Sunday
The morning sun was breaking out across the horizon, casting light down upon the world. It illuminated all the buildings, alleyways, and playgrounds that were previously cloaked in darkness. It was this light that shone on an apartment complex, and snuck through the window into the room of a young teenage boy. A boy named Takayama Yoshii. His room was surprisingly well-kept for a fifteen year old boy, and would have everything you would expect. A personal computer, a pile of magazines, and posters adorning the walls. The room had a window that was to the right of the door, and the bed was in the corner of the room. However, while the room was organized, the same could not be said for the person sleeping on the bed, or the bed itself.
Takayama was sprawled over it in his pajamas of a white tank top and blue running shorts. He was on top of the covers, one arm dangling over the ledge, and a puddle of drool forming on his pillow. Next to his bed was a night stand, and on that night stand was an alarm clock. As the sun rose, the alarm clock also ticked away, until it was finally time for it to sound. But the sound coming out of it wasn't an obnoxious BEEP! BEEP! It was a song. A song about contaminated affection. It was then, that the boy slowly woke up to the music being played. The boy had short, straight brown hair, and sharp blue eyes. After sitting up, scratching his head, and doing some stretches, he got out of his bed, and began his day.
The apartment he lived in was a wooden floor, single room, single bath structure, with the addition of a bar counter that was opposite of the spacious kitchen. There was also a living room area with a lush blue carpet, glass table, and completed with a love seat sofa in front of a wide plasma screen-tv, including a gaming system. It also had the added bonus of a veranda that was to the right of the sofa, hidden behind a glass screen door and white curtains. He showered, put on an outfit of blue sneakers, blue jeans, a light grey t-shirt, and a digital watch, made and ate breakfast, grabbed his phone,wallet, keys, and finally brushed his teeth. Before heading out the door, Takayama checked himself in front of the mirror to his left that was above the shoe holder. After checking to make sure he looked alright, he gave a stare of acceptance, and picked up a small remote hanging off a keyholder directly below the mirror. He pressed a button, and thus, the song coming from the alarm clock came to an end.
Putting it back, he got the keys from his pocket, passed the umbrella holder to his right, went through the door, and made sure to lock it behind him. It was then that started on his way. He walked down the flight of stairs, and traveled until he reached his usual bus stop, waiting with an oddball of people. When the bus pulled up, he got on with the rest and started his trip. He rode from bus to bus, until finally he got onto the one that took him to the entrance to tartarus. No, not the place in the afterlife, but somewhere in real life.
It was a prison for supervillains, a place that had gun mounted sensors that track your movements, not to mention all the other gadgets and machinery that let the guards monitor vital sign, brainwaves, and other general signs of quirk activation. The bus drove up to the security gate, and after the guards checked the bus driver's ID and verification, they let him through. Next came the vehicle check. The automobile drove into a square room with steel-plated garage doors in the front and back. As the bus stood still, two large scanners on both side moved back and forth, scanning for heart beats, heat signatures, and a general x-ray. After everything checked out, the bus was given the greenlight to move on. It was then that the vehicle drove into the final stage, a road that had a roundabout at the end. It was here that the bus stopped, and let off its only passenger.
As Takayama got off, he headed forward and went through the door in front of him. After all, it was the only choice available to him, since the door was the only way to get out of the closed room. On the other side of the door, the boy walked into the foyer that had many doors which led all over the facility, and guards going this way and that. But he simply headed towards the front desk, which was protected by bulletproof glass.
"Hey old man," said Takayama with vigor and a smile on his face.
"Hey kid," said the receptionist, a grizzled man with a bald head, a beard, and an eyepatch on his right eye.
"So, is he available today?" The boy said.
"Hmph, why do you bother asking? You know he always is."
"Eh, just want to make sure. I don't want to be in that situation where I just walk in without asking and get tazed. Besides, it give me the chance to say hello to you and find out whether or not you died yet," said the boy playfully.
"Well, well, well. Seems like you're still the smart-ass as ever." the old man replied with a mixture of annoyance and playfulness, "I'll call him up."
"Thanks."
With that, Takayama was handed a visitor sticker that was numbered and headed away from the desk and to the nearest door to his right. After passing through it he walked into a room that had a set of iron bars across from each other. As the boy approached the door, it opened and two guards waited for him. He entered, and as he did, one guard stated, "please, get rid of everything in your pockets including watches, and put them to the bin to your right. Then spread your legs apart and keep your arms wide, there will be a body search."
Takayama followed his instructions, and one guard checked the contents of the bin while another gave a pat-down. Once all was done, the guard continued to talk, "alright, continue forward. All your items will be returned to you after your visit is done."
The door in iron bars in front of the boy opened and let him through. It was then that he reached his final destination, the visiting room. Takayama walked to the numbered both that he had on his sticker, sat down, and started the conversation the same way he started it for the last four years.
"Hey dad."
He said this to the man that was behind the glass, who had the same feature of brown hair, but black eyes.
"Hey son, how've ya been," the man, called Shibata, responded with a smile.
"Eh you know, same old same old. Homework to do, classes to attend. Things of that nature. What about you, anything new happening with you?"
"Sorry, but like you, more of the same, though to be fair, I actually think the food's gotten better, so I guess I'm on a bit of an upswing."
"Hmph, glad to hear it."
"So I wanted to ask, you doing okay?"
It was the way his father said it with a voice of concern that caught the boy's attention.
"Yeah, why do you ask?"
"Well, it's just with everything that's happened...I just want to make sure you feel safe."
"Dad…"
"Look, I know, you're a big boy now. I get it. But still, with all the villains out there, not to mention what happened in Hosu, I'm just worried for you."
The boy gave a sigh that was a mixture of appreciation, but also a bit of exasperation.
"Dad, you don't have to worry about me. I know some scary stuff is happening out there, but don't worry, I know how to stay away from it and keep myself safe."
Shibata gave a wry smile, and continued, "so tell me, did you tune into the UA sports festival?"
This question caught Takayama off guard, and it took him a moment to recover.
"Uhh...yeah. Have to admit, it was quite the show this year. But, you know dad, I thought a former villain like yourself honestly wouldn't care about it. Much less be able to watch it considering where you are."
"Ahhh come on son. Even a villain like me was always able to take note of when the sports festival happened, considering it's from the biggest hero school in the country. Got to scope out any future enemies, know what I mean?"
"Yeah...guess that makes sense."
"Man, imagine such an exciting event happening all around you, televised to the whole country, and having to be the guy selling bottled water or doing trash clean-up."
Shibata said it in a jovial manner, while his son just responded with a meager, "yeah...just imagine."
The father was able to pick up on the unease in his voice, but he wasn't able to act on it, as a guard behind checked his watch.
"Prisoner at station number six, you have one minute remaining!"
"Well, guess the time's up."
"Yeah, guess it is."
Both father and son gave an equal expression of sadness, and both started to walk away from the glass. But before either of them left, Shibata said quickly, "Oh, and have a good week at Yagi high."
Takayama looked back with a bright smile and a response of, "sure thing."
Though, as he turned away, that excitement had a tinge of pain to it. It was then that the son headed outside, while the father headed back to his cell. The boy went through the iron bars, collected his things, and went all the way back to wait for the bus. All the while, he took off his sticker and threw it away. On the bus back home, Takayama heard on the radio, "thanks Miyagi, and on that note, this is a public service announcement to inform people to be on their guard as the suspect for the recent string of murders has not been caught yet. Citizens are advised to stay inside or avoid traveling alone at night ."
As the radio ended, Takayama was left in silence, looking out the window at all the cars passing by. It was in this silence that he remembered something very important.
"Ah crap! I almost forgot. I need to write my essay on 'Cars, and preparing them for a Quirk-filled world.'"
It was this realization that made the boy sigh.
"Damn UA and their work requirements."
The only light to be found were the stars in the sky, along with the ones on the ground. Specifically, the the neon signs with flashing images. The night life was full of people, businessmen trying to drink the stress away, young boys and girls enjoying their youth, and villains who were celebrating their victories. The hangout favored by these villains was a little hole in the wall called the Komodo Dragon, and coming into the front door was Shibata Yoshii. He entered the scuzzy bar, and walked through the booths and tables of people keeping their head low. He did this until he heard someone call him over.
"Yo! Over here!"
Shibata looked over to the source of noise and found the person he was looking for. A few moments later Shibata and his friend were toasting each other with the strongest alcohol that both could afford.
"To Shibata. The best worker a guy like me could ever hope for," said the man, who had red eyes and grey hair, but he wasn't old. He also had a tiny mustache and goatee, and a gap between his front teeth. The man also wore grey, round glasses, a purple blazer with a white button-up shirt. He raised a glass with one hand, while holding a cigarette in the other.
"Hmph, and to Giran, the guy who knows how to turn machinery into cash."
Both men raised their drinks to each other and clinked them, and proceeded to down the liquid.
"You know, I have to admit," said Giran after finishing his drink, "I never honestly get why you're so comfortable giving item equipment away to your competition."
"Well what can I say, just because a person has a gun doesn't mean he'll know how to use, or know what to do when it jams."
"Hah, my, my, my. Selling equipment to people who have no chance to overthrow you, while also hiring yourself out to fix them when they break down. You truly are a villain."
"Well as they say, 'go big or go home.'"
Both of them laughed hardly, and Giran refilled both of their glasses.
"Still Shibata, stealing from the Meka corporation, one of the biggest hero support companies around. Have to admit, thought this one would be the end of you."
"Oh, you wound me," he said, placing a hand over his heart, "if you think a job like this could bring me down, you must forget who's bringing you your equipment."
"Well, to be fair, you are still only bringing me the necessary equipment."
"Huhhh...you really are intent on guilt-tripping me over keeping all the high end machinery for myself, aren't you."
"I'm just saying. If you let me sell all of the cargo you get, I could make at least twice the money selling them off. Money that would go to the both of us."
"Hmph, no thanks. You get to sell all the equipment and supplies that I already have and keep all the profit, while I get to keep anything new and shiny. That's the deal we're going to have till the end of time my friend."
"Well, that's easy for you to say Mr. support item builder. You don't have to worry about being strapped for cash, considering the fact the entire criminal underworld goes to you for their gear."
"Now, now, now, don't forget all the service charges you make me pay for any new clients you point towards me."
"Oh come on, have some sympathy for a guy. That just gives me bread crumbs to live on."
"Bread crumbs huh?" said Shibata with a raised eyebrow, "is that before or after you factor in all the money you make selling support machinery to black market dealers...and the service charges you make them pay when you send new customers there way."
"Well for a man of my tastes, like I said, bread crumbs."
"Uh-huh, didn't know that bunny-ear phone cases were so expensive."
"Mock me if you want, but admit, you want one too."
"Yeah, sure I do."
It was then that both men took a drink from their glasses, and simply enjoyed the moment. Giran took a deep breathe, and let it out with satisfaction.
"Have to say Shibata, if their was any time to be a villain, now would be it."
"Yeah…"
The broker noticed his companion's face.
"Hey what's wrong. After a heist like this, you're practically bouncing off the walls."
"Well...it's just…I've been thinking lately."
Giran raised an eyebrow, "Uh-huh…"
Shibata then leaned himself over the table.
"Look, I've been thinking lately...what am I leaving behind?"
"Umm...a legacy of a villain that pulled off some of the bravest heists in history? A guy who has some of the most advanced support item making technology ever seen? A person that makes villains who couldn't even rob a convenience store into something that any hero would fear? Just to name a few."
"Yeah, but honestly, how long can those things last?"
"...Meaning…?"
"How long is it before someone pulls off a heist that's bigger than mine? How long before new technology is invented that makes what I have now look like a printing press? How long before someone becomes the next big thing?"
"Yeah, so what. If someone does something bigger than you, just do something even bigger then that."
"But how long can I keep doing that? How many time can I honestly go bigger? Don't you see, it's an endless cycle. Someone does something big, I do something bigger. It just goes back and forth until I finally kick the bucket. When that happens, I'll never be able to outdo anyone's accomplishments no matter how much I want to."
"So...there's no way anyone can beat time itself."
Giran then went about finishing his drink, while Shibata just looked on with a wry smile.
"About that...I have something in mind…"