Chapter 1

You are a thief. An excellent thief, really. And right now you're on a very important job, one which might put you back on the map -

As long as you don't fuck it up.

Click!

The screwdriver rattles noisily as you grind it against the metal edge, inching into the safe's edge ever so slightly.

You should've brought your lockpicking kit. You didn't, and that was a mistake. You had assumed that with how tight the security around the safes was that the actual safe would be a pushover. Now you're stuck trying to jimmy open this thing with a goddamn Phillips-head. You push that thought out of your mind, as somehow it's working out, though how that's even possible is something you will never understand.

You lean in towards the safe, shifting the screwdriver a millimeter to the right, letting the tip scrape across the metal seam. Click, click, click…

Just need to catch the edge-

Ding-a-ling!

The bell jangles again, signaling that a customer has arrived. You drop the screwdriver down with a sigh, straightening up for a second, your back aching in protest. You've only had this job for the last…half-hour, and already you've begun to hate that sound.

"Welcome to D'Angelo's Gifts and Jewelry. How may I help you?"

D'Angelo's Gifts and Jewelry.

Formerly a small, family-run business, the store underwent a dramatic transformation ten years ago after being bought out by a group of unnamed donors.

Mysterious and powerful donors - most likely the more-legal side of the Yakuza groups or whatever remained of them. Nowadays, the jewelry trade is mostly a front; meant to justify the large amounts of cash entering and exiting the premises, as well as the elaborate security system around it. The real purpose behind the store is found in its privacy and discrete transactions, invaluable assets for some of its more dubious clientele.

Of course, you're not the actual employee. The real employee is busy sleeping off a bad hangover (and some fast-acting sleeping pills, just enough to last over four hours), and won't be in for a while. Hopefully, he'll be out long enough for you to finish your job and get out.

You give your latest customer a bright, fake smile. The customer, (clearly a regular, and clearly rich), leans forward to squint back at you, his black-tinted sunglasses sliding down his face and just barely infringing on his double chin.

"And who the hell are you? I thought Vinnie was supposed to be here." The man slurs out.

This guy seems to have a thick, smarmy British accent to match his attitude. Or maybe he's just drunk. Or both, really; as uncommon as drinking in the morning is, you've learned to recognize the signs. Best not to make a fuss about it.

"A substitute, sir." You lie. "Mister… Godfrey, I presume?" You check on the package, noting the ID, name, and picture on your schedule (nicked off of the real employee). Yep, Godfrey.

"Feh."

The Godfrey in question snorts derisively. Some of his spittle lands on your face, and you resist the overwhelming urge to wipe it off. Gross. "Whatever. Where's my order?"

"Right here, sir." The order in question is a black, boxed package that rattles with the sound of pills as you pass it over. You pass the package to the customer, who snatches it away. Seconds later, he's out the door.

Not even a tip. What a proper asshole.

Wow, you're really getting into this job. Even though it's really only a temporary assignment- maybe you're better suited for this job than you thought? That's a nice thought. This suit does nothing for your figure, though. Nor do your wig and colored contacts; the contacts irritating to squint through and your wig being simply irritating. You resist the urge to scratch your scalp.

Focus. Now's not the time for this. If anything, this is the most crucial part.

Right below your chair, under your seat and out of sight, is your objective; a 12-inch steel safe, custom made and sturdy as hell. Normally it's in the back with the other valuables, but you brought it out to take a better look at it. It's fancy stuff; outfitted with a tracker and three layers of state-of-the art locks, locks you've been fiddling with it for the past few hours. Of course, it won't just open that easily, but you've managed to isolate the location of the hinge mechanism. If you can break through the first layer, you can bypass the other few layers in seconds.

And that's the hard part. See, in a typical job, you'd have more than a few partners to do the dirty work. Split the job, split the earnings. You work the counter, they work on the safe.

This isn't a typical job, though, so you have to do a few things… unconventionally.

So. Options. You run down the list in your head. You have a drill, but that's loud. Hammer? No, too cramped, and also too loud. If anything, you need to just find an opening, not knock your way through to the center. Maybe… didn't the Boss give you something for this job? You think you could use that…

Ding-a-ling!

You force yourself out of your reveiery. "Hello-"

The words die as soon as they exit your mouth.

Oh fuck me sideways. That's the-

"Police." The man in front of you flashes a police badge at you, brown eyes slowly surveying the room. "I'm a detective working with Japan's police force."

Naomasa Tsukauchi, Precinct Detective. You just manage to read the entire name before the badge disappears back into the detective's overcoat, the detective rolling his shoulders back before giving you a disarmingly friendly smile.

"Mr. Tsukauchi." You smile back, yours much more forced. "How may I help you?"

"Please, call me Naomasa - or Detective Naomasa, if you'd prefer. Mr. Tsukauchi just makes me feel old." The detective laughs, and you manage to chuckle a bit as well.

He's trying to get you to lower your guard. There's something about this guy that makes you instinctively on guard, some sixth sense bourne of experience that's telling you something isn't right. He's a Precinct Detective, he's definitely experienced, and right now it feels like he's fishing for something in your responses. If he got even the slightest idea of what you were doing-

An awkward silence forms as the detective strolls around the shop, one which he eventually breaks. "I just wanted to ask you a few questions, if that's possible. I promise I won't take up too much of your time."

"Sure, do your thing." You lean back in your chair, secretly nudging the safe back under the desk and into hiding with your feet, re-adjusting your wig in an innocuous motion. "I'll try to answer them as best as I can." Tsukauchi, Tsu-kau-chi… where have you heard that before?

"Wonderful." The detective gives you an earnest smile, before pulling out a pad of paper and pen, clipping it against a clipboard. "Is this your first job? Summer job, perhaps?"

"No, not at all." You reply, your tone light. A softball question, meant to break the ice; you can't be reacting to this. "I've worked in several jobs before this, primarily in…" It's a struggle to find the right words for your other jobs, something which won't immediately tip him off-

"-relocation and distribution work."

"Relocation and distribution?" Even the detective seems confused by your awkward answer, his pen stopping momentarily. You just keep your poker face up and hope he doesn't ask anything too damning.

"I… see. And you were...trained?"

The detective feigns interest, jotting something down onto his notepad. You restrain your urge to look at what it says, turning the gesture into a semi-patronizing tilt of your head.

Don't look guilty. Just stay calm. Don't react.

"No, mostly self-taught. I… guess you could say I learned from others? It was mostly out of necessity, to be honest." You scratch your head, giving a sheepish grin to the detective who politely nods back. Wait a minute, I remember that name- from an old newspaper. Isn't his quirk-

"Hm. And your Quirk?"

"Quirkless." The smile disappears from your face, your lips pushed together in a hard line in a more genuine reaction. "Unfortunately."

The detective doesn't physically react, but the etiquette faux pas seems to have put him on the back foot. Good; you need to get him out of there ASAP. Good detectives are like dogs with a bone; once something catches their interest, they'll never let go.

"You must be quite a hard worker, then."

It's not a question, it's a statement. The detective is growing frustrated with your answers. You only narrow your eyes in response, dig your heels in.

"I suppose."

Blue-contacted eyes meet brown ones as you silently stare down the detective. You aren't even trying to hide your animosity. The meaning is clear; get to the point. If he's going to do something, then you'd prefer it happened now.

"Hm. Last question."

And suddenly he's serious, his hat tucked away, eyes set in a focused, piercing gaze directed straight at you, the goofy facade all but gone now. You resist the urge to look away and break eye contact, but you can't stop yourself from tensing in anticipation, the motion evident even in your reclined form.

"Are there any drugs or narcotics being handled on this property?"

And with that single sentence, whatever sense of tension you feel vanishes.

You blink in surprise.

Is this some kind of joke? But no, the detective looks actually serious for once. Well, as serious as someone can be with a face like that.

Also, you totally called it. Some sort of truth-sensing Quirk? It would've been dangerous had you lied, especially about your current "job".

Thankfully, it seems you didn't have to this time.

"No, not to my knowledge." You reply.

That's probably the only completely true thing you've said today.

"...That's a relief." The detective lets out a sigh of relief, the tension draining out of the air in an instance. He picks up his hat, putting it back onto his head. "Thank you."

Good. You can't help but deflate at that. Thank god for that actually, you're running out of time for this job.

Your gaze snaps back to the clock; 2:55 PM. The detective was here for five minutes, which gives you about fifteen minutes to crack this safe open and get out. The actual employee should be coming around any minute now-

"Oh! Almost forgot." The detective turns around, his hand stopping just inches from the door.

"Yes?" You reply, forcing the smile back onto your face. C'mon, git! Git! Get out of here!

"I'm looking for a safe. Silver-chrome, three-and-a-half inches by three-and-a-half inches, pretty lightweight. Have you seen something like that?"

...Fuck.

You didn't expect him to ask about that. For a second you're stuck, caught with the need to lie and the inability to do it, the shock evident on your face. The detective latches onto that, walking back into the center of the shop, his interest fully piqued.

"I, uh-" Think! Think, dammit! It's no use; you're too off guard to say anything, especially about the safe; the object in question sitting right beneath your desk. How does he know about that?

"-think I have it, yeah." You manage to get that out. No point in lying now, not with a reaction like that.

"Really! That's great!" The detective grins, his teeth gleaming as he leans over the counter.

"I'm sorry, but we'll have to confiscate that as stolen property. Can I see it?"

Double fuck. You wince. "I'm, uh, not supposed to let you in, sir. The back room is for employees only..."

"Oh, okay." You relax minutely at his easy acquiescence. Phew-

"That just means you'll have to come with me, yeah?" The detective gives a winning grin.

Motherfu-

If your expression could kill, the detective would already be six feet under. Unfortunately, you aren't blessed with a Quirk like that, and you're forced to admit-

Wait. This could work.

"...Fine." You let out a (seemingly) disappointed sign, pulling open the side-entrance and allowing the detective to step past the counter. "The safes are in the back, so you should check there. I think I saw it on the top shelf, near the back."

All facts. You just omitted the part of moving the safe outside, underneath your table. And luckily, the detective seems to buy it.

"Lead the way, then."

…

The safe room is near the back of the shop, safeguarded only by a large iron blast door (lockpicked, standard triple-tumbler). It would've been fairly unimpressive as a security system - had the safe room not had its own form of protection, in the form of a custom-made defense.

With two presses of either of the two bright-red buttons located on either side of the door, the entire vault will be sealed off and dropped down an elevator shaft nearly twenty meters deep, preventing any sort of escape. The police will be notified, safe owners notified - in short, an entire mountain of countermeasures will be set into place. It's the ultimate safeguard against any would-be thieves trying to break into the vault.

Honestly, it scared the shit out of you. Getting caught in there would mean Game Over in the most definite manner possible; there was practically nothing you could do to escape it once you were caught. Still, just this once you had to use that to your advantage.

"You said it's in the back?" The detective peered into the vault, his gaze scanning across the shelves of the safe. The fact that he doesn't find the safe isn't surprising (to you, at least), but you can't let him know that, keeping your face impassive as you position yourself behind him. "Are you sure about that?"

You shrug, a noncommittal gesture. "I think the more important stuff is in the back. And last time I checked here, it was in the back. I mean, I found it in the back-"

"Alright, alright. I'll check it out." Detective Naomasa steps forward. One step. Two steps. Just a bit more-!

Your fingers stretch towards the button-

"I don't see it." The detective turns back around, making his way back to you - your hand snaps back from the button, but the motion is too obvious, even for you. He's on guard now. "Are you sure it's there?"

"I… uh-" What do you say? Distraction, something-

"There!" You gesture wildly towards the back of the vault, towards one of the solid-steel safes. "Back there!"

"What?" The detective turns away for just a second-

Now!

It takes a second to step forward, close enough to strike. Before he can turn around, you grab onto the detective's coat and pull - the motion just enough to push his center of gravity to his right foot.

Just in time for your right foot to slam into the back of his knees.

Crunch. The detective stumbles, arms windmilling out for balance, and you capitalize in an instance.

Single movements. Right leg forward, twist, push. Like a spring-loaded cannon you ram into the man, throwing your shoulder and your entire body weight against his side, more of a body-slam than a push. In that instance, single second of contact, you can almost feel the detective trying to maintain balance, superior body mass wrestling against momentum - before the dynamic equilibrium is shattered, throwing him forward and into the safe room with a thud.

Slam. Your palm slaps onto the red button. With a hiss of movement, the safe door slides into place; gears spinning and interlocking as the safe is sealed. You could keep it like this, but-

"Wait-!?" The look of shock on Detective Naomasa's face is something you didn't want to see - after all, he's only doing his job - and yet your hesitation only lasts a single second, the time you need to cross the room to the other button.

"Sorry."

You can't take any chances.

You slam the big red button down.

BWEEEP! BWEEEP! BWEEP! BWEEP!

In a single moment, the entire room changes, iron bars falling down onto the vault, reinforced glass swiveling into place to lock the detective in. With another whirl of motion, the vault is sent spiraling down into the depths, the detective disappearing from view in seconds.

That's also your cue to exit stage left ASAP, as you've just alerted every police station in a twenty-mile radius of your presence.

Wonderful.

No time to think; need to get moving. The continued sound of sirens echo in your ears, reminding you of your now-shortened window of opportunity. The safe, first. Picking it up from under the table, you briefly consider bringing the entire thing along. No, not possible. If there's another tracker inside the safe, you'll be leading the police right to your location.

"Tch." You click your tongue. Guess you'll have to use that.

From your backpack you pull out three things; a gas mask, a plastic vial, and a plastic funnel.

Putting on the mask is the first thing you do; throwing it onto your face, letting the latches snap together, your wig making it difficult but not impossible to do. Once that's on, you move onto the vial; pulling it open with a cautious grip, holding it up to the light. Looks about right.

Inside the vial is hydrofluoric acid; a powerful acid that you'll be using to get through the safe, courtesy of your boss. Dumping it onto the safe takes only a second, disposing of the evidence another two, and within seconds of contact, the outer layer begins to melt away, sending out wisps of steam that you wave away.

There.

Gingerly, you remove the funnel from the hole, and peer inside. The acid has almost completely torn through the metal, leaving a jagged hole in the side of the inner container. Inside is another plastic vial, filled with a murky red-black blood-like liquid - you reach in, grabbing the edge of the vial with the tips of your gloved fingers and pulling it out.

Perfect. Now-

Time to get the hell out of dodge, before the police arrive. In fact, you can already hear them on their way, the tell-tale scream of sirens drawing nearer every second.

You grab your bag in one hand, throwing the vial inside as you sprint up the stairs up onto the second floor of the building. There's a window on the second floor, leading to a balcony. -Elbowing the glass, you smash through the windowpane, before gingerly lowering yourself over the windowsill.

"He's in there! Move, move, move! Get the heroes-"

Rubber tires screech to a halt on the streets below, and the short clomping of boots tells you that your timeframe is a lot smaller than you had hoped. The cops are here, which means the heroes are already on their way; you'll have to lose the police before the Pro Heroes arrive.

Up. Up is the only viable way out of this mess. You throw your backpack back onto your back before climbing up the red fire escape staircase, your sneakers clomping out a steady tap-tap-tap rhythm. Below you, there's a steady stream of policemen exiting their vehicles and forming a cordon; at this rate, they'll have you surrounded in a few minutes. All the King's horses, and all the king's men, uh?

Unfortunately, you can't let yourself get caught. Places to be, people to see-

Which is why you're heading to the roof. Towards the neighboring building, the apartment directly behind the shop, making your way up the stairs, bursting through the door to arrive at a barren rooftop-

Remember the plan, remember the plan-

Which is why you're on the edge of the roof, staring across the two meter-wide gap between the two buildings, the mask giving you a sense of tunnel vision that really isn't helping right now-

This is crazy. Oh fuck, this is crazy. What were you thinking when you planned this, you dumb-

The little voice of reason in the back of your head is screaming now, and you force yourself to ignore it. Deep breaths, Ren. Inhale, exhale~

You back yourself up slowly - one meter, two meters, until your impromptu runway is more than three meters long. Doesn't help for shit; the spirals and knots your stomach is twirling itself into could put a contortionist to shame.

You can't hesitate. Not even for a second.

A second of hesitation could be lethal, and you only have one shot at this-

"Police!"

-and, judging by the sounds of breaching and clearing down below you, it seems like you have no alternative.

Now!

You break into a full sprint, the wind howling against your face, the concrete rooftop solid against your feet as you run, up onto the ledge, off the ledge-

Don't look down don't look don't look don't -

…

...

Jump.

…

…

…

Air.

…

…

… CLANG!

You miss. Falling just short of the other building, you slam against the fire escape staircase, ribs impacting painfully against the metal, bouncing you off it.

On reaction you throw your hands out, nails and fingers barely snatching ahold of the red iron bars, scraping painfully against the rusted metal as you dangle off the side for a single second - until your flailing feet finally find a foothold, scrabbling against the dark scarlet steel. Once you get that, you're able to push yourself over the side and flop onto the landing.

…

Holy shit.

The adrenaline pushes its way through your system, the sensation like a taiko drum pounding against your scalp. You slump down against the metal bars, the motion half-resting and half just-collapsed-and-can't-be-bothered. Perhaps a little of both; the possibility of serious injury was most definitely there on that last jump, but your escape route seems to have worked for the most part. There's no way they could have predicted that; after all, nobody is stupid enough to jump off a three-story building without a flight Quirk.

Except you, apparently. Hehe~

Your moment of rest is interrupted by the piercing alarm siren that had punctuated the last few minutes finally falling silent. By the sound of it, the police are already in the building. From there, it wouldn't take a genius to figure out how you escaped.

Which probably means they're already on the way here. That thought sobers you up fast.

"Hmph." Picking yourself off the railing, you descend down the red metal staircase, taking the steps two at a time. At the bottom of the stairs is a bag of clothes; a faded red-and-white All Might hoodie and cap, clothes you prepped before doing the heist.

Pulling your mask off and throwing it into your bag, you tear off your blonde wig, revealing your usual mop of choppy black hair. Next up are the contacts; it doesn't take you more than a few seconds to remove them, turning your eyes back to your normal hazel brown.

Last touches now; you dump the rest of your gear and disguise into your backpack before quickly changing into your second outfit, a casual jacket and cap. Muss up your hair a bit, slouch; the perfect junior high school posture. Put your backpack on, making a final check on your watch.

3:20 PM.

Perfect.

You stroll out of the alley. Make your way to the bus stop.

Minutes later, you're miles away from the crime scene- as the Aldera Junior High school bus makes its evening rounds.