Hi, I'm back
#1: Adults in adult situations
#2: I do not own BNHA. Don't sue, please.
#3: Thanks for reading.
The UA Test Mecha, Type 3 (Electric), was two and a half stories tall and shaped like a pro wrestler, an enormous steel menace. Imagine a gundam, imagine something made to combat Godzilla. It glossed with a pristine white coat of paint, taunting any combatant to lay a stain or scratch. The UA Test Mecha, Type 3 (Electric) was equipped with: two shoulder mounted gattling guns (rubber bullets), mini-missiles hidden in the thighs and chest (no shrapnel), sleeping gas dispensers, a kickass sword the size of a telephone pole. Importantly, the Type 3 (Electric) had electrified legs, meaning that any touch, tap, or contact between the Mecha's leg armor and human/mutant skin meant instant electrocution - an instant KO. Class 1-A heard that several of 1-B had pissed themselves after getting zapped and falling limp. The Mecha was not manned but was piloted by AI that had gorged itself on Mortal Kombat movesets, Worldstar and UFC knockout compilations, videos of kendo masters, and all five of the original Rocky films. The UA Test Mecha, Type 3 (Electric) was an opponent capable of incredible brutality and prowess. In pairs, Class 1-A was assigned to defeat it.
So Friday morning, after a long week of book-learning and no Hero training exercises, 1-A put on blindfolds, huddled into a bus, and were taken to a depopulated forest where the possibility of a Mecha causing undue harm to community or citizenry was low. It stood in a grassy clearing fenced by dense woodland. 1-A watched the machine with caution.
"Are you telling us Japan has functioning gundams?" Tsuyu pondered out loud.
"A functioning gundam. Just one. This thing costs several billion yen," Aizawa said. "This is the only legal one. There are plenty of villains out there building mecha-dragons, mecha-sharks, mecha-etc."
"How the hell are we supposed to beat a Mecha? We haven't even had lunch. Sato looks like he's gonna pass out." Jiro said.
Sato did look pale. "I didn't eat breakfast," he said with real worry and regret.
"Sometimes you're gonna have to fight a Mecha on an empty stomach. Villains don't care. Mechas don't have human process of thought and also don't care," Aizawa said flatly, though you could tell he was enjoying the rising distress.
A dagger of light shone off the Mecha's sword, gripped in robot hand, tip peaking into the earth.
"Sensei, come on, tell it to put the sword away. It's gonna bisect one of us," Kirishima whinged. The rest of the class nodded.
Aizawa shook his head. "1-B was just fine with the sword."
"Fuck 1-B," Bakugo said. "Sword or not, I'm gonna murder that gundam bastard."
"See, you can't murder it because it's not alive. It's a robot. Your energy is appreciated, however. So, uh, let's begin." A smile across his scruffy mug.
ORDER OF BATTLE
Asui/Iida vs. Mecha
Ochaco/Shoji vs. Mecha
Bakugo/Ashido vs. Mecha
Ojiro/Hagakure vs. Mecha
Mineta/Todoroki vs. Mecha
Midoriya/Kaminari vs. Mecha
Sero/Jiro vs. Mecha
Koda/Sato vs. Mecha
Aoyama/Yaoyorozu vs. Mecha
Tsuyu woke up panting and sweating. Her uniform was singed and she felt bruising develop under the skin of her back. She swung her head around, searching for answers. Her muscles felt wobbly and weak. Where am I? I'm on a cot. Trees and bugs all around. I'm still in the forest. There are other cots here. And boxes of bandages. Did I lose? I remember being electrocuted. I wonder if I peed myself. I doesn't feel like it.
"Hello, Froppy. How are you feeling?" Recovery Girl, approaching Tsuyu with a bottle water.
"Hi, Recovery Girl." Tsuyu said weakly. She guzzled the water. "Did I pee myself?"
"Everybody asks if they peed themselves. No, you're fine. You got electrocuted and then slapped into the dirt."
"Can I leave?"
"Yes, by all means. Aizawa is expecting you back momentarily."
Tsuyu stood, took three uneasy steps, felt composure return to her legs. Recovery Girl passed her a lollipop.
"Have a good weekend, Froppy. Do something fun."
And Tsuyu limped back to the battlefield.
When Tsuyu returned, she saw that another battle had ended poorly. Bakugo sat in the shade of a tree, pissed. Iida lay on his back. The tip of Ashido's horn was snapped. The Mecha remained without scratch or dent.
"My poor horn," Mina whimpered. Tsuyu pat her back.
Aizawa waved Hagakure over. As far as everybody could tell, watching her shoes float, she scampered to Aizawa.
"Just so you know, the Mecha has infrared vision," Aizawa informed.
"So it'll be able to see me."
"Well, no, but it'll see your body heat."
"Noo, Senseiii."
"You and Ojiro are up next. So, you know, as they say in America, saddle up."
Ojiro stretched against a tree. His tailed flexed and bent. Something soft squished into his arm; he saw a glove holding onto his bicep.
"Ojiro! You'll protect me, right? With your big, strong tail…"
Ojiro was fairly certain that whatever was so soft in his arm was Hagakure's boob. Importantly, Hagakure does not, in battle or training, wear clothing, meaning her bare tit was right on him, skin to skin. Was this second base? He thought. His tail stiffened and turned tall.
"Yeah, I'll take care of you," he said, blushing.
Sato began to forage around the battleground. On his knees, he tore handfuls of clover and grass, dandelion leaves and roots, and shoveled them into his mouth, chewing furiously and awaiting the surge of strength that any amount of feral, unprocessed sugar might provide him. It was desperation but necessary. Without any fuel, he would be useless during the exercise and worse, he would be defenseless. He would lose and fail at the hands of the gundam. It would hurt, the robotic thrashing and the humiliation. A faint buzz registered in his peripheral hearing. There were bees in the vicinity and where there were bees, there was honey. Sato chased the sound deeper into the forest.
Izuku brushed some dirt from Ojiro's slack face and dragged him out of the crater that had resulted from his being axe kicked into the dirt. Tsuyu pulled Hagakure from a similar hole.
"Poor Toru. Choke-slammed by a gundam."
"I can't believe she just fights in the nude. She's an insane woman," Tsuyu said.
"Nothing. No protection. We watched her get peppered with rubber bullets. She didn't even scream. Maybe her nerves are weird since she's invisible."
"She's a berserker."
"Actually."
They carried Ojiro and Hagakure to Recovery Girl, setting them gently in cots. The rumble of an explosion - Mineta screamed in the distance. Recovery Girl shook her head, making a tired and disgruntled face.
"I hate Gundam Friday. It's always a nightmare," she said, a long and terrible history hidden in her words. Tsuyu and Izuku walked away after letting their classmates in her care. They were alone, very briefly, on the path back to the site of the observation.
Izuku sighed and stretched his arms. "Alright. I'm next. This mecha is pretty crazy, huh."
Tsuyu leaned into him and kissed his cheek. Weeks ago, this would have sent him into a frenzy, a sweaty panic. But now, he only smiled and blushed.
"Good luck," she said.
Izuku kissed her back and jogged off to strategize with Kirishima. Tsuyu stood in the splintered light, sensing a heat on her that wasn't the sun.
Izuku was a very intelligent lad. He was observant, searching, possessing of good perspicacity. He had a good memory, a memory like a warehouse, a memory that catalogued and kept for later necessity. He could furnish new tactics as the situation demanded. His thinking could mutate in real time, tandem to the atmosphere. But while Izuku was smart. Quite smart, impressively smart. He was also, at moments, prone to macho stupidity.
So when the battle came round and Todoroki and Mineta had been pulled off the field, Kirishima proposed to slam into the Mecha the only way he knew - Quirk on, horns out, swinging. Most often, Midoriya would have liked to approach the situation with a little more brain, a little more guard and strategy. But Midoriya was feeling good on account of Tsuyu's kiss, velvety touch still lingering on his skin.
I feel very… strong right now. I feel like I'm the size of a building. I'm bigger than that mecha. I am powerful, even if I fail I will pick myself up, learn, grow. Tsuyu will still like me. I will still like me. Yes! Haha!
"Kirishima!" He bellowed. "To battle!"
"Midoriya! You've got a new aura! You're seething manly energy!" Kirishima returned.
"Let's kill this thing."
"Yes, Midoriya! Let's kick ass!"
And they charged in, shouting, to everybody's surprise, amusement, or admiration. Kirishima became granite tough and spiked. Midoriya's hair and skin sparked with green lightning. Midoriya leapt with speed at the Mecha's head with intent to knock it's cybernetic lights out with one massive swoop. Kirishima had similar ambitions and rushed for the Mecha's knees, possibly forgetting that he was throwing his body into electrified metal.
The Mecha watching Midoriya, calculating his arc, pulled up its sword and stanced like a baseball batter, hips square and arms tense with hydraulic power. So as Midoriya's body lobbed to an appropriate height, the Mecha swung it's sword (flat side, programmed not to kill or maim egregiously) and slugged Midoriya. A home run: Izuku slammed with the force of a truck, his body launched way out, soaring deep into the forest. Imagine Team Rocket, blasting off again. Kirishima got a spinning back heel from the Mecha, crushed into a tree, shivered electrocuted, and passed out. The battle: lost.
Aizawa turned Tsuyu, her eyes wider than usual.
"Go check on Midoriya, please." He said.
Sato stumbled in from the forest. His body was covered in swelling welts. Honey shone around his lips and his pupils were like poppy seeds.
"Ready for action," he nearly shouted.
Tsuyu hopped through the forest, looking for her man. On an average day, she could move with excellent speed, her long legs powering huge bounds between limbs. She was worried and leapt with even more speed.
Izuku, you dummy. Why'd you shoot in like that, huh? If you had just thought about it you could've figured something out. You gotta be careful. She sprung off a branch, high into the sky, scanning for signs of Izuku. She landed and continued further.
My only boyfriend ever in huge, terrible pain. Boyfriend? Is he my boyfriend? I mean, ideally, yes. But we've only had one date and one sexual encounter. I feel like we're missing qualifications to be an official couple. We need to go on more dates. Build further emotional trust. I need to ask him about his father.
Izuku is sprawled, possibly unconscious, in the ruins of a bush. He is covered in leaves, snapped twigs. Tsuyu kneels beside him.
"Izuku, you alright?"
His eyes open startled, but softened seeing Tsuyu.
"Hey, what's up?"
"You got bopped."
"Dang. Everything hurts."
"Did you pee yourself?"
"No."
"Good, I don't think I could date somebody who peed their suit in public."
"That's a relief." He groaned. "What happened to Kirishima?"
"Smacked, electrocuted. Sensei told me to bring you back. He'll be expecting us in a minute."
"You've come to rescue me?"
"Yes, Izuku. Come on, get up."
"Hold on, come here."
She lowered her face to his and he met his lips to hers. Far away, there was gunfire and shouts.
"We gotta head back," Tsuyu protested.
"A little longer? I got sent pretty far."
There on the forest floor, they kissed for a long minute.
Aoyama pranced around the battlefield, avoiding barrages of rubber bullets, diving away from the Mecha's swinging sword. He did so without grace, screaming. Yaoyorozu hid behind a tree, thinking, figuring.
A biconvex, converging lens, with a long focal length to optimize a long range attack. Thus two shallow curvatures. The lens on Aoyama's belt is about the size of a grapefruit?
"Aoyama, how big is the lens on your belt?" Yaoyorozu shouted.
"Twelve centimeters! Madamoiselle, it's letting out sleeping gas!"
I've made gas masks before. Thermoplastic polyurethane. EVA. Isoprene. Polycarbonate. Two masks sunk out of her skin; she threw one into the battlefield, put one over her face.
"Aoyama! Put that on, then in fifteen seconds, shoot very sparkly and bright lasers at the Mecha's head, try to blind it! Then run over here, and have your belt off."
One lens will redirect the light, but another lens is needed to enhance and focalize the light, subdue aberration. So two lenses, an achromatic doublet, superdense to withstand the power of Aoyama's laser. One made of flint glass - lead oxide, borosilicate. The other is crown glass - potassium oxide, borosilicate. Fused together, twelve centimeter diameter. Ready.
She heard Aoyama shoot three or four lasers. A thick lens, two lenses in one, superclear and heavy emerged from Yaoyorozu's bicep. Aoyama materialized, panting, his cape full of holes. He handed her his belt. She popped out the old lens and inserted the new one.
"You get one good burst before the lens cracks, so aim very carefully." She said, returning the belt.
"And if I miss?"
"I'm making several kilos of C4, but please try your best."
So, Aoyama stepped into the clearing, staring down the Mecha. It had it's sword ready, and the compartments of missiles were opening for launch. Aoyama put his hands behind his head.
"Au revoir, Mecha!" He declared haughtily, as if he hadn't been scurrying around its ankles.
Aoyama's laser was usually as wide as a dinner plate and cerulean. The laser that emerged from the new lens was thin as spider silk, bright as phosphorous. A miniscule, silent laser drew a line across the chest of the Mecha. The lens shattered and the laser faded. The Mecha's torso slid away from its abdomen. The legs remained standing, the rest of the Mecha plummeted into the grass. Aoyama threw up. Yaoyorozu dropped a block of C4 into the dirt.
"Holy shit," she said.
"She just destroyed so much money," Aizawa muttered.
Izuku and Tsuyu rejoined their mesmerized classmates.
"Uh, what'd we miss," Izuku said.