Ikebukuro was a massive shopping center in Tokyo, catering to tourists and locals alike. The diverse array of goods for sale appealed to all, and thus it made perfect sense for the Yakuza to have a foothold in the area, billowing their finances by selling cheap goods that conveniently laundered their dirty money. While the mantle of kingpin had changed rapidly over the past few decades, one thing had always remained clear- there must always be a Yakuza who reigns over the district.
Like most areas of Tokyo, that group was The Eight Precepts of Death.
With their monopoly on quirk enhancing and inhibiting drugs, Overhaul's organization flourished and experienced an unnaturally long streak of dominance. The advent of superpowers meant power exchanged rapidly from one mob to the next, but what used to be a yearly power struggle had long stagnated into an uneasy rule that had lasted well over a decade, with no end in sight.
Throughout the shopping district, the group had set up numerous storehouses lodged quietly in the meticulously renovated high-rises that sprawled across the streets, some containing little more than cheap memorabilia, to illegal contraband that was rarely used outside of a military battle.
Not too far from the Sunshine 60 building itself was one of these stockpiles, the inventory mostly consisting of crates full of stuffed animals meant for an underground mall. Despite the seemingly innocuous cargo, the floor was regularly patrolled by a small handful of guards, toting handguns in their tightly clenched palms as they periodically checked each point of entry.
The atmosphere was tense, and a deep sense of existential dread was etched into each of the guards' features. The events that had taken place over the last few nights were not lost on them. The fact that they were armed at all had placed a dense pit in their stomachs; up until last night, they weren't considered essential enough to carry one. Now, the leadership began giving them out like discount chocolates after Valentine's.
One such guard rubbed his jaw, his teeth clenched for so long that it had begun to ache. He stiltedly trudged between the stacks of pallets, the warm humid air stifling his lungs. He tried to breathe calmly but his muscles barely obeyed him, with ragged quiet gasps escaping as he drew air through his nostrils.
Cha-clink.
The sound of something metallic sliding around perked one of the guard's ears as he felt his heart jump in his chest. His grip tightened against the plastic and metal grip on the gun, ridged sides digging into his calloused palms. He lowered his stance, quietly moving to the source of the noise, behind a row of crates not far from him.
As he turned the corner, his eyes widened in surprise at the scene before him- a snakelike woman, wearing the same unofficial uniform as him, had practically ripped the shackle of a crate's lock from its latch, the discarded metal casually thrown to the floor. She seemed otherwise occupied, her neck craned over the edge of the container, peering at the contents within.
The other guard raised his weapon, ready to cock the hammer-
Before he could even blink, the woman spun around, quietly racing along the ground and closing the distance between them. One of her hands gripped his mouth, clamping it shut; the other tore the gun out of his hands, the force so strong he could feel the bones in his fingers creak. Had he held onto it any tighter, he didn't doubt they would have been ripped from his body in a similar fashion.
"Now, now." She cooed, holstering the gun inside the brim of her slacks. "Let's not get carried away, shall we?"
She used her free hand to firmly grasp his shoulder, pulling him along as she slowly moved back towards the crate she busted into. Once they were right in front of it, the woman slowly spun around, hooking her arm over his shoulder as she forced him to lean over the edge of the metal-enforced container. Inside were a number of strange eclectic items- gold stars, symbols of victory, various kanji, even some popular anime idols and characters- all encased in plastic. There didn't seem to be much rhyme or reason with these tokens, but nevertheless the plastic shell they were locked inside of were undeniably the same.
"A-are these..." His eyes widened, hands leaning forward to peer deeper into the container. "Are these pachinko tokens? I didn't know we got back into those..."
"It's a shock to me too." The snakely woman replied, grip loosening once she was sure the other man was no longer hostile. "But that's not the reason I took a peek. Something smells off about this one."
The man squinted his eyes, trying to decipher some level of detail through the stacks of tokens. His eyes widened as he realized something else was inside this container, a black box nestled neatly in the center of the stacks and stacks of plastic items.
Without any sort of encouragement, his curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself slowly displacing the other contents, setting them quietly aside as he cleared a path to the center of the crate. It was heavy, made of some sort of hard material- it felt like ceramic. He fished it out, taking a small step back as he set it on the ground in front of him. He turned his head to look at his newly acquainted partner-in-crime; she was a few steps back, smiling encouragingly at him with her arms folded over her chest. She arched her eyebrows, nodding slightly.
The man brushed his fingers along the smooth, night black material of this strange container. He traced his hands down to the latch on the front, slowly pulling it back and freeing the lid from the rest of the chassis. He slowly swung the top on its hinge, revealing the contents within.
Inside was a set of syringes, twenty-five of them arranged neatly in a square rack. A wispy mist spilled over the rim and out onto the ground, the result of some dry ice nestled at the bottom, in an attempt to preserve the contents as long as possible.
He slowly reached in grabbing one of the injectors. It was as long as his clenched fist, the body itself bright red with a button at the top. A thin needle menacingly shined at the bottom, the glimpses of light reflecting off the metal and onto his eyes.
"They're... this is... Trigger?!" His eyes widened as he noticed something else in the container, previously obscured by the icy vapors- a radio transmitter, with its activation switch tied to the lid. Its light was blinking rapidly. "Oh shit-"
His revelation was cut short by the sound of a loud thud behind him. His already racing heart skipped a beat as he twisted his waist at an awkward angle to see what was behind him.
He saw his snakely partner on the ground, hands weakly grasping at the arms of a strange, green-suited man who was crouching on top of her, red shoes digging into her stomach as he leaned in. He couldn't tell what was happening; only the sound of light gasps and gurgling as he watched her slowly cease to move. Her body twitched violently as the assailant tore his hands back, revealing two blood-soaked knives that scattered a thin mist along the ground.
The guard dropped the syringe in shock, words completely escaping him as he felt his body feverishly jolt to action. He practically threw himself to his feet, eyes frantically searching for the quickest path to safety.
His efforts were in vain, however, as the other man was far faster than he. Without missing a beat, he spun on the heels of his feet, leaping off his last victim like a springboard. The guard watched as the attacker shifted his body in the air, wrapping his legs around the man's waist as the momentum sent them crashing to the ground.
The Yakuza watched his vision split into two as his skull crashed into the metal crate with a sickening thwack, his hair dragging along the surface of its wall as he slumped to the ground. He watched the killer silently raise his hands, daggers glinting menacingly as he brought them down, sinking them cleanly into the guard's throat.
He didn't have the ability to scream or move, even crying felt beyond his reach. He could only ruminate on the choices he made, feeling his brain fill with regrets as quickly as his lungs filled with blood. It wasn't long before the life faded from his eyes, permanently etching his sorrow-filled expression onto his face.
It wasn't long before a response came from the transmitter- by design, one of the Eight Bullets was within close proximity of their Trigger shipments, ready to bust in if a drop went awry. It was at this time that Rappa was the one on call for the supply in Ikebukuro- he wasted no time answering the distress beacon.
The cargo elevator just outside the storehouse opened, revealing the countenance of the muscular Bullet of the Precepts. He pulled a small earpiece from his pocket, switching it on as he pulled down the brim of his mask just far enough to put on the phone accessory. He flipped open his phone, calling the first number on his speed dial, his boss.
"Boss!" He shouted into the mic. "I just got to the storehouse in Ikebukuro- I think someone is raiding the place!"
"...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." He paused, walking down the hall to face the door to the storehouse. He lifted a foot to kick it in but paused for a moment. The door was slightly ajar, with only silence spilling in from the other side. He put his leg back down, opting to slowly push the door open instead.
His eyes widened at the absolute massacre inside. Every single person was lying on their backs, eyes wide as they clutched their necks, blood drained from their bodies and pooled around their fresh corpses.
It took him a second to respond at the sight. "Woah... whoever this is, they're not taking any prisoners, that's for sure. This place is a mess."
There was no response from the other end of the line. Rappa felt a sense of unease wash over his body as he tried to understand what had happened... many of these people were in small groups, all of which had their guns either holstered or deposited somewhere near their bodies... There was barely a sign of the assailant at all, not even any kind of footsteps, like they didn't even touch the ground-
"...Boss, you there?" He abruptly grunted into the line, fists clenching tightly at his waist.
"...Y-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," He rubbed the back of his head, chuckling as he tried to diffuse the dread seeping into his chest. "Can't I have a little fun?"
"Rappa-"
"Okay, I got it!" He snapped back, nervousness getting the best of him. "Are you that riled up over something-"
He cut himself off, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck raise. He spun around to see a much thinner creature rush him, back bent low with his arms pulled tight to his chest. He didn't have the time to wind his punch up, opting to twist his hips in a roundhouse kick. The assailant in green brought his arms up as a shield, catching the kick full-on as the force of the impact caused him to slide to the side. He remained standing, quickly retaliating by thrusting his hands out in an attempt to impale the Yakuza with his knives. Rappa used his momentum to spin backwards, a grunt escaping his lips as the edges of the blades nicking his abdomen, drawing just the slightest bit of blood.
The much larger man slid his foot behind him to steady himself, crouching to the ground just before he leapt forward. He revved his shoulder up, spinning his whole arm in rapid circles as he splayed his palm, attempting to grab the attacker by the head and slam him into the ground.
Just before the blow hit its mark, this murderous vigilante swung his own arm around, deftly sidestepping the swing like a matador taunting a bull. He spun his knives in his palm, pointing them downwards as he slammed the blade into the back of his hand, driving the knife cleanly through. Not satisfied with that, he used the hilt as a vaulting point, leaping over the hand while pressing the knife deeper into Rappa's impaled palm. With his free hand, he slashed his hand in a horizontal arc, tracing the sharp weapon across the chiseled muscles of the Yakuza's abdomen, cutting through the layers of skin, down to the muscle. With the last of his momentum, the assailant slammed his foot on the injured man's wrist, creating enough downward force to wrench the blade out of Rappa's appendage.
The quick succession of attacks resulted in the burly Yakuza stumbling back, a screech echoing throughout the storeroom's aisles. He clutched his hand, vision quickly clearing as he felt rage consume his form. This bastard would pay...
A familiar sense of dread bubbled up on his tongue as he looked around for the vigilante. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. He felt his heart race, blood dripping from his wounds at an increased rate as he spun around, revving his shoulders up as he looked for the place this coward would come running from.
A soft noise caught his ears, his breath hitching as he heard a metallic clangclangclang quickly approach the spot above his head. His neck snapped upwards, watching as the lithe figure jumped off the metal struts on the ceiling of the renovated space, arms stretched high above him as he sailed feet first towards the much larger man.
Rappa felt the pair of shoes find purchase on his shoulders and could only watch as the knives slowly grew closer until they engulfed his entire vision. He heard the crack of the glass eye-shields on his mask, only to be followed by searing pain as his world went dark. He screeched in agony, reaching in vain for an assailant that had already leapt away.
"Rappa, report-"
"I can't see! I CAN'T SEE!" He howled back, revving his shoulders up wildly as he struck everything in his vicinity, desperately hoping to clock the assailant as he swung his fists without restraint.
Jackrabbit stood at a distance, looking completely disinterested as he watched the hysterical fighter try to attack someone who wasn't there. He patiently waited a few moments, looking for a prime opportunity to land the final blow.
When it finally arrived, he didn't waste its presence. He rushed forward, arching his back into a low sprint as he timed his attack between the almost random series of hooks and haymakers. He jumped up, arching his knees upwards as he extended his legs as far out as he could into a dropkick aimed right at the Yakuza lieutenant's face...
The attack connected without fail, with the costumed intruder's feet crashing into the hilts of the dagger's still embedded into the larger man's skull. Both of them could feel his skull's ocular cavities fracture and crack, the force allowing the blades to break through and pierce the soft brain matter within. Almost immediately, Rappa ceased to move, body dropping to the floor like a puppet cut from its strings.
Jackrabbit quietly pushed himself to his feet, adjusting his spider mask slightly. He dug his hands into the pockets of his jacket, staring down at the still body of the bulky warrior now sprawled on his side on the floor. The assassin placed his foot on the corpse's shoulder, roughly kicking the man onto his back. He stepped onto his chest, pulling his hands out of his pockets as he leaned over the Yakuza's head. He dug one of his heels into Rappa's forehead, getting the leverage he needed to pull down and roughly tear the blades free from his skull.
He wiped the blades off on the burly man's shirt before putting them back in the pair of hilts on each side of his waist. Without a second thought, he casually stepped out of the storehouse, leaving the carnage behind for someone else to deal with.
Shinsou groaned, eyelids clenching shut as the light stabbed through the thin membranes. His body felt like it was on fire, thousands upon thousands of pins and needles pressing into him as his bones creaked. His body was slowly bringing itself back to an active state, something his mind desperately begged a halt to. His cheek felt cold- pressed against a hard surface as he felt it sap the heat away from his body. He rolled to the side, feeling his skin practically peel away from the floor after sleeping on it for so long.
His limbs screamed in a lethargic agony as he brought his hands to his face, covering his features as he slowly brought himself to a sitting position. After a careful bout of light massaging and mental fortifying, he slowly opened his eyes, once again taking the world around him in.
He was still in the same bathroom he had locked himself in, the door showing no signs of tampering. The empty food tray still sat next to the door, lacking even a single grain of rice. He felt his stomach growl, sending vibrations up his malnourished spine as his body demanded more. The familiar sense of unease sank into his chest, causing his hands to tremble as he did his best to make sense of his situation.
But the more he thought, the less anything made sense. He shook his head, feeling the spikes of pain jut into his skull as he cleared his head.
He slowly pushed himself to his feet, pressing himself against the door of the bathroom. He placed his ear against the thin wooden paneling, trying to discern any noise aside from the low hum of the air conditioning unit. He wasn't quite satisfied with the silence, but it was either now or never...
He slowly unlatched the lock on the door, sliding the door open as quietly as he could. He felt his heartbeat grow furious, pounding against his chest like a marching drum. He tried to make as little noise as possible as he stepped into the hallway, but the hum in his ears made it nearly impossible to listen for anything. He slowly stepped into the bedroom, a small sigh of relief escaping his lips as he saw the absence of a gore-dressed murderer in the corner. A similar trek to the living room revealed just the same. Aside from basic furnishings like a bed, coffee table, TV and a couch, nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary.
Shinsou retreated back into the hallway, eyes settling on the final door that remained unopened. He slowly slid the door open, showing a room he hadn't been in before. It contained the normal furniture for a kitchen- a stove with a small fish grill, a microwave oven, a sink and a fridge. To his side he noted the presence of a rickety table and some cheap chairs. They looked painful to sit in.
The purple-haired man's eyes were drawn to the fridge, a white sheet of paper folded neatly and pinned against the stained, white metal door by a magnet. He walked over, pulling the note free from its resting place. He unfolded it, reading the chicken-scratch scrawl written within.
Frozen rice in the freezer. Some veggies and meat in the fridge, and some roux. Should be enough to last you a good 2 weeks, we'll bring some more food before then.
- Caretaker
He mindlessly blinked, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to make sense of the letter. They're... buying food for him? He remembered this 'Caretaker' mentioning that they left him supplies... how long ago was that? He couldn't remember.
His stomach growled at him again, the pain settling in as he clutched at his abdomen. He did enjoy the meal he was given, but he had barely any energy and his body demanded something to keep it running.
He threw the door open, finding exactly what was promised- a few boxes of curry roux, along with some carrots, potatoes, and onions. All of them were placed in featureless plastic bags. On the top shelf was a similar bag containing what he assumed to be beef, already cut into cubes about an inch thick. He wasted no time pulling them out, his stomach growling like a rabid animal at just the sight of the food. Rummaging through the fairly well stocked cabinets produced a cutting board, knife, pot and peeler, which he placed on the counter. He peeled the carrots, then chopped all the vegetables into rough chunks. He placed all the items in the pot, submerging them in water as he set it on the stove, waiting for the water to boil. He felt his saliva glands go into overdrive, his mouth flooding itself as he waited for his food to be done. In the back of his mind he already knew it wasn't prepared right, but as long as he could eat it, he couldn't care less.
His preoccupation with sustenance was quickly booted out of his system as the sound of a door slamming open and shut echoed from the other side of the wall. His eyes widened, breath hitching as he spun to face the door, leaning back on the counter as his hands clutched the edge. He felt his heart stop completely as he felt the heavy footsteps move down the hall, past the kitchen door. His first instinct told him to make a break for it, but a tightness in his chest told him that he wouldn't make it very far, whether or not the other person was actually chasing him.
He heard the steps slowly pace the entirety of the apartment, going into the other rooms as he slowly realized what the other figure was doing- it was looking for him.
He covered his mouth with both hands as he heard the steps settle once more on the other side of the kitchen door. The weak wooden paneling was casually cast aside, sliding out of the way as Shinsou once again met the visage that greeted him just the day before-
He could barely suppress a scream as he witnessed the man in front of him. His dull green jumpsuit was splattered in a fine red mist, tainting the very air around him with a repulsive scent. His jacket and gloves were just as speckled, with the majority of the stains centered on his masked face and neck. The two stared at each other, one with an expression of abject horror, while the other looked as if he couldn't care less.
The former captive reached back, hands scrambling for something he could defend himself with. His fingertips brushed the hilt of the santoku knife he was previously using. He pulled the blade towards him, gripping the plastic handle firmly with both hands as he pointed it towards the bloody figure in front of him.
"D-don't make me use this." He warned, though his voice faltered considerably. "Just... leave me be."
There was only a moment of silence before the costumed figure reacted. He slowly closed the gap between the two of them, pushing Shinsou back while effortlessly plucking the knife from his hands. The purple-haired man winced as his back knocked against the counter, his weak legs giving out from under him as he leaned back for support. He watched as the man spun the blade in his palm, grip settling on its hilt as he blankly stared back at the other man in front of him.
Shinsou closed his eyes, grimacing as he expected some sort of retaliation... only to end with the clang of the knife clattering into the sink next to him. His eyes widened in shock, watching as the man calmly walked out of the room, turning past the door and walking down the hall towards the bathroom.
He heard the rush of water through the pipes in the wall as the shower in the next room turned on. The former captive clutched his hair in one hand, grimacing as he tried to make sense of it all. Nothing made sense anymore. If there was any point to that confrontation, it was only to establish that in terms of fighting prowess, then Shinsou stood no chance.
A sense of hopelessness and confusion flooded his mind, and in its haze he found himself sitting against the wall, head bowed and cradled in his hands.
This had to be a dream... none of this made any sense. Perhaps... perhaps he was still locked in Chronostasis' bedroom, and this was the fever dream consuming his brain as he slowly bled onto the floor.
He felt his mind slip slowly in and out of delirium, his sense of time unwinding as he tried to process that which he couldn't. He barely registered the sound of the door to the apartment opening a second time, with footsteps moving to the bathroom just as the water flow cut off. There was a small murmur just as the footsteps slowly traced back to the kitchen, stopping right in front of his near catatonic body.
"Shinsou Hitoshi, right?" The semi-familiar voice called out, snapping the man back to reality. He looked up, bloodshot eyes greeted by the sight of a hooded figure reaching over him, a medical mask obscuring the features of his face. "I'm glad we finally get to meet in person. I'm the Caretaker you spoke with yesterday. Are you feeling a little better?"
The vigilante stared dumbfounded at the masked man for a moment, before pushing himself up with his own hands.
"I... how do you know my name?"
"I have a friend in the police force, they've been keeping me informed on everything. You're quite famous, you know."
"...I see." He replied, looking away. He recognized that, under normal circumstances, he would probably make some form of snide remark, but... he couldn't even muster the mental energy for that.
The caretaker seemed rather nonplussed by the rejection of his help, instead opting to turn to look at the boiling pot of meat and vegetables. He turned off the heat, opening a pack of roux, breaking the solid brown bar into pieces and dropping it into the liquid.
"I apologize for the lack of food; your rescue was just as much a surprise to us as it probably was to you."
Shinsou's head lolled slightly as he watched the other man finish the meal, watching the roux dissolve until the entire pot's contents became submerged in a thick, rich gravy.
"Why was I rescued?" He asked, rubbing the side of his head.
The Caretaker reached into a nearby drawer, producing a ladle. He pointed it at the former captive.
"I'd like to know the answer to that, myself." After a few moments of stirring with the ladle, the masked man pulled a bowl from the cabinets, scooping a hefty serving from the pot into the dish. "Here, let's sit at the table for now. I could hear your stomach from the hall."
The purple-haired man grimaced, placing a hand on his still-trembling abdomen. The heavy, spiced scent of nutrient rich food practically carrying him over to the rickety chair. The moment the ceramic bowl was placed in front of him, he scarfed it down like a wild animal, not even bothering to taste it as it traveled down his throat. The molten liquid left a numb trail on his tongue and esophagus, but Shinsou could care less about the light burns he was inflicting on himself. Anything was better than the desolate hunger he was subjected to for the past month.
It was a matter of mere minutes before the food was depleted, and though he knew there was more that he could eat, he hesitated. For a brief moment, a sense of clarity washed over him, and it was then that he noticed the other figure staring back at him, cheek resting on his knuckles as he propped his elbow on the table. The dust mask covered any possible expression, but he felt as if he was being stared at with a sense of mild bemusement. The former captive started feeling a little self-conscious about his ravenous display.
"...What is this place?" He asked, eyes narrowing as he felt his mental faculties slowly rebuild.
"It's a hideout we use for the Avatar." The Caretaker sat up, folding his arms as he leaned back in his chair.
"The Avatar?" Shinsou echoed. "You mean... that person."
"The one and only. Though, it appears the police nicknamed him Jackrabbit." He shrugged. "I'll give them points for creativity. Are you scared of him?"
"Should I not be scared of people covered in blood?" He bit back, feeling his baggy eyes twitch.
"Well, he did save you. But I suppose you're right." He sighed, standing up. The masked man walked to the door, leaning around the frame as he called out. "Hey! Get in here."
Shinsou felt his breath hitch as he heard the heavy thudding footsteps slowly make their way down the hallway. He felt his eyes widen instinctively as he watched the figure slowly proceed out of the shadows.
It was a man, close to his age, dressed in jeans and a plain white shirt. He didn't seem incredibly muscled, in fact quite the opposite. His semi-lithe figure was wrapped in a near flawless alabaster skin, only blemished by a set of freckles beneath each eye. His dull green irises peaked out from under a mop of damp green hair, bluntly staring at the two other occupants as if quietly waiting for his graveyard shift to end.
The former captive sat frozen, joints locked painfully into place as he felt a sense of panic begin to well up in his chest. His stomach turned sour, threatening to empty itself of the food he just ate.
"Hey!" The Caretaker chirped, startling the purple-haired man back to reality. "Don't freak out. If he thought you shouldn't live, you'd be dead already."
Shinsou slowly turned his head to face the person speaking to him, unsure of what exactly to make of that statement. In the end, he settled with a simple. "...Oh."
"He's not the kind of person to hurt innocents... though I guess 'person' may be a bit strong of a word..."
The other man felt his stomach lurch at that last statement. He turned back to the once-bloodied man, only to find him staring past the two of them. What Shinsou once took for an aloof glare was, upon closer inspection, an empty void with seemingly no cognizance behind it.
"...What..." He trailed off.
"So you finally see it, right? Like I said, he's not a person."
"...Then what is he?"
"Technically, he's a visitor. But I think a more accurate description is that he's a golem." He snapped his fingers, causing the Avatar's head to lock onto him. The Caretaker glanced back at Shinsou, a semi-satisfied sigh escaping from behind his mask. "See? All he can do is take orders. Talented as he is, don't expect to hold a conversation with him."
"Did you tell him to..."
"What, raid Yakuza bases? No, he gets those orders from someone else, far more powerful than you could dream." He leaned forward, his tone dropping all sense of casualty. "I'd be careful of the questions you ask. You may end up getting hurt, or worse.
"What," Shinsou immediately retorted, the other's serious tone not lost on him. "Is that supposed to be a threat?"
"Not at all." The Caretaker shook his head. He pulled at the rim of his hoodie's sleeve, peeling back the layers of fabric to reveal his forearm. It was heavily scarred, webbed red welts and splotches moving past his wrist and all the way up to his elbow, disappearing under the layers of bunched cloth. "I'm simply warning you. Please don't take me for the enemy here."
"...What's the point of all this, then? Why are you going after the Yakuza?" Shinsou asked, drained voice pressing forward.
"Isn't it enough that we are getting rid of your captors for you?"
"It isn't." He rebutted, his voice growing firmer. "I'm locked in an apartment with no way to leave. You're just nicer than the Yakuza."
The Caretaker shrugged, splaying his half-raised arms to his sides. "You're free to leave any time, though you and I both know that probably won't bode well for you right now."
The purple-haired man bit his tongue, glare deepening as his frustrations grew.
The masked man paused for just a moment, before pushing himself to his feet as he walked to the door. He readjusted the sleeves of his blue striped hoodie, lightly finicking with the hem of the cuffs.
"I'm leaving for now. I'll get you some more food in the next few days. If you plan on staying, you should get some rest."
"Wait." Shinsou called out, causing the Caretaker to pause just a moment.
"You know about me... that includes my quirk, right?"
The masked man turned to face him, nodding. "That's right."
"And you talked with me anyway?" He asked, a genuine tone of confusion seeping into his voice. "What if I brainwashed you?"
"Thanks for the concern, but I already had that covered." The Caretaker spun on his heels, walking out the door as he motioned for the Avatar to follow. Just as he left the room, he called back, "I ordered him to kill you if you hypnotized me. I'm glad you didn't."
The Shibuya City Sasazuka Library was fairly quiet, but especially so in the early afternoon. With most salarymen working and most children in school, there were few there, which provided a great spot for those who didn't belong to either group to meet up in a fairly private place. Such was the case for one barista in the public group study space, practically shaking in the thin wooden chair as he looked vacantly at the faux wood surface of the table.
Izuku knew he was sitting weirdly; he just knew it. He shifted himself around quite a bit, hands pursed in his lap as his mind raced with the proper way to seat oneself, trying to not look to formal but also not too casual. Were his legs too close together? Too wide? Was his back too straight? Why was he so nervous in the first place? It's just a friendly meetup, right? Talking with a new friend shouldn't be this big of an issue.
Maybe it was the nerves of meeting up after asking his acquaintance to hold their meeting somewhere outside of the coffee shop. There wasn't any pushback- quite the opposite in fact, but it still made him feel tense.
"Oh, hey! There you are." A cheerful voice called out, causing the green-haired young adult to practically jump in his seat.
He found himself sitting as straight as a ruler, legs crunched together like they were magnetized to each other. His hands pressed firmly into his jeans, the force he was exerting was sure to leave bruises. He felt blood rush to his face as his head snapped to the person greeting him.
"O-oh! Hey, Yu- Yuuki." He stiltedly called back. The anxiety of the situation seemed somewhat reflected on his new friend's face, and though he appeared to be slightly more composed, Izuku could clearly see the small tremble causing his bottom lip to wobble under his protruding fangs.
"So... uh... How have you been?" He called back, smiling wide. The black-haired boy looked as if he had caught himself doing something bad, covering his mouth for a second. When he removed his hand, his mouth was now closed, curled into a much more reserved expression of happiness. The other occupant of the room couldn't help but notice that he attempted to tuck his fangs behind his bottom lip, causing it to bump out ever so slightly.
"I've been doing f-fine... I guess..." Izuku trailed off, rubbing the back of his head reassuringly. He pointed to a pair of paper cups on the table, each with plastic lids and a cardboard heat guard. "I made you some coffee t-too, it should still be warm- If you want it that is! Y-you don't have to..."
Yuuki grabbed the cup, putting it up to his lips. He took a swig of the friendly offering, his smile widening, causing his fangs to pop back out into view.
"I don't know how you make this so well. You're going to get me addicted to this stuff." He giggled under his breath, taking the seat on the other end of the small table.
"I'm glad you like it! It's about the one thing I can do right..." He trailed off, looking to the side as the corners of his lips twitched up slightly.
"So... did you bring your notebooks?"
"What? Oh! Yeah." The barista reached under the table, pulling out a small handbag. He clicked open the latch, revealing a small stack of composition books. "I only brought a few of them, I figured this would be good enough for now, then we can maybe do this another time, too."
Yuuki's eyes widened, resting his mouth on the frayed edges of his blue striped hoodie, his voice slightly muffled. "No, that's fine! I'd love to do this more than once... If that's okay with you, that is..."
"Y-yeah!" Izuku chirped, feeling his cheeks heat slightly as he watched the other young adult produce his own set of spiral bound pocket notebooks. A strange sense of relief washed over him as he saw them for the first time- he never met anyone in person who shared the same interests as him. Hero watching was a semi-popular pastime, sure... but there's only so much validation an online forum could bring. He could feel a sense of curiosity tug at the corners of his mind.
"So... what kind of heroes do you like?" The vampiric man asked, an almost childlike wonderment rising in his voice. "I prefer ones specializing in fighting villains, myself."
"I do too!" The barista nodded, excitement growing in his own voice. "The other ones are good too, but I like watching the fights, since you can get so much useful information out of them. Especially seeing how they progress, too. Like that one hostage situation at the Resona Bank in Shinagawa, where Mudman ended up turning all the ground to quicksand- except where the hostages themselves were! He used to never be able to do that before, but now he can keep up to about 40 people unaffected by his quirk-"
He slapped his hands over his mouth, eyes wide in a surprised shame as he shook his head. "I'm so sorry... when I get too excited, I start to mumble a lot-"
"No, no it's fine!" Yuuki held his hands up in front of his chest, waving at Izuku to stop his apology. "I didn't get to see that, but I love stuff like that. Who's your favorite?"
"Uh... Right now I'd say it's a tie between Earphone Jack and Lemillion. They're so charismatic. It's hard for me to choose." He laughed, rubbing the back of his head again. "What about you?"
"Well, I love rooting for the underdogs!" Yuuki proudly proclaimed, opening one of his books up and flipping though the pages. "I started getting into some of the more stealth-based heroes over the past few weeks. I really love watching both Vantablack and Tsukuyomi-"
The vampiric boy was cut short as Izuku visibly flinched in his seat, a wave of static rolling though his mind as every muscle in his body seized up. He felt himself nearly fall out of his seat, but at the last second his mind cleared up enough for him to clutch at the table and keep him upright.
"A-are you alright?" Yuuki asked, visibly distressed. He jumped out of his chair and held his hands out, unsure as to whether or not he should help to steady the barista.
"No... N-no, I don't- I don't know what came over me. Sorry. Please go on."
"...Okay..." He trailed off, slowly seated himself again, clearing his throat. "Yeah, uh... I'm not sure which of the two I like more. They've got this whole rivalry thing, so I've been trying to consider which 'side' I want to pick. My favorite used to be Ground Zero, but... after the incident I thought it wasn't best for him to be there. I wonder if the family is still pursuing that lawsuit..."
Izuku bit his lip, closing his eyes as he gathered a bit of his composure. The mention of that name alone was enough to bring waves of melancholy into his system. "No. The hero office settled for him before they went to court. He was put on indefinite leave at the time... no word on when he'll be allowed to come back."
"I see." Yuuki leaned back. "That sucks. I was hoping to see him grow a bit as a hero. What are your thoughts on him?"
"I-" The barista's voice caught in his throat. "Uh- I don't- Hmm. He's... I don't know, honestly. We... He was in all my classes up until middle school."
"Really?!" The vampiric man's eyes lit up, flipping through one of his books. He slammed his finger on one page, sliding it across the table to show his studying partner. "You have to tell me what he was like! Was his quirk always that strong? How did he get his attitude? Did you get to meet his family? What were they-"
Izuku shook his head vigorously, clutching the edges of the table in desperation. The reaction caused Yuuki to immediately stop talking. "Stop. I don't- He wasn't... I- Can we talk about something else, please? I just... I don't want to talk about him. I'm sorry."
The realization hit the black-haired boy like a sack of bricks, all traces of excitement dying in his throat. "Oh... I knew he acted like that, but... I thought it was just for show. I'm... I'm sorry."
"No, it's fine, it's just..."
Yuuki shook his head. "No, if he's like that... I should just remove him from my notes."
Izuku's head shot up in surprise as he saw the other man grab a clump of pages from his notebook, pulling them to the side in order to free them from their bindings. The barista gasped, slamming his own hand on the book, stopping the other man before he could cause even a single tear. The two of them looked at each other in shock, before simultaneously yelping and yanking their hands away from each other.
"Sorry, I just- you don't need to do that. Please don't do that just for me." The green-haired man felt himself getting flustered by the second. He shot up from his chair, grabbing his materials and hastily shoving them into his bag. "I think- I... I'm sorry, I think I should go. I want to do this again but... let's talk later."
Yuuki reached out, mouth open but words failing to come out as he watched Izuku make his exit. A weight formed in his stomach as he looked out the window, seeing the barista scamper down the stairs, heading to the Sasazuka Train Station that neighbored the building. He felt his face grow red with a mix of shame and humiliation. He closed his eyes, pulling his hood over his head as he curled inwards.
"Sorry..." He shakily whispered to the empty space next to him. "...I didn't mean to..."
"Took your sweet time, didn't you?" Tsukauchi called out, a sour expression on his face as he watched his uncooperative partner step out of the freight elevator. "Just because the bodies aren't going anywhere doesn't mean you can get to a crime scene whenever you feel like it."
Bakugou grunted, casting his gaze aside. He certainly looked worse for wear; bags hung under his eyelids, almost tugging on his bloodshot eyes. The rest of his face was covered with a face mask, the fabric slowly pulsing outwards and inwards to the pace of his breathing. There was a damp splotch in the center, where some kind of liquid was dabbed on the outside of the mask.
"You sick?" The detective pointed the tip of his pin at the blonde.
His question was met with a grunt and a shake of the head.
"Well, whatever. Let's get to business." Tsukauchi flipped through his notebook, his thumb stopping the pages as they neared the end. "Storeroom used by the Yakuza to hide some of their less illicit goods. Yet again it was reported via an anonymous tip. I'm pissed though... I was hoping our killer would simply keep his stomping grounds to Kabukicho, but it seems we're not that lucky. That makes our job much, much harder."
The suspended hero grunted again, nodding as he listened to the briefing.
"We've counted 14 bodies inside, all but one armed with a weapon. Among the victims was Rappa, a high ranking member within the Eight Precepts of Death. Now that you're finally here, we can comb over the site ourselves." He strode over to the door to the storehouse, pushing it open as he gestured to Bakugou to go inside. "You first, I insist."
With minimal reaction, the blonde shoved his hands into his pockets, sauntering through the door and into the crime scene. The macabre display of bodies took him by shock for just a moment, before the feeling eroded away to nothingness- a cold stone formed in the pit of his stomach as he realized that he was getting used to scenes like this.
The place was devoid of any living people, aside from the investigative duo. Sensing the question arising, Tsukauchi went ahead and answered it.
"The techs are going to take a while- they're trying to figure out how we're going to get them all out. There's not a lot of room for the vehicles. The only other person in here was the guy in charge of canvassing the site."
Bakugou nodded, pulling a pair of gloves and shoe covers out from his pockets. He slipped them on with little fuss and began meandering the room, careful not to step in the many pools of blood that had slowly tendrilled away from the bodies.
He weaved himself through the pallets of crates that lined the building in regular intervals, and with each turn of the corner he was met with a sight more gruesome than the last. Many of these people were lying on their stomachs or backs, hands clutching at their throats. Their skin was stained red, the fluid dried and flaking off of their bodies. One in particular was particularly disturbing- there was a cord wrapped around his neck, with a large smear of dried blood caking the linoleum floor down the row of boxes. It looked like his neck was sliced open, and at the same moment someone had caught him by the neck with the cord to drag him out of sight.
Each one of them seemed to be taken by surprise somehow. It reminded him of a nature documentary he mindlessly watched some time ago. One of its segments showcased a spider species native to Japan- instead of weaving webs, they would make trap doors they could fold open. They gathered their food by jumping out and surprising their prey, attacking so quickly that their target had no time to react.
He felt a shiver crawl its way up his spine, causing his fingertips to twitch. He shook his head, clearing himself of those errant thoughts. Now was not the time.
The pro hero took a deep breath in, thankful that the dab of peppermint oil he put on his mask was still holding up. He couldn't imagine what the stench alone would do to his stomach.
He huffed, unsure of what he should even be looking for. Shaking his head, he returned to the center of the storehouse, watching as Tsukauchi picked at what could be considered the pièce de résistance of the scene. The notorious Yakuza boxer, Rappa, lay mutilated next to the bodies of his subordinates.
Bakugou watched as the detective wedged his gloved fingers under the elastic rim of the plague doctor mask, lifting the thin material from the corpse's face. Bits of shattered glass tumbled off the edges of his face, making small tinkling noises as they clattered to the ground. Beneath it, his barbaric face was contorted into an expression of pure agony. His reddish-brown hair fell over his eyes, but the blood and other unidentifiable fluids trailing down his face prevented either of the investigators from wanting to reveal what was underneath.
"We'll know exactly the cause of death once the coroner gets their hands on this, but... I think it's safe to say that was the cause of death." Tsukauchi concluded. "Hm? He's wearing a Bluetooth headset, but I don't see a phone. His pockets were empty, too."
He looked around for a moment, before an epiphany hit him. "Hey! Help me roll him over."
Bakugou grunted, sauntering over as he bent over and grabbed the shoulder of the dead Yakuza lieutenant. The detective followed suit, grasping one side of the man's waist as they simultaneously pulled up, heaving as they rolled him on his side.
Just as his hunch lead him to believe, a small plastic burner phone was underneath the body, probably having fallen out during the fight leading to his demise. Tsukauchi swiped it off the ground, flipping it open as he began scouring its contents.
"No lock on it, lucky for us- Wait, what?!" His eyes widened, leaning in closer to the small screen as his taps on the number pad increased exponentially. "This guy... he didn't erase anything. Chronostasis' phone was wiped clean before we got there, but this one has a record going back months. Even a call recording log... Why would he even have this?"
The other investigator remained silent, looking away as he waited for the detective to finish.
"Hey." Tsukauchi barked, causing Bakugou's head to snap back at his superior's direction. His inquisitive expression had all but faded, replaced with a more serious, almost accusatory glare. "What's the deal with you? You haven't said a single thing since you've arrived."
The blonde shrugged, shaking his head. "Not much to say."
"Don't give me that." He stood up, walking up until he was almost bumping into the pro hero. "Don't tell me you're still kicking yourself over letting this guy go. Do you really think moping around is going to help anyone?"
"Shut it." Bakugou bit back, the comment clearly striking a nerve with him. "There's just nothing for me to say."
"Then you better find something to say. Believe it or not, I didn't pick you because of your attitude problem."
"Why did you pick me, then?!" He shouted back, frustration marking each peak in his voice. "I don't know what the fuck I'm doing! All I've been doing is going to these shitty corpse parties with you after I let him go!"
Tsukauchi sighed, shoulders dropping slightly as he watched the blonde shake with anger. "Look, I don't blame you for this scene here, but I doubt me saying that is going to change anything for you. If you really want to get this guy off the streets, then at least double down and put more effort into finding him with me."
Bakugou sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. He was definitely angry, but at least outwardly it looked like he accepted the detective's admonishment.
"Let's start with this, then." The older man held out the burner phone. "You read the files on the Eight Precepts; I saw you studying them in the office. I think he's gathering data for someone, but I can't pin down exactly who."
"I don't think he is." The pro hero butted in, taking the phone for himself. He scrolled through the messages, noting that many of them were favorited or marked as important by Rappa. Most of what was logged as special was information or orders pertaining to himself. "That's what I thought. This dude's supposed to be dumb as rocks, right? Even his own fighting style is just 'keep punching till they die.' He probably recorded everything because he was too stupid to remember it all. I doubt Overhaul even knew he was doing that."
Tsukauchi bit the tip of his pen, before pulling out his notebook to scribble more notes down. "I actually didn't think of that. You may be right. Plus Rappa doesn't seem the type to be fond of espionage... even if he just stayed with Overhaul because he wanted to defeat him."
"But why is he here?" Bakugou wondered aloud. "You said this was for shit that wasn't illegal, right? He wouldn't be here if there wasn't."
"That's true, I was curious about that myself. Let's take a look around."
"There's too much shit here, though. It's all locked, too. Can't we wait for someone else to do it?"
The detective looked towards the door, making sure the coast was clear before replying. "If those tips are coming from the Eight Precepts, it's possible that they've got someone on the force in charge of keeping their operations under wraps. I'm not keen on letting that happen if we have the chance to stop that, got it?"
Bakugou nodded, taking another look at his surroundings. He pointed at a set of spiral stairs nestled in the back of the room, leading up and out of sight. "Should I check that out?"
"No," Tsukauchi replied, shaking his head. "I checked that already. It's just there for roof access, but the door has been sealed shut as far as I can tell. It goes up to the rafts of this floor and the rest is cordoned off into its own shaft. I think it was probably meant to be taken down during renovations, but... technically this floor has been under construction for the past 8 years."
"Perfect cover for stashing stuff."
"Exactly. You think you can make some small explosions to blow the locks off? I don't have a lockpick."
Bakugou nodded, and the two of them set off down the rows of crate pallets.
"We won't have time to search them all, and to be frank we don't have the equipment to unstack all these boxes." The detective noted. "There's a few odd boxes sitting off by themselves, let's check those out first."
The investigators methodically moved from one end of the floor to the other, carefully stepping past each body as they found a container they could open up. They all contained some form of merchandise or memorabilia, some of which they recognized from various shops all over the city.
"Do they really just buy random shit like this?" The pro hero asked, his frustrated confusion increasing with each crate of stuffed miniature animals that he opened. "Why are they buying all this crap?!"
"I don't think they're buying it; I think they're selling it." Tsukauchi replied, gloved finger perched between his lips. "They make most of their money by illegal methods, but it's not uncommon for them to have their own industries to invest in. They probably make and sell these on the cheap, which can net them a small profit in case something goes awry with their cash cows."
Bakugou grunted, still annoyed with the work he was doing. Eventually they came across a unique scene, a snakelike woman on her back, and a man slumped in front of a box that was already broken into. His back was contorted, bent out of shape by something he fell on.
"That's the first woman I've seen at these places." The blonde noted, staring down at her surprised expression.
"I'm surprised too-" The detective agreed, taken aback at the sight. "They're... well, historically, they never allowed women to be in this position. Even wives or hostesses were excluded. Overhaul is a pragmatist, though... now that he's essentially the sole ruler of the underground here, he probably let those who showed potential into his ranks."
"I've seen those plastic thingies, too..." Bakugou trailed off, picking one up. "Don't you win these things at Pachinko Parlors?"
"You've got to be..." Tsukauchi snatched it out of his hands, much to his annoyance. "They're getting back into this industry?!"
"What's the deal with them? It's just like everything else here, right? I've got a few of these at home."
The detective looked back at the ignorant blonde, the color draining out of his face. "You... should get rid of them. It's not a good look for heroes or policemen to have them. You don't know what those tokens are, I assume?"
"Yeah, they're like... just plastic prizes like the ones you can get at an arcade, right? You trade the balls for 'em."
The older man sighed, a look of almost genuine disappointment on his face. "Those 'tokens' are stand-ins for money winnings. You're supposed to sell them at a nearby shop that accepts them- they do this so the parlor can get around gambling laws. If the Yakuza are distributing these, then it means they're also getting back into the gambling business."
"...Should I sell them?"
"I'd prefer you throw them away. But what you do when I'm not around is none of my business. Grab that guy's feet, let's see what he's laying on."
Tsukauchi grabbed the man's shoulders as Bakugou grabbed his legs; and they carefully moved him to the side. The item he was on top of was revealed- a black box containing a grid of syringes, each one with a dull red shield encompassing the contents.
"Well..." The detective trailed off, "Looks like they're hiding Trigger in some of these shipments. All accounted for... looks like Jackrabbit isn't interested in using it."
"What would it do with his quirk?" Bakugou looked at the other investigator. "He heals himself, right?"
"Recovering from a shot to the head isn't healing, that's practically resurrection. But you mentioned how he was making the crowd subconsciously avoid him, too... But that can't be a part of his quirk. Maybe he really is quirkless and has others helping him from a distance?"
"What if he has more than one?" The blonde nonchalantly suggested.
The detective looked back at him with eyes wide, his skin turning pallid as a look of genuine fear crossed his features for just a brief moment. "...That is a possibility as well."
He pushed himself to his feet, brushing his palms off on the legs of his pants.
"I think we've found all we need to for now. Unless you have anything else you'd like to check out, we should head to the office."
Bakugou nodded, getting up and following the older man out of the storeroom. The detective pressed the call button on the elevator, and with a chime the doors opened for them. Before stepping on, he grabbed the pro hero's shoulder with a firm grasp, stopping the two of them for just a moment.
"Oh, and... leave the phone out of the reports for now. I don't want a malicious actor to get their hands on it, not until I've gathered what I need. Got it?"
The blonde nodded, breaking the grip and striding into the metal box. He watched as the doors slowly closed, finally separating him from that gruesome scene.
He felt his fists clench as the elevator rumbled downwards. Even if they were criminals... those deaths were on his hands. He felt a renewed vigor in his system, as he mentally swore to catch this murderer, once and for all.
Shinsou sat on the edge of the bed, head hung as he stared at his hands laid limply in his lap. He felt the lull of sleep tug him back, his body begging his brain to simply lie down and forget about it all. He resisted, of course, the creeping paranoia keeping his mind flush with cortisol the moment his eyes closed longer than a fraction of a second. He shook his head, letting another wave of melancholic uncertainty sweep him away.
He couldn't stay here- he absolutely shouldn't. But the outside world... he knew there was merit to what the Caretaker had said to him before. He wasn't an unknown figure in the underground, not anymore... and there was no doubt the Eight Precepts forced all their dogs and pawns to commit his face to memory. Chronostasis was the only one interested in giving him an option where he walks away alive, and... based off of the state this 'Jackrabbit' was in when he was rescued, he doubted he was still alive.
The idea itself that this killer was little more than a mindless drone acting at the behest of a higher power was something else he had to consider... Who were these people? What are they trying to achieve? They were organized enough to have their own spies in the police, but... he had never heard of them until now. The mere fact that there was potentially an entire faction of people sowing chaos and gore into the underside of Tokyo... one that had never seen the light of day, no less... it sent shivers up his aching spine.
He was snapped out of his drowsy worries by the sound of the front door to the apartment opening and closing forcefully. The purple haired man pushed himself off the mattress, pressing himself against the door as he put his ear against it to listen. He heard the heavy footsteps make their way out of the living room, down the hall, stopping right outside the bathroom. He must be covered in blood again-
He yelped as the footsteps suddenly halted, changing direction to head straight for the bedroom door. The wooden panel was abruptly slid aside, causing Shinsou to lose his footing as he fell forward, slamming right into the chest of the mass murderer. He jumped back, socks slipping against the polished wood floor. He felt his legs slide out from under him, and he watched as the world tumbled, ending with a dull thud as his butt crashed into the ground. He winced, looking back up at the man standing over him.
Jackrabbit was not covered in viscera, not this time, at least. But that didn't stop his signature bored stare from boring a hole into the fallen vigilante, quietly observing his every move. Shinsou slowly pushed himself back to a standing position, eyes nervously locked on the figure standing in the doorway, blocking his only exit from the apartment. He took a deep breath, doing his best to calm himself as the two of them motionlessly stared at each other.
He didn't know how long it took for him to work up the nerve to say something. In the back of his mind, he heard the caretaker mention that all this... thing did was take orders given to him. But was that always the case?
An epiphany hit him as his thoughts flashed back to earlier that day. When Jackrabbit disarmed him, then simply leaving him there as if nothing happened.
"D-don't make me use this. Just... leave me be."
Telling him to go away was one order... did this creature take the phrase 'Don't make me use this' as a command to take the knife away from him?
...Was he able to command him like that Caretaker was able to?
Shinsou cleared his throat, straightening his back as he stared straight at the man in front of him.
"Step aside." He barked, his voice deep and terse. He wasn't sure if the tone was needed, but it sure seemed to help calm his wildly beating heart.
Almost immediately, the costumed man stepped back, moving to his right to clear a path for the vigilante.
The former captive nodded, clenching his fists tightly as he strode past the assassin, down the hallway and into the living room. He heard a second set of footsteps following closely behind him, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand up on end. He spun around, watching as the masked individual dutifully stayed back, callously staring back at the man giving him orders.
"Take off your mask."
Jackrabbit grabbed the fangs of his spider mask, pulling back to slide the silicone and fabric off his face. His mass of fluffy green hair practically puffed out; its volume much larger now that it wasn't wet. His vacant eyes radiated a jade green hue, boring themselves into the hypnotic vigilante. Shinsou carefully took a few steps towards the other man, trying to get a better look at his features. Just like the first time, he noted there was almost a sense of fragility and innocence to this person. He was completely devoid of any scuffs or scars typically found on those who fight criminals, especially considering his stature and the acts of violence he was accused of.
It was then that another realization had hit him- he had yet to try out his quirk. He wasn't quite sure how it would react with someone the Caretaker insisted was "not a person." Logically speaking, it was likely that nothing would come of it. There was also the possibility that this was an innocent person subjected to some form of intense hypnosis, but... trying to exert his will on someone already hypnotized was another untested scenario.
Quelling the doubt rising in his stomach, he cleared his throat again. He wanted to avoid any sort of rejection or ambiguity- a simple command should do the trick.
"...Say 'Hi.'"
No response.
Shinsou sighed, shoulders falling slightly at the rejection of his order. Was he simply incapable of making any sort of verbal remark?
No, it's too soon to make that kind of conclusion. Knowing he was relatively free from harm and that this person would likely not cause him harm, he felt his curiosity get the better of him. He nervously walked up, standing right in front of the green-haired man in front of him.
"I told you to say 'Hi' to me."
Jackrabbit stared back at him, keeping quiet.
"Look, this shouldn't be that hard." Shinsou chided, growing more agitated by the second. "Just say something!"
The two of them remained like that for a while, with Shinsou demanding a verbal response in various ways to no avail. His scowl was rapidly deepening, his commands growing more frustrated as he tried to get anything out of the dumb cretin in front of him.
Fifteen minutes of this barrage of angry demands passed, culminating in Shinsou grabbing Jackrabbit's jaw, pulling down on it to force the man's mouth open.
"Breathe in and hold it." He commanded, watching as the green haired creature obeyed.
The vigilante placed his hand on the side of the assassin's throat, pressing his thumb lightly on the corner where the trachea and the underside of the jaw met. It was a technique he used few times before, but only rarely since it required getting up close and personal with his targets, something Shinsou knew better than doing in most circumstances.
"Breathe out." He ordered.
The purple haired man watched as Jackrabbit pushed the air from his lungs. The way that his neck was being pressed down caused his vocal cords to involuntarily activate as he exhaled, making him produce a single pronounced "Haaaaaaaaaah" as he breathed.
The vocal reaction was the opportunity Shinsou was looking for. He closed his eyes, feeling his presence slowly extend from his own body and into that of the man in front of him.
He was immediately taken aback by the sensation it caused him- when he brainwashed someone, there was always a kind of spark that triggered in his mind once he established a connection with their presence. With this mysterious killer, it felt as if he just dove headfirst into a bottomless, icy pool, freezing him to the core. It was as if the thing he was looking for simply wasn't there, replaced with this vacant, vast expanse.
He furrowed his brow, projecting his quirk further inside. Even if he was only capable of taking orders, there had to be something in his head that allowed those orders to be taken...
He continued deeper in, the sensation growing so strong that he felt his limbs grow numb. He could almost feel his very being slowly wisp away, diluting itself into this empty space. He knew something was very wrong, but... if he could just push a little more...
There it was . Some kind of presence; miniscule, but there. Not far away. He felt his body subconsciously suck in as much air as it could. His lungs ached, threatening to explode if he tried to force any more in. He gritted his teeth, covering the last stretch of nothingness-
His mental presence just barely brushed against its surface; almost immediately, he felt the air rush out of his lungs. He clutched his head, screaming as the thing he reached for exploded in size, expanding- no, blossoming into something different, consuming the mental void and casting out everything else. Shinsou quickly cut the connection, stumbling back into the wall as he felt his legs give out. He slid to the ground, sucking air in and out of his gritted teeth rapidly. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes as he clenched them shut.
He felt a thud next to him, the sound of something heavy collapsing on the floor. Then, a groan... not his echoing across the hallway and straight into Shinsou's ear canals.
The pain refused to leave, but the foreign noises woke the former captive's senses up like a cold shower. He opened his eyes, blurry with pained tears as he watched Jackrabbit writhe on the ground, gloved hands covering his face. Eventually his erratic motions stopped, ending with his fingers twitching aside to reveal his eyes- brighter than before, their gaze much more focus.
The silent killer opened his mouth of his own volition.
"What...?"
Yokumitsu stirred awake at the sound of someone knocking on the door to the dark room. It was a light, regularly paced rapping, something he guessed would only come from that squid-headed eccentric. He rubbed his gloves against his perfectly curved mirror-mask, shaking his head as he tried to recall his surroundings- same grimy apartment, same dingy bed, same human puppet slumped in his wooden chair.
The knocking became slightly more insistent, eliciting a groan from the resident.
"I'm coming, I'm coming! Jeez..."
He opened the door, stepping aside as Neo-Mokai strode in, zeroing in on his pet project in the middle of the room. He crouched to the young adult's eye level, pulling at his eyelids and lips with his fingertips, intently observing something that the other being couldn't understand. Seemingly satisfied, the squid-masked man stood up, turning around to face his peer.
"Nothing out of the usual?"
Yokumitsu shook his head. "Same as always."
"Good, good. Should be a simple recalibration, then."
"Wha... Where... am I?"
The two masked men froze in place as an unexpected third voice bounced across the room. They both focused their attention on the green-haired boy in their midst. His eyes were losing their haze; he was quickly regaining his focus, and his focus was on them.
Neo-Mokai wasted no time in responding. He dove at the boy, causing the chair to shatter to bits as he pinned all of his limbs to the ground with his own. A shrill scream raced out of the young adult's mouth, only to be cut off as the wriggling tentacles on the mask shot downwards, racing into each open orifice in Izuku's head.
Yokumitsu watched in horror, slowly inching his way to his bed as the excruciating process continued. What was originally a screech devolved into a whine, fading away to nothingness. The only sign that he was alive came in the form of his body twitching, coinciding with one of the slimy tendrils pressing deeper into his skull.
Eventually, the squid-masked man finished, leaving the once-lucid man vacant and drooling on the floor.
"What... what was that?" The man with the mirror mask worriedly asked. "How did he-"
"What did YOU DO?!" Neo-Mokai yelled, turning around to face his peer. "How do you keep screwing up like this?!"
"Wh-wha- W-wait, I didn't-"
"Don't give me that drivel, you absolute waste of effort!" The man bellowed, sauntering over to a cowering Yokumitsu with his finger pointing accusingly at him. "It's ALWAYS you! I was hoping for once you'd be able to do something right, but apparently that's just too much to ask for!"
The mirror-masked man pulled his knees up to his chest, hands clutching the side of his head as he tried to hide himself from view.
"I don't know what you're talking about! I didn't DO anything!" His body began to tremble, a small hiccup eking out of his mouth. "I'm sorry, okay? I don't know what I did but I'm sorry..."
"I..." Neo-Mokai sighed, his voice slowly returning to his calmer, more composed tone. "No. I said things I shouldn't have. I apologize, this unexpected turn of events caught me off guard. You don't deserve me taking it out on you."
"...Okay..."
"Look, Ts- Yokumitsu... We should be fine for now. I'll be coming by more often to do checkups, but... if anything happens- ANYTHING... please tell me, okay?"
The mirror masked man dejectedly nodded, not saying anything. The other man paused for just a moment, before turning to head out the door. He turned the handle, stopping only when he heard the quiet voice of his peer speak up.
"...Is this bad?"
The question caused Neo-Mokai to freeze up, the weight of those three words pressing down on his mind. He brought his curled fist to the part of his mass of tendrils where his mouth should be, giving it some serious thought. It wasn't long before he realized something- he felt his shoulders instinctively rise as a small chuckle escaped his body.
"Actually, this could be good. Very good, indeed." He threw open the door, stepping out of the room. As the door closed, he called back.
"Keep a good eye on him for me. My plans for him just got a lot better."
A/N: Thanks for reading, everyone! As always, a review of the chapter is always appreciated, and will help me to hone my skills even further with your feedback! And if you'd like, feel free to follow me on Twitter and Tumblr, and drop me a line there as well! Thanks again!