Authors Note: This is a Alternate Setting fic, in that it takes place in the BNHA world, but follows the pro heroes and villains of America rather than of Japan. There will be many references and appearances from our beloved canon characters throughout the story, but for the most part it is a separate entity.

As always, feedback appreciated. Let me know what works, what doesn't, what you enjoyed and what you think I could improve on.

I

The inside of the warehouse it was chilly and loud. Men and women alike chatted, grunted and snapped at each other while they worked; moving large crates about, or filling them up with all sorts of contraband. Guns and drugs in various forms and strength, all packed nice and neat inside four-by-four wooden crates labeled as fruits, wheat, or other common goods.

His subordinates were dressed as regular dock workers, working a long night shift, but that wasn't the case.

Chihiro watched his men and women work from the second floor, leaning against the metal railing just slightly, his face hidden behind the black bird-like mask he wore. His murder of crows was perched in the rafters of the warehouse, watching and waiting.

His leg was in a brace, though he'd been able to forego the crutch as of a few days ago. Still, each step he took brought pain, and every moment of pain was a reminder of a humiliating defeat. His left leg had been badly damaged; the tibia shattered while fibula received multiple fractures, and his back ravaged by the flames to the point his wings were still unusable. It had been a terrible fight, brutal and unforgiving, but mercy wasn't something anyone should expect in a fight with Endeavor.

The man was better suited to be a villain than a hero with how he acted, and the fight had only cemented that idea in Chihiro's mind.

Technically Chihiro wasn't supposed to be up and about, he was supposed to minimize his physical activity so that his body can recover, that's what his doctor had said. But that was an impossible task. Chihiro couldn't just sit by and do nothing, there was much work to be done. Too much work. His entire clan had to be shuffled, reorganized, half had to go into the hiding, becoming ghosts that served as his eyes and ears back in Japan, while he took the other half across the ocean all the way to America to keep business flowing. Fewer heroes would know of him, all the way in the west, it'd be easier to hide when no one knew to look for him.

Even then, after relocating to such a pitiful nation, there was a lot of work to be done. The Yamazaki Clan needed to keep business going, if they hesitated too long, went silent for too long, they'd be forgotten and they'd crumble. His business partners needed him to keep supplies going, to keep bringing in guns and drugs, and the occasional hit, if he was to keep their financial support.

Chihiro had faith that his lieutenants and captains were competent and capable, he wouldn't have given them their ranks if he had doubts of their abilities, but he preferred to involve himself directly in the work of his clan rather than sit back and let others oversee the work in his stead. Injury or no injury, he wasn't going to stay out of his own affairs. Even if the doctors said otherwise, he'd don his business suit each day and watch over his clans work, attend meetings with his officers or with crime lords, punish and reward behavior as needed. Pain and injury weren't going to keep him from doing his job.

He pushed himself away from the rail to start walking the perimeter, circling above his clan like a vulture, watching them work, ignoring the way that he limped with each step or occasionally needed to hold onto the railing to keep from toppling over when the pain grew too much. Halfway across the walkway, a man around his own age came to intercept Chihiro's patrol. Posture stifling straight, dressed as if he was just out of an office, this was his wakagashira, his second in command of the clan. Hayashi Goro.

"Sir," Hayashi bowed, papers tucked neatly under one arm. Chihiro gave a nod and kept walking, an apparent limp with each step and a solid 'thud' from the brace. Hayashi followed at his side.

Like Chihiro, Hayashi had practically been born into the clan. However, though Chihiro's father was the previous clan head, a role he inherited himself, Hayashi's involvement came strictly from his friendship with Chihiro. They had grown up together, Hayashi followed him everywhere, it had only been natural that he'd become an official member when he was old enough, even without the same kind of family obligation to that Chihiro faced.

"Our profits are maintaining an even level," Hayashi said without prompting, looking at one of the papers he was carrying and then tucking it away to look at the next. "There's no increase, which is to be expected with the state of the clan currently, but we haven't experienced any loss in profits, either"

Chihiro nodded as he paused to watch some of the clan surround a crate, lingering to see if there was a problem he'd need to involve himself in. It appeared that a few planks of the crate had come loose, causing a side to come completely apart, but his men were quickly sorting it out, repairing the box and relocating its contents to a sturdier crate. Good.

"And the heroes?" he asked as he watched them some more. "How is their progress in locating us?"

"Our trail has gone cold and many have called off the search."

Good. Good. "And the villains?" Chihiro began walking once more. Villains were always interesting. The world may consider his clan to be villains, they were one of the few remaining true yakuza clans to exist following the rise of heroes and villains, but Chihiro never saw themselves as such. The yakuza were grey, some were more villainous, others would cooperate and aid heroes. It depended on what direction the head wanted to take it. Even in the past, during the days before quirks, the yakuza clans, while invested in criminal activities, would also provide benefits to their societies.

Chihiro saw himself as neither a villain nor a hero. They'd aid the heroes if it benefited them, they'd hinder the heroes for the same reason.

In Japan, back in Kyoto, Chihiro had many of the villain groups under his thumb. They weren't as prominent as the League of Villains, or Kai Chisaki's clan, but that was more so because they wanted to stay off the radar. No need to shove themselves into the limelight if they didn't need it.

The villains here were less cooperative. He'd have chalked it up to American stubbornness, the ever-so present sense of self-importance that westerners possessed, but it felt like there was something else going on at the same time.

Hayashi didn't answer his question right away, there was a long beat of silence before he finally opened his mouth. "We've been able to make alliances with a few small street gangs, but most groups have come to refuse any offer of cooperation," Hayashi paused to adjust his glasses, the light reflecting off of them hiding the green of his eyes for a brief moment. "They seem to all be in adherence to another, larger entity. We're still trying to track down who that may be."

"I see. It could be to our best interests to form a business partnership with whomever is calling the shots here," Chihiro mused and slowed as he reached the office door of the second floor. The blinds were down and there was only a little light coming from inside. Gently and quietly, he pushed the door open, trying to make as little noise as he could.

He wasn't surprised to see the child curled up on his small two-person couch. Her chest rose and fell in soft breaths, her one arm tucked under her head as a pillow as she slept. Chihiro smiled softly under his mask as he started towards her, Hayashi lingering outside the door.

He'd expected to find Alice asleep, she was still a little kid and it was almost midnight. Staying up this late with him was a hard task for someone so young and small, even if she tried her best to. She shifted as Chihiro lifted her up from the couch, stirring awake with a wide yawn and blinking her eyes open. "What's going…" she mumbled, slipping into English without realizing it.

"Hey there, kiddo," Chihiro greeted softly as he began carrying her out of the office. "Getting tired? I think it's about time we get you back to your own bed. How about I find someone to escort you back home?"

She struggled in his arms, "No…" she mumbled, still half asleep but this time reverting back to Japanese. "No, no, no, I want to stay here with you." It was cute.

Alice wasn't his kid. Not legally, not by blood. But, she might as well have been his. Chihiro had been taking care of her for the past two years after he'd found her while on a business trip while abroad. It was completely by chance that he had met her at all, if he were to be honest. He had gone to a condemned apartment to have a meeting with some drug lords, to see if they could be potential assets to his clans business, as well to see if he could find any new recruits willing to get their hands dirty.

Instead of any of that, what Chihiro found was a little girl, malnourished, alone in a shithole of a building, sick, and with an arm that was mangled beyond repair. He could have left her there, but his curiosity had been sparked when he saw her quirk.

So he took her with him, renamed her after a children's book his mother had used to read to him as a boy.

It was a rough first few months, her arm had been shredded and the infection was too much, so it ended up being amputated. As a result, she had to adjust not only to having only one arm, but being in a country with a language she did not speak. It didn't help that her quirk would lash out at anything that even looked at her the first few weeks, Chihiro included.

She didn't speak any Japanese when he found her, and while Chihiro could tolerate the quirk outbursts, her clumsiness, and even her shyness, he wasn't going to let her get away with speaking only English. It took a while, but she caught on to reading and speaking his own language. It made communication easier for her considering most of his clan only spoke Japanese.

For the past two years Chihiro had also been slowly grooming her to become a part of his empire. While he wasn't so sure of her being the next head of the clan, he did plan for her to become an integral part of the clan as she got older. The fact that he had developed a soft spot for the seven-year-old girl wasn't all that important in the grand scheme of things.

He chuckled at her complaints, gesturing for one of his goons to come over to him. A familiar head of bright red hair came into view as Kita Kazuma made his way over. He was a big man, a bit young, but had a good heart. As good a heart as a member of the yakuza could have. Good with kids, too, he always got along well with Alice.

"Kita-san," Chihiro nodded and adjusted his hold on Alice to offer her out to him. "I need you to go and take her back to my apartment, put her to bed," he instructed. Kazuma took Alice into his own arms, not minding the way her small fist pounded on his chest weakly, pausing only to yawn and blink as she tried to keep her eyes open. "Stay by her side until I get back later tonight. Alice has a spare key on her for the apartment."

Kazuma gave a nod, cradling Alice in his own arms and laughing as she tiredly reached out for Chihiro. "She'll be safe with me, sir," he promised. "Is there anything else you want me to do?"

"That will be all," Chihiro said and then reached out to run his hand through Alice's dark hair. "Be good for him, okay? Behave. I'll be back later."

She whined as Kazuma carried her off, unhappy with being separated from Chihiro, but it eventually drifted away as she settled back into sleep.

Chihiro watched them descend to the main floor of the warehouse, as Kazuma maneuvered around crates and people before leaving through a side door. He waited and watched before, content, moving on to something else.

Walking away, Hayashi was already quick to come to his side, papers shuffling and debriefing him on an update from another pocket group of theirs and then on some business partners. Something felt off about tonight, there was a sinking feeling inside of him that something was about to go wrong, it was the same feeling he got when Endeavor crashed his hideout in Japan.

Carefully, mis-matched eyes flitted up towards them, his mouth twitched and four took off from their spot and flew out the small open window. It's just a precaution, he reasoned with himself as he focused back on what Hayashi was saying.

II

It had been a long day, even by his standards.

It wouldn't be wrong if someone said that Thomas Hendrickson was a fairly busy man. He had groceries to buy, bills to pay, meetings to attend, a home to maintain, and of course, a innocent citizens to save from villains on a regular basis.

The world at whole did not necessarily know him as Thomas, a large and awkward man with more strength than he really knew what to do with, and a penchant for accidentally breaking anything and everything with said strength. The world knew him better as the Strongarm Hero; Heracles, the strongest hero in America (though whether he was stronger than All Might was something no one would know, as he never did get a chance to fight his own personal favorite before the man retired). He was a licensed hero with the quirk Herculean Strength.

While strength augmenting quirks were hardly new or unique—Thomas dared to say they were rather common—his own variation didn't seem to have a limit to just how strong he could become if he continued training and working, if he had a cap to how strong he could reach, Thomas had yet to reach it. And it wasn't just his muscular strength that was in peak condition, his reflexes were astounding and his durability and speed were just as good. If it required muscles, then he had it covered.

But, it left a lot of room for accidents.

Like when he squeezed his toothpaste just a little too hard in the morning and the entire thing exploded between his fingers, or when he shattered his dishes by scrubbing at some grease stains a little too hard. And he was a large man because of his quirk, it was hard to find clothes that properly fit him, or chairs that were big and strong enough to hold him. Muscles weighed much more than fat, and so it was fair to say that Thomas was rather heavy.

Even outside of mundane tasks, he had to be ever so mindful of what he did in a fight, to try and minimize the collateral damage he might cause, or to watch how much force he put into his attacks. If he wasn't, then when he hit a villain, a punch intended to knock the man out might just kill him instead.

His quirk required a lot of control, and it could be exhausting. It was impossible to stress just how important control and awareness was. His quirk didn't have an on/off switch, he didn't have the luxury of deactivating his quirk and not having to worry about how much force he applied. Yet, the focus he put into control, into limiting damages he caused, into how he treated villains had unintentionally brought him to the top rankings for the hero billboards in the States.

For the past twelve years, Thomas had held the title of America's Number One Hero. Seven or so years ago he had also entered into the ranks of Top Ten among heroes all across the world. He had even gotten to meet All Might on different occasions, his own idol who Thomas strove to be like. Even if he was now retired from hero work, Thomas still admired the man and his dedication to justice.

But, for America, Thomas was their symbol of justice and freedom, there to protect the people. An unbeatable hero just for the fifty states, facing down villains with a sense of charm, humor, and a heart of gold. The media loved him, though Thomas couldn't say the feeling was reciprocated. Too many exhausting interviews, people trying to dig into his private life, not to mention how skewered certain networks liked to tell stories.

Ah, yes, he had a personal disdain for Fox News. Especially after they tried to tell some scandalous tory of him having an affair when they snapped a photo of him and a friend. All he was doing was taking his very nice costume designer out for lunch as thanks for helping him out with another issue. She was a married woman and he was sure her wife would have flayed him alive if that story had been true.

Honestly, the bigger name a hero makes for themselves, the more hectic their lives become.

That day alone, Thomas had been juggling a morning interview with a radio station for kids on the importance of fair treatment and kindness, then a villain with a quirk that turned her into a massive lizard monster began terrorizing a construction site, so the interview was cut short. Later when he went to pick up some new socks, there had been no less than three different robberies.

How much would it take for villains and criminals just to go one day without doing anything?

That's not even mentioning the paparazzi swarm that would be on him whenever they had the chance.

There was hardly any time for himself, sometimes he wished he could have been lower in the rankings, there'd be less responsibilities, less expectations. His friend, Jun, a fellow licensed hero under the name of Wukong, rarely ever dealt with this kind of workload and he was only ranked 37 in America and lower world-wide.

But, Thomas had a strong sense of justice and responsibility; if he saw a problem then he had an impulsive need to help. He didn't regret doing what he could to help others, giving up personal time to be of use to the world. He just had to shuffle his personal life to the background and do things at night when he was off the clock.

That's what he looked forward to right now. It was past midnight, almost one in the morning, he'd hung up his costume for the day and was ready to go home, relax and sleep before doing it all again in the morning.

He was taking a quite route home, one with little traffic and less people out to notice him. It was quiet and empty that night, no sirens sounding in the air, no screams. Perhaps the criminals were asleep as well.

Thomas hummed as he passed an alleyway, would have kept walking too, but the sound of sobbing made him halt and turn around.

He stood there, staring into the darkness as the sobbing muffled into whimpers, as if someone was trying to hold it back. Someone was in there, someone who needed help.

Even though he wasn't on patrol, even if he wasn't Heracles at the moment, that didn't mean that Thomas was going to ignore someone in need. He squared his shoulders and walked into the alley, ready for anything, ready to help whoever was in there.

What he saw wasn't what he expected. It was amazing that he didn't smell it first, the stench of rot, of raw meat and bile was overpowering.

The first thing that Thomas saw when he entered the alley was the body that was splayed across the pavement. A Japanese man with dyed red hair, a red that turned darker by the blood soaking into the strands. His neck had been cut open, a bloodied knife just a few feet away from the body. But that wasn't the source of the carnage.

Just a little ways away was… Thomas wasn't sure what he was looking at, only that it must have been human at one point. What it was now was a pile of fleshy, puply meat soaked in blood and other fluids. Broken bones stuck out at every angle, limbs strewn about. There were even pieces of flesh stuck to the brick walls of the alley.

The mere sight had Thomas fighting back the urge to throw up.

It was as if something had blown up inside of the person… no, not that. Like it had been torn apart, piece by piece, over and over again by something. Like when a kid kept tearing a piece of paper apart, and then tears the torn pieces apart until all that was left were tiny flakes.

He had to take a breath to steady himself, to get a hold of himself. He couldn't go weak in the knees, not here, not right now. This was a murder scene, he needed to inform the police and figure out what happened here, put the culprit behind bars. Pray that this wasn't the start of a serial killing.

A soft whimper came from behind him.

Thomas had almost forgotten what brought him into the alley until he heard the sound again, distracted by the corpses. He turned around, expecting to see another victim who was still alive.

It was just a little girl.

She was curled up in a corner between the wall and grimy dumpster, sobbing softly, weakly, her tiny body trembling, covered in blood. She held herself with her left arm, her right missing. The girl couldn't have been older than seven, a pale face with short black hair tied into tiny pigtails. She dug her nails into her shirt as she held herself, her body shaking, as if afraid to let go.

There was a kid involved. This was bad, very bad. He had to get her out of here, get her somewhere safe.

Thomas took slow steps past the bodies until he was closer to the girl. There was a crow that had been perched on the dumpster above her, it lingered, but then flew off when Thomas got too close. He began to crouch in front of her. "Miss? Are you okay?" Thomas spoke, using a soft and gentle tone to get her attention. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

He began reaching a hand out to her, and the girl cracked open a blue eye then reacted with a violent jerk as she threw herself back against the brick wall. She shrieked and screamed, "Sawar-" he couldn't make out the rest of what she said between the sobs and hitch in her voice.

What happened next had been too fast for Thomas to properly process until after it had happened. One moment he had been reaching out to the girl to try and calm her down, the next his arm was bloodied, flesh sliced open like it had been caught in a blender as pain rushed through the limb.

Behind the child, coming out from the shadows were long, black tentacle like appendages with razor sharp edges. A few skinny arm-like things came out as well, holding onto her and pulling her against the wall. The 'skin' seemed to flow, like a river of black taking solid form, shifting and swaying in the air.

A living shadow, he noted. Her own quirk, perhaps?

She looked old enough to have developed her own quirk, perhaps not old enough to properly control it. But the shadows seemed insistent on protecting her no matter what, and they appeared dangerous enough.

In the back of his mind, the possibility that the carnage behind him was the result of the shadows came up. He shook it away, now was not the time to suspect a little girl who clearly needed help.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Thomas said as he watched the girl and the shadows, but didn't dare reach his arm out again, not until she was ready. "I'm here to help, I want to help you."

The girl looked up, eyes bloodshot and snot dripping down her face. "Wh-who… are you?" she whispered, voice hoarse from crying.

"Just a man who wants to get you somewhere safe," he noticed the shadows had begun backing off, the writhing limbs moving to huddle around her, ready to pounce if needed but holding back. Trying to decipher if he were a threat or not. "This alley is dirty and scary, can I take you somewhere warmer and safe?"

The child shivered and didn't say anything. Thomas began reaching towards her again and this time he got no opposition as he picked her up and cradled her in one arm. She whimpered a little, hid her face into his shoulder to avoid looking at the slaughter as Thomas carried her out of the alley.

He couldn't tell how badly she was hurt. There were a few fresh bruises and scrapes, but nothing serious that stood out. It was a good sign. Seeing her so small and frail, his heart clenched.

Somewhere while he was searching his pocket for his phone, the girl had passed out in his arm. Exhaustion, most likely, from how late it was and from the stress. It was better for her that way. She breathed short and shallow breaths against his shoulder, holding onto him with her one arm.

When he got his phone, he spared only enough time to look to make sure he had reception before he dialed for the police. It took a few rings before he heard the other end pick up.

"Hello? This is Thomas Hendrickson, Licensed Hero Heracles. I need police dispatch on 15th street, there's been a double homicide in the alley between Billings Bar and the sushi place," he spoke quickly and clearly, already briskly walking away from the scene with the girl still in his arm. "There was a child who may have witnessed the incident. I'm taking her to Huerta Hospital right now." He looked down at her as he said that, she was pale and her skin felt uncomfortably hot.

On the other end, he listened to the officer speak in return, answered some questions to clarify what he already knew, and then hung up. The phone was slipped back into his pocket and he adjusted his grip on the child before taking a deep breath. There wasn't enough time to wait for a taxi and didn't have the patience to wait for the police to arrive. Even if he got an ambulance, it wouldn't be quick enough. He'd have to get her to the hospital his own way.

Feeling the power coursing through his body, flowing through to his legs, he took off, taking great leaps through the air and sprinting between each jump. Though he had no speed quirk, he was fast, fast enough, at least. He could cover sizable chunks of distance in short time, and through the entire run, he made sure that the girl was safe and secure in his arms.

Thomas reached Huerta Hospital in under ten minutes.

A few people let out startled gasps or stared at him in awe as he hit skidded to a stop before the building. But he didn't have the time to answer questions or take photos when they began trying to catch his attention, instead he jogged towards the door.

He burst through the ER entrance without a shred of caution or grace, "I need a doctor, now!" Thomas shouted at various employees and nurses.

A nurse gaped at him, taking in the sight of the child in his arms and his own bloodied arm before rushing to his side. Her hands were glowing as she used her quirk, probably a diagnostic type that was common in hospitals. After a few hasty seconds, she pressed a device on her badge and called out several instructions as she guided Thomas to a room and to place the girl on one of the prepped bed.

"What happened to her?" the nurse asked as she started attaching monitors to the child.

Thomas did his best to fit in an empty corner of the room so he wasn't in her way, holding his tattered arm close to himself. "She was at the scene of a murder, but I don't know the details of what happened."

The nurse tutted, "Do you at least know her name? Any way to contact her family? Her quirk, if she has one? I don't see anything obvious."

Worrying his lower lip between his teeth, Thomas was slow to answer. "I don't know her name, but I know her quirk appears to be form of shadow manipulation. It seems to act on its own and lashes out at perceived threats," he added the last bit as a warning, not wanting the staff to be taken by surprise and hurt by the shadow, and raised his wounded arm up to show them the kind of damage the shadows could do.

The nurse made a noise of acknowledgement but didn't seem concerned, as though she'd seen worse. She probably had. Instead, she finished prepping the room as a team of doctors and nurses hurried in and Thomas found himself being ushered out of the room by another nurse so they could check on the girl and he could have his arm treated.

As Thomas was led away, half listening to the nurse talk, something about how he's lucky he'll only need a few stitches, he found his mind focused on the child. Hopefully the police could find something, maybe get a hold of her family.

III

Chihiro frowned as two of his crows fluttered into the warehouse, squawking and flapping wildly. They were usually much calmer, more composed. It was concerning, to put it frankly, and there were only two, where was the rest?

Their nonstop noise was enough for his men to stop what they were doing to look up, but a sharp look from Chihiro made them hurry back to their tasks with only a few occasional glances. No, no, they didn't need to cease working just to see what the ruckus was about, leave that to Chihiro.

He held an arm out and they landed on the limb, their feathers were ruffled and they just couldn't hold still. His frown didn't ease as he ran a finger under ones throat. "What's going on?" he asked them, his voice soft.

Hayashi lingered behind him, waiting in silence as Chihiro conversed with his birds. The anticipation, the nervous energy from the birds seemed to be spreading and infecting others as even his second in command was shifting from foot to foot, as if restless himself.

The birds continued to chirp and squawk, beady eyes blinking. He could understand what they said though. It wasn't as if the crows spoke in words, they didn't know the English nor the Japanese languages at all, but they were intelligent enough to understand. Chihiro's quirk also played a part, not only did it give him physical attributes of the birds, but through it he had a connection to them.

And what they told him had his blood freeze and his heart race.

"Hayashi-san, bring the car around, now," Chihiro ordered, already limping towards the office, the crows leaping off his arm. He wasn't in any condition to fight, but a gun would be enough if it came to it. He faltered only long enough to shout to the others to keep working until everything was boxed and loaded.

He grabbed his gun and stuffed it under the waistband of his pants and belt, keeping it hidden by his suit jacket. Wobbling out of the office, and then down the stairs, he gritted his teeth at the slow pace he was forced at. This wasn't the time to be moving slow, but this was as fast as he could go until his leg healed.

The crows flew around him, following as Chihiro hobbled out of the warehouse, slamming the door behind him. The air was warm and silent as he felt his fingers twitch and his wings ruffle under his coat.

The soft roar of an engine is what distracted him as Hayashi pulled up in a sleek, nondescript black car. It pulled to a stop and Chihiro grimaced as he got in the passenger seat. Already there were two larger men in the back, good, he didn't need to tell them to come along.

"Where to, sir?" Hayashi asked, waiting until Chihiro was buckled in to start driving. The docks were empty this time of night but he was still careful. In the air above, the crows followed. Headlights reflected on the road as he drove without direction.

Chihiro tapped his fingers impatiently against the side of the door. "15th street," he answered simply. The birds hadn't been the most detailed, but fifteenth street… fish… a sushi place was there, right? Something bad happened, Alice, he needed to intervene before it got worst. "Step on it, Hayashi-san."

Hayashi said nothing but gave a nod as the car began to pick up speed as they drove down the empty road. He didn't ask what happened, didn't press with questions, instead he drove in silence, waiting for any directions from Chihiro.

Chihiro took a deep breath to try and compose himself as they drove. He needed to get there quick, before the police or anyone else did. Had to go and rescue Alice.

If he left her alone out there, she might lose control over her quirk, or she might be found by the police—he couldn't let her become a risk. They already found themselves in hot water in Japan, no need to get America after them as well because she caved under the pressure of an interrogation.

That was the only reason he had to find her, he reasoned with himself. But it didn't keep him from twitching his fingers and bouncing his good leg impatiently. Couldn't Hayashi go any faster? He could, but, no, he couldn't, not without drawing attention from the police. They go over the limit, police pull them over and ask questions.

He grimaced, dug his nails into the legs of his pants

Time was of the essence, he wasn't about to let himself lose her. No, no, he wasn't going to let something like that happen at all. For the moment, Chihiro was thankful for the mask he wore, it hid the expression he had from the others in the car. If they saw the fury and concern, no, he couldn't let them see that, either.

With each street, Chihiro made sure to keep an eye on the name. Counting down as they drew closer and closer to 15th street.

However, it was to no avail. By the time they came by, the car slowing down, Chihiro saw the flashing lights of the police cars hanging by the mouth of the alley. There was probably half a dozen officers out there, already bringing up the yellow caution tape to block off the alley from the general public.

Hayashi slowed the car down and Chihiro carefully slid his mask off, letting it fall to the floor beside his seat. He gave Hayashi a nod, a nonverbal command as the man came to a gentle stop beside an officer.

Rolling down the window, Hayashi looked at the cop and then to the alley. "What happened out here?" he asked,

The officer, a tall man with such average features that he had a face so easily forgettable, shook his head. With a glance back to the alley and a slight adjustment of his hat, he shook his head. "There was a double homicide, sir," he explained carefully. "I'd suggest you try and get to where you need to be and be careful out there."

A double homicide? Chihiro felt his lungs falter. "Murder? I see," he managed to keep his voice even as he said that, hiding a clenched fist from the officers sight. "I do hope that you catch the killer, officer." Though, it would be a miracle if the cops were able to catch the killer before Chihiro.

Chihiro had strict rules, and Chihiro was possessive of what was his. He did not like it when people took or broke what was his. Alice and Kazuma are, without a doubt, his. They belonged to him just as the rest of his clan belonged to him. Someone decided to go and break his toys, so to speak, and well, that just wasn't right. He couldn't let that slide, now could he?

No, someone had to pay for this. An eye for an eye, blood for blood. He would make sure there was retribution.

"Hayashi-san," Chihiro whispered, training his eyes forward to not look at the officers, to not look at the alley. He needed to do something, right now, let out this rage, let out this wrath. But, not here, not in front of the cops. Though, the idea of dragging this officer into his car, taking him to the docks, beating him, tearing off his nails, feeding him to the rats, before finally throwing him into the waters—it was tempting. It was very, very tempting.

But, too risky. No, no, no, he'd have to find something else, someone else to release this rage that had built up inside of him.

Hayashi watched him before giving a curt nod. "Well, I wish you the best of luck, officers," Hayashi told the cop at his window politely, and whatever else the man said, Chihiro tuned out. Instead he kept his face an iron mask, waiting for the car to start driving once more, waiting for them to get away from the cops, to find someone that he could hurt.

He was possessive, dangerously so. But, Chihiro already knew that about himself.

IV

Even in the hospital, it had taken a few hours before anything noteworthy really happened. Thomas had his arm patched up, some bandages and instructions to limit his use of said arm for a few days.

The little girl had been left in one of the hospital rooms, kept asleep through medication as a safety precaution for herself and others in the hospital. It was something that Thomas wasn't entirely against, though he did have some questions about the morality of the medically induced coma. He could understand the doctors wanting to prevent the girl waking up and her quirk going out of control, as they did not have any quirks to properly deal with it. But, they'd only be able to keep her under for a few days to avoid any serious complications, and Thomas was more than willing to stay with them for as long as needed.

The important part had been, despite the situation she had been in, the child had been unharmed. Surprising, but seeing her quirk, he wasn't as surprised as he felt he should have been. There were some scrapes and bruises, and a myriad of old scars, but she hadn't shown signs of any serious injury that was acquired from anything other than tripping and falling.

Thomas stayed in the hospital the entire time, spending some of the time in the same room as the girl, while spending the other half of time in an empty meeting room to talk with police and doctors about the incident. He was anxious, pacing the room back and forth, he hated it when kids were involved in these sorts of incidents.

"Kita Kazuma, quirk; Frost Breath," Officer Walt said as he handed Thomas a photo of the man whose throat had been slit. "Not much information on him, a few incidents of drugs and theft, but that's about it."

Thomas looked at the photo, it was a mugshot from one of his arrests. He looked so carefree, as if he didn't even mind that he was in trouble, like he knew everything would be fine. He was young, probably mid-twenties, someone who had a long future ahead of him still. "Was there any other information on him?"

"He's got ties to the yakuza," Walt said, as if that wasn't something he should have mentioned earlier. As if reading Thomas' mind, he flipped to a different page on the small file they had on the man. "We don't have anything to really tie him to them. But, most of the crimes he's been arrested for? The Yamazaki clan has had their fingers in it in some way."

The Yamazaki clan? Thomas couldn't say he recognized the name. "What can you tell me about the clan? I thought the Yakuza were wiped out."

And with the question came another file. "Most of them have been wiped out with the growth of the hero industry, but some clans survived. Take the Shie Hassaikai, for example," Walt with a shook his head. "Yamazaki clan is one of the surviving few. Their current leader is Chihiro Yamazaki. He's a pretty well wanted criminal over in Japan, having apparently been able to evade Endeavor, even. From what information we have, the clan itself focus mostly on drug and arms trade."

Alright. So, one victim was associated with a criminal syndicate. Great. "And the other victim?" Thomas asked as he placed the photo on the table. "Were you able to get any identification from the other corpse?" he couldn't help but grimace at the memory of the bloodied, meaty pulp that came to mind. It wouldn't have surprised him if they were still trying to get an ID on it.

Walt nodded and was sliding a folder across the table. "Gregory Hamil. Quirkless. There's been a warrant out for his arrest, lots of violent crimes, he usually targets those with quirks. Envious of them, I suspect," the officer explained and frowned. "He's the most likely suspect for killing Kita. His fingerprints were all over the knife."

It made sense, if Gregory already had a rap sheet for attacking people with quirks, then it wasn't out of the blue that he'd attack someone in the middle of the night who had a quirk. Gregory killed Kita. Okay. "But, then who killed Gregory?" Thomas asked, but already felt like he knew.

Walt sighed and took a seat in his chair so he wasn't quite looking at Thomas anymore. "It's more likely that the girl witnessed Gregory killing Kazuma and retalliated. Or rather, the shadows acted out on their own accord and killed him, if your testimony of them having a sense of autonomy is right," he crossed his arms as he spoke. "The mutilated corpse might be the result of their attempt at protecting her."

Thomas felt that was the case, but confirmation didn't make him feel any better. Regardless of her quirk having autonomy or not, she would still be seen as responsible to a degree. That girl was so young, and even if she killed out of self-defense, it's something that's going to haunt her. It wasn't going to be easy to recover from.

"Was there any information on who she is?" Thomas asked instead. They needed to find her family, her home, needed to let her loved ones that she was okay. "Have you been able to locate her family? Or get a name?"

Once again, Walt sighed. "We found nothing. Ran her fingerprints, checked out the blood samples, did a deep dive in the Quirk registry, did every test and search we could, but nothing came up. She's not registered anywhere, it's as if she doesn't even exist," he scratched at his scruffy beard. "Before we can even start a deeper search, we'll need to put her in the registry and that can take a few days. In the meantime, we'll need to find someone to take her in."

Thomas frowned and thought of foster care. His heart dropped a little. Thomas knew better than many how it could be hit and miss finding a good foster family for a kid, especially on short notice such as this. There were power hierarchies among the children, a fresh face in the group isn't always well received by the other kids, and even the foster parents weren't always the best. Some may mean well and try their best, only to not be what the child needs, and others use the system only to help themselves. And even then, there was a big chance she would be shuffled from home to home whenever a problem arose until she was eventually just lost in the system.

There was no guarantee she'd get the proper counseling for her quirk in foster care, and kids who've already had a rough life may get the short end of the stick.

Thomas didn't want that for her. No. He'd been that kid himself when he was little, knew how hard it was to grow up like that. He wouldn't wish that on any child. Thomas wanted this kid to have the space and care she needed to recover until they got everything sorted out. And, with a quirk like hers, it was dangerous to put her in a civilian's home full of strangers. She might get scared and her quirk could lash out.

Walt took one look at Thomas. "Oh, no. No, no, no. I know that face, whatever you're thinking, just no."

"Walt, I know what it's like in the system. Going from foster home to foster home," Thomas argued, holding his hands out hopefully. "I can provide her a safe place to live until we find her family, I can keep her safe." He could keep others safe from her quirk, too. For the time being. He'd be able to help her learn to manage it, control it.

Walt sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "It's not easy taking care of a kid, Thomas. Do you have any experience being a caregiver?" he asked, and when Thomas didn't have an immediate response, took that as validation. "Do you know what to do if she gets hurt? With your job, will you be able to be there to get her to school or to appointments? What about how to handle possible PTSD symptoms?"

"I—" Thomas began, but couldn't bring himself to finish it.

His friend just continued, placing both hands onto the table. "I know you mean well, Thomas, but, you can't just take in a kid on a whim like this."

Maybe he was doing this on a whim, maybe this was an irrational decision. But, Thomas felt responsible for this child, even if that feeling wasn't reasonable. He wanted to help her, what kind of hero was he if he couldn't help her?

"I know it's going to be a lot of work," Thomas said slowly, standing to his full height as he looked down on Walt. "I know that it's not going to be easy, and I will have to learn a lot in a short period of time. But, tell me this; knowing how dangerous her quirk potentially is, are you willing to risk a civilian family's safety by placing her in their care?"

This time, Walt had flinched back.

Thomas kept talking, placing a hand on his chest, over his heart. "I know I can provide her protection, and I know I can handle her quirk if things go bad," he added firmly. "I'm going to contact social services in the morning and start the process to foster her. They can decide if I can or can't foster her until we find her family."

There was a tense silence as they stared each other down, waiting for the other to give in and look away, waiting for the other to back down. Moments passed, turning into minutes. This was one thing that Thomas had no intention of budging on, and eventually Walt conceded to it, taking a step back and averting his eyes, though looking annoyed by it all.

"Fine," Walt grumbled. "But, is Social Service says no, then you have to accept that."

Finally, Thomas gave a smile and a nod. "Of course. But, I want to at least try. If they look over all I have to offer and decide I'm not the right choice, I'll accept that."

Becoming a parent, even just a foster parent, was never something that Thomas considered himself ever becoming, especially not at thirty-seven. He always thought he'd be focused on his job and his job alone, but, if he could make someone's life better, change their life for the better like this. Well, helping people was the whole reason he became a hero.