As they rode the elevator down from Izuku's apartment, Mina felt her nerves rising. Not about the impending conversations with Ochako and Momo, really. No, she was more worried about how the hell she was supposed to go out in public.

As the floors dinged away, she began, "So, uh…how exactly are we going to get there without causing a shitstorm? Because I get the feeling that I won't be welcome wherever we're going."

Ochako and Momo exchanged a look, and Mina couldn't help but wonder if they'd even thought about that. Had they even realized how different her experience would be from theirs?

After a second, Ochako said, "Momo, just make her one of the gizmos."

Momo raised an eyebrow. "That's not what it's called," she said. "It's a holographic-"

"I don't care what it's called, it's a gizmo," Ochako repeated, grinning mischievously. If Mina wasn't so goddamn confused about what they were talking about, she would have laughed.

Momo gave a long-suffering sigh, and held out her hand. A brief shower of sparkles erupted from her palm, and when they faded away, there was a small, flat, circular object with a tiny blue light on the top. Mina stared at it as Momo gave it to her.

"What's this?" she asked, confused. It was barely bigger than a quarter, and the base seemed to be sticky.

"It's a disguise projector," Ochako answered, gesturing to the side of her neck, where Mina spotted an identical dot attached to her skin. "It makes you look different. Most top heroes use them when they want to go out in public without being recognized."

To demonstrate, Ochako pressed the dot, which made a distinctive de-woop sound, then cast a veil of shimmering light over Ochako, which rapidly resolved itself into a picture-perfect image of a woman who was decidedly not Ochako. The same height and build, yes, but different clothes, long blonde hair in a ponytail, blue eyes, and an entirely different facial structure. She looked completely unrecognizable.

"See?" Ochako said, making Mina shudder-hearing Ochako's voice from a completely strange woman was weird. "Simple."

Momo rolled her eyes. "Not quite simple," she shot back, "But good enough, I guess. By the way, the disguise you get is randomized. Which means you ended up looking like a female All Might by complete accident."

Ochako froze. "I do?" she asked, incredulous. She stared into the reflective metal of the elevator, then muttered, "Fuck, I do. How did I not notice that on the way up?"

Mina couldn't help but chuckle. As the elevator dinged towards the first floor, Momo activated her own projector, replacing her image with that of a woman with short, red-dyed hair, multiple piercings, and a t-shirt with a rock album cover on it. Mina took a deep breath, then attached her projector to the back of her hand.

De-woop.

Mina stared at the false face she wore, barely comprehending it. Brown eyes. Freckles. Long, curly brown hair under a baseball cap. Skin so pale it nearly hurt her eyes.

It wasn't her. It was so obviously not her that for a moment Mina could only glance down at her own hands, wondering if it had somehow failed. But there they were, no longer pink-but still freckled. Odd, the things that carried over.

Mina shook her head as the elevator came to a stop. "What the hell?" she muttered.

"It's pretty weird, the first time," Ochako told her sympathetically.

Mina snorted. "Weird" was an understatement. Staring at her face and knowing that somehow she didn't look like a mutant anymore was…deeply, deeply unnerving. The face in the mirror was pretty-prettier than Mina's inhuman, scarred face, by conventional standards. But it wasn't hers. Funny, how Mina had spent years wondering what she would look like if she wasn't a mutant, and when she found out…she didn't like it much.

Luckily, she was spared from a spiral into her own self-hatred by a sudden, furious thought. "Wait a second," she said as the elevator door slid open and they walked through the building's lobby, "If these things exist, why the fuck does Izuku go around in a fucking hat and sunglasses for a disguise?"

Ochako and Momo shared an incredulous look. "He's still doing that?" they said disbelievingly.

Mina looked at them in shock. "What do you mean, "still?" she demanded.

Shaking her head and looking tempted to burst out laughing, Ochako explained, "He did that in school, too. All the rest of us were using these things, and he insisted on just going out in that stupid hat and sunglasses. Nobody expected it to work. And yet-"

"It does," Mina finished. "Some-fucking-how, it does. How the fuck does nobody spot the green-haired, six-foot-whatever dude who's built like that? How many of those can there be in this damn country?"

Ochako and Momo laughed. "Look, we don't know either," Momo agreed. "It really isn't fair."

Mina couldn't help but feel some of the tension in her body draining away as they began making their way down the street. Nobody looked twice at them. For the first time, she really started to feel like she belonged aboveground. Funny how all it took was no longer looking like a mutant.

"Speaking of Izuku being built," Ochako added as they walked, a telltale grin on her face. "It seems like you've been enjoying yourself in that regard."

Mina fought off a blush, chuckling along with Momo as she nodded. It honestly felt good to have someone to joke about this stuff with. "Definitely," she agreed. "I'm certainly not complaining."

"That's the spirit," Ochako said approvingly. "You're a lucky woman, Mina."

Mina nodded. "You have no idea," she thought, with a touch of guilt. If it wasn't for Izuku, she might well be dead now. At the very least, she wouldn't be able to walk around aboveground, free to enjoy the fresh air and sunlight, secure in knowing that she wouldn't starve to death.

"You're just saying that because you had a crush on Izuku in high school," Momo said, making Mina raise an eyebrow and Ochako turn pink.

"We agreed to never talk about that again!" the brown-haired girl said indignantly. "It was one year, dammit!"

"And you spent most of it making a fool of yourself," Momo noted.

Ochako growled. "Careful there, Little Miss Perfect," she said dangerously. "I've got plenty of stories of you and a certain half-and-half boy."

Momo blushed deeply. "I retract my statement," she mumbled. "Please don't talk about the closet incident."

Ochako nodded in satisfaction. "The three different closet incidents, you mean," she replied. "You really could not keep your hands off of Shoto."

Momo got even redder. Mina couldn't help but snicker a bit at sound made Ochako turn, an apologetic look on her face. Mina couldn't help but feel a bit wary of Ochako, given her apparent past interest in her boyfriend. Sue her, but Mina was plenty protective of what she considered hers. And Izuku was hers.

"Just to be clear, you don't have anything to worry about from me, by the way," Ochako assured her. "It was a stupid crush, and I got over it years ago. Izuku and I are just friends."

Mina nodded. She believed it; Ochako didn't strike her as the sort to scheme or lie about romantic interest. Besides, Izuku had clearly shown no interest in Ochako, and plenty in Mina.

Soon, they reached the coffee shop, which was a decent level of crowded-enough people to blend in with, not enough to feel cramped or even that busy. Momo paid for drinks and pastries while Ochako and Mina located a private booth in the back of the shop, complete with curtains to conceal the occupants. It seemed that this place had more than a little experience with heroic customers who preferred to avoid being recognized.

By the time Momo joined them, Ochako and Mina had deactivated their disguises-the projectors would recall the disguise and use it again when they left, the only exception to the randomization-and were talking again.

The conversation shifted once all three women were in the booth. At first, it had been mere small talk, but soon, it became a more focused interrogation, which Mina had honestly expected.

"So," Ochako asked, "How exactly did you save Izuku's life?"

Mina played with her half-eaten pastry-she figured she could at least pretend to have table manners-as she searched for a good way to tell the story without, y'know, revealing everything. Eventually, she responded, "It's…more or less what he said. A villain got a lucky hit, I happened to be in the area. I stepped in, took out the villain, and let Red Riot take care of Izuku."

Ochako and Momo shared a look. "You took out the villain?" Ochako repeated, clearly surprised.

Mina winced. Shit. She really wasn't good at looking like a regular old civilian. "Yeah," she admitted. "I got pretty lucky too, in hindsight."

She hadn't, but hey, they didn't need to know that.

"So, how did Izuku like being saved?" Momo asked.

Despite herself, Mina chuckled a little. "Seeing as he started chasing me all over the damn city, pretty well, I think," she said.

Ochako frowned. "Why was he doing that?" she asked.

Okay, Mina was just really fucking bad at keeping secrets, apparently. Weakly, she admitted, "I, uh, may have run away from the scene without identifying myself."

Momo and Ochako raised their eyebrows. "Why?" Momo asked.

Mina snorted, gesturing at her face. "Well, because I look like this," she replied, failing to keep bitterness out of her voice. "Is it any wonder that I wasn't keen to hang out around heroes? Or for Ejiro and Izuku to chase me around half the damn Underground?"

Ochako didn't respond, a strange, possibly understanding look on her face. Momo, though, looked mildly affronted.

"What are you talking about?" the posh girl asked. "I'm sure they just wanted to talk to you!"
"Sure," Mina said, "But I'm a mutant. I see heroes coming after me, I run. It doesn't matter what they want. They could be bringing me cake for all I care, they're still heroes."

Momo frowned, and Mina remembered that she and Ochako were heroes. Oops.

"I still don't get it," Momo admitted.

Mina rolled her eyes. Of course she didn't get it. Momo had probably never even heard of someone being wrongfully arrested or beaten up by heroes for no good reason. Mina had.

"Look, I was a thief, okay?" she snapped. "Izuku caught me stealing food at one point, and at that point I was just trying to escape with my life."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Mina saw Momo's gaze shift. Ochako's expression barely changed, but Momo's face froze like a pond in winter.
"Hang on, you were a villain?" Momo said.

Mina winced, but couldn't help the resentment that bubbled up in her gut. "By your standards? Yes. But not by mine," she shot back. "I was a homeless thief before I met Izuku. I literally stole food to get by. Tell me how that qualifies as being a villain in any system but this one."

Momo opened her mouth to say something, but Ochako elbowed her before she could. "Mina's right, Yaomomo," she murmured. Mina's eyes widened. Ochako agreed with her.

Momo caught herself, took a deep breath, and nodded. "Sorry," she said weakly. "You're right, of course."

Mina nodded, arms crossed across her chest. She remained wary, ready to react in a heartbeat. Her pulse was pounding in her veins.

"So…yeah," she said weakly, determined to end this line of conversation before it got any worse. "That's the story. A homeless thief makes a stupid decision to get involved in something that had nothing to do with her…and Izuku, bless his stupid golden heart, somehow turned that into us meeting and…falling in love, I guess. There's more to the story that that, obviously, but…"

But Mina was unwilling to share anymore. But she would take the secrets of what happened in that cavern with the Neo-Stainists and Toga to her grave. But Ochako and Momo didn't deserve to know how Mina had somehow fallen for the one man more unachievable than any other-and found that he loved her back.

Ochako nodded. "Fair enough," she said, acknowledging Mina's reluctance.

Momo chuckled lightly. "It sounds like quite the story," she agreed. "And it's nice to know that, despite everything, there's some good mutants out there."

Instantly, Mina froze. Everything stopped, icing over as cold, steady rage crept into her soul. She couldn't let that slide. With the force of a thousand unsaid shouts, she snapped, "No."

Ochako had an uncomfortable look on her face as Momo stopped mid-laugh, caught off guard by the sudden chill in Mina's eyes. "Excuse me?" she asked, weakly, awkwardly. As if she didn't know what she had just said.

"There are no "good mutants," Mina hissed, hard and bitter. She'd heard that sentiment before-to explain away any mutant who managed to escape the conditions they were kept in, to force anyone who transcended the chains of their birth back into a nice neat box to keep people comfortable in their hate. "There aren't bad mutants, either. I'm not one of the "good ones," I'm just me. I'm just like every other mutant down here, and they're all just like me."

Momo frowned. "T-that's not what I meant," she said awkwardly. "I meant that you-that Izuku clearly saw something special in you, or else he wouldn't have-"

"Wouldn't have what?" Mina interrupted. "Wouldn't have let me walk free? Wouldn't have fallen in love with me? Wouldn't have thought I was good enough to deserve either of those things?"

Momo flinched, and Mina felt her blood rise. And here she'd thought, even just for a moment, that maybe Izuku's friends would be better. Him, she was willing to believe was a decent person, willing to make the effort to bridge the gap between them. Momo, though…had casually declared most mutants as unworthy, as lesser, as something that Mina was different from because non-mutants liked her. Mina said, "Look, we...we don't fight against our evil natures or any of that shit. We're just us. We aren't the subhuman monsters we get painted as. You try to divide us into men and monsters...but there's no such thing. There's just people. And either we're all "the good ones," or none of us are."

Momo faltered, looking deeply uncomfortable. She didn't seem angry, exactly, which Mina found herself thankful for; some part of her realized that maybe pissing off a hero wasn't a great idea, especially when she was in their power. A shiver ran down her spine as the awkward silence stretched on.

Mina felt acid prickle in her hands, though Momo had made no hostile move. Her teeth were gritted, her shoulders hunched. Momo couldn't meet her eyes.

Then, Ochako's hand covered Mina's. Mina looked up, startled, acid dripping away. She met Ochako's eyes, and the brown-haired woman shook her head ever so slightly. Mina saw a look she couldn't name in Ochako's face, something between rock-hard sternness and aching empathy.

Softly, but firmly, Ochako said, "I think that's enough. Momo, could you give us a moment?"

Still looking awkward and horrified, Momo frowned. "I…" she began hesitantly, before catching herself. She sighed. "Okay."

The tall woman stood from the table, leaving the private booth in a swish of fabric. Mina wasn't sure whether she'd moved with embarrassment or anger, and struggled to find it in herself to care.

Now alone with Ochako, Mina braced herself for an argument. She expected Ochako to argue, to lecture her on respect, to take her friend's side. Why wouldn't she? It was what Mina would do.

Instead, Ochako laid her hand on Mina's again, and softly said, "I…apologize for Momo. She's…I love her, I do, but she grew up rich. There are so many things she doesn't know…so many things she doesn't realize she's been taught. She tries, but sometimes she…well, says things like that."

Mina's head shot up, and she stared at Ochako, surprised and confused. What?

Still, Mina's eyes narrowed. "You say that like you're different," she said, icy calm.

Ochako smiled apologetically. "I like to think I am," she replied, shrugging.

Mina moved her hand away, maintaining the gap between them. "We all like to think things," she scoffed. "I like to think that I'm not a monster. I like to think that I deserve better than to be forced to live in a cave. I like to think that I'm not "one of the good ones." A shame the world seems to disagree."

To her credit, Ochako didn't flinch. Her smile did fade a little, though, replaced by a steady, firm expression. Calmly, she said, "Look. I get it. I can't imagine what you've been through…but I understand."

Mina frowned. "How does that make sense?" she asked. "What are you talking about?"

For the first time since Mina had met her, Ochako hesitated. She looked unsure of herself, clearly debating what to say next. At last, she responded, "It's…hard to explain. But believe me, the last thing I want to do is judge you, or make you feel unwelcome."

Mina felt the icy rage in her chest begin to thaw. Ochako hadn't been angry, hadn't brushed off the things Momo had said. She was trying to bridge the gap. Mina…could respect that.

Awkwardly, she answered, "It's not you that's making me feel unwelcome. It's…all of this."

Mina gestured around them, to the fancy booth in a bustling shop, to the people who would scream in terror if they saw her face, to the world she didn't belong to.

To Mina's surprise, Ochako smiled. It wasn't the beaming, sunny smile she'd seen on the brown-haired woman's face so often, though. It was the wry, bitter, amused smile of someone who knew where they belonged, and knew that that place certainly wasn't here. It was the kind of smile Mina had been wearing ever since she started living with Izuku.

"I know what you mean," Ochako chuckled, crossing her arms. She'd made no attempt to touch Mina again, giving her space, giving her agency. Mina forced herself to not feel grateful for it.

"Do you?" she asked, her voice still flinty, her body still drawn in tight, as if trying to protect herself.

Ochako nodded. She drummed her fingers on the table, eyes distant, a bitter smile on her lips. She looked like a different person than Mina had seen; or maybe it was a side of her that she hid, refusing to let it out. Maybe she'd never had anyone to let it out around before. "Better than you think, I imagine," Ochako told her. "I grew up in the poorest, most rural part of Japan. There wasn't much difference between mutants and non-mutants there-we were all equally broke. My parents…they did their best to shelter me from it, but I went to bed hungry some nights. That isn't the kind of thing you forget. It shapes you, leaves scars you can't hide."

Mina's eyes widened. It was as if Ochako had pulled the words from Mina's very soul. She understood the wry chuckle on Ochako's lips, the madness of finding another person who knew. Mina nodded. "I know," she whispered, not trusting herself to say anything more.

Ochako nodded, as if to herself. She continued, "We didn't have heroes, where I grew up. We didn't have many villains, either…but the ones we did have weren't important enough to stop. The heroes didn't care. So what if a few rickety farmhouses get knocked down? They weren't fit for people to live in anyway. Why bother going all the way out there to protect a couple dirty farmers or a tiny town where nobody has a job?"

Mina was silent. She didn't know what to say. It was…eye-opening, in a way. She'd always thought that there were two worlds, above the ground and below it. One was perfect, the other hellish. And yet…Ochako existed.

Ochako was still speaking. She told Mina, "When I first walked into UA, I knew I didn't belong. It was like a crawling feeling up my spine; I was sure that it was no place for a broke girl with a rural accent. I was determined to hide myself, to be someone who did belong. I don't think I've ever stopped. Even now, part of me refuses to believe that I'm actually a hero. Surely everyone can tell I'm just a fake."

Ochako looked Mina dead in the eyes, and Mina felt a distant sort of shock at how deeply she understood the expression on the shorter woman's face. It was bitter and hungry and hopeless and amused all at once. Most of all, though, it was kind, kind in a way Mina had never seen before. Tsu was kind, Fumi had…been kind. But they had been naturally kind, so much so that nothing could have kept it from surfacing. But Ochako wore her kindness like scars, brandishing it like a weapon. It was an angry kindness.

Mina remembered Tsu's words, the last time she'd seen her, and wondered. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe the people who she'd called family had this same sort of kindness. Maybe that was the only kind of kindness there was.

Ochako finished, "So…yeah. I do understand, Mina. Not everything, of course not. But I think…we all experience hunger the same way. The bitterness, the fury. The knowledge that a truly just world wouldn't be like this."

Fumbling for words, Mina managed to ask, "How…how do you bear it? How did you become a hero, knowing what they do?"

Ochako snorted. "For the money, of course," she replied, throwing Mina off once again. "And I used to be ashamed about that. But I'm not anymore. Why should I be? I've never had money in my life-and not through any fault of my own. Why should I blush about it? I don't want to be rich-I never did. I just wanted my family to have enough to eat."

Mina laughed. She couldn't help it. Oh, what she would give to watch a conversation between Ochako and a Neo-Stainist. But, well…that was just it, she realized. Everyone wanted a simple narrative, a clear enemy, true evil to define themselves against. But the world was never so kind.

Then, Ochako turned her hands over, and Mina's eyes widened once again. Staring at the fleshy, unnatural pads on her fingers, Mina gasped, "Y-your hands…you're…"

Ochako looked down, and winced when she realized she'd revealed them. It seemed like an unconscious habit to keep her hands closed or hidden most of the time. "Yeah," she admitted quietly. "I wouldn't go so far as to call myself a mutant, but…yes. My quirk relies on physical mutations…and yet nobody's ever called me a mutant. And that's the issue, isn't it? The lines we draw between ourselves…they're so thin. So blurry. What is a mutant, anyway? Most people have some sort of physical mutation related to their quirk. I have my pads. Momo's body is way denser and more efficient at processing lipids than a normal person. Doesn't that count? Hell, you've met Ejiro. Do his teeth make him a mutant? They're definitely not like a normal human's. That distinction, the categories we use to define each other-they're meaningless. They always have been."

Mina nodded along, her mind reeling. She'd never thought about it that way. She'd always assumed that there was a reason people like her had been singled out. But it was so much more complex-nothing was ever simple. Ochako was right.

"I'd…never considered that," Mina admitted. "I…I've always let those categories define my view of the world. Mutants and non-mutants. Abovegrounders and belowgrounders."

Ochako nodded. "It's hard not to," she agreed. "When everyone is telling you that they're real, when everyone divides themselves along those lines. But if you want to bridge those gaps, you have to realize that, often, there's not a gap there to bridge at all. It's like you said, to Momo. There's no such thing as men and monsters. There's just people."

Mina smiled. She couldn't help it. For the first time, something inside her really, truly hoped that she might be able to make this relationship with Izuku work. Maybe she could survive the spotlight she'd inevitably face.

"Now," Ochako said softly after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "Should I go ahead and tell Momo she can come back in?"

Mina hesitated. Softly, she said, "I…don't know. I don't want to let her off just because we had a nice conversation."

"That's okay," Ochako replied. "Just…if I know Momo, she's feeling awful right now because she messed up. She screwed up, but that's how we learn. From our mistakes. Would you be willing to give her a chance? I think she'll surprise you."

Mina took a deep breath, and thought about it. She decided…she decided that she could. One chance. No more.

"Okay," she said. "I'll give her a shot."

Ochako smiled gratefully, and slipped out of the booth.

When Momo re-entered the booth, she looked very different from the proud woman who Mina had met. She seemed nervous, unable to meet Mina's eyes. Mina said nothing; if Momo wanted forgiveness, she'd have to ask.

At last, Momo worked up her courage, and said, "I'm…sorry, Mina. I shouldn't have said that."

"Yeah," Mina said bluntly, "You shouldn't have."

Momo winced. Ochako said nothing, clearly letting the two of them hash it out.

Mina extended her hand, and Momo looked up in shock as Mina laid her fingers over Momo's.

"But," Mina continued, "as much as you hurt me, I'm not in the business of hating people over one mistake. And it was a mistake."

She met Momo's eyes, daring her to disagree. Momo nodded. "I-it was," she said. "I…won't do it again, I promise."

"That's all I'm asking," Mina said. "Learn from it, alright? I know you probably haven't ever had somebody tell you when you're wrong about people like me. That's not my job, but…well, I'm not in the mood to make enemies over something stupid and thoughtless that got said at a coffee shop. So…truce?"

Momo took her hand, looking grateful, and Mina knew that, despite it all, she could be friends with this woman. She was strong enough to admit her own failings, and learn from them. Mina had no place to ask for anything more than that.

"Truce," Momo agreed. Ochako smiled happily as Mina withdrew her hand.

"Now then," the brown-haired woman said with a laugh, "Are we finally allowed to hear how Izuku's clothes got everywhere in his apartment?"

Mina's grin was blindingly white, and so full of mischief that she was pretty sure it made Izuku shudder from miles and miles away.

"Oh, definitely," she said. "I've got some stories to tell."

The war between the Outcasts and the Tunnel rats lasted two weeks.

Two weeks of bloodshed, of men and women dying and killing in the closest quarters imaginable; face-to-face in tunnels no wider than them, cramped and claustrophobic, suffocating under thousands upon thousands of tons of earth above. Two weeks of knife-fights in the belly of the beast. Two weeks of making the ground shake and the Depths howl, as the Outcasts pressed the Tunnel Rats back, back, back into their tunnels, forcing them ever closer to the Nexus, their home base. Two weeks of blood and fire staining the stone.

Mezou and Tsu, still living in a sort of limbo in Homeland, unable to go back home-if that house on the cliffside really was home anymore-saw it all. The endless tide of wounded, the way Ibara seemed constantly exhausted, but thriving at the same time. The way Fumikage's expression grew ever more strained, as though each casualty weighed on him like a ton of bricks.

Knowing him, they did.

Perhaps that was why Mezou wasn't surprised to hear a knock on the door of the small home Fumikage had given to him and Tsu. Sure enough, when he opened the door, Fumi stood there, dark cloak hanging off his frame. Kamakiri-who often clung to Fumikage like a shadow-was nowhere to be seen.

"Can I come in?" Fumikage asked. He sounded distracted, and deeply tired.

Mezou held his gaze for a moment, wondering where all the anger he'd had at Fumikage when they'd first reconnected had gone. Then, wordlessly, he stepped aside, allowing Fumikage to enter.

Fumikage nodded gratefully as the door closed behind him. He said, "I hate to interrupt, but…I need to talk to you."

Mezou nodded as he led Fumikage into the small living room. The two sat in the ratty, rickety chairs with dead silence still stretching between them. Fumikage looked around for a second, seemingly hesitant. Eventually, he asked, "Where's Tsu?"

"The hospital," Mezou answered. "She's…needed there. Ibara asked her to help."

Fumikage nodded. Neither of them needed elaboration; they both knew how bad the fighting had gotten, how many Outcasts had had to go to the massive tent complex that served as Homeland's hospital. And how many hadn't come back out.

The silence fell again, and Mezou wondered just how shaken Fumi was; he seemed vastly different to the confident, proud leader who had welcomed them to the city he'd built. He seemed apprehensive, nervous, as if he didn't want to be here.

Then why had he come?

Eventually, Mezou sighed, crossing his arms as he demanded, "Alright, Fumi, spit it out. What do you want to talk about?"

Fumikage drummed his fingers on the armrest of the old, broken chair. At last, he said, "We've pushed the Tunnel Rats back to the Nexus. The war is almost over."

Mezou nodded thoughtfully. The Nexus was one of many strange features of the Depths, a place where dozens of tunnels converged on a single point, forming the perfect logistics hub for a smuggler organization like the Tunnel Rats, who depended on their mastery of the tunnels and ability to transport goods and people through the whole Underground faster and sneakier than anyone else. Of course, like the headquarters of every organization in the Depths-including the Outcasts-the Nexus was also a fantastic defensive position. The Tunnel Rats had total control of every approach, and could flank or escape any assault with ease. And that wasn't even taking into account the fact that they had access to weapons well beyond the means of any other gang.

"That's good news," Mezou mused, wondering to himself when he'd started considering the impending destruction of one of the most powerful gangs in the Depths to be good news. "But you still have to breach the Nexus itself. And that'll be…"

"Difficult," Fumikage agreed with a snort, amused at the supreme understatement. "But not impossible. Not with me."

Mezou raised an eyebrow. If it were anyone else, he would have thought it was empty bluster. But Fumikage…Fumikage didn't bluster. His cold, steady eyes told the truth. He really thought he could do this.

"Why have you come to me, then?" he asked. "It sounds like you've got things pretty well handled."

Fumikage sighed, then met his eyes. "Because I'm worried about what will happen after I handle the Tunnel Rats," he replied.

Mezou didn't know what that was supposed to mean. Wordlessly, he gestured for Fumikage to keep talking.

Fumikage did just that. "After I destroyed Clawhome," he explained, "I…struggled with Dark Shadow for a day or so. He got antsy, wanting to be let loose again. He…enjoyed the destruction. It took everything I had to keep him under control, to remind him of our deal."

Mezou felt a chill run down his spine. He'd suspected Fumikage had had a hand in the destruction of Clawhome, but to hear him say it so casually, so calmly…it was deeply unnerving. Mezou remembered seeing the mighty pillar smashed apart, cleaved into three with terrifying ease by something truly enormous. Fumikage had never been that powerful, at least that Mezou could remember. Strong, yes. But that strong? Only Atlas could match power like that.

What had Fumi become?

Mezou forced his concerns down as Fumikage continued, "I…want you to come along, Mezou. You won't have to fight. But I want someone there who knows how precarious my control can be, and who can help me maintain it. Because if I want to defeat the Tunnel Rats, I'm going to have to let Dark Shadow loose."

Mezou frowned. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked.

Fumikage said, "Ideally, nothing. But if I falter, if Dark Shadow starts getting free…I want you to be there. Dark Shadow knows you. He likes you. Maybe…maybe that'll make him hesitate."

Mezou didn't think so. It was a dangerous game, assigning human qualities to Dark Shadow-he was, at the end of the day, something inhuman, something so strange and unique that not even Fumikage really understood what he was. Or if he did, Mezou's oldest friend had never said anything about it. But to Mezou, Dark Shadow had never really seemed to have emotions like that. He could feign them, certainly, and had a dry sense of humor that played particularly well off of his dour host. But at the end of the day, he was a shadow monster, and if he had any feelings, they were likely to be as unknowable as his true form.

"And if he doesn't hesitate?" Mezou asked evenly, arms crossed over his chest.

Fumikage took a deep breath, then met Mezou's eyes. "Then you're one of the only people in this whole city who could stop him," he said. "And the one I trust the most to…do what needs to be done."

Mezou felt hollow at that. He didn't dare put the feeling that ran through him into words. It was some strange mix of pride and affection and deep, deep horror at what Fumikage had just asked of him. But he knew he could do it. It wouldn't be easy-it would be the fight of his life. He had a better than even chance of losing it, too. Dark Shadow was just too strong, down here in the dark. But he had a chance.

Fumikage stood. "It's your choice, of course," he said. "But if you're going to do it, we're getting ready to move out soon. I'm sorry it's such short notice, but…this fight has cost us all too much already. I want to end it before any more blood is spilled."

Mezou nodded. He should talk with Tsu, he knew. She would tell him all the reasons he shouldn't do it, be his conscience, as she so often was. But she wasn't here, and…and dammit, he was through with sitting on the sidelines. He wasn't meant for it. The anger in his chest was rattling at its cage, and something deep inside him refused to stand idly by while Fumikage, his brother in all the ways that mattered, was about to enter a warzone.

Some part of his brain reminded him that this was a slippery slope, that going to war alongside the Outcasts was getting uncomfortably close to joining them. But dammit, Mezou didn't care. Why should he be so apprehensive, anyway? Fumi was their leader, and he'd built something miraculous here, something Mezou hadn't realized he'd been yearning for all his life. Why shouldn't he join?

He wouldn't. Not yet. But Mezou found himself unbothered by that slippery slope. He focused on the man before him, on Fumi, and said, "I'll come."

Fumikage didn't smile. His weary, focused expression barely shifted. But Mezou caught a flicker of relief in his eyes as Fumikage said, "Thank you, Mezou. Come on, they're gathering right now."

When Mezou and Fumikage arrived, the group of fifty or so mutants barely seemed surprised. There was some of the usual admiration and hero-worship in the eyes of many of the troops Mezou didn't recognize, but less of it than usual-it seemed that Fumikage had picked a group of fighters who were either familiar with him or less inclined to the sort of awe common on the streets of Homeland. Perhaps it was both.

They made their way through the winding tunnels outside of Homeland-still as busy as an aboveground freeway in many places, another sign of how large and successful the settlement had become-and quickly headed towards the frontlines of the fighting. If anyone was surprised by Mezou's presence in the group, they didn't say anything. He wasn't sure if that was because they didn't care, or because they assumed he was a part of the Outcasts already. He supposed it didn't matter.

In fact, the only person who did seem bothered by his presence was Kuroiro. He, Kamakiri, and Ibara were all part of the group-Ibara had apparently left the hospital in capable hands specifically to come along and keep Fumikage from getting too badly hurt. As they filed through silent, twisting tunnels, Mezou found himself walking next to both of the men he'd fought to the death just two weeks earlier.

Sullenly, Kuroiro murmured, "I still don't understand why a vigilante of all people is coming with us."

Mezou raised an eyebrow, looking down at the shorter man. Kuroiro glared back, looking disdainful. Mezou was pretty sure he could still see the odd, jagged scars running over his skin from their fight.

Mezou didn't respond, but Kamakiri turned his head to shoot Kuroiro a look that was half annoyed, half amused. "He's here because Fumikage wanted him to be," he said with the air of someone quoting a divine decree. For Kamakiri, it probably was. "Or do I need to remind you that the vigilante kicked your ass?"

Kuroiro huffed, but turned away without saying a word. He stepped away, falling back to join Ibara instead. Mezou was pretty sure Kuroiro was just cranky all the time, if he was being honest. When he wasn't being batshit crazy, that is.

Turning to look at Kamakiri, Mezou idly said, "I really don't get why you're defending me."

"I'm not," Kamakiri said cryptically, "Though Kuroiro is wrong to be so hostile. You've proven your worth."

Mezou raised an eyebrow. "I tried to kill you," he pointed out.

Kamakiri shrugged. "That happens," he said. "Besides, I was trying to kill you, too."

"Exactly," Mezou said. "So…why the hell are we here having a casual conversation?"

Kamakiri shrugged again. "I don't hold grudges," he said evenly. Too evenly, if you asked Mezou. "Besides, the Boss said you're good, and I listen to what he says. He likes you; that's good enough for me."

Mezou shook his head as Kamakiri stepped away again. Serves him right for trying to talk to Kamakiri; the man was insane. Not for the first time, Mezou felt like he was in fucking topsy-turvy land.

He opted to stay silent for the rest of the journey. Thankfully, it wasn't much longer. Soon enough, they approached a new region of tunnels, strewn with supplies and fortifications, marred by the obvious scars of recent fighting. Outcast fighters made way for them as they closed in on the front, many of them joining the group until they were nearly two hundred strong.

At last, they reached the front. At first glance, it was much the same as any other stretch of tunnel; barely wide enough for four or five people to pass abreast, hewn from the rock in a roughly semicircular shape. This tunnel, though, was filled with rock and sandbag walls, populated by groups of hard-looking fighters that had dug into occupied Tunnel Rat fortifications, providing cover. At the end of the tunnel, Mezou could just make out a slightly brighter light source than the weak bulbs overhead-that must have been the Nexus. The tunnel wasn't perfectly straight, but it was close enough that the whole group ducked into alcoves and other cover as they closed in.

When the Outcast men saw Fumikage, there was a ragged cheer, though not one loud enough to alert the Tunnel Rats. A tall, burly man detached himself from the fighters at the front and came to speak to Fumikage.

Mezou's eyes went wide when he saw the man. He had long, shaggy golden hair, long clawmark scars across his torso, a mane, and fangs.

A memory popped up unbidden in Mezou's mind, of a dark alleyway with a pink-skinned girl cowering from a lion mutant. This lion mutant. His features were unmistakable; the scars on his chest gave him away. For a moment, instinct made Mezou want to attack the man. But then he paused. Clearly, he'd changed. The man Mezou remembered had been skinny and ratty-haired, eyes clouded and dull from starvation and desperation. The man standing in the tunnel now was strong and healthy. He was shirtless, revealing a body that was burly and muscular. Even his mane was clean and glossy-as much as living underground allowed for, of course. The man even held himself differently-not like a common thug or homeless bully, but like a man who had earned respect and knew it, his head high and his gaze solid.

It seemed that the Outcasts really could change people.

"Any progress?" Fumikage asked. He had to have known who the man was-he'd given him those scars across his chest, after all. He just didn't care, apparently. Mezou wasn't sure whether he was impressed or unnerved by that.

The lion-man shook his head. "The bastards are too dug in," he growled, his voice sounding far more confident and strong than Mezou recalled from his memories. "Every time we've tried tunneling closer, they've countered us. We can't advance down the main tunnels, and the space between them is no better-it just means we get caught in a crossfire."

Fumikage nodded. War in the Depths was unlike war anywhere else. You had to fight in three dimensions-there were so many quirks capable of tunneling that enemies could appear from every and any angle, without warning. If they weren't holed up behind impenetrable chokepoints in the tunnels, of course, which was a nightmare in its own right. The Tunnel Rats, with their mastery of the tunnels close to their base, were in a nigh perfect defensive position.

Or so they thought.

Ibara and Kuroiro shared a look, clearly thinking the same thing Mezou was thinking; their quirks would be useful in this situation, albeit in different ways. Kuroiro won whatever silent coin toss he and Ibara had been having, and stepped forward. In his usual creepy way, he said, "Great One, I can-"

Fumikage waved him off. "No," he said forcefully, making Kuroiro freeze. "I know you could get in there yourself, Kuroiro, but then you'd be walking alone into what could very well be a trap. We wouldn't be able to back you up."

Kuroiro looked like he wanted to argue for a second, but couldn't find a way to do so. He nodded, stepping back to Ibara's side.

Fumikage sighed, looking around at the assembled men and women. He said, "Give them one last chance to surrender, and then we'll play our hand."

They nodded. A man with strange, ridgelike structures along the sides of his neck stood from where he'd been crouching behind a barricade. He took a deep breath, then yelled far louder than a human should have been able to, "THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE, RATS! COME OUT, OR ELS-"

The Tunnel Rats' answer was the sharp crack of gunfire. The man who had been shouting choked out a cry of pain-thankfully not at the ear-splitting volume of his shouts-as the bullet struck him in the shoulder. He crumpled to the ground, and Ibara was on him instantly, even as most of the others took cover.

Fumikage was one of the few who didn't flinch. He shook his head in frustration. "Should have known the cowards would do that," he muttered, looking angry at himself. "Damn smugglers and their guns."

Mezou couldn't help but agree. The Tunnel Rats weren't as violent as the other gangs, but they made up for it by being cowardly bastards. Their extensive smuggling networks-which extended out of the Depths and into the international smuggling channels-gave them access to all sorts of illicit weaponry, including guns of all sorts. That alone was enough to make them hated-only cowards and pathetic weaklings used guns. The damn things weren't even that useful; Mezou had been shot hundreds of times, with everything from pistols to anti-material rifles, and it almost never slowed him down. Plenty of mutants were immune, or at least resistant, to gunfire.

But still, in a confined space, with a long sightline and only one way in or out, with an unknown number of gunmen aiming down the tunnel…

Mezou watched as Fumikage stepped out into the tunnel. Instantly, there was another gunshot. In a fraction of a second, shadow erupted around Fumikage, one arm raised towards the Nexus. The bullet struck it, and plinked off the inky black energy, doing utterly nothing as it was robbed of its momentum. It clattered to the floor, and Fumikage sighed dismissively.

"You would think they'd learn," he said dryly, just loud enough for his men to hear. "Guns can't stop us."

A cheer went up, and it was answered by more gunshots. Fumikage was now fully wreathed in Dark Shadow's body, his form smoky and massive, taking up nearly the whole tunnel. These bullets, too, bounced off harmlessly. A few seemed to sink into whatever dark energy made up Dark Shadow's form, only to drop away a second later without doing anything. One deflected off Fumikage's chest and shattered the lightbulb overhead, plunging the tunnel deeper into darkness.

Resembling nothing so much as a nightmare from Hell, Fumikage turned to face the Outcasts, ignoring the bullets that continued raining down on his shadowy back. Even his face was shrouded in darkness, now; Dark Shadow's jaws overlaid his, eyes turning yellow. The sight sent a chill down Mezou's spine.

"Outcasts!" Fumikage roared. "With me!"

The two hundred mutants, cheering loudly as the gunfire grew more panicked and frequent, formed ranks behind Fumikage's invincible wall of a body. Fumikage turned, and caught Mezou's eye. For a second, they stared at each other, neither sure what to say. Then, without saying a word, Mezou stood, ignoring the bullets just as Fumikage did. He took a position next to Fumikage, at the very head of the column.

"I said I'd be there," Mezou murmured, recalling a conversation at the top of a burning world, so many years and so much pain ago. "To the end."

Fumikage smiled, through the shadow and the mask of a king. "To the end," he whispered, nodding.

When he raised his head again, there was fire in his eyes.
"CHARGE!" he bellowed, and the answering yell was something primal and monstrous. Two hundred monsters charged headlong into the hail of bullets, protected by Fumikage's inhuman, unstoppable form.

The Tunnel Rats would never know what hit them.