JEANIST
Bakugo slammed the door behind him and jammed a chair under the door handle. Panting, Bakugo searched the janitor's closet for weapons. The mop? No, that had strings at one end. The broom? Did the bristles count? Knowing that sadistic bastard, they were probably denim bristles.
"Oh Bakugo…" Even through the door, Bakugo heard the voice plain as day. "Hiding isn't very heroic."
Bakugo bristled at the comment, but fear won over his pride. Holding his breath, Bakugo rummaged through the closet as quickly as he dared. A rolled-up carpet, a janitor's uniform, piles of towels, was everything in his blasted agency made out of thread?
A glint of metal caught Bakugo's eye. A fire extinguisher, of solid metal. Bakugo yanked it out of its holder and clutched it close to his chest.
"Not coming out?" the voice asked, mockingly. "And here I thought you were a brave one."
Bakugo ground his teeth, but he drew strength from the cold iron in his grip. He would not fall here. The fate of the world rested on his shoulders. He would escape this madman and continue his crusade against all things robotic.
"Very well. I guess we will have to do this the hard way."
Bakugo felt his shirt tighten. Dread crept up his spine as he looked down. A single thread from his shirt wound towards the door. Bakugo grabbed at it, but the thread slipped through his fingers and went under the door. Bakugo ripped his shirt off and scorched it. Then his pants for good measure.
"Tut tut. Didn't anyone ever teach you not to trust your socks?"
White nylon seized his wrists. Bakugo sawed at them with his teeth, freed a hand, and blasted both his socks to smithereens.
"Surely you have some dignity, don't you?"
Bakugo felt his underwear tighten, felt the unspoken threat winding its way around his greatest weakness. Without a sliver of hesitation, Bakugo ripped off his underwear and burnt them to ash.
"Oh dear. I'm afraid I can't have you running around my agency like that."
A rustling sound filled the closet. The mop, the broom, the towels, all unraveled. Flakes of paint sloughed off the threads, revealing blue denim. Bakugo pounded at the door, but the chair was firmly jammed under the doorknob, trapping him inside. Bakugo unleashed a few blasts, but the denim threads caught his wrists. As he bit at them, a denim rope gagged him. Then the denim swarmed over him, and the last sight Bakugo saw was the flickering lightbulb that illuminated the dusty closet's shelves.
When Bakugo awoke, a suffocating prison of denim squeezed his body, from his neck down to his toes. His hair, heavy with hair gel, felt like a denim sheath. And before his eyes stood a denim puppet, eyes vacant of emotion as they stared into his. Eyes like Deku's.
Best Jeanist ran a comb through Bakugo's hair. "There. Perfect."
Bakugo tried to swear, but it came out as "Mmrph!"
498
Bakugo has finally found something scarier than killer robots - designer jeans.