Crunch.
Bakugo had no idea how long the hot dogs in the cafeteria was boiled. True, the pork link hot dog steamed over his eyes and covered a thin grey blanket over the rest of the teacher's lounge. The bun was tougher than usual, the hardtac bread crunching under his sharp canines that mushed up the food. Seated at the end of the table by himself, he assaulted the hot dog and inhaled it down his throat. The juices of the red meat singed the top of his tongue, and he rubbed it on the top of his mouth with a soft numbness to the appendage.
His class for 1-B had been on their lunch period, and he preferred to be by himself in the teacher's lounge. Hardly a thing had happened throughout the day. None of the other teachers wanted to speak to him. His students, meanwhile, were an unremarkable bunch that required no particular description. Also, the air conditioning had gone out in the break room. The warm air clung deep around his throat, and beads of sweat peppered his furrowed brow.
His time in this new place was one of tranquility overall. He had kept his head down from danger, and he had not been involved in any hero duties ever since he moved. Part of him hated himself for it, slapping his own face when he viewed himself in the mirror every morning before he brushed his teeth.
What he also noticed, as he felt the outline of his phone in his pocket, was that nobody had called him from Japan. Sure, Kirishima sent a text or two on his first day, but others had been noticeably absent. He remembered his face wrinkling up into discuss when he saw Deku answer call after call by the dinner table when they had moved into the large house in the Hollywood Hills, how his putrid mold green eyes sparkled with every conversation from those morons in school.
Even if he'd hang up on them within a minute, Bakugo would not have minded it if his phone went off once.
With a jump in his chair, a harsh vibration erupted in his pocket. He leaned over and grabbed it out of his pocket. Spying the face on the front screen, Bakugo growled and answered the phone.
"What is it, Damn Deku?" He barked out.
"Do you know the Isle of Montserrat?"
Bakugo's breath hitched at the unfamiliar voice. It was a thick, but cooing tone that flowed through the phone like melted butter.
"Who is this?" Bakugo asked and he gripped the phone tighter. "Deku?"
"It was an island in the Lesser Antilles," The voice said. "Beautiful. Abundant. Filled with the happiest of people. It was an island that I visited just recently, in fact. And I must say, Mister Bakugo, I have rarely felt more at home."
Bakugo clutched his phone. Whatever this voice wanted, he had an unsettled feeling that bubbled in his stomach. "Who is this?"
"For once, I felt like things were going well," the voice said. "As I walked over the Soufriere Hills Volcano, I overlooked the ash of the old town Plymouth. You've heard of that place, right? A modern-day Pompeii."
"Enough of the geography lesson," Bakugo shouted. "Who the fuck is this?"
"Mister Bakugo," The voice said. "There's no need to be so upset. Especially since I have more upsetting news for you concerning your friend."
Bakugo blinked and stared out the window. The phone pressed deep into his ear, a few beads of sweat swam down the tip of his nose. "What is it?"
A short chuckle from the back of the voice's throat. "We have Deku here from his field trip at Void Industries. He is knocked out and at our mercy. If you ever want to see him again, you will do exactly what I say."
"Oh, is that it?" Bakugo said. "In that case, no thanks."
Bakugo hung up. With his other hand, he squeezed his half-eaten hot dog and shoved another length of it in his mouth. He chewed down on it and surveyed the parking lot outside. A few students crossed over the concrete ocean with gleaming cars sizzling like burning pieces of chicken on a hot stove.
The phone rang in his hand again.
Bakugo groaned out and lifted the phone back to his ear. "What?"
"Perhaps you didn't here me clearly," The voice said. "Within the next few hours, Deku will be dead."
Bakugo blinked.
"Okay."
He hung up again.
Almost instantaneously, the phone rang.
"Listen, Rasputin," Bakugo demanded before the voice could utter another word. "I really don't care."
"But Deku will be dead if you don't follow my instr-."
"I'm not following your damn instructions," Bakugo shouted into the phone. "If he can't get himself out of whatever you are doing, then that's on him."
"Oh, dearest Bakugo," the voice chuckled. "It's not just Deku. No, that would be easy. It is the innocent students of Class 1-A!"
"Not my class. Don't care," Bakugo pulled the phone away and hovered his finger over the button to end the call.
"Wait," The voice shouted. "Don't you want to strike a deal or something?"
"Not really," Bakugo said. "I have my own problems to deal with."
"But the children of your school are in danger!" The voice said. "There here on the second floor of Void Industries about to be brutally attacked and maybe even murdered."
"Maybe?"
"I mean, it was a part of the plan, but I could still spare them if you follow my instr-."
Beep.
Bakugo scarfed down the last of his hot dog and stared down at the phone's screen. Turning it off, he saw his own reflection. Not different from when he was just leaving U.A, he tried to think through the different layers of plans that were formulating in his head.
"Basement, huh?" He asked himself with an unimpressed tone. "It's always the damn basement."
Martel turned his head back to the door at the end of the hallway. Not seeing any bullet holes in Moxie, he saw Cletus frozen in place with the gun still clenched in hand. Looking down at his own hands, Martel noticed that he was pointing a squirt water bottle towards Cletus. Examining the plastic receptacle, Martel blushed and placed the object back into his void space. He meant to pull out his revolver, but he must have forgotten exactly what it looked like.
Whipping around on his heels, his eyes enlarged like an elephant's unfurled trunk at the source of the large bang.
"I think we all need to calm down here," Edith said behind Fyodor. Holding a pistol upward into the sky, small specks of sheetrock and ceiling tile tittered over Edith's head. Small powder bits sprinkled over her high heel shoes, the bullet hole causing a bit of debris. A small stream of smoke billowing from the barrel, Edith sauntered beyond the threshold of the door at the end of the hall and flicked the safety back on the firearm.
"I think it's best if we don't blow each other's brains out," Edith said. "I don't want my son to get nightmares again."
"Mom," Martel asked. He itched at the eyes blaring lasers into the back of his head as he realized he was in front of everybody. "What is this shit?"
"Martel, we don't use that kind of unsophisticated language," Edith shook her head. "Besides, I think we should be hospitable to our guests."
"Hospitable?" Martel pointed his device back towards Cletus. "This guy just tried to shoot my classmates. If anything, we are the guests."
"Man, these kids were bullying me," Cletus shouted before putting the gun down in his waistband.
"Cletus," Edith pointed at the Glock in the guy's meaty hand. "Drop the gun."
Following a disappointed sneer, Cletus dropped the gun on the floor. With a sharp clatter, the gun skittered on the floor.
Edith rolled her eyes and pried open the door behind Fyodor. "Well, Class 1-A, how about I explain what is going on? Why don't you follow me and see what we are planning."
As Edith gestured for the rest of the group to come forward, Martel adjusted his tie and rushed up to his mother. Leaving his classmates behind him, he tugged on her dress and swallowed. "Mom," he said in a low voice. "What's going on here? Who is this guy?" He stared up at the taller, shrouded man.
"Honey, stop being so dramatic," Edith said. "I've been working with Fyodor here on something very special. I'm sure you'll love it."
Crossing the threshold of the metal door, Martel stared up at the high ivory ceiling that hung over the circular lab. It was a bright, inviting room with dozens of unremarkable scientists in the same lab coats that tested out various different meters and levels on the computers in front of them where they sat. The rest of the testing facility was a giant rotunda with coconut-colored rows of CPU modems with computer screens jutting into them. Short steps led down to the center of the room where circular desks rounded the middle podium where a luminescent lavender beam shined down on an object.
As he led the rest of the class, Martel's spine tensed up with the ghost of a cramp forcing his stomach into backflips. His mother was being oddly secretive about this strange plan of hers. Not only that, but her alliance with this odd Eastern European man made his blood run cold into his veins. He seemed like a mysterious, strange person. Rugged and leering with the oddest of smirks, the man seemed both around Martel's age and much older.
Meanwhile, the other students of the class found themselves in an odd situation. Clearly, Martel and his mother were not on the same page. Robyn, her sword still in the backpack she had around her back, instinctively reached back and felt the handle of the sheathe. Next to her, she noticed Anton covering his mouth and muttering something under his breath. Perhaps he had noticed something odd going on within the school. Of course, it could also just be him talking to himself again.
"Lo and behold," Edith flashed her hands at the central pedestal. "Our next great invention."
The class crowded behind Martel and examined the instrument. On the central podium rested what appeared to be nothing but a small mesh metal spiral that was about the length of Martel's arm. It funneled upward and pointed at the ceiling with small snakes of wires plugging into a copper foundation that hummed and glowed with a strange cherry-tinted luminescence. On the tip of the spire was a small red ball that glowed like a pulsating heartbeat. The point of the small spire led upward towards the tawny spotlight that hung over like it was showcasing a prized possession of a museum.
"It's a giant taser," Abel announced from the back of the crowd.
"You moron," Megan pointed at the object. "It's clearly a cattle prod of some kind."
"It looks like a replica of the Eiffel Tower," Blake chirped from the side of the class closest to some other scientist typing on a computer. "Very sharp and pointy. Perfect for stabbing someone!"
Megan flicked her gaze towards Blake, but then returned it to Edith before anyone noticed.
Edith ticked her tongue and shook her head like a disappointed teacher. "All great suggestions, but this is a machine that will enhance everybody's lives. You see, this machine when activated improves the mood of the people who ingest it's scent within a space of one hundred feet. It enhances mood, endurance, and makes people far less susceptible to feeling despair from fake news and social media."
"Despair?" Martel asked. "Mood? Mom, Void Industries is for support weapons tech. We're not therapists."
"Have you watched a television show called the 'news' lately, Martel," Edith knocked her fist on the device. "People panicking. People attacking each other. All of this strife and frustration with our fellow man. Imagine a world where people aren't like this. Imagine Void Industries leading to the creation of world peace. Is there something wrong with making people happy?"
"Since when do you care?" Martel asked. "We are supposed to be creating weapons for the greater good!"
"The greater good," The rest of the class chanted in a monotone voice.
Edith ticked her tongue again and strode around the platform like she was presenting at a large technical conference. "You see, children of Class 1-A, you don't realize just how lucky of a generation you have it. You've been a generation of heroes who have been given pretty much everything you desire. Food, money, a school, a roof over your head. Not everyone can enjoy those things. Do you know how much it would cost to build enough houses for the homeless just in Los Angeles alone? And so what if we do? They get their houses, and then the next week, they're sheltering crack whores and throwing used needles in every corner. No, these problems need to be dealt with in the mind. The mind of despair and loneliness. Fyodor, here," Edith pointed to the mysterious teenager who sat himself at one of the computer desks away from the device. "Has shown me there is a much better way."
"Dearest Class 1-A," Fyodor said. He propped up his legs onto the desk and clasped his hands behind his head. "I have travelled very far within my short lifetime. From the Civil War in Serbia through the deserts of Africa. The favelas of Rio and, of course, this city you all partake in. But there was one important thing that I learned on the island of Montserrat."
"We don't care," Synaes shouted from next to Megan. "Get on with what you're doing already."
Fyodor paused his monologue and stared out with half-lidded eyes at the class. Shifting in his penny loafers, he squeaked across the room and marched up three of the short steps to the crowded class. His heavy overcoat swimming around his thin frame, he paraded with the confidence of any high class socialite and slid his way through a few of the students. He planted himself right by the source of the interruption.
"And you might be?" Fyodor asked in a polite voice.
"I'm tired of listening to you," Synaes barked. "You're annoying and you smell like a condom. This entire place does."
"Excuse you," Edith said with a hint of pain. "We work very hard to sanitize Void Industries."
Ignoring her comment, Fyodor's mouth twitched into a smirk as he reached out to Synaes's face. Studying her unmoving face, he took the frame of her black sunglasses and slid them off like he was stealing a precious jewel. Once off her face, Fyodor set down her glasses on the desk next to him and locked with her grey eyes. A light film over them, they remained frozen and pointed at the knife-sharpened jaw of the strange man. Standing just a few inches over the already tall girl, he saw that her face betrayed no emotion other than apathy and impatience.
"It seems you're missing out on a big component of our presentation," Fyodor chuckled.
"Based on your breath," Synaes stared straight through him. "I'd say that right now, being blind is a benefit."
"Then let me help you with that."
Opening up his mouth, Fyodor breathed out a steady stream of soothing hot air at Synaes. A flowing cloud of the lilac oxygen slithered through the space between them and contracted around Synaes's face. Synaes felt the warm air surround her face, a viscous coating that masked around her nose. Her eyes twitched, and a strange yet inviting aroma of roses dripping in early morning dew settled into her sinuses.
Martel reached out towards Fyodor, but decided against doing anything. Whatever this man's quirk was, it had already gotten to her.
"You see, Class 1-A," Fyodor took a step back an examined the confusion on their faces. "My quirk makes people have better moods when they ingest my breath. However, it also has the added benefit of making the person see their greatest desires right before their eyes as if they had actually attained it. Think! A long lost relative. A prized possession. It can be yours even if you don't physically attain it! Combined with the energy created by Miss Void and her product, we will spread cheer throughout all the world."
"But, there is a catch, Edith said. "For those who step out of the line programmed into our device, they will face punishment."
"And I also have the ability," Fyodor said. "To make that person's very desires attack them at will. Observe."
Everybody peered at Synaes. Martel's heart skipped a beat, and a deep pang shot into his chest as he prepared for some tortuous reaction.
Synaes gripped her cane, her face as stone-cold as the computers around the podium rotunda.
Silence.
Nothing happened.
"Nothing's happening," Fyodor said.
"Because I can't see, dumbass," Synaes said. "If you're quirk is based on vision, it won't work on me."
"For Pete's Sake," Edith rolled her eyes. "Fyodor, did you really not know that?"
"I don't normally use it on blind people," Fyodor complained.
Smacking her face with her small hand, Edith whipped out a small key fob and hovered her thumb over a red button. "Security, apprehend the class."
With a push of the button, the siding on the circular walls slid open to reveal hidden compartments built into the foundation. Lines of burly, well-tested security henchmen popped out of the compartments with a hydraulic hiss blowing smoke into the room. Donning black gas masks, the guards stretched out their obsidian polyester uniforms as they charged at the students. The white light from the sunroof above slammed shut. Replacing it, a red warning siren blared out in the laboratory, and the lights turned deep scarlet tinged the room in an ominous blood shade.
They surrounded the class and squeezed them into a tight circle. The siren pierced through Martel's ears as he saw the guards in black uniforms pull out small electric prods. The weapons crackled with cobalt lightening frays buzzing from the ends, and they pointed them at the rest of the kids in the circle.
"Is this normal in California?" Austin asked to no one in particular.
Katsu blinked and stretched out his arm. With a snap of a muscle in his neck, he bared his sharp teeth and stepped forward. "I don't know what kind of place this is, but I think it's time we zap out of here!"
He smacked away a prod from in front of him, the spark of electricity absorbing into his body. Before the guard could act, Katsu leaped forward with the small burst of energy and bounded over the guard's head. Sailing over him, Katsu landed behind the guard and kicked his leg out in a swiping motion. His foot collided with the guard's knee and knocked him forward. The guard's head smashed onto the ground, and the prod slid over the tile floor towards the rest of the class.
Abel, seeing that she had no other alternative other than being captured, reached down and grabbed the prod.
"Class 1-A, bitch!" He roared.
Abel screamed and charged out at the guard directly before him, a hard rock song already jamming into his headphones that he slipped on.
The rest of the class sprang into action. The guards advanced at them, but Drake fired off two flames from his back to reveal his dragon wings. Fluffing them forward, he beat them towards the ground and elevated himself to float above the fray. Hunter took this distraction as a chance to spit out two webs from two of his arms and connect them to the guards nearest him. When the smacked onto the front of their jumpsuits, he threw his arms together. The thick spindles swished over one another, and the guards were lifted off their feet and crashed into each other.
When they did so, Leo squealed and turned back to the exit. As he made a break for it, a particularly thin guard rushed out to him and pointed his prod right at Leo's chest. The British boy's heart leapt out of his thin chest, and he hugged himself and rocked back on his feet to shy away from the man. The weapon spat out shocks inches from his shoulder, and Leo cried out when the heat from the object nearly scalded his cheek.
The guard reared back his arm and swung it down to strike on him.
Just then, another pair of hands reached out and grabbed onto the prod.
Moxie shouted out when she felt the electricity course through her arm. A buzzing erupted through her ears, and small bits of spittle popped out from her lips. Her back arched with the ferociousness of a cascading roller coaster, and the current caused her muscles to spasm out in a brutal way. Concentrating on the energy that battered her nerves, she felt an independent warmth bubble in the palm of her hand.
Soon, she started to relax, and the current of electricity died down in her hands. Her quirk reduced the energy from the weapon into a slow, pulsating rhythm of a vibrating pulse.
Opening up her eyes, she yanked the prod away from the guard and flipped it in her hands. Catching the other end of the baton, she pointed the head right at the man.
"This is so cool," Moxie waved the prod in her hand. "It's like one of those cattle prods daddy used on those gators when they snuck into the priest's rectory."
The guard held up his hands and skipped backwards. "Please don't zap me," he shouted in a squeaking voice. "I'm just doing this to pay off college!"
Moxie and Leo gazed incredulously as the guard screamed and skipped away not unlike how a doe escaped a tiger's clutches.
Just a few feet behind them, a guard noticed that they were distracted and took action. He brazed out his baton and charged with the speed of a bull at Moxie and Leo. As he traversed over the distance, he screeched when another baton smacked into his face at an undetectable speed. The electric prongs planted themselves into his cheek, and he fell to the ground like he had been smacked with a car. The impact caused the electric capacitor to explode from the increased energy and zap the man into a deep slumber.
Megan, who had just thrown the device, gasped when she turned and noticed another guard running towards her. She pushed off her toes and dived forward. The guard swung at her head, and she dipped down and collided with the cold ground. Sliding over the surface, she grabbed onto the man's rotund ankle. The moment she touched his leather boot, the speed of the man exploded. He roared out and sailed through the air, his legs pounding onto the ground faster than he imagined. Before he could throw his hands out, he slammed into the wall opposite of him. The loud eruption exploded into a cloud of steel rebar and concrete that spat out debris across the lab. The man collapsed at the base, and frayed wires with exposed piping spat out water that flowed out of the sewage system.
The exposed wiring spat out electric sparks over the water as it spilled out over the room.
The other students had spread out over the large rotunda. Some of the lab technicians cowered underneath their desks as the students wrecked havoc. Abel was running around like a chicken without a head throwing one of the guards into the glass wall that was there for no real reason to enter the other lab next door. The guard shattered the glass and lay limp onto the ground. Drake had flown out over the room with Blake in his hands. With a quick nod from Blake, he plummeted downward like a small atomic bomb at one of the guards. The man raised up his prod to impale it into Blake's midsection. He did so, but he did not expect the insane electrical zap that rivered through him along with Blake. They both collapsed to the ground, the ribbons of heat and pain flowing through them. The man writhed, while Blake coughed out laborious laughs.
Robyn had found herself cornered with two of the larger henchmen in the room. Anton right next to her. they both smacked their backs to the wall in the corner with the dim lights of the alarms blinking above them. The crashes and hissing of the hydraulic eruptions and zaps sparkled throughout the room, and the other students flew and fought behind the burly men that had boxed them in.
With nowhere else to run, Robyn took off the backpack from behind her and unsheathed her large samurai sword. The metal gleamed with a ruby tint under the siren lighting, and she sliced the sharp air with impressive handwork. With an obnoxious shout, she threw out her other arm in front of her sword and flashed the steel at the henchmen.
Anton, seeing the sharp weapon, felt the cogs click in his head.
"Robyn," Anton said. "Cut me on the arm!"
Robyn faced Anton with an odd stare. "But won't that hurt?"
"It's for my quirk," Anton said. "Go ahead and cut me."
Without another word, Robyn stabbed Anton right in the gut.
Anton screamed and clutched the sword that impaled him. "I said to cut me, not stab me!"
Robyn let go of the sword as it was buried to the hilt in Anton. Clutching her chest, she gave off a nervous look. "Sorry, I think I misinterpreted what you said. Language barriers."
"You're not even from China," Anton sunk to his knees in agony. "You said you're from New York."
"With the way Manhattan is run," Robyn said. "It might as well be China."
Despite his cries, a loud voice cheered as a violet streak emanated out of the wound.
Finally, I can impress the girl for you!
Pathogen rocketed for one of the henchmen and entered right through the man's nose. The properties of Pathogen went to work immediately, and the guard felt all of the energy leave his body. Replacing it was the sharp pain that rolled through his body like a giant pin was squishing him into dough. He shrieked and fell back onto the ground.
Seeing an opportunity, Robyn grabbed the hilt of her sword from Anton's stomach and yanked it out of his body. Anton fell onto his back with blood pouring out from the wound. The other guard, distracted by his companion being wracked by Pathogen, did not see Robyn lay back her arm with sword in hand and flung it forward like a giant shotput right at his feet.
"This is for Wu-Tang," She shouted at the man.
The sword pierced right into the shoes and jabbed right through the man's foot like scissors cutting a sheet of paper. The man roared out as the sword plunged further and dug into the flooring. He tried to move his foot, but the sword had connected his impaled foot onto the ground.
Seeing him immobile and struggling to lift the sword up through the layers of concrete it was planted in, Robyn went to heal Anton as Pathogen continued to attack.
Martel was at a loss for words as he stood right in front of his mother. On one hand, he was completely impressed with how well his classmates appeared to handle the attack. On the other hand, he scratched the top of his head and wondered just how bad the security arm of Void Industries needed an update if they were being walloped by a bunch of kids. With a deep huff, he spun himself back to his mother, who was still facepalming from seeing the destruction of the lab.
"Mom," Martel connected the dots. "Why is this happening?"
"Didn't I just give you the whole spiel?" Edith asked.
"You want to drug people with this Russian guy's breath!" Martel pointed at Fyodor.
Fyodor chuckled just as another crash into a desk occurred. This time, Austin had swiped at a guard at his ankle and caused him to fall over into paralysis.
"No need to be rude, Mister Void," Fyodor spoke with a feather-light tone. "I'm actually Serbian."
"And for what?" Martel asked. "You said there would be a punishment? So, you're brainwashing people to be happy, and then your going to punish people if they don't feel happy? If they break the law?"
"Humanity needs limitation," Edith said. "Would it not be more efficient to have these antibodies of Fyodor's quirk enter a person and program that person to do no harm? To punish them mentally instead of physically? A bad thought or bad idea to harm others, and poof! They get punished."
Martel leapt up in the air at the sound of another small explosion. More glass shattered from behind him.. "And why are you here?" Martel asked Fyodor. "What do you gain?"
"Me and Fyodor struck a decent deal," Edith said. "It was almost our entire quarter's budget, but he has a very special skill."
"Not money," Martel said. "You're looking for something else, aren't you?"
Fyodor considered the smaller boy for a second and stroked his chiseled jaw. Pulling up the collar of his enveloping overcoat, he peered down at Martel with his head pointed towards the top part of the spire machine. "For this machine to work," Fyodor paced around with a satisfied grin plastered on his face. "We require a particularly large energy source."
"But your source," Martel stepped closer to his mom. "It's not electrical, is it?"
"Why would you say that?" Edith asked.
"Because it's about quirk energy, isn't it," Martel pointed out. He spun himself to the side of the machine and pointed down at the power socket. "Quirk energy can't be amplified by electric energy alone unless it comes from someone's quirk."
"I taught you well," Edith said. "And sadly, that electrical hero guy in Japan is on vacation. So, we needed to find the next best thing. Either find something that can amplify the power of quirk energy, or find something that can generate electrical energy compatible with this machine that can amplify this correctly."
"Deku," Martel said. "Where is our teacher?"
Fyodor laughed.
Another eruption. More glass broke.
James's head smashed right into the mirror.
With the hard impact, he fell onto his backside and rolled over. Regaining his purchase, he bounded back up to his feet. His legs acting like two loaves of bread, he stumbled forward with his arms braced in front of him. Two deep cuts already on his left cheek, his hair was frazzled with perspiration raining over his face. His black tee shirt slashed in the mid-section, the frays of fabric burned over the red welts that would later form bruises on his skin.
Lloyd was faring no better, his white dress shirt ripped to shreds as if a rhinoceros had chewed him up and spit him out. He as well gasped for air, his limbs dangling limp in front of him. The front fringe of his red hair dangled over his yellow eyes, and his skin was flushed with sweat and various points of pain that singed his nerves. His shirt discarded to the side, his pants were tattered with small holes slashed through the hem. Lloyd's chest and rippling eight-pack of abdominal muscles were dotted in newly-forming bruises, and the crucifix necklace pressed a cool respite that dangled around his scratched neck.
In the bathroom, the sink between James and Lloyd was cracked at the base with the faucet smashed into two halves. The mirror was cracked with small pieces of James's hair left in the fractures. Even one of the violet bathroom stalls was broken on its hinge, and it lay on the ground leaning onto the toilet that it previously obscured. Only the sound of the boy's gasps for air and occasional shoe squeak towards the other boy echoed over the tile of the bathroom.
"How," James panted. "Are you so strong?"
"Did you expect less from me?" Lloyd asked as he slunk towards James with his fists balled up.
"In fact," James grabbed at his injured left shoulder. "I would've been impressed if you could take one punch."
It had felt like an hour that the two students fist-fought in the bathroom. James was in near shock at how the first right hook from Lloyd had rocked him off his feet. Considering all the street brawls James partook in back home, he thought himself well-versed and prepared. How this wet blanket of a classmate had been able to take any of his tough punches and return them was beyond him.
Neither of them had given up or been pinned down. James felt he had certainly gotten back at Lloyd for slapping him, but defeating him on this battlefield was something that would take much more time.
"They'll probably come in," Lloyd said. "To unlock us."
"So you wanna give up," James said with a mirthless smirk. "Running back to the teacher's pet excuse?"
"A break," Lloyd said. "Five minutes."
James surprised himself at how fast he nodded. His fuel tank was running on empty, and the heat from the bathroom and his quirk was quickly dehydrating him. He admitted to the truce and sat himself back down at the base of the wall behind him opposite the bathroom door. His limbs limp in his lap, he slumped over his knees and craned his head back to capture precious oxygen.
Lloyd followed suit and sat next to James, causing the other student to scoot away just a few inches. Kissing his bare shoulders on the cool beige tile, Lloyd hissed out and rubbed at a particularly mad welt that was throbbing on his chest by his heart. This fighting session had taken his toll, and he had no idea how he would explain this to their homeroom teacher.
For a few seconds, both of the boys sat and listened to the rushing water through the pipes in the walls. The occasional drip of the broken faucet. The hum of the air vent above them.
"Seriously," James barked out. "How'd you get so strong?"
Lloyd, without looking up from his injury, cleared his throat. "How do you think?"
"Pushing caribou through a blizzard?" James asked. "Maybe carrying jars of maple syrup to the next village over."
"I didn't live in a village," Lloyd said. "And maybe some of it is family."
"Oh, sure," James rolled his eyes. "Blame genetics for everything."
"It's not genetics," Lloyd said. "In fact, their habits of good health and hygiene were very important in creating a good metabolism and fitness for myself. If it weren't for my parents and sister, I would probably be at home eating bowls of poutine all day."
"So what if you had a family," James said, his voice finally returning to strength from capturing enough air. "You can get strong without them."
"Of course," Lloyd said. "But the privilege and grace of having a family makes your life much easier to life. Much easier to find success and happiness. Support. Look at the top fifty villains in terms of dollars of damage caused. What do they have in common? No father figures. No stable households. Bad education. All of those things matter."
"Yeah, and some of them are just assholes," James grit his teeth when he felt a flame of pain erupt from his finger crossing over a small cut in his neck. "Rich assholes that have been given everything on a plate and still become villains."
"Exceptions," Lloyd said. "But not the rule."
That shut James up long enough to ruffle his hair and try to style it back to its previous mode.
"So, how do we solve that," Lloyd asked more to himself. "The social strife of today? The rise of villains over the world?"
"By beating the shit out of them," James said. "We could give every person on Earth exactly what they need. Food, money, water. And you know what? They'll still be assholes. They'll still be villains. So, we embarrass them. Beat them and then show the world just how pathetic they are without their masks."
"Thousands of years of human evolution, and you think we would have solved some of these issues," Lloyd said. With a stretch of his neck, he faced James and tried to match his eyes. "People looked upon me as a villain back home at times."
James blinked and stroked his bare chin. "As a joke?"
Lloyd shook his head. "My quirk is not exactly the most pretty nor the most peaceful looking one. When people think of a quirk that can turn things into dust, they think of villains. I propose that perhaps it reminds people too much of their own mortality. Throughout history, the iconography of dust has been used for destruction and death. Verses like Genesis 3:19 and Deuteronomy 28:24 certainly do not help persuade people."
"Well, I can see that," James said. "Someone assuming that shit of you because of your quirk. That always sucks."
"But I've thought about what you said in regards to prayer," Lloyd crouched up to his feet and headed for the cracked mirror. "You're correct that people view it in the wrong prism. In fact, I think we as humans have already been given a set of paths to follow in this world."
James grunted out when he stretched his sprained ankle out over the floor. "Like pre-destination shit?"
"As in," Lloyd looked at his obscured reflection through the broken mirror. Only a few fragment of multi-colored skin and red hair flashed in the smattered glass frame. He looked onto a yellow eye of his, and he clenched his fists together behind his back. "I think God truly does have a plan for us. And we need to understand that we are here to make of this world what God has put in it. It's not up to us to pray for better circumstances. These circumstances can happen to us, but we must ask why God has put us in them. What does he want us to learn from these positions he puts us in? How does he want us to grow stronger?"
James brushed off his ripped pants and heaved himself upward. He stumbled back onto the wall and leaned back to look at the Canadian student. He thought back to Shoto receiving the news of his diagnoses. Certainly, this moron wasn't saying that God wanted Shoto to die of brain cancer. Did he? He thought back to his time in Florida. All of the trouble he had with his parents. Did God want him to be mistreated just to learn about some lesson?
He also thought about that girl.
Enjoy yourself. Make friends, JJ.
Shaking his head, he narrowed his eyes in anger. "Maybe God is a fucking sadist. He puts people through some rough shit. Why? So they can learn some lesson?"
Lloyd faced back at James and noticed the way his muscles roiled and tensed up. "You've bene through some rough things. Or you know people who have. But understand that those same people and yourself learn lessons that myself may never have to know. That doesn't mean God loves you any less. It only means that you have been chosen to grow from these events as I have been chosen to grow from others."
"And that," James calmed down and swallowed. "We disagree on."
Lloyd nodded. "And disagree, we shall. So, do you want to keep fighting or not?"
James bared his teeth like a rabid dog. However, just as he stepped forward, he tripped over an untied shoelace. He stumbled, then waved his arms out to get balance. His center of gravity disappeared, and he found himself tumbling downward to kiss the ground. Instinctively, he threw out his hands and shot out some neon. The amount of the force pushed him upward, but he used to much on his right hand.
For some reason, the neon sprayed out of his hand and would not stop. Like a fire hose spitting out water, James was pulled back by the force and overcompensated to keep from hitting the ground. He raced backwards and smacked into the wall.
Of course, the neon spray stopped, but the turning of circuits and cogs in the walls did not.
Looking back, James saw that a single brick in the wall was pressed further into the facade than the others. Because of this, the secret brick caused the wall before him to slide downward. A blinding light erupted from the opening of the wall as it gave way to some new location. It revealed a brand new secret room that had been adjacent to them this entire time.
What they saw made Lloyd and James gasp in shock.