Quirk alias - Atlas
Usage of the power causes a large radius of quirk erasure for a short amount of time, the user and the targets of Atlas are brought under huge amounts of mental stress, a handicap that allows all of those affected to be transported to their most negative moments of life.
At the Musutafu police headquarters, we have assumed that the well-known vigilante Psyche has adaptive genetics in using it, having the strength and dexterity to not only withstand foreign trauma, but snap out of the flashbacks before their afflicted do. Much like the greek Titan Atlas, the decision to coin their quirk with the codename was due to anonymous reports of "bearing invisible burdens" being associated with them.
Psyche is still an active vigilante and although their powers have been brought to use in the least damaging ways for our community, we urge you to call our tip hotline...
Torrential outflows reigned supreme throughout the area submerged by your quirk, tendrils of vast indignation scrawling shrieks within still air as if it was an artistic masterpiece filled with rage, your vision being hazed over with nothing but red. Distantly, you had caused two other figures succumb to the startlingly hallucinogenic effects wily creating the most horrific moments of their life in their present day mind, impenetrable and personalized live wires roaring with laughter at the extremes in which they tried to convince their very brains to snap out of it. After all, how could their lives not be smothered if their minds chose to wallop themselves in a blind panic? All you could focus on was the internalized wrath you had compartmentalized for nearly years upon years of your life, an unreal figment of your father wilting in your ceaseless bombardment of animalistic screeches and merciless fists practically slamming his ribcage in.
None of it was real anyways, every single surfacing memory clipping the severed patience that was rotting to its very pits: all of the times your parents had fought as silent as a mouse drugged up on multiple syringes of steroids, cantankerous bites ripping off even its supposed stronghold meant to confine it, a male's booming yells charged at the opposite sex, strangled chokes slipped out of the harried grip on her throat, the countless number of times any sort of familial attribute was destitute in the movements and gestures articulated by the members of your family, when you had attempted to reach your youthful, little grubby hands to make them connect again only for both your mother and father to pin the blame onto you. Grappled into a vice, your countenance, done away with twice your doubtfulness, fear that had been instilled within you at the earliest ages you could remember had manifested at last.
Unhindered scissors in the unwavering form of tensely coiled limbs cut through the barrier of the memories of times past, driving them to pierce through the interdimensional barriers adoringly made by a part of you that you just couldn't ignore. Strife still lining the harsh edges and contours making up your face, you managed to find your footing on crumbling, worn down cement that made a resounding thump in your arrival. You could feel it working its damned magic, memories that were foreign and most definitely didn't belong within your headspace wrangled their way in stubbornly, views of inflamed righteousness and scorched tatami mats darted into mind.
Near death experiences and war raging in the background, either familial based or wrought systematically through the ever flowing tides of war, bawls coming from not only babies cocooned in cloth but also full-fledged teenagers and adults in fright. At the very least your instinctively clenched fingers faltered, especially when you noticed Dabi's body shaking with contractions and tremors, unseeing but blinking eyes still attempting to focus on something that just wasn't there.
Odd colored childish jingles and animations begin to resurface to the shore of your shuddering thoughts, remembering the various amounts of lessons you had burned into your mind about seizures; be mindful of the victim's body, your hands comfortingly pressed his quivering body onto his side to the best of your memory, cushion their head in order to shield them from damage, you slipped off his baggy Versace hoodie in favor of folding it quickly and placing it under his head. Any agitation that had flooded formerly visible veins was outsourced in the endeavor to not witness a human being, not just a villain, suffer anguish alone at the hands of a tonic-clonic episode.
Your hands nearly broke the sound barrier with how frantic you had been to place an index and pointer finger on his clammy wrist, without restraining him in any sort of way, counting the radiant amount of heavenly heart beats that quenched your fears with heightening hopes. Next, your sights were set on bringing your cheek to rest near his seemingly stopped breathing, grateful for the hot air that traveled onto it after an anxiety-inducing moment of it not remaining in his body at all. From afar, you could barely recognize the catalyst for the disaster proceeding to happen in front of you moving, ever-so-slightly managing to wiggle his limbs out of the nerve wracking funk that they were in.
"You're here with me, you're resting well, you're doing fine, baby," reassurances being whispered softly to not only the man himself, but a sort of calming mantra to help ground yourself in the situation and not become distracted with your own unimportant, impertinent worries.
Even as you were comforting the outcast of the Todoroki family, you allowed your stance to shift to the right, creeping a pointed look at the white haired man clambering back up to one foot, now matching your set of hawk eyes with a receding amount of confidence.
"If Dabi wasn't having a grand mal seizure right now, I would gladly beat your ass to the moon and back, but right now, I just want you to either sit there and think about what you've done," purposefully gesturing to the entirety of the backroads and piercing his lowering guard further, "Or, you could, y'know, actually act like a hero and standby."
A grunt was shot out in resigned confirmation, his crouched broad form reaching for some sort of contraption in his back pocket, electronic numbers gently illuminating the back alley in an already sparse environment. Seconds felt like hours to the two of you that now had a verbal truce in place, as you were sure any upstanding individual person carrying the moniker of hero would not dare to leave someone to convulse on the ground, even if it was to capture an unknown suspect. The other man had now been tastefully dubbed "Fuji" by your sharp tongue, a sort of childish payment for acting so rashly in response to a situation that was as fragile as fine china dangling over the edge of a steel countertop.
"I would call him Jiji, but he's too much of an ass to be called an old fart, so I would think you'd come up with something better," you absentmindedly rolled of your wavering tongue, three minutes having already passed by and he still hadn't come to from the seizure, you didn't want to call an ambulance for someone who would undoubtedly resist at the very notion.
Fuji had rapped his beefy fingers on his plain black and white pocketwatch, regularly inspecting the metaphorical hourglass that had come to be once the man's episode had seemingly ended, sand clumps dropping into the depths of a sandcastle dipped in the waters of drowned souls. His morals had begged for him to be rooted in place in the hopes for the black haired man's recovery, even if the intensity of the crimes he had committed had garnered his attention to his pager that had various police contacts and his former understudies, including Shota. Infuriation would have surely coated every facet of his being had he paged him after the fact, so he had forced his weighted hands to switch from laying onto his bent thighs or simply tap his brooding fingers into morse codes without thought.
As soon as he had even flexed his lower jaw to enunciate the start of a fatalistic sentence, the other man had wistfully rose from the dead, cracking joints popping in relief from the primal reaction of moving far too fast for his state, before vocally protesting and letting his torso plop onto the ground. It was as if lightning buzzed within his otherworldly stitches, silver glints of accosted life lingering around his mottled burns, all held together by the will of the unknown. A gasp rose from your mouth, hands coming to shy just a small distance away from the punk's body reorienting itself back to the present, due to raging electromagnetic currents within his pleading brain.
"He's, he's... ALIVEEEE!" cackled breathlessly from your throat in a gross imitation of Victor Frankenstein victoriously howling in the presence of his creation, causing both of the men present with wildly differing styles to agree on this one thing, rolling their eyes.
Apricot colored top lip coming to part from his pierced and scarred violet one, he coughed and spat viscous globs of saliva to his side, casting a weary look towards your tomfoolery. "And here I thought you called me baby," wiggling one of his charcoal black eyebrows in mocking manner, a small smirk starting to widen at your antics.
You animatedly tugged at your faux head of hair, ripping of the pastel ginger wig off of the fishnet cap, snatching it off of your actual head of hair and began dying inside. "You do NOT get to quote me on that you... you... emo Grimace!" was thrown back at him, relinquishing any groves of fear that had been growing at a startlingly high rate, flinging your hands around his entire wardrobe choice. He only resorted to winking teasingly at you, wallowing in the amount of suffering he was causing you gleefully.
A sigh rose out of Daisuke's drained throat, clearing his throat harshly as if he was the Junior High substitute teacher that had been joyously presented with a classroom full of young adults flinging manure over the mass expanse of the room. "Hardy har har, now back to the matter of arresting you two," observing more prominently the declared fast-food chain mascot with dangerous firepower, although he had half a mind to also keep an eye on the person who had managed to whip out a riot control gas and clunk it against his now bloodied upper-eyebrow.
Static rigidity somehow paradoxically flew into the realm of possibility of the trio, making the now recovered criminal and presumed accomplice to stonily stand their ground with the severity of the ancients, the crowning achievement of consequences that conflict with ever present realities that have yet to be achieved. Compare the scene to the heavy magnitude of earning a beating from helicopter or ruthless parents, and you have art on par with elite Renaissance paintings.
"Ahahaha, you see, it's really just a big misunderstanding," you attempt to make your case by breaking through the stone-cold confinements of pressure molded around your figure, "The world's not as black and white as it is, Mr. Fuji, so I'd appreciate it if you could stop towering against us like that." Referencing his mountainous demeanor compiling his temperance, height difference, and his ideals all in one go, a surefire attempt of scrounging some crumbles of leniency through your immature profile.
Unsurprisingly, this merited an unimpeded stroke of unenthused leg strokes from him, cracking the back of his neck casually as he could before preparing himself to detain them, trying to snag an invisible rope in the blue-eyed man's quirk factor before being met with absolute failure. This time you had succeeded in clamping a hand onto your mouth before you had attracted undeniable attention from him, before your laughter broke completely free from your belly and spurted out uncontrollably.
"You really think that's gonna work? I thought underground heroes had more sense than that, chin up. Incoming!" interrupting your persevering vitriol jabbing at the hero was the swinging of the heavily rusted hinges announcing more trouble.
Shockingly, it seemed that the quirk meister did indeed have some sort of heart present in his being, as he rolled and dragged your companion along with him, away from the current berserkers attacking their past positions. None other than the dirt beneath your shoes, Fuse was rolled out on the back of his most treasured bodyguards and low-rate mercenaries, granting the three of you a particularly slimy face and not from who you would expect.
Apparently your uncertainty of the intelligence you had received was a godsend in this case, as his own lackeys threw him against the other side of the alley wall and acted as if they hadn't trashed their leader to the garbage. Hordes of unnameable figures approached, varying amounts of archetypes already plastered within some of their false bravados, yet nearly all of them were leaning on hand-to-hand combat as their weapons of choice, with the exception of a few holding splintered bats.
"No use for him now, we just gotta follow the boss's orders," one in the middle of the cluster of grunts declared, brandishing his own wrist and dramatically flourishing for the entrance of something to happen, if quirks had been working. Perplexed shrugs prevailed among the crowd, any of those with crudely based mutation quirks making their way towards the shortest figure of the bunch, which just happened to be you, what a treat!
At this you nonchalantly check your nails, preening at an nonexistent manicure smugly, before clocking in some well-timed punches towards a certain muscle-bound giant's nuts, damaged spikes still wreaking havoc onto his poor balls. 'Not so poor when he could have not rushed me,' echoed in a sing-songy attitude all the while you reflexively toppled two other nasty women who wanted a piece of you, flinging their bodies towards your discarded weave.
"There goes 16,000 yen, who else is gonna pay up? You?" your body crawling onto the back of a lanky lackey only having one freaky eye, using your momentum to crash your heavily weighted platforms into his spine.
In the near distance, Dabi was far too preoccupied with dancing proficient circles around the crooks who didn't get the message, ensnaring pounces in bursts that drove substantial impact to the bone, having an impromptu team-up with Fuji. It was as if they stepped in practiced movements as a duo partaking in a dance fulfilling macabre, grapples engaging in quick head smashes around the other's maroon jumpsuit, white hair acting as the headpiece of morbidly primal attacks he unleashed, the two of their fighting styles akin to a wolf and a boar; primitive charges not without the booming might of a insufferable, tusked swine and howling fists inflicting a morbid amount of damage towards the near useless cat's paws.
You were sure if your group didn't up the ante soon enough, the actual cold-blooded authorities would be alerted and be able to ascertain their whereabouts, driving you to bellow ferociously at the waves of lackeys and make them suffer just a little bit more than usual, for once. Even if your usual for the scum of the earth was quite grisly, downright unforgiving in fact, you were sure that if you allowed yourself to be further blinded by the distraction set in place, the true perpetrator would run off scot free. Trampling a couple of heads in the process, you were able to fling yourself into the air to catch a visual of the medical clinic down the street, catching some fodder that hadn't gotten the memo of the rest racing inside.
"Oh loverboys, think we can ditch this en masse and greet the doctor down the road? I think we caught a live one," you cooed whimsically, slamming your benefactors that let you spring off of them into the pavement, squelching sounds of blood following soon after.
You wouldn't openly admit it in a straightforward manner, but you had your own reasons to believe that having better strength in quality infused numbers would aid you much more than, say, frolicking into the ransacked clinic on your lonesome and getting your face smashed in with no backup.
Breaking his opponent's fighting stance, he crouched down into a rapid leg-swipe and straightened his back after landing a few more well-placed blows, whistling a descending note in the air. "Looks like a do-gooder wants to do some more, why the hell not. After all, might as well repay you for what you did back there, baby," swaggering his somewhat built, upper half of his body in the absence of his hoodie towards you, finding the time to grab the cloth and sling it over his shoulder.
It looked like the underground hero was more than willing to stay rooted in place on his shady battlefield, rushing back into the now cleared hallway filled with cluttered unconscious bodies with the only word slipping out of his mouth being evacuating. He had already paged the local police department, setting the two of you off with a blaring time limit counting down in both of your minds, adrenaline already overtaking and abating any unwelcome anxieties that happened to aim themselves as deterrents. All that was left to do was cautiously throw yourself through a crystalline, yet shattered window and take cover behind the nearest shelf in your quarter of the room.
The smell of igniting flames set your nostrils aflame with the warmly strange smog accompanying it, shooting your head to the side and catching your partner in crime's pearly-whites shimmer in excitement. It seemed your damned ability had worn off for the time being, unknowingly causing a ruckus that rippled all throughout the sea of patrons in the club, its range being particularly widespread for an erasure quirk. A near silent exchange of back in business was traded between the two outlaws, it being the emergence of a whirlpool spreading from his now steaming palms, noxious gases filling the air as flurries of whites, blues, and differing color gradients swirled into life.