Night Out
Every dorm room had an attached veranda with a luxurious view of the campus and the city beyond. Izuku knew better than to hope they weren't being watched. Each balcony, each door, even the basements were recorded to ensure no villains sneaking in or, more importantly, no students sneaking out.
Not only had Izuku made sketches of their dorm floor plan, but he had noted the cameras on each door, potential hidden cameras behind signs, and the routes and times of the cleaning personnel. A white shirt, brown cap and khaki slacks mean that he could walk right out of the building, with a trash bag for show, and vanish around the dumpster.
A dumpster with a giant centipede, its ten inches swaying defiantly upright in the wind. Izuku grimaced and tossed the bag in, running through the darkness and leaping over the wall.
Several blocks away, he folded up his hat and pants beneath a bush. That left him in his new outfit—black gloves, a tie and a dark vest that he put over his shirt. It didn't give him the armor of his usual costume—he couldn't find anything like that for sale for civilians and he couldn't risk the that kind of purchase being traced back to himself. Maybe later, if he could talk to one of the costume designers…
The streets were empty, all pawn shops, cheap grocery stores and head shops with bars on windows. It wasn't the hot part of town, and the cars were far and few between. The streetlamps were even fewer.
Just a normal patrol, he thought to himself. I'm just doing a normal patrol. All I've done so far is leave without permission and wear different clothes. Nothing's happened yet. Nothing's happened. Nothing will happen. The odds are totally against it. It's just a test run, just—
An explosion of glass and fire.
Izuku jumped back from the sidewalk, hiding in the darkness of the alley. It wasn't really an explosion—only a pop and bang as one of the windows was smashed outward and three men came jumping and stumbling into the street, their hands laden with money dripping from between their fingers, from out of their pockets.
"Clumsy," Izuku mumbled to himself, watching as one tripped over the twisted bars and fell on his shoulder. "Amateurs with a little experience, newbie in the back, probably an inside job with an employee…"
They headed for a car parked across the street, and out of reflex, Izuku sent a flick of pressure into its engine, igniting a real explosion that sent them sprawling backwards as flaming bits of metal landed around them. With panicked screams, they ran in earnest, fleeing blindly past Izuku into the alley—
—right into a dumpster and the wall. Amid their cursing and accusing each other, Izuku stepped into the middle of the alley, intentionally scuffing the pavement so they heard him.
One of the thieves screamed and dropped the money. Needles shot out of his fingertips even as he turned, snarling as he sent a dozen sharp points at Izuku's face.
His eyes widening, Izuku reacted even as his breath caught, moving with all the speed of his training. The wave from Izuku's backhand scattered the points and punched into the thief's shoulder, spinning him back around and into the wall. In the darkness he only saw the man's silhouette, a shape a head taller than himself—felt the dark heat of something splashing his face. Remembered that people without armor and defensive quirks couldn't take a hit like that.
As the body fell, Izuku felt the heat of the next attack and saw the red glow growing bright behind him. Shaking, he turned his head and saw the ribbon of fire coming at his face. Like swatting aside a fly, he sent the flame rebounding back into the other's face, for an instant giving Izuku a bright red flash of the man's skin charring—and then the man fell, first with screams, then choked groans and then nothing.
Gasping and not knowing why, Izuku looked at the last thief, the clumsy amateur who now curled up against the dumpster, gibbering and crying into his hands. The stench that followed was almost enough to make Izuku vomit. A hoard of roaches and a huge centipede scurried toward the dumpster, lured in by the scent of death and decay. Izuku gagged and took half a step back, then realized there was nothing else coming.
"Toxic fumes?" Izuku put his forearm over his nose and mouth. "Or maybe…?"
A wail came from the back of the man's throat. There were bugs crawling all over him, and Izuku realized that was the whole attack. He lowered his hand, grimacing at the sight.
"They had real quirks," Izuku muttered to himself. "Mostly…even that last one could be a defensive quirk. And instead they're knocking over pawn shops. "
Izuku looked at him for a moment, clenching his fists. The money they'd stolen rustled underfoot. Men like these were why society needed heroes. And the things Izuku had done were why the government wanted to restrict heroes.
Over the weak mewling, Izuku heard police sirens and growing voices—heroes assigned to this patrol, and the police on their heels.
Test run over. Time to leave.
Only when he stood washing up in front of his bathroom mirror did he notice how his hands were still shaking and how a tiny bit of blood had landed on his shirt collar. He shuddered as he cleaned it, remembering how the girls had once described getting blood on their skirts and cleaning it with soap pastes, laughing as the boys squirmed. He couldn't stop his muttering, recalling their conversation, their laughter, as he washed the blood.
"Test failure," he mumbled, then amended. "Partial failure. No detection—superhero response time only slightly better than police. No fingerprints—never touched them directly. The probability of any security cameras is nil and the street was poorly lit at best. And the third one never saw me. The other two are…"
He choked. Coughed. Squeezed his eyes shut tight and washed his clothes faster.
Hot water scalded his hands.