Izuku stood in the crowded briefing room surrounded by his colleagues and waited for the briefing to begin. One day had passed since it had been discovered that Miruko had been captured, and Izuku had barely gotten more than a few hours of a sleep along with a handful of short naps.

However, that was what coffee was for.

Surprisingly, his logistics team was actually working well under the pressure. Something about working with lives hanging in the balance had really brought the group together and for the first time they were acting like an actual team. Hell, even the slacker Saito was only taking breaks when told to. Izuku had made sure to make a mental note to reward the young analysts for their efforts after everything was over.

Izuku was roused from his musing by the sound of someone clearing their throat for attention.

A tall and stocky man with balding black hair, five arachnid-like eyes, and dressed in a standard black suit walked to the front and motioned for his female assistant to man the projector. The suited man was Director Fujikawa, the one who was at the top of the departmental totem pole. While Izuku had only met the man a few times he had definitely heard the many stories about the enigmatic director. It was well-known how seriously the man took his job and apparently had no sense of humor at all. One of the most common pranks pulled on new agents was to convince them to tell the director a joke, only for them to be answered with icy silence and a disapproving glare.

"Good evening everyone." Director Fujikawa said in a deep and clear voice. "The briefing will now begin. As you know, the pro-hero that goes by the name of Miruko has been captured by local criminal elements. How they managed to do such a feat is still unknown to us, but time is of the essence so we need to act quickly and decisively."

The projector clicked and a map of the city was shown on the screen with a single location circled in red.

Director Fujikawa continued as images of a large warehouse slowly scrolled by on the screen. "One of our logistics teams has pinpointed the location where Miruko is being held. A warehouse in the industrial district that has long been suspected of having ties to local organized crime. However, until now there has never been any solid reason to necessitate a search warrant, so we only have a limited amount of information."

The images then changed to pictures taken from hidden locations around the warehouse, revealing that the area was heavily patrolled by a group of thugs.

"These images of guard patrols have only cemented the fact that the criminals are hiding something of extreme importance in the warehouse." The director stated.

"Let me make myself perfectly clear agents." Director Fujikawa said icily. "This is a highly classified operation and I will not tolerate any breaches of security. We all remember how the pro-heroes went after Tomura Shigaraki and nearly got massacred due to their overconfidence. If the criminals have someone or something that was able to take down the fifth-ranked pro-hero we need to go in expecting the worst."

Izuku could see a few nervous gulps or beads of sweat from some of the newer agents. The director was not wrong though, in a situation like this the smallest detail could be the difference between life and death.

The image from the projector changed to show the current hero roster, but with marks on it to signify heroes that had either been injured or killed.

"Because of this we are keeping this operation a secret from even the local police forces and pro-heroes." The arachnid-eyed man stated. "Only the highest members of the Hero Commission's administration have been notified of our plans. No longer can we trust the pro-heroes to bail us out if things go wrong, we need to handle this ourselves. This kind of situation is exactly why the Ministry of Defense stepped in with the liaison project. These dangerous individuals are not just villains, but terrorists as well."

The director pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket as the images from the projector changed to high-altitude infra-red drone footage. "The operation will commence at 0200 local time, five hours from now. I will now assign team leaders and logistics officers."

Director Fujikawa rapidly listed off a series of names for the logistical and support teams before finally getting to the strike teams.

"Strike team alpha will be led by Agent Smith." The director stated, causing a ripple of murmurs to go through the assembled agents.

However, everyone was immediately silenced as the director looked up from his paper and cast an icy glare around the room. "Agent Smith, step forward." He commanded.

Stepping up to the front of the room, Oscar fell into a perfect parade rest posture and stared at everyone with his compassionless moldy-green reptilian eyes.

"It seems there are some of you who are questioning my judgement." Director Fujikawa growled. "For those of you who do not know, Agent Smith was assigned to us as a tactical operations advisor. For more than a year he has been personally training a single squad of our agents in the same tactics and strategies as the CIA's elite strike teams. To be frank, he has more experience with these kinds of matters than the majority of the people in this room."

Well that was certainly a surprising development.

Izuku knew what Oscar's official title was, but like everyone else he assumed it was just a made-up position. However, that did answer the question of what Oscar did during the day, as he was only in his office during the afternoon and evening hours. Izuku knew that Oscar was a bit of an oddball, but he never expected the man to be a former member of the CIA's infamous strike teams. The very teams that had operated for decades taking out high-value targets marked by the United States government. But the longer Izuku thought about it the more it started to make sense. It would have been a wasted opportunity for the director to let such valuable knowledge just go to waste. Now the million dollar question was, what had Oscar done to get reassigned all the way over to Japan?

"Agent Smith." Director Fujikawa said as he turned to look at the motionless American. "Is your squad able to handle this challenge?"

Oscar gave a single nod, and Izuku felt a chill run down his spine as he realized the strange man was staring directly at him.

"Yes sir." Oscar stated emotionlessly.

Nodding in satisfaction, the director looked back at the sheet of paper in his hand. "Strike team Bravo will be led by Agent Midoriya."

Izuku tried to act surprised, but when your previous career included a stint with an elite counter-terrorism force it was obvious you were going to be chosen for dangerous assaults.

The director quickly listed off the rest of the names for the team leaders. Three different sniper teams, four perimeter area teams, two rapid-response vehicle teams, three plain-clothes teams, and even a close air support team complemented by a pair of military attack helicopters.

To any outside observer, the amount of firepower might seem a bit overkill, but it never hurt to be prepared for the worst-case scenario.

Done with naming all the team leaders, the director motioned for his assistant to turn off the projector then turned to face the assembled agents. "Alright everyone, report to your assigned teams. Team leaders, your instructions will be given to you in five minutes. Good luck."

Exiting the briefing room, Izuku went with the flow of the crowd towards the different meeting offices that were used whenever a large operation was taking place. Finding his assigned meeting room, Izuku walked in and waited for his squadmates to arrive.

The room was sparsely furnished, with only a few plastic rolling office chairs and a large conference table in the middle for planning purposes.

Less than a minute after Izuku entered the room a short man wearing normal office clothes stepped inside with his arms full of papers, laptops, and several other electronic devices. The short man unceremoniously placed all the materials on the conference table, gave Izuku a curt nod, then rushed out of the room.

Right after the office assistant left a group of seven people walked into the room. The group was made up of four men and three women. They were all field agents like Izuku, just slightly lower in the pecking order. For the most part they all looked like regular human beings. Sure one of the women had purple skin, and one of the men had two noses, but in the age of quirks those kinds of features were minor details. Izuku had worked with them all at some point in the past and knew that they were a reliable bunch.

"Hello everyone." Izuku said politely as he began organizing the materials on the conference table. "We all know each other so I say we get right down to business. Lets begin preparing for the operation."

The men and women all nodded seriously and spread out around the table as Izuku began going over the information.

The pile of papers and information included the public records of the warehouse blueprints, observation photos, and many other miscellaneous things that helped provide small details that might be beneficial to know.

Izuku and his team spent an hour going over the plans and making sure they all had memorized the important information. The operation would start like any other military strategy, the exterior guards and cameras would be neutralized by the perimeter teams and allow the two strike teams to get into place. Once everything was set, the logistics teams would cut the power for the entire city block. This would be the signal for the two strike teams to enter the warehouse and begin taking out targets while searching for Miruko. Strike team alpha, led by Oscar, would enter the warehouse from the front and sweep the second floor. Assault team bravo, led by Izuku, would enter the warehouse from the back entrance and sweep the ground floor.

As they say, the devil is in the details. While the Ministry of Defense had access to the original blueprints of the warehouse, there was no way to know ahead of time if the criminals had made any recent renovations or otherwise illegal changes to the floor plans. Because of this, each member of the strike teams would be wearing cameras similar to the one Izuku had shown Miruko. The cameras would transmit a live feed directly to the command truck and allow the agents in charge to make quick decisions

Unlike the pro-hero community, the majority of the people working for the Ministry of Defense did not have quirks of immense power or powerful utility. This meant that to go toe-to-toe with powerful quirk users, field agents relied on technology and tactics to save the day.

Done with the planning session, Izuku led his team to the underground armory and equipment depot.

After descending through heavily guarded elevators and checkpoints, Izuku and his team arrived at the armory and began preparing for the raid.

Even though it had been several years since Izuku left the military, acquiring his equipment was still second nature to him.

Body armor? Check.

Tactical helmet? Check.

Gas mask with built-in night vision goggles? Check.

Tactical jumpsuit made of kevlar weave, insulated materials, and shock absorbing pads? Check.

Finished with putting on all of his gear, Izuku walked over to a large mirror attached to a nearby wall to check for any holes or loose pieces.

Honestly, if the average person ran into the armored Izuku at night they would probably shit themselves in fear.

Almost every piece of Izuku's gear was matte black or dark grey, perfect for a nighttime raid. The part that was probably most intimidating was definitely the combat gas mask. The body of the mask was made of black rubber, and small tubes connected to the mouth and disappeared under the collar of the wearer. Up close the circular lenses for the eyes glowed a dull red when the night vision was activated.

Satisfied that his gear was in working order, Izuku took off his gas mask and clipped it to his belt as he walked over to the armory.

Having spent an extended amount of time in Japan's exclusive counter-terrorism unit, Izuku knew exactly which weapons he should bring to each combat scenario.

Entering through the thick blast doors, Izuku paused and looked around at the veritable smorgasbord of weaponry before him. Guns lay on tables in neatly organized rows, grenades of all kinds sat in padded foam cases, and heavy caliber weaponry sat in specialized holding racks.

Hell, way in the back Izuku could even see a combat flamethrower that definitely broke several rules of the Geneva Convention just by existing.

Walking through the tables and racks of guns, Izuku found what he was looking for. A compact submachine gun that was renowned for its nearly non-existent recoil and built-in suppressor. Perfect for stealthy close combat operations.

As he was in the middle of loading several magazines of ammunition, Izuku heard Oscar's voice behind him.

"Ahh, a man of culture I see." The American said appreciatively as he looked over Izuku's shoulder and examined his gun.

"Oscar now is not the time for playing around." Izuku said seriously.

"Aww lighten up Mido." Oscar said teasingly. "I dunno about you, but I always enjoy putting down some scum. Makes me feel like I am making the world a little bit better, y'know?"

Izuku gritted his teeth in annoyance as he selected a pistol from a nearby table. "No, I don't know Oscar. Taking someone's life is something I take very seriously, actually I-"

Izuku stopped mid-lecture as he heard the unmistakable click-clack of a shotgun pump being racked. Turning around, he glowered at Oscar who was in the process of customizing a menacing matte-black combat shotgun.

"Sorry Mido, you were saying somethin?" Oscar said cheekily as he inspected his weapon.

Izuku took a deep breath to calm himself. Letting Oscar get under his skin right before an important operation was not going to help anyone.

As Izuku began to leave with his weapons, a group of agents entered the armory and began selecting their weapons. Looking at them, Izuku frowned.

Something felt wrong.

As he scrutinized the silent agents, Izuku realized why they seemed different.

It was their eyes. More specifically, the cold emotionless look that was eerily similar to Oscar's

Izuku watched as Oscar walked up to the agents and gave them friendly pats on the back.

"These are the guys the director was talking about Mido." Oscar said proudly. "Not to toot my own horn, but I can guarantee that each of them can kick major ass. After all, I trained them myself."

Izuku felt his skin crawl as Oscar talked to him. There was no hint of compassion or respect in the man's voice, it was more similar to a thug bragging about his trained attack dogs.

Izuku had met all of the agents in the past, and seeing them now hammered home the fact that Oscar had turned them into something different.

One stood out from the rest. A short woman who Izuku had worked with several times in the past. She was bubbly, energetic, and passionate about saving lives.

At least she had been.

Now it was like she was a completely different person. What bothered Izuku the most was the fact that the group of agents had the same kind of blank stare like Shigaraki's Nomu creatures.

Shaking his head free of the disturbing musings, Izuku quickly left the armory and made his way over to the preparation area.

Right then and there Izuku made a promise to himself. Once everything calmed down he was going to find out what kind of training Oscar had put those poor souls through. None of them deserved to be turned into a tool just for someone else's benefit.

Rumi groaned softly as she kneeled on the cold concrete floor.

Things had not gotten any better.

She didn't know if hours or days had passed, as she kept slipping in and out of consciousness from all the pain.

She had lost feeling in her arms long ago. The only way she knew her hands were chained to the low ceiling was because her shoulders ached like someone had beaten them with a bat. Every breath she took hurt, and when she had struggled Rumi felt broken and fractured ribs grinding against each other. Not to mention that the burning pain in her leg from the embedded bullet had only gotten worse.

In the occasional moments of lucidity, Rumi had plenty of time to think about what was going to happen to her. Even if she did somehow miraculously escape, there was the fact that apparently she had been shot with a bullet that killed quirks.

The biggest question was if the effects were permanent or not.

If the effects were permanent, Rumi had half a mind to just off herself the first chance she got. Her entire career, her entire life, had been dedicated to being the strongest. There was no way in hell Rumi would live life as a quirkless failure, doomed to watch new heroes take her place and prosper all because they had strong quirks.

Rumi had contemplated trying to attack one of her captors so that they would be forced to kill her, but nobody had even checked on her in god knows how long. Well, at least from what she could remember.

It was all so unfair!

To die slowly in the dark was probably the worst way things could end for her, maybe only second to living out the rest of her life as a quirkless weakling.

Rumi had thought about how her career would end plenty of times, all pro-heroes did at some point. She had planned to go out in a blaze of glory, maybe while fighting some supervillain or saving hostages from a bomb.

Instead, it seemed she was destined to be remembered as a modern version of the story of Icarus. A warning to aspiring heroes about being overconfident and being doomed to fail because of their hubris.

So here she was. Sitting in her own filth like an animal trapped in a tiny cage. Alone in the dark, and slowly dying.

She had tried yelling, either to taunt her captors or get someone's attention from outside, but all that had happened was that she had lost her voice.

After what felt like days, Rumi had lost almost all hope. She had tried staying true to her ideals, to be brave and confident to the bitter end. But being alone in the cold and damp darkness meant that nobody would know if she had been brave or not when she died.

All they would find is her broken body.

With only pain to keep her company, Rumi had plenty of time to reflect on her past. How she had scorned pretty much everyone and kept herself alone like she was some kind of badass that never needed any help.

Being confronted with her seemingly imminent but slow demise, Rumi realized that she could have been the biggest badass around, but if everyone only remembered her as a pain in the ass her legacy would only be about how much of an asshole she had been to everyone.

With ample time to think, Rumi tried to remember the people she had scorned or insulted.

That was a waste of time, as it had been just about everyone.

So she thought about the people who stuck out to her the most.

Obviously one of the biggest was Miss Sasaki. A woman who had probably put up with enough of Rumi's shit to last several lifetimes. It was clear to Rumi now that the sharp-tongued woman had been doing her best to help make Rumi's dream a reality, but all Rumi had ever done was complain. Hell, Rumi couldn't even remember if she had ever given her agent so much as a single thank you.

The second was Midoriya. For some reason he was ingrained into her memories like a single clear photo surrounded by dozens of faded ones. Even though she had barely gotten to know him, Rumi regretted that his only memories of her would be how much she had bullied made made fun of him.

Maybe it was because when they first met, Midoriya reminded Rumi of herself. Someone not afraid to speak their mind and get right to the heart of the matter.

Another painful memory was that encounter in her apartment, where she had basically spat in the man's face because she knew she was physically stronger than him.

Yeah, that was definitely not one of her proudest moments.

If Midoriya did not hate heroes already he probably did now because of her. Hell, Rumi didn't even know if the guy had a powerful quirk or not, she just immediately assumed that he was beneath her like everyone else.

"I wonder how many people will come to my funeral?" Rumi wondered morosely.

Probably not that many, and the ones that did would most likely just be other pro-heroes trying to get some good publicity.

Rumi's ears lay completely limp as she sighed quietly. There was no point in crying, as it wouldn't do anything but make her feel even worse than she already did.

Maybe this was karma coming back to bite her in the ass.

All in all, Rumi was completely screwed. Only a miracle would save her at this point.

A/N

- accidentally published the wrong version (again) should be fixed now