this chapter tried its damndest to kill me.
ch3: the feral smug
The conference room door arcs outward with a skull-knockin' collision of metal doorknob and thick, glass wall. Thankfully, nothing outright shatters, but Ochako does hear the tell-tale 'crunch' of splintering glass, likely at the point of impact. She casts Bakugou a look of censure, and watches him tip his chin back n' bare his teeth in what she recognizes immediately as his 'Wanna go?!' face. Puffing out her cheeks in a gesture of moue, she files the incident away for her damages report later and turns back to the task at hand, trusting him to keep eyes on their adversaries.
Setting out, Bakugou peels off his gloves and tucks 'em into the back of his pants, a conditioned, ease-of-access action he always takes when they pair up, so she can float him at her leisure. The reflex consideration never fails to give her a warm, proud feeling.
In the meantime, Ochako runs a diagnostic of their surroundings through her visor, into which the Chief Research Officer of HatsuCorp herself recently installed the newest iteration of her much-coveted surveillance software. The only heat signatures on this floor are the three before them, though there appears to be someone moving on the floor above them, unhurriedly, almost…lazily. Somethin' about the meandering, methodless path this person cuts triggers her suspicion. Acknowledging the possibility this could be building personnel, she nevertheless sets a dedicated sensor to track what could just as easily be a fourth member of the Breaking and Entering party. She also transmits the information to Kirishima and Jirou, advisin' they proceed with caution. Then, she modifies her search parameters to sweep the floor for traps, or significant concentrations of the 'quirk residue' Mei's team famously figured out how to detect and measure. All that really lights up is the ruined mass of much-fractured –and wet?—desks and office paraphernalia at Fissure's feet –his work, definitely. The liquid coating the sputterin' machines and assorted industrial materials turns out to be water, accordin' to the composition read-out –but water generated by quirk. Could the kigu-girl's quirk be water-based? Her outfit covers her hands, feet, and the lower half of her face, suggestin' otherwise, but Ochako doesn't rule out the likelihood completely. Or, could the Maven've chemically bonded existing hydrogen molecules with enough quirk-spun oxygen to produce this not-little amount of water? Is that even possible?
While Ochako weighs other, less far-fetched explanations, they reach a comfortable gulf of separation and come to a gradual stop. Bakugou breaks the ice, employin' his customary diplomacy:
"Who's first, fuckwits?" Ochako makes no attempt to head off the goading challenge, owin' to the strategy's proven effectiveness. The results aren't always pretty, but with surprising regularity, the prospect of havin' to face down the 'Mad Bomber' (a nickname he picked up years ago and wears with fiendish glee) is all it takes to persuade lesser ne'er-do-wells to surrender on the spot, before any blood can be spilled. Bakugou's been proudly cultivating his ferocious reputation since high school, and now, a handful of years into his pro career, he relishes his role as the boogeyman for villains.
Looks like it's maybe gonna take a smidge more'n the surprise arrival of one of the top heroes in the industry to cow this trio, though. They unmistakably know who Bakugou is –they're all three gawpin' at him like he's about to sprout fangs and breathe fire, but none of them seem 'specially keen on waving any white flags.
Even as she's realizin' they're likely in for a fight, the ambush shock sloughs from Fissure's striking features, and the look of fevered zealotry returns, identical to the expression he was sporting when she checked him out through the Specs. Recklessly, Fissure Freak snaps his hand out in front of him, convulsively squeezin' it into a fist. Bakugou doesn't so much as twitch, but her hair-trigger trainin' has her shiftin' automatically into a ready stance.
"Never encourage escalation, but if you're always poised to intercept an attack, you can't be caught off your guard." Gunhead's gentle wisdom, from her very first internship, flashes through her mind like a heartening refrain, as it has durin' every criminal encounter since the Provisional License Exam.
Still, when Ochako sees the arctic gaze of the Maven flick toward her, caught by her sudden movement, she curses herself for flinching. The slide of those cold eyes as they return to Bakugou feels stingingly dismissive.
Fissure, meanwhile, shouting: "The public revere you as gods, when you are in fact tyrannical arbiters, given carte blanche to play judge and jury! You are parodies of justice! The hero industrial complex is a dangerous farce!" It's not an unfamiliar speech, or sentiment. The ripples Stain set into motion all those years ago continue to yield swells of misplaced mayhem. She doesn't interrupt, wanting to give him plenty of space to air his grievances. The longer he's monologuin', the longer Kirishima and Jirou have to clear the building, and the more time Deku and the others'll have to get here. For that matter, if they can keep him talkin', there's a chance they may be able to talk him down. "Yet, at the foundation of it all –the Registry," he sneers the word, "this, this archaic instrument of oppression! The database into which we are all so carefully catalogued and filed away, listed by number and abilities, funneled into subjective categories of usefulness –all toward the creation of a convoluted, modern-day caste system!" Ochako watches his companions –Maven, with a worn but indulgent crescent-grin; the indeterminately-aged girl in the kigu pickin' absently at crud in her ear, radiating disinterest. "The Registry is a nefarious tool –a method of control, that fashions human beings into resources, disenfranchising those among us still without quirks—" Weirdly, Bakugou does flinch at this, open palms spasming into fists—"enabling the vile institution of quirk marriages—" Sparks crack and fizzle between the spaces of Bakugou's fingers, and cold dread edges her furtively closer to fold her hand gently over his forearm, just for a beat, just long enough for him to tense up and realize his mistake and stopper his quirk. As long as the Maven's able to use hers, usin' his quirk carries too big a risk; can't go swampin' the place up with volatile chemicals while they're squarin' off against a fire-starter. Speaking of: as her arm slides away from his, she notes an ice-eyed stare riveted to the wafer wisps o' smoke curlin' out of Bakugou's fists.
Heart in her throat, Ochako perceives the intangible, yet decisive, shift in the atmosphere. The air's charged, electric with imminent combat.
Fissure doesn't appear to've cottoned on, however, and she tunes back into his tirade as he's hittin' a crescendo—
"—challenge the utility of such a medieval taxonomy! You and your like may find yourself at the pinnacle of this iniquitous hierarchy, but your parents, your friends, your children, may not be so lucky! Likely aren't! And though you may ostensibly benefit from it, you cannot see the box, the cage in which this unbalanced arrangement has trapped you! We have come to restore an upset equilibrium! To erase and forcibly reform this broken institution! THIS is the path to justice! THIS is the purpose to which TRUE heroes should aspire! Will you not join us!" With a mad flourish, Fissure raises both arms into the air, triumphant.
Typically, this's where Ochako'd try to contain the loomin' violence with reason, maybe even convince their would-be challengers to surrender, but Maven's hands are peelin' discreetly away from her sides, each of her long, bony fingers makin' barely-there spooling motions, prob'ly gettin' ready to activate her quirk—
"Oi," Bakugou says, cuttin' clean through the awkward tension that settles in the too-quiet aftermath of Fissure's unexpected proposition, "you fuckin' done?" The Maven's eyes're glowing, and Ochako's hand meets Bakugou's in a low five he's already swingin' into, 'cause he sees it, too, the comin' first strike— "Life ain't fair, and you're a shit-guzzlin' hack, we get it." Fissure Freak's eyes widen impossibly, and he looks really crazy now. She presses pinky to thumb, controllin' the rate at which gravity looses its hold on Bakugou, securin' him at a meticulous handful o' centimeters off the floor—"Dipshit's choice: surrender, or suffer."
But Fissure never gets a chance to consider the ultimatum, 'cause it's no sooner'n Bakugou stops talkin' that a pair o' provocations kick off the hostilities: the evacuation sirens they ordered earlier shrill their eerie, oscillating wail, which fills the night with the million clamorin's of an entire sector's worth of people, scramblin' to flee the area; and Bakugou, simultaneously, sucks in an urgent breath that chokes off on a body-wrackin' cough, leavin' him suddenly gaspin' for air –Maven! Tinglin' heat prickles at her collar, burnin' up the back of her neck, and in a moment of livid clarity, she gives the signal to engage and urges her body to move.
In a seamless, parallel sequence, Bakugou surges toward the Maven at a dead sprint, strides lengthened n' lightened by her quirk; while Ochako hunkers to the floor, foldin' the pads of her fingers against her free palm, shakin' her own gravity and slingshottin' herself upward at a sharp, diagonal grade, only switchin' on her suit's stabilizing hip rockets when she reaches the apex of her jump directly over Fissure Freak's head. She lurches to a jarring, mid-air halt, just as Fissure finally catches on and falls to his knees, pressin' both hands to the office floor. Panic lances through her as she flashes back to that horrible scene from not half a year past, when he opened a fault line in downtown Hosu and sank three full city blocks into the bowels of the earth.
Fissure was always gonna be Ochako's to take down –a reality she and Bakugou both grasped intuitively, without discussion or cue. She can put the Freak out of commission with a single touch, get him airborne and outta reach of anything solid in a blink. Floatin' the Maven wouldn't have quite the same stayin' effect – her molecular manipulation abilities don't require contact, or proximity. Takin' her out of action's gonna require a…heavier hand.
She has seven seconds before his quirk activates. Seven seconds to remove their greatest offensive threat, and avert a disaster that could alter the landscape of the whole flippin' city.
No big deal. I can do this. No big deal.
Channelin' her inner-Deku, Ochako abstractedly sorts priorities and starts countin' off, second by precious second –one, kigu-girl seems uninterested in participatin' in the fight, and makes a run for the stairwell without so much as a backward glance. Two, a visibly off-balance Bakugou reaches the Maven, swingin' a wild right hook that goes wide when she dances outta range –three—but the attempted blow turns out to be a feint he uses to throw himself sideways into a near-horizontal, spinnin' flip, from which a deadly accurate, booted foot lashes out like a whip, crackin' into her sternum and layin' her flat. Four, Bakugou draws in a full, unobstructed breath, and Ochako brims with relief as she orients herself to her preferred angle of attack and pulls her thumb n' pinky apart, makin' ready to drop herself and not botherin' to give Bakugou a heads-up 'cause they've been doin' this so long he plain doesn't need one. Five, she wedges her fingers together, releasing her technique and tweakin' her descent where necessary. At first, it looks like Fissure's determined to activate his quirk no matter what damage he might sustain in the process, but at literally the last possible second –six—the muscles in his back bunch n' tense n' he breaks contact with the floor to roll himself over, hands shootin' out to intercept her. In the hard knee-to-diaphragm landing that ensues, Fissure manages to snag the visor of her helmet and rip the whole thing off in a single, savage pull, even as blood, spittle, n' all the air in his body comes whooshin' up out of him.
She doesn't wait for him to recover, instead seizin' him by his other hand, this one contorted n' locked just outta range of her throat, where his frenzied strike drew up short. Relievin' Fissure of his gravity, she nimbly rolls herself over n' off of him, haulin' him along for the ride. Tethered by her grip, he completes a wide, perfect arc that terminates in his second spine-to-floor collision in less than a minute. Ochako winces when he snaps back against the ground like a bent sapling, but climbs swiftly to her feet all the same, catchin' her fingers in his dark sweater and hurlin' him effortlessly up toward the ceiling. Disoriented an' breathless as he is, he's got no way of stoppin' himself from bouncin' off the light fixture she's (unintentionally) thrown him at, so he hits at rammin' speed, crackin' casing an' florescent bulb alike, and rebounds with a low, wounded moan. Meanwhile, she touches first her index, then her middle and ring fingers to her thumb, drastically slowin' and ultimately outright freezin' him in place –ensurin' he's far away from any surfaces he might shove off of or destroy, yet also close enough to the ceiling that Maven and their kigu-costumed ally won't be able to jump up and smack him outta the air or drag him back down to earth.
Vaguely, while she's fixin' him into position, she spies her helmet nearby, busted and ruined where it'd been flung out of Fissure's grasp at some point, likely while she was ragdollin' him around the office. Ochako mourns the exclusive software bundle she's just lost, already reconcilin' herself to a diet of ramen and rice for the next few months so she can eventually spring for a replacement…at least until Kirishima finds out she's savin' up again and dreams up every flimsy pretext under the sun to invite her over for meals a la Bakugou –a scenario which has, embarrassingly, played out before. More than once, actually…
Castin' off thoughts of her own impending destitution, she gives Fissure a final once-over, and sees him takin' belated, angry stock of his situation. He flails helplessly, makin' mad grabs for something, anything to ground him or help him generate a little momentum, but without some external force to act on him, no amount of wigglin' or swimming'll make a lick o' difference. Apparently sensin' her her attention, Fissure abruptly stops struggling and glowers down at her, gaze knife-edged with demented purpose and frightening promise.
Partially to offset the unease of bein' so suddenly and single-mindedly menaced, she calls up to him,
"Be good for me an' stay put, 'kay? I'll be back to check up on ya' in no time." She winks at him when his response is to flash both of Bakugou's favorite fingers at her, and then she pivots on her heel and takes off after the girl in the kigurumi, who's got a solid head-start on her. 'Course, no matter how many floors the girl's cleared, Ochako's quirk'll make catchin' up a piece of cake, but she still fully sprints for the stairwell, not wantin' to waste a second. Her gut agitatedly insists that the faster she can bag kigu-girl and get back to help Bakugou wrangle the Maven, the better.
In the midst of their violently tangled-together brawl, Katsuki notices peripherally what his opponent can see directly: Uraraka, racing for the stairs, and the Freak, pinned in midair, furiously –if pointlessly—thrashing. Under a shitting minute, and they're already one down.
He makes no attempt to stifle the feral smug smearin' its way across his face as the Maven's washes out with naked disbelief.
this was supposed to be two pages, max.
*headdesk*
[next chapter: shit hits fan, uraraka wears bakugou like a seatbelt.]