Trigger Warning:

- mention of verbal abuse

I jinxed it.

I bloody jinxed it.

I should never have said those words that night.

Because now, I have actually been caught.

The police were waiting for Shigaraki and I around one of the many news offices I frequented, and this time they nabbed me. Only me because the instant lights flashed, announcements blared, and guns were loaded, Kurogiri's portal had appeared, and I pushed Shigaraki through it. "Wait for my call to retrieve me," were my last words to him. Poor man didn't even have the time to react.

If only I had not dropped the illusion blanketing us for an instant, then this would never have happened, I scold myself.

"Drop any weapons and raise your arms!" a man shouted on a megaphone. Does my cane qualify as a weapon? I raised one arm. "Raise the other one too!" he exclaimed again. With a grimace, I dropped my cane and lifted my other arm. An officer comes from behind me and binds my wrists behind my back in handcuffs. Special handcuffs. The ones that restrict any movement of my hands and quirk. I feel similar restraints placed around my neck and on my ankles. The only difference is that I can freely move my neck and feet. They tell me I have the right to remain silent, shove me into a car, and drive me to a high-security institution where I will be interrogated. I scheme along the way.

This is no time to panic. Once I meet the person in charge of this case, my freedom is guaranteed. I have an excellent offer that she won't be able to resist. All I need to do is convince the officers to arrange a meeting between us. Tonight. In a few hours.

The officers pull me out of the car and form a double-ringed circle around me. The inner to watch my every action; the outer to survey for any threat. They usher me into the building, and I enter obediently. It's sterile. With pristine white walls, the overhead lights glare on their surfaces. I am pushed into a cell and locked. No amenities, no windows, no sitting space either. Just the cold tile floor, as white as everything else. I credit their thoroughness.

Two male guards stand outside the cell, facing away from me, but presumably to ensure that I don't attempt to escape. The others walk further down the hallway. I don't know how much time passes by. The guards don't say a word; I don't say a word. I'm thirsty, but if I asked for water, they would probably drug it. After what seems like an eternity, a female officer enters the cell, undoes all my restraints, and orders me to strip. She points a gun at me the entire time. Compliant, I divest myself of my mask, trenchcoat, waistcoat, dress shirt, belt, trousers, trouser socks, and gloves. Most of my knives are on display. "The choker, ear shells, and undergarments, too," the woman orders. Those come off, too, and now I stand naked in front of this woman. She steps forward and removes the knives herself, eyes tracing every scar on my body. "Take out the roses and open your hair," she commands again. I do that, too. She pats me down and opens my mouth. I try not to gag at the physical contact. At least she didn't ask me to remove my contact lenses. Once she's assured that I'm not a threat, she passes me a prisoner uniform and slippers - sterile, coarse, and starchy - and watches me wear them. My villain costume and daggers lies in an unfolded mess, roses scattered about. She binds my wrists and puts the neck and ankle cuffs again. The doors to the cell open again, and the woman orders me to follow her. As I exit, the two guards tail behind.

I am taken into an interrogation room. Charcoal grey walls, a few ceiling lights, a table, two chairs, and an enormous mirror taking most of one wall. But I know that it's a two-way mirror, and there are minute cameras and audio devices I cannot see. One of the guards attaches the handcuffs to the table with a chain, and then stands in the corner of the room.

Tired and joints aching from walking without my cane, I cross my arms on the table as a makeshift pillow and nap. But that nap is short-lived, because soon the interrogation room doors open, and another woman enters. This face I recognize. Short caramel hair lined with wisps of grey; matching caramel skin; intelligent, unforgiving hazel eyes that see to the core; straight nose; stern lips and jawline; excellent cheekbones. Aline Ahearn. I had researched this woman for a long time. Madam Ahearn woman wears a cream pantsuit with matching heels. She doesn't seem the least bit surprised to see a fifteen-year-old girl in the position of prisoner. She sits in the opposite chair and sets down a folder, presumably containing the list and details of all the blood I've shed. Well, this saves me plenty of time.

"Good evening. I am Aline Ahearn, the person responsible for leading your capture. Though I'm certain you know why you're here, it is my duty to inform you, nonetheless. You are suspected of being the Bone Crusher Killer. The murderer who gruesomely killed 33 men in their homes and reported their crimes in numerous news companies by tossing a USB in company drop boxes. Each victim was killed differently, but the one thing in common is that they had their limbs crumbled to pieces."

She continues with the formalities: the right to ask for a lawyer, to remain silent, etc. I listen patiently. Given my circumstances, I cannot get a lawyer, but I cannot reveal the entire truth either. For now, I should answer minimally.

When I do not reply, she begins with the questioning. "What is your name?"

"Selene Hanada." I respond, knowing that in the UK, the first name comes before the family name. I watch her face closely, wondering if she registers the name.

She does. "Hanada … Does that mean you're related to that business magnate? The one who traveled overseas from Japan here and recently returned to his homeland?"

"The one and the same."

I have incited her curiosity. What led a girl associated with a rich family to commit such heinous acts? She does a splendid job of hiding it. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"What is your quirk?"

"Elements."

"Are you the Bone Crusher Killer?"

"Yes."

Her posture straightens, evidently surprised that I would acknowledge that I am guilty of crime. "Why did you kill those men? They were all influential and wealthy."

"And they misused their wealth," I state. "The female guard who checked me for weapons … did she tell you what she saw on my body? Better yet, you can see for yourself." For emphasis, I unclasp my hands and show them forth, revealing all the scars from burns, blades, my quirk, and more. "That is what those disgraces of manhood did to me."

She stares at them, but shows no sign of sympathy. "You'll have to explain in detail."

I lean back and tilt my neck from side to side, feeling my facet joints rub. "But it is such a lengthy tale. It will take hours to tell, and neither you nor I have the time." My voice drops to a low whisper. "I suggest we take this conversation somewhere else. Your private office, perhaps?"

"I apologize, but according to protocol, the questioning has to happen in this room," she informs in speaking-level tone.

I'll have to try another approach. "May I see that file, Madam Ahearn?" Suspicious, she passes it to me. "Can I have a pen and paper, too?"

"What for?"

"You'll see. I promise to be a good girl."

"Does it have anything to do regarding the investigation?"

"It most certainly does."

She beckons to the guard in the room to bring a pen and paper. In a few seconds, he leaves and returns with the requested items. I scan the contents of the file. Newspaper clippings, statements from victims' family, interviews with managers and journalists of the news offices, images of the crime scenes. I shut the file and begin writing on the paper.

These murders were crimes of passion. Of hate, of revenge. Those vile creatures raped me for years. Asahi Hanada, the founder of the Hanada Group of Companies, adopted me when I was four years old and forced me into prostitution at the age of five. He had secret agreements with the creatures. Sometimes for business partnership, sometimes to hide a scandal. These agreements involved them satiating their lusts with my body and him profiting from my pain. I am still being raped today. But through some stroke of luck, I got the opportunity to inflict the same pain they gave me. I shattered their bones because they took advantage of my arthritis and cane, and I slaughtered them based on their kinks they used on me. Within the USBS, I included evidence of all their crimes except rape, as that would lead to another link. Like you said, I have killed 33. I have 15 more to kill.

I have reason. I have motivation. But more importantly, I have a tempting offer for you. Know that this is not a bribe, nor is it a partnership. It is a deal. Do not let my age fool you. Remember that I have stealthily killed these demons in their homes, and only now have you captured me. I can give what you desire most, while preserving your job and your reputation. What I ask in return should be obvious.

I pass the paper to her. She reads the first paragraph and a tinge of pity appears in her eyes. With the second paragraph, however, she scoffs. "You're daring. And that was not a compliment. Do you really believe that-" I snatch the paper back and scribble again.

Three children. Ages 16, 12, and 7. All three are girls.

A verbally abusive husband.

Husband caught cheating multiple times.

Husband sought to overpower his wife.

A nasty divorce trial.

Husband worked in same department as wife. Planted strong fake evidence. His sins were framed on wife.

Court ruled in his favor. Custody of children passed to him.

You want your children back.

Now, when I pass the paper, she doesn't pass me off. She freezes and pales. Sure, the divorce and custody might be public news. Something her colleagues might know. What they do not know is the monstrosity her ex-husband really was. How did I figure that out? By reading between the lines of the archived court testimony, scouring the dark internet, and … entering her dreams at night. Utilizing an absorbed quirk I had not dared to use after the night before the U.A. entrance exam.

"I can give you what you desire," I mutter so low that only she can hear.

Madam Ahearn stands up suddenly and commands that the interrogation proceed in her private office. When asked by the officers why, she clenches the paper into a ball, and lies that the words I had written were an audacious threat. So disgusting, so enraging, she was going to teach me a lesson. Of course, this defied protocol, they pointed out. Torture was the last resort. But Madam Ahearn uses her authority as her trump card. "I won't hit the girl; I will give her a proper scolding." To my surprise, she personally takes the key from the guard and unlocks the chain connection between the handcuffs and the table. She grabs my arm and lifts me to my feet. Never letting go, and practically bolting toward her office, she drags me inside and locks the door. "Sit down. We have much to talk."

This office is not so lifeless. It has a modern aesthetic. Blinds, a printer, file cabinets, a large television, small sitting area, an office-sized black desk, laptops, computers, telephones. There is a door that leads to a personal washroom. Sort of what the private office of a company chief officer would appear. She seats me in one of the couches, and takes the one opposite. "How do you know all that?"

I answer her question with a question of my own. "Is this room being monitored?"

Realizing what I am saying, she goes to her desk computer and disables the cameras and sound devices hidden. She even removes a recorder device from her suit pocket and sets it on the desk. "We can talk freely now. Where, when, and how did you learn about my family life?"

"Well, you should know that I lied about my quirk in the interrogation room. It is not limited to the elements. My true quirk is absorption. Just by gazing at someone utilizing his, her, or their quirk, I subconsciously absorb that ability. I've absorbed countless quirks. One of them allows me to enter the dream world of anyone. You have had frequent nightmares of your husband's inflicted abuse, the divorce, and fears about what he might do to your daughters. Through that and some thorough researching, I studied your personal history." She is appalled at my confession. At her speechlessness, I cross my legs and smirk. "Madam, a criminal like me is always prepared."

"Why do you want to help me?"

The first step of persuasion: appeal to emotion. "I think that should be obvious. I want you to let me go, and let me kill the next fifteen scum peacefully. The mouths of your department will remain shut - better, they forget about tonight's incident - and do not interfere."

"What makes you think I will grant you that?"

"Because I can do for you what no one else can. The Court deemed you an unworthy mother to take care of her children, when it is actually quite the opposite. Furthermore, your superiors demoted you, and this case is your only chance to earn your position back. Give me a chance. I can get your ex-husband to confess his lies and schemes. Submit that to the Court and your superiors. You'll get your children and job back."

Madam Ahearn stares at me with narrowed eyes. "Do you really think it is that easy? All right. Let's assume you do get that trash to reveal the truth. Let's assume I show that to the Court and the custody of my daughters returns to me. But arresting you is my ticket back to my former position. How will setting you free give me that aspect of my life back?"

The second step of persuasion: appeal to reason. Something I had not considered comes to mind. "Did your superiors give you the authority to kill me if I attempt to escape or resist?" She answers yes. "Then it is simple. We plant evidence that I died. For my last victim, I have quite the surprise planned for him. An explosion, since he liked to play with fire so much. We will pretend that I was caught in my own trap. You - it specifically has to be you - will come on scene and watch me flee. Of course, what you see will be an illusion. You must be surrounded by multiple other officers, so they can be witnesses to when you shoot me."

"What about the body? After the fire dies down, officers will enter the home to search for your corpse?"

"Well, that depends on your presumptions about me before capturing me? Tell me. What did you think about the Bone Crusher Killer - I hate that name, by the way - before meeting me tonight?"

She thinks for a while. "Given that all the victims were males, we figured it was a female behind. A woman with a vendetta and much older than you. Perhaps in her twenties or thirties."

"Then you can arrange for a corpse from the morgue that matches that description. I will ensure that she is burned to a crisp, so the only thing forensics can identify is that the cadaver is that of a young woman."

Madam Ahearn lifts both eyebrows. "You expect me to arrange for the body?"

I shrug. "There's only so much I can do by myself. Besides, this is a deal, so I cannot be the only one contributing."

She shakes her head. "This plan is too risky. I hope that this is just a basic outline, and you will formulate details soon. How many weeks will it take until you apprehend your final target?"

"Fifteen."

"That's too long. I will definitely lose this job by then due to lack of results. Shorten it."

I huff, "Twelve."

"Still too long. Make it three."

My eyes widen in shock. "Three?! That is preposterous. I am a student in secondary school. Sleep is vital for me."

"Yet you make time every week to kill someone in their bed," she retorts, stoic.

Can't argue with that. But still.

Reluctantly, I compromise. "Five weeks. That equates to three murders per week. I'll have to sacrifice five nights of sleep and function from caffeine. You will also have to do the same. Take it or leave it." I got the worst end of the deal.

"I accept," she sighs. "How will you resolve keeping the taskforce silent? There are approximately two hundred members involved in this mission."

"I have a solution for that, too." The number is disappointing, though. On one hand, it will take an eternity to erase their memories. On the other hand … I am worth more than 200 people chasing my tail! How offensive! "So, do we have a deal?" I ask, extending my scarred hand.

She takes it and shakes it firmly. "We do." As an afterthought, she adds, "It is strange, but I get the distinct feeling that I made a deal with the Devil. I have a feeling that if there's something you want badly enough, nothing will stop you."

I grin diabolically at that. "Maybe your suspicion will turn into truth when I reveal my villain name to you." I pause for dramatic effect. Her curiosity is aroused again. "Morningstar." She chuckles and shakes her head from side to side, as if this was a joke. To some extent, it is.

"Named after the Devil himself, Avatar of Pride. That does explain why you so adamantly loathed the nickname Bone Crusher so much. That nickname is not fear-inducing at all."

"That's what I thought!" I exclaim in agreement. "It's ridiculous!"

"Considering how brutally you murdered those men, you deserve a more chilling title."

"Exactly!"

Wait, are we … bonding?! We realize simultaneously and immediately look away. A murderer and a police officer bonding … who would have thought?

After a long moment of discomfort, Madam Ahearn speaks, breaking the silence. "Whatever we do, we will have to do it quickly. I pray you are willing to miss a day or two of school. Come up with a good excuse for your classmates. I'll have to take you back to your cell for now. Otherwise, my colleagues will wonder. Later today, we'll execute your escape."

I sigh, "I suppose it was too much to hope that is situation could resolve itself by early morning. At least, can I eat and drink something before you arrest me? I skipped dinner tonight."

"I'll notify the guards to give you something."

"But they will give me stale bread and a cup of salty water!"

"I'll sneak a biscuit in for you!"

"Like that makes a significant difference!"

"So, what do you want? A seven-course banquet? You are in no position to make absurd demands. The guards will suspect something is very off."

Is this how mothers scold their children?

I glare at her petulantly.

She relents, "When I unlock you from the cell, I'll give you a proper meal."

I gladly stand up and usher her to guide the way.

Citations:

"I have a feeling that if there's something you want badly enough, nothing will stop you." - From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout