I've got two projects due tomorrow. Yippee. Honestly, while they're both kind of complicated, I'm looking forward to them a little. Each of them is somewhat up my alley. However, I've never really been a project person. I like to be given something to get done and get it done immediately, not spend hours on it. I always get them done, though, no matter how much I try to procrastinate. I wouldn't be taking the time to post this if I didn't know for sure I could finish them up this afternoon. And I've got errands to run, too. Ugh. It's almost like I'm becoming an adult. Somebody stop me.

The sleeping medication causes me to sleep through breakfast. Ashido's banging and Uraraka's urgent calling hardly manage to wake me up in time to run to school. As I slump into my desk with a groan, I realize that, having missed breakfast, and with lunch being at school, I won't have any chance to poison them today. A low growl rumbles in my throat as I'm confronted with the reality that I'll have to change my plans by either slowing them down or speeding them up. Dabi said Kurogiri was very clear that, if it's not administered regularly, the effect of the poison won't be strong enough to show. So far today, my only stroke of luck is that I fell asleep in my uniform last night.

Needless to say, it isn't easy for me to act in any way chummy today. For the first few hours, I can still feel the sluggishness of the medication, and even after that, the fact that I was forcefully woken has me yawning throughout the day. And since I had to jump out of bed and run, I didn't get the chance to grab my candy. Even with the box of cigarettes scrunched up in my pocket, it's not like I can just take out my lighter and light one.

The girls are social with with during their free time since I was open yesterday, even some of the boys daring to talk to me during lunch. I'm unable to resist taking a swing at Mineta when he makes a particularly vulgar comment about my ass, but since the little cretin manages to avoid it, the girls flock to my defense, not his. Classes drag by second by second, like the ticking of a clock, although there isn't one on the walls. When the end bell rings, I throw back on my jacket (having left it draped on the back of my chair during class) and stand. As I'm flipping my hair out of the leather, Uraraka rises to her feet and asks, "Do you want to walk back together?"

"Sorry," I dismiss her curtly, meeting our teacher's eyes. "I'm going home tonight."

"Is that allowed?"

"Yep." I brush past her and, as I'm heading out the door, tell Aizawa, "I'm leaving, then."

"Kyou," Shouto's voice has me pausing to listen, "where are you going?"

I glance at him over my shoulder. He, like everyone else, has risen out of his seat, but unlike the others, he's stepped after me. I see the unease in his eyes and force a smirk more confident than I feel. "Visiting Dad. You should come see him sometime. He hasn't had the chance to see you since Mom died."

As I hoped it would, the mention of my mother causes him to retreat a bit, and I take the opportunity to exit the room. I sigh as I make my way down the hall, students beginning to spill out of their classes. Everyone's always so touchy about my mother's death. Truth is, though, I was over it before I could even grieve. Even at such a young age, I was already showing the tendencies of a villain. It's honestly strange it's taken me this long to set myself on this path.

I light up a cigarette the second I'm off the campus. After taking a moment to enjoy the fleeting rush and resulting calm that the nicotine sends through my limbs, I send Dabi a text and head off. About ten minutes later I push open the door to a burger joint. I order myself a cheeseburger and, upon the request of the response to my earlier text, a hamburger, and a large fry, paying with a couple wrinkled bills that had been crushed beneath my cigarettes. I snag the bag when it's ready and leave. A long walk and another smoke later, I've arrived at our hideout.

My dark haired companion puts away his phone upon my entrance, and I plop myself on a neighboring beanbag to unpack our meal. Since it's already lost most of its heat, he sets a small blaze alight in his hand and we hold our food over it for a bit before eating. As he takes the first bite of his hamburger, he asks, "So, how'd you get out?"

"Th' 'eachuh 'ent me 'ome," I answer through a mouthful of burger. Swallowing, I shrug, "I guess it was supposed to be some kind of disciplinary action, like notifying my dad and having him ground me or something."

He raises an eyebrow. "The Magician punishing someone?"

"He's never scolded me a day in my life," I confirm, chomping off another bite. I chew it, taking the time to consider my next words. "I wasn't able to give them the poison today because of it, though. Do you think I should wait? I'd honestly rather do that, but if the UA is really concerned about me, sooner might be better than later."

I snatch a couple of fries as I wait for his reply.

After few bites to collect his thoughts, he decides, "If you're going to do it, then I think you should hurry up."

I glare at him when he implies I'll back out and take my next bite harshly. "Right, then. I'll do it as soon as I can."

When I don't say anything after that, he takes it upon himself to continue the conversation. "So," he begins, watching me stuff a handful of fries in my mouth, "are you going to actually go home tonight?"

Still a little irritated, I snap a short, "Probably." When he waits for more, I let out another long breath and relent. When he wants answers, he tends to be pretty stubborn about getting them. "I don't want to give them any more reason to keep me on a tight leash before I act."

"I see," he accepts.

"Because of that," I go on, "I should probably get going. I might get in trouble if I stay out until dark, and I've still got something I need to do."

"What?"

I give him an annoyed glance as I stand, stuffing the wrapper of my food back in the bag. "Stuff for that thing you don't believe I've got the guts to do."

He smirks. "I know you've got the drive. I just don't know if you're hard enough to pull it off."

I wad up the bag and chuck it at his face. He catches it without trouble. Kicking aside a beer can by my feet, I excuse myself with a quick, "Later," and leave him to finish his food. In an effort not to deplete my cigarette supply too quickly, I drop by a convenience store to purchase a small bag of mixed candy on my way to my destination.

Said destination lies conveniently close to our hideout, and between it and my house. It's a little ways out of the way, if you consider the alleys you have to wind through to get to it, but no more than a five minute detour each way. The abandoned little building rises only a measly three floors, shorter than the towering old structures around it. Without glass in the windows, boards are nailed in place to keep out the wind. The front door is missing, too, the hole haphazardly boarded up similarly to the windows. Those boards, however, are too sparse to keep anything out. I easily contort myself to slip through them into the dark lobby beyond. The entrance smells of mildew and rat piss, each retained by the remnants of carpet left stuck to the floor. The smell is unappetizing enough that I'm forced to spit out my jawbreaker, flicking it into a corner so dark it swallows the white little ball like an abyss. My eyes gradually adjust to the dimness as I make my way to some of the back rooms. The first one is locked, but the second one, one missing a door, holds what I'm looking for.

The figure on the couch startles awake at the noise of my rummaging, and for a minute, the man just stares at me dumbfounded. It doesn't take him long to start sputtering, "W-What the hell? What're you doing you bitch! This is my stuff!"

When the dude lunges to grab me, I roll to the side, grab his arm, and twist it behind his back. He huffs, already spent even before he starts to struggle, and I take advantage of our position to glance at his arm. It's too dark to see anything. I block him when he tries to whack me with his free hand, shoving him closer to the window for better lighting. With my suspicions then confirmed, I jerk him closer and growl, "Where do you keep the syringe?"

He spits, "Fuck off!"

"I said—" I kick him to his knees and whirl him around, just barely keeping him upright with a hand twisted in the collar of his shirt. "—where. Do you keep. The syringe?"

This time he literally spits. My jaw clenches as I wipe away the wet splotch above my eye. Patience dwindling, I snarl, "Don't make me use my quirk."

"Use it," he dares, glaring at me defiantly.

Still holding him in place, I squat down to his level, reigning in my voice until it comes out with an underlying chill. "Listen, scum. My quirk won't hurt you at all. What it will do is sink into you brain and dig around. It'll dig out everything you hate, everything you fear, and throw you into hell. People I use my quirk on lose all sense of sanity, consumed by every single negative emotion you try to escape by injecting yourself with that syringe. No amount of heroine can help you. So tell me where the syringe is and go find yourself another." When he continues to gripe, I shove him down roughly, and he collapses like a pile of twigs on the room's bare concrete floor.

He then spins to continue harassing his intruder and seizes, his eyes turning saucers as they graze across the pattern on the hand set against my forehead. A guttural choking rises in his throat. His body begins to shake uncontrollably as his eyes fly from my palm, but unfortunately for him, once my quirk has kicked into gear, it isn't something you can simply stop. He scrambles back until he collides with the wall, then keeps pushing back as if he doesn't realize he's hit it. I lower my hand with a grimace and return to ransacking his stuff. There isn't much, really. Just stuff he's accumulated. Some boxes, some cans, an old sock, anything that might prove slightly useful to him. I'm just leaving the pile he's got in the corner when he begins to retch. Despite my best efforts, as I make my way to the couch he was on earlier, I can't help but glance his way. Without any food in his stomach, acid spews from his mouth with a uniquely foul stench, splashing onto the floor. I turn away before I can gag and tiptoe out of reach of the splattering substance. When I pull the needle out from under a pillow, I whirl without delay and take my leave, ready to be out of this place.

I delicately place the syringe in my pocket and duck under a board to get out the entrance. Released from that horrid place, I suck in a deep breath of clean, non-scented air. Then I pop an orange cream flavored drop in my mouth and reroute myself back home. I try not to think about the disgusting scene I left behind.

Towering wrought iron gates meet me upon my return. I eye them with trepidation, a strange new nervousness settling over me. Despite the grandeur of the twisting metal designs, never once have I hesitated to push open the gates to my house. They've always been there, ever since I can remember, as natural as breathing. For some reason, however, this time, they give me pause.

Should I be worried? I still don't know why I've been sent home. What is it waiting for me beyond this fence?

I reach out, my fingers curling over a stone-cold rose suspended between two bars, and push.

This chapter would have been longer, except if I had finished what I wanted to get done in this chapter, it would've been at least twice as long as my usual length. So I split it. I think there's enough content in what's to come to make it a chapter unto itself, so look forward to that! I don't really have much more to say other than thanks for reading, and I hope to see you all again next chapter.