Bakugou growled, eyes restlessly scanning the group of beleaguered, frightened civilians gathered in front of him. There were a little more than a dozen of them, the majority of which were currently wrapped in the security blankets that had been provided and were either chattering hysterically or staring off in a daze. The police had yet to arrive, and the medical staff on-site were bustling about taking stock of their conditions.

The hero agency that he was interning with had responded to a call of armed robbery at the City Central Mall, only to find that the perpetrator had already vanished when they arrived. Fortunately, no one had been harmed, but he was now placed in the distinctly unfortunate situation of having to take perfunctory statements from the victims until the proper authorities arrived—a task that he was handling exceptionally poorly.

He wasn't sure what he had expected from the internship, but it sure wasn't this. Petty theft. This sort of thing was police work. Why was he forced to do stupid shit like this?

"Bakugou, you're up."

One of Jeanist's sidekicks—he hadn't bothered to remember their name—called to him. He grumbled, standing from his seat.

"Huh? The fuck you mean I'm up? I'm not interviewing any more witnesses."

"She asked for you by name."

"Who…?"

"Go see for yourself."

He trudged across to the hastily erected operations tent only to find a familiar face sitting at the interview desk.

"Why the fuck are you here."

"Nice to see you too, Katsuki."

He bristled. The woman was too outgoing for her own good. The moment she had learned his given name, she had insisted on using it, despite his constant protests.

"Piss off. I told you not to call me that."

"But it's such a nice name. I like it. I like the hair, too, by the way."

He twitched, then angrily brought a hand to scramble the neatly combed hair that his current boss had vehemently insisted on. "Shut up. I'll kill you."

"Scaaaary."

Her usual, cheery tone seemed entirely unaffected by the day's events, and he was becoming half-certain that she was here through some sort of mistake. He shifted uncomfortably and didn't bother taking the opposing seat.

"You get caught up in the shit?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"If by that you mean the robbery? Then yes, I did."

"Well? You gonna say what the hell happened or not?"

"You haven't been coming by the shop lately," she said lightly, ignoring the question and toying idly with a pen.

"That's not what I'm asking about."

"People have started taking your usual spot, you know. They keep talking about that foul-mouthed brat when they think I can't hear them."

"Fuck if I care. I'll kick their asses once this stupid internship is over."

"Oh, that's when you'll start coming around again? Should I save your seat?"

"Sure, whatever." Her blithe responses always had a uniquely irritating way of digging just beneath his skin, prodding him incessantly and stoking his temper. "Now answer the question. The fuck are you here for."

"What I think he's asking is, can you tell us what happened?" A new voice spoke up and a scruffy, tired looking man appeared at the tent's entrance, perusing a sheaf of papers in hand. "I've got it from here, kid."

"'Bout goddamn time,'' Bakugou growled. "She's your problem now, I'm getting the hell out of here."

"Sorry about that, he's an intern. I'm not sure why they sent him to take the interviews." Tapping the papers on the desk, he laid them flat then took his seat. "I'm a detective with the MPD, I'd like to outline what we have of the incident, if you don't mind?"

"Of course, go ahead."

"Right. Bystander accounts say that the suspect entered the premises shortly after noon and began to demand that the staff empty the registers. After that he fled, taking a hostage—you—with him in case anyone tried to pursue. Various reports can trace him right up until he left through a side exit in the mall's west wing. After that, we only have your testimony to rely on. From what you told us, the suspect fled the premises, primarily sticking to the back-alleys and, once he made it a fair distance away and was certain he wasn't being followed, let you go?"

"That's correct."

"And from there he proceeded alone and you went to get help."

She nodded.

"And there's nothing else you can tell us? Even the smallest bit of information would help. No one else in the vicinity, no strange noises, anything suspicious at all?" He pressed her with a desperate insistence, far removed from what a simple robbery would warrant.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I just ran away as fast as I could. I didn't stop to see what he did after that." She cocked her head curiously. "Has something happened?"

He looked at her wearily, then released a heavy sigh. His posture slackened and he rested his head on a hand, eyes turning to lazily scan his sheets.

"Thing is, miss, the suspect was found dead not far from where you claimed he left you."

"Oh my, what happened?" She brought her hands to her mouth and then froze. "Wait, do you think I was the one who killed him?"

"That's what the evidence points to," he admitted. "But, honestly, even just the thought's ridiculous. I had a quick look into your file on the way here. No quirk registered and a spotless record. The perp's wasn't anything special, just a simple emitter type, but it's not something that a quirkless civilian would've been able to fight off. Besides," he felt his stomach churn as he recalled the crime scene, "whoever did that to him has to have one hell of a messed up quirk. There's no other explanation for it."

His finger tapped the table in frustration.

"Unfortunately, the mall's security feeds operate on a closed system, and when we sent people to collect the security tapes, they found the entire room in shambles. Like a bomb had gone off. Couldn't salvage anything. Right now, we're completely out of leads, which is why you're here. You were the last to come into contact with the suspect, so if you can recall something, anything at all…"

She shook her head again, slightly more stiffly this time. "Like I said, officer, I just ran away and didn't stop to look back. Whoever did it came after I'd already left."

He nodded in resignation, as if he had already expected her response. "What a mess," he grumbled to himself while he scribbled down notes. "One case of armed robbery, now deceased, and a murderer on the loose. It's bad enough we lost track of Stain, of all people, earlier this month. We don't need two psychos running around. The media's going to rake us over the coals for this unless we can pull up something concrete."

Her lips twisted. A quiet, exasperated sigh, barely audible. "Does it really even matter."

The detective's pen stopped abruptly, and he brought his gaze up to meet with frightfully flat eyes. She spoke in a hollow monotone, leaning back in her seat and draping an arm across her midsection. Her other hand came up to rub idly at her choker. The smile had faded, and in its place was a careful blankness.

"They're really the worst kind, aren't they? The ones who'll just barge into your peaceful life without a second thought and try to take it all away. Someone like that's better off dead, wouldn't you say?"

He was caught squarely in her attention now, and he found it hard to catch his breath. The easygoing expression had frozen over into something hard and sharp, beautiful and remote, as if she had been chiseled from cold marble. Something baleful and uncaring stared out at him from behind flat, emerald pools and, for a moment, he forgot that she was the one in for questioning.

With difficulty, he averted his gaze, shifting and rustling his papers with a loud cough. "You've had a traumatic experience, miss. I completely understand, but, however you may personally see it, it's not the job of police or heroes to make that judgment. That's what the courts are for."

"Even if the world would be better off without people like that."

"Even if you feel that way," he answered neutrally.

They sat across from each other in tense opposition for several seconds, then she blinked, and the moment passed. Her features melted back into placid complacency and she brought her hand from her neck, clasping both on the table in front of herself.

"Hm. I really don't think I can understand you people after all. I don't think I have anything else to tell you. Am I free to go?"