vial of liquid, handing it to the pro hero.
"Peppermint oil." He explained, tapping his nose. "Useful for people who don't see this often. It'll clear your nose for a few minutes... just don't spill any."
The blonde unscrewed the cap, taking a whiff of the strong scent. "What is that smell?"
"Blood, rot, you name it. Plus, bodies usually eject their... waste when they die. And with about twenty-five bodies sitting here for the past few days... it doesn't help that this place doesn't have any sort of central air system in here." He stepped forward, staring at the stains left on the walls.
Bakugou stood there silently, unsure of what he was even supposed to do. It wasn't his job to investigate massacres, he wasn't even aware of how he would be able to help.
"You understand why I brought you here, right?" The detective looked back towards the hero. "I wanted to make sure you knew how serious this was."
Bakugou's eyes widened, fists clenched as he gulped. "Do you know who did this?"
"Not a clue. No security footage, not even signs of a unique quirk. Actually..." He trailed off, pulling a camera from out of his trench coat.
Bakugou walked towards him, peering over his shoulder to see what the detective was looking at. His stomach churned as the digital screen on the back of the device sprang to life- it was a slideshow of the bodies that used to be here, slumped along the floor and walls. Many of them sported blunt trauma deformities to the head, but quite a few of them were clutching at their stained necks. The blood had long since coagulated, turning into a dark blackish color. It took the hero a great deal of effort to bite back the urge to puke.
"What can you tell from these bodies, Ground Zero?" He leaned to the side, giving the costumed man a better look.
"That's fucking disgusting!" He grunted through the hand covering his mouth.
"Indeed, but I realized something just now-" He paused, turning the screen off to help allay the pro hero. "The person doing this took a lot of swings at these guys. He didn't have the strength to do a clean job. I think we can rule out any kind of strength enhancing quirk."
"How is that supposed to help?!"
"It helps a great deal, actually. Most quirks just enhance physical ability... and if the suspect had one, I would expect him to rely on it, but he doesn't. Whatever this person's quirk is, it must be better geared towards a support role. If not... we would have seen signs of it, because right now this looks more like a brutal fight than anything else."
"If they even have a quirk at all." Bakugou muttered.
Tsukauchi's eyes widened in shock, before quickly snapping back to attention as he began scribbling down even more notes.
"I didn't even consider that... if the suspect didn't have a quirk, that would open up a lot of new possibilities." He clicked his pen, shoving the writing equipment back into his pocket. "I think it's going to be a great help having you around for this case."
The blonde scowled, teeth grinding as he took another whiff of the peppermint oil.
"Let's just get this over with. I want to be put back on patrol as soon as possible."
"Not so fast." The detective chided, shaking his head. "These things take time. But you already knew that."
"What are you talking about?"
The older man shrugged, a small smirk pulling out of his lips. "Nothing, I'm just saying you're smarter than the impression you give to others. For example... what is this place?"
The hero's face twisted into a quizzical impression, head slightly jerking back in confusion.
"It's a pachinko parlor."
"Come on, Bakugou. I know you're better than that." He stretched out his arms slightly. "What is this place really?"
They stared silently at each other, before the hero sighed and closed his eyes. "It's a place the Yakuza use for money laundering, isn't it?"
"And what makes you think that?"
"It's a parlor that no one can find, filled with outdated machines. Something's gotta pay the bills around here."
"And the Yakuza?"
"...Some of the guys in those photos are missing their little fingers."
Tsukauchi grinned, hands clasping together as he nodded. "My thoughts exactly. I knew you would be a good choice for this case."
Bakugou was taken aback by the pleased expression of the detective. It had the facsimile of a snake that wrapped its coils around its next meal. Before he could say anything, the law official walked back to the stairs, motioning for the hero to follow.
"We'll let the techs take care of the rest of the scene. For now, let's get back to the office and talk about the scope of your new assignment."
Izuku rubbed his shoulders, grunting quietly as he leaned against a few pallets of vacuum sealed coffee bags in the storage room. He was sore all over- slept on his back the wrong way, he figured. It wouldn't be the first time he woke up with his muscles tense and stiff. He rolled the tendons in his back, tilting his head side to side as he tried to will some of the pain away. After a few moments of stretching, he sighed, shaking his head as he pushed the swinging door open, stepping back into the semi-bustling front of the coffee shop.
The bell screwed into the entrance chimed, which caused Izuku to instinctively bow and cheerfully greet the newcomer.
"Welcome to Takamagahara!" He exclaimed, bending at the waist slightly as he put his best smile on. "What would you like today?"
The person approaching the counter looked slightly familiar, but it wasn't until they lowered the hood of their blue and white jacket that the green haired server recognized him.
"Oh! Yuuki, right?"
The young man seemed mildly surprised, his own red eyes widening as he nervously laughed.
"Yeah, that's me." He rubbed the back of his head, a small blush of embarrassment creeping up on his cheeks. Perhaps it was due to personal experience, but Izuku could recognize the familiar expression of someone not used to being recognized by strangers.
Actually, without the din of the neon night, he could make out Yuuki's features a lot more clearly. His black hair was slicked back, the tips fraying out into different directions at the base of his neck. A set of canines poked out from his upper lip, pressing into the skin below them. A grey scarf was tightly coiled around his throat, the loose ends tucked away under the rest of the hoodie.
"Vanilla mocha, extra sugar... right?"
"Oh! Uh... Yeah, that's actually right on the money. The sweeter you make it, the better!"
Izuku nodded, his smile growing a little bit wider. "Not a problem. Go ahead and find a good place to sit. I'll bring it to you when it's ready."
Yuuki mumbled something, but Izuku couldn't make out what was being said as the patron turned and took a booth next to the window facing the alleyway. He tapped the tip of his foot rapidly against the tile floor, chin resting on his palm as he stared outside.
The green haired barista wasted no time in preparing the drink- press the coffee into the portafilter, let the machine extract the coffee, mix with steamed milk and chocolate and vanilla syrup, dump in a ton of sugar. He could practically do it all in his sleep.
Once he was done, he pulled out a small tray, placing the mug of coffee on top as he carried it to the table. He placed the drink gently in front of the distracted man, before resting the tray on his hip.
"So... you have some kind of vampirism quirk?" Izuku tilted his head, eyes shining with a bit of curiosity.
The color from Yuuki's face drained as his head snapped to face the person asking him.
"N-no... I... U-uh... Well, my mom does, but... it didn't carry over. I just got the looks for it." He laughed uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his head. "Got the extra bone in my toe and everything..."
Izuku's face contorted into one of horror as he recognized the conversational landmine he casually stepped on.
"O-oh! I'm so sorry about asking you that..." He bowed deeply, shaking his head vigorously.
"No, no, no!" The vampiric man waved his hands frantically, nervously urging the barista to return upright. "It's a common question! Plus I know you didn't mean anything by it. You're quirkless too, aren't you?"
The green haired waiter blinked in shock. "Y-yeah? I... uh... How did you know that?"
Yuuki looked just as genuinely confused as Izuku did, before closing his eyes and nervously laughing.
"W-well, I mean... if I'm being honest I can't imagine you having one. I mean... people with quirks don't usually work at places like this unless they have a special ability to add to... and you don't seem to be using a quirk, so..."
"Yeah, that's true..." He mumbled, muttering something inaudible under his breath. "Maybe I should take notes on that..."
"Notes?" Yuuki's ears perked up, his nervousness just slightly melting away. "What do you take notes on?"
"O-oh, I... I kinda... keep notes... about heroes and their quirks..." He felt his face turn red, tilting his head to look away from the shop's patron. "It's stupid, I know-"
"No it's not!" He interrupted, a look of excitement growing on his face. "I do that too! I think heroes' quirks are awesome! Do you have your journals on you?"
Izuku seemed genuinely taken aback by the prospect of someone wanting to actually read his notes.
"...No?" He asked nervously, his heart skipping a beat.
"You have to show me sometime!" Yuuki jittered out, fists tightly clenched at his chest. "I'll probably be back here next week, sometime at night. I can bring my journals and you can bring yours, and then we can trade notes- if you're okay with that... that is."
"I... I'd have to check my schedule, but... yeah I think that'll work." Izuku felt his patron's excitement seeping into him, getting him pumped up for the meeting as well. "I think it'll be a lot of fun!"
"Awesome!" He quietly cheered, pumping his fist in victory.
A flash of white caught itself in the corner of the barista's eye, and his head turned to focus on it. A dove had landed on the windowsill, its pinkish-orange beak tapping insistently on the glass pane. The noise caught the attention of the patron as well.
"That's a rare sight..." Izuku muttered.
"What's a Messenger doing here at this time of day?" Yuuki whispered under his breath.
"Messenger?" The green haired man echoed. "What do you-?"
Both of them jumped as the sound of something crashing onto the tile floor sharply echoed across the small shop. Izuku looked over at the source of a noise- apparently someone had dropped their mug, spilling the dark liquid everywhere as white ceramic shards slid in different directions. Izuku quickly rushed to the incident, pulling a small dustpan out from behind the counter as he made his way over.
"Are you okay, sir?" Izuku nervously asked, quickly sweeping up the bits of broken material. "I'll get this cleaned up right away. Would you like me to make you another cup on the house?"
The barista looked up to see a large burly man hunched over the tabletop, his harsh eyes piercing into the young man in a way he didn't think possible. It sent the hairs on the back of his neck standing.
"No." He curtly replied. "I'm fine."
"...Alright, then." He replied, his vocal cords tightening with the threatening man looming over him. "Let me put this in the dumpster, and then I'll clean the liquid up right away. Please be careful!"
The large man watched as Izuku scurried into the back room and outside of the restaurant.
The moment the barista was no longer in sight, the entire coffee shop grew deathly silent. All of the patrons turned in their seats to face Yuuki, staring the young man down as he gulped thickly.
"I-I'm s-s-sorry, guys..." He raised his hands, beads of sweat forming on his brow as his eyes darted back and forth between the rest of the room. "I-It w-was a s-s-simple mis- mistake! Won't happen again... I p-promise."
He didn't get any kind of verbal response. He held his breath as they continued to stare him down, only relenting when Izuku returned.
The instant the green haired man came back in, everyone turned in their seats, the chattering and bustling returning as if it had never ended. Yuuki felt a rush of air escape his lungs as he watched the barista frantically clear the puddle of liquid on the ground. He shielded his face with his palms, gasping heavily as he realized just how badly things could have gone.
He quickly finished his drink, putting his hood over his head as he slammed his own mug on the tabletop. He quickly rushed out, feeling the side-eyed glares the other patrons gave them as he passed their tables.
Within seconds, Yuuki was back on the busy streets, fading into the crowds and back into obscurity once more.
Yokumitsu sat on the thin spring mattress, legs crossed in front of him as he scrolled through his phone, tapping lazily through the news app preloaded onto the phone. He leaned back, bouncing roughly against the barely usable furniture as he held the device above him with both hands. The light shone down on him, reflecting softly off his mirror mask and around the dingy ethereal apartment. The only other source of light was the television, its soft blue static casting a haze over everything.
"Jeez, Izuku." He whispered, half-annoyed. "All his news is configured for hero stuff. Where's the politics? Science?"
He heard a rough grunt from the other end of the room. Machihan was there, poised over a cold metal table. On top of it was Izuku's body, roughly splayed as if he was just casually dumped on the hard surface. The man wearing a blood red samurai helmet was slowly slicing the young man's arm open with a dull scalpel, sticking his fingers into the wounds he was creating. Once he was done, he brushed his fingers over the sliced section, sealing it shut with no scars. He turned to his side, dipping his hands in a bowl of cold water to remove the blood.
"All of Japan is like that." He muttered. "Makes me want to beat the shit out of someone."
"Well, that's what you got him there for, isn't it?" Yokumitsu snidely remarked, shrugging.
"You're right." The man grabbed a towel, drying his hands. He lifted the unconscious human's arm, massaging the muscles as if checking to see if they grew. "But this creature will be so much more than that."
"Still clinging to your old ambitions?" The man with the mirror-dome mask replied, eyes settling back onto the phone. "You're just as stubborn as ever."
"And you're just as childish as ever, brat." Machihan bit back.
"I am not a child!" Yokumitsu threw the phone down, sitting back up as he slammed his fist into the mattress.
"I'm not the one who threw a temper tantrum and got cast away by my family."
"Watch it, half-breed." The other man bit back, eliciting an indignant glare from the more aggressive of the two beings there. "Don't forget who is older than who here. This is still MY domain. I can kill you and your pet the instant I feel like it."
"Have it your way, then." Machihan relented, his voice growing colder by the second. "I won't fight a battle I can't win. Our agreement still stands. I will use this place as I see fit."
An alarm clock beside the bed suddenly chirped, causing both masked men to snap their heads in its direction. Yokumitsu leaned over, flipping the device's switch to turn off the incessant, shrill noise.
"It's time." The mirror-masked man concluded, pointing to the door. "Unless you have anything else to do to the boy, leave."
Bakugou quickly realized how quiet the police station got at night; most of the officers left once the sun went down. It was the polar opposite of the municipal hero offices, which were bustling all hours of the day. With hundreds of heroes staffed and even more villains to take care of, there was never a quiet moment.
He felt uncomfortable, both from the lack of noise and the lack of action. He had been sitting in this open office room for what felt like an eternity, poring over files and testimony. It wasn't like he wasn't trying to put any thought into it, but there was basically nothing for him to go with. Just a bunch of neighbors who said they didn't see anything and some bloody shoeprints. It was at least an hour or so since he slammed the stack of pages onto the small desk he was given, kicking his feet up as he pulled out his phone and started scrolling through forums.
His break was eventually interrupted as Tsukauchi slammed his hand on the door handle, swinging the cheap wooden slab open as he strode inside. Without missing a beat he walked over to Bakugou's seat, hooking his arm underneath the pro-hero's legs and pulling them off the desk. The startled blonde stuttered out a wordless protest as he lost his balance, waving his arms as his feet fell to the ground.
"That's not a footrest." The detective chided, taking a seat at the desk next to his. "Disrespect the equipment again and I'll send you packing back into unpaid leave. Understood?"
Bakugou sighed, gritting his teeth to hide his quickly building anger. "Yeah, yeah. Got it."
"Good. So did you make any breaks with the evidence?"
"There's barely anything here, of course I didn't!" He bit back, his voice grinding like gravel in a mill.
"So, you're browsing the web then because...?" Tsukauchi trailed off, folding his arms as he stared the delinquent hero down.
"There's nothing for me to do right now." He slid the scraps of paper over to his hostile superior. "All of these testimonies are a bunch of fucking lies, anyway-"
"What do you mean?" The detective cut him off, his gaze hardening.
"Of course no one would say anything- they're all living in Yakuza territory. You took these interviews yourself, couldn't you tell? I thought your quirk tells you when someone is talking bullshit."
"Normally you would be right, but my quirk didn't get triggered." The older man corrected, much to the blonde's shock. "They were all telling the bona fide truth."
"Do you expect me to get anything from a bunch of extras who didn't see anything?"
"I would have at least liked to have seen you organize this." Tsukauchi chided, grabbing the stack of papers as he stood up. He took the scraps to a cork board, using a set of pins to attach them in a grid pattern to the wall. "You never know when this will come in handy."
Bakugou snuffed, shaking his head as he defiantly stared at the ceiling.
"Tell me then, Ground Zero, what were you looking up on your phone? Seeing what the forums were saying about you?"
"Go fuck yourself." He bit back, crossing his arms as he tilted the chair back on its hind legs. "For your information, I was seeing what Kabukicho does for All Might Day."
The moment the words left Bakugou's mouth, Tsukauchi froze in place. His hand shook slightly, the pin poised just over the soft cork of the board in front of him.
"Right... that's in three days." He quietly muttered to himself. He jabbed the pin into the board, setting up the final slip of paper evidence. "I should check to see what they're doing, too. I believe you have some history with him."
Bakugou felt his feet give out from under him, the chair slamming back to its upright position as he stared back at the detective. "You could say that, yeah. It was national news."
"I was working support on that operation. Toshi- All Might... was a good friend of mine."
Both of them remained still, the silence of the room bearing down on them like lead weights.
Tsukauchi finally broke the quiet, turning around and heading back to his desk. He pulled a file from the drawer, sliding it over to Bakugou.
"If you don't have anything to do, then I've got a side assignment for you."
Bakugou flipped open the cover, eyes widening as a very familiar sketch of someone stared back at him.
It was a young man around his age, with purple hair spiked up and away from his body. His eyes were almost consumed by wrinkles, their dark countenance indicating a severe lack of sleep.
"Do I know this guy?" He asked, showing the detective the picture.
"You might. He was at your high school for two years. Shinsou Hitoshi."
"That's right, he was the guy who hypnotized Tail-boy. Dumbass dropped out of the sports festival over some honor bullshit."
"That's the one." Tsukauchi nodded. "Shinsou dropped out of the general education course at Yuuei. Just vanished one day. Word on the street is that he became the vigilante known as Mesmer."
"So he's wanted." Bakugou concluded.
"Not quite." The detective shook his head. "All traces of him vanished about a month ago. He was last seen here in Kabukicho. He specializes in information brokerage, and with the large amount of insider knowledge he amassed, I'm concerned the Yakuza might be involved."
"What do you want me to do, then?"
"For now, I just want you to canvas the area. No hero costumes or anything. Just... think of it like you're taking a walk. All I want you to do is find and report anything suspicious, okay? No engaging the enemy unless you have to."
"...alright, got it." Bakugou sighed closing the file. "Kabukicho is huge, though, so don't be surprised if I don't find anything."
Tsukauchi nodded, silently waving the pro hero away. After a short trip to the locker room, Bakugou was dressed up in jeans and a grey hoodie, ready to trek out into the neon district and find his target.
The moment he stepped out of the automatic sliding doors of the police office, he was bombarded with the bright and colorful lights, cascading over the thick crowds, begging them to go into the nearest host clubs and bars. The blonde pulled the hood over his head, hunching his shoulders as he began to slowly stroll the red light district.
He kept his head down, slipping in between the crowds as he tried to pick up on bits of passing conversation. There was a lot of chattering about daily life, cries from club representatives getting people to come in and drink with them, tons of camera shutter noises...
But listening to everyone began to set him on edge. He knew that there was a strong presence from the Yakuza here... the industry demanded their presence. But it was only just now that he was able to understand just how much they permeated the streets around this section of Tokyo. They were so open about everything, casually walking down the street as they discussed who they beat into submission, how much "supply" they had... it settled in that he wasn't a fox in a henhouse, but rather a fox among wolves. No wonder Tsukauchi told him to not engage.
He peered down some of the alleyways as he passed them, but he couldn't make anything of significance out. Most of the time it was either empty or had someone emptying their bowels as they pressed their weight against the brick and metal walls. He cringed at the sight, shaking his head as he continued to explore the city-
Bakugou's thoughts ground to a halt as he felt someone collide with his shoulder. The force was strong enough to send him stumbling to the side. He shook his head, quickly regaining his footing as he tried to find the person who pushed him. His eyes settled on a rather strange sight.
A costumed figure, clad entirely in a green and white tracksuit strode down the busy street, baseball bat casually slung over his shoulder and perched loosely between his gloved fingers. He wore some kind of wool jacket, something he only saw in classic American movies. Atop his head sat two cloth extensions, pointed upwards and shaped like rabbit ears. Bakugou found that his eyes were naturally drawn downwards, settling on a pair of bright red shoes. The sight brought back some weird sense of nostalgia, but he wasn't sure just quite what it was.
He reached his hand out to grab the costumed figure, but he froze as he realized something; everyone else was just moving out of this person's way, almost as if they were just stepping around a tree stump. No one seemed to notice his presence at all. He was distracted again as the same people began to bump into him, glaring at him as if he jumped in their path.
A second figure passed by him, his outfit even more striking than the strange green clad person. He wore normal sneakers and jeans, but his neon purple puffer jacket practically forced onlookers to stare at him. The sleeves were torn off, bits of cotton fluff hanging out as he strode between the opposing crowds. His head was completely obscured covered by a teal biker helmet with a deeply tinted visor. A chain that was wrapped around his waist jingled, ringing softly into Bakugou's ears, goading him to follow.
The pro hero quickly stepped forward, grabbing him by the shoulder. Thin man seemed taken aback at the intrusion, freezing as he saw the blonde's glare peeking out from under the hoodie.
"You're following that guy, right?"
"...You can see him, too?"
The two of them looked back down the street, only to find the costumed figure completely gone.
"Shit." Bakugou hissed.
The pro hero felt the other man tear himself from his iron grip, running down the bustling, crowded walkways. The blonde quickly followed, keeping his eyes trained on the one strange person he could see. They both stopped next to an intersection, looking around frantically for the unsettling, bat wielding person. The man in the biker helmet's head turned towards an alley, cutting through the busy traffic to move down the unlit corridor. Bakugou quickly followed.
"Hey, Biker-head! What do you think you're doing?" He called out.
The mysterious person slowed to a stop, turning around to face his newfound partner.
"Trying to find him." He replied, his voice deep but smooth. He shook his head. "I think we lost him."
"You mean he lost us?"
"No. He wasn't running from anything. He never does."
The pro hero felt his mouth hang open in confusion. He looked around, trying to find any trace of the strange man, but found nothing. His gaze returned to the neon clad acquaintance in front of him. It was only just then that he noticed something; there 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 looked familiar to the blonde, but he couldn't quite remember where he saw it.
"Who is he?" Bakugou asked, an unnatural sense of caution welling up within him.
"...It's complicated." He replied. He paused, the black space the man's eyes would be staring him down. "...Do you consider yourself a good person?"
"I- what?" The hero stammered, clenching his fists. "Of course I am! I'm a hero, after all!"
"...I see." The Biker sighed, nodding. "Well, if you're really a good person, then you'll be fine."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Bakugou asked. "And why do I feel like I recognize him?"
"Oh! Maybe that's why you can see him." He tilted his head up, thoughtfully rubbing his thumb and index finger along the rim of his helmet. "Your past experience with him breaks the effect. I think I've seen you on the news before."
A sense of indignant anger washed over Bakugou, his eyes darkening. "Yeah? And?"
The Biker shrugged. "Nothing. I've seen your face, that's all."
"Well I haven't seen yours. Who are you?" The hero took a step forward, reaching out to grab the teal dome covering this stranger's face.
What happened next came and went as a blur. Just as his fingers were about to brush the smooth surface of the helmet, The Biker pulled the chain out from around his waist, wrapping it solidly around Bakugou's wrist as he yanked back. The hero stumbled forward, with the stranger's foot jutted out just far enough to trip him, sending him flying forward and sprawling onto the ground. Before he could get up, there was a bright flash of light, a wave of heat coursing over his prone body. The next instant, a torrent of ice cold water came crashing down, pressing him further into the concrete.
Bakugou scrambled to his feet, but by the time he regained his composure, he could see The Biker rushing across the rooftops, jumping between buildings as he made his escape.
The hero growled, fingers splayed out as sparks flew out of his palms. That guy was just begging for a fight-
The moment the thought crossed his mind, he grunted, straightening his back as he clenched his fists. Tsukauchi told him to avoid fighting whenever possible, and...
"Damn it!" Bakugou slammed his hands onto his legs in frustration. "Rat bastard cop holding my fucking job over me."
He shook his head, trying to fling some of the water off of him to no avail. He pursed his lips, shoving his hands into his pockets as he turned around and sauntered back to the police station. He wasn't sure if he should bother telling the detective that he was sent on a wild goose chase.
"Fucking waste of time." The hero muttered. "Next time he needs grunt work done, he can get an intern to do it for him."
Yokumitsu wasn't given much of a reprieve after Machihan left. Neo-Mokai had wasted no time barging into the mirror-masked man's abode, inspecting the green-haired adult's skull intently.
The master of the domain watched with a mild interest as the squid-faced being lightly patted Izuku's cheek, stirring him and waking him up from his slumber. He stared at the two masked figures in a half-dazed stare, mouthing something unintelligible as Neo-Mokai drew closer.
Yokumitsu brought his legs to his chest, watching as the other man quickly bound the green-haired barista to a chair with a combination of rough nylon rope and some leather belts. After securing the barista's head firmly against the headrest, the man with a squid mask stepped between the other two inhabitants of the room.
The mirror-masked man couldn't tell what Neo-Mokai was doing, his back turned as he leaned close to Izuku's face. The only thing he could see was the gloved hands bound to the armrests, stiffening and locking into place as his fingers shot out and curled together in what appeared to be excruciating pain. There was no scream, no plea for mercy. The only noise was the cheap plastic chair repeatedly rattling against the tile floor as the restrained occupant trembled wildly.
This continued for a good while, culminating in Neo-Mokai yanking his head back, his mask's tentacles spattering putrid, stagnant water all over the floor. Izuku fell limp, growing still as his body slumped against the bindings. His eyes were as wide as saucers, eyelids twitching intermittently as a thin line of drool dripped from his open mouth.
"Making adjustments?" The mirror-masked man asked, his gaze returning to Izuku's phone as he began to browse the young adult's photo gallery. "Machihan won't be happy."
"Well, he's not here, and you won't bother to tell him that I was." The squid-faced being snidely remarked. "That would cause a conflict you don't want to deal with."
"Who in their right mind wants to deal with all your squabbling?" Yokumitsu scoffed, dismissively waving his hand. "Seriously... you two are making me regret letting you into my domain."
"You don't regret a thing." The other being immediately rebutted, turning to face the man still sitting on the bed. "How long has it been since you've even spoken to anyone? You can't make me believe you're not getting a thrill out of finally having someone to talk to."
The man in a mirror dome mask opted to not respond, pulling his knees up to his chin as he leaned closer to the phone screen.
"You know..." Neo-Mokai trailed off, a tinge of sympathy in his voice. "The rest of the family isn't mad anymore. All they want is an apology, that's it-"
"They're not getting one!" Yokumitsu grunted in frustration, his grip tightening on the phone so much that his hand began to shake. "I won't apologize for that... disgusting... thing!"
The man in a squid mask paused for a moment, before huffing and shaking his head. "Fine, have it your way, I guess. Just remember, if you want to see your dad and sister... well, it's just two words. That's all."
"Not happening." He adamantly insisted, pointing to the door. "Now go."
Neo-Mokai shrugged, walking to the exit. As he placed his fingertips on the handle, he turned to utter one last thing.
"I forgot to mention, I figured I would make a sort of 'thank you present' for facilitating this whole ordeal." He pointed back towards the limp Izuku. "While Machihan's little warrior is out and about, I made it so the Original will do whatever you ask while he's stuck in here. I figured you might want some company."
Yokumitsu was stunned into speechlessness as he watched his other counterpart leave. He turned his head back to the green-haired man, who was still sitting in the chair like a puppet with no strings.
The mirror-masked man slowly pushed himself off the bed, stepping quietly to the bound human. He cautiously removed the rope and belt bindings, before crouching to stare directly at Izuku's face.
He was no longer in a state of shock and drooling on himself. His eyes were devoid of any emotion or consciousness, blankly staring at the man in front of him. Yokumitsu experimentally leaned from side to side, watching as the bright green irises followed him.
"Stand." He barked, watching as Izuku quickly rose to his feet. The mirror-masked man pointed to a spot next to the bed, continuing. "Bring the chair over there and sit down."
He watched as the twenty-year old man dragged the chair to the desired location, reseating himself as he stared intently at the older-looking man.
Yokumitsu quickly scrambled back to the bed, jumping onto the mattress and turning to face Izuku as he plopped down into a seiza-style position, hands clutching his knees in giddy excitement.
"Okay, Izuku..." He trailed off, his voice containing more than a trace of glee. "Tell me a story!"
Hari Kurono wasted no time in returning to his chambers as he stepped into his safe house. The packs of roaming guards bowed to him as he walked by; he ignored them, opting to treat his security detail as nothing more than a background decoration. He proceeded down a few twisting hallways, stopping at a reinforced door with a single guard carrying an assault rifle stationed in front of it. The subordinate saluted his boss, waiting for the regular round of questioning to begin.
"Did anything happen while I was out?" Kurono calmly asked the man.
"No, sir!" The guard barked back, his tone unabashedly showcasing his experience in the JSDF. "Our guest hasn't made any attempt to escape."
"Good." He curtly nodded, terse gaze focusing back on the door. "Do whatever you want for the rest of the night. I'll let you know when to return to your post later."
The guard saluted him again, stance relaxing as he passed by the Yakuza boss and turned the corner.
Kurono fished a ring of keys from his pocket, flipping through the dozen or so metal objects as he found the one he was looking for. He quickly jammed it into the bolted lock, turning it as he heard the metal rod inside the door slide back with a solid ka-thunk. He turned the handle, slowly opening the entrance to the bedroom.
What was once pitch black gradually became visible as the light from outside began to illuminate the room. The Yakuza boss could just barely make out the form he was looking for- a chair tucked away in the corner of the room, a limp figure firmly bound into the seat. A flip of a nearby light switch covered the bedroom in a harsh white light, but it caused no reaction to the captive person.
The Yakuza boss slowly approached him, producing a small pistol loaded with an injector dart. He hovered the barrel just above the man's thigh, pulling the trigger and watching as a temporary quirk-disabling bullet rushed out and sunk itself into the skin, flooding the hostage's bloodstream with the maligned, viscous fluid.
"I apologize for being so late." Kurono emotionlessly began. "Normally I'm more prompt with greeting guests, but with our rapid expansion, I've had more responsibilities on my plate than I'd like. But that's neither here nor there."
The bound man looked emaciated, having been starved over the past month. His hair was a deep purple, matted and soiled with what appeared to be dried blood. It hung over his face like a wet towel, obscuring his features. The Yakuza waited for a response, but didn't seem surprised that there wasn't any.
"I'm not one to play word games with people, so I won't waste either of our time. Overhaul let Deidoro have some fun with you after your previous escapades exposed a lab we were using to create more Trigger. Then once he was done, Shin extracted every bit of info we could out of you. You understand what this means, right?"
Kurono removed his gloves, grabbing the man by his hair and yanking his head back. The stiff, grimy locks of hair fell back to reveal a barely cognizant expression- his glassy, purple eyes stared into an imaginary void in front of him, jaw slack and hanging open. He resembled a lobotomized patient more than a functional human.
But Kurono knew better. "We know who you are, Shinsou Hitoshi. We know where you live. We know every single contact and friend you've ever had. There's no way you'll be able to escape from us. So with that in mind... I'd like to extend an offer."
He let go of Shinsou's head, watching as it rolled back in a hanging position. Sighing, the Yakuza grabbed his head again, tilting it to the side of the room. An alcove was carved out of the otherwise rectangular walls, the inside of which featured a white cloak with a beak-shaped mask, a pair of embedded goggles peeking out from the top. The outfit could be near universally recognized to any Japanese citizen; it was the old costume for Chronostasis, right hand man to Overhaul himself.
"I'm sure you recognize this already, don't you? It's been a while since I wore it, but you should know who that makes me." He turned the captive's head back towards him. "With my endorsement... Just think about it- all you have to do is become an exclusive contractor for us. As a member of the Eight Precepts of Death, we would not only provide for you, but we can ensure the continued safety of your friends and family. I hope you can understand how generous this proposal is-"
Kurono's head snapped up at the sound of gunfire rapidly echoing through the hallways. He immediately dropped Shinsou's head, rushing to his desk as he flung open his laptop. With just a few clicks, he brought up the security feeds. His eyes widened at the sheer brutality on display, rivaling Rappa's own taste for blood.
A young man in a green tracksuit and a rabbit mask was tearing his way through the building, rushing everyone in sight and savagely ripping them to tatters. The Yakuza boss felt his stomach drop, a foreboding weight pressing down between his shoulder blades.
This masked man- vigilante, perhaps, showed no mercy. Kurono could only watch as they grabbed a subordinate's head, slamming it into the frame of an open door. They stomped their foot on the guard's skull, holding it in place as he grabbed the door with both hands, pulling it back and slamming it into the downed man's face repeatedly. By the time he was done, the only thing that remained was a bloody pulp covered in paint chips.
The intruder reached down, grabbing a knife from the dead guard's belt. He passed down the next hallway, and threw it at the first person he saw. It landed cleanly into his neck. He keeled over, dropping his pistol and clutching his profusely bleeding neck. The masked man wasted no time, rushing over to grab the gun, shoving it into the man's mouth and pulling the trigger. He grabbed the hilt of the knife again, roughly tearing it out of the fresh corpse.
The next three men fell just as easily, their bodies riddled with bullets. The rabbit man didn't stop there, using the knife to puncture the arteries in their neck to ensure they wouldn't survive.
Kurono felt his hands tremble ever so slightly at the gory battle on display. He spent years curating the best talent suited for this safe house, and it was getting shredded like slips of thin paper. He watched as this vigilante methodically cleared the whole building, until the only room he hadn't touched was the one the Yakuza boss and his hostage were currently in. His blood grew cold as he saw the masked killer pull a nearby Kodachi from its decorative stand. He pulled the small sword from its wooden hilt, stabbing it into a nearby corpse to test its sharpness. Satisfied with the quality, he scavenged a pistol from the body and proceeded towards the boss' room, both weapons in hand.
The pale-haired man rushed to the door, pressing against it as he kept an eye on the camera monitors. He clutched the handle, gripping it tightly as he waited for the vigilante to get closer. He could hear the heavy breathing and dragging footsteps from the other side, gradually getting louder...
The Yakuza boss held his breath, twisting the knob and pulling the door open just slightly enough so that his hair could extend and rush through the small crevice he made. The clock hand tendrils raced down the hall, zeroing in on their target. Kurono felt as one of his attacks cleanly struck the intruder, the dull thud of a body collapsing onto the carpet confirming a successful hit. He let out a sigh of relief, opening the door wider to gaze at his defeated adversary.
The man was lying face down, completely paralyzed for just one minute. But that's all that Chronostasis needed. He walked over to the vigilante, wresting the pistol from his weak grasp. He didn't bother rolling the body over, opting instead to shoot the mysterious man in the back of his head. He unloaded the rest of the clip into his body, ensuring his death.
Kurono quickly pulled out his phone, dialing the first number on his speed dial. After precisely two rings, the person on the other end of the line picked up.
"What is it?" Overhaul asked, his voice blunt and devoid of any emotion.
"My safe house was attacked." The Yakuza boss quickly reported, walking back down the hall to his room. "Everyone aside from our hostage is dead."
"I hope you're including the attacker."
"I am." He tersely reassured him. "But this location is no longer secure. Furthermore..."
"What?"
"Whoever this person was... I've never seen someone so quickly dismantle as many people as this one has."
"Was the security feed running?" The leader of the Eight Precepts intoned, just the slightest hint of interest rising in his voice. "If they're as effective as you say, I want to see if there's anything we can learn. Preserve the body however you can and send me what footage you have."
"Understood. Give me a moment." He placed the phone down next to the computer monitor, pulling a blank DVD from a nearby drawer. He put it into the computer, directing the security system to burn the last 15 minutes of video onto the disc. It wasn't long before the computer spat the physical media back out. Kurono quickly placed it into a paper sleeve, setting it down on the oak desk. He snapped the phone back up, placing it next to his ear.
"It's done. I'll bring it to you personally-"
His thoughts ground to a halt as the sound of heavy footsteps rushed up behind him. He only had enough time to turn around, watching helplessly as the blood covered vigilante swung at a downwards angle with the Kodachi, the blade sinking into his neck and tearing the skin open. He dropped his phone immediately, eyes wide as he felt the small sword get yanked from his throat, only to be swung again. There wasn't enough force behind the strikes to cleanly cut through the bone, so the killer had resorted to repeated hacking, like a lumberjack trying to fell a tree.
Kurono fell backwards, desperately extending his hair as he clutched at his open throat. The green-suited man grabbed the stems of his tendrils before they could strike, and with a rough swing he severed the hair from the head it originated from. He grabbed the Yakuza boss' wrists, tearing them away from the open wound and pinning them down with his foot. The second-in-command to the Eight Precepts of Death couldn't even scream at this point, his esophagus so flooded with blood that he could only gurgle in pain.
Overhaul could hear all of this, his worried protests growing quieter as he realized that his lifelong subordinate was in the process of getting butchered. The sword hacking continued for an excruciating amount of time, only ceasing when Chronostasis' head was separated from his body. Silence fell over the room, the only other noise being the tinny chime of the phone call ending.
The costumed man dropped the blade, chest moving up and down as he breathed heavily from the physical exertion. There was a hole in the costume, right at the center of his forehead. Blood leaked from the wound, travelling down his face to seep into one of the eyeholes of the mask. The killer didn't bother to wipe it from his face, only staring down at the dead Yakuza with an almost disinterested gaze.
The sound of something rustling got the attention of the vigilante. He turned his attention towards the corner of the room, where Shinsou was being kept hostage. His head was lifted only slightly, and through the clumps of unkempt hair a single purple eye stared back.
The blood-soaked intruder slowly walked over, tilting his head as he blankly observed the bound hostage. His lips were moving, but the only things coming out of Shinsou's mouth were hushed gasps and a dry tongue lolling against equally dry teeth. It wasn't long before the purple-haired man's eyes rolled to the back of his head, eyelids slowly closing as he passed out from delirium and exhaustion.
The masked man kneeled down and grabbed the hostage roughly by the chin. He tilted their head back up, apathetically staring at the hollowed out facial features.
Then without any warning, he let go and watched as the man's head fell back down. He stood up, grabbing the blood-covered blade he used to kill Kurono. He walked back to the chair, using the rough blade to cut the rope keeping Shinsou bound to the seat. He picked the unconscious man up, hooking his arms under the hostage's upper back and knees.
The rabbit-masked killer slowly walked to the door, bringing him out of the room. The two survivors made it back to the streets, where a van was waiting for them. The door opened, a group of people in white and blue hoodies welcoming them inside as the vehicle sped off, quickly leaving Kabukicho and Yakuza controlled territory.
A/N: I had to spend a lot of time restructuring and replanning this story, so I hope this chapter is to your liking! As always, I'd be more than happy to hear what you think about this story, and if you'd like to reach me outside of AO3, I'm always open for a chat on my Tumblr as well!