Izuho probably could have led the pack through the trees, keeping pace even with those whose quirks augmented their abilities, but Fossa would never be so foolish. True experience obscured, he stayed only a few paces ahead of Arashiro. He did not bother to fake heavy breathing; it was not as if anyone were close enough to note the lack and spot an incongruity, and even if they did, he would say he was "pacing himself."
Izuho dodged around a stump and leapt easily over a tall, exposed root before reaching a bifurcation in the marked track; the left path looked smoother, better traveled. Arashiro chose to follow him; several other trainees headed off to the right.
"I think it's a lollipop loop," Izuho realized after another ten minutes' jogging resulted in a few trainees passing them headed in the opposite direction. Why would one path seem more traveled then? Perhaps the dirt was more prone to erosion in some places.
"Hopefully... we only have to go around... once..." Arashiro huffed.
"Don't count on it," Izuho warned.
"Move it! If I were the Chain you'd be dead!" a drill sergeant roared, catching up to them rapidly.
Arashiro squeaked and shot past Izuho in a burst of speed, black ponytail flicking violently back and forth, before slowing dramatically. "That... was... dumb..." she huffed as the greenette passed her again.
Izuho beat the drill sergeant to lunch, although just barely. He skidded through the open flap of the white tent to find cooks bustling over portable stoves. The greenette picked up a bowl and cup from the pile and joined a line of fellow trainees awaiting meal service only moments before the sergeant arrived.
Arashiro, and about sixty of the hundred other trainees, arrived many minutes later, having given up once they realized their situation was hopeless and chosen to preserve their strength for later challenges.
There were plenty of stumps to sit on during lunch. They were not exactly chairs but close enough for most people. The grass was more comfortable, however, and there was the option of leaning against a tree. Izuho, feigning exhaustion, lethargically ate his curry and rice, watching those who had failed to escape the sergeant complete their pushup punishment.
"It's good curry," Izuho hummed to himself.
"Not really," a blonde man mumbled in reply from his seat on a nearby stump. Despite the disparaging comment and a wrinkled nose, the trainee wolfed down his meal.
"I just got out of secret HPSC prison," Izuho replied dryly. "It's good curry and if you think it isn't, that's because you've never had bad curry."
Nobody argued the point.
The greenette threw himself down in bed, the day finally over. It reminded Izuku of the first day of the training camp with the Wild, Wild Pussycats... Wow, that was a lifetime ago.
The PLF knew how to push people's limits. Even Izuho was worn out and a bit sore. Arashiro and many others--people who had never been subject to anything like this before--stumbled to their beds like zombies.
There was no more late night gambling and the greenette didn't have the energy for more than a very vague dream--probably a legitimate dream rather than a memory of some kind--that had something to do with acorns turning into voles at a post office.
"Alright! Everybody up!" a harsh voice barked. Izuku groaned--this was early, even for him--and rolled out of his bunk, dropping to the ground and swaying as his circulatory system sulkily refused to start up in a timely manner. His incarceration had taken more of a toll on his conditioning than he'd thought.
Fortunately for everyone's sanity, men and women did have separate shower and bath facilities, spartan as they were, although there would be no time for a shower proper in the morning. There was barely time to change clothes and fetch some rice and vegetables from the mess before they were called to assemble.
There were no open training fields where the whole group could line up neatly. It was too dangerous to be out in the open like that, the age of quirk warfare making some degree of cover advisable at all times, so as Sergeant Ishikura paced in front of his trainees he occasionally vanished from Izuho's view when trees came between them. It was... sort of amusing but also disconcerting, like being stalked by a jungle predator.
"We all know why we're here," Ishikura began, still pacing as he spoke. "Main stream society has
become too oppressive, corrupt and sick to survive. It cannot be repaired. We must do away with it and build a new order on its ashes.
"You have come here to fight for your freedom, for the freedom to use the powers you were born with, for the freedom to make use of all the skills available to you in order to excel in life. We are here, in short, to demand the right to live in a world where we are judged by our skills, by our merit." Is that how they were selling the propaganda today? "Meritocracy" was a fancy way to say, "rejoice, for you will be the people doing the oppressing now." A quick glance at his neighbors' faces suggested that a lot of PLF soldiers took all of this at face value.
"Shigaraki has a vision, a grand vision of a new Japan, free from the Chains of the HPSC, free from the corrupt system where "heroes" are picked for their boot-kissing showmanship and allowed to lord their powers over the oppressed masses. We've all had enough of that. Shigaraki has a plan for us." It wasn't as if being part of plan could magically make terrible deeds into good deeds.
"You will all be richly rewarded when we are victorious.You are all strong and strength will be recognized. The strongest, the smartest, the fastest, the most assertive, the most deserving will rise to the top in the new world. Nothing will decide your fate expect your skills. Your prowess.
"This will be much like the world Stain envisioned long ago, the world Destro fought for in days long past," lies. The sheer nerve of this man, talking as if he knew anything, putting Stain and Destro together in the same sentence. Izuho clenched his fists but kept his face stony. "Theirs is the world Shigaraki is finally going to bring about. There will be no false heroes, no corrupt HPSC taking away your rights, no government bloated by bribes and nepotism oppressing you, just the most meritorious ascending to the greatness they deserve."
Huh. Ishikura wasn't emphasizing the same idea Geten had during the firefight in Tartarus, the quirk supremacy idea that your meta ability alone should dictate your place in the hierarchy of society, although it was implied in everything said. The underlying message was "the strong will dominate the weak and you are all strong; rejoice." It made sense to soften the original ideas, to work in some less radical dogma. There were plenty of people here to whom Geten's raw message might not be appealing, plenty of people like Izuho and Arashiro whose quirks didn't quite fit the PLF's ideal, and the PLF wanted all of their support so they were toning down their rhetoric some, allowing more wiggle room and using that loaded "meritorious" word rather than just saying "the people with the best quirk" or "the people who won the genetic lottery."
"All of you have proven your strength by joining the PLF." The assembly had remained silent up until this point but now cheers broke out, Ishikura skillfully controlling the emotions of the crowd. "Our future is bright," Ishikura told them, "but it is not ensured unless we do our duty. You must obey your orders to the letter, without hesitation, not because there will be grave consequences to you if you don't, although there will be, but because by disobeying an order, you alone could doom our cause. Every single soldier is of critical importance. Every decision you make is a life or death decision.
"There are standing rules and regulations in place to help assure our victory. You've likely read them before, but now it is time to hear them. So listen up! I'm not going to repeat myself and you have no business ever violating one of these. You know the consequences if you do! We've no time for that kind of idiocy!"
Some of the finer details that Ishikura imparted to them, and the answers to the handful of questions brave souls voiced afterwards, were shockingly vague. "Will I be paid?" "Can I see my family?" and "Can I have my cellphone back?" received unacceptably wishy-washy answers. It seemed that internet capable devices were banned in the PLF unless you were a commissioned
officer or otherwise had special permission. That was probably a good idea (unfortunately). It would be too easy for someone to leak information from a smartphone, accidentally or otherwise.
Arashiro was barely twenty, just a few years Izuho's senior, and though she was no runner--and would always be assigned the extra pushups, even on the last day of training--her wiry build belied impressive strength and tenacity. Nonetheless, Izuho easily flipped her over his leg and pressed a foot between her shoulder blades. "Argh. Yield," she grumbled. "Yeesh." Ten times they had fought. Ten times Izuho had won. He would allow himself to stand above the crowd in hand to hand. He had to make himself worth something given his lack of a combat quirk.
Sergeant Ishikura huffed, shaking out his auburn mane as was his habit when annoyed or exasperated. "Arashiro, join Satow's group. Mihara, you spar with me."
Should he actually win? He could. Ishikura was mean and strong but Izuku was better. He wanted to win. Ishikura made Izuku's blood boil, but Fossa knew better than to let that anger get the better of him. "If I see you holding back, Mihara, you will be doing pushups until the end of the day. I expect you to beat me at least a quarter of the time." Huh. Interesting.
Ishikura was fast, superhumanly so, but he was no War Dog. He was skilled, incredibly skilled, but he was no Stain. Izuho blocked a punch with his elbow, deflecting much of the force then grabbing Ishikura's wrist, nearly managing a joint lock before the instructor twisted away.
Ishirkua grinned. Izuho ducked a high kick and threw himself at the sergeant's legs, taking both of them to the ground but reclaiming his feet easily. He could kick Ishikura in the chin and probably end the fight that way, and the instructor clearly knew this. "I consider that a victory for you," Ishikura admitted before launching himself at Izuho like a striking viper.
The greenette did not allow himself to be pinned easily, and had he pulled out some of his dirtiest (or most skillful) tricks he could have escaped, but those were not skills Fossa would reveal. He would take the loss and it would not appear that he had thrown the fight.
Izuho did win at least a quarter of the time, carefully holding back when convenient. Embarrassing an instructor was not a good idea in a place like this, and Fossa didn't want to expose all his tricks or raise red flags. Even this level of proficiency would need a careful explanation. "Where did you learn to fight, Mihara?" Ishikura asked, eyebrow raised, as the group wrapped up for the evening, leaving their chosen clearing and heading for the showers, the mess and the bunks in that order.
Izuho shrugged, stretching sore muscles and hoping his shoulder would be better by morning. "By fighting, sir, mostly, a bit of professional instruction. I've had... well, I've lived a lot of my life in really dangerous places. There were bullies that used to try to beat me up all the time in school. Then I learned to fight and they stopped, sir." All of this was technically true. You never knew when somebody with a truth quirk might wander by and overhear. You never knew when you might find it hard to keep your own story straight. You never knew when a reputation for authenticity would save your life. It was always best to refrain from outright lies except in desperate situations.
"Hm. Well, I hear you can shoot, too."
"I'm an okay shot," Mihara hedged. He would have to be carefully mediocre when showing off firearms skills. Anything else would result in too many questions and close too many avenues of
subterfuge.
He did allow himself to be a good teacher, however, and Arashiro was a good student. Most of the trainees weren't particularly interested in firearms, staying away from the range and spending the optional blocks training for quirk combat, but Arashiro's meta ability was truly useless for offense or defense, even to Izuku's creative eye, hence her enthusiastic pursuit of good aim.
Four weeks passed in the blink of an eye. He didn't dream. Maybe he was too exhausted or maybe his subconscious recognized that the distraction might be enough to throw him off balance and get him killed. Whatever the reason, it was disconcerting. Izuku had grown accustomed to his exciting nightlife, enough to miss it dearly, as it turned out. In particular, Kuma's company would have been appreciated. Pretending day after day to be Izuho was stressful in a way he'd never imagined before, like living in a movie. He sometimes felt as if he were floating, no longer really bound to his body, watching someone else carry out their daily business. It was getting easier, though, worryingly so. He could use someone to talk to, someone to assure him he wasn't going mad.
One day they were wrapping up and heading for the showers as usual, and then the next morning when they fell out at Ishikura's call the sergeant was congratulating them.
"I know that you will do me and the PLF proud," he grinned. "You have worked incredibly hard these last four weeks, and you will continue to work hard when you arrive at your assigned positions, I know. This wasn't the eight week course we'd really like to give you, but all of you put in extra work to make up for the lost time.
"You will all be magnificent soldiers. It was a pleasure kicking you around the training fields every day."
"Thank you sir!" they chorused and then, no further fanfare, no time for goodbyes, they were receiving their orders, collecting their effects or assigned equipment, and running for the trucks, buses, and jeeps which threatened to leave without them if they lingered.
"I feel like we just got here," Arashiro muttered as she dived into a seat in the back of a dusty jeep, situating herself on Izuho's left. "I swear, I barely learned where the mess is."
"I mean, it's a tent and they keep moving it..." Moving the mess tent early in the morning was one of the punishments particularly annoying recruits earned. Izuho had occasionally risen early enough to witness it.
"Wait. Really?"
"You... seriously didn't figure that out? The tent's to the left of our bunk house today and yesterday it was to the right."
Arashiro banged her head against the back of her seat. "This explains so much," she muttered to herself.
"You're not serious, are you?" She reminded him of Todoroki with this endearing cluelessness, and he didn't like that she reminded him of his UA friend. What was it that Izuku had said to himself about being careful not to make friends here? How was that going for him? Even worse, Arashiro was being assigned to the same battalion as him, maybe even the same unit. He had too many opportunities to get more attached to her.
"I was tired, okay? I just kind of followed everyone else!" "I was tired too, but I didn't forget which direction is right."
"Shut up." Arashiro huffed and raised her shoulders like an angry bird fluffing up its feathers. The greenette laughed at her. She deserved it.
As the now fully occupied jeep began its drive, Izuho took the opportunity to review his orders more carefully and found a new insignia in an envelope. "Huh. I'm a corporal for some reason. You?"
"Private first class, I guess." The PLF was using standard army ranks, mostly anyway. They changed things when convenient, and as annoying as it was to draw any parallels between them, the True MLA had done that, too.
"Looks like we're headed to the same squad," Izuho noted, comparing her papers to his. "Great!" Terrible. Izuho found himself smiling anyway.
"They probably did that on purpose, seeing that we worked well together in training." "Who cares. I'm just glad to have somebody I can count on, you know?"
"Yeah." Except he couldn't count on her and she couldn't count on him, either, but only he knew that.
"As an extra bonus, you'll always know who to come to for a beverage," Arashiro winked. She could transmute any potable liquid into tea, coffee, or coconut water, sterilizing it of dangerous microbes in the process. It was... bizarre but also awesome. She knew at least fifteen different kinds of tea and was always learning more.
The jeep bumped along a rutted road, nearly rolling on a tight curve. "Watch it!" Izuho yelled at the oblivious driver. This had been a paved thoroughfare just a month or two ago, and then there had been a battle for its control and large sections of the pavement had been destroyed. Now it was oiled gravel, and not even good oiled gravel. The country was falling apart and everyone was too busy hating each other to try to fix it.
Izuho turned his attention to the gear in the bag he'd received. He had been assigned soft armor that fit him acceptably well, a mid-caliber pistol that wasn't even semiautomatic, and a pair of knives which were at least sharp and strong. It was better equipment than he'd expected, and perhaps better than he wanted.
The worse his equipment, the better his excuse for failing to damage the "enemy."
That inspection over and plenty of bumpy road still to go, Izuho flipped to the end of his orders, reading the details more carefully.
He was part of the Violet Division (formerly Brigade, until someone realized that a Brigade usually meant only two or three thousand people and Violet Division had ten times that). Geten was their general. Geten. The radical idiot who Fossa had once fought at Tartarus. How weird. The general might recognize his voice. The greenette would have to be really careful about that.
Izuho belonged to Battalion V-6 under command of Major Nagant. He would likely get his direct orders from V-6-3 company's commanding officer, Captain Tadamasa, and his squad's staff sergeant, Sone. Platoons did not exist in the MLA; squads were usually twenty people, far more than the typical ten. This avoided some of the organizational challenges of skipping a big level in a traditionally accepted military hierarchy while likely also creating new problems. As any school teacher knew, exactly controlling the actions of twenty people was a lot harder than exactly controlling the actions of ten.
"Huh. Looks like we're here," Arashiro hummed as the jeep bumped to a halt.
Izuho hopped off the vehicle after his friend, pulling his bag after him. Five others followed, but Izuho didn't know any of them, other than that one bald guy who kept getting assigned to mess- tent-moving punishment detail.
The battalion's temporary encampment involved at least a hundred small tents--of every shape and color--for enlisted personnel and several dozen trailers and modified recreational vehicles for officers or those with sensitive jobs. They had, for the moment, just taken over a forest camp ground and made use of its existing facilities to augment what the PLF could supply on their own. This meant that all the tents and trailers were interspersed with trees to an even greater degree than at the training grounds. A number of groups had stoked campfires to roast snacks. One group had a whole squirrel on a spit while another had some scavenged vegetables. It almost looked like some kind of group cookout, but even as he watched the battalion began to pack up, dousing the fires and disassembling the tents. Were the new arrivals late?
Izuho and Arashiro, following an improvised sign, entered the command trailer, the other new arrivals close behind. "Just a second," a young woman, half buried in stacks of paperwork which were only a slight breeze away from flowing off her desk, waved to them as she frantically fielded phone calls. "I'll put you through, just a moment. Where did you say you were again? Good. One moment please. No, the Captain is not in right now. Yes, shortly I promise..."
Fossa furrowed his brow. He knew her from somewhere... Oh yeah! She'd been at the provisional hero license exam. She was a Shiketsu student wasn't she? He had a clear image in his head of this girl proudly wearing the Shiketsu sailor hat... How the hell did she end up as a battalion clerk in the PLF?
The girl hung up with a relieved sigh then smiled at them brightly "Hello everybody, I'm Camie, Utushimi Camie, not big on family names or ranks or anything but a sergeant, technically. So nice to meet you! Papers please!" Izuho and Arashiro handed theirs over first; it was their privilege as the early arrivals. "Mihara and Arashio. You're looking for Sone's squad. Right?"
"Uh, yeah," Arashiro replied to the bubbly girl.
"Good! Great! Cool! Yeah, Sone's squad is assembling over in the far northwest corner by the women's showers." She pointed out the window. "That tent there is where you'll find her. We're packing up at the moment, heading out real soon so you better get moving!"
"We... literally just got here..." Arashiro said dully. "We're not late, are we?"
"No, no! Yeah, I know you jut got her, but nobody around here really knows how to keep things organized just yet and yeah, you need to get moving or you're tote gonna' miss the train! It's not really a train, you're getting in trucks and stuff but you know what I mean!"
"Uh, thanks," Izuho replied, hurrying after Arashiro. They jogged across the camp ground to a waiting woman who was likely Sergeant Sone.
"There you are," their sergeant--who looked like a velociraptor-human cross complete with rending talons, tail and vibrant, feathery accents--said as the pair handed over their orders for inspection. "We're taking down the tents. You handle packing this one up," she gestured to the nearest contraption, a pale pink monstrosity. It must have been purchased at closeout because nobody in their right mind would pay full price for something that color, and what a tactical disaster that was. "Hurry it up. We've got places to be." The fanged grin that followed was sinister as laughter in a burned out tomb.