While the League of Villains launched their assault, certain other crimes were being committed around the prefecture. And the prepatrators left their handiwork behind.

Tsukauchi Naomasa had seen countless atrocities, but the one before him was certainly near the top of the ladder. He, and a few uniformed officers, were in an apartment. Portions of the walls, once a light blue had given way to a crimson red. The victims had undoubtedly died in pain.

"No sign of forced entry or lock picking on the door. And the windows are sealed shut." He looked at the scores of metal pieces sticking out of both of the recently departed. "Anything we can get off the knives?" He asked

"No signs of any manufacturer," the closest member of forensics answered. "I'll check for prints."

The investigator crouched down, careful not to step in the blood pool, and got a closer look. The murder must have been done recently as the odor of death had yet to exude off the cadaver. Both of the victims had no less than two dozen blades in their chests, necks, and faces. He didn't have to be a detective to figure out they bled to death. His eyes scanned the bodies, and eventually he came to their heads. Pain had been the last thing on their minds before perishing, and it showed.

Tsukachi's vision moved over them slowly, and they met something next to the heads, on the ground. Razor blades, at least ten of them, all coated in blood. Investigative experience took hold of him and he checked the insides of the mouths. Lacerations galore on the tongues and inner skin. "Our perp force-fed them razors?"

One of his colleagues, not so disturbed by the scene, spoke casually. "Maybe he wanted to have some fun first. Gotta love what you do, as they say."

While he was slightly taken aback, Tsukauchi could see that. Murderers often found, or took, pleasure in their misdeeds. "Do we know who they are?"

"Just some low-level Yakuza thugs. Drug running, mostly."

"So... this was a hit. And whoever did it knew them, hence why the door was readily opened."

"You think the Bosses are cleaning house, sir?"

"I'm not sure..."

XXXXXXXXX

The age of information allowed word to spread fast. Several police vehicles parked side by side grabbed the attention of the media, and when people see others holding cameras, they too are sucked into what might be going on. While the investigation went on inside, out the complex, a crowd had gathered. The officers that had remained near their cars to keep the public out continuously denied their comments to the press. In the crowd kept back behind police carriers, a young, timid man watched with the rest of the throng. And then his phone rang.

He quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out the communication device. "Hello?"

"Doppio. My dear, dear Doppio."

The meek one quickly made his way out of the crowd. "Boss!"

"How did it go? Did you see it?"

"No. But judging by the amount of police, I can safely surmise Nero did as you commanded."

"Good. Good..."

"What's the next move?"

"Secure a warehouse. Drugs got my seed money back in Naples. It'll do it here too."

"I've heard tell of something called Trigger..."

"A good substance to gather Quirk users. I'll send word out to La Squadra when they finish thinning the competition."

XXXXXXXXX

The morning had been most productive for Risotto Nero, leader of La Squadra Esecuzioni. But the day had only just begun. Helping himself to a bottled drink in an alleyway, watching a sharp dressed man walk past him. The black and red-eyed assassin followed him, but stopped at a cafe to help himself to a refreshing drink. He knew where his target was going, and tailing him to his doom in broad daylight was most unwise. He finished his beverage and, checking his pockets to make sure he had iron to spare with all the random items he had on him, he set off. Relief washed over him as he continued. This dingy part of Hosu was so downtrodden, so hopeless that even the rapid press would stay away. On ever corner was a woman with revealing clothes and the complexion of a wax statue. And the other corners were occupied by shady men in trench coats. Nero did not need more than guess as to what was in their pockets.

Coming to the back door of the apartment building, and not seeing any security cameras, he willed his Stand to activate. It felt as if his soul extended out from his body. He looked around to make sure he was alone. Seeing nobody else around, he crouched in front of the key lock. Using his magnetism, he carefully willed the latch bolt to slide back past the strike plate.

Sliding a cheap pair of gloves on, he gave a meager push and the door opened with a creak. He walked in and closed it behind him. After some minimal searching, he found the way into the residence hallways. Checking the corner, he saw no cameras. This job was proving too easy. Then again, perhaps his target had chosen this place for the absence of video capturing devices. Why would a gangster willing return periodically, and basically hand over proof that he did so to the authorities?

The hallways smelled of alcohol and lighter fluid. The peeling paint and filthy carpet reminded him of horror movies he and his cousin used to watch. The narrow passage was mostly empty. On his left, he passed a man, passed out and reeking of bourbon. Even though he did not know, the stranger's alcoholism had saved his life. Had he been awake and aware, Nero would have killed him, thus insuring no witnesses. Coming to the designated door, he heard a faint sound. Arguing? No. Hard music.

Good. They wouldn't hear him enter. They wouldn't even notice him unless they were looking right at the doorway. Again, he made the door's bolt give way and he walked in. The front room was empty, but the screaming vocals and wailing instruments were now louder. He closed the door behind him and advanced. Following the cacophony, he came to another wooden barricade. That was when he heard something else besides heavy metal and understood another reason the Yakuza thug he was about to eliminate regularly came here.

A woman's voice barely made itself known to him over the riffs and beats, loudly voicing their throes of passion. This wasn't a safehouse. It was a rendezvous with whores. Eventually, the euphoric screaming ended. Wanting to get this job over with, before the dingy air of asbestos made him nauseous, Nero willed the magnetism of his Stand colony, Metallica, to surround his person and clothes to be covered with unseen specs of iron. The process took but an instant but the results were undeniable. To any wandering eyes, he was invisible thanks to the iron reflecting light off of him. For the third time in an hour, he made the door open without touching it.

Rhe mysterious sight did not rile the woman up. All she did was sigh as she lit a cigarette and turned down the radio. The lack of deafening screams allowed Nero to hear running water in the adjoining room. "That damn door. Really need to fix it."

Those were the last words she ever said. As she inhaled the nicotine, her throat felt a strange sensation of pressure. As if something was pushing and pulling on it. This quickly turned to pain and terror. To anybody else, they would have thought she had swallowed a pair of scissors, judging the out outline on her flesh below her chin. Draining the iron out of blood and reforming it into bladed tools was one of the first tricks Nero taught himself after gaining his Stand. The scissors, on his whim, opened, making her skin stretch. Quickly, before she could even scream, the metal tore her flesh open, severing her Coratid and letting her blood spill out like a morbid fountain.

Nero saw the irony of her redness spilling out onto the white sheets.

With the witness dealt with, Nero turned his attention to the door from which the water was coming from, undoubtedly a bathroom was behind it. This time, he used his gloved hand to open it, seeing a blurry outline of his target behind a foggy glass door.

"Round two, baby?" He amorously suggested. Before he could slide the shower door open, his mouth began to send blinding messages of agony to his brain. He felt something on his tongue along with the blood pooling on it, and he coughed violently. His plasma fell to the wet porcelain, washing away down the drain as it followed the water, but something else fell as well. Needles. Little but sharp sewing needles. Dozens of them fell out of his maw.

Desperation overtook him and he practically lunged for the handle on the door. His bare foot made contact with the needles, sending more pain into his system. Gritting his teeth and doing the best he could to ignore it, he reached for the handle, struggling to get a hold on both it and himself. He managed to get the door open, only for Nero to finish him off.

Over the part of his torso where one would feel for a heartbeat came a large grey spike. One of the most essential organs was in pieces within him, and all he could do was hack up more of his blood.

"I was hoping for something more," Nero mused as he walked out, careful not to step in the blood, thus leaving a trail for others to follow.

XXXXXXXXX

Chisaki Kai, otherwise known as Overhaul, felt many things. Slight anxiety at the news report currently on the television screen. Two of his Boss's men had been slaughtered. Accompanying that was a deep disgust. He glanced over at the stuffed wildlife on one of the work tables. So unbecoming... and possibly infected.

"Must you continue to do that, Maxx?" He asked.

The blonde, currently putting the finishing touches on a red fox, shrugged. "It's my hobby. And if we ever get in a tight spot-"

"We won't. The Boss says this place is safe, so it is safe."

Sports Maxx nodded towards the screen. "I'll bet a drug stash that they thought they were safe too."

Chisaki's eyes narrowed. "A very weak argument."

"But not wrong. Who do you think it is? We're the furthest thing from Heroes, so it ain't Stain. And it was basically an execution so the cops are out too."

The germophone fought his urge to put his mask on to protect himself from the bacteria surely festering in Maxx's displays. "It could be somebody we wronged in the past."

"I think if that were the case, there'd be a message for us to find."