Felcia was unrecognizable in the dim gold of approaching twilight. It was like the night the nomus attacked Hosu, raised to the tenth power. Any window not carefully boarded had shattered, covering the street in a carpet of glass. The husks of burned or crushed cars blocked every other street. All the aluminum had melted out of the wrecks, pooling in great, dully metallic puddles.
The intersection Izuho's squad skirted had cracked open and flooded due to a burst water main; everything was still soaked, but it seemed the system was out of water pressure to add to the mess. The spy picked his steps carefully so as to avoid soaking his shoes.
Most of Felcia's population had hunkered down or fled as the city went the way of Melidaa, the PLF and the Chain tearing it to pieces as they battled for control. There was nobody in sight in any direction, unless you counted PLF soldiers.
Despite the grim backdrop, the evening sun shone cheerfully and birds scavenged excitedly in the empty streets, often flying away with impressive chunks of abandoned confections. At least someone was happy.
Izuho darted across a four lane street and into the lee provided by a tall, stone building, taking refuge in its shadow. "The enemy's using this building as a command post and sniper nest," Captain Tadamasa rasped. He looked as if he were seventy at least but moved with the grace of a teenage gymnast "We will take it. Follow your squad leaders."
Izuho sprinted up a winding staircase behind Sone. "Mihara, Arashiro, check the floor," Sone barked as they halted on a landing. Why the two of them? Because they were the only members of the squad carrying firearms? Did Sone respect the power of guns or did she figure that, lacking combat quirks, the newcomers' lives were expendable? Hard to say.
Izuho and Arashiro burst through the heavy fire door and quickly surveyed the chaotic office space as another squad sent in two operatives from the opposite stairwell. Chairs and desks lay strewn about haphazardly. Countless pieces of lost paperwork fluttered in the breeze like confused moths. Apparently this floor used to belong to an investment firm. "Clear," Izuho declared to his sergeant.
"Up we go, move," Sone motioned violently upwards.
Floor three, much the same, floor four--Izuho ducked back from the door almost before it began to swing open, narrowly escaping unscathed as the barrier ripped free from its hinges, thrown backwards by a powerful telekinetic's quirk.
The following firefight was so short and chaotic it wasn't any effort at all to avoid hitting anything, all of his bullets flying straight to the ceiling. The fighting moved outside within seconds, the outnumbered Chain forces evacuating along fire ladders or leaping from windows and relying on support tech and quirks to save them.
That could have been the entirety of class 1-A jumping out the windows and it would have been impossible to tell it all happened so fast.
"Everyone after them except Mihara and Arashiro! You two get on the roof, get us eyes on the surrounding area," Sone barked.
Well, that answered the question about whether Sone respected firearms; she did not. She just figured Izuho and Arashiro were either cannon fodder or useless depending on the situation.
"I get the sense she doesn't like us much," Arashiro muttered. "Maybe it's just because we're the new guys?"
"Maybe. Maybe she just doesn't like guns," Izuho replied, skirting around the real issue.
"I guess...? I mean we're soldiers now so that doesn't really make sense and I know guns made me kind of nervous at first, too," Arashiro hedged, not catching the underlying suggestion that the pair of them were considered second class soldiers because their weapons weren't build in to their DNA.
"There's no point in leaving us up here," Izuho muttered, crawling to the edge of the roof to look down. "Our weapons don't have the range to be useful and there's nothing to see--" A harsh crack cut through the air and, across the street, a man in the gray-green camouflage Chain uniform tumbled from the roof.
Arashiro flinched violently. Izuho suppressed the urge to do the same. "What was--was that Major Nagant shooting?" Arashiro whispered, as if the sniper might somehow hear them.
"Probably. Nagant's supposed to be one of the best snipers that ever lived, and if she's watching this area that's another reason we don't matter."
"Well, we can still try to keep a watch?" Arashiro said hopefully, voice quavering a little. That display of arbitrary, unstoppable death was enough to shake anyone's resolve. Major Nagant could slay anyone on the field without the slightest warning, an angel of death.
The building shook. "Was that a legitimate earthquake or a meta ability?" Arashiro asked, voice wavering again.
"No idea," Izuho shook his head. An earthquake--natural or otherwise--was exactly what they didn't need right now. "You should probably watch from the other side. No point in us both staring this way. Just make sure to stay aware of your surroundings, don't let someone sneak up on you." In theory, Izuho outranked her, but this was just a suggestion, not an order.
"Good idea."
Now Fossa was unsupervised and free to make mistakes. Excellent. There wasn't much he could do from here, but supplying bad information about what he observed could potentially cause some damage.
On a distant roof, the spy caught sight of a familiar, white scarf. Eraserhead. Fossa, rather than immediately pulling out his assigned walkie-talkie to report the presence of the lethal quirk-eraser-- a man who put the fear of god into the PLF if last week's TWRR article was an indication of general sentiment--waited a few minutes then incorrectly reported a Chain squad entering the storm drain system. Let the PLF enjoy that wild goose chase.
Sone called the spotters to rejoin their squad ten minutes later, barking out directions to the ongoing firefight haphazardly, not really caring whether Izuho and Arashiro managed to get there in a timely manner.
It was all over but the screaming by the time the stragglers arrived, Sone having driven the enemy forces from their position.
Three Chain lay in the darkening street. One was face down in a scarlet pool, one was partially eaten through by the acid that laced Sone's touch, the other was just dead with no sign of trauma.
The acid injuries were not quite on par with the worst things Fossa had seen in either war, not quite as bad as the injuries that had killed Tokoyami or Kuma, but it was a near thing, and Sone looked so pleased, so sadistically satisfied with herself, it was disgusting. Their sergeant was just a walking nightmare.
Arashiro turned away from the bodies, grimacing and visibly swallowing down bile. Most of their squad mates were pointedly not looking at the maimed corpses, though only one other was visibly fighting the urge to vomit. At least Izuku was not surrounded by psychopaths on all sides.
"Move it," Sone licked her lips, eyes glittering in the last of the dying daylight. "There's more where these bastards came from."
The truck jolted, speeding along a rutted road, and Izuho clutched at the side nervously. If they took a sharp curve at this speed, everyone was going to be thrown from the bed and probably killed. Where was the fire? Yes, they were retreating, but there was no reason to break the speed limit. The Chain was busy resecuring Felcia; nothing more than black ops and vanguard squads chased after the retreating PLF forces.
"Slow down, slow down," Izuho hissed to nobody. It wasn't as if the driver could hear him. Sone gave the spy a disgusted look as if the very idea of cutting the speed were offensive. Maybe
she was just accusing him of cowardice. Nobody else spared him a glance.
One of their squadmates was missing, having been killed by a Chain sniper while Arashiro and Izuho were separated from the group. Izuku hadn't known her name and it seemed too awkward to ask now especially given that they hadn't been able to recover her body.
Arashiro, tucked against Izuho's shoulder, continued to cry quietly as the crowded truck jolted one last time before crossing to blessedly smooth pavement. "I'm sorry," Arashiro whispered.
"It's alright," Izuho told her. They'd had this non-conversation ten times already. This time, however, Arashiro kept talking, whispering, careful to make sure only her friend heard.
"I know they're the enemy, I know they didn't give us a choice. I know what we stand for and I know this is the only way but he... he looked just like my dad. He was probably somebody's dad, or son. And Sone killed him and melted him like it was nothing."
Izuku felt his blood chill and freeze. Oh god. Arashiro, why? Why did she have to keep being a good person?
"They're all people, too, and the Chain lies, we know that. They probably don't even realize they're the bad guys." Please stop. "They probably think they're fighting for liberty or justice or something." Oh god, Arashiro, please shut up. "Screw the HPSC. Screw the Chain. Screw everybody. Nobody should have to die like this."
What was he supposed to say to that? Izuho stared straight ahead, ruthlessly stomping on every emotion as it surfaced and threatened to overwhelm him. These were the exact same things that Izuku thought about Arashiro herself, parroted back to him. He felt dizzy, as if Uraraka had spread her quirk across reality and reversed the curvature of the universe itself, as if he might slip and fall upwards into uncharted wilderness.
Arashiro wanted him to comfort her, tell her that it would all be worth it, and Izuho had to, Fossa had to, to keep up appearances, but Izuku couldn't because he couldn't figure out what to say.
He had to say something. Izuku losing his mind was not an excuse to stay silent while his... damn it she was his friend... cried on his shoulder.
"Screw everybody," he said eventually before adding, "and everything," for good measure, "especially this stupid, stupid war. Hopefully it will be over soon."
"It upset you, too, didn't it?" Arashiro whispered even more quietly. "You were thinking it, too, thinking that was somebody's kid, or somebody's dad."
"I've seen a lot of violence," Fossa said. "Way more than anyone should, and I know I'm only going to see more. I don't think about it so much anymore."
For some reason, that made Arashiro cry harder, sobbing into his shoulder. Sone glared at them, curling her lip in disgust. Izuho stared blankly ahead. The truck slowed to a more reasonable speed, the hum of the tires fading from a high pitched screech to a low rumble. The urgent part of the retreat must be over.
How could Arashiro be so sure of her path? How could so many of these people be so sure that what they were doing was right? How could Izuku be so sure that what hewas doing was right? Because he'd thought about it. Really, really hard, and changed his mind multiple times as he considered his morals and decisions. Even so... he wasn't always sure what was right or what he should do, and that was for the best. When you stopped thinking about it... that was when
everything went permanently wrong.
"Did you ever hear about the Battle of Rylota?" Fossa asked. "Uh, what?" Arashiro sniffled.
This story would be a good distraction, and a good chance to tell her some about the real MLA, the people the PLF defamed. "Destro, Bit Weasel, Switcher and Fractal traveled to Brazil, following reports and rumors that a private corporation, maybe government backed, was kidnapping meta humans and dragging them off into the middle of the rainforest for experiments and brainwashing. It turned out to be a bigger conspiracy than they'd guessed and multiple governments were involved. Fractal stayed back to coordinate while Switcher slipped inside to scout. Destro and Bit Weasel surveyed the area..."
He told the tale, most of it from secondary sources but some from his own dreams. He told Arashiro how Destro liberated a prison full of meta humans and those who had made a fuss when those meta humans started disappearing. He told Arashiro how the MLA managed to rescue everyone and make it out of the country before reports even reached enemy commanders.
"...Fractal managed to pull three more boats and a plane out of thin air, because he'd somehow anticipated that they'd be needed, and that was enough to handle everyone else."
"Huh. A backline general... we don't have those anymore. Did Fractal ever do anything or was he always support like that?" asked a voice the spy didn't recognize. Izuku looked up, startled, to find himself the center of attention. Everyone had fallen quiet to listen to him talk. Izuho blinked at the one who had questioned him. "I'm Corporal Nishida," the man explained, apparently reading "who are you" from Izuho's expression.
"Strategy and campaign logistics were Fractal's specialties. He could fight, too; he was really good, but he was quirkless so it wasn't like he could do the kind of damage Destro or Cloud Viper could, and he was so important that risking him on the front lines wasn't usually justified."
"Quirkless? No he wasn't," snapped a private with long talons and cat eyes. "How stupid can you be? You do know what quirkless people were doing to metas back then? Clearly you do. You just told a whole long story about it."
"Fractal was quirkless. There were many quirkless individuals in the MLA, not just him," Izuku replied firmly.
Nishida shook his head. "I can't imagine that was the case. It was a good story, but you must be confused."
Izuku, who knew now first hand as well as third hand from Kacchan and Best Jeanist, that Fractal was quirkless, replied firmly, "I have been obsessed with MLA history for a very long time. I have spoken to Rebel Isles residents who know, from Switcher, who was there,that Fractal was quirkless. I'm not confused." That justification was as close to the truth as he dared tread.
The taloned private rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Because a quirkless guy would willingly support the metas."
"It was a long time ago, the person you talked to must have just been confused, Mihara," Arashiro said placatingly.
"I'm not wrong," Izuho replied.
"There's no way in hell Destro would have allowed a neandertoe bastard to command meta humans," Sone snapped, giving Izuho a glare that could bruise fruit even in the dark. "You're misinformed and an idiot besides, now stop spreading that kind of rhetoric. You're upsetting people and undermining the cause."
How could this discussion possibly undermine the cause? "Yes sir," Izuho replied, unable to hide all the derision in his voice.
Sone glowered at him, shook her head then turned away. She continued, however, to mutter derisive slurs about quirkless people and something about how Destro would never have "sullied his reputation like that."
Izuho stared out into the night, watching the vague silhouettes of trees flow by, fuming but keeping his silence as per his orders. The sergeant's tirade was... way more blatantly bigoted than the spy had expected. Somehow it wasn't the anti-quirkless slurs that infuriated him, though, perhaps because he'd expected them. It was all of these people insisting they knew his friends when they knew nothing , when they were willfully ignorant, that made his blood boil.
Izuho shouldn't have expected anyone to listen to him about Fractal. He hadn't, not really. The PLF didn't want to hear the truth. They didn't care about what had actually happened. The MLA War, Destro... it wasn't history to them, it was religion and anything that didn't fit their narrative was blasphemy.
Saint Destro was a creep, but the real Destro wasn't like that at all and he would have been infuriated by this situation. Chris had once had a colonel demoted to private for referring to Fractal with a slur half as bad as "neandertoe" which, up until recently anyway, was a word that had to be censored on daytime TV.
TWRR managed to spin the "strategic retreat" of five nights previously into something other than the complete rout it had (probably) been. Probably. Izuho didn't know much more than the newspaper, after all, about how Felcia had ended as he had witnessed only a tiny sliver of it, but that sliver strongly suggested that the Chain had been decisively victorious.
Eraserhead had cemented his status as the PLF's boogeyman. Izuku's old teacher had, if the paper was to be believed, captured thirty people during the battle and killed at least three others; all of the fatalities would have been A-rank or above villains if villain ranks were still a thing.
Endeavour had been present on the field at Felcia but he barely merited a mention whereas Eraserhead dominated two whole articles. The flame hero had probably played more of a role in securing the Chain's victory, but somehow he didn't inspire the same kind of fear as Izuku's teacher. Maybe just the idea of having their powers bound was terrifying to quirk supremacists who built their entire self worth and identity around that genetic lottery?
The line was moving, wasn't it? Yes. Whatever the holdup to get food was, the issue was resolved and it was time for Izuho to start paying attention. The ex-student rolled up his paper, tucked it beneath his arm, stepped forward and then sharply backward as a group of military police roughly shoved their way into the line. Misaki, technically a captain but with authority rivaling Major Nagant, spearheaded the group, leveling his withering glare upon the one sergeant who dared look annoyed at the blatant disrespect.
Izuho did not react in the slightest beyond avoiding the group of MPs. It wasn't as if the mess would run out of food and it wasn't as if there were anything to do after getting said food. There was no hurry. For any of them. Cutting in line was purely a power play.
Eventually managing to snag a bowl, Izuho searched the tables--all plundered from various houses and stores and not one matching another--and spotted his squadmates. The spy took a seat next to Arashiro, unrolled his newspaper and began munching on his noodles.
What terrible opinion pieces had TWRR published today?
"Do you ever stop reading the news?" Nishida asked. The hook-nosed man was the other corporal in their squad, the one who would take temporary authority if Sone should be killed.
Izuho blinked, pulling himself back to reality. "What else am I supposed to do?" It had been long enough since their defeat at Felcia for boredom to replace all lingering panic.
"Uh, literally anything?" Shimoda huffed, flattening her ears; she had a jackal mutation so said ears were impressive. "I'd rather die than read the stuff. Even Shoowaysha Publishing, which tries to be cheerful," that was one way to describe propaganda, "is depressing these days. So many places I liked being destroyed..."
"My neighborhood got flattened last week," Wakiya complained, stabbing a potato chunk with a talon. He didn't care much for silverware. "I haven't heard from my mother since." There were a lot of animal mutations, either primary or secondary, in their squad, weren't there? That had to be purposeful, right? It couldn't be a coincidence, although as to whyanyone would organize a group like that... other than some weird variation on the ever-present PLF quirk supremacist bigotry no explanation was forthcoming.
"I'm sorry," Arashiro said to Wakiya. She still seemed depressed. She should be, of course--the PLF were bad people doing bad things and they should feel bad--but Izuku didn't like seeing her so miserable.
"I was going to send money to my mom when I finally got paid here," Wakiya muttered. "She's sick, can't work." Wakiya's father was probably dead. Nobody would ask to confirm, though, nor was anyone insensitive enough to ask what he would do with the money now that there was nobody to take it from him.
Izuku dared not linger on thoughts of his own mother. He might never see her again and thinking about what she must believe about him at this point made him sick. For all he knew, the HPSC had reported him shot by a sniper during the cleanup from Gunga Mountain. Nobody would know any better. There was no way to let her know he was alright, not without risking his cover and ending up not alright in a hurry. Even if he could let her know... the odds of him getting out of this unscathed weren't particularly good. It would be horrifically unfair for him to return from the "dead" just to die again promptly, forcing her to mourn him twice.
Outside Izuho's head, everyone continued discussing paychecks.
"When are we actually going to get paid?" Arashiro raised an eyebrow. The group turned towards Izuho.
"How should I know?" the spy blinked, trying to shake the deja vu. This reminded him so painfully of a Truth or Dare game in class 1-A a lifetime ago. Was somebody about to accuse him of being a fungus?
"You always seem to be pretty well informed," Arashiro pointed out, flicking part of a napkin at Nishida who raised an unimpressed eyebrow and flicked it back.
"What... how did you get that idea?" They'd all called him an idiot and a liar only a few days ago when he dared tell them the truth about Fractal and now they were all turning to him for information?
"We may not read the news, but that doesn't mean we aren't happy to hear what you read in the news, especially if it's important," Nishida replied. Well, that made some sense.
"I don't--" Izuho began.
"The logistics have been worked out," Camie broke in as she sat down to their right. Every head turned towards the battalion's logistics expert as she began to wolf down her food, clearly in a hurry to return to her overwhelming clerical work. "You'll get checks next week."
"Uh, Camie, a lot of us don't really exist . The HPSC disappeared me," Izuho pointed out. "I don't have a bank account, or a birth certificate for that matter, and don't have any idea--"
"Here," she shoved a brochure at him. "Official bank of the PLF. They'll set up an account for you just from your army identification."
"Oh. Thanks," Izuho began to read over the details.
"We were trying to get everything digital, but there's always glitches and maybe some enemy technopath snooping around the system mucking it up," Camie shrugged. "So lots of stuff will just be old school paper for now, maybe for always."
Nishida, who was at least forty with a touch of gray in his dark hair, cocked his head, considering. "You seem awfully young to be handling logistics for the whole battalion, not that I'm doubting your abilities... just how...?"
"How did I end up here?" Nishida nodded. Camie hummed. "I was a hero student at Shiketsu." That elicited a few confused double takes and one shocked gasp. "I flunked the licensing exam. That was pretty crummy. At the end of the year I went to an event, an HPSC gala thing Shiketsu was hosting. Cool, right? I had a fab time, and then I got expelled a few days later." She scowled, lip curling with rage, all her typical, enthusiastic humor sand-blasted away. "Never quite figured out why. I said something somebody important didn't like, I guess. I talk too much. I annoy people. Stupid people.
"My family situation was... it was... I didn't get kicked out, not right away anyway but it was coming and, well, what right did the HPSC have to ruin my life without even telling me why?" She crossed her arms, forgetting about her meal for a moment.
"I ended up on a lot of message boards, learning a lot of things I didn't like. Somebody invited me to a meeting. I liked what I found. Everybody just got it you know?" Nearly everyone nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. "I joined the MLA proper and started organizing a month or so before Gunga Mountain. When the army started forming up, I just kept doing the job I'd always been doing, plus some new stuff, 'course. I'm good at the job. I may not be there on the front with you, but I'm making the Chain pay."
"That you are," Nishida agreed. "I don't know what we'd do without you." Camie looked away bashfully, a smile returning to her face and banishing vindictive rage.
"Yeah, thank you," Arashiro seconded.
If things had gone just a tiny bit differently, if the HPSC had been just a little less petty, Camie would still be a hero student (Fossa, too, for that matter). Instead here she was, betrayed, abandoned and radicalized, one of countless kids falling through the cracks.
"That all sounds like the HPSC to me," Izuho muttered, "ruining everything, like they always do." It could have been Izuku. His story wasn't so different from hers; perhaps the difference was that his morals had already been set in slate when he was betrayed and thus the betrayal did not change his priorities or sense of self. He knew who he was and what he should be doing; he didn't need UA or society or even family to help him figure it out.
Camie raised an eyebrow. "You can't be much older than me, can you Mihara? Did the HPSC already screw you over, too? You weren't a hero student, were you?" How could she possibly know? No, she didn't know, she was just... filling air time. "It's totes fine if you were, 'course, or if you want to keep your lips zipped about it. I get it. I get funny looks still."
"I was wondering, what is your story, Mihara?" Nishida asked. "If you don't mind me asking. I've seen you and Arashiro sparring. Not many people your age can fight so well. You and Arashiro are not related, are you?"
"What? No, we're not related... we met in training." Arashiro had asked Izuho about his history before and he'd given her a short answer. This time he would elaborate some, keeping as close to the complete truth as possible while also giving a completely false impression of his life. "As for the fighting, I have some professional instruction, some good instincts, and way, way too much practice... I'm a trouble magnet and a bully magnet." Very true, that.
"As to how I ended up here, I was a history buff, you already know that. It always annoyed me that nobody got the MLA right. Nobody remembered Destro saving a whole city in Russia. Nobody remembered the meta human rights movement... Everybody acted like the MLA generals were insane psychopaths when, in fact, they all had points about self-expression and freedom. I got in a lot of fights and a lot of trouble as a result." That was also very true, although not at all in the way he implied.
"I didn't really know about the PLF until... way after Destro became a hero of mine. What happened to me to get me into the army, well, I was involved in a fight around when the PLF was getting organized. I don't really want to talk about it but four people died and two or three of them were in the hero industry and it was... not really my fault, honestly. I didn't want anyone to get killed." He sighed, bowing his head. "The HPSC found me at the scene and didn't care what happened or why or whose fault it was... threw me in prison, no questions asked. I was Liberated by the PLF... I don't know how long afterwards. I wasn't paying much attention, honestly. I joined the army straight out of Angband."
"No wonder you hate them. I am sorry that happened to you," Nishida grimaced. "Yeah, screw the HPSC," Shimoda spat.
"Hear, hear," Camie raised her canteen in a toast. The entire table--those involved in the conversation and those who had merely heard that the HPSC ought to be screwed--drank in solidarity.
"How old are you, Mihara?" Nishida asked, eyes narrow.
"Sixteen," Izuho replied.
"Those bastards..." Nishida muttered. "Every time I think I can't hate the HPSC more. You're just
a kid. Just like..."
What beautiful hypocrisy. Either Izuho was old enough to fight in a war, in which case he was certainly old enough to be imprisoned, or he wasn't old enough to fight a war in which case why had the PLF allowed him to enlist?
"I've been part of the PLF forever," Shimoda piped up, "or, I was part of the MLA and stayed through the transition to the PLF. I've been a member for years. I fell in love with Destro's ideals when I was just a teenager. I met other people who loved the Book and the rest is history." The heavyset blonde puffed up with pride as she said this, like a quail in mating season. She probably thought she deserved seniority rights despite her low official rank.
"I'm mostly just here to get paid," Wakiya admitted. "I have a criminal record and I can't get a job anywhere because I'm still 'a villain' despite the fact that it was a minor charge a decade ago that probably shouldn't even be a crime at all."
That was rather ambiguous. What had Wakiya actually done? He wasn't a true telepath, but his quirk allowed him to be incredibly persuasive. There were a lot of things he might have done with that quirk that could be categorized as pranks. There were a lot of things he might have done with that quirk that could be categorized as execution offenses in Black Forest under "acts of violation."
Arashiro chimed in with her tale. There wasn't anything to do that afternoon other than take a nap or play cards, so why not swap origin stories? It would pass some time at least. "I joined up when the protests started. I never liked the HPSC and, well, I want to change the system. We don't deserve this crap. My parents were both killed in a hero fight two years ago--it was negligence on the hero's part but nothing ever came of it, nothing except Stain going after the creep a year later-- and I've been scrounging along since then. I always wanted to go to university. Maybe I'll have the chance when the war is over and we put things back the way they should be." Izuho had already heard this, already given his condolences, and now the rest of the squad followed suit.
They turned to Nishida. "We all shared," Camie pointed out. "But you don't have to if you don't want to, of course. Lots of people aren't here because their lives went well, I know. That's totes fine if you don't want to talk about it. We'll find something else to talk about because I, for one, don't feel like being bored and lonely for the..." she checked her watch, "last ten minutes of my lunch. I have so much work to do and I want to pump my leisure time to the max, know what I mean? We could talk about the weather I guess, although that won't be super interesting. It's been the same for like, weeks."
Nishida's scowl morphed into an exasperated half smile at Camie's antics. He answered gruffly, "I joined up around the time the real protests started. My daughter died in one of them, killed by a "hero." They said she had attacked them but I don't believe it. She wasn't ever involved with the PLF and wouldn't have hurt a fly, wouldn't even eat fish because she felt sorry for them.
"She had an amazing quirk. In Shigaraki's new world, she would have been at the top. I'll see that world come to pass; maybe I'll stand on top of it for her." That was... a terrifying sentiment but also completely understandable. What parent didn't want to give the best to their child, even when the only thing that parent could offer was revenge?
"I'm sorry," Izuho said quietly, others murmuring similar, empty words.
"Not as sorry as the Chain will be," Nishida promised, bending a spoon between his energy-field reinforced fingers. He'd nearly snapped the utensil in two before he noticed what he was doing, winced in embarrassment, and hastily bent it back.
Why did all of these people have to be so complicated with sympathetic backstories? Izuku was trying not to get attached to anyone but they were making it hard , except maybe Shimoda who was just generally a jerk, a typical Book of Destro fan who knew nothing about the book's author and probably would have despised the real Destro had they met. Shimoda also smoked rudely close to the bunk house and kept cutting in lines because she thought it was her god given right or something, just like the MPs. Shimoda and Sone, at least, were easy to hate and would be easy to betray.
Speaking of the MPs... "What's that guy done?" Izuho asked, gesturing to a corporal who had suddenly found himself surrounded by Captain Misaki and his goons.
Misaki searched the man's coat, pulling out a flip phone. The corporal's face turned beet red as he was arrested. "Let that be a lesson to the rest of you," Misaki yelled loudly enough to silence the murmur of voices in the mess. "We are monitoring communications, digital and otherwise, and the technopaths in charge are good at their jobs. If you send messages you are not supposed to, not only will those messages not be delivered, you will be promptly delivered to a jail cell. Information security is not a joke. Regulations are in place for a reason."
Well, there went the spy's plans to steal a phone, send sensitive pictures to the UA general line, and destroy the device before it could be traced to him. Fossa could still steal a device and get the pictures, but the pictures probably wouldn't be delivered if the PLF really had skilled technopaths and engineers controlling communications. He might be able to take out the SD card and mail it if he could think of a way to ensure it got to UA without being intercepted.
Unfortunately, he couldn't.
Oh well. There was plenty of damage he could do without communicating with his alliance, and maybe he would find a way to forward information later. Maybe he could hand an SD card off to a Chain soldier during a battle.