"Oi, Sato. Hand me the lighter."
"How about you bring your own for fucking once, Ito?" Sato barks back. He can't get the damned thing to work anyway. It's just what he needed after a shit day in the office; no scratch that, after a shit week. Fucking hell, all he wants is a goddamned smoke. Is that really too much to ask for? Apparently, it is, seeing as the lighter still produces no fucking flame.
Taking a deep calming breath, Sato closes his eyes for a second, and then tries again. This time the useless piece of shit doesn't even manage to make a spark. "Motherfucker!" He shouts, tossing the thing onto the sidewalk and stomps on it a few times for good measure.
"The hell, man?" Ito mutters, eyebrows raised, staring at the scattered pieces of bright plastic.
"Let's just fucking go." Sato grumbles annoyed and storms off without a further explanation. It's only a ten-minute walk to his apartment if he hurries; he can probably survive that much longer without a cig.
"What's up with that attitude?" Ito asks, jogging after him. The asshole could never leave things alone well enough. "You've been acting like a jerk all day long. You've got stress at home again?"
A derisive scoff. "You could say that… Maki filed for divorce."
That's enough of a statement to freeze Ito for a moment in shocked surprise. "After more than twenty years of marriage? She did?"
"She sure as shit did. Has found herself a new boy toy already." Sato spits. The thought still makes his stomach churn. "The bastard is apparently fifteen years younger than me and lives in a fancy apartment near Akasaka."
"Jeez… I had no idea." Ito winces. "I'm sorry man. What happens with Toshi now?"
"I have no fucking idea, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let her take him away from me." Sato is not about to let Maki walk all over him just because she found herself a loaded sugar daddy that is willing to shove money her way. If she thinks he will simply roll over-
"Oi, am I seeing things or are those kids over there?" Ito asks out of the blue, squinting at two small figures a little further ahead. "Huh, could be street urchins."
Street rats or not, it's well past midnight, and goddamned toddlers are definitely not supposed to be out and about, even less so in these parts of the city. Not that the brats seem to be afraid of the dark, seeing as they are standing in the middle of the alley, completely unconcerned.
"Wait," Sato recognizes that wild mane of black hair. "Aren't those Yua's brats?"
"Who the hell is Yua?"
"A bitch I fucked a few times. I told you about her; she's the one with elf ears and the nice tits."
Ito throws him an unimpressed look. "And why the fuck would I know that whore's bastard children?"
"You haven't heard? It turns out that both of her brats are quirkless. Yua somehow managed to give birth to two fucked up runts; she is the talk of the neighborhood."
"Damn, that's a feat in itself. What the hell did that woman smoke during her pregnancy?"
"Fuck if I know; must have been some hard shit. Thank God they aren't mine."
Just as they pass the little rats, a high-pitched voice calls out to them. "Officer Ito and Sato?"
Groaning in annoyance, Sato turns back around. "What do you want, shrimp? Our shift ended half an hour ago. Go find someone else to bother."
The runt doesn't respond in any way to his aggressive demeanor, verbally or physically. He doesn't even twitch, and neither does his older brother, for that matter. The smaller one of them simply continues to smile up at him, a perfectly pleasant smile on his chubby face. What a fucking weird kid. "Spit it out already before I-"
Sato's next words get stuck in his throat. An ice-cold gust of wind catches him off guard, making his bones shiver and his teeth chatter. The hell? Wasn't it supposed to be a warm night? Not even the weather forecast can be fucking trusted these days. He should really head home; it's freezing out here. Fuck those brats; they are not his problem to begin with.
"Ito, let's go." He calls out, but as he glances to his side, Ito is nowhere to be found. "Ito?"
No answer. Looking behind him, he doesn't find the asshole either. The alley is empty. Did that son of a bitch seriously leave without him?
Another sharp breeze makes Sato's shoulders hitch up higher. Whatever, fuck Ito too then; looks like he'll walk the rest of the way on his own. Without sparing the brats another glance, Sato wraps his jacket tighter around himself and hastily leaves the alley.
He'd hoped he'd warm up a little as he walks home, but with every step he takes, the temperature only seems to drop further, until he is able to see his warm breath rise in front of him. He is damn sure it's not supposed to be this cold in September, but weirder things have happened. Maybe a weather quirk has gone out of control, or a hero is fighting a villain with an ice quirk somewhere in the area. Thankfully he is almost home; he just needs to round the next corner and then-
"Officer Sato."
Sato flinches and whirls back around. He does a double take at the sight that greets him. Where a second ago a residential area stood, now a scorched wasteland lies before him. Nothing but black charred earth that stretches for as far as he can see, melting seamlessly into a pitch-black horizon.
Alarmed Sato whips his head around, but no matter which direction he turns, the scene stays the same. No familiar buildings, no asphalted streets, no sign of civilization or any form of life. There is just an endless plain of dry, cracked soil that scrunches underneath his soles, dust and ashes that hang heavily in the freezing air, ticking down slowly in a mocking imitation of snow. Every breath leaves the sickeningly sweet taste of decay on his tongue and sticks to his throat like molasses.
"Officer Sato."
Then a single man stands in that barren land, and Sato's lungs stutter to a halt as their gazes meet, his panic forgotten as all he can think is- beautiful. The stranger is as mesmerizing as only a sword can be that cuts through an enemy's neck, as graceful in a way only dusk is. Eyes as red as the sun's blood that spills over the edge of the heavens, hair as black as the approaching night, and skin as pale as the rising moon.
There is madness in his smile, a hunger that knows no bounds and limits. There is a promise in the way he holds himself, a pledge to anyone that is willing to listen and everyone who doesn't. This man, he is sure, is a bringer of silent death and a storm of blazing agony.
"Officer Sato."
There is a gutted void in his voice, a black flame that licks at Sato's sanity and swallows it whole. It rings in his ears and pulls at the seams of his existence. His flesh unravels, his bones peel, and the ground creaks and groans and greedily gulps down his innards.
This man, he knows, will burn the pillars that hold the constellations in the firmament. This man is the silently amber that corrodes the world's very fundament for the frozen winter wind to tear the skies asunder. This man will build a town of bones and place his house in the middle of it, on a plaza paved with glass so everyone can marvel at the corpses it was erected upon.
He knows he will decay there with them; he knows he is one of many and more to come. He can feel himself sinking into the insanity that lies below. He can feel his heart beating faster and faster yet, euphoria ripping him apart from the inside out, the pure, innocent glee at the prospect of rot on his skin and rust in his blood. His skull will be the cornerstone to build a monument on, his marrow will become the town's soft acres, his ribs the towers reaching far beyond the skyline.
With ecstatic joy Sato surrenders himself fully to the all-consuming madness that fogs his mind and clogs his veins.
He lets himself fall willingly and doesn't resist when he gets dragged deeper into the monster's slick maw, and he doesn't resist when sharp teeth dig into his chest, and he doesn't resist when the jaw snaps shut and-
.
.
Madara snaps awake. His grip on the knife hidden underneath his pillow tightens.
Another rustling sound from outside the window is all he needs, then he is fully alert.
Izuna, too, is wide awake on the futon beside him, his fingers wrapped around the hilt of a kitchen knife. Their eyes lock, and with his free hand, Madara signals. Possible threat. Me. Observe. You. Keep watch.
Affirmative.
The bedroom is dead silent, the noise outside stopped as quickly as it started. Not a single beep to be heard. The other children haven't even stirred in their sleep.
Madara slides out of his futon and glides over to the window, avoiding the creaking floorboards with practiced ease, and presses himself against the wall. Hearing nothing, he glances outside at the street below; at the suspiciously still street, he realizes. It may be the middle of the night, but this part of town is never truly asleep. There are always some shady characters loitering in the dark alleys who go about their business in the cover of the night, late customers arriving and departing, the homeless wandering about. Something is amiss.
He is proven right when he catches a flashlight flickering across the facade of an adjacent building, and shadows start to move down below. They are nearly inaudible, Madara will give them that, but a group of hastily moving individuals is bound to cause noise. Boots on gravel, rustling fabric, clattering metal, the static of walkie-talkies.
P.O.L.I.C.E. he signals to his brother, who is crouching by the bedroom door.
His eyes widen ever so slightly in the dark. Retreat?
Negative. Hold position. Observe.
More and more police officers take up position at the brothel's exits, hands on their weapons and attention directed firmly onto the building. Madara stays still as a statue besides the window, trailing every minuscule movement they make.
They are not here for him and Izuna, that much becomes clear. The police wouldn't storm a building with dozens of armed men to apprehend two quirkless children that have not even reached the double digits yet. In their eyes, Junichi and Ren could never be a threat. They are seen as barely more dangerous than a pair of feral alley cats. This society is so fixated on the superficial value of quirks, the mere notion that two quirkless children could overpower a 'normal' person would be laughed at; they are simply not capable of committing such crimes with their weak constitution. The quirkless fly under the law enforcement's radar, as both a perpetrator and a victim. Which is perfectly fine by Madara.
The police came for something else. Madara's best guess is they are here to take the brothel down. He even has an inkling as to why they decided to do so now of all times. It's not like the brothel hasn't been known by the police for years. Try as one might, hiding an illegal business with that many nightly customers is simply impossible, especially under such a flimsy guise as a nightclub. However, if being invisible is impossible, one can always buy silence instead.
Madara has seen his fair share of police officers visiting the women's rooms at night and leaving again in the morning with self-satisfied smirks. Not to mention the heroes that indulge their carnal needs regularly under this very roof, thinking they wouldn't be recognizable out of costume and with a pair of glasses and a different hairstyle. Fools, the lot of them. Knowing their names and faces might be of value at a later date though, so Madara will keep their corruptibility to himself until it is of use to him; provided that these idiots have not been discovered by their colleagues by then.
It seems that this silent agreement between the local law enforcement and the brothel ends tonight. That begs the question of what will happen with him and Izuna.
The air grows tense as the minutes tick by, and an eerie calm washes over them.
Then all hell breaks loose on the lower floor. Madara can hear doors being torn off their hinges, people shouting and demanding, panicked screams and pleading. Too bright lights are suddenly shining down on them from the outside. Feet are stomping in the hallway, glass shatters, more yelling and frightened screeching. To add to the chaos, the children finally awaken to the loud noise, giving off their own high-pitched shrieks.
Madara ignores them. He is by Izuna's side in a heartbeat and pulls them both into a dark corner of the room, hides them behind carton boxes and a wardrobe. Only a second later, the door to their room bursts open, and a figure clad in a ridiculous red and green suit saunters into the room with a forced smile and way too much fanfare. The children's terrified screams stop, interestingly enough, though.
"Hello, my little friends! My name is Starshooter! I'm a hero and here to save you all, so fear not! Your days of suffering have finally come to an end!" He proclaims boisterously.
Most of the children don't react in any visible way, frozen in shock as they are. Only some of the older kids gape in astonishment at the hero.
"Now come, I will escort you. The police are already waiting for you outside." With that, Starshooter begins to herd the children into the hallway.
Madara's mind meanwhile runs a mile a minute. They have to make a decision here. On one side, this would be the perfect opportunity for them to disappear into the wind. No one would ever bother to start looking for them. Junichi and Ren would be forgotten in a matter of hours. However, what would follow is a life on the run for at least the next few days, stealing money and getting an illegal job, creating a false identity, and evading child services until they reach adulthood.
On the other hand, they lose nothing by following the hero, at least for now. They will be shoved into the foster system with the other children, most likely into an orphanage. That would not be an unfavorable outcome, barely any different from their current situation, but with the added bonus of it being a legal institution that is obligated to take care of all their primary needs.
The better option is to simply play along with the hero, and if they do end up in a worse situation, they can still decide to escape later on.
Madara taps a pattern onto Izuna's palm.
Follow?
Following your lead.
.
.
"Good morning and welcome to Tokyo Breakfast News." The serious woman on the screen greets, the intro music fading away. "This early morning truly shocking events have taken place in Kabukicho. After a still unresolved series of murders in Tokyo's biggest red-light district continued for over eight months, the investigating heroes have finally found a connection between the victims. According to Detective Fujikawa, the victims have all visited an establishment called The Black Rose Lounge at least once. What the police discovered upon further investigation surprised even hardened officers." The scene changes. A middle-aged man wearing a neat police uniform stands in the middle of the frame. In the background, blue lights are flashing, illuminating what appears to be an ordinary bar, if a little run down. Multiple microphones are being held in the tired-looking man's direction.
"During our investigation regarding the Kabukicho murder series, this establishment was brought to our attention. Upon closer investigation, we discovered that the bar was only a front for an illegal brothel that has been existing in the backroom for years. How the business had not been discovered sooner is still under investigation. What shocked us were the children that had been living among the prostitutes."
"Officer! Were the children forced to engage with clients?" A voice shouts from behind the camera.
"It's too early to say, but it is unlikely. We suspect the children are the prostitutes' kids and that they only lived there due to their unfortunate family circumstances."
"What will happen with them now?"
"They will be taken care of by professionals until they can find new homes with caring families."
The scene changes again. This recording is shaky and of poor quality, obviously made by an amateur. It focuses on a group of about twenty children of varying ages who are being ushered out the same building surrounded by the police, a hero following closely behind them. The imposing man smiles blindingly, one hand on a kid's shoulder, the other waving at the people gathered around the perimeter. The moment he stepped outside, cameras started flashing, and phones were being pulled out.
"It's Starshooter!"
"He is so cool!"
"Can I have an autograph?"
"Look over here!"
"I love you!"
"Haha, but of course! I always have time for my fans!" The hero booms and strides over to the crowd cheering behind the blockade. Behind him, paramedics rush towards the abandoned children, and the video cuts off.
The serious woman is back in frame. "As you can see the children are now cared for, and we wish them all the best for their future. On to more positive news-"