Less than an hour later, Mezou stood in the center of the Nexus, watching the Outcasts force the remnants of the Tunnel Rats to kneel in the center of a cleared space on the stony ground.

The fight had been brutal, short, and utterly merciless. The Outcasts had destroyed their opponents, and all the firepower in the world wouldn't have been enough to stop them.

Mezou craned his neck upwards. The Nexus was shaped more or less like an oil drum, a tall, circular space with terraces on the interior, rings of tunnel entrances around the sides. The Tunnel Rats had built mazes of walkways across the open space of the Nexus, creating levels and routes that made sense only to them. Crates, boxes, and all other manner of goods were stacked everywhere, creating a messy, chaotic environment that should have been hell to clear.

Instead, as the immense clawmarks in the sides of the Nexus, the torn-up earth where vines and blades and all manner of weaponry had landed, and the chunks of the walkways that had been torn free to lie mangled and broken on the ground suggested, the Outcasts had swept through the place like an unstoppable tide, killing or capturing everyone who opposed them.

Mostly capturing, Mezou noted. The central cleared area was getting awfully crowded with Tunnel Rats, disarmed and kneeling with their hands over their heads.

It was next to one of these broken ruins that Mezou found Fumikage, examining a crate a few Outcasts had broken open for him. It was one of many that they were organizing, taking stock of what they had plundered while the mop-up continued.

Mezou caught a glimpse of what the crate contained as he approached. Bricks of an odd, clay-looking substance, plus black wires and round plastic objects with blinking caps.

As Mezou came up to him, Fumikage was asking, "...how much do we have now?"

The lion-man from before, evidently in charge of this portion of the cleanup, replied with an unnerving grin, "Enough to blow whatever you want to kingdom come, Boss."

Fumikage nodded, a smile playing across his features. "Thank you, Ito. Make sure we get all of this back to Homeland-and stored somewhere safe. I'd rather not have this go off before we want it to. Other than that, I won't bother you anymore. Well done."

Ito snorted. "You got it, Boss," he answered, knocking his fist against his chest three times before turning away to help the crew of Outcasts moving the crates.

At last, Fumikage turned to face Mezou, having apparently already noticed he was there. He smiled, but Mezou saw exhaustion knocking just behind his eyes. Exhaustion, and something darker.

"How are you?" he asked, trusting that Fumikage would catch the heavy undertone in his voice.

Fumikage sighed, looking down at his fist, which was rippling with shadow that faded in and out of existence. He seemed to sway on his feet for a moment, then caught himself. He grit his teeth, and the dark energy swirling around his arm vanished into nothingness.

"Surviving," Fumikage said eventually, raising his head once more. "He's…under control for the moment. Annoyed that I didn't cause more damage, but, well…too bad."

Mezou raised an eyebrow. Half the damn cavern had been leveled; great chunks of stone lay scattered among twisted metal and shattered wood, with huge holes now open in the constellation of hanging walkways above them. That wasn't enough for Dark Shadow?

Still, it seemed Fumikage had managed to rein in Dark Shadow for the moment. That was good enough.

Mezou looked out across the cavern, which had lapsed into a busy, muted sort of silence, a jarring contrast to the chaotic war-shrieks that had been echoing off the walls just a short time before. The only sounds in the Nexus were the scraping of crates across the ground, the dark, nervous murmurs of the surrendered Tunnel Rats, and the businesslike words of the Outcasts as they worked.

Still, something seemed off. The Tunnel Rats, unlike the other gangs, didn't have a single leader-they had a Board, with five seats in total. They were businessmen, after all, not common thugs…or Kings, who were worse. Mezou couldn't spot any of them.

"So," Mezou asked, "Now what?"

Fumikage answered, "Now, we deal with the Tunnel Rats. I just need to find the Board-"

"Good luck with that," a familiar voice snorted. Fumikage and Mezou both turned to find Kamakiri standing behind them, having just leaped down from a walkway above them.

Without pausing, Kamakiri continued in his usual terse, brutal way, "The Board are all dead already."

Fumikage raised an eyebrow. "How?" he asked.

Kamakiri shrugged. "I got one of them," he replied. "Kuroiro got two. Another one got a bullet in the head from his own men in the crossfire."

"And the fifth?" Mezou asked, curious. Kamakiri turned to look at him, and for a moment, Mezou wondered if Kamakiri would refuse to answer to him. After all, he wasn't actually a member of the Outcasts.

Instead, Kamakiri grinned darkly and jerked his thumb sideways, gesturing at the immense behemoth of shattered metal and rock that had once been an upper walkway. "See for yourself," he said.

Mezou did just that. It only took a moment to see the pair of fancy shoes sticking out from beneath a boulder the size of a house. It seemed the man had been standing in a very unfortunate position during the fight.

Fumikage nodded, his expression thoughtful. "So, then," he mused. "The Tunnel Rats are leaderless."

Kamakiri nodded. Mezou followed their gazes to the crowd of men and women in the center of the cavern, kneeling with sullen, lost looks on their faces. The Tunnel Rats looked shell-shocked. Mezou couldn't exactly blame them-their whole world had fallen apart in less than an hour, after all.

Kamakiri met Fumikage's eyes. "I'll deal with the loot," he said knowingly. "You do your thing."

Fumikage nodded, smiling gratefully. "Thank you, Kamakiri," he said. Mezou thought he saw Kamakiri grin as he walked away.

Mezou stayed where he was standing as Fumikage strode towards the Tunnel Rats, looking every inch the conqueror. Dark Shadow surged up again, cloaking him in shadows that clung to his body, making him look taller and much broader. With his long dark jacket and avian head, he looked like an abovegrounder's worst nightmare.

The murmurs from the Tunnel Rats slowly quieted as Fumikage drew closer. At last, the only sound in the cavern was the echo of his footsteps, slowly fading as he came to a stop, surveying the group.

The silence dragged on, tense and heavy, as Fumikage stared down a broken army with no fear at all. Then, at last, he spoke.

"This fight is over," he announced. "Your leaders are dead, your strongholds captured, your weapons confiscated. You've lost."

There was only sullen, empty quiet from the Tunnel Rats. If any of them thought to attack, to take some measure of revenge, they didn't act on it.

"My name is Fumikage Tokoyami," he continued. "I'm the leader of the Outcasts. Everything that the Tunnel Rats had-territory, weapons, connections-is mine now. I have no quarrel with you, but-"

"Liar!" a voice called out, guttural and angry. A wave of fear visibly rippled through the Tunnel Rats as the Outcasts arranged around the cavern stiffened, anger plain on their faces.

Fumikage, though, simply raised an eyebrow. "Who said that?" he asked calmly. "Come on, show yourself. I have nothing to say to anyone too cowardly to call me a liar to my face."

A pause followed, and Mezou held his breath, expecting something to break. But instead, a man slowly rose from the midst of the Tunnel rats. He was short, but stocky and strong, with blue, pupil-less eyes that sparkled like stars. His face and body were heavily scarred, and he was verging towards middle-age, which made him an old man indeed by the gangs' standards. Anyone who survived that long as a gang member was someone to be feared and respected.

"I called you a liar," the man spat. "Like hell you didn't have a quarrel with us! You attacked us! We didn't do anything to you, you bastard!"

Several of the Outcasts looked spitting mad. One of them summoned a weapon, a long sword made of smoky energy. The Tunnel Rat who had spoken didn't flinch.

Fumikage waved the Outcasts back; they did so, though they still looked furious. Fumikage met his opponent's eyes evenly.

"I meant what I said," Fumikage said firmly. "I have no quarrel with you."

The man scoffed. "I don't believe you," he snapped.

Fumikage nodded. "I don't blame you," he admitted, making the man falter a little. "All you've seen me do is attack your home and destroy your things. But let me ask: were they yours in the first place?"

The man blinked, obviously confused. "W-what?" he asked.

Stepping forwards, Fumikage asked, "How much of the wealth the gang made was kept by the Board? The Tunnel Rats are the richest group down here by far. And yet, you had to scramble to survive just like everyone else, didn't you?"

The man stared at him, but nodded slowly, not understanding.

Fumikage met his eyes, and said, "Like I said, I have no quarrel with you. My quarrel was with the Board-with the people who exploited you. You were tools to them, expendable pawns. They used you to get richer, while making sure you thought they cared about you. They didn't. They never did."

The man was silent. It was impossible to tell if he believed Fumikage's words or not. But he no longer called him a liar, and he had a thoughtful look on his face. Somehow, Fumikage's words, backed up by the charisma Mezou had always known he had, but was now honed to a fine edge, had many of the Tunnel Rats nearly nodding along.

"So," Fumikage said. "Here's my offer. You all-you're just like us. You want to survive. You want a family, people to watch your back, to give you a purpose. And you want to make this world a better place."

At that, the man's face contorted again. He laughed. "You're just a fool, then," he said. "This world ain't ever gonna change."

Fumikage raised an eyebrow. "And yet," he said. "I just tore down a gang that's existed for fifty years, in less than an hour."

The man fell silent once more. In that silence, Fumikage looked out over all the Tunnel Rats, and said, "Join us. If you want protection, we'll offer it. If you want a safe place to live, we have that. If you want to fight…we do, too."

Fumikage crossed his arms, waiting. The man with blue eyes was, predictably, the first to speak.

"And what if we say no?" he asked suspiciously.

Fumikage took another step towards the man. "Tell me," he said, his voice low, with the hint of a storm behind it. "What would the Board have done, if they made that offer? What would any man do, to make sure he got ahold of your strength?"

The man flinched, as did Mezou. They both knew the answer. "Serve, or die" was as strong an incentive today as it had been for all of human history.

Fumikage nodded in satisfaction. "So, you know what my answer is?" he said. The man met his eyes, and they looked subdued. Reluctant. He nodded.

Then, Fumikage finished, "If you refuse, you're free to go."

The man didn't quite rock back on his heels, but the look on his face suggested he wanted to. Murmurs erupted from the Tunnel Rats, and didn't quiet again for a long, frantic moment.

"Why?" the man asked, eventually. "You want us to join bad, I can tell. Why would you let us go?"

Fumikage's eyes glowed with fervor as he answered, his voice loud and undeniable. "Why?" he repeated. "Why, because I'm not like them. I am not the Board. I'm not the Neo-Stainists, or the Claws, or the Ten Kings. I am not the League of Villains. I am something different, something new. And I try, every day, to be something better, too. So, yes, you're free to go if you don't want to join us. I'll have my men free you, and you can leave. That goes for all of you!"

Fumikage's last words, directed at the whole group of Tunnel Rats, echoed through the space. They were met, once more, by silence. This time, though, that silence was not sullen, but contemplative, thoughtful. It was the silence of a boulder at the top of a hill, going back and forth, tipping closer and closer to falling one way or the other.

At last, the blue-eyed man seemed to have come to a decision. He took a breath, stepping forwards, out of the crowd of his fellows, a scant few feet from Fumikage. He opened his mouth.

And spat at Fumikage's feet.

Once more, the Outcasts reacted with fury, weapons and quirks activating as the man held Fumikage's gaze, clearly expecting to die where he stood, a grim, hateful smile on his face.

Instead, Fumikage threw out a hand, holding the Outcasts in place. He held the man's gaze with ease, not even flinching. The Tunnel Rats behind them were murmuring again.

When he saw he wasn't dead yet, the man's face darkened. "My answer is no, you arrogant bastard," he snarled. "I won't follow you. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Rot in hell."

At last, the whispers died away, and Fumikage was staring at the defiant Tunnel Rat once more. As the Outcasts withdrew, he brought his hand back. Dark claws covered his fingertips, shadows wreathing his form as his eyes glowed yellow and red.

Then, at last, he nodded. "I see," he said regretfully. "In that case…you're free to go."

The darkness ebbed away once more as he gestured towards one of the Nexus's many tunnel entrances. The man blinked, visibly caught off-guard. He looked back at Fumikage, then at the tunnel he'd indicated. He turned, took a few steps, then paused, looking back, clearly expecting to be attacked. Fumikage did not move, did not tear his eyes away. He simply stood there, unflinching, unafraid, undeniable.

The man walked further. Again, he paused. Again, Fumikage did not move, did not give orders, did not attack. He simply watched.

The man walked into the tunnel, and slipped into the darkness, disappearing from view. Fumikage turned away as his footsteps faded away.

"Now then," he said. "Do the rest of you feel the same? Or will you choose for yourselves?"

The only answer he got was silence, for a long, frozen moment, the Tunnel Rats staring at him with something between shock, awe, fear, and hope.

And then someone else stood up.

The boy couldn't have been older than sixteen or seventeen. Instead of ears, he had broad green protrusions that looked like leaves, shaking almost as hard as the rest of his body. He looked terrified, and he could barely meet Fumikage's eyes. But when he spoke, his words were clear and true.

"I…I believe you," he said. "I'll join the Outcasts."

Fumikage smiled, and it was like a beam of light cutting through the clouds. "Thank you," he said kindly. "For putting your trust in me. I won't let you down."

The boy's words opened the floodgates. Another former Tunnel Rat stood, and then another, and more and more. Soon, the Outcasts were cheering as they moved among their new comrades, freeing them and welcoming them, their demeanors shockingly different than they had been just moments before.

Not all the Tunnel Rats were so eager to cast off old allegiances, though. A significant portion stayed seated and sullen, then walked off into the tunnels as soon as they were free of the crowd. But nearly three-quarters of the Tunnel Rats chose to remain, and join their conqueror, based entirely off of the hope Fumikage had offered them.

For the first time, Mezou truly understood what the boy who'd once saved his life had become in those six years of wandering.

While Ito and his men remained behind to oversee the cleanup from the battle, Fumikage led a procession of new and old Outcasts back to Homeland, through the winding tunnels and dark corners of the Depths. Mezou walked beside him, unable to put the uneasy feeling in his gut into words.

The longer he spent with the Outcasts, the harder it was to figure out what exactly they were. They weren't a gang, or an army of followers behind a warlord, or even akin to the theoretically-unified movement of the Neo Stainists. They were something in between, something that mixed all of them into one and yet was none of them at all.

They were, as Fumikage had said, something new. And Mezou was equal parts disturbed and awestruck by it.

He had little time to ruminate on his feelings after they arrived back at Homeland, though. As soon as Fumikage had entered, the former Tunnel Rats fanning out to be led to barracks and welcomed by the Outcasts, a woman with metal rods emerging from her back like porcupine quills ran up to him.

"Great Leader!" she cried in the supplicative, awed tone so many in Homeland used when they spoke to Fumikage. "Hurry! There's a man in the square asking for you!"

Fumikage raised an eyebrow, and Mezou and Kamakiri shared an amused look at the brief expression of irritation on his face. One day, Mezou would find the time to make fun of Fumikage for all the times he insisted that the Outcasts stop giving him increasingly-extravagant titles and honorifics, only for them to outright ignore him. But unfortunately, today there would be no chance to do that.

"What makes this so urgent?" Fumikage asked.

In a voice that betrayed both fear and desperate hope, the woman replied, "He…says he's a messenger from the Ten Kings."

Fumikage swept into Homeland's central square-a large cleared space in the center of the settlement with a pool of bubbling, geothermally-heated water in the center of it-flanked by Mezou and his lieutenants. They found half the population of Homeland crowded into the square, both Outcasts and non-Outcasts alike jostling for position-while maintaining a considerable amount of distance from the man who stood stock-still in the center of the hubbub with an impassive, disinterested expression on his face.

Mezou sized the man up as they approached. He was tall, with a sharp, angled face and jaw, his dark hair cut close to his head, sticking out in jagged spikes. He looked strong, with defined muscles and a solid torso beneath close-fitting, well-made dark clothing. A momentary sneer revealed sharp teeth behind his lips, and smoke steadily rose from his nostrils with each exhale. Black horns swept back from his temples, long, curved, and sharp. Every inch of skin Mezou could see was decorated with ornate, intricate tattoos, scaly dragons curving up and down his arms in brilliant green, red, and black ink.

Fumikage strode towards the messenger with his head held high. He stopped a few feet short, and met the man's eyes evenly.

"You're the leader of this rabble?" the messenger demanded. A wave of angry, harsh whispers passed through the assembled Outcasts.

Fumikage narrowed his eyes. "Coming into a man's house and insulting his family," he replied coldly, "is not a wise start to any negotiation."

The gangster snorted, sending a cloud of smoke into the air. "This isn't a negotiation," he said, baring his teeth. Once again, there were more whispers.

"Then what is it?" Fumikage demanded.

"A warning," the King said. "From the Chimaera himself."

That made the murmurs among the crowd escalate to an extreme degree. Everyone knew of the Chimaera, the leader of the Ten Kings. He was a living legend down here, quite possibly the most powerful and feared mutant alive, notorious for his brutality and skill.

Fumikage did not flinch, even as Mezou's eyes went wide and Kamakiri hissed. He simply crossed his arms, shadows rippling beneath his long overcoat.

"Well, then," he said, every inch the fearless leader. "I assume you have more to say. Say it."

The man grinned. From his belt, he produced a rolled-up sheet of paper. He opened it, and read aloud:

"To the leader of the so-called Outcast Army, Fumikage Tokoyami:

You are the scum of the earth, a pathetic, whimpering worm who hides from his betters behind an army you've tricked into following your ridiculous ideas. Your attacks on the Claws and the Tunnel Rats are nothing but desperate attempts to steal what we have built with blood, sweat, and death. You would throw us all into chaos for a fake, childish dream.

I've had enough of these games. Enough hiding in the dark. Enough slithering in the depths, spewing your poison, making the weak think they're strong. You are nothing. You will always be nothing.

Fumikage Tokoyami, I name you a coward. I name you a usurper, a thief, a delusional worm. I will put an end to you and your Outcasts with my own two hands, as a man should. I will waste no blood on you that is not my own. I will face you myself, and you will face me alone. If you aren't too scared, that is.

If you want to die with dignity, come to the Chasm three days from now. Bring what followers you have. They'll get to witness your death.

You will fight me for the fate of the Depths, and you will lose. I will prove, once and for all, that there is no one who can challenge me.

If you don't come, I will hunt you and every single one of your followers to the depths of the earth, and burn your strongholds to ash. There will be nowhere safe for you.

You know this isn't an empty threat. I've done it before.

-Chojuro Kon, Leader of the Ten Kings."

When the man was done reading, he lowered the sheet, a bemused grin on his face from the terrified whispers of the watching Outcasts. He rolled the message back up, and threw it dismissively to Fumikage.

Fumikage caught it easily in one hand, and slowly read through it, his eyes betraying nothing. Mezou could feel his heart beating quickly in his chest. Beside him, Kamakiri looked ready to tear the man limb-from-limb. Mezou wasn't sure if Kamakiri was even capable of feeling fear.

At last, Fumikage looked up from the sheet, still looking unimpressed. Mezou could tell he was acting, though. He had to be. Nobody got told the Chimaera was coming to kill them and didn't feel pants-shitting terror.

"You have some nerve," Fumikage observed. "Walking into our fortress alone and unarmed to spew these insults."

The messenger snorted again. "I have nothing to fear," he replied. "Your reputation precedes you. It's all you have. If you attacked a man who was not here to do you harm, well…what good would your word be? And besides…I see no man here who could kill me."

Mezou and Kamakiri exchanged a glance, and grim nods. They both knew how to read a man at a glance, and the messenger was setting off lots of warning bells. His confidence, the casual signs of his mutation, the solidity of his body…he was strong. And if the Ten Kings used a man like this as a lowly messenger…

Well, the Chimaera's strength was undisputed, both within and without his own gang. No man had challenged him and lived in years.

Fumikage frowned at the man. Once again, Mezou got that sense of a boulder teetering on a hill, back and forth, back and forth, with the fates of thousands hinging on the path it took.

A slow, eager grin spread across Fumikage's face. His eyes were shining with satisfaction.

"Well," Fumikage said, loudly enough that the assembled crowd could hear him. "It seems the Chimaera wants to play. It saves me the trouble of hunting him down."

A cheer, soft at first but steadily increasing in volume as the Outcasts basked in their leader's confidence. Kamakiri, Kuroiro, and Ibara didn't join in, but neither did they say anything. Their expressions were unreadable.

Mezou felt his gut twisting.

"Run back to your boss," Fumikage told the messenger. "I have a message for him, and I don't need a fancy letter to send it. Tell him, "I accept."

The gangster smiled once more. "With pleasure," he replied. Then, he turned away, and leathery, scaled wings burst from his back, his clothing seeming to melt into his body as it became lizardlike. No-dragonlike. With a few flaps, the King soared into the air over the city, and disappeared down the long tunnel that was the main access point to Homeland.

With that, and Fumikage's reassuring presence calming things, the crowd steadily dispersed, though the steady murmur that filled the air made it clear that soon, the whole city would know of the impending battle. Once they were mostly alone, Mezou marched up to Fumikage, fists clenched.

"Are you crazy?" he hissed. "The fucking Chimaera just challenged you to a fucking duel to the death, and all you have to say is that?"

Fumikage met his eyes, and Mezou saw, beneath the bravado, a level of nervousness and self-awareness that felt more real than the persona Fumikage had cultivated ever could.

"I know," he said quietly.

Chojuro Kon, the Chimaera, Leader of the Ten Kings, was a living legend. For twenty years, he had been the undisputed most powerful man in the Depths. During the last hero incursion, he had slain several of the greatest heroes of the time in hand-to-hand combat. That had helped catapult him into the leadership of the Ten Kings-and eventually, into total control of the most feared gang of them all.

The Claws had been loosely organized thugs, extorting and harassing residents of the Depths for petty wealth and power. The Tunnel Rats-the remnants of which were part of the crowd still filtering away-had been cold-blooded smugglers, businessmen to the core, who preferred to avoid violence if possible. The Kings…the Kings were different.

Legend had it that they had started decades ago, when the aboveground Yakuza groups were dying in one last blaze of glory. A fragmentary group of them had taken root in the Underground, and then in the Depths, spreading and surviving so far from the heroes who had eradicated them elsewhere. The Ten Kings, though they no longer considered themselves Yakuza proper, still maintained the same air, the same traditions-and the same ruthlessness. They were brutal, powerful, and relentlessly, endlessly effective-which, given their preferred businesses, made them even more hated and feared.

The simple truth was, mutant quirks were too useful in too many ways to be relegated to the Depths to rot. There were too many distant, unscrupulous corporations in need of labor, too many degenerates drawn to exotic-looking women, too much evil in the world. The Kings knew it.

The Claws thrived on extortion. The Tunnel Rats had been smuggler lords. The Ten Kings had cornered the markets of drug-running, human trafficking, and every other form of evil too dark for even the other gangs to touch.

And Chojuro Kon, the greatest and most feared man in the Depths, had just declared a personal war on the Outcasts, and on Fumikage himself.

"Do you really think you can take him?" Mezou asked. His voice was unsure, faltering. Before today, he wouldn't have believed it possible…but he'd just watched Fumikage fill a cavern with monstrous darkness, tearing the Tunnel Rats to pieces with ease. Sure, the other Outcasts had helped, but…

Mezou had felt small and pathetic before, plenty of times. But this kind of smallness, this feeling of being an ant before something divine? He'd felt it only once before, just a few weeks ago.

When Atlas had brought down the sky.

If Fumikage was on that level…

Fumikage met Mezou's gaze, evenly and coolly. Mezou saw the unease there, yes, but he also saw the ferocity of a man eager to fight, of a man finally given the chance to channel endless rage into the face of evil.

Fumikage smiled. "I don't know," he admitted. "But if I want to be a legend, I have to kill one. And if I want to stop the gangs from destroying us all, I need to bring down the greatest of them. This is a risk I have to take. I don't have a choice."

"You always have a choice," Mezou insisted, his voice soft, barely above a murmur.

Fumikage's grin grew sad, pained. A whirlwind of activity swirled to a halt in the space around them, people staring with hushed voices and wide eyes, moving as if falling into his orbit. He was a glowing sun, a beacon, a symbol.

"I don't," Fumikage said. "I never have."

Mezou frowned. "Fumi," he asked, making Fumikage tense at the nickname. "Why are you doing this? Really?"

Fumikage blinked. "What do you mean?" he replied. If it was an attempt to dodge the question, it was an obvious one.

Mezou met his eyes. "Why?" he repeated. "Taking on the gangs, uniting the Depths-I still don't get it. If you just wanted to build something better, you could just stay in Homeland."

Fumikage stood quietly for a moment, thinking. At last, he agreed, "I could. But that…isn't what I want."

Mezou crossed his arms. "Then what do you want?" he asked.

There was a long pause, the kind that made Mezou's heart beat a little faster in his chest. It was a cliff's edge, teetering, wobbling…falling.

"Justice," Fumikage said. "I want justice. For the lies we've been fed, for the wrongs we've been done…for all the ways the world hurt us, that it's still hurting us."

Mezou couldn't help but find that…exciting. It satisfied something in him, something visceral. It offered to lift a weight from his back he'd barely even realized was there. And yet…he couldn't help but hear Tsu's voice in his head.

"Is this justice?" Mezou asked. "Destroying the gangs?"

Fumikage nodded. "I think it is," he said. "They've done nothing but hurt and abuse people for so long. I want them gone. But in a way that lets the people in the gangs have a second chance, if they want it."

Mezou nodded. "And…how far does this go?" he asked softly. "How far will you go?"

Once again, the world seemed to stand still for a second.

Fumikage smiled thinly. "How far would you go?" he asked. "For the people you love?"

Mezou knew the answer to that. He'd never hesitate. He'd burn the whole damn world to the ground, if it kept Tsu or Mina safe. He'd start wars, destroy everything.

Fumikage had always been more stubborn-and more driven-than Mezou could ever hope to be. Still, he couldn't help but feel nervous.

"Are…are you sure about that?" he prompted. "That feels…"

"Vague?" Fumikage supplied, smiling wryly. "Ominous? Probably self-destructive?"

Mezou nodded. Fumikage shrugged.

"I know that," he said. "And I…don't have answers. I'm not a philosopher. I don't have a grand vision for the world that I want to enforce. I don't want to start a crusade for some ideal. I'm not Stain, or Shigaraki, or any other madman with a grudge. I'm just…tired."

As if his words were magic, Fumikage's shoulders slumped, and a little of the menace went out of him. He rubbed one hand over his head, as if chasing away a headache. When he spoke again, it rang with venomous, brutal honesty, the kind that stripped souls bare and cut through everything else.

"I'm tired," he repeated. "Tired of being feared and hated. Tired of being called a monster. Tired of living in the dark, surviving on scraps like a rat. We don't deserve this. We never did. We're the victims of generations of hate and cruelty and unfairness, all because we were too much for the old world to handle. So…so I'm going to change things, one way or another. If they won't listen to us, I'll make them listen, or just set the whole damn structure on fire. And if they say that that makes me evil…well, I don't really care. I just…the people who shove us down here to rot and suffocate and die don't get to tell me that wanting justice is evil."

"And what comes after?" Mezou asked, once he'd found his voice. "What happens next?"

Fumikage hesitated. "I…don't know," he admitted, answering both of Mezou's questions at once. "That'll be for…all of us to decide, I suppose."

Something about the way he said it made Mezou's blood run cold with sudden understanding. Fumikage spoke as if…

As Fumikage turned away, ready to walk away, Mezou murmured, "You don't expect to live long enough to see whatever comes next, do you?"

Fumikage froze. Then, slowly, he turned around. His expression was perfectly guarded; not even Mezou could read him.

"Call it…pragmatism," he said, quietly, so quietly. "I know what I'm doing, Mezou. I'm taking on the world, demanding that it change, that it be better. That…doesn't end well, for most of the people who try it. Atlas, Bombshell…even Chojuro Kon could kill me, if I make a mistake. And even if I somehow beat them all…Dark Shadow is still getting stronger. I can't help but worry that…one day, he'll no longer need me."

Mezou went cold again. In the silence, Fumikage nodded once, communicating more sorrow and grief than words could ever hope to reach, then turned and left, long jacket rippling around him. Mezou could only watch in resignation.

In three days, this would all end, and something new would take its place.

He could only hope that it would be better than this.

Izuku raced into the Underground, following the alarm that had so cruelly pulled him away from Mina. He braced himself for a battle, for finding people's lives torn apart by violence and evil.
Instead, the alert led him to a nondescript office building on the first level, with only the city government logo above the door betraying what it really was: one of the mayor's offices.

While the city government mostly stayed aboveground, simple convenience did lead to some presence in the part of the city that housed well over half of Musutafu's residents. Property was generally way cheaper down here, after all.

Izuku grew increasingly confused as he circled the building, searching for signs of a villain attack, forced entry, anything that could have triggered the urgent alert that had forced him to respond on his day off. The alert had asked for him by name, and had been sent to him alone, which only the most urgent of alerts could even do.

Something was wrong here. The building seemed…empty. When he peered in the front, there were no receptionists, nobody sitting in the lobby.

A chill went down Izuku's spine.

At last, Izuku found something-an open window on the top floor of the building. With a single perfect leap, he stormed through and into the private office beyond. It was dark; all the lights were off. Once again, it was chillingly quiet. Izuku took two steps in, One For All humming across his skin. He could hear his own breath, feel his heart beating in his chest.

Then, the lights turned on.

Izuku jumped, whipping his head around as the chair creaked, turning to reveal-

"There you are, my boy!" Takao said, grinning in a way that made Izuku's hair stand on end. "I was wondering when you'd get here."

Izuku staggered, landing heavily on the carpet of what he now realized was Takao's personal office. He should have realized-it was just as garishly decorated as he'd expected Takao's office to be, with stupidly ornate lamps, rugs, and chairs interspersed with cookie-cutter photos of a family that Takao definitely didn't have.

"Mr. Takao," Izuku said awkwardly, "Why are you here? There's an active villain situation-"

Takao shook his head. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry about that," he replied. "That was a false alarm, you see. Or at least, the wrong sort of alarm. There's no villains here, I just had to get you here somehow, as soon as possible."

Izuku blinked, not understanding. "Uhh…excuse me?" he asked. "Sir, you don't have access to the alert system, that's a Hero Commission internal network-"

"And several of the Commissioners happen to owe me quite large favors," Takao interrupted, his smile slowly losing its kind attitude, replaced by a much sharper edge. "They were happy to help me out with a little personal call to you. Now, why don't you sit down?"

Izuku could feel warning bells going off in his head. He knew there was something fishy about the alert. He'd been torn away from Mina for…what? Some stupid power play by Takao? Another desperate attempt to get an endorsement from him or something?

"I…see," he said, taking a few steps towards the door. "In that case, Sir, I really should get going. Sorry for the confusion, but I have a-"

Takao nodded as Izuku reached for the doorknob. "Yes, yes, I understand it's your day off," he assured Izuku, that smile still on his face. "Don't worry, I just wanted to have a quick talk. You'll be back to your girlfriend in no time."

Izuku's hand froze on the doorknob. Ice. In his veins, in his mind, in his chest. His eyes were wide, his heart wasn't beating. He'd forgotten how to breathe. He could only stare dumbly at Takao, who had risen from his chair to close the window with a definitive slam.

"Ahhh," he said, turning ever so slightly as he closed the curtains, leaving the soft lamps as the only light in the room. "That's gotten your attention, hasn't it, Atlas?"

Izuku stumbled, his hand dropping away from the now-forgotten doorknob. He stuttered, "Y-you…I don't-"

Takao raised an eyebrow as he sank back into his chair, behind his formidable desk. His deep, dark eyes were boring into Izuku. "My boy," he interrupted. "You're not a good liar. And I'm a politician. You're better off not even trying. Besides…"

As he spoke, Takao reached down, into his desk, pulling something from a drawer. Izuku stared as he withdrew a stack of…photographs?

When he saw what they were, his blood went cold.

Takao smiled as Izuku crossed the room in a flash, shaking fingers sifting through pictures of him and Mina. Together, in every sense of the word. In his apartment. Fuck, neither of them were dressed in…almost all of these.

This was very, very bad.

"There we go," the mayor sighed, grinning with a dangerous light in his eyes. "See how much easier this is when you listen to me?"

Izuku's eyes shot up to meet his. For a brief moment, lightning crackled across Izuku's fingertips as Takao shifted one of the pictures, revealing more beneath it. His teeth were gritted as he weighed his options, fighting temptation.

Takao looked up from the photos and saw Izuku's expression. He smiled-a predator's smile. The smile of a hunter who knew his prey was trapped. Takao waggled his finger. "Uh-uh, my boy," he tutted paternally. "Watch yourself now. This isn't a street brawl, after all. You might break something."

Still reeling, Izuku forced himself to rein in One For All. He couldn't just punch Takao through the wall. They both knew it. If he did, the consequences would be much worse than…whatever Takao had planned.

At least, he hoped that what Takao had planned would be worse than Izuku being forever banned from heroics.

He was still so numb, so horrified from the realization that all of his and Mina's most intimate moments had been photographed, that all Izuku could think to say was, "H-how did you get these?"

Takao smiled, perhaps at the fact that Izuku wouldn't even be able to deny the pictures, now. "Well, I'm glad you asked," he said. "You see, I've been in this line of work a long time, and one of the most important parts of being a politician is surrounding yourself with the right people. If one of those people happens to have a drone quirk they can take photographs with…well. That little trick has proven immensely useful over the years."

Izuku narrowed his eyes, even as the pit of his stomach dropped out. "You've been spying on us," he whispered.

Takao met his gaze, still smiling, and another chill went down Izuku's spine, because the smile never reached the mayor's eyes. It was all steel and deadly seriousness in Takao's expression, hidden behind a thin veneer of kindly, gregarious drivel. Izuku had forgotten how dangerous men like Takao were, under the affable, harmless act he liked to put on.

"Of course I've been spying on you, my boy," Takao said with iron in his voice. "I've been spying on you this whole time. Your whole sordid affair with this woman, your lies, your deceit, everything. See for yourself."

Takao reached out to sift through the stack of pictures again. He turned one around, and Izuku went cold all over again. It was of him and Mina on the ledge above the First Level, kissing like it was the end of the world. How had they not noticed the drone, or whatever the hell had taken these? Takao showed him another picture: Mina straddling him on the chair in his office, taken from right outside his window. And finally, a third picture: him and Mina meeting beneath the statues of Craton and Faultline, the day she'd taken him into the Depths to chase after Toga.

All this time, they'd been watched. Their secret…had never been a secret. All this time, Takao had known.

Izuku sat back in his chair, sweat beading on his forehead. "You bastard," he hissed.

Takao chuckled. "Guilty as charged," he answered. "Only the bastards survive as long as I have, my boy. Only the bastards are strong enough to do what needs to be done."

Izuku scowled. "You'll pay for this," he swore.

Takao shrugged. "We'll see about that," he replied. "But for now…on to business. Because I assume you don't want your mutant whore becoming public knowledge."

Izuku clenched his fists, partially from the way Takao spoke about Mina, and partially because, on some level, he knew what was coming next.

Still, though, he had to try and get out of it. He had to break this while he still had the chance. Izuku snapped, "Go ahead, share the pictures. See what happens. People won't care. I'm not ashamed of her. And she's not my whore, either."

Takao snorted. "You overestimate the decency of the public," he said. "And, quite frankly, I don't care what she is to you. I don't care if she's your girlfriend, your toy, or some weird fetish you're trying out. The fact is, you are the Number One Hero, and a mutant has her claws in you. That's going to make a lot of people very angry. And not just at you. Sure, maybe your reputation could make it through this. But will she?"

Izuku's blood went cold. Damn Takao. Because he was right. Mina had told him as much; she wanted to stay secret, needed to stay secret-because the alternative was becoming a lightning rod for all the hate, all the vitriol that was stored aboveground, all the evil that the country reserved especially for her and her people.

If this was only about him, Izuku would have laughed in Takao's face and weathered whatever storm came for him. But this wasn't only about him. Mina-strong, perfect, fragile Mina-would crumble under the microscope of fame. She'd wilt like a dying flower as Takao spun the media into a frenzy, labeled her forever as a whore, a seductress, a monster, manipulating and using Atlas for her own wicked ends. She'd be torn apart-and Izuku would only be able to watch.

Izuku ground his teeth. Dammit. Takao had him by the balls, and he knew it. They both knew it.

"So," Takao drawled, waving a particularly spicy picture that showed Mina's head thrown back in ecstasy as Izuku nipped at her neck, both of them bare as the day they were born, "Here's my deal. It just so happens that my campaign for re-election could use a nice boost. My opponent is currently winning in the polls, as you might know. She claims that my crime policies only make things worse, which is ridiculous, if you ask me. Perhaps a few lovely visits from the Number One Hero to my fundraiser galas-plus a public endorsement, of course-could show her, and the voters, how much our esteemed law enforcement community values my approach to safety."

Izuku growled. He didn't dare refuse. And yet, the gall of this man to demand something so blatantly corrupt with a smug smile and patronizing words on his lips was enraging. "So that's what this is all about," he snarled. "You're afraid of losing power."

Takao closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a deep sigh. When he opened them again and met Izuku's gaze, those deep, dark pits burned. He leaned forward and, heavily, intensely, said, "Let me make something clear, Atlas. This is my city. This has been my city for fifteen years. I intend for this to be my city for a long time yet. My policies, my decisions, my leadership, are the reason that this city is still standing. Before I was elected, the Musutafu Underground was a war zone. Mutants raped, burned, and pillaged as they pleased. They owned half the city, and people fled from them in droves. The damn beasts would still be doing it, if I hadn't made sure that they all ended up rotting in jail. I have worked all my life to keep those monsters from destroying us all; as a prosecutor, as a politician, as the mayor. You swore to do the same thing, when you became a hero. And now, you're fucking one of them."

Takao jabbed his finger downwards, onto one of the pictures; Izuku's pale body, against Mina's pink one. Izuku grit his teeth. Takao said, in the kind of deceptively soft voice that one might have used to order a man's murder, "You, my boy, have no right to judge me. Not while that thing lives in your apartment. Now, I've laid the deal out for you. If you don't take it, every major newspaper in the country gets a full set of these pictures in their postal box, starting tomorrow. Am I clear?"

Izuku grit his teeth. Takao leaned closer, eyes like daggers, stabbing into him.

"Am? I? Clear?" he repeated. "You can't play games with me, boy. You'll lose, every time."

Izuku felt his hatred settle like ice on a lake. "Eventually," he promised himself. "Eventually."

"As crystal," he grunted.

Takao smiled. "See, that wasn't so hard, now, was it?" he said approvingly. "I look forward to seeing you at the gala. I promise, the catering is excellent."

"Why are you doing this?" Izuku asked softly. He didn't even have it in him to be angry anymore. That would come later. Now, he just…wanted to know. Needed to know how Takao could do something like this, how he could be so cruel.

Takao sighed, slumping back in his chair, fingers drumming on the wood of his desk. The menace he'd radiated was gone-he looked old, then, old and tired. And, if Izuku looked closely enough, Takao looked afraid. It was a tiny kernel in his eyes, but it was there all the same. Takao was amoral and hateful and dangerous, yes, but something in his eyes seemed too tense to suit a moment in which he held all the power.

"I'm not stupid, my boy," Takao said suddenly. "I'm a lot of things, but I've never been stupid. And I keep my ear to the ground, too. I know everything that happens in this city, see everything that happens in this city. Something's coming. Something big. I can feel the tremors, like an earthquake. And if we're going to get through this-if I'm going to hold this goddamn city together-I need you on my side."

Izuku chuckled darkly. "So you blackmailed me," he said. "Real good job getting me on your side."

Takao shrugged. He leaned forwards, no longer quite as mocking, no longer gloating so much. "You learn not to trust people's better natures, in this job," he admitted in a voice that could have been soft, if he were a different sort of man. "I don't have anything against you, Atlas. Really, I don't. I don't even have anything against your mutant woman. But I will win this election and fend off whatever hell is about to be unleashed on this city, one way or another. This isn't personal-it's insurance."

Izuku made a fist. "You'll pay for this," he swore again, repeating himself. It was all he could think to say.

Takao simply smiled thinly. "People have been saying that for a long time, my boy," he replied. "But who's going to make me pay, when I hold all the cards?"

Izuku growled, somewhere low in his throat. Internally, though, all he could care about was Mina. He had to get back to her. He had to protect her. Compared to her, nothing else mattered.

Takao stood, gathering the pictures with that cocky, amoral grin still on his face. Izuku could only stare as the evidence that could damn him for the crime of loving a mutant disappeared.

"You're free to go, Atlas," Takao said. "Have a good day. And don't worry about me continuing to spy on you-I already have ten times as much material as I could ever need to bury you. Any more than this is just…well, obscene."

With a chuckle, Takao stepped out of the office, leaving Izuku alone, his whole body frozen, his heart barely beating. Only one thought got him out of the chair, out of the building, and storming through the Underground in a blur of green lightning.

Mina.