What you don't see is me gesticulating the answer to D.B. Cooper's whereabouts behind this wall of texts and runes.
Izuku Midoriya found out that not all men were created equa—scratch that. That notion did not cross his mind when he was deemed a Quirkless plebeian. If men were not created equal on the basis of supernaturality—then he would bend that twisted fate of the world into a linear line. Through blood or tears, he would—no, he will. For the world needs equilibrium.
This is the story of a broken man who re-pieced the remnants of his scattered hopes with the will of his ambitious dream. A dream to give that same hope he once had to twenty percent of the populace. To bring a new light to this Superheroed society. For a new era to prevail.
An era of equality.
An era of Quirkless Heroes.
The documented saga of the famed Hero known as,
Inventory.
"Sorry kid, give up trying to be a hero," the old doctor said with the most intense apathy that the middle-aged woman sitting opposite him winced internally and physically. She felt a sting in the corners of her eyes. This was not how she expected this visit would go. It was supposed to be a walk in the door and out the same door with no problems. But she was mistaken. Heavily mistaken.
"W—What . . . ?" she sputtered out, hoping against hope that she had heard that wrong.
"I said, 'Sorry kid, give up trying to be a hero.'" the doctor repeated with a blank face.
"I—I know that, b-b-but before that . . ." he sighed miserably, fingers that were resting atop his lap twitching, as though seeming to want to rub his eyes with it in annoyance.
"Quirkless, ma'am, your son has no super-human capabilities," he informed once again, proving that, in fact, she had heard that right. She chuckled nervously.
"Haha . . . ha . . . th—that's not right," she muttered. Tears were forming. "I—I mean, my husband and I have Quirks, so, so, so . . . th—this is a joke, right? If—if so, it's not funny! So, so stop! How could you do this to my baby!? Lying!? You're no doctor, it's just a bullshit label they had to put on you because, what? You graduated medical school!? Give me a fucking break! Give me another—real—doctor, and see if your diagnosis is right!"
Throughout her whole rambling, his face just looked blank. After she was done, she was hyperventilating, eyes wide in wild anger while glassy tears shrouded her bright green eyes. The doctor waited a minute for her to calm down before speaking again.
"Ma'am, I understand your confusion—and anger—but I am not wrong," he explained, still apathetic as the rock across the road. "I checked it ten times. My team checked it ten times. The head radiologist checked it ten times. Still, the fact of the matter was unchanging—your son has, and will have a single joint in his pinky toe for the rest of his life. Subsequently, he will have no hope of producing a Quirk. Just . . . accept it as the order of life."
She wanted to protest, but couldn't go through with it because . . . it was true. Real. Her baby boy of four was . . . Quirkless . . . powerless . . . his life ended before it had truly begun, and it was her . . . her fault. She crashed back into her seat, defeated, hopeless, guilt ridden.
There was a long silence. So long that she didn't even register the whimper of her son's voice before it got loud.
"NO! NO! WHY WOULD I LISTEN TO SOME OLD HAG!? GIVE UP!? THAT'S DIRT! ALL MIGHT SAID THAT ANYONE CAN BE A HERO! EVEN A QUIRKLESS!" her son was up out of his stool, scowling and pointing a finger at the doctor. He was sobbing even as he yelled, but his eyes never wavered away from that . . . that glare. He was . . . those eyes of her baby's were filled with hatred, but most of all, determination.
The other day he was a shy, timid boy, with energy that could match the sun. But now he was a boy with rage deep, deep within his body. How did he change so much? Just from this single forty minute visit?
"Who're you calling an old hag!?" The doctor finally, for the first time this afternoon, showed emotion. Exasperation. "And yeah, All Might did say that once, but kid, listen to me, it was just for publicity."
"LIKE I'D BELIEVE A MAN WHO'S ABOUT TO DIE FROM A SINGLE FART! I WILL BE A HERO, JUST WATCH ME!"
That day, Inko could only do one thing: sob.
For she knew that her son could never achieve that dream.
He would never be a hero even if he tried his hardest.
Inventory: Prologue
—
—|Thus, a Hope & a Dream was Shattered|—
—[The King's Verdict]—
The world was unjustly unfair. Brutal is the better alternative. Hellish is the fact.
Early on in his life, Izuku Midoriya was a confident boy, even with the fact that he was a Quirkless individual. In elementary school he would—without a doubt in the world—always proclaim to his classmates that he would be a hero no matter what fate threw its metaphorically hands-covered-in-shit at him.
The reactions from said classmates would go accordingly: laugh at him, then beat the shit out of him.
But he was more stubborn than most, if not the stubbornest of all stubborn. The reason for such an attribute to have at a young age, was the words said by the greatest hero in history: All Might.
From an interview that took place on September 6th of 22XX, 1:34.01 minutes—yes, he remembered the date and the time-stamp from the depths of his heart—All Might said: [What makes a hero a 'hero', you ask? Well, it's not as complex as rocket science as most of you think! HAHA! What makes a hero is having a selfless heart! That means saving people in danger by putting yourself in danger first! But also be selfless to the world by saving yourself in the process as well! Get what I'm saying? No—No!? AHAHA! Sorry, sorry! Okay! I'll backtrack—what makes a hero a 'hero' is just being a hero! No matter who you are, no matter what race, no matter what outward appearance, no matter what Quirk, you can be a hero! Even a Quirkless can be a hero if one tries hard enough!]
What he focused on the most out of all those one-hundred and fourteen words were the last twelve. 'Even a Quirkless can be a hero if one tries hard enough!' That sentence was his living mantra. Even when he was miserable after a bad beating from Kacchan, even when his own mother couldn't so much as talk to him, even when his father abandoned him, even when that one time his pet mouse died, that quote from the man himself cheered him on.
But even that could only do so much.
So, he took solace in another great thing; invention. He was good at that. Extremely so. It was the only thing he was good at. His father's garage was packed with a bunch of mechanical tools, he forgot to take them with him after he left. At first, he didn't know the difference between a wrench and a wire-cutter—that had almost cost him a finger. But then a saving grace was bestowed upon him in the form of a book, blessfully titled: 'Mechanical Engineering for Idiots'.
Day after day he would read and read that book—since he had nothing better to do at home. His mother gradually stopped talking to him, she wasn't neglectful, just didn't know how to talk to him without bringing the topic of Quirks up. He knew that she didn't hate him for his condition. She was just busy providing for both of them after their main money maker went kaput. But . . . it hurt nonetheless.
Finishing the book with new found knowledge on invention, he spent morning to night trying out new things. There were a lot of errors in his earlier creations, be it being a frayed wire or it abruptly blowing up in his face. It didn't deter him though. Through many revisions and iterations and repetitiveness, he successfully invented his pride and jewel; a tiny robotic stick figure that would butter his toast in efficient strokes, labelling him: Henry I. That name didn't last long.
When he showed his mother the robot, she just gave him a quick smile, patted him on the back and went back to her laptop. That hurt a lot more than anything. Again it wasn't neglect, but it was sure as hell close to it. He didn't show her any of his more impressive inventions after that.
Another reason for the world being unfair.
The other reason is giving Kacchan an explosive Quirk. Literally. How and why the world gave it to him, he does not know. Do they want the most egotistical maniac to wreak havoc on innocent people? That wouldn't have mattered anyways, since the innocent people praise the psychopath, feeding his ego fat to obesity. It became so fat to the point that he had to show it off in violent tantrums, as per the universe's game of 'how can we make Izuku Midoriya's life more hellish?', the asshole pointed it towards him. Every minute of his life in school was agonizing. So agonizing that at one point he thought it was a normal thing for another kid to use their Quirks on people like him. Star-burst shaped burns appeared on every inch of his body—there was so much on him that he started to give names to it. Talk about rueful.
The adults were no help. He asked for one countless times, and their reactions to his injuries were always the same; 'Well, you shouldn't have provoked him, Dek- I mean, Midoriya. You know he's our Golden Boy in this school, he's gonna be an amazing hero one day! While you . . . while you're going to be amazing . . . something.' Yeah, very encouraging words Mr. Asshat.
He didn't go to Inko for help after that, he didn't want to cause her heart to stop from the shocking amount of abuse he collected. So he kept it to himself, filling that bottle within his heart to full, which was a mistake. He lost control one day, the feeling of dread overwhelming him until he cracked and the bottle exploded—resulting in him thrashing the garage and destroying everything in it in the form of flames. Who knew giving a blow torch to a mentally and physically abused kid would end up causing a house fire?
Inko was not happy, nor angry, actually. She was sad. And he was the one to blame.
Now they live in a two room apartment, barely scraping by with the rent and bills.
The world was truly unfair.
But he never lost his hope through all of those events, never even so much as damaged it. His dream of becoming a hero was the only thing that made him keep going and going and going.
Of course, the one person he looked up to the most shattered it and spit on it.
"It's not bad to dream," All Might said, his voice not having that familiar booming and eccentric tone that he had heard countless times in interviews, movies, podcasts, that one weird Christmas special, and videos. He wasn't facing him, blond spikes of hair were the replacement. Opening the door to the rooftop they both ended up on, All Might said one last thing before stepping through and disappearing down the stairs to drag the Sludge Villain to the nearest police station, "But you also have to consider what's realistic and what's not, young man."
'CREAAAAK-CLICK!'
The door closed, so did Izuku's dreams.
It must've been hours, days, years, or even a decade—he did not know—that he stood rigid on that rooftop, emerald eyes taking the shade of jade, mouth partly opened in unspoken poleaxe. The blue sky stared at him apathetically, warm wind crashing into him gently. Sounds of cars and horns and whispers of chatter from the people of Musutafu down below the roof of the building squeezed into his ears painfully. Abruptly, he buckled into the gravel with tears streaming down his freckled cheeks.
Even if the man didn't specifically say that he could not be a hero without a Quirk, Izuku could hear the underlying subtext behind his polite response.
"Ha . . . hahaha . . . shihahahahahaha!"
The world was brutal.
Raising both fists above him and pummeling them into the rooftop's ceiling, Izuku roared miserably. He did it again. And again. And again. Knuckles were sprayed with red when he finally stopped beating them against gravel. The salty water produced from his eyes twinkled down into it, clear and red circling each other with no direction of a designated color. It hurt so bad—it stung as if there were a thousand hot needles penetrating his gashed knuckles in a rhythmic choir of mock.
He stared—unfocused—at his hands, which were shaking uncontrollably from unknown emotions. No. He vividly knew what these emotions were, he's lived with them his whole life but considered them nonexistent for the sake of sanity.
It was hopelessness. Parlous forlorn. Desperate need for affection. loneliness. Dreamlessness.
Despair.
"I . . . I give up . . . I—I'm d-d-done . . ." it was the words he didn't want to utter—the very foundation of his declaration would crumble to ash if he even thought of such words. But it didn't matter now. Nothing mattered. "Kac- Bakugo was right . . . he was a-a-always right. What . . . hehe . . . what the hell was I thinking!? Hero!? Me!? A useless Quirkless freak!? A Deku!? Hero!?"
". . ."
"THE FUCK WAS I THINKING!? I DIDN'T EVEN WORKED TOWARDS IT! I DID NOTHING BUT CRY ABOUT HOW UNFAIR IT ALL WAS!" he cried out, slumping his body down into the gravel, fingers clawing into the sandy texture. He banged his head harshly into it. Izuku went still—as still as calm water—while years of unshed tears finally broke the camel's back and went haywire. He remembered the doctor's words, and this time he didn't think it as foolish, but as reality slapping him across the cheek.
He didn't work towards the words he said to him afterward. Years of idly saying he will be a hero, but hypocritically doing nothing about it. He was still scrawny as the man he just saw earlier; mentally scared at the prospect of facing a Villain as he did thirty minutes prior—he froze out of fear that he would die from suffocation. Heroes don't get scared.
Bakugo also said he would be a hero—number one even—and unlike Izuku, he actually started his journey towards that fame he proudly declared since he first said it. He worked as hard as an adult at the age of nine, practiced his Quirk in a secluded area away from prying eyes, worked on his body day in and day out, studied immensely to first place in the national exams (beating him out of that first place). He was practically a hero already—though an unhinged narcissist with sadistic tendencies.
Katsuki Bakugo really was the Golden Boy in this story of heroes.
And Izuku Midoriya was the Hypocrite Pariah.
"I—I'm pathetic! A coward . . . !" slowly, he hoisted his back and looked up at the sky with arms dangling listlessly by his bent knees. Snot slithered down his nostrils, mixing with the mucus were the tears falling freely from his dull eyes. He looked at the heavens with acceptance. He no longer refused fate's hand in his useless life. No longer disregarded the cruel reality that he was . . .
". . . A fucking Deku."
'B00M!'
In the far distance came an explosion, startling Izuku out of his dejected stupor. He jerked at the loud sound, flash-cards of explosions and the color of blond juggling his mind like an unexpected flood. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a shroud of metallic smoke between high-rises wisp up into the air—even from the far space between him and the commotion going on, he could faintly smell the residues of burnt caramel. He didn't know if that was from traumatic memories or the present memories that were forming as of now. Admittedly, the latter he would rather forget all together.
What's . . . is it a Villain? out of habit he sprang to his feet and ran towards the access door while looking at the swirling smoke to the east of him with a concentrated mind, I should see what's going on, what kind of heroes could show up and take notes—He stopped as soon as his battered hand wrap around the knob, the words of All Might's and his own coming back to him like a yapping dog.
". . . Right . . . what's the point?" he muttered to himself. That gave this whole emotional and mental roller-coaster an official stamp—he was truly done. He sighed. Turning away from the door he went to pick up his backpack, beside it he saw his tattered notebook. He held back a sob as he saw it. With his pack securely on his back, he picked up the notebook and looked at it wistfully, loving echoes of him hunched over his desk and sprinkling anecdotes and notes and detailed outlines on Support Gears and Quirks in the limited papers wormed through his mind.
Red. Orange. Blond. Hand. Shoulder. Burning pain.
He scowled at the crumbling paperback. He crunched it in his hand, growling. Dashing to the edge of the roof, Izuku reeled his arm back and roughly threw the item into the sea of pedestrians and auto-mobiles, intending for it to be crushed—or better yet, chewed, swallowed, digested and dunged by a stray chihuahua.
'BOOM! KRAC-BOOM!'
Two sets of ear-splitting explosions resounded in his right ear, making him snap his head towards it. The smoke in the alley between the same two buildings was oily black now, the smell of melting plastic now coming strongly into his nose from its direction by a gust of hot wind.
Why is that still going on? he thought. The heroes should've taken care of it by now. I wonder what's causing it.
For a moment a silly image occurred. Did Bakugo finally snap and go on a Villainous rampage? Wouldn't surprise me. Seriously, what's taking them so long?
Eyes wandered back to the edge where he threw his book, and back to the smoke.
I guess . . . it wouldn't hurt to just see what kind of Villain is doing it . . .
Curiosity kills a man.
Contrary to what he said earlier, Izuku was shockingly super surprised to see that, in fact, Bakugo was going on a Villainous rampage—well, kind of. He wasn't the one actually doing it, but was instead controlled against his will to carry out his actions of blowing everything in his vicinity to charcoal. The puppeteer was . . . the Sludge Villain that All Might saved him from!
Izuku looked on at the scene in horrified disbelief, body going limp from the sheer pressure of guilt that he felt overflowing his whole stomach.
I t-t-thought All Might incapacitated that guy in a bottle . . . the pressure increased when he caught white, making him want to vomit all of his intestines across the charred pavement. All Might was in the crowd, in his skinny state, limping against his injured stomach while looking at Bakugo with helpless eyes. The bottle that—that was i-in his pants that I—I g-grabbed onto . . . It must've fell o-o-out . . . b-b-b-because of me . . .
His breathing quickened at the revelation. All Might was muttering up a quiet prayer from behind the crowd. Izuku rigidly looked away from the man, and set his eyes on the face of his long-time bully; much to his building pile of guilt, he saw what he had never before—Bakugo's expression was of desperation, almost begging. Behind one translucent dark-green of a tendril from the Villain's body that was covering Bakugo's lower jaw, Izuku saw him mouthing 'HELP ME!'.
But he didn't move. He was scared shitless. What could he do? Talk the Villain down with a sob story? Punch him bloody? What could a powerless freak like him do to a man who's made of musky liquid? Drink him dry? That sounded inappropriate, but there's no time for jokes. What were the heroes doing? Wanking themselves?
Bakugo's red eyes were turning brown, clearly he was losing the ability to breathe. He was suffocating. He was dying.
I—he's dying! K-K-Kacchan's d-d-dying! S-s-somebody, save him! What was he thinking? Begging for the one person who tormented him his entire life to be spared? He should just leave and let it happen. It was a selfish desire, but he never wanted such a desire to come true until now. B-but that's immoral! Wrong! EVIL! Even if he's an asshole, he should have a second chance! Anyone should have a second chance!
If that's what you believe, why aren't you rushing in to save him? That's the same as being immorally selfish, isn't it?
A distant voice reprimanded him within the draft space of his mind. It wasn't some telepathic Quirk of someone in the crowd, but it was his own hollow voice. A voice that spoke volumes of truth. He was selfish, wasn't he?
NO! I'M NOT! JUST WATCH ME, I'LL SAVE HIM! he yelled back to the voice. Acting on his proclamation, he moved to intercept the Villain's dastardly harassment on his former best friend. But came shy of a single step past the yellow tape that blocked the entrance to the alley when the bug-like eyes of the Villain landed squarely against his own. He froze in petrified terror.
"YOU! YOUR THE KID THAT ASSHOLE, ALL MIGHT, EVISCERATED ME FOR! YOU KNOW HOW CLAUSTROPHOBIC IT WAS IN THAT BOTTLE, YOU LITTLE SHIT!? I'M GONNA FUCKING PUMMEL YOU INTO A BLOB OF WET BLOODY SINEW!"
Bakugo—the sludge—lunged toward him at a scary speed, one second it was a few meters away from him, now it was one foot opposite him with Bakugo's—the sludge's—arm raised in an aggressive manner.
Well no shit it's aggressive, you're about to die! Izuku didn't know if that was the correct way of using his last words, or thoughts specifically—didn't matter anyways, he's about to meet his maker. He didn't make even the slightest of a whimper when the hand arched his way, the only thing he could do was to close his eyes and pray that it was a painless affair.
He felt hot air above his head, a tear ran down his face. But the searing pain of his scalp melting off didn't happen. Actually, nothing as of note occurred. That is, until he opened his eyes and saw the back of a massive man.
"HAVE NO FEAR! WHY . . . ?" It was like the whole area got quiet just to hear the booming voice of a man who has saved countless lives, a man feared by all Villains across this global sphere floating in an endless abyss of stars and clusters of atoms and matter. Izuku didn't know that you could fear and feel safe at the same time, but here he was, feeling safe as a puppy in a box while fearing death because of a voice.
This . . . this is what it means to be a hero . . . this hulk of fearlessness and confidence was what he was trying to pursue . . . how idiotic and delusional was he? Never in a million years would he achieve this man's greatness. It was a journey of an invisible road that he was so desperately gullible enough to traverse through.
What a joke.
"BECAUSE I AM HERE!"
Was the last thing he heard before being thrown back by a powerful gust of wind—the world blurred as his face went slack and his eyes became dull of any emotion, teeth biting into his lower lip until it bled.
The world went black.
Inventory: Prologue End
Now, now, now, calm down, I SAID CALM DOWN! Why am I posting something other than 'It Only Takes an Itsy-Bitsy Spider to Change One's Life'? Because I don't know what to goddamn write! The other reason was my PC crashed and gave me a black screen for like, two months! Did you know how I fixed it? With an eraser. Yeah, a fucking eraser! I'm literally a fucking genius!
And this is an idea I couldn't wriggle out of my brain. This is a Quirkless Izuku Hero Badass Man story, or I hope it will be if I continue with it! (Don't worry, he's not gonna lose an arm in this one). Basically the foundation of any Quirkless story, but I hope mine comes off with a twist in the next chapter. I am thinking of different ways to slide this. But I am going to tell you rn, Izuku will not be transferred into the Hero Course whatsoever! And Izuku isn't going to be some OP schmuck who kicks everyone's ass with brute force. He's gonna feel pain, and know the reality of his position.
This is a challenge for me as a writer, wanna know why? Three-dimensional characters, that's what I want to obtain with this (hopefully) long story.
This was a short chapter, as a prologue should be. Hopefully next chapter will be longer.
Please, I am a mere man who likes apple pie so you have an obligation to leave a review! (And no, I don't know where Cooper is, so don't call the CIA).
