Dial Tone

by Auresalia

(Inspired by HuntyDraws' "Hotline Tokyo" art piece) Something's happened to Izuku. He doesn't know what. All he knows is that everyone around him acts strange, and people both known and unknown are stalking him. At the same time, a vigilante has begun massacring criminal hideouts, and it all seems to center around him.

6. Thy Muscles Severed

"We belong to you."

Izuku awoke with a start, his breath forcibly wresting itself from his lungs as he violently threw his torso off of the mattress. He clutched at the sheets in his grasp, the soft material slipping through his fingers as the sweat drenching him seeped into the bedding around him. He looked around, wide eyed and frantic, trying to desperately understand his surroundings.

It wasn't the small room he was given in his apartment. No, this was radically different from the cheap furniture he had supplied himself from his job. The mattress formed around his body, beckoning him softly to lay back down and drift off to dream-land, the sheets complimenting the gesture with a sleek and cool feeling that kept him comfortable.

His initial panic was quickly swept away as his adrenaline addled mind slowly kicked back into gear. This definitely was not his room- but it wasn't entirely unfamiliar to him either. He loosened his death grip on the fabric covering him, closing his eyes as he slowed his breathing.

He had absolutely no idea where he was, or why he was in such a lavish bed. It seemed rather unfitting for the room itself, which was little more than four plaster walls and a tiled floor. He wracked his mind to remember where he was, but he just couldn't quite get the pieces to fit-

"We are nothing without you."

The door quietly turned on its hinges, revealing the scores of white-and-blue hooded figures waiting behind it. They filed in, their eagerness causing a slough of miniature tussles as they struggled to get in before their colleagues. It wasn't long before the room was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with these individuals, all of them with their gazes affixed to the green haired man on the bed. They all looked expectantly at him, some inexplicable joy etched into their features as they struggled to refrain from an outburst of joy.

Wordlessly, the figures reached forward, hands lightly sliding underneath his body as they lifted him up. It wasn't long before he was laid prone above their heads, the multitude of hands supporting him.

Once the group ensured that they would have no problems holding him up, he was slowly pushed away, his limp body moving towards the door. For each hand that relinquished their contact, another one was greedily finding purchase, the crowd working together to keep him in motion.

Izuku remained completely calm throughout this process, not finding a single bit of instinct demanding his resistance as he was carried through the frame of the door and into the hallway. His chest filled with a strange, warm feeling, some kind of emotion whose name he could not find the words for.

"You are the world to us."

The rows of fluorescent lights bounced across his eyes as he was slowly transferred down the hallway, to a location he knew nothing of. He looked down, craning his neck to see if he could gauge some semblance of information, but all he could see were the rows upon rows of figures. Their enraptured eyes practically teared up at the sight of them, a hushed murmur of excitement travelling through them as they waited for his unmoving body to approach them.

He turned countless corners and crossed through countless doors, but not once did he ever lose the support of those beneath him. This group was astoundingly massive, and despite the hundreds of people present for this strange procession, he couldn't help but feel that this was only a fraction of those who were part of this faction.

The whispers of the gatherers grew increasingly more excited, with many of them struggling to keep their words at a quiet volume. Izuku's stomach churned with the noise, growing more unruly as the din only increased around him.

It was only as he found himself rounding yet another corner that the chattering suddenly screeched into a deathly silence. He was carried through a door to his side, the harsh lights illuminating a sort of operating table that the group had surrounded. The hands underneath him carefully rolled him onto his stomach, slowly sliding him onto the cold metal surface. His hands were guided to a pair of small divots on the device, a padded bar in each of them, meant for him to grab onto. He felt a set of straps pull down over the back of his calves and ankles, locking his body into place, unable to manifest even the tiniest of twitches.

Something thin and cold pressed itself against his back, tracing itself down the fabric of his shirt and audibly tearing it down the middle. He felt the tattered clothing get pulled back, exposing his skin to the frigid air. Yet again he felt something thin press against his back, this time so sharp that he could feel it piercing the outermost layer of his skin.

"Nothing compares to our passion for you."

The scalpel pressed deeper, effortlessly moving through the fragile layers of skin and fat. The wielder of the surgical tool steadily moved the blade along Izuku's spine, cutting a straight line down to his waist.

Throughout this process, the green haired boy gritted his teeth, not uttering the slightest of whimpers as he clutched at the support bars in his hands. He tensed his muscles, breathing heavily as he scrunched his eyes shut.

Something else pierced his back, hooking itself into the large gash the surgeon had made- he couldn't tell what it was, but the tension it had on his wound made its purpose clear. The scalpel was removed, pressing back into his shoulder. It moved across his body, perpendicular to the initial cut. A similar motion was made on the lower half of his body, scoring his back into two rectangular shapes.

The objects hooking into his back pulled back harder, and Izuku could barely hold in his screams as he felt his skin peel away from his back, the scalpel running under the cut to fully separate the sub dermis from his muscle. His breathing became nothing but rapid, hysterical, shallow whimpers; his eyes were wide, pupils shrunk to the size of pinpoints as the green irises violently jittered back and forth from the trauma. He heard a sickening slapping noise as something flimsy fell against the metal table- he knew exactly what it was, daring not to envision it in his head.

His breath hitched as he felt a pressure against his back; he could not directly feel it, but something was pressing on his internal organs. He dared not breathe, holding his breath as his heart raced. It wasn't long before the pressure dramatically increased, the sound of something tearing inside of him as he felt a horrified scream pour from his mouth.

"We love you."

Izuku awoke with a start, his breath forcibly wresting itself from his lungs as he violently threw his torso off of the thin mattress. He clutched at the sheets in his grasp, the coarse material gripping his fingers as the sweat drenching him seeped into the bedding around him. He looked around, wide eyed and frantic, trying to desperately understand his surroundings.

The familiar sight of his room brought a sense of relief to him, as he limply fell back onto the bed. He groaned uncomfortably, the springy box doing little to absorb the impact against the floor beneath it. He wiped the sweat off his brow, staring up at the ceiling and watching the faint light of the street signs outside bounce against the small crags and bumps in his ceiling.

The adrenaline quickly wore off, the young adult gaining more control over his breathing as he tried to make sense of the vivid dream he was presented with. His stomach churned from the horrid visions he had received, but his chest echoed some strange sense of familiarity, something he couldn't quite trace. Despite the vulgar depiction, his mind only lingered on it, comparing the strange surgery to the act of a butterfly spreading its wings as it breaks out of its cocoon.

He shook his head, pursing his lips as he quickly forced the thoughts out of his head. His mind returned to reality, and it dawned on him that he had promised to spend time with Yuuki... on All Might Day. He felt his heart slowly pick up its pace, both in anxiety and guilt as he pondered on what the day would bring.

He groaned in frustration, pulling the pillow out from under him as he slammed it over his face. He knew this decision was a mistake, and now he was getting nightmares from it. But... he knew he couldn't back out now.

He resigned himself to defeat, closing his eyes with his pillow still covering his head. This wasn't the time to ponder on these things; he did his best to clear his head of intrusive thoughts, feeling his drowsiness fall over him once more.

Izuku quietly slipped off to slumber once more, strangely confident in the fact that he wouldn't remember the dream once he had woken up a second time.

---

"Look alive, detective!" Police Chief Tsuragamae bellowed as he threw aside the door to Tsukauchi's small office. He strode through the entrance, slamming a copy of the day's newspaper onto the startled detective's desk. "We've gone public."

The front of the paper contained a blurry photo of what appeared to be some sort of nightclub- next to it was a well-rendered sketch of Jackrabbit. The strange being had this almost menacing gaze, staring directly into the detective's soul. The sight of it alone sent the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He skimmed over the details of the article within, picking up minor details about the assault that had been carried out at the nightclub just a few hours ago.

"Why wasn't I notified?" He folded the paper in half, covering the piercing stare of the murderous vigilante.

"I would like to know that myself. The press were notified practically as soon as it happened, yet not a single call came in through dispatch regarding the incident."

"That doesn't make sense- this many witnesses, but not a single call on the emergency line? That's impossible."

"What do you suggest happened, then?" He paused, a tense air of silence hanging between the two.

The detective did his best to keep his face as stoic as he could. He placed his hand on his hip, rubbing the tip of his thumb against the plastic edges of Rappa's burner phone underneath the layers of fabric.

He sighed, shaking his head. "No idea. Perhaps I'm simply overestimating the ability of kids these days."

Tsuragamae huffed, the puffs of air almost comically puffing his doglike cheeks. "You sound almost as old as me when you say things like that."

Their lapse in conversation was conveniently broken by the appearance of Bakugou, who had stopped dead in his tracks outside the door frame. Before he could say anything the Police Chief directed his attention towards him.

"Ah yes, our 'consultant.'" He waved him over. "Close the door behind you."

The blonde pro-hero pursed his lips, quickly slamming the door shut as he folded his arms. He moved over towards the pair of law enforcers, sliding himself onto the top of one of the nearby desks.

"I take it you're aware of the most recent attack?"

"Yeah, it was all over the screens on the TV shops on the way here." He crossed his legs. "Buncha people wasting time staring at it, too."

"...Right." Tsukauchi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Has the scene been secured for investigation?"

"We're sending over our medical and tech personnel to do the forensic work and bring the bodies in. You'll have access to it after that."

Bakugou shifted around on the desk, trying not to reveal how relieved he felt at the news. The two policemen ignored the gesture.

"What about witnesses?"

"We've asked the local news stations for information regarding who sent in the footage. Without any concrete info, we've got little in the way of finding out who was there."

The pro hero sighed, pulling out his aging smartphone, typing rapidly on the screen.

"We've got almost no leads to work off of... we've scoured everything on the case so far." Tsukauchi sighed, curling his fist over his mouth.

"I take it your fireside chat with the worst villain in history did not go well?"

"Nothing but conspiracy." He waved his hand, shooing the question away like a bothersome fly. "All he did was rile Bakugou up."

"Well, next time you decide to do something as stupid as that, ask me next time-"

The chief was cut off by the blonde hero stepping between him and the detective, slamming his phone on the desk. It had the web browser open, the page displaying a type of forum with a live chat on the bottom moving rapidly.

"There's already fan-pages up for him. This one... it's got everything."

The policemen's eyes widened, Tsukauchi's face growing pale as he snatched the phone up to take a look for himself.

"Jackrabbit, the previous places he went, it even has a list of the high ranking Yakuza he's killed. It's all there."

"These chat messages..." The detective trailed off. "...They're all praising him. 'Jackrabbit is cleaning up these streets...' 'He's doing what the police never could...' 'It's about time someone stood up to the Yakuza...' How does he have a cult following already? It's only been a few hours since he got publicized."

"More importantly, woof," Tsugaramae cleared his throat. "It appears we have someone in our office who has no problems leaking highly sensitive information."

"Were they... waiting for this to come out?" Tsukauchi muttered, quickly pulling out his notepad to scribble down more thoughts. "This type of site... it can't be made in the span of a few hours. Were they preparing for this?"

The police chief huffed, shaking his head in defeat. "We'll know when we find out who it is. I'll deal with that matter myself. In the meantime, do what you must to prepare to investigate the crime scene when you're cleared for entry."

The dog-faced policeman didn't wait for a response before he took his leave. Once the door shut, all that was left was the detective and the pro-hero, both with exceedingly concerned looks etched into their features.

"He's never attacked a public place like he had this time... why did he change his modus operandi?" Tsukauchi paused, tapping the back of his pen against his notebook at regular intervals. "There doesn't seem to be any high profile targets there, either."

"Who knows?" Bakugou shrugged. "How come I didn't hear about this until just now? This happened late last night, right?"

The detective took a deep breath, holding it as he placed his tented fingertips on either side of his nose. He opened his mouth, sighing as he expelled all the air pent up in his lungs.

"...That's because someone in dispatch prevented any of the calls from going through. Maybe more than one of them."

"What- w-what the hell are you saying that for?!"

"There could have easily been around 200 people in that club. Assuming it was Yakuza owned, the staff wouldn't say a word... but the patrons..." He looked up, eyes hardening as he focused on his blonde underling. "Do you really think not a single one of them wouldn't call in? It doesn't make sense. No heroes were called out, no police involvement... looking at this page you sent me, it looks like the media got it from some of the videos uploaded to YouTube. Who in their right mind would witness a massacre live and just simply go home?"

"Should we tell the Chief?"

"No... not now." He sighed. "Something's off. His job is bureaucratic- and he's going to personally deal with the mole?"

"Maybe he doesn't trust anyone else to do it."

"Yeah, that could be the case." He rubbed his eyes, the gears in his head grinding to a halt. "That whole conversation about the Vanguard has made me paranoid. Speaking of which- what made you change your mind?"

"That... 'Failure...' said I should go. I don't know how he knew, but..." The memories flashing back of the meeting he had with the strange man in the biker helmet sent shivers up his spine. "Damn bastard creeps me the hell out."

"Well, either way we did get some information out of him, even if it wasn't immediately helpful." He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "If he approaches you again, see if I can speak with him as well. Or at the very least try to record him."

"What, you ain't got anyone to tail me?" He sneered, before looking around to the empty room. "Actually, why is it just you and me?"

"My manpower has slowly been draining from this office ever since... well all that stuff." He sourly replied. "There was All Might, first... and then after that Endeavor disappeared the next year. Ever since then, a lot of the fear and faith in the hero system eroded. Most of them are in organized crime or in homicide. They're doing well. But as for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, it's just me and you for now."

Bakugou huffed, rubbing his fingertips together as he failed to find anything to say. Tsukauchi quickly cut the silence by handing the pro-hero's phone back to him.

"While we're waiting to investigate, keep an eye on that forum. Pull it up on the desktop, if you see anything noteworthy copy it down so we can keep track of it."

The blonde man huffed in response, pushing himself off the desk as he turned the computer on. Within minutes he was on the site and scanning through the forum posts to find anything he could.

The detective spent a few moments perusing through the case files, but was unable to find anything novel about them. He eventually stood up, the action causing Bakugou's head to snap to attention.

"Keep working on what you're doing right now." Tsukauchi commanded, sinking his hand into his trench coat pocket and pulling out Rappa's phone. "I'm going to have an acquaintance of mine work on this. Hopefully she'll be able to give us some more info on the remaining Yakuza."

"Do I know this person?"

"You may remember her, she was the one who helped raid Yuuei when you were still a student there. I'm sure she'll be more than happy to help, provided we work out some sort of deal. I'll see what I can do. If you find anything, let me know."

With that, he left, leaving a mildly annoyed and grumbling pro hero to do the menial work he was assigned.

---

Yuuki couldn't deny that his brain was wracking itself as he ascended the metal steps tracing the outside of the apartment complex that Izuku was renting from. He held his phone tightly in his hands, double, triple checking that the address he was texted was where he was at. He wondered if he should text his acquaintance to ask him if he was absolutely sure that's where he lived, or maybe that would be a stupid thing to text- and he still couldn't for the life of him figure out where he wanted them to go!

He stopped right outside of the apartment, looking at the number etched into the door plate.

Room 302 , it read back to him.

He double checked the apartment complex name, its slightly tilted sign standing erect at the entrance. South Ashi Heights, it confirmed. The same as Izuku had sent him.

He nervously bit his lower lip, feeling his lengthy and sharp incisors press into the skin. He held his breath, puffing his cheeks out as he clenched his fists. He shook his head, internally groaning. He should have backed out; this wasn't really his forte.

Technically speaking, it wasn't quite the point of no return. He could just turn tail and bolt from the building, then make some excuse about how he just can't find the building and that they should try again when it wasn't a national holiday-

Yuuki resisted the urge to punch himself in the face as he felt his cheeks turn purple from the combined embarrassment and oxygen deprivation. He shouldn't be backing out now! Not when he was literally at the door!

He steeled his resolve, continuing to hold his breath as he reached forward, fist shaking as he prepared to rap his knuckles against the metal surface...

"Oh, are you a friend of Midoriya's?"

The sudden exclamation from a previously unnoticed source caused all the air to rush out of his lungs in shock, the propulsion sending the vampiric young man flying backwards and silently crumpling against the railing behind him. His legs gave out, one hand firmly grasping the metal rail to support him as the other was clenching the fabric of his shirt.

In front of him was a rather energetic looking man around his age. An overwhelming aura of confidence radiated out of him as he smiled wide, jagged teeth shining back at the stricken man in front of him. His hair was a blazing red, just as bright as his eyes, and spiked up to an almost ridiculous degree. He immediately rushed over, grabbing the other person by the shoulders, almost effortlessly pulling him back to his unstable feet.

"Are you okay?" He tilted his head, eyes closing as his grin widened even further. "Didn't mean to shock you like that!"

Yuuki nervously laughed, backing up as he leaned against the railing. "No, no- i-it's fine! Just, ah... you just caught me off guard is all."

"That's good!" He boomed, a slight peal of laughter escaping through his teeth. "So you're a friend of Midoriya here?"

Yuuki's eyes widened, looking away and scratching the back of his head. "W-well... you could say friend... or acquaintance... or just someone he met in passing... a-ah... m-my name's Yuuki! What's yours?"

The man puffed up his chest, striking his chest with a hardened fist as he pointed his thumb towards himself. "I'm Kirishima! Nice to meet you! I'm Midoriya's trainer at the gym a few blocks over."

"Trainer?"

The question only seemed to fuel the well-built man's ego, as he curled his biceps and struck a pose for the person that he had just met minutes ago.

"Yup! Only the most manliest of professions- Oh! My business card!" He immediately broke out of his self-aggrandizing stance, shoving a hand into his pocket to pull out a slightly worn out white slip of stock paper. Yuuki cautiously took it into his hands, reading the name and description emblazoned on it.

Eijirou Kirishima , it practically shouted in blazing red foil letters, Personal Trainer and Physical Therapist.

"Physical therapy?" The vampiric man echoed.

"Well- I can take on clients who have been in incidents that debilitated them, but I don't really do that much. Most of my physical therapy clients are when doctors prescribe exercise for people who- ah, actually..." He paused, wincing. "It's probably best I don't talk about it. Not like I don't want to tell you, but... I'd be revealing secrets Midoriya probably doesn't want me to talk about. Sorry."

"N-No," Yuuki stammered, waving his open palms at the crimson man in front of him, "I shouldn't pry if it's that sensitive. What are you here for, anyway?"

"Oh, I was just checking up on him." Kirishima laughed. "He'll sometimes squirrel himself away in his apartment, so I'll just check up on him every once in a while. But it looks like you beat me to the punch!"

Their conversation was cut short by the sound of the dead bolt on the door unlocking, the metal pane slowly turning inwards on its hinges as a small crack formed, bridging the inside to the outside.

A small vertical slice of Izuku's face slowly appeared on the other side, obscured slightly by the metal chain keeping the door from swinging open fully. A bright green eye gazed outward, staring back at the two red eyed people staring right back at him.

The world seemed to freeze for a few seconds, everyone unsure of how to react in the situation presented before them. That moment swiftly ended as Izuku's face flushed, his skin turning an almost cherry red as his mouth widened and trembled in unspoken horror. The door immediately slammed shut, a cacophony of mumbling on the other side that sounded like half-intelligible apologies.

"Does... does he normally do that?" Yuuki nervously asked the gym trainer next to him.

"Not often..." Kirishima trailed off. "Only when there's too many surprises at once."

"We planned this, though..." He muttered under his breath.

"It could just be stress..." The muscled man's eyes widened as a realization hit him. "Oh... that's right. Today's All Might Day."

"Did... something happen?"

"Well..." He sighed, his voice dropping to a considerably lower volume. "I guess it's fine if I tell you just so you're aware, but... please don't talk about it with him."

Kirishima waited for Yuuki to nod his head before continuing.

"They've apparently got some sour history between them. I don't know much about the details... but I do know it's something that affected him very deeply." He sighed. "All Might even tried to directly reach out to him... he even sent a letter to my gym addressed to him. But I think Midoriya threw it away without reading it. After he... after he died, a large donation was made to the gym and attached to it was a request to allow him to continue using the facilities for free. I never told him though- I was worried that if he knew, then he may stop coming, so we just told him that his health insurance was covering the session costs."

"I see..." The vampiric young man trailed off, unsure of what to say.

"If he wants to hang out with you, on today of all days, you must have left quite the impression on him." He patted Yuuki's shoulder roughly, the impact causing him to wince a little. "I hope you can break his shell a little."

The door opened once more, swinging all the way to the side to reveal a rather flustered looking Izuku, head painfully craned to the side, doing his best not to look at the two visitors directly.

"I- a-ah... W-W-Welc- uh... How a-are you two doing?" He mumbled, his words just barely understandable.

Yuuki opened his mouth to speak but was immediately cut off by the booming Kirishima next to him.

"Oh don't get too worried, I'm just here to check up on 'ya." The man placed his hands on his hips, leaning in to get a closer look. "It's been a while since you've been around."

"K-Kirishima, it hasn't been th-that long-"

"It's been 3 weeks; you can't weasel your way out of this one. At least tell me you've been taking days off of work."

Izuku looked increasingly flustered, sending desperate glances begging for help over to his vampiric acquaintance. Yuuki looked just as bewildered as he was, and completely unable to step in for anything.

"He isn't going to help you on this one." The gym instructor chided. "When was the last time you took off time before work?"

"T-two days ago, actually!" The barista blurted out, pointing at his cohort. "I w-went with him to the library!"

"And before that?"

"I- uh... I..." He turned away, sweat forming on his brow as he tried to hide his face. "I... don't, ah- r-remember?"

Kirishima sighed, shoulders slumping. "You need time for yourself, we've been over this. Well... at least he seems to be getting you out."

Yuuki looked back and forth between the two other people in the conversation, wisely choosing to remain silent.

The red-haired young adult continued, "Now- Woah!"

His exclamation took them both off guard, only to be further shocked as he grabbed Izuku by the wrist and lifted his arm up. The barista's muscles rippled under his skin as they involuntarily flexed, their density stealthily rivaling that of the gym instructor's own.

"Have... you been exercising outside of the gym?" He asked, genuinely taken aback by the other adult's stature.

"N-no!" He exclaimed, ripping his arm out of the other man's grip. "The only exercise I've been doing is lifting the coffee bean bags. A-and! I've been lifting them with my legs, not my back!"

Kirishima took a few steps back, shaking his head. "I'm surprised that you seem to have gotten built so much just from doing that, but... As long as you're being safe about it. You've got such a manly physique now!"

The other two watched awkwardly as he clenched his fist, slamming his eyes shut as he exclaimed his praise for Izuku's musculature.

"Well, anyway..." The gym trainer trailed off, "...It's good to see you're doing well at least. You know you should be dropping by the gym, though. Doctor's orders."

The barista looked down, scratching the back of his head. "Alright, I will..."

"Good." The red-haired young man replied, turning to face the doorway. "Alright, I'll let you two get on with your get-together. I'll see you soon, Midoriya!"

The two of them watched as Kirishima bounded down the steps, jogging out of the complex and out of sight. Once the dust finally settled, they looked at each other, unsure of how exactly to approach the situation they were a part in.

"Would, ah-" Izuku cut himself off, his voice cracking slightly. "Would you like to... come in?"

"Oh! Uh, yeah. I think that would be nice." Yuuki stiltedly replied, shuffling into the barista's home.

The vampiric young adult was slightly put off by the lack of any sort of decoration in the apartment. It looked practically untouched. The walls were completely barren, and the floor didn't fare much better. The main room consisted of little more than a single two-seat couch in front of a small TV that rested on the floor. The open kitchen connected to the room was barely any better, the only thing aside from the dripping faucet of the sink being a single plate left on a drying rack.

"So..." The barista trailed off, "did you know where you want to go?"

"Actually, I wanted to ask you about that!" Yuuki blurted out. "Ah- Sorry. Are there... like, any places you like to go to?"

"...Not really."

"...Oh. How about any hobbies? Anything you like to do in your spare time?"

"...No..."

The two of them just stared at each other, before Izuku eventually broke the gaze and looked to the side. His face seemed... blank. That was the best way to put it.

"There's a Jazz club that's over in Kichijoji we could go to!" Yuuki burst out the idea the moment it crossed his mind. "Everyone is going to be out in the parades, and it's hidden pretty well. If we go now, we'll get there at about seven o'clock. We could... go there?"

"...Yeah, that works." The barista replied, the same smile he gives to his customers forming on his face as he spoke. "Let's go there!"

---

Bakugou had lost count of how many hours he spent scanning the website for anything suspicious, but there was little he could find that proved noteworthy. It was obvious to him and Tsukauchi that someone who was a part of (or related to) the police force was the one who created the forum... but neither of them could find anything that came close to personally identifiable information. The website itself was hosted in America, meaning whatever legal means they had to obtain the owner's information would take considerably longer than they would have liked.

"What's the status on when the crime scene will be cleared for entry?" The pro-hero impatiently asked his superior.

He was by no means looking forward to snooping around a scene where corpses used to lay, but he was going to have to bite the bullet sooner or later.

"I don't know." Tsukauchi muttered, taking a glance at his watch. "It's rare for them to take this long, but... who knows, honestly."

Bakugou huffed, turning his attention back onto the screen. He was on the verge of smashing the mouse to bits with his fist. There was only so much of the same drivel and adoration of the man who he had let go that he could go through.

"Are you finding anything useful?" The detective asked, casting a slightly concerned glance at the seething hero.

"Of course I'm not!" He bit out loud, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. "I'm fucking sick of reading the same shit over and over!"

The older man sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I thought as much. Go take a break; I'll let you know when we're allowed to start investigating."

"...Whatever." The blonde stood up, digging into his pockets. "Been craving a smoke all day, anyway."

He sauntered out, quickly crossing the empty hallways of the precinct before exiting the building. He wasted no time walking across the street to the designated smoking area, which was little more than a set of glass walls cordoning habitual users off from the rest of the street. Luckily, at this time of day it was just about as empty as the precinct itself.

He took his seat at a bench wedged into the corner of the glass walls, lighting up the tobacco and taking a deep drag of the smoldering plant. He held it in his lungs for just a moment, before exhaling it and sending a wispy cloud up to the sky. He leaned back, closing his eyes as he felt his stress slowly ebb away.

"How did the meeting go?"

Bakugou's eyes shot open as the eerily familiar voice emanated from just a few feet in front of him. He let his head hang, revealing the countenance of the same biker who he had met just the day before.

"It went fucking terrible, that's what." He grunted, his teeth clamping down on the cigarette's filter. "The hell did you want me to talk to him for?"

"He's a waste of humanity, but he served his purpose. I apologize, but... there was no way you'd believe anything I said until he corroborated."

The pro hero's gaze darkened as he realized what exactly The Biker meant.

"Failure, huh?" He puffed another plume of smoke. "Mind telling me what that means?"

"I- I don't know myself, to be honest." He replied, his monotonous voice faltering for a moment. "All I know is that I was supposed to be... something like Jackrabbit. But instead, my eyes were opened. And I know what will happen if he is left unchecked."

"Millions will die, yeah..." Bakugou trailed off. "You chose the worst fucking hero for that job."

"What?"

"...Forget about it." He sighed, shaking his head. "So what are you here for?"

"...Let's go somewhere, first." The Biker replied, adjusting his emblazoned puffer vest. "This place isn't the best to avoid prying eyes."

"Fine. Where do you want to go to?"

"There's a Jazz bar in Kichijoji, not too far from here. It should take just a few minutes' travel- so we should get there at about seven."

The pro hero balked at the suggestion, scoffing. "The hell are we going to a bar for? I ain't getting drunk with some random cosplayer who keeps stalking me."

"They serve non-alcoholic drinks." The strange man obtusely offered, shrugging. "We are supposed to be there. And we'll be done before your next appointment, so there's no need to worry."

Bakugou leaned forward to protest, but he found his mind empty of any useful rebuttals. The odd confidence of this person seemed to seep into him, instilling an uncanny sense of calmness that he couldn't place anywhere else. His mind briefly flashed back to the day before, with All for One on the other side of the reinforced glass recounting his belief that these people were somehow "in touch with the future."

...Perhaps this is what he meant?

"Fine." He huffed, snuffing out his half-smoked cigarette on the ashtray next to him. He stood up, motioning for his acquaintance to lead the way. "Let's get on with it, then."

Their wordless journey was, as predicted, just a few minutes' travel on the metro trains. Bakugou quietly followed The Biker off the platform, and out onto the street. Almost immediately, the Sunroad Shopping District imposed itself upon them. A litany of small, boutique style shops selling all kinds of different items and wares crowded around the people, packed shoulder to shoulder in this collection of city blocks. The main walkways branching out of the station had a glass covering that bridged the buildings together- which would cast some inviting shade during the day but at this time in the afternoon it cast everything underneath it a few shades darker, lending the dense area a small sense of unease.

The blonde snapped himself back to reality, watching as his strange partner was beginning to disappear in the crowd. He picked up his pace, roughly shouldering some passersby as he made it back to an acceptable distance from the helmeted figure. He followed him as he turned the corner into an uncovered side alley, stopping next to their destination.

"Sometime," the sign read back to him in a somewhat old-timey font. The abode itself was little more than a concrete tunnel leading down from a small brick-laced opening in the alley. The walls of the descending passage were lined with the same type of lights used to illuminate mining tunnels, adding even more to the eclectic and almost senseless design.

The Biker didn't wait for a response from Bakugou, opting to slowly walk down the stairs and into the Jazz bar. The pro hero followed, ears perking as a soft and melodic tune danced around his ears, slowly growing louder the closer to the bottom he got. Eventually, the tunnel turned a corner, leading into the venue proper.

The place was unbelievably cramped, barely able to sit a couple dozen shoulder to shoulder. This was slightly alleviated by a small terrace like upper level group of dining tables, overlooking the corner of the establishment where a trio of band members were playing the instruments just barely big enough to fit inside. The lead was a well-dressed woman in a blood-red dress, looking like a regular human aside from the fish tail poking out behind her legs. Her voice warbled like honey, softly calming everyone inside and bringing a strange sense of nostalgia to the place.

The waiter was quick to inform them that there was only one table available, hushed away in the corner of the upper terrace. The Biker nodded, slowly weaving through the tables and climbing up the small set of stairs to take his seat. Bakugou followed suit.

"...Are we not going to order something?" The pro hero asked, uncertain.

"No worries. I'll order something for myself once we're done here. They won't mind." He replied.

"...Right." The blonde sighed, leaning back in his chair. "So, why was it important that you bring me here?"

"I have no idea." His partner replied bluntly.

"Wha-" Bakugou's eyes widened, slamming his lips shut to avoid disturbing the rest of the bar with his outburst. He huffed and hunched over, whispering in a frustrated tone. "What the hell am I here for then?!"

The Biker shrugged. "I don't know. I just know you have to be here right now."

The pro hero pinched the bridge of his nose, scrunching his eyes shut. "...Okay. Guess I'll just... shoot the shit with you, then. You're called a 'Failure.' You said before that your 'eyes were opened.' And that rat bastard said you type of people can see the future. That right?"

"...To a degree, that is correct."

"...What fucking degree, then? Don't get vague on me now."

The Biker paused for a moment, sighing. "...very well. I don't see the future, but... it's kind of like receiving messages. I know that some thing has to happen at a certain place and time... and that something very bad will happen if that doesn't happen."

"You said millions would die."

"Yes."

"...Die from what, exactly?"

"...Themselves, I believe."

The answer sent a cold chill down Bakugou's spine, settling into a hard pit that sank into his stomach. He folded his arms, trying to wave off the instinctive reaction.

"How would that happen, then? They all join a massive suicide pact?"

The sarcastic response seemed to catch the obfuscated being off guard, his joints locking as his voice froze in his throat.

"I- That's- That's probably closer to the truth than you'd like." He paused, looking out over the patrons below him. "I don't know exactly what is going on, but... There are... there are different theories as to what moves people forward. And right now, there are forces attempting to prove their theory correct."

"That would be the Vanguard?"

"They don't have any proper name, but yes. They used to hold power over this country- a good chunk of the world beyond that, at one point. But they lost, and now seek to reclaim their mantle."

An errant giggle caught Bakugou's attention, his eyes quickly snapping to the source below him. Just a couple of meters away from him was the barista he had met a handful of times at the coffee shop in Shinjuku- he couldn't quite remember the name, only that it was a mouthful to say. He shook his head, returning his attention to the one in front of him.

"And how does killing the Yakuza solve that? How does eliminating the Eight Precepts of Death lead to the death of millions?"

"We are witnessing the preparations for their plans, not the execution. Chisaki's syndicate serves as some sort of barrier, but for what reasons I do not know. I am hoping that perhaps you would know that."

"They've got their hands in just about everything. Drugs, gambling, racketeering, you name it." He paused for a moment, "...Is it because they have their hands in everything?"

"I don't know." The Biker shrugged. "We may not know until after they make their move."

Another laugh distracted Bakugou again, subconsciously turning to glance once more at the barista. The green-haired man looked as if he was having a good time... but-

"You know him." The Biker noted matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, he works at a coffee shop I found a few weeks ago. Makes a damn good cup, too."

"No." The acquaintance insisted. "You know him much better than that."

"The hell are you talking about?" He bit at the obfuscated man. He felt his heart skip a beat at the notion, slightly confused by the intense reaction he had.

"I don't know exactly who he is to you... but his connections run far deeper than just someone you met a few days ago."

"Is that one of your powers, Failure?"

"It is, actually." He replied bluntly. "And for some reason, you have blocked him from your memory. You've known each other for a very long time."

"I'm telling you, I only met him a few weeks ago!" He gritted his teeth, biting his tongue.

"...I see." The Biker concluded. "...It appears that would be the reason we were to meet here. It may be in your interest to understand who that man is and what he means to you."

Bakugou gripped the side of the table tightly, resisting an almost animalistic urge to dive across the lacquered wooden surface and strangle the creature in front of him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his rational side screamed to calm down, insisting that something was very wrong if he was acting this way.

His internal debate was halted as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He quickly pulled it out, seeing the text message that Detective Tsukauchi had left for him. It appeared that the scene was open for investigation, an implicit demand that he return to the police station so that they could finally roll out to the scene.

The pro hero took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he released his grip on the table.

"It looks as if we've successfully done what we came here to do." The helmeted acquaintance noted, folding his arms neatly across each other on the table. "I hope you catch Jackrabbit before it is too late."

"Yeah, whatever." Bakugou huffed, glaring at his partner as he turned to leave.

He descended the steps, pausing for a moment as he observed the crowd. A part of him wanted to go out of his way to go out of his way to go in front of the barista's view, if only to prove that they didn't know each other.

The moment that idea crossed his mind, a cold chill set into his body. A wild fear set into his stomach, causing his hands to tremble ever so slightly. He wasn't quite sure what was causing it, and the obscurity of it all only deepened the anxiety he felt approaching this person.

He sighed, muttering half-excuses as he weaved between the back row of tables, staying well out of the green-haired man's field of view. He quickly ascended the steps out of the bar, disappearing into the streets with a quickened pace as he tried desperately to calm the drum threatening to break his rib cage from the inside.

---

"I don't understand... what's causing all of these cracks to form?"

Yokumitsu quietly stared as Neo-Mokai worked their craft, inspecting Izuku's head as it limply dangled from his shoulders. Nothing was obviously visibly concerning about the boy, but it didn't stop the squid-masked being from aggressively yanking open his mouth and eyelids as they stared intently into his face.

"...is something-"

"Damn it all!" The other being cut the mirror-masked man off, angrily throwing Izuku's head to the side. His body slid out of the chair, collapsing onto the ground like a puppet without strings. "I won't be able to keep maintaining it at this level."

"What do you mean?"

"The-" Neo-Mokai sighed, shaking his head. "The barrier I had to place in between the Avatar and the original personality... something is causing it to break down. But I can't pinpoint what caused it. The Avatar is just a dummy program, but none of the cracks are coming from the original personality."

"...I'm not quite sure I understand, but-"

"Of course you wouldn't."

Yokumitsu threw his hands up, exasperatingly sighing as he gave up on providing his input.

"...Sorry. Continue with what you were saying."

He leaned back on the bed, mumbling to the ceiling.

"I was going to say to check the Avatar to see if anything changed on their end."

Neo-Mokai looked at his mirror-masked compatriot for a brief moment, before kneeling over Izuku's limp body. Just as before he leaned his mask right over his face, tendrils springing to life as they noisily invaded his head and began their investigation. It wasn't long before a surprised gasp rushed out of the being's mouth, pulling his head violently back as he backed away from the still-twitching body.

"What- it- how?!"

"Was I right?" Yokumitsu lazily leaning back on the mattress he was sitting on.

"The Avatar is... it's grown bigger than the space I've allocated for it."

The mirror-masked being yawned, his speech slightly slurring. "What's that... supposed to mean? It sounds worrying."

"It means something is causing it to grow, but- I don't..." He paused, staring at the body in front of him. In the blink of an eye, he was right back on top of Izuku, invading his mind once more. He eventually pulled back, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"He's the one that caused this?!"

"Who?"

"No one you know." Neo-Mokai quickly batted back. "I wasn't expecting this development... but I think I can work with this. I'll just need to accelerate things before the barrier begins to break down."

"What'll happen then?"

The squid-masked man paused, shaking his head. "I... don't know. That worries me. I have no tolerance for X-factors such as this."

"And... what about that time when he..."

"That was a... fluke. It had to be. A symptom of the Avatar expanding." Neo-Mokai quickly waved the question away. "You're still going to be able to keep your little toy, if that's what you're asking."

"That's not-"

"It was. Don't bother trying to convince me otherwise." He sighed. "It's not my fault you insist on isolating yourself like this."

Yokumitsu didn't bother giving the other being a response. With a snap of his fingers, Neo-Mokai completely vanished from the room, his presence exercised wholesale.

"You won't be able to keep me out forever." A slightly annoyed voice rang out from the other side of the door. "Not with the boy in the state that he is. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some other pawns to move."

---

Tsukauchi sighed, flipping through his notes as he exited the nightclub. The paltry few pages of his observations provided little in the way of new information; the corpses were already hauled off, waiting for their autopsy. The detective didn't quite expect anything particularly revolutionary to come of them, either- just as before, it seemed that their smoking gun had yet to reveal itself.

He could feel the heat of Bakugou's seething form radiate on his back- he had been unable to provide any new insights as well, which was visibly agitating the pro hero. He didn't bother to quell the blonde's anger, not when he felt a similar molten core of embarrassment burning through his chest.

He had read the initial survey reports before he had made it out to the scene- the corpse they found in the Manager's Office had been self-immolated, using kerosene that was not present at the site. The video footage of the club confirmed that Jackrabbit had been carrying containers attached to his hip, which was enough to deduce who brought it. But... how he knew that he would need to use it was still unknown. His current thoughts lay with the theory that there was a mutual relationship with the person who took their own life, but...

He stopped in the middle of the crosswalk, yellow eyes slowly rising from their gaze on the sidewalk.

"Bakugou, I need to make a few calls. Go ahead without me."

"What?" The pro hero grunted, clearly annoyed by the request. "I've been following you this whole time, and now you're-"

"Go home, now." The detective barked, turning to glare at his subordinate. "If you don't comply, I will arrest you myself."

The sudden and tense command caught the hero off-guard. He quickly shook the surprised look off his face, before pursing his lips and pushing past the man in the trench coat. "Tch. Whatever, go do whatever, I don't care."

Tsukauchi stood in the street, watching patiently as the spiky blonde head of his underling melded into the crowd and out of sight. The detective let out a small sigh of relief, back muscles tensing in preparation for the unfortunately familiar sensation of a gun barrel pressing against his spine that would occur only seconds later.

"Setsuno, is it?" He muttered, just loud enough for the figure behind him to hear.

"Ah, well, at least that takes care of the formalities." The other man chided, pressing the metal weapon deeper into the detective's back. "How did you know it was me?"

"It's not hard to notice when your gun disappears from its holster. I made the assumption it was a Yakuza, and you were the only one to fit the bill."

"...I see." Was the response he was given, half surprised and half disappointed. He placed a hand on Tsukauchi's shoulder, gripping it tightly as he guided him towards a nearby alleyway. "Well, I appreciate your honesty, and getting rid of your lackey, too."

"He's just here on a formality." The trench coated man spat out, a tinge of disdain in his voice. "I owed it to my friend, that was all. He's absolutely useless outside of being a pain."

"Yes, I'm sure." Setsuno chuckled, moving him through the narrow passageway. The bricks surrounding them veered off around a corner, leading to a dead end piled high with neglected trash bags. They had been sitting there for so long that they were splitting open from dry rot, unleashing a horrid scent upon anyone who dared approach.

The Yakuza henchman shoved him towards the pile, giving the detective space to turn around as the man holding his gun backed out of reach.

While the Organized Crime Unit had been unable to obtain any recent photos of this particular member of the Eight Precepts of Death, he was practically identical to the years old depictions they had on file. Long swathes of blonde hair elegantly traveled the curvature of his head and, combined with his mask, resulted in obscuring all of his features, save for a single yellow eye that poked its way out of the split in his hairline. It was jittering rapidly, as if he was under the influence- the same could not be said of his hands, which had the gun steadily aimed at the detective's head.

"It's quite a shame, really. We had hoped that you would have done your job and caught this bastard by now. Instead, he's been running amok and absolutely destroying us." He droned to Tsukauchi, the thinnest threads of rage weaving in and out of his words.

"So I'm working for you now?" The detective scoffed, casting a sour glance at the one holding him hostage. "That's news to me- I certainly would have hoped you paid better."

"Overhaul is very displeased with the current arrangement. After we had given so much to you- we intentionally left our scenes untampered for you. It should have been a simple trade. We give you things that could be used as evidence against us in exchange for taking down the monster threatening us now." He growled, brow furrowing in a seething anger. " And you wasted it."

"Don't bother playing noble with me." Tsukauchi bit back, shaking his head. "You never had any intention of that evidence seeing the light of day- not with your contacts in the police scrubbing anything that we find. Your boss doesn't do fair trades- he cast those things aside when he reinvented the Yakuza. And he did a good job, too; he's running a monopoly for a reason."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, detective."

"Neither does talking, it seems." He bluntly replied, remaining stone still. "So what is this supposed to be- an ultimatum? The end of the line?"

"Actually, Overhaul asked me to determine that." He informed the detective, his voice shuddering in delight at the concept of the leader of the Eight Precepts entrusting him with something. "And so far, you haven't inspired any confidence in me at all. I would suggest that you start making your case quickly, before I make up my mind."

"I'm not about to beg you to let me live, shatei." Tsukauchi bit out, glaring intently at the armed man in front of him. "If that's what you're looking for, then just shoot me."

Setsuno stared in a stunned silence, taken aback by this man's belligerent attitude towards impending danger. He took a step forward, leaning in as if to confirm the sincerity on the detective's face.

A sick cackle rose up through his lungs, wildly bubbling up from his lips. He wheezed, holding his mask tight against his face as it began to slip from his violent outburst.

"You- I-" He cut himself off, choking back another peal of laughter. "You're too perfect! I was hoping, just... hoping I was finally going to see some action again, and you just... handed it to me on a silver platter!"

Tsukauchi didn't visibly respond, his gaze hardening as he watched the Yakuza member steadily readjust his aim. He felt a leering sneer curl up on his face, eyelids slightly curling in as wrinkles formed at the corner.

"Goodbye, detective-"

Just before he could finish his gloating, a green blur rushed from around the corner, just milliseconds before the trigger was pulled. Tsukauchi felt the impact in his abdomen, sending him reeling back and onto the pile of rotting garbage behind him. He struggled to keep his eyes open, his breath stolen from him as he saw what unfolded.

The green jumpsuit and pointed ears made the newcomer immediately recognizable- Jackrabbit was here.

The assassin was holding tight onto some object, what appeared to be a screwdriver that was speared cleanly through the Yakuza's wrist and poking out the other side. Setsuno let out a horrid wail, dropping the gun from his uncontrollably twitching fingers as he desperately tried to pull his arm back. Jackrabbit responded by grabbing the metal end of the improvised weapon, his iron grip keeping the two in place.

Then, in the blink of an eye, the killer's grip tightened even further before violently spinning the embedded steel rod like a steering wheel. A sickening, clean crack echoed across the damp brick and concrete, intensifying the screams coming from the older man's covered mouth. A solid kick to the gut silenced him, sending him tumbling onto his back, the middle of his forearm bent at an awkward angle.

Jackrabbit wasted no time continuing his work under the watchful, horrified eyes of the detective. He strode over to the prone form of the Yakuza lieutenant, picking him up by the collar and dragging the weakly struggling man towards a collection of dumpsters on the other side of the alley. He threw him into the wall, watching as he fell back onto his side.

The assassin calmly grabbed one of the trash containers, the heavy metal contraption groaning and squeaking as its derelict wheels moved for the first time in years. He pulled it back, sliding it until it was lined up against Setsuno's head.

The blonde man had just enough time to roll over, watching helplessly as Jackrabbit kicked the dumpster, the force of the blow crumpling both his mask and the nose underneath it. He couldn't feel the pain, it was as if a shower of icy needles rained against his face, numbing everything. He watched as the blue metal box reared back again and again, the corner in front of his face staining itself red with each successive blow. But he dared not make a sound.

Tsukauchi watched, his body trembling from both the wounds and the shock, as Jackrabbit continued crushing this man's head, until his body no longer twitched with each impact. He eventually ceased his assault, pulling back the dumpster one final time, leaning in to observe his handiwork and the death of his target.

Setsuno's bloodied hair covered his face, his body hanging limply to the side, unmoving. The assassin grabbed a clump of the blonde fibers in his fist, roughly pulling up to verify the kill.

The Yakuza's burning yellow eye, full of rage, stared back at him. With a guttural and gurgled scream, he used his functioning hand to tear into his mask, producing a small hidden blade. His hands moved as fast as lightning, thrusting upwards and slamming into the side of Jackrabbit's neck. A gush of blood came forth, coating Setsuno's rabid face.

The killer looked none too affected by the strike. His eyes slowly trailed down to the steady stream spilling itself onto his attacker, but the realization only amounted to his refocusing on the confused expression of the man under him. He simply grabbed him by the collar once more dragging him away from the wall to give them some more space. He didn't even bother with loosing the Yakuza's grip on his knife, which was still embedded deep into his carotid artery.

Tsukauchi would forever have the memory of the absurd fight engrained into his memory. He watched as Jackrabbit planted his knees on either side of Setsuno's chest, placing his hands around the blonde man's neck as he began to put the weight of his body against it. The detective could hear the Yakuza's gurgling intensify as he desperately pulled on the small blade, widening the gash and forcing even more blood out of the assassin. They stayed like that, locked into their respective position, for several minutes.

Eventually, the gurgling died and Setsuno's grip slowly fell slack as his unbroken arm fell to the ground. Jackrabbit released his grip, standing back up over the still body as he roughly yanked the blade out of his neck and tossed it to the side.

Tsukauchi felt a pained gasp escape his lips. He slammed his hands over his lips, but it was too late to catch the unwilling exhalation.

Jackrabbit's head snapped to attention, as if finally noticing the figure laying limply against the pile of rubbish. He slowly stepped over, the detective's heart rate intensifying with each nearing pace.

The bloodied figure stopped right at Tsukauchi's side, and the detective's eyes silently traced his path downwards as he squatted to closely observe the detective. He leaned in, disturbingly disinterested eyes calmly looking into his own. Something tugged at the edge of his mind, as if this man was trying to read him just from staring into his pupils.

His gaze slowly traced downwards, settling on the bullet wound in his abdomen. It was bleeding quite a bit, the red liquid soaking into the trench coat and the dress shirt underneath.

Jackrabbit reached forward, poking the hole with his gloved hands. The detective jolted, a yelp bursting out of his lips as the assassin slowly retracted his finger. He grabbed the brim of the man's trench coat, peeling it back as he patted the fabric down. He began rummaging through the pockets, eventually finding what he was looking for- Tsukauchi's work issued cell phone.

The man tasked with apprehending the killer in front of him was quickly losing both blood and lucidity. He had struggled to keep his vision from waning this whole time, but he could not maintain it forever- not with his body in the state it was. He felt his breathing grow shallow as Jackrabbit punched in three numbers into his cell phone- he could just barely make out the '119' on the phone's screen. He could only watch helplessly as the killer tossed the phone onto his chest, before standing up and walking away from the scene he wrought.

Just as his vision began to fade completely, Tsukauchi used his remaining willpower to commit two more things to memory- The first, was that by the end of their interaction, Jackrabbit's wound was completely healed. The only proof of their even being an injury was the streaks of still wet blood running down his neck and into his clothes.

The second, was that there was someone on the rooftops, observing the gruesome fight in its entirety.

---

Shinsou idly clicked around on the laptop that he had absconded with, the index finger of his free hand perched between his lips as he scrolled through the litany of information in front of him. He was sitting at the edge of the chair in the living room- he would have been more comfortable hiding himself away in the bedroom, but this was the only area of the home that he could find an open wireless network to leech off of.

He honestly couldn't figure out what exactly he was looking for. He had been isolated from the outside world for well over a month, if he included his extended stay with the Eight Precepts of Death. Naturally, if he just searched for any kind of news, he would be bombarded with unnecessary junk. He briefly considered contacting some of his previous associates, but... there wasn't a single one that he didn't inform the Yakuza of. He was nothing but a liability in that regard. The bridges he had built were little but smoldering ashes at the bottom of an unfathomably deep gorge, and he couldn't even be sure if the person on the other end of the line would be alive in the first place.

He shook his head, trying desperately to shove those errant thoughts out of his head. It wouldn't do to linger on those sentiments- that bastard Shin Nemoto was at fault. Every bit of useful information about his life had been forcefully extracted from his mouth. There wasn't anything he could do about it anymore.

Perhaps, then, he should focus on the here and now. He needed to understand more about the creature he lived with, or at least figure out what the public knew about him. He briefly recalled that the Caretaker noted "Jackrabbit" as his public name... or at least the one the police gave him. Nevertheless, a quick search of the term brought the results he was looking for- the name Jackrabbit spawned millions of results, from news sites, televised broadcasts, and more forums than he could count.

The official media's response was more than predictable- while the printed publications stuck to reporting the incidences of the crimes and the seeming inability for the police or local heroes to track it down, talk shows had pulled in criminology experts, who went into excruciating detail of their perception of the killer's psyche.

"This man clearly relishes the act of torturing his fellow man." A gruff voice crunched out of the tinny speakers next to the keyboard. "The way he invents new methods for inflicting pain... there's no doubt he believes this to be some sort of twisted game where he challenges himself to kill others as uniquely as possible. It's like a disturbed artist working passionately to make each of his pieces novel!"

Shinsou scoffed at the armchair diagnosis. "He treats it more like his day job, than anything else."

He backed out of the traditional news sources, focusing back on the search results. His eyes scrolled through the different page names, until it settled on one nestled neatly between a few more articles near the top of the page.

It was a fan site of sorts, the name itself lost in a jumble of missing Unicode symbols and special text characters that didn't belong there. But the site itself was legible enough- an excruciatingly detailed rendition of Jackrabbit staring out to the viewer, baseball bat lazily thrown over his shoulder with a loose grip. The costume of this digital version looked pristine, but for some reason it beckoned the user to envision it coated with blood and viscera, as if informing them how things should be.

He scrolled past the image- a list of pages popped up with a live chat box moving at a moderate pace on the bottom. Shinsou clicked on the various links, watching the information flood onto the screen like some sort of righteous manifesto. The general information page readily admitted that the site admin didn't know what Jackrabbit's true intentions were, but followed up immediately with the notion that it would be inconceivable for the warrior to have malicious intent if they were working to actively dismantle the Yakuza instead of subsuming it.

Another page followed up with an estimated death count of the violent vigilante. The current estimate hung at "roughly 60," with a promise of more to come beneath it. The bottom of the page held something even more unsettling- it contained an organizational chart detailing the current leadership of the Eight Precepts of Death. Overhaul was, of course, at the top. Beneath him were his two direct subordinates, Chronostasis and Mimic, under which lay his lieutenants. They were once a group known as the "Eight Bullets," but as their influence and power ballooned after Overhaul's reformations, they were repurposed as loyal, dogmatic organizing forces to better manage the tens of thousands of lackeys beneath them.

Of the faces and names on the chart, two were crossed out- Chronostasis and Kendo Rappa. The implication was immediately obvious.

Just as he was about to click to the next page, a loud chime blared from his speakers, a red banner appearing right at the top of his website.

NEWS ALERT: JACKRABBIT CLAIMS ONE MORE LIEUTENANT

Almost immediately, the forum at the bottom picked up pace, the text moving so fast that it was nearly impossible to read. The webpage automatically refreshed, with a new mark over one of the lieutenants- Toya Setsuno.

Shinsou felt his hands begin to tremble, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he read the headline over and over again. It was like a pit formed in his throat, too big to swallow, painfully lodging itself against the back of his lungs.

The front door swung open, causing the purple haired man to yelp and jump in his seat. He slammed the laptop closed, hastily throwing it under the chair like a kid trying to hide something he stole. He looked back up, eyes widening as he saw the bloodied specter standing in the doorway.

He felt his hands instinctively slam over his mouth, the shock making him want to scream while the disturbing normalcy of the sight melded in, his emotions too muddled to make any decisive reaction. His stomach churned; the copious amount of blood crusted into Jackrabbit's outfit exuding a horrific stench. The assassin closed the door behind him, only intensifying the nauseating effect.

"What the hell did you do?!" Shinsou choked out, coughing as the fetid scent settled on his tongue.

"I excised one of the evils corrupting this country." He reported, voice as monotone as ever.

"You-" The purple haired inhabitant cut himself off, the picture of Setsuno flashing in his head. "...right."

The two stared at each other, deadened eyes matching the intensity of Shinsou's own glare.

"You normally have more questions." Jackrabbit noted.

"Well, I do- but..." He trailed off, dropping his head. "To what end are you doing this? Why are you killing people off?"

The killer remained silent, stone still at the question.

"...You don't know, do you?"

"I don't have an answer for you." He admitted, fingers twitching.

"Do you not see a problem with that?"

"I don't. My mission is just."

"But how can you make that judgement if you don't know the reason why?"

Once again, the assassin did not supply a response.

Shinsou sighed. "If you can't think of anything to say, just say 'I don't know.' You don't need to stand there quietly."

"...Very well."

He waved his hand in dismissal, the response somehow even more infuriating than the stoic silence given before.

"Just go take a shower." He spat out, looking away. "You smell like death."

Just as Jackrabbit moved to do so, the front door swung wildly on its hinges, slamming into the wall next to it. The duo spun to face the entrance, caught off guard by the sudden intrusion. The assassin quickly leapt into action, grabbing an empty drinking glass on the coffee table. He slammed it against the edge of the table, shattering the material into a semi-sharp improvised weapon against the four people who strode into the room as if they owned the place.

Shinsou's eyes widened as each figure stepped from the shadows and into the illumination of the living room light. A rather petite blonde, hiding her sharp canines behind her hand as she pranced to the side. A bulky woman, with a large and clearly heavy pole slung over her shoulder. A rather elaborately costumed, lithe man who graciously sidestepped his way inside.

Their entrances were undercut by the saunter of the final intruder, who unceremoniously marched in with his hands dug deep into his pockets. He wore only a simple pair of jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt, his bright red sneakers contrasting themselves against the dullness of his clothing. His arms were covered in almost porcelain-like hands, gripping his body tightly as they travelled up his arms, a pair of them clutching either side of his head as if trying to squeeze the man's head like a melon.

The former vigilante fell on his behind as he scrambled backwards immediately recognizing the group for what they were- The League of Villains were here.

"Interesting..." Shigaraki spoke, his voice hissing out like gas from a broken pipe. "I wasn't expecting to discover you here as well. I was hoping to have the chance to kill you, but that doesn't seem possible anymore. It'll make negotiations worthless."

Shinsou didn't respond, his back firmly planted against the wall as he frantically shifted his gaze back and forth between the villainous leader and his bloodied roommate.

"Aww," Magne cooed, swinging her giant magnet down vertically to rest her chin on the end, "it looks like we scared them speechless! Cat got your tongues?"

Toga remained dead silent; her eyes totally fixated on Jackrabbit. Her gaze was practically affixed to the bloodied man, tracing his gore-drenched form from top to bottom.

"I... don't think I've ever wanted to be someone more than I do him..." She trailed off, letting out an almost enraptured sigh.

She felt a firm but comforting hand press on her shoulder, squeezing slightly. She looked up to see the form of Mr. Compress standing next to her, pulling her back from walking across the room, right into the assassin's waiting glass blade.

"It won't be much of a conversation if you two remain quiet. As absurd as it sounds, we're actually very big fans of your work, and felt we could offer you a proposition- ah, well... to be quite honest it's much more like a gift."

"What are you talking about?" Shinsou managed to force the wind through his vocal cords, doing his best to steel his composure as he pushed himself to his feet.

"You of all people would know the position we're in." Shigaraki balefully glared at the purple haired man, red eyes burning with indignation. "I am tired of being forced to play support for that cretin. And I'd be more than happy to help you both eradicate the Yakuza."

"How did you find us?"

The lavishly dressed mock-gentleman tapped his cane on the ground, giving it a good spin through his fingers.

"An associate of ours has been tracking every high-ranking member for quite a while now- he's quite good at it, too." He shrugged, making a walking gesture with his fingers. "After your gruesome ordeal with Setsuno, he simply watched as your friend travelled back to the apartment- and lo and behold, he was here! With a guest, no less."

"We have nothing to gain if we took you out of the picture." The leader continued, scratching his neck at the thought. "If anything, it would mean the leash on us was tighter. So instead, we'd like to buff you. You want to kill them all, right?"

Shigaraki gestured for Mr. Compress to come forth. The man stepped forward, gingerly adjusting his bolo tie as he produced three small marbles from thin air. With a flourish and a twirl he threw them to the ground, backing up behind the group as they exploded with a puff of smoke, unleashing and expanding the contents within.

As the smoke cleared, it became obvious what the "gift" was. Three prone figures lay crumpled in a pile. The first was a bare chested man, wearing nothing but khaki pants and some kind of furred vest. His mask was completely white and smooth, looking similar to some kind of gas mask with the eyes covered in open mesh. His appearance was immediately recognizable to Shinsou. His heart jumped and he felt his palms begin to sweat as memories of being forcefully inebriated to the point of vomiting all over himself flashed through his head. Sakaki Deidoro- the name rushed through his brain, setting his stomach alight. He would never forget that name.

Beneath him lay a much bulkier man, his expression practically nondescript and generic. The only thing about him that even registered as unique was the white medical mask that conformed to his face, and even that wasn't very eye-catching. Shinsou could only just barely pull his name out from his memories, even after just seeing it on the computer. Yuu Houjou.

Beneath the two others lay a crumpled, almost puppet-like figure. It was little more than a black cloth blob with tiny arms and legs, with its entire face sewn to look like some kind of plague mask, which fit in line with most of the aesthetics of the Eight Precepts of Death. There was no mistaking the presence of Mimic, the only surviving second in command underneath Overhaul.

The handful of League members wasted no time in enacting their job. Just as the magician's smoke cleared, the remaining members of the group grabbed one of the Yakuza hierarchy in front of them, each one of the villains having an unrepentant grin as they quite literally held the lives of those who trampled on them in their hands.

Toga grabbed Deidoro by the hair, yanking him off the pile and gleefully watching as he immediately woke up and began struggling. The teenage-looking girl giggled and swayed as she threw his head to the ground, yanking it to the side to expose his neck as she sunk one of her blood sucking blades deep into his flesh.

Shinsou could immediately recognize the effects of Deidoro's quirk, on the woman currently driving her knife deeper into the man's skin. Her breathing deepened as she listed to the side, her face becoming flush as her laughing became even more uncontrollable.

"Woo! You really know how to have a good time!" She cheered, clamping her hand over the lieutenant's mouth to muffle his screams. "Come on, don't let me have all the fun!"

She produced a second blade, jamming it straight into his side as she laughed. She watched as the tubes extending from the pommels of her knives became saturated with blood, and with a flick of a switch on the storage device on her back, the motors revved up and began vacuuming the ichor out even more quickly. She curled her legs under his shoulders, immobilizing his wildly flailing arms as she used both of her hands to hold his mouth shut, cutting off his cries of anguish. It was only a matter of seconds before his skin shriveled up like a raisin, his movement ceasing in all but the blink of an eye.

At the same time, Magne pointed the north pole of her magnet towards Mimic, causing the man to be violently yanked out from under the lieutenant multiple times his size. He crashed against the metal ending, his stomach crumping inwards as he let out a strained "Grrk!"

"You know, I've been having this idea for a new move I wanna try out, I think you'll do just fine as a guinea pig..." The muscular woman trailed off, a grin growing from ear to ear. She pulled her weapon up to her chest level, grabbing both ends as she held it horizontally. She brought up her knee, bringing the metal bar crashing down, only to snap in two from the impact.

Using the force of the blow, she spun both magnet fragments around, watching as they slammed together with Mimic right in the middle of it. The puppet-like figure silently flailed their limbs around, only able to make the shallowest of breaths with the sheer force crushing his chest and stomach from both ends.

"You always look like a little stuffed dolly," Magne jeered, turning the weapon vertically so she could push down on the Yakuza, crushing him with even more pressure, " so I couldn't help but give you a niiiiice biiiiig hug!"

Mimic's movements ceased with a sick crack, his limbs falling limply in the air as a tiny stream of black liquid trailed from his eyeholes. With a sigh of satisfaction, she released her magnetism quirk from the dead man, punting his flattened body away as he fell to the ground.

Shigaraki wasted no time with the leftover lieutenant. He reached down, grasping the back of his neck with all fingers and watched as cracks began to form across his skin. Almost immediately, a wave of crystals shot outwards, reinforcing the man's skin and growing as a sort of protective layer.

The leader of the league simply laughed at the reaction, his grin widening like that of a Cheshire cat.

"You know that won't help you... just lay down and die quickly." He taunted.

Yuu did his best to spin around, crystals growing along his arm as he attempted to land a hit with his spiked elbow. Shigaraki didn't bother defending, simply grabbing the man's shoulder with his free hand, watching as the skin and muscle rotted away, the arm completely severing itself from the torso as it fell limply to the ground. Shigaraki quickly readjusted his grip to the other shoulder, repeating the same process.

The lieutenant could only watch as his limbs decayed before his very eyes, only causing him to thrash even harder. His entire body lit up, crystals sprouting off every inch of his skin in an adrenaline filled fight for survival, but his natural defenses were breaking apart just as quickly as they grew. Shigaraki planted both of his hands on Yu's back, smiling as his opponents fruitless struggling amounted to little more than exhaustion.

The crystals eventually slowed, but just before the decay spread to his body, the leader of the League of Villains relented his grip. He quickly jumped up, kicking the man's side to force him to roll onto his back. He walked to the man's feet, slamming his open palms on his ankles. Yuu could only watch in horror as his skin turned grey, cracking open and crumbling to dust. His mouth hung open, wordlessly watching as the spread of the quirk travelled up his skin, slowly turning his entire body to naught but ash.

The process took several moments, a hideous peal of laughter shaking its way out of Shigaraki's chest as he watched the man convulse and squirm, trying desperately to work his way out of the assured death he would receive. In the end, the last bits of his head began to split, before breaking apart entirely and reorganizing themselves into a loose pile of debris.

The leader got back up, dusting his hands off as he admired his handiwork and that of his peers.

"Well, I hope that settles that." He finished, refocusing his gaze on the two people living here. "I do hope we get along, since we're on the same team now."

"You just kidnapped and killed three of your superiors-" Shinsou clenched his fists behind his back, driving his nails into his palms. "They'll be after you for this."

"Oh, don't you worry about that. We're aware." Mr. Compress called from the back, stepping forward. "If I were to be frank, eliminating nearly half the Eight Precepts leadership should be putting us in the spotlight, not you. Be that as it may, our associate is busy fabricating some body doubles for us to pin the blame on your dear friend Jackrabbit over here."

"Why would you-"

"Please use your brain for more than two seconds, darling." Magne cut him off, pulling out a cloth to wrap up her weapon. "We won't be able to track them easily if we were the ones doing all the killing. And to be frank, we just picked out the easiest ones to kill. You two need to pull your own weight for this one."

"Here, I believe you know how to use one of these, right?" Mr. Compress reached into his pocket, pulling out a cheap plastic phone and tossing it on the coffee table. He turned around, extending his hands towards the pair of corpses and the pile of ash littering the area near the front of the apartment. In an instant the evidence of the actions taken in the previous minutes vanished, replaced by a small pile of marbles that were promptly taken by the magician. "Allow me to clean up the mess we made. Apologies for the inconvenience."

"We'll talk later." Shigaraki scratched his neck, motioning for the others to head out with his free hand. "I'm looking forward to this new clan we're building."

Just as quickly as they arrived, they disappeared. The door closed behind them, the phone being the only evidence that they were ever here in the first place.

Shinsou fell to his knees, clutching himself by the arms as he hunched over. The overwhelming pressure of the meeting settled on him like a boulder, suffocating him as he desperately tried to bring air into his stone lungs. The world around him faded away, his instincts screaming at him to run but his limbs unable to move from their positions. His heart beat furiously, practically pushing the beads of sweat out of his skin with each pump of blood rushing through his arteries.

He could feel the eyes of Jackrabbit burning into his craned neck, but his brain was rushing too quickly to form any sort of coherent thought. The floor spun, the heat was unbearable, nothing made sense-

He screamed in anguish as a pair of crusty gloved hands settled on his shoulder, causing him to flinch wildly as he collapsed into a sobbing pile. He felt the hands retract, the sounds of footsteps moving away from him, just barely over the din of his own outbursts.

It wasn't long before the footsteps returned, hands gripping him once more to pull him upright. Through the shaky and unfocused vision, Shinsou could just barely make out what was in front of him- a bloody hand held out in front of him, a pair of pills nestled in the center.

Before he could even respond, Jackrabbit took the initiative and readjusted the pills, pinching them between his fingers before placing them in the other man's slightly open mouth. He reached down, grabbing a glass of water he had prepared on the way back, putting it up to the former vigilante's lips. He greedily partook of the offering, choking back sobs as he slowly downed the entire cup.

The two stayed like that, Shinsou violently trembling as he leaned against the stoic figure of Jackrabbit. Eventually, the spasms subsided, the Landsen mulling his emotions into a low hum. The familiar sensation of being wrapped in a soft emotional blanket brought his heart rate down, allowing him to finally catch his breath.

"Those bastards..." Shinsou trailed off, clutching at his shirt as the pain of his panic attack settled in. "...you, too. You're terrible."

Jackrabbit simply stared back at him; his expression as emotionless as ever.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

The former vigilante's eyes narrowed, anger slowly overcoming his features. He held his head in his hands, pulling at his hair in frustration. "My only safe place is gone. It doesn't matter where I go, now- I'm going to die. You've sentenced me to death."

"They aren't going to try to kill you-"

"You clearly don't know them." He cut the killer off, sinking his head deeper. "The only reason I'm alive right now is because you're useful to them. The moment the Eight Precepts are gone, they won't have anything holding them back. There's not even a guarantee that they'll wait that long, if they can break away before then."

"...I don't know what you want me to tell you. They're helping me for now."

"Are you listening to yourself?!" Shinsou's eyes shot open, turning to face the partner he was balking at. "Do you not even care that my life's in danger again because of you?!"

Jackrabbit stared back quietly, before he managed to finally formulate a reply. "...I am responsible for this new burden upon you."

"You could at least say that you're sorry." The former vigilante muttered, looking away.

"I don't know what that-"

"I don't need to fucking explain it! Just say it or don't!" He snapped, pushing the killer away.

"...Very well." He replied, standing up. "I am sorry."

Shinsou curled up in a ball as Jackrabbit walked away, disappearing back into the bathroom as he turned the shower on. Within a few minutes, he was back in the living room, devoid of blood and garbed in normal clothes.

"Come with me." He said, unprompted.

"...What?" He pulled his head up, turning to look up at the person talking to him.

"You aren't safe by yourself, neither outside nor inside. But I can keep you safe while you're near me. My blessings can mask you from everyone in this land." He explained, holding his hand out. "So, come with me."

Shinsou stared back, mouth agape at Jackrabbit as he struggled to process the proposal being made to him. A pit formed in his stomach, threatening to tear through his internal organs with the weight of its omens. However... he couldn't deny the power of this strange assassin, and the safety it could afford him. But if he did accept, then... there was no doubt that he would be throwing everything he knew and cherished out the door. There wasn't even a guarantee that he would be the same person by the end.

The killer remained motionless, open hand extended towards the one living with him as he waited patiently for an answer.

"Do you accept, Hitoshi Shinsou?"

---

A/N: I'm alive now, someone validate my work.

Alright so I'm gonna try to keep updates on a semi-consistent basis but if I'm going to be honest I'm putting myself into a very strange place with where I want this story to go. I'm sure you'll all love it if you've made it this far, and I'm very excited to see what comes of it!

Now, side note: I'm sure some of you have already noticed but there's a secondary objective to this story. One thing that's always bothered me when I read fanfics from English speaking writers is that the setting for fanfics is usually something along the lines of "Well we say it's Japan, but in reality it's basically the United States." I don't think there's anything necessarily wrong with that, especially when someone is writing from their own lived experiences, but I've always wished that when I'm reading a story that supposedly takes place in Japan, it feels like it's in Japan. So when I write chapters for this story, I've been putting a lot of research in on the back end to actually lend it a bit more authenticity- from small details like the differences between Western and Japanese kitchens, the mannerisms some people have, even the locations as well. Almost all of the locations I've written about so far in this story are real places in Tokyo that you can go to. When I wrote about Shinsou and Jackrabbit walk through the neighborhood to go to a store, I actually found a store within walking distance they could go to. Naturally there are things that can't be directly placed in the story- there's entire manners of speaking in Japanese that don't have real equivalents in English, but I wanted to bring these sorts of things to life in a place where it doesn't seem that a lot of effort is put into these aspects of a story.

Anyways, I really hope you liked what I've done so far. I'm looking forward to continuing down this winding road with all of you, and I hope you like what's waiting for you at the end. Please leave me a comment letting me know what you think about it- it really does help me more than you think!

Have a great day!