"Where are you going, Midoriya?" asked Uraraka. "The train station," he answered. "For work-study." "Us, too, kero," Tsu said, hopping up beside them.
Three UA third years were also on their train. He recognized them from previous Sports Festivals. One of them waved to Izuku's classmates. Apparently they were working together. "What are the odds we're all going the same place?" the greenette wondered.
"I'd say pretty good," Uraraka hummed as the train came to a halt and all six students moved in unison towards the doors.
Indeed, it appeared they were all bound for the same hero agency. One of the third years--a young man with blonde hair who beamed like the sun--led the lot of them into a large conference room absolutely packed full of professional heroes. Izuku spotted Kesagiri Man chatting with False Flag. There was Fat Gum the BMI hero, Sir Nighteye up front, Aizawa in a corner, the Dragoon Heroine Ryuukyuu--oh. Tsu and Uraraka were working with Ryuukyuu and they hadn't mentioned it to the class? Well... it wasn't as if Izuku had advertised his work-study, either... and neither had Kacchan now that he thought about it. The third year UA students settled in beside Ryuukyuu, Fat Gum, and Nighteye's sidekick Centipeder.
"Good to see you, Fossa," Kesagiri Man greeted Izuku as the greenette found a free chair.
"It's good to see you, too," Izuku smiled. Hopefully it looked genuine enough. He was still feeling a bit off, as if he had his own personal fleet of storm clouds following him around all day, raining
on his head while the rest of the sky shone a lovely blue.
Nighteye called the room to attention and began to explain the current state of affairs with the Shie Hassaikai and their Leader Chisaki Kai, aka Overhaul. A quirk that could disassemble and reassemble anything, even living beings... that was scary.
"A pair of undercover heroes recently observed one of Chisaki's inner circle, the Eight Bullets, at a warehouse used for Trigger distribution." Kesagiri Man cocked his bag-covered head at False Flag. She winked. Konno nodded. Information exchange over. "There is one additional, even more concerning development."
Fat Gum took over. "My intern Suneater and I were recently involved in a fight against several petty villains who used Trigger, but one of their allies was armed with a drug which has been dubbed a "quirk erasing bullet," a drug that breaks quirks." Izuku mulled over all the terrifying implications of that while Aizawa explained the basics of his Erasure ability and the idea of quirk factors to the room. Apparently Uraraka and Asui had become involved in this investigation when they broke up a turf war between gangs of Trigger junkies. When had that happened? The two girls hadn't looked particularly tired lately... perhaps they were just better at faking alertness than Izuku, thus more subtle about their after school hours escapades.
Nighteye took over again. "We haven't managed to get our hands on a quirk erasing bullet to analyze the contents. However, undercover operatives have discovered compelling evidence that these drugs are being distributed along with Trigger and the Hassaikai are either importing or manufacturing both." Izuku glanced at Flag. She shook her head. The two glanced at Konno. Kesagiri Man nodded. Information exchange over. "At this point, raiding the yakuza compound is both justified and imperative for public safety. I've called you here today to ask for your help in planning and carrying out this operation."
The group began to debate plans of attack, Nighteye revealing that he had used his quirk to observe a yakuza member's future, allowing him to obtain a partial map of the maze-like tunnel system underneath the Hassaikai's compound. The group moved steadily towards a concrete, if simple, plan to storm the facility, determining who would enter, who would guard against escape attempts, and how both parties would handle each of the yakuza's most powerful members... Overhaul himself was going to be a potentially lethal problem only mitigatable by Eraserhead. Izuku watched, fascinated. Despite arriving to the discussion from a thousand different directions and holding very strong, wildly divergent opinions on how the operation should be run, the heroes in the room were able to reach a consensus in under two hours.
However, as details started to coalesce, no one addressed the problem that, even in the best case scenario, there was liable to be huge amounts of Trigger on site. It seemed everyone had forgotten about that little detail. Izuku raised his hand as if he were in class. Nighteye gave him a supremely unimpressed look and the greenette cringed, intensely aware that the last of the ridiculous dye had yet to fade form his hair. "You can just talk, Fossa," Flag told him. "Say what you have to say."
The room actually fell silent as he spoke. "If this is a Trigger manufacturing or distribution facility, we need to take into account that the yakuza are going to use these drugs in combat. I'm not sure if we're equipped to deal with someone like Mimic if he used a performance enhancer, or Overhaul himself for that matter..."
Silence reigned for several seconds as the group chewed on this information. "That's actually a very good point," Nighteye said, "although I think with this amount of strength we can handle it..."
"It's a wildcard," False Flag said, "and I don't like wildcards. There really could be a problem,
especially with Mimic, as Fossa said. I don't fancy being underground with someone who might be able to possess the ceiling and make it fall on me."
"Does Trigger have an antidote?" Izuku asked slowly, thoughts whirling about and slowly assembling into a reasonable course of action.
Fat Gum nodded from across the table. "There are antidotes to Trigger and similar quirk enhancing drugs, the kinds found more commonly in America. They were developed promptly as some individuals can react very badly or even die from Trigger and it's hard to say ahead of time what constitutes an overdose for any given individual. Everyone's quirk biology is so different... Anyway, the antidotes are either given nasally or orally. The oral versions can take a while to kick in."
"A place like this compound... most people probably dine communally," Izuku reasoned, "could someone sneak into the building and lace either the morning or evening meal with Trigger antidote?" Would that be legal? Would it work?
Nighteye considered this. "Yes, they do prepare food communally... They have a chef. I don't know her name, but I know her face and I could sketch it for you. She lives in the compound and does nearly all of the group's cooking, with help from two assistants."
"I see a job for a sneaky undercover hero," Ryuukyuu said, looking directly at False Flag. Those two must work together fairly often.
"Given what we know about compound security I don't think slipping in and out will be feasible... not without someone with an overpowered stealth quirk... I would have to impersonate either the chef or one of her assistants and I think there's a pretty high chance that at least someone in the whole yakuza base would realize there was a doppelganger floating around... Arresting one of them and then impersonating might also provoke a lot of unfortunate questions. I think our best bet would be nabbing all three of them and taking over meal service entirely for the day." A few heroes nodded. "Let's say we arrest and impersonate the chef and one or two of the cooks," False Flag nodded to herself, "and lace the morning meal with Trigger antidote. That would put a heavy restriction on the attack time if we want to take advantage of the situation. Taking the antidote before taking drugs should have a significant effect on when either of those things kick in..."
Izuku had nothing to contribute to this part of the discussion as he had no knowledge of the relevant biology, but Fat Gum and Centipeder had the answers, or were able to look them up quickly. It took another hour to hammer out the final plans for the raid. Everything was set expect for the day and the details of the impersonation; that would depend on when they managed to get their hands on the Hassaikai's chef and what they learned from her.
"I'm glad you brought that up," False Flag told Izuku as they departed the meeting. "Do you want to be assistant chef when this all goes down? Provided that your size and body type match one of the options?"
"D-do you think I could? I mean, I know operations where you try to impersonate someone in particular rather than inventing a new identity are really, really difficult and I've never done anything like this and I--"
"I think you're a good enough actor to pull it off," Flag replied, "provided that one of the helpers matches your body type and provided that the guy is more along the lines of "live in help" than "life long yakuza fanatic known and loved by the entire compound." This may be a moderately high stakes mission, but it's also a pretty damn safe one. The raid teams know who we are--that's one hell of a luxury--and better yet they'll be laying in wait just a few minutes out from the
moment we go into the compound, ready to move in if something goes wrong. This is a great first mission, if you're up for it, and I'm sure you can pull it off."
That was flattering. He was not blushing, though, definitely not. It took more than a tiny bit of praise to make him blush. It did. Would Izuku be able to safely take part right now, though? He was still reeling from the hammer blow of witnessing his body commit a murder but... it hadn't seemed to affect his ability to concentrate during the meeting and he'd been in top form when the class sparred the day before. He was a part of this investigation; he'd like to see it through and he'd like to start acting as if he were back to normal (even if he weren't, even if he never would be). Aizawa would probably disapprove, but Aizawa was not his work-study mentor. Regardless, would it even be possible to pull this off? "But, I probably don't look anything like this person and I'm recognizable..." His face had been on national TV.
"I told you I was going to introduce you to the Face Fixer. We'll get you set up with a temporary bone structure for the duration. He can't change your height, so you may have to wear heels to avoid suspicion, or something like that. We'll see who your choices are. It's possible that it simply won't work, in which case perhaps Konno can help me... or maybe I'll have to come up with a reason why two out of three of the kitchen staff are missing. It'll be suspicious... and that's not a good thing to be when there's that fanatic with the truth compelling quirk floating around..."
Izuku gulped. This was terrifying but also exhilarating. "Okay," he agreed, "if it makes sense..." "Good. We'll talk more once I've seen what we're dealing with."
Four days later, the yakuza's chef and both of her assistants were quietly arrested at a specialty spice shop, warrants having come through on drug trafficking charges, although the greenette had no idea what evidence in particular had been used against them. False Flag left a message on Izuku's phone that just said, "show time."
Izuku felt as if he were wearing the kind of helmet players use in American football, the bizarre sensation a result of mundane and quirk-powered appearance alterations. His hair had been forcibly straightened and bleached. His bones had been twisted and sharpened until he looked years older and decades crueler. The Face Fixer worked fast, getting his jobs from a dark web message board and meeting clients in back streets. On some corner behind a twenty-four hour fast food chain, Izuku exchanged a roll of bills for a new identity. The change was temporary, due to wear off in two days.
The (once again, former) greenette took his commandeered key card and buzzed himself in at the compound gate. He walked into the Shie Hassaikai's domain with an enormous crate in his arms, moving with the sure stride of one who knew he belonged there. "You're up late, Aoki. Did you screw up a purchase or something?" someone called to him. Izuku, having become well acquainted with Aoki's glowing personality at the central precinct that afternoon, swore vigorously at the
speaker without bothering to check who it was. The student put effort into lowering his voice and turning it gravelly; a small voice-modulator on his throat helped adjust the pitch, but the high-end support equipment which could completely alter someone's speech strapped conspicuously over the user's mouth. Fossa obviously could not wear such a thing so he would have to put effort into the necessary voice alterations. Apparently he was convincing. "I was gonna' give you a hand with that box, but now I think I'll leave you to it."
"Screw you, too," Fossa yelled flippantly over his shoulder. Flag was already inside, having slipped in two hours previously.
"Hold on a second," a cold voice demanded. It was not the member of the Eight Bullets with the truth-compelling quirk (thank the heavens). "You really are out late. What's in that box?" the gangly man demanded. It was nearly midnight, and although the compound seemed to have some late night (or early morning) traffic, the student's conduct was definitely suspicious.
Izuku rolled his eyes and opened the top of his cargo. It was strange, but he wasn't frightened, not a bit... It wasn't that he thought he could take out these two thugs if necessary (he did, in fact, think that) but rather that he had sunk so deeply into this borrowed persona that he couldn't imagine he would need to. "Rice and seasonings. To replace the fifty bags that fell on my damn head this afternoon." Someone laughed at his expense. It really didn't make much sense for him to be out this late making such a small purchase, but he had a more detailed explanation ready if necessary. He would not offer it, though, unless it was demanded.
"Serves you right for that stunt you pulled last night."
"Yeah, yeah," Fossa muttered, picking up his box and continuing. He did, in fact, know what stunt they were referring to. Aoki had been quite thoroughly interrogated in Izuku's presence. No one else questioned the operative as he made his way to the kitchen. He'd hoped to make it in without attracting any attention at all, but at least no one had seemed overly suspicious.
Flag glanced at him as Izuku entered the dining facilities. "Set that stuff in the cupboard then get to bed," she said. "Ueda's not going to be in tomorrow, so it's just us cooking for everyone." At least two yakuza members passing by in the hallway were near enough to hear this. It was good to start rumors now to explain the other helper's absence. There had been some discussion of having Konno or another hero impersonate the third cook, but the individual's quirk and body type were not possible to imitate on short notice. Aoki's quirk was invisible--he could produce a limited amount of energy photosynthetically. He was also near Izuku's size; subtle platform boots granted Fossa a bit of additional height. It worked.
"Why? What's that jerk doing, with some lady again?" Fossa groused.
Flag snorted. "Like you're one to talk." The younger spy shrugged and took his leave.
Izuku made his way along the dark hallways, forcing himself to walk casually as anxiety began to creep up on him. This place was really confusing on the inside, especially in the dark. What if he couldn't fine Aoki's room? How suspicious would it be to get his own room wrong? Aoki hadn't lived here his entire life; he was technically part of the yakuza but really little more than hired help... Please let this be the right room. Aoki's key fit in the lock and Fossa stepped into a tiny room--not much more than a large closet--with a narrow bed and a desk covered in trinkets and electronics. Izuku sighed in relief. Needing to stay the night in order to prepare breakfast without suspicion was inconvenient, but at least Aoki had a private room. If Izuku had to sleep in communal bunks... the ruse probably wouldn't be feasible. Someone would notice that he wasn't who he pretended to be.
Was this how Fossa's kidnapper had felt, stepping into Izuku's life as if he owned it, suddenly in possession of all the trinkets the greenette had acquired over a decade and a half of existence? This was someone's whole world, someone's name, someone's home... and Izuku had plucked it like an apple from a tree and bitten into it. This was his now, for the next five hours at least. He drew the curtains over the single window, pulled on gloves for good measure and began to methodically search the entire room, acquainting himself with details of Aoki that he could not learn from reading files and speaking with the belligerent yakuza captives.
Aoki was a clean freak. There wasn't a single cobweb or speck of dust anywhere, not even under the bed. The few books the man possessed were neatly alphabetized on their shelf. Aoki ironed and folded all of his clothes, even undergarments. The twisted, invasive cruelty of this wholesale identity theft struck Izuku like a blow across the face. Interrogating his mark and reading information about him, preparing the persona that way, had been intellectually challenging, enjoyable. This was... Fossa did not like this. Fortunately there wasn't much in the way of possessions to paw through. The only find of interest was a set of well-hidden comic books... not hero comics, fantasy comics, old ones.
Izuku skimmed through the room's reading materials over the course of an hour, just in case he was expected to understand references made to them. Hopefully no one else would speak to him at all until the ruse was over... but better safe than sorry. The books covered topics ranging from self- help to weapon maintenance to dog training. The comics were enthralling. Izuku would have to read the series for real sometime.
The unpleasant search finally through, Izuku turned the mattress over and stripped off all the bedclothes. He didn't know where they'd been, after all, or who they'd been with. He was probably tired enough to doze for a few hours despite the buzz of battle tension building steadily beneath his skin. Everything had gone well so far. That couldn't last, though, not with Izuku's luck.
Five in the morning saw Fossa bustling about the kitchen, following False Flag's orders to the letter. The student was not a skilled cook, but he could steam rice and he could prepare soup. His mentor attended to the fish and vegetables. The soup was liberally laced with Trigger antidote, whose technical, pharmaceutical name Izuku kept forgetting. Some of the powdery, purple agent was added to the rice as well although that wasn't likely to be as effective--it was hard to stir it in evenly. Drinks were also dosed. The orally administered antidote for Trigger was non-toxic in the sense that it would take a massive overdose to cause any health problems (unless someone were allergic). The spies worried, therefore, only about underdosing.
The infiltrators began to dole out individual meals into covered bowls as was customary in the compound. As six in the morning approached, the very first diners arrived, taking bowls with a nod and walking towards the long, oak tables in an adjoining room to enjoy their meals.
Clocks hands inched forwards, traffic picked up, and Izuku's anxiety returned. Fortunately, when he wasn't busy preparing servings Fossa was able to occupy himself with a never ending stream of cleaning tasks. The yakuza did have automatic dishwashers, but there were plenty of utensils in a kitchen that even Izuku knew weren't meant to be cleaned that way and the ancient, stone counters themselves needed plenty of attention.
"Where's Ueda?" came a cold, imperious voice. Nemoto... the truth compeller. Oh no, oh no. This was what they'd been afraid of, the spanner in the works that could dash their plans to smithereens. Izuku fingered the panic button in his pocket. The radio transmitter would signal the teams waiting
to attack that something had gone wrong and they should move in early. Nemoto was the main reason that both infiltrators had these buttons. They'd had no option but to hope that the menace didn't come to breakfast, didn't find cause to interrogate them with his power. Nemoto's question wasn't addressed to Fossa, fortunately, because he didn't think he could have managed to resist the compulsion to reveal the whole, unspun truth...
"With some lady being a useless layabout. I swear, if he does this again I'm going to get a new helper," Flag said without missing a beat. It was true, indeed, that Ueda was with a woman (if one took that to mean a female defense lawyer rather than a date) and was, probably, laying about uselessly, but Izuku couldn't imagine having said anything less than "in police custody," if the question had been addressed to him. He could feel the power of Nemoto's voice crackling through the air like the promise of lightning.
"Hm," Nemoto grumbled. "Where's Aoki?" Oh dear. Things were about to go wrong. There was no way she could twist that truth--
"Not here," Flag answered. Nemoto cocked his head. The man wore a plague doctor mask and tall hat, but the incredulous body language was plenty clear. Before the truth compeller could ask where Aoki was and then run into a contradiction that would reveal the deception, Fossa jumped out into the open in an attempt to salvage the situation.
"Hey! I'm right here!" Izuku protested. "I was only cleaning some dishes in the back. I'm not that much of a scumbag. I wouldn't leave her alone to handle all of this."
"Ah. There you are," Nemoto nodded. Izuku did not like that tone... Something about Fossa made him suspicious. Maybe the spy's voice was off. Maybe he wasn't quite the right height... This wasn't over. The student's heart must be beating a thousand times a minute and yet... he had very little trouble controlling his outwards reactions. The fear and adrenaline seemed to bolster rather than hinder his acting abilities.
"What's your legal name?" Nemoto demanded of Fossa. That was it--they were screwed. Even if the truth compeller had asked Flag who had immense skill in resisting this kind of quirk, there was no way someone could twist an answer to such a direct question. False Flag continued working, nonchalantly preparing another batch of fish, even as the house of cards came tumbling down around her. She reached into her pocket for her own panic button, though.
The compelling force had words flying out of Izuku's mouth without thought or permission. "I'm not actually sure." This was the worst thing he had ever been forced to admit aloud in his entire life and he was going to have an identity crisis later, but this was also a gift horse whose mouth he would not be looking into. "It might be," he pooled his willpower and somehow managed to get his traitorous tongue to produce only the less recognizable of the potential names--Bit Weasel's name rather than something related to Switcher's--and only the last name because "Miranda" would be a weird thing for a boy to call himself, "Dorman, but I don't actually know." The compelling power of the quirk faded, but Fossa had the option to add more information here, still technically truthful information that might, might save the situation if they were incredibly lucky and Nemoto had never asked Aoki this exact question before. "Aoki is what I'm calling myself today and it's a good name, don't you think? Better to have a Japanese name in Japan."
Nemoto cocked his head, considered this, then shrugged. Apparently he had never asked Aoki that question before. "Well... It's not as if you're the only stray here." Please, please, please don't ask anything else. Nemoto took a bowl in each hand, turned on his heel and strode away. Fossa took a deep breath and tried to expel the accumulated tension from his body.
Fossa could hardly believe they'd made it through that unrevealed. Thank the heavens for
crippling psychological problems. What was False Flag going to say about that lovely tidbit of problematic information? Nothing at the moment, although she gave Izuku a sideways glance that he couldn't quite translate...
The real breakfast rush hit around seven thirty and Izuku managed to forget all about Nemoto as he ran back and forth attending to dozens of little tasks and, occasionally, getting into a fight with False Flag because that was standard operating procedure for this kitchen and they had appearances to keep up.
All of the yakuza shock troops known as the Eight Bullets picked up breakfast with the exception of Tabe. Joi, or Mimic, the yakuza's general manager, also came for a meal. Chisaki himself did not. Izuku didn't know whether that was normal, but it was certainly unfortunate. Still, they'd managed to administer the drug antidote to the majority of the yakuza's most dangerous combatants.
The flow of diners died down to a trickle by eight. Izuku stretched and yawned. It was odd to think that, after all of that bustling punctuated by sheer terror, his day hadn't really started yet. Breakfast service had been nothing more than the prequel.
In the distance, Izuku heard shouting followed by a crash. He glanced at Flag. She nodded. "And so it begins," she grinned. The two spies traded aprons for knives. Izuku exchanged his platform soles for more practical combat boots. The infiltrators made their way towards the foyer where Nighteye had informed them a secret passage to the underground levels awaited.