Shinsou could barely remember what had happened to him over the past few weeks. Everything was a hazy blur, only exacerbated by the drug-like haze that the Eight Precepts of Death had trapped him in while they held him captive. So much screaming, begging... there was even a time that they no longer needed Shin Nemoto's truth-telling quirk to extract the answers they wanted from him.
But that was a luxury that was still denied to him. Deidoro was just as ruthless, keeping him so inebriated that he constantly vomited, only releasing his quirk's hold when he felt like beating the purple haired vigilante. Even if they hadn't kept disabling his quirk with those vile bullets, he knew he didn't have the mental fortitude to attempt to hypnotize his captors.
He had given up. It was as if someone had flipped a kind of light switch in his head, dimming his thoughts until everything was replaced with a kind of stinging numbness. He couldn't be bothered to feel anything, no matter the number of times a balled fist pounded against his face. Eventually, he was dragged from his chair, carried to a van and carted off to a new location. But the change of environment did little to actually stimulate his mind.
He could tell Kurono was trying to tell him something, even showing off his old costume to impress him, but he couldn't process the words being told to him. There was no point in thinking, no reason to provide any reaction. This man wanted something of him, but the needle sticking into his thigh told him he would find no solace in this man.
An unfamiliar sensation suddenly forced its way into his head, burrowing through his thick skull like a power drill. Gunshots rang around his head, sparking his neurons back to life. His eyes slowly raised, watching as the right hand man of Overhaul frantically ran around the room, first to his security monitors and then to the door. He watched as the Yakuza boss launched his attack, leaving the room and shooting the paralyzed vigilante in the head. He felt his heart sink into his stomach, cursing himself for rousing himself back to consciousness.
Kurono was no longer paying attention to Shinsou, busy talking to his own superior. He was too busy trying to burn the recording of the vigilante onto a disc. But the purple haired man had a clear view of the hall and watched in silent astonishment as the man in green convulsed on the floor, before lifting himself back onto his feet. This strange being bent over, grabbing the Kodachi on the floor and tearing the blade free from its sheath. He slowly proceeded, pressing himself against the wall, the Yakuza boss none the wiser as he stared intently at the monitor.
Shinsou kept his mouth shut as he stared in awe, heart pounding furiously as he watched Kurono's impending doom slowly approach him. He found himself unable to blink as this vigilante launched his final attack, felling Kurono in a flash as he began to ruthlessly tear the man's neck into tatters. When the blood soaked murderer stood back up, their eyes met. Shinsou could only watch as the figure walked over, his eyes glassy as they almost stared through him.
A wave of relief rushed through Shinsou as the other man approached. The excitement of the last few moments took their toll on him, and he felt his vision grow dim.
"Please," he begged. " Please... get me out of here... I'll do anything..."
He felt his heart skip a beat as he realized his pleading was completely incoherent. He begged for release more fervently, but the only thing coming from his lips was incoherent wheezing. His head lolled to the side, his mouth hanging open as his consciousness faded away. The last thing he felt before everything went dark was something delicately grabbing his chin, lifting his head up as his eyelids fell.
He wasn't sure how long it was until his mind began to rouse itself again. Everything ached- nerves pounding against his muscle fibers as he felt a cool and soft fabric support his body from underneath. His slow approach to reality was immediately accelerated as he felt something rise up from his lungs, threatening to choke him.
Shinsou wheezed as he rolled to his side, hacking and hissing as clumps of dark, soft matter ejected themselves from his mouth, landing onto the silk sheets of the bed he realized he was in. His eyes shot open, pupils shrunk to tiny dots as he clutched at the pillow next to his head, body trembling wildly.
As the convulsions graciously subsided, he slowly propped himself up on one of his elbows, eyes slowly adjusting to the dark surroundings he was in. It was some kind of bedroom, walls completely devoid, not even the hint of furniture aside from the mattress he was on. There wasn't any kind of bed frame, it was just lying there on the floor. The way it creaked under him gave him suspicions that it wasn't that great of a cushion, but... well, it was certainly better than being strapped to a wooden chair.
He looked towards the end of the mattress; eyes drawn by a bright splash of color in the relative darkness. A fierce red blotch demanded his attention, and once his vision cleared completely, he recognized what it actually was- a pair of shoes, and a pair of legs sticking out of them. His eyes traced upwards, taking in the figure that had been looming next to him.
It was that person- the killer who dismantled the safehouse he had been locked inside. The blood on his outfit had long since dried up, turning from a deep red to a sickening black. Shinsou's body went into overdrive, adrenaline causing him to flail and scramble off the mattress, away from the figure that had been supposedly waiting for him to wake. The stench of gore hit his nose, the thick scent suffocating him as he opened his mouth to scream. His throat refused to obey him, a small wheeze escaping, his vocal cords too damaged to make a single noise.
This... this thing stared down at him, his gaze looking almost blasé about the whole ordeal, as if even dealing with this was somehow beneath him.
Shinsou's muscles screamed at him as he got to his feet, stumbling backwards into the cheap wooden door poorly built into the wall. He clumsily slammed his hand down on the handle, causing it to swing out from behind him, causing him to slam into the ground on his behind. He winced in pain, pushing himself back further down the hall. Delirium had set in, and rather than looking for the closest exit, he dragged himself to the nearest door and quickly ran through, locking the handle behind him. He slumped himself against the door, breathing heavily as he tried to figure out where he was. He quickly realized it was a fairly cramped bathroom, with just barely enough room to move between the sink, toilet, and tub.
He blinked slowly, forcing his lungs to regulate his breathing as he tried to calm down. Eventually, he managed to regain his sense of logic as he tried to understand what was happening.
It didn't take him long to realize the mysterious figure didn't actually follow him- the blood soaked man just stood there, watching motionlessly as he attempted to escape.
His ears perked up as the sound of heavy footsteps thudded out of the bedroom, down the hallway and past the bathroom door. There was the sound of a zipper, and the rustling of fabric. Then, there was nothing. The silence hung over the purple haired man like a weight on his shoulders. He could feel his eyelids twitch as he tried to formulate an escape plan with what little info he had-
His heart jumped as he heard someone knock on a distant door, closer to where the murderer had gone to. There was a metallic clack of a deadbolt receding, followed by the creak of the door opening.
"There's our hero!" A cheerful, young voice proclaimed, their light footsteps padding against the wooden floor. "Let's take a look here... you got into some trouble, didn't you?"
There was no response.
"...I'll get you to talk to me one day." The young man grumbled, the sound of a zipper echoing down the hall.
Shinsou pressed his ear against the crack between the door and the ground, trying to listen more closely.
"And you're all bloody, too! Why haven't you washed up- Oh." The man cut himself off. "I see, your new guest must be occupying that place right about now. Right... go back to your old place, and clean all that blood off. I don't need you scaring the lights out of the other one, got it?"
The purple haired man furrowed his brow trying to understand the conversation. 'Other one?' Were they talking about him?
"Anyway," The other man continued. "Try not to let anyone see you. Hurry up now."
Shinsou heard the heavy footsteps march their way out of the room, fading quietly into the background. The door to the apartment closed, and soon he heard the sound of the lighter steps quickly going towards the bathroom door.
"Hello? Are you in there?" The voice called.
The purple haired vigilante backed up from the door, pressing himself against the wall behind him.
"I'll take those sounds as a 'yes.'" The man responded, a small sigh escaping. "Can you speak?"
He opened his mouth, but his vocal cords still refused to work. All that he could produce was a grating rasp.
"I see." The man replied. "Well, I'm sure you're confused about all this... but I hope you can appreciate being rescued. I was quite surprised when our Avatar carried you into the van... we weren't expecting him to save anyone."
Shinsou slammed his lips shut, unsure of how to process that information. His eyes snapped to the base of the door as he heard some sort of hard object get placed onto the ground on the other side.
"I know you're probably thinking about all kinds of ways to escape, but... please, don't." The voice calmly continued, the man's voice sounding genuinely concerned. "You were being tortured by the Yakuza, weren't you? I'm not going to ask why, but... I think we both know they'll be looking for you. At least wait for us to take care of them for you. I'd hate for him to go out of his way to rescue you, only for you to die in vain. Can you do that for me?"
The other man placed a hand over his mouth, eyes wide and perturbed by the request of this mysterious man. He didn't bother to respond; they both knew he wouldn't be able to say anything quite yet.
"Okay, I'm going to leave now. I have a few things to take care of. I left you some supplies as well, both here and in the cabinets. There's a TV too, it came with the apartment... in case you'd like to catch up on the outside world..." He trailed off, as if trying to find anything else to say. "...Oh yeah! So we did a checkup on you... we've got a lot of doctors working with us... they said you'll do fine and don't have any serious treatment issues. But if anything does come up, please let us know, okay? I'm going to leave now. I'll be back in a few days to check up on you."
The man lingered on the other side of the door for a moment, before walking away. The sound of a door opening and closing let Shinsou know the man kept his word, hearing the sound of light footsteps slowly fade into nothingness.
The purple haired man's muscles groaned as he went back to the bathroom door, slowly unlocking the door and pushing it open.
On the other said lay a metal tray, containing a plate full of fresh steamed rice and a salmon steak. Next to it was a bottle of water, the cap opened and ready to drink from. He clutched at his stomach, using his free hand to clutch the tray and drag it towards him. He didn't bother with chopsticks- the Yakuza had starved him as long as they could, pumping his stomach with gruel to keep him from dying. He dug his hands into the food, ravenously consuming everything before him. He felt sick, but he couldn't stop himself from finishing the meal, downing the bottle of water soon afterwards. Everything tasted and smelled pleasantly sweet to him, but whether it was some side effect of the drugs he had forced into him or just because he hadn't had anything this clean in such a long time... he couldn't tell.
He was just glad to finally be free.
Izuku pinched the bridge of his nose, softly groaning as he tried to dissuade the piercing nerves in his head from screaming at him. It was like someone was pressing needles into the center of his forehead, threatening to crack his skull open as it dug deeper and deeper. He shoved his free hand into his pocket, producing a small bottle of extra strength acetaminophen he got from the pharmacy on the way to work. He quickly unscrewed the cap of the bottle, watching as a small handful of pills spilled onto his palm. He greedily consumed them, sighing in exasperation as he waited for them to kick in and wick the pain away from his body.
The green haired barista quickly rushed from the storage room to the bathroom, planting both hands on the sink next to the entrance. He stared at himself in the mirror, leaning in close as if to examine the skin above his eyebrows. He traced his fingers along the singular aching dot, but it revealed nothing but the same skin he had seen every day of his life. He leaned back, practicing his smile in the mirror; his lips twitched intermittently, but it shouldn't be too noticeable. He would just have to be extra fast today to avoid letting anyone see his face for too long. As he left to return to his post, he reached into his pocket and grabbed the medicine he got from the pharmacy on the way to work. He quickly unscrewed the cap of the bottle, tilting it and feeling a small handful of pills spill onto his palm. He greedily consumed them, sighing in exasperation as he waited for them to kick in and wick the pain away from his body.
He raced back to the front of the house, smiling wide as he greeted the small line of customers to Takamagahara. He raced to take down all their orders, moving over to the coffee machines to begin his work. He furrowed his brow, somewhat clumsily pouring the fine coffee grains into the portafilter, shoving it into the machine and watched as the espresso slowly dripped out of the pressurized chamber, a soft orange crema settling on the top of the tiny cup at the bottom of the machine. He quickly carried it over to its recipient, smiling brightly as he bowed and returned to the machine. He quietly pumped out a few lattes and cafe americanos, rushing between the machine and the ever growing line to service the new customers. He slid a tray of paper cups out onto the counter, calling the names of the people who ordered their respective drinks. The headache continued to intensify, making it harder and harder to concentrate on all the orders coming in, and it certainly didn't help that he was yet again alone on his shift. Not even his manager was able to come in today. He reached into his pocket and grabbed the medicine he got from the pharmacy on the way to work. He quickly unscrewed the cap of the bottle, tilting it and feeling a small handful of pills spill onto his palm. He greedily consumed them, sighing in exasperation as he waited for them to kick in and wick the pain away from his body.
The line extended out the door, but thankfully it seemed that no more people were approaching the small shop. He briefly wondered if there was a sale at a neighboring grocery, or if there was an increase in traffic due to a holiday. Probably the latter, considering the number of incoming customers. His senses sharpened briefly, giving him enough time to nimbly fulfill all the incoming orders and clear the line down to just a handful of patrons. He glanced over at the calendar on the wall, and his eyes widened in realization as he saw the small text at the bottom of this week's itinerary-
All Might Day was in two days.
He closed his eyes for a moment, clenching them shut as he clenched his teeth. Just the mention of that name sent a wave of negative emotions washing over him. He grunted and clutched at his forehead, the pain in his head intensifying. He quickly served the last customer, bowing politely before rushing to the back of the house. He rushed into the locker room, panting heavily as he reached into his pocket and grabbed the medicine he got from the pharmacy on the way to work. He quickly unscrewed the cap of the bottle, tilting it and feeling-
Nothing. The bottle was empty.
His brows furrowed in confusion, his heart racing as he felt his hands tremble. He... how did he down the whole bottle of pills in the short time he had them? He felt the plastic container slip from his fingers, clattering to the ground as he stared a deathly gaze at the floor. He read the safety warning- no more than six pills in a day. There were at least thirty in that bottle. Izuku quickly pulled out his phone, freezing at the number pad as his thoughts raced in his head. Should he call 110? No, that was for accidents and crimes. Shouldn't swallowing a lot of pain medicine be an accident? What about 119, then? It's supposed to be for reporting fires or getting a rescue service... they send ambulances, but did he need one?
He shook his head, heart pounding through his ribcage as he shoved his near-incoherent debates from his mind. He settled on 119. If it wasn't the right one, they'd send him to the correct line.
He clumsily thumbed the numbers in, but his fingers froze as he hovered over the call button. His trembling hand refused to move any further, as if resisting the idea of contacting the authorities. He grunted in frustration, tossing the phone aside as he jumped back up. The world swayed beneath him, and he realized how badly he messed up. He stumbled through the locker room door, hand pressed against the wall as he teetered himself to the front. A haze settled over his thoughts, but the idea rang clear in his head- he could ask someone in the front for help! He pushed his way through the swinging doors...
And froze as the familiar countenance of Bakugou greeted him, sending an innate wave of terror through his body. He clutched at the frame, watching as the blonde passively glared back at him.
"It's about damn time someone showed up." He grunted, slamming a few yen banknotes onto the counter. "Americano. Now."
All other thoughts dissipated from Izuku's mind as he grimaced, silently bowing as he kept his hands tightly interlocked. He avoided looking anywhere else than the drip machine, producing a paper cup and shakily pouring the black liquid into the receptacle. He brought the cup and the glass container to the counter, eyes focused on the marble counter as he slid the cup to the pro hero. The blonde quickly picked it up in his gloved hands, taking a swig.
"Tastes good. But it took too fucking long. I'm on the clock here, you got it?"
Izuku flinched at the unprompted review. "Th-thank you... S-s-sorry, I'll d-do better."
Bakugou grunted, turning to leave. The barista picked up the glass pitcher, but in the drug-induced haze he felt it slip from his grasp. The near boiling liquid splashed all over his body, the searing liquid scaling his exposed skin. He screamed in pain as the glass container crashed into the ground, sending pointed shards across the floor. He fell back from the pain, his yell hiking in volume as he felt the shattered material sink into his legs and back.
His eyes opened wide, mouth hanging slightly as he scrambled to his feet, tears welling in his eyes from his lit nerves. The sound of heavy footsteps rushed up to him, pushing him back as he nearly failed to remain upright. He barely recognized the presence of Bakugou in front of him, glaring at him as he inspected the scene. He turned to face the barista, sauntering towards him and yanking his arm towards him. The hard-faced hero practically spun him around, looking up and down and assessing if there was any damage.
"Not even a bruise." He concluded, throwing Izuku's arm away in apparent disgust. "You're such a fucking crybaby."
"Wh-wha-"
"You're lucky you didn't get hurt." The hero reiterated, shaking his head. "Just... go lay down back or something. I don't give a shit. Don't come back out here until your head's on right."
The barista looked genuinely confused, eyes moving wildly between the hero and the mass of coffee and glass behind him. "B-but... I can't-"
"I'll clean up your stupid mess. Where's the cleaning supplies, twerp?"
Izuku shakily pointed to a small closet carved into the wall behind the counter. Bakugou grunted, pointing back towards the swinging doors. The green haired man didn't bother responding, dipping his head as he retreated to the back rooms. The hero grumbled angrily, sweeping up the broken glass before wiping down the floor, restoring the tile to its clean state. He dumped the items, cleaning equipment and all, into the trash can, before sauntering out the door and out into the streets.
The seating area remained deathly quiet, the patrons staring at each other with concerned gazes. They all looked around, and after confirming who everyone was inside the coffee shop, someone spoke up.
"...I'm surprised he didn't check up on the boy."
One of the patrons, dressed in a white hoodie with blue stripes, pulled at the corner of the hood draped around his head. His face was further obscured by a face mask, the thin blue fabric covering everything below the bridge of his nose.
"I'm more surprised he bothered to clean up at all. Ground Zero isn't the type of person to really... help out."
"Of course you'd know that." Someone else spat out, disdain clearly etched in their voice.
"Is that supposed to mean something?" The young man called back, fists clenched.
"Forget it. I'm not in the mood to argue with someone obsessed with what they can't have."
"Well, I'm not in the mood either. Let's just take care of this before it gets worse." He stood up, producing a syringe from his pocket. He removed the plastic cap covering the needle, watching as a few beads of liquid sprang from the hollow metal tube. "Is the van ready?"
Someone in the back corner raised their phone, showing off the text she just sent. "I let the driver know, the engine is warmed up and ready to go. What's the plan, Caretaker?"
"For now let's just bring him to his home and lay him to bed. Someone can clean up here after we're done." He muttered, covering his mouth with his clenched fist. He spent some amount of time quietly working a plan out loud, his words racing so fast that it was hard for anyone else to keep up. Eventually, he shook his head, announcing out loud. "I'm sure he'll think it was a bad dream. I'll talk with him later and see what he thinks."
Everyone nodded, getting up from their chairs and producing the same white and blue hoodie that the Caretaker wore. They all began to slowly approach the swinging doors where Izuku had retreated. One member of the group walked slowly to the door, flipping the wooden sign on the door from Open to Closed. They all slowly filed into the back of the house, leaving the front completely empty, as if no one had ever been there.
Machihan was hunched over a small desk, his large frame almost comically outsizing the place he chose to sit. On top of the wooden surface was an old sewing machine, powered by a set of pedals resting beneath his feet. He pressed down on the device with his combat boots, watching the needle spring to life, rapidly jittering up and down. The samurai-masked man glared intently at the soft, green, silken fabric he placed into the feed dog.
Yokumitsu was currently kneeling on the creaking bed, hands placed in his lap as he stared at the human sitting mirror to him on the other side of the bed. He was fully garbed in his armor, complete with his varsity jacket. His head was without a hood, his gaze was just as apathetic as usual, but with a sense of clarity that cut through the static haze and into the mirror-masked man.
Said owner tilted his head to the side, refocusing on Machihan.
"I would have never guessed that you would have this sort of hobby."
The larger man seemingly brushed off the comments, his gaze unwaveringly focused on his task.
"The Sashimono had to be made somehow. I'm just applying these skills to something a bit more useful in this era."
"True, I suppose." The other man sighed, leaning back. "Though changing your warrior already... I thought you adored the fast-paced brutal battles the most. Why change that?"
Machihan's foot abruptly halted, stopping the machine in its tracks. He pulled out a pair of scissors, snipping the stitching from the loose thread. He flipped the material inside out, watching as the seams fell inwards. He raised his project up into the air, revealing it for what it was- a new mask for his warrior, devoid of the rabbit-like ears that adorned the head. Instead, the mouthpiece was replaced, this time with conical extrusions that resembled the chelicerae and jackknife fangs of a spider.
"It's not like he won't be using that mask again later. I'm giving him this one for now because it'll be more effective for his next battle, that's all."
"I see." Yokumitsu drawled, head swaying from side to side. "You're a lot easier to talk to when you get your way. You know that, right?"
The samurai-masked man rose from his chair, sauntering over to the avatar sitting stone-still on the bed. He pulled the mask over the young man's face, adjusting it slightly until the eye-holes aligned and the fangs practically jittered as he breathed. It was a truly terrifying sight.
"Perhaps, then," Machihan finished, stepping back to admire his handiwork, "You should make sure that I keep getting my way."
Bakugou finished the last few drops of his coffee, grimacing annoyedly at the paper cup before haphazardly tossing it onto a trash pile burgeoning from a nearby alley. He glanced down at his phone screen, tongue clicking as he tried to get to the address Tsukauchi told him to arrive at. The sun was just starting to set, and it wasn't before long that the Kabukicho lights flickered to life, casting their neon glow across the streets.
Eventually, he made it to the spot; it was a featureless building just on the edge of the district, a relatively stout building perched between a few hotels and mixed apartment buildings. The detective, harsh-eyed as ever, bored holes through the pro hero, watching him intently as he greeted the police member. Tsukauchi stepped forward, fishing a bottle of peppermint oil from his trench coat pocket and flinging it in the other man's direction. The blonde snapped his arm up to pluck it from the air, holding it tightly between his fingers as his superior began to speak.
"We were tipped off about this place- supposedly a Yakuza hideout that went dark last night." He explained, tapping the tip of his boot against the concrete. "I took a quick look-see of the inside... I think it's best you keep the bottle this time."
The hero opened his mouth to retort, but his experience last time kept him from being snide. The things he saw last time were bad enough, and it was mostly cleaned up by the time he got there.
"Fine." He grunted, thumb rubbing the top of the glass bottle. "So we're just going to walk into a Yakuza home, then?"
"That's exactly what we're going to do." The detective emphasized.
"This ain't gonna be okay with them." The blonde pushed back, balled fists slowly tightening. "Should I be prepping for a fight?"
Tsukauchi shook his head. "No. They're not going to interfere."
"And how do you know that?!"
"Because I'm almost completely certain they're the ones who tipped us off." The detective calmly asserted, producing a notepad to scribble a few notes down.
"Why would they-"
"Think about it for a second, Ground Zero." Tsukauchi almost condescendingly replied, shaking his head in exasperation. "Two places run by the same faction were hit. They're scrambling to figure out if there's going to be a third... or even more, for that matter. If they were investigating the scene themselves, there would be a good chance the attacker would return to wreak havoc. Pulling in someone else means they're safer."
"And what do they get out of that?" Bakugou insisted, grabbing the detective's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. "They're not going to be happy with letting you handle the whole thing."
"I'm assuming... if this place isn't already bugged, there's probably someone who will leak our info to them. But it's either that or turn down the chance to find the killer. I'd rather take my chances."
Tsukauchi tried to move, but Bakugou's iron grip held him in place.
"...All Might would never stoop to this level."
The detective yanked his shoulder back, tearing it free from the hero's grip.
"You're right. He wouldn't." He pushed down on the door handle, turning to face the hero as he motioned for him to enter. "He'd make a terrible detective."
Bakugou walked to the entrance, stopping in the doorway as he turned to glare at his superior. He gritted his teeth, hissing out, "So great detectives kowtow to the fucking Yakuza, is that it?"
Tsukauchi returned the gaze with one just as intense. "Believe it or not, my job isn't to debate you every time we meet. If we don't do this, then we're leaving everything in their hands and we won't be able to bring anyone to justice. I'd rather try to get two steps ahead then voluntarily give them ten. Now. Get. Inside."
The blonde hero huffed, stepping into the dimly lit foyer of the building. His eyes hadn't adjusted to the change of light, prompting him to step further into the darkness to speed the process up. As soon as he did, it was as if he walked into a wall of vile stench. He reared back, gagging as he covered his nose. He opened his mouth to breathe, but he quickly realized the horrendous smell of rot and decay was strong enough to taste in the air.
The detective stepped through the doorway, feeling for a light switch on the wall nearby. He found a row of them, and he reached out with his forearm to flip them all up at once. Almost immediately, the source of the decrepit scent was made evident-
Across this fairly lavish foyer were littered at least eight corpses, languidly strewn where they had died. The walls were dotted with pristine weapon stands, containing ceremonial blades, broken up by a series of Ukiyo-e prints that depicted various commoners of feudal japan going about their days. All of it was coated in a fine mist of blood, viscous black-red streaks flung across the wall. There was a staircase leading up, with two bodies sprawled across its steps, arms and legs bent horribly out of shape, heads caved in. On the upper floor was a man in a white suit, his body folded over the wooden railing of the outcrop. Close to his body was large chunks of wood from what looked to be a bat- the rest of it was jammed into his back, directly where his spinal cord was.
Bakugou covered his mouth, turning as he fought the urge to hurl. His eyes were as wide as saucers, eyelids twitching as he shook uncontrollably.
Tsukauchi seemed unfazed by the carnage, stepping around a body next to the entrance as he approached the hero. He reached into his pockets, holding out a small piece of fabric with some elastic strands on the end.
"Face mask. Douse some of the oil with this." He commanded, waiting for the blonde to follow his orders.
The younger man, too unsettled to fight, weakly grabbed the item with his free hand, doing exactly what he was told. The moment he put it on, the strong scent of the oil wiped his sense of smell clean, restoring a little bit of stability to his stomach. He turned back to face the carnage, but he found himself at a loss for words.
"You've never done a lot of support hero work, have you?"
Bakugou slowly shook his head, eyes trained on the rudimentary wooden stake pointing out of the dead man's back.
"I figured as much. A lot of them see things like this at disaster sites. Yuuei likes to sugarcoat it, but they'll have to deal with this kind of scene if you don't try to minimize damage when you fight a villain." He sighed, shaking his head. He produced another pair of shoe covers, dropping them at the hero's feet while he put on his own pair. "Let's go. Techs are going to arrive in a few minutes to clear this place out."
The blonde followed Tsukauchi's motions, following him as he walked up the stairs. He took more care than usual not to step on the bodies. He paused for a second, frozen in time as he stared at one of the Yakuza goon's face. It was contorted into an expression of fear, almost pleading for mercy. His nose was smashed in, teeth were missing and there was a huge dent at the top of his head.
"Come on!" The detective called out from the top of the staircase, snapping Bakugou back to reality. He clenched his fists, gritting his teeth as he huffed and sprinted his way up, trying to get the images out of his head.
He followed in tow as Tsukauchi methodically checked each of the winding halls and rooms of the small complex, writing down notes and taking pictures as he saw fit. What glimpses Bakugou could get from the notepad detailed causes of death as well as notes regarding the building layout- he guessed the detective was trying to make a timeline to explain when and how the killer went through the building.
"Was it really just one person?" Bakugou wondered aloud, shaking his head. "They're either really fucking strong, or really fucking crazy."
"Or both." The detective added, standing back up after taking detailed notes on a corpse with its head smashed between a door and its frame. He looked up, noticing a dome-shaped security camera staring at him from the far corner of the room. "This place is completely covered with cameras... if they're stored locally, we may be able to get a glimpse at our killer."
"They gotta be scared shitless." The hero mumbled, rubbing the facemask fabric over the tip of his nose. "No wonder they're looking to get you involved."
Tsukauchi exited the room, not providing any sort of verbal response. They walked down the hallway and into the last wing of the building- a small antechamber, followed by a long hallway and a reinforced door that was still flung open. There were two bodies here, an empty sheath thrown clumsily against its stand. The actual weapon was nowhere to be seen.
The detective took some brief notes, before dutifully marching down the hall and into the final room of the building. The interior was just as lavish as the halls, a grand bed taking up much of the floor space. In the alcove on the wall was an old costume for Chronostasis. There was a computer desk in one corner, and a very uncomfortable looking chair on the opposite side.
"It's been a while since I've seen that outfit..." He trailed off, eyes slowly lowering as he saw the decapitated head of Overhaul's right hand man. His mouth hung open in shock, his previous thought grinding to a halt and dying in his throat.
"What the fuck?!" Bakugou cried out as he saw the body of the Yakuza. He clutched the frame of the door, fingers clenched so tightly that he could almost see the whites of his knuckles through the opaque gloves. "That's... who in their right fucking mind..."
"We can ask them when we arrest them." Tsukauchi shook his head, turning to the empty chair. "I'm guessing there was a hostage... but who..."
He turned back to the computer, pressing the power button on the device. He watched it spring to life, and while the operating system loaded, he took his time to search through the drawers of the desk to no avail. His eyes settled on an untitled disc in a paper sleeve next to his desk. Without any further hesitations, he pulled the disc from its container, sliding it into the computer in front of him. The screens in front of him sprang to life, each displaying their own feed of the computer system. Tsukauchi pulled out his notepad once more, furiously writing down notes on every action taken by the costumed vigilante. The recording ended with the man getting shot in the head by Kurono, only to rise up from the floor and rush into Kurono's bedroom.
"Some sort of regeneration quirk... not a lot of people who would be able to do that kind of thing. If that's the case... we've blown this thing wide open." He leaned in, eyes sternly trained on the images in front of him. "Such a strange outfit, too. Ears shaped like a rabbit's... reminds me of Miruko. And the jacket, too... What do you think, Bakugou?"
He turned around to ask the hero, but instead he was taken aback by the look of pure horror on the blonde's face. He was trembling wildly, his own pupils jittering back and forth as he saw the recordings on screen loop, showing murder after murder, over and over again.
"No... fuck... no... You gotta be shitting me!" He grunted out, pointing at the screen. "I... I fucking saw him while I was walking around the other night!"
Tsukauchi's face lost its color as he said that. His dark eyes grew wide, before he immediately shot up. He ripped the CD out of the computer, before sauntering over to Bakugou, clutching his hand tightly, yanking him out of the room and down the hall.
"What the-" He cried out in weak protest. "Where the fuck are you taking me?"
"Back to the office." He grunted, his pace growing ever more insistent. "We'll come back later, right now I need you to write down every single thing that happened last night, got it?"
Shigaraki threw open the heavy sliding door to an abandoned oceanside warehouse, cringing as the smell of old, rotted fish washed over his face. This place hadn't seen legitimate use in years, which made it a sort of ideal meeting place for those who wanted to talk off the records. It just so happened that the leader of the League of Villains was cordially invited to one such conference.
The inside of the warehouse looked just as rusted and decrepit as its outside. Puddles of stagnant water lined the walls, brought on from holes in the roof that were never quite patched up. Chains hung loose from metal cogs dispersed in a grid like pattern, a conveyor belt running down the whole facility. It looked to be some kind of cannery in its heyday.
The blue haired villain looked around quickly, raising two fingers to signal the rest of his group. Out of the shadows came four more people, all of them immediately recognizable from news broadcasts and wanted posters- a heavily scarred man who looked completely uninterested and aloof, a rather giddy blonde woman who constantly thumbed the pommel of the knife in her hands, a large, burly woman who carried a gigantic magnet on her back, and a man dressed in a yellow overcoat, carrying a cane while a white and black mask covered his face.
None of them said a word as they entered the warehouse, purposefully stepping into the darkness as they approached a stairwell at the back of the building. They ascended the steps, watching as the stairs morphed into a long metal catwalk that lined the entire wall of the cannery, only divided by a single rusty bridge that crossed the halfway point of the production floor.
They walked to the edge of the crossing, stopping as a lone figure stepped from the midnight shadows, the soft glow of the moon illuminating the edges of his pristine beak mask through the holes in the roof.
"I was expecting you to come alone." Overhaul noted, tapping his gloved finger quietly against the rusted railing of the catwalk.
"You didn't say this was a solo mission." Shigaraki hissed, unfazed by the comment.
"No matter." The head of the Yakuza relented, shaking his head in disappointment. "I've come to ask regarding a possible recruit of yours. It appears as though someone is repeatedly violating our territorial agreement."
"Oh?" The villain mastermind tilted his head, expression unreadable due to the prosthetic hand covering his face. "That's a bold claim. You have any proof."
The Yakuza pulled a small package from his jacket, tossing it across the bridge. It slid across the rusted surface, tumbling to a stop at the blue haired man's feet. He picked it up, pinky carefully held out so as to not destroy the contents inside. It resembled a small, thick envelope, and pulling open the tab at the top showed what was inside- a number of photos taken from Kurono's security feed, capturing some of the most gruesome moments of the vigilante slaughtering everyone else.
Toga seemed to almost cheer in joy, grabbing a handful of the photos out of her leader's hands. "Oh my gosh, these are so great! So bloody and gruesome and- not even Stain is this brutal! Where did you get these?!"
"One of my contacts in the police force sent me these." Overhaul noted, his stern gaze unwavering. "Word is that the officers are calling him ' Jackrabbit' because of his outfit."
"A rabbit wearing a jacket..." Mr. Compress trailed off, before sighing. "Goodness me, that's quite an uncreative name. But I guess it'll do."
"I don't care what he's called, I want you to deal with him." The Yakuza rebutted, a slight hint of anger rising in his voice. "He's already killed my second in command, that alone should warrant a summary execution-"
"No, it doesn't." Shigaraki cut him off, reaching up to dig his fingernails into the skin of his neck. "Sorry to tell you, but we won't be doing anything."
The disciplined gaze of Chisaki's cold, golden eyes darkened even further. He sauntered forward, rubbing the tips of his glove with his other hand, as if planning to attack.
"You understand what this means, don't you? You're violating our agreement. You may have your own slice of the land but don't forget who is really the one in power here-"
The head of the League of Villains sighed in annoyance, shaking his head. "Don't try to aggro me, there's no-"
He was cut off by the sound of something incredibly large impacting the ground next to him. He turned to see that Magne had fully unwrapped her magnet, pointing its north pole directly at the approaching Yakuza. She grinned as the man seemingly lost his balance, stumbling forward as he was yanked into the air, flying towards her weapon of choice. His head crunched against the polarized metal, his legs kneeled back as he was unable to find purchase.
"Sorry pal, but I'm sick of having to deal with you. And you came alone? How stupid could you be?!"
Her question went unanswered as she watched Overhaul's hand slam onto the side of the magnet. It exploded into a torrent of shrapnel, rushing down the shaft and embedding a number of metal shards into her stomach. She grunted as she stumbled backwards, clutching her bloodied abdomen.
The red-headed villain looked up to see the Yakuza's bare head reaching out towards her face, only for the hand to retract as a pair of razor sharp daggers rushed through the air where his arm was. It gave her enough time to pull back, putting some much needed distance between her and the head of the Eight Precepts of death.
Shigaraki seemed oddly quiet during the entire fight, only moving to make space when Chisaki rushed past him to attack his subordinate. A jet of blue fire spewed over his shoulder, hair waving about in the heat of Dabi's attack that forced the Yakuza to retreat further.
"I can't believe you're trying to fight when you're this disadvantaged." Dabi coolly remarked, hands outstretched as he intensified his geysers of flame. "You don't actually expect to beat us all, do you?"
Overhaul retreated back to the halfway point of the bridge, gloved hand clutching the rusty rail as he reached behind his back.
"Of course not. I've made it clear that the existence of the League benefits me. You take care of the areas and the rabble that aren't worth my time." His glower intensified. "But wanting your continued presence doesn't mean you can't be disciplined-"
The head of the Yakuza swung his arm around, producing a wide barreled pistol of a quirk suppressing gun. He pulled the trigger, watching as it sailed through the flames, hitting its mark square on Dabi's shoulder. Almost immediately, the jets of fire stopped, flickering out just as quickly as they were produced. Overhaul slammed his open palm on the railing, watching as it began to ripple and splinter. The decomposition traveled down the metal rod, ending just in front of the group of villains opposed to him.
The length of metal didn't explode this time, however. Instead, it floated in the air, coalescing and reforming into the shape of a heavy linked chain. He whipped his hand around, watching a wave of force travel up the still forming links, eventually lashing out and wrapping itself cleanly around the scarred man's neck, where it fused together and formed a heavy kind of leash.
Mr. Compress tried to reach out to use his quirk to break the links but was too late. A surprisingly powerful tug from the sole Yakuza present sent Dabi stumbling forward, out of his reach. Before anyone else could react, Overhaul gripped the chain even tighter, activating his quirk again.
The links of metal began to change again, their glossy surface cracking as sharp spikes erupted outwards, expanding at least an inch off each ring of the chain. The League could only watch as this change raced down from end to end, almost instantly reaching the scarred man's neck. His back straightened as the pointed ends cleanly sunk into his throat, blood spurting down his body as he feebly reached for the deadly collar under his chin.
A second yank from Overhaul caused a wave of blood to rush from his mouth. He opened his mouth, gurgling something incoherent as he fell over, tumbling off the side of the catwalk. He fell headfirst onto the concrete, his skull cracking open and splattering bits of organic matter all over the ground. The wounds in his neck continued to empty his veins and arteries, the blood slowly accumulating and pooling around his already disfigured body.
The Yakuza boss shivered in disgust, huffing as hives began to well up on his face. He quickly replaced his glove, his gaze returning to the remaining League villains.
"I hope you've learned your lesson. The more people I have to remove from your little group, the less useful you are for me."
Both Mr. Compress and Magne were taken aback in absolute shock at the sudden death. Shigaraki was just as unreadable as before, his hair and prosthetic hand making any emotional read impossible. Toga's look of abject horror morphed into a glower of rage, as she pulled a pair of knives from a sheathe on her waist.
"You piece of-" she grunted, sauntering forward. "You didn't have to do that! I'll make you pay-"
Her anger was quickly cut off as their leader outstretched his hand, pushing her back. A look of genuine confusion and bewilderment crossed her face as she opened her mouth to protest.
"I've had enough of this fight" Shigaraki hissed, shaking his head. "We don't have anyone like this 'Jackrabbit' working for us. If you waited long enough for me to say that, we could have avoided this senseless encounter."
"I'm not the one who lashed out." Overhaul grabbed his mask with both hands, pressing the air filtration device further into his skin.
"You're right, we did." He waved his hand down at Dabi's broken corpse. "And clearly we paid a fine for that. Unless you have any kind of side quest for us, anything further will just be a waste of time."
"No." He shook his head, the intensity of his hives only worsening. "Just leave."
Shigaraki pushed past his own comrades, descending the stairs as they silently followed. Rather than cross the factory floor again, the villains used an emergency exit that led them back out onto the empty streets of the warehouse district. As the door closed behind them, Magne immediately spoke up.
"Boss... I-"
"Don't." He hissed, cutting his subordinate off. "I don't want to hear it right now."
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Toga yelled, pointing her blades at their leader. "You're just going to let him get away with that?! He killed Dabi!"
Shigaraki's silence only enraged her further. It was only thanks to Mr. Compress that she didn't attack him there and then. The older villain calmly placed a hand on her shoulder, redirecting her attention towards him.
"My dear Toga... it's not fair, but I think under the same circumstances I would have done the same as him."
"Wha-"
He kneeled down slightly, looking her straight in the eye. "Overhaul may be grandiose but what he says carries a certain truth to it- we aren't the ones in power here. Even if we killed him, we would likely be fighting off his avengers for a very long time."
The blonde girl's expression fell, hands falling limply to her side. Her mouth contorted into a sorrowful frown, knowing that what she was told was the truth she had always known.
"That is why you didn't raise a hand to help us, right? Leader?" Mr. Compress took up, turning to face Shigaraki with an accusatory tone.
The head of the League of Villains reached up, grabbing the prosthetic hand covering his face. He slowly took it off, revealing a glare of deep-seated rage that had outmatched everyone else's emotional outbursts. The sight of it alone made them feel as if an extra weight had just been slammed on their shoulders.
"That bastard took our freedom from us... and when he gets attacked, he takes it out on us." He hissed, scratching his neck so hard that entire chunks of skin began to fall off his dry, cracked neck. "I'm going to break every bone in his body and feed him to a pack of rabid dogs."
The other three League members were stunned into silence, watching him with wide eyes as he continued. He pulled out the photos Overhaul had given him, the pieces of paper crinkling in his hands as he clutched them with an iron grip.
"We're going to find out who this 'Jackrabbit' is." He announced his decision. "I don't know who this freak is, but if they can take out entire bases without any party members... Let's see if we can't give them a little helping hand."
The moment the door closed behind the League members, Overhaul hunched over, digging deeply into his coat pockets as he produced a large bottle of hand sanitizer. He tore off his gloves and mask, pouring a large mound of the viscous fluid onto his hands. The germophobic Yakuza deliriously slathered his face in the liquid, feeling the familiar sensation of his nose and eyes burning as the disinfectant seeped into every orifice on his face. He resisted the urge to directly drink from the bottle, knowing it would only do more harm than good.
He continued his disturbing cleansing ritual, until eventually his heart calmed down to the point that he regained his senses and put back on his gloves and mask. The vapors of the sanitizer burned his lungs, but as long as it was clean, he didn't care.
"Insolent fools." He grunted, leaning back against the rail he didn't destroy. "Debasing me to have to touch them."
He was drawn away from his spite by the sound of his phone chirping in his pocket. He quickly pulled the cheap clamshell device out, flipping the lid open and watching as the screen flickered to life. The small screen simply read "Rappa." He quickly pressed the answer call button, placing the device to his ear.
"What is it-"
"Boss!" The man's gravelly voice shouted through the earpiece. "I just got to the storehouse in Ikebukuro- I think someone is raiding the place!"
Overhaul's eyes widened as he felt his grip on his phone loosen. He felt a tremble build up in his chest, a kind of fear he'd never experienced before.
"...Do you know who it is?"
"Not a clue, but I'm about to find out. I've got you on Bluetooth so I can keep you informed." There was a pause, followed by a whistle of surprise. "Woah... whoever this is, they're not taking any prisoners, that's for sure. This place is a mess."
The Yakuza boss' breath hitched, the air seemingly unable to reach his lungs as a nervous panic set in.
"...Boss, you there?"
Overhaul snapped himself out of his daze, shaking his head vigorously. "...Yes, I'm here. Rappa... I'm ordering you- do not hold back when you find him. Don't play around with him. Understand?"
"Oh come on, I can't have a little fun?"
"Rappa-"
"Okay, I got it! Are you riled up over something-" The man on the other end of the phone was cut off, replaced with the sounds of scuffling and a loud screech of pain.
"Rappa, report-"
"I can't see! I CAN'T SEE!" The man screamed back, followed by the sounds of wood and metal crashing and breaking.
Chisaki could only listen in abject horror as the sounds of conflict abruptly ended, replaced only by a loud thud. Light footsteps padded the floor, slowly fading into obscurity.
There was only silence for the next few minutes. The head of the Eight Precepts considered calling out to Rappa once more, but... he knew there would be no answer. He slowly lowered the phone, feeling his heart pound out of his chest as he slammed it shut.
"This..." He trailed off, watching his fingers tremble. "This can't be happening..."
A/N: Clearly something is wrong here, I made an update and it's been less 3 months since the last one.
I'm excited to show you all where this story goes, I've had most of this planned out in my head but I'm starting to incorporate some more elements into the story which I think you're going to love. Don't forget to leave a comment telling me your thoughts! I'm going to make an effort to start responding to my comment backlog, I really enjoyed actually engaging with everyone and I hope we can keep these discussions ongoing in this project. As always, feel free to talk with me on Tumblr or Twitter, I love hearing what everyone has to say! Have a great day!