Streams of information were swimming in his mind. Every number, name, percentage; all floated around him as his fingers swiftly tapped away at his keyboard, a steaming mug of hot chocolate beside it. The wafting steam flows from the blood-red mug into the mild cacophony of mechanical keys being tapped and phones being rung. Izuku had already filled out 3 pages of his report on the effectiveness of hardening quirks, making note that the mouth is the most vulnerable weak-spot. Without removing his eyes from the screen, he types out an advisory footnote to security guards in the report to be wary of attacks to the face and maintain a degree of protection to the legs when on duty. The vivid image of the guard's crushed neck and the baseball bat in his hands came to mind the whole time he worked on it. How his foot collapsed the guard's trachea as though it were an empty tin can, how young the guard appeared, how the melting marshmallows in his hot chocolate were beginning to look a lot like teeth…

He quickly took a sip of it to soothe the chill creeping on his spine. That guard was still a kid, he thought. Late in his teens, sure but still a kid. Come to think of it, so was the concierge. A stammering mess, Izuku pictured the concierge's quivering frame and then imagined himself in his shoes.

An unknown intruder has just murdered the guards meant to stop people from entering and now he is staring at you with a bloodied bat. What do you do? There is a submachine gun underneath the counter to prepare for this type of situation, but you also remember that the two cadavers out front were far stronger than you are so there is a chance he might whack you before your skinny arms could even go for it. So, you go for the next best option and stall for time while you trigger the silent alarm.

Another sip of hot cocoa followed by a small nod and a hum. This kid's pretty smart.

The silent alarm is triggered. Now what? Continue stalling for time while begging for your life? Maybe, but the mask on the intruder prevents you from discerning his emotions. Luckily for you, you get knocked out as he throws a bat at you and you live to see another day. Live? Oh.

"Hey, Midoriya! It's lunch break already! What are you sitting around here for?"

Izuku narrowly avoided flinging his mug at his co-worker, who was beaming while leaning by his cubicle. He then glances at his computer screen. 1:00 p.m. Damn. He got carried away and missed his usual 12:30 mark.

"I just finished my report," he replies with a tired smile, "The usual as always."

The co-worker did not leave. "Yeah, yeah, I know. The Compiling Department keeps on breathing down our necks and pressuring us to come up with updates on Quirks as though they fall from the sky. Seriously, how the hell do you keep finding these things? Mikoto who sits next to me is one of the most hard-working people I know and even she can't churn out the number of reports you make every week! And with high detail too!"

Are they implying that I'm lazy? "Um…well, isn't Mikoto a mother of three as well-?"

"Oh! Oh! Have you heard of the massacre in Yokohama last night?" exclaimed his co-worker, smacking their forehead.

Izuku raised a brow. This was odd. Given the current level of gang activity in the country, hideout clearings are nothing new. What could make the scene at the Holden Apartments special? The apparent high-level security and location? A politician killed in the process? Possibly. "Yeah, why?" he asked, "Some big-wig died as well? Place does seem fancy."

"No, no! Not that. Something bigger!" the co-worker said with big hand movements. "They found a survivor!"

Within that moment, Izuku's body tensed and he quickly opened his web browser and checked the news. Pictures of a lanky, skinny kid were on the forefront of the search results. The concierge! He nearly forgot about him. Darn co-worker and office gossip. There were already claims being made that the massacre was part of the rumoured 'masked psychopaths' murders. However, looking at the headlines, his limbs loosened up. The survivor was still being held up in the Yokohama General Hospital for a mental health check before he will be cleared for investigation the next day.

"You…alright, there Midoriya?" the co-worker asked, worried.

"Hm, yeah. Why?"

"You just stared at the screen and ignored me for like, two minutes."

Izuku resisted the urge to slam his head onto his desk. Three years and his habit still had not gone away. At least he can keep it in his head now. "Ah, sorry," he said, feigning surprise. "I spaced out for a moment there. Must be because of the empty stomach."

Hearing this, the co-worker's eyes shot wide and whipped out their phone. 1:30 p.m. "Shoot! There's only half an hour left before work starts again!"

With a small sigh, Izuku tells them that its fine and that he'll just grab an egg sandwich from the vending machine. Unfortunately for him, the co-worker profusely apologised for causing him this trouble. By the time the co-worker finally left, he was left with 15 minutes to spare, a cold mug of hot chocolate and the co-worker's company card.

"Naomi Nakajima, huh?" he mumbled as he looked at the card. The co-worker told him to ring their number to call in a favour from them. 'To make up for your empty stomach', they said.

Pocketing away the card, he peeks out of his cubicle to check the vending machine on the other end of the office. Egg sandwiches were gone. He then looked at his cold cocoa. The brain only needed glucose to function, right?

.

.

.

Izuku kept his head low while he typed away his next report, his cheeks red while his eyes peeking up to see the screen. The intense burning embarrassment in his ears flared up whenever he thought the low grumbling protests from his stomach grew loud enough to be heard outside of his cubicle. What the heck was he thinking? Going through the rest of the day on half a mug of cocoa? He felt like banging his head on his desk. Had he gone to the old man's convenience store and risked getting a late penalty by his floor supervisor, he could have avoided this unbearable shame. Damn it all. Why did he have to get caught up in his thoughts? Why wasn't he firmer in his assertions towards his co-worker that he wanted them to leave?

He stopped typing to scratch his head. Argh, this was a mistake. He stood out enough by becoming 'Employee of the Year' three times in a row. He did not need to be noticed for being hungry. Should he go sneak out now? The floor supervisor always came in 15-30 minute intervals so he could go for it. If he was late by 5 minutes, the classic bathroom excuse would work.

However, as he was ruminating this, the clock had struck 5:30.

The gears in his head froze when his ears heard the soft beep from his watch. 30 more minutes before his work hours ended.

He softly groans and tousled his already unruly hair.

"Dang it."

Amidst the burning walls of the apartment building, inhuman groans blended in with the cacophony of chaos of the screams that rang through. The small band of Pro-Heroes, having lost track of their squad leader after he stormed off on his own, were at risk of being paralysed with fear. They could not comprehend the twisted mind of the monster that wreaked havoc in what was once a sleepy apartment building near their alma mater. Their heads turned towards the sudden bursting of a wooden door. A bloated mutated blob of flesh was now staring at them on the end of hallway.

Yaoyorozu Momo flinched at the sight of it. These…things were deceptively fast and had a voracious taste for human flesh. She had already lost two members of her team to them. The creatures were extremely resilient against anything that wasn't a flame or an explosion. Their regeneration of damaged parts only added to her team's woes. However, as Yaoyorozu's eyes met with those of the creature before her, she was faced with the creatures' greatest weapon: the faces of the humans that they used to be. Mustering what inner strength she had left, she steeled her gaze towards the monster with the face of a kindly old lady and uttered a single command that sent the message to her squad loud and clear.

"Remember, no survivors."

Her eyes snapped open as she sat up in cold sweat. It was the dream again. Slender fingers grasped at fistfuls of her own hair, her attempts at breathing slowly doing little to dissuade the quick beating from her chest. That face. That woman's face. It has been three years since that night, her memory of the woman escaping her by a hair. But, the face that smiled back at her as it lunged at her team screamed familiarity. She had seen it before. But where? A soft beeping of a digital clock made her snap around, clutching the soft thin blanket that covered her.

Blanket?

It was only then that she became hyper-aware of the distinct lack of the metallic cold of the table she was splayed on top of the night before. She could feel her body making an impression on the sofa she was on. Anxious eyes darted around the room. Gone was the grim dim lamp that gave her glimpses of torture devices hung up on the wall and the horrible people that used them on her. Wherever she looked, the gentle bright light showed her an ordinary living room. Its walls painted a default off-white and decorated with a modest flat-screen TV, some faux flora atop a slick black coffee table and a bookshelf. Judging by the fact that she could see the kitchen just by glancing to her left and two other closed doors with little head movement, she reckoned that she was in an apartment. A regular apartment that was rather homely for its size.

Hearing another beep, her gaze moved to the clock above the TV. The numbers '5:30p.m' jumped at her in bold red. Odd choice for an apartment, she thought, expecting the typical iconic circular mechanical clock. Speaking of odd, a lot of things did not make sense to her now that she had begun to let her thoughts sort themselves out. Where was she? Had Hiko's men finally tired of her and sold her off? No, that couldn't be right. The place did not fit the type of person who dabbled in that kind of business. What kind of man would this person be to work for Hiko but live on a level of modesty that seemed too jarring. She rubbed her arm out of instinct only to discover another surprise—she could feel the gentle sensation of fabric on her skin. Tossing the blanket aside, she looked down at herself to find she was wearing an oversized t-shirt with a caricature of All Might, his signature catchphrase present. A soft chuckle escaped her lips. She could almost hear her goofy teacher boom across the hallway saying, "I am here!" Her eyelids then lowered a bit. If only she could hear him say that one more time especially now. The people need someone like him again.

All Might.

Why did you have to leave so soon?

A soft shrill beep brought her back. The clock was showing that it was now six in the evening. Then, a low rumbling followed suit, causing her to fluster as she wraps an arm over her stomach. It was only then that she noticed the small folded piece of paper on the coffee table in front of her. She picked it up and opened it. It was a note.

"Hello.

You looked pretty banged up when I found you so I did what I could to help. There's not much that I can do fix you up any further so please head for a hospital when you're well enough to walk. Take care.

P.S: There's some food in the fridge. Help yourself to the kitchen and make yourself at home."

She lifted her shirt to peek underneath. She winced to see that her chest and belly splotched with purple and blue discolorations. She also noticed that a no-longer cold press was taped to her chest underneath her right breast. A jolt of pain surged through her when she pushed the cold press lightly. So that's why he insisted on going to the hospital. She definitely felt her ribs move a bit too far. No matter, she'd feel better after a meal.

Izuku stepped into the convenience store with a sigh. The store's jingle fell deaf on his ears as he went straight for the ready-made meals section.

"Young man? That you?" he heard the gruff voice of the cashier call out to him. "How many times do I have to keep telling you to lay off that junk? Do you even cook at home?"

The small hairs at the back of his neck bristled as he turned to the cashier with a katsudon set in hand and a smile on his face, his fingers feeling the ebbs of anger shaking them. The loud pop of the plastic container holding his katsudon crinkling from pressure had the cashier holding his arms up.

"Whoa! Easy there! Didn't know you were in a bad mood, young man," the cashier exclaimed with a laugh. "Bad day at work I reckon?"

"A-ah! I'm sorry, old man! I didn't mean to come off as angry!" Izuku flustered as he went towards the counter. Well, he was angry, but it did not mean that he had the right to do that. The old man might have been trying to cheer him or had probably had a worse day than he did. "I simply pressed the container a bit too hard and I didn't have lunch today so—"

"You didn't eat lunch today?" the cashier asked, his brows raised. "No wonder you're looking pretty glum this evening! I mean, a lot more glum than usual." The old man then eyed the price of the katsudon set that Izuku put on his counter. He let out sigh and put the meal into a plastic bag.

"Here you go, son," he said as he plopped a pair of disposable chopsticks and a bottle of mineral water into the bag and pushed it towards the flustering Izuku. "One katsudon set and a bottle of water. On the house."

Izuku's eyes went wide and he pushed the bag back towards the cashier. "I really can't do that, old man. Please, just let me pay for once," he pleads as he pulls out his wallet and fishes for the correct change. However, the cashier would not go down easy, his grey whiskers flaring up under the hot air blown from his nostrils. The audacity of this young man!

"No can do, son. I insist that you take it." The plastic bag was pushed back towards Izuku, who was struggling to find any change small enough to pay the old man proper. The convenience store might have been cold but he felt as if he could be sweating bullets now. If the money he gave was too big, it would be a nuisance to the old man to look for small change. Then, his breathing slowed. His eyes stopped darting around. With a smirk, he simply nodded and took the bag while setting his hand on the counter. The cashier did not notice his hand as he beamed with pride having won the battle.

"You know, things would a whole lot easier if you'd just listen to your elders," the cashier said.

"And your business would be a lot more successful if you'd just accept payment from customers," Izuku shot back. The cashier laughed with mirth, his stout body shaking while he wiped a tear from his eye.

"That's a good one! Ha! For an office boy, you're pretty funny."

With a shrug, Izuku replied, "Eh, I do try from time to time."

"Don't push it, son. Besides, it's been a while since I've had a good laugh." The cashier then stroked his thick grey whiskers. "So, why haven't you eaten lunch today?"

Not wanting to admit that he got distracted by a co-worker, he simply said that his work was a bit more than usual.

"I see…" the cashier said with furrowed brows. He then got up and patted Izuku on the shoulder. "Well, you best get going, son. Don't want you to die of hunger from talking to me all day."

Smiling with earnest, Izuku said, "Don't worry, old man. I'd sooner die from my work than from your meals." He then walked out of the convenience store but not before he heard the old man call out to him once more.

"Be careful out there! Masked psychos might get the drop on you! They've massacred a building full of gangsters last night!"

Just as the jingle faded out into noise of the streets, a wistful smile formed on Izuku's face having heard the old man's words.

"Don't you worry, old timer. In time, there will be no more massacres to speak of."